Harry Potter is Dead

Chapter 19 | A Resolution


The warm summer's night turned suddenly to frigid winter. Ron could not feel the pain of his burns, only the terrible cold that permeated every inch of his body, freezing his brain so that coherent thought was rendered impossible. He struggled desperately to draw breath, but someone was holding his head under icy water; he was suffocating from the sheer force of his grief. He needed to escape, he needed to get up, he needed to catch his sister -

"GINNY! GINNY!"

A blaring voice, the most terrible sound Ron had ever heard, brought him hurtling back into the present. Hermione was screaming as if she had been mortally wounded, still splayed on the ground where the explosion had thrown her, her arms outstretched and tears pouring down her face. Her voice was like knives; the very sound of her grief was causing him unendurable pain.

Ron tried to shout as well, to scream as loudly and with as much force as he could manage, but the cry ripped at his throat and his voice cracked like glass. He could not stand to lay here, immobile against the wall. He had to move, he had to reach the edge of the tower. If he could just look, just see that Ginny was all right, the effort it cost him to get there would all be worth it.

As Ron pulled himself excruciatingly forward, Hermione moved as well. She had stopped shouting for Ginny, but the sounds of her crying still lashed at Ron like hot irons. She staggered to her feet, swaying dangerously.

Ron tried to call out her name, but it left his lips as merely a whisper, and even if he could speak he was not sure if she would be able to hear him; as she moved, he caught a glimpse of her face, contorted into such a mask of grief and pain that it seemed scarcely recognizable. She turned several times, as though lost and unsure, and for a moment Ron saw Hermione at her lowest point, stripped of all her walls and protection, a scared little girl in a large and unforgiving world. Then her eyes found Luna, and she forced herself to recover. Still crying, still gasping with pain, Hermione bent over Luna and began to heal her wounds as best she could. Her voice shook as she repeated the spell over and over, a crooning incantation that was almost like a song. To Ron it sounded like a lullaby. Hermione's one tiny comfort.

With a shout of pain Ron dragged himself still forward. He passed Hermione and Luna on his hands and knees, paying no attention to the blood, which was not his own, that stained his robes as he went. He had to look, he had to see Ginny. He refused to grieve until he was sure. The icy coldness in his chest was more excruciating than all of his injuries.

"R-Ron - " Hermione's voice was cracked and hoarse. Ron could not find the strength to turn and look at her as she spoke. "Ron, g-g-get away f-from the edge - Ron, please, d-don't - "

Ron heard Luna groan, and Hermione resumed her incantation. Her tone was desperate, pleading; more frantic than before. Ron felt another dull stab of pain in his chest.

Ron's hand felt the edge of the battlement. With great effort, he pulled himself up so that the castle grounds came into view. Night was fading quickly into dawn, and the waters of the lake were glinting with the first pale beams of sunlight. Little bundles seemed scattered about the lawn, no more than dark stains in the grass from this height. Smoke was still rising from the doors of the castle, and amidst the clouds of gray, black shapes were also moving . . . but no flashes or yells accompanied their arrival . . . slowly, cautiously, they approached the foot of the Astronomy tower . . . two tiny bodies lay before the gathering crowd.

At once a hot, boiling rage replaced the cold in Ron's chest. He wanted to scream, to fight, to battle until no one remained standing. He wanted to punish ever last one of the bastards that had anything to do with his sister's - but he could not say it -

"Ron, p-please, calm down!"

Ron had not realized that he was yelling, though his voice made scarcely a sound. His hands were fists, the skin on his knuckles stretched white over the bone, his fingernails cutting into his palms. He struggled with all his might against Hermione, who was trying desperately to pull him away from the edge of the tower. She was crying harder than ever.

"Stop it! R-Ron! Please, stop!"

Hermione pulled him closer to her body, and although her touch did nothing to aide the pain of his burns, Ron felt himself becoming still within her embrace. And although the fight was leaving his body, the angry fire which burned in his chest did not go out - nor, Ron knew, would it ever.

Ron was not sure how long Hermione held him, only that at some point she kissed his forehead and left to attend to Luna. Ron remained where he lay, watching her work. He wanted so badly to scream, to thrash, to destroy everything in pointless anger. It was not his injuries that stopped him, however. The sheer force of his boiling rage seemed to have locked his muscles permanently tense.

In the dim light of dawn, Luna's face appeared deathly pale. Her eyes remained firmly shut, and although she no longer shook uncontrollably, the pool of blood that stained the stones around her was still noticeably large. Hermione had done the best that she could.

"I'm so s-sorry, Ron," said Hermione, turning away from Luna, who now seemed to be in a deep sleep. Her tone was still edged with panic. "I c-can't do anything for you, burns are a bit d-different from cuts and I was n-never the b-best healer . . . Oh, I've got to get b-both of you to the hospital wing - come on. "

Ron opened his mouth to tell Hermione that he could not possibly walk, but he did not need to. Hermione conjured two wooden stretchers out of thin air. She helped Ron carefully onto one, minding his burns, and lifted Luna onto the other. With another wave of her wand, the two stretchers rose of their own volition and floated slowly down the stairs, Hermione following somberly in their wake. Ron was reminded strongly of a funeral procession, in which he was one of the bodies.

It seemed like a thousand miles from the top of the Astronomy Tower to the hospital wing. When they got there, however, it was empty.

"Are they in the Great Hall?" asked Ron, peering around at the empty ward, "Like - like last time?"

"I can't imagine where else they'd be." said Hermione. Her voice was small and quiet. Ron wanted to reach out and hold her hand as they began to move once more, but his last reserves of strength seemed to have been depleted. Funny. His burns did not hurt any more, and yet he could not lift his arm . . .

"Stay awake, Ron."

Hermione's voice jerked him out of a dreamy fog. While an instant before Ron had been staring straight up at the ceiling of the hospital wing, a maze of staircases were now passing over his head.

"What?" he muttered.

"Please, Ron, don't fall asleep."

"Okay . . ."

"Ron, please! We'll be there soon enough - Madam Pomfrey will give you something and you'll be fine, just keep your eyes open!"

Her voice sounded slightly hysterical; Ron dimly registered that the stretchers were moving more quickly than before. Suddenly the openness of the Grand Staircase was cut off by an archway, and then a vast sky expanded overhead. Ron blinked. He did not remember going outside, but the dawn was so beautiful that he did not care to think more on it. Fresh new light shone down on his face, pink and gold, dotted with silver clouds . . . but why did it smell like smoke?

"Mrs. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley!" shouted a terrified voice from very far away.

"Hermione, dear, thank goodness you're - but who's - " the second voice ended in a cry of shock.

"They're still - they're injured and I think they'll be all right if we hurry - I did the best I could with Luna, but Ron, I don't know how to treat burns and I was afraid I'd hurt him even more than he's already been - "

"Molly, what's going on?" said a third voice.

"Oh, Arthur, it's Ron!"

"Ron? That's Ron?"

"It's him, it's him, he must have been caught in the fire - "

"Merlin's beard."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" shrieked the first voice. "I didn't know the spell, I should have brought him here sooner!"

"You've done beautifully, dear, let me - "

A familiar face, framed with red hair, obscured Ron's view of the sky. He found it difficult to train his eyes on his mother, though he knew by the moisture dripping onto his skin that she was crying.

"You're going to be fine, Ron, just stay still. Keep those eyes open. That's my boy. You're going to be all right."

Something was poking him gently in the ribs. Ron twisted away from it. He did not know what was going on.

"Ron, dear, please lie still."

A strange, prickling sensation was creeping up his chest. Ron clenched his teeth against the feeling, trying to push his mother away, but he could not seem to make his body work the way it was supposed to. He began to thrash on the stretcher, unable to escape the painful feeling. His mother and father and Hermione were all around him, blocking his view of the sky, begging him to lie quietly. But their words were becoming softer and softer, their faces moving further and further away. He struggled harder, because now hands were restraining him, and the terrible sensation was spreading all over his body, a thousand times worse than his burns. Ron wanted to see the sky. He did not want to look at the walls, black with soot, or the faces over him, wet with tears. He needed the sky . . .

"Don't . . . don't want to . . . stop . . . hurts . . . "

"I know, Ron, I know it does. The worst is over."

Ron's eyes were closed, and the thing on which he lay was remarkably warm and soft. His memories seemed to be returning to him at a snail's pace. In his mind's eye, Ron saw Ginny running down a dark corridor, the curve of the spiral staircase as it twisted upwards, the glint in Voldemort's eyes as he aimed a curse. They felt to Ron like recollections from another person's life; and he, the observer, felt nothing at their return.

"Hermione . . . "

"I'm here, Ron." a hand closed around his, and he did not mind the pain of the touch on his sensitive skin. "I'm right here. You're going to be okay. I'm with you."

Ron's eyes flickered open. Above him, the sky was the palest blue, tinged with rose and gold, not long after sunrise. On the edges of his vision, Ron could see people moving about the Hall, their voices a quiet babble in the background. But over the dull noise, Ron could hear sounds that were not quite as comforting. Someone was yelling loudly, evidently in a great deal of pain. Dry sobs echoed from another corner. A shaking voice was reciting a prayer.

"What's happened?"

Hermione's eyes were already red and puffy, but at these words, they became glassy with tears again.

"Your mum put you right. We were worried you weren't g-going to make it, but . . . but you did. You're going to be fine. Just keep still, don't move, don't overexert yourself. M-Madam Pomfrey was around a few minutes ago, I should probably go tell her you're awake - "

"No. Don't leave." Ron said, as Hermione started to stand. In truth, at her words, the pain had begun to return; his muscles were stiff and heavy, his head throbbed with each loud heartbeat, and his skin felt as if it had been covered by one large bruise. But he needed to be with Hermione right now, for reasons he did not quite understand, or else did not care to.

"Don't leave." Ron repeated. "There are probably loads of people worse off than I am. She doesn't need to waste her time. Besides. I want you here."

Hermione hesitated for a moment, her eyes very wide, and then sat back slowly in her chair. Another yell, the same voice, sounded again from the other end of the hall. It caught her attention for a moment, pulling her face into a taut frown, and she did not settle until it had subsided. Soot had settled in the lines of her face. It gave her the appearance of a much older woman, one who had suffered through many years of hardship.

"How bad is it?" Ron asked quietly, after a moment.

Hermione looked down. "We haven't been able to retrieve all of the . . . b-bodies . . . yet, so we don't know exactly how many we've - we've l-lost. People with injuries are getting priority right now."

"D'you know if any - anyone we know - ?"

"Kingsley's lost his wand arm, and Dean's been cursed, we don't know exactly what, he keeps . . . he keeps screaming . . . " as if on cue, another bloodcurdling cry echoed down the hall. Hermione closed her eyes at the sound. "Neville, Charlie, Andromeda, and Professor McGonagall were injured but they're fine, they're up and about . . . Luna's still unconscious. Madam Pomfrey says the best we can do now is let her rest. She's lost a lot of blood."

Ron was searching her face for any sign of information she might be holding back, but the pale, tear-stained visage showed no trace of a lie.

"That's . . . not quite what I meant."

Hermione looked down, and Ron saw a few tears spill into her lap. The pit in his chest gave a painful lurch. Immediately he assumed the worst. He opened his mouth, preparing a stream of names, desperate for Hermione to verify that they had all indeed survived - but before Ron could speak, Hermione looked up, dabbing her cheeks with her sleeve. Her jaw was set tight, and there was something in her eyes that made Ron's voice die in his throat.

"Professor Flitwick and - and Sturgis Podmore and Hestia Jones and Firenze . . . and Cho, she t-turned up halfway through saying she'd f-felt her DA coin burn - she broke out of this - this awful cell in Malfoy Manor j-just to come and fight, but she - she - " Hermione took great gasps to steady herself.

"It's okay," said Ron, desperate to comfort her in some small way. "It's all right."

But they both knew very well that it was not.

After a moment, Hermione went on in a constricted voice. "Right now it looks like m-most of the casualties were - were the students."

Ron closed his eyes and gave a long, heavy sigh. He wanted to have said something to Hermione then, to ease her pain; but simply no words existed that could possibly describe the terrible, black pit that had just opened up in his chest. He closed his hand around Hermione's, paying the pain no mind, and saw in her eyes that she understood.

After a moment, she went on in a thick voice. "Some of them were caught in the fire, but a lot of them were given the Dementor's kiss. They've . . . well . . . seeing as they're not exactly d-dead, we've been trying to get them into the c-castle . . . warm beds . . . a bit of c-comfort . . . it's - it's the least we can d-do - "

Hermione could go no further. With an awful sob, she pressed her hand to her face and began to cry. Ron pulled himself laboriously into a sitting position in order to comfort her. As she sobbed into his shoulder, Ron's eyes found the corner of the Great Hall that housed the students that had become the victims of Voldemort's plan. They stirred listlessly on stretchers, their eyes staring blankly up at the enchanted ceiling.

"You Know Who," Ron said, some time later, after Hermione's sobs had subsided somewhat.

"W-What?" she said thickly.

"Voldemort. He's dead. Tell me he's dead."

Slowly, Hermione nodded. Ron let out a slow breath. Though he knew there was no way anyone could have survived such a fall, somehow, Voldemort's death had not seemed real until this moment. Hermione's deliberate nod had lifted a heavy weight from Ron's chest. It was true, then. Fact. Voldemort had met his end.

"Good." he said. "Good. The bastard. That's for Harry."

"Ron, don't get angry, please." Hermione chided softly, but it not anger that burned inside him as he went on These were a different sort of flames.

"For Ginny! For Cho and Flitwick - Firenze, Sturgis Podmore, Hestia Jones! For Dumbledore! Sirius! Lupin! Tonks! Dobby! Hell, for Malfoy, too, you son of a bitch! For Fred! You hear me? That's for them!"

Ron had not realized that he was shouting until the sound of his voice echoed back to him from every corner of the cavernous hall. Faces turned all around, trying to pinpoint the source of the bouncing noise, but to Ron it seemed to be issuing from the very walls itself, from the mouths of the dead, covered in sheets; from the grounds to the forest to the mountains, all the world was sending out its cry; that's for them, that's for them, that's for them . . .

"We did it." said Hermione tearfully. "Ginny did it."

"You're damn right she did." Ron said.

And or the first time since he had watched his sister plummet from the top of the Astronomy Tower, Ron felt tears slip down his cheeks as well. There was no victory here; there had been no last and final triumph. Every innocent life taken had been the loss of another war. Ron felt hollow, empty. It was only in the pressure of Hermione against his chest, pressing on him with warmth and comfort, that he was able to keep himself from falling completely to pieces.

The rest of Ron's family, alerted by the sound of his voice echoing throughout the hall, appeared at his side not long after. His mother dove in to clutch him in her arms, and Ron returned the gesture without hesitation. She was shaking uncontrollably, coherent speech long past her. Ron struggled not to succumb to tears once more, trying and failing to put on a brave face for his mother. Over her shoulder, Ron saw his father, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and George, all bearing expressions that were undoubtedly very similar to his own. He wanted desperately to ask them what had happened to Ginny. Each time his lips formed the words, however, the sound stuck painfully in his throat.

Hermione seemed to have melted quietly into the crowd, but Ron felt no desire to find her just yet. He stayed there with his family for an immeasurable amount of time, hardly speaking but knowing, somehow, that in each other's presence the word had become slightly less unforgiving a place.

"Where's . . . where's Ginny, mum?" Ron said quietly, after a long while.

His mother, who had been patting his hand absently and staring at the floor, looked up. At the mention of her daughter's name, her face twisted into such an expression of pain and anguish that Ron had trouble meeting her eyes.

"I - sorry, mum . . . I shouldn't have - "

"Don't be sorry," said Mrs. Weasley, and for a woman who looked as if her world was collapsing around her, her voice was remarkably steady. "She's over there. Where Dumbledore's chair used to be."

She pointed to the head of the hall, on the raised platform which once housed the staff table. The area had now been cleared of broken glass, and the light of the newly risen sun now shone through the shattered window and onto the faces of the dead. Sheets covered some, but not all; beneath one white cloth in the center of the row, a shock of bright red hair was just visible.

Ron stared from afar for a long while. Then, quite suddenly, he threw off his covers, accidentally unseating his mother.

"Help me up. I want to see her."

Immediately his family closed in around him, all of them speaking at once.

"No, Ron, you're still hurt - "

"Don't make the burns worse - "

"You need rest - "

"I know!" said Ron loudly, and the worried voices fell silent at once. "I don't care. Let me up. I want to see my sister."

Ron's gaze fell suddenly upon George, whose face was stark white, tear tracks like gashes running down his cheeks. They looked at one another for a long moment. Then, slowly, George reached out a hand and helped Ron carefully to his feet. One arm around his brother, the rest of their family following closely behind, Ron stumbled towards the row of bodies at the head of the hall.

Even from far away, as they slowly approached, Ron could see the outline of her body against the rough white cloth. She lay perfectly straight, her legs arranged neatly beneath her, handled with evident care by tearful family members. A wrinkle over her chest told him that her hands had been folded, undoubtedly clutching, as per tradition, her wand in her stiff fingers. Her fiery red hair hung past the sheet and over the edge of the stretcher, just brushing the blackened flagstones.

Then, all too suddenly, Ginny was mere inches away, separated from him only by a thin sheet; yet Ron studied her silhouette for a long time before the thought to pull the sheet back even occurred to him. It would be nice to see her one last time, Ron thought, before she was lowered into the ground. Yet as he stood there and time dwindled on, the less the sheet seemed like a sheet and the more it seemed like a brick wall. He was being stupid, Ron told himself. He needed only to pull back the veil and Ginny would be there - but he could not do it. His hand would not move, and they were separated not only by a sheet but a great chasm; an uncrossable distance; the void between life and death. He could not bring himself to see his own sister's face when she was dead, gone, and the thing he would be staring at would only be the empty vessel that she had once occupied.

"Ron," his mother said quietly, after they had been standing there for a long while, "D-do you want to . . . " she let her question hang in the air, the words to painful to say but their meaning nevertheless imparted.

"No." said Ron, with a strength in his voice that surprised him. "No. Where's Hermione?"

"She's - I believe she's seeing to Luna." replied his mother. "Ron, dear, are you - "

"No." said Ron firmly. There was a burning in his throat that had nothing to do with smoke or fire. "I want to see Hermione."

He turned his back on the row of bodies and began to shuffle towards the mane of bushy brown hair that he had spotted from afar; but the pain of walking unassisted proved too much, and Ron stumbled. He closed his eyes as the blackened flagstones rushed up to meet him, but a pair of hands caught him suddenly and lifted him carefully to his feet. It was George. He met Ron's gaze and as they began to walk, saying nothing but somehow understanding everything.

Hermione's words drifted over to Ron and George as they slowly approached. They stopped a few feet behind her, but she did not notice. Luna was stirring in her cot, and Hermione was seated at the edge, trying with difficulty to keep her still.

"Shh," said Hermione, pushing Luna back. "Relax."

"What . . . what's going . . . ?"

"It's all right," Hermione said.

Luna's eyes were unfocused; her hands waved vaguely in the air. "I - I feel funny."

"You were injured."

"But . . . it doesn't hurt. It's just . . . funny."

"That's just the spell doing it's job. It's nothing to worry about."

"I don't like it."

"It'll be okay in a little while. Just give it time."

"I don't like it."

"I know," said Hermione; her voice wavered. "I know."

"Why are . . . why are you crying?"

"Don't worry about it," Hermione hastily wiped her eyes. "Just sit back and - "

"You're crying."

"It's nothing, Luna."

"But . . . why are you sad?" Luna's brows knitted together; she turned her head this way and that, looking for something.

"Lay still. Please, you're going to open your cut if you're not careful."

"Where's Ginny?"

"You need to stop moving." Hermione said in a strained voice.

"I saw her - I saw her running at - "

"Just relax, please, Luna!"

Hermione's voice broke, a hysterical note buried somewhere in the sadness. At once Luna's eyes widened.

"Oh," She said softly. "Oh no."

Hermione threw her arms around Luna without hesitation, and they rocked with sadness for a long moment. Luna patted Hermione's back with a weak hand as Hermione sobbed into her shoulder. Tears slipped down Luna's gaunt cheeks as well.

"It's all right." Luna said quietly. "It's okay, Hermione. She's gone off to a better place. She's happy now. She's with Harry."

Ron thought he heard Hermione mumble something along the lines of, "you don't know."

"No, we don't." Luna replied. Her eyes were unfocused, and she appeared to be struggling to find even simple words. "That's the hard part. But . . . there are some times when you just need to have faith."

Hermione did not respond. For a moment Ron wondered if he should intervene, place a hand on her shoulder; but after a moment, Hermione sat up, blinking and red-eyed.

"Thank you, Luna. For everything." she said. Her voice was heavy, sincere. "You really should get some rest now."

"Yes . . . I am quite tired. Are you sure you're all right?" Luna said, as she leaned back on the pillow. The conversation seemed to have exhausted her.

"I really don't think I will be for a while."

"That's good," Luna said dreamily, her eyes fluttering shut. "That's the way it's supposed to be."

And just like that she was asleep.

Hermione stayed there, at the edge of the bed, for a moment. She was still clutching Luna's hand.

"Hermione," said Ron softly, and she looked around quickly, her hair spinning around her head.

"Ron - George - " she stood, looking alarmed. "He shouldn't be up - "

"I've got him, Hermione, it's all right." said George.

"Are you sure? How are your burns, Ron?"

"I'm fine, Hermione. They don't hurt much." This was a lie, of course, but the last thing Ron wanted was to worry Hermione.

Hermione pursed her lips, looking as though she would very much like to needle them more, but mercifully let the subject drop. Ron, however, was not quite finished.

"I want to go up to the Astronomy Tower." He said. "We need to get rid of that potion."

"There's no way you're going to be able to get up all of those steps." Hermione asked.

"Of course I can. I'm fine." Ron insisted.

"Why don't you sit down, at least for a while. I can do it myself. "

"This is important!" Ron said. "I'm not going to sit around while everything happens, I want to help!"

"You know, I think I might be with Hermione on this one, mate." said George.

"I'm fine!" said Ron angrily.

"You don't look fine." Hermione said.

"I am!"

"You're sure?"

"Of course I bloody well am!"

Hermione frowned. She paused for a moment, meeting George's eyes. Then, finally: "At least let me put you in a stretcher."

Ron frowned, but he knew enough not to argue with Hermione when her mind was made.

"Are you coming, too, George?" Hermione said as she waved her wand, conjuring another stretcher out of thin air.

"No." said George shortly.

There was something in his voice that made Ron look around at George, even as he was helped onto the stretcher by Hermione. His brother had turned, his eyes on the front of the hall. Their family was still gathered around Ginny's body; and by the looks of it, their mother had succumbed once more to tears.

"I'll catch up with you guys later." George said, and he left quickly without looking back.

Ron sat on his stretcher in a daze as George moved away. He wanted nothing more than to follow his brother back, towards the row of bodies, to where his family now stood together. He wanted to hold his mother and his brothers and his father, and to share in their grief. But Ron forced himself to look away. He needed to finish this, to destroy the potion, and be done with the war once and for all.

"Are you all right, Ron?" asked Hermione.

Ron blinked. "I'm fine. Let's go."

She hesitated, looking back towards the rest of the Weasleys, but obliged after a moment. Hermione flicked her wand and the stretcher began to move, sliding smoothly through the rows of the injured and out of the Great Hall.

Ron refused point-blank to lie down, as Hermione insisted. He remained upright and alert all the way up the Grand Staircase, waving feebly at the portraits which cheered and applauded at their passing. To the paintings, a great victory had been won. They had lost nothing in the struggle. Ron, however, could not force himself to smile.

They continued up and onto the seventh floor, heading towards the tower. Here the portraits were whooping even more enthusiastically than the ones they had passed on the way up; for these were the paintings that had egged them on as they had raced across this same staircase, retracing now the same path they had made on their way to confront Voldemort. They had run through these halls mere hours before, but it seemed to Ron like a lifetime ago. Now the corridors were filled with light and the laughter of the portraits, and the sound of only one pair of footsteps echoed off the stone walls, less urgent than the four that had run through here in the early hours of the morning.

Then came the spiral staircase, and just as before, silence fell in as they approached. The portraits' rowdy calls faded around the bend, and they climbed in silence, the windows throwing harsh beams of sunlight across the shadowy steps. This time, no lost souls arrived to greet them on their way.

Ron and Hermione climbed for what seemed like ages, until the spin of the staircase became dizzying, but at last they came to the tallest room of the tower. The students that had lain here earlier, discarded like rubbish, had since been carefully removed to the Great Hall by gentle hands. Now only rubble littered this room, scattered in the doorway to the observation deck. Fine gray dust still trickled from the ceiling, which had cracked in several places.

"Do you think it's safe to go up?" Hermione asked, her voice small in the quiet.

"Reparo." said Ron, pointing his wand, and the cracks snapped back into place with a sound like a splitting boulder.

Ignoring Hermione's protests, He stood up slowly and carefully. "It's just one flight of stairs. Come on, give me a hand."

Frowning, she put her arm around Ron and allowed him to lean into her. Ascending the stairs was slow, arduous work, but Ron's burns were a small discomfort compared to the knot in his stomach. The tension in his chest mounted with each step, until finally the stairwell suddenly gave way to the brilliant blue sky.

The floor had been repaired by Ron's spell, but the top of the tower still looked like a warzone. Chunks of stone lay everywhere, scorched here and there where spells had struck. The single wall was laced with cracks, indents, and burns. The cauldron remained unmoved at the opposite end of the tower, its evil reddish glow filtered out by the light of the newly risen sun. It seemed smaller, somehow less menacing, in the daylight.

"It's probably over-stewed," said Hermione quietly.

"We should . . . I don't know. Throw something in it. Just to be sure. That'll do it, won't it?"

Hermione nodded. Ron pulled her arm off from around his neck.

"It's okay." said Ron. She pursed her lips but did not protest.

He bent down and chose one of the stones that had been knocked from the wall during the fight, which lay small and still at Ron's feet. He tossed it in his hands for a moment, then stepped forward, raising his arm.

"Wait." said Hermione, behind him. Ron turned, his hand frozen in midair, the stone hovering inches from potion's blood red surface. "Wait." she repeated, more tenderly, and he let his arm fall to his side.

"What is it?" he asked. "Don't you want this done with?"

"I do, I do," said Hermione, "but I think there's something we need to do first."

She opened her hand, and there, glittering in her palm, lay the Resurrection Stone. Ron stood gaping at it for a moment, words momentarily lost on him. Hermione looked down with flushed cheeks.

"I thought Ginny had that thing. I thought - I thought she would have still had it." Ron said.

Hermione shook her head. "She dropped it, just before we left for here. I went back to look for it while you were asleep. I figured it'd be better than to let someone else find it and - well, to end up like Ginny did."

Ron hesitated, then nodded slowly. "So . . . you want to - "

"Destroy it. Let's toss it in that cauldron and Vanish the whole thing." said Hermione. Ron looked at her for a moment, and under his gaze she seem to feel the need to justify herself.. "It's not right, Ron. It can't really bring anyone back, not truly. No matter how much people want to see their dead friends or relatives, it can't ever bring them together again. So when someone gets ahold of the stone, and they use it often enough for a long period of time . . . eventually they just waste away. Like - like Ginny. And this stone couldn't heal her. She thought it could, she really did, but I don't think it's ever done anything but cause people more grief."

Ron's eyes found the rubble at his feet. He could not meet Hermione's gaze because in spite of the fact that there was sense and reason behind every one of her words, Ron had been holding a secret hope, deep inside of his chest, that he might remove the ring from Ginny' stiff fingers and see her alive again - or at least as close as the Stone could bring her to that state. But even as he pictured the scene in his mind's eye, Ginny's warm, joyful, solid figure turned ghostly and transparent; a somber imitation of the girl he knew.

"Ron," said Hermione quietly, and he knew by her tone that she had guessed what he was thinking. "If you used this stone again, she'd be sad, she wouldn't want to come. It'll do you more harm than good to see her like that."

"Yeah, but we didn't lose just Ginny tonight, did we?" Ron said, rather more loudly than he intended. "Harry! What about Harry? If Voldemort used him for this potion then he's a hell of a lot worse off than Ginny is! And Fred and Dumbledore and - Professor Flitwick and Hestia Jones and Cho Chang! What about them, Hermione? What if he used them, too? What if they don't even have a place to go after - after - "

"Ron, STOP!" Hermione cried.

Ron fell abruptly silent. He had not realized he had been shouting.

"I know you're angry!" said Hermione, moving close and taking his hand; tears sparkled in her eyes. "I am too! You think I'm not just as sad as you are about everything that happened tonight?"

Her gaze was burning, intense. Ron was still breathing very heavily, blood pounding loud in his ears, but he could not bring himself to answer.

Hermione went on, her whole body shaking: "Even if they did die, even if they weren't able to - to go on, if Voldemort used them - it doesn't matter! This ring wouldn't solve anything even if that wasn't true! Whether they can move on or not, as hard as it is to say, there is nothing we can do for them any more! Just as there is nothing they could possibly say that would make it any easier for us to accept that they're gone! Death is hard, Ron, I know it is, but there's no easy way to get through it! Believe me, it'll get better. I promise. Maybe that pain won't go away, even after a while. Maybe it stays with you forever, but by then it's hardly even grief anymore. That's love. You hurt because you love them, and that's a good thing, Ron. Love is the most powerful thing we have."

There was nothing but the sound of wind and birds for a long moment.

"Just once." said Ron quietly. "Let's use it just one more time, to say good bye. Then we get rid of it for good."

Hermione gazed at him, all of the fire gone from her eyes, replaced with the look of kindness that Ron found so familiar. She looked at the ring, resting innocently in her palm. Then, almost imperceptibly, Hermione nodded. She held out her hands and folded Ron's around them. He closed his eyes. Together they turned the Stone three times over.

Ron knew, even before he had opened his eyes, that they were not alone. The strong wind whistling around the tower did not entirely mask the sound of bodies shifting on the crumbling stone, neither here nor there, not quite returned to life nor truly gone. Ron could feel Hermione pressed against him, moving, her head turning this way and that. Her breath was short and quick on his neck; she seemed too awed to speak. Slowly, blinking away the unwelcome light, Ron opened his eyes.

Around them stood a crowd of the dead. Dozens of translucent silhouettes encircled them, each one partially visible through the bodies of those in front of it. They did not speak, each one of them bearing the same sort of sad, half-smile. Ron turned, trying to take them all in at once. Although he recognized many (Cho Chang, Mad-Eye Moody, and even a somber-faced Malfoy were among this number), the faces that he was longing the most to see were absent from the crowd. Fred and Harry and Seamus, all missing; Lupin and Tonks and Dumbledore gone as well. But there, standing before the great cauldron, a few steps closer than the rest, was Ginny.

She was wearing the clothes in which she had died, but other than that, the Ginny before them bore little resemblance to the one they had known for the past year. Her face had regained a healthy glow, the hollows of her cheeks no longer sunken and the last trace of madness gone from her large brown eyes. Of all the dead surrounding them, Ginny was the only one that was smiling; truly, happily smiling, in a way that she hadn't in a year. The expression brought warmth to her whole face.

"Hi, Ron," she said. "Hi, Hermione."

Ron could not speak. Tears were blurring his vision, but he blinked them away. The sight of Ginny filled him up like a hot drink, and the void in his chest healed over and closed. There were a million things buzzing in Ron's brain, and all of them he wanted to share with her; to spend hours in her company, talking and laughing as they once had - and yet for some reason, Ron found himself at a loss for words.

"Ginny," Ron heard Hermione say, after what must have been a very long while. "Why are you - why are there so many of you here? Why are you all . . . ?"

Ginny kept smiling. She glanced around at the faces around her, at Colin Creevey and Professor Flitwick and Ron's uncle, Fabian Prewitt - a man he recognized only from aged photographs. They had eyes only for Ron and Hermione, grinning a little sadly, but their strange presence heartening nonetheless. It was Ginny who spoke for them.

"These are friends, relatives, loved ones . . . fighters. Every departed soul who's ever known or cared for you. We figured this would be the last chance to see you before you destroyed that ring, and a lot of people wanted to wish you well." Ginny grinned. "We've all been watching over you. All of us, all this time. We still will be, even when you can't see us any more."

Another silent minute passed in which Ron and Hermione looked around in wonder.

"But," said Ron, finally finding his voice. "Where's . . . where's Harry? And Fred, and Uncle Gideon? If - if everyone's here, then why - ?"

At this, even Ginny's smile faltered. The grin vanished from her face, and for the first time, she broke eye contact with Ron. Her gaze fell to the ground, and then she turned slowly to face the cauldron. Her translucent hand touched the rim, but slipped through like a wisp of smoke.

"He's here." She said sadly. "They're all here."

"But the potion wasn't used." said Hermione. "Can we . . . bring them back? Somehow?

"I don't know." said Ginny.

"Well, until we can figure it out, I'm not getting rid of that potion." said Ron.

Hermione turned to him. "Ron . . . we just talked about this."

"You know what I mean!" he said angrily. "They wouldn't be alive again, would they? They'd still be dead, but at least they'd still exist. And what about the kids, Hermione, what about the people who got the Dementor's kiss? What if there's a way we can - "

"No." said Ginny. "We need to destroy this thing. Now."

"But can't it - "

"Wait?" asked Hermione. Ron looked between her and Ginny in disbelief. "Ron, we don't even know if it's possible! Just figuring that part out could take years, and then after that we'd need to find a way to separate the potion's ingredients. We'd be taking apart enchantments Voldemort himself created, not to mention attempting to discover how on earth you're supposed to return someone's soul to their body! And in the meantime, it's incredibly dangerous to leave this potion the way it is. There are still Death Eaters that need to be captured, a lot of them ran off when Voldemort fell. If they - or anyone with the wrong intentions - managed to get their hands on this - "

"Two thousand people, Hermione! And they didn't just die - it was worse than that!"

"I'm just being realistic, Ron - "

"That's not why."

This time both he and Hermione turned to Ginny in confusion.

"Why, then?" said Hermione, a little breathless.

"Because," Ginny said slowly. She seemed to be having difficulty finding words that would accurately describe her train of thought. "We can't - we can't let ourselves waste away waiting for some slim chance they might be okay. I wish they were. I wish I could see Harry and Fred and everyone again. But I've already spent a year doing that - and look how I ended. I'm not going to make the same mistake again, and I ask that you don't do the same, Ron, Hermione. Sometimes . . . you've got to let people go, even if you love them. It's your choice to make, I won't stop you, but please. Think about what happened to me. Don't do the same thing I did. Just let them go."

Ron held Hermione's gaze for a long moment, his anger all but abated. For a long moment there was no noise; only them. He finally broke eye contact only to look down at the chunk of rubble he was still clutching in his hand. He was gripping it so tightly that the rock cut into his palm.

"Okay." Ron's voice sounded strange, alien, even to his own ears. "Okay."

All around them the dead were smiling their sad smiles, and tears were sparkling in Hermione's eyes again, and Ron felt as if his arm were made of lead as he raised it over the rim of the cauldron. His eyes found Ginny as the stone slipped from his fingers. Her head held high, she refused to weep.

The rock sunk beneath the potion's surface with a splash, vanishing instantly in the opaque liquid. Ripples circled the place where it had sunk, and then the ripples became waves, and the whole potion began to churn violently, spilling over the sides of the cauldron, forcing Ron and Hermione back. The crimson potion smoked and scorched the floor like lava, and with a great whoosh it caught fire all at once. Even in the thin new daylight the entire tower was awash with a bloody glow. The dead glinted like rubies, unmoving, unaffected by the smoke and flames.

Ron held Hermione tightly to him, both of them pressed against the tower wall and as far from the fire as they could get. For an instant Ron thought he saw beastly shapes flickering in the blaze, gone before he could even realize he was deluding himself. But no - there was no mistaking it - something was moving within the flames, shining even through the crimson light, distinctly human-shaped -

The waves of heat were distorting everything and his eyes were stinging red from soot, but Ron could not mistake the being that emerged from the fire. It was a boy; the ghostly pale image of a tiny boy, no older than twelve. He looked around at the fiery scene with confusion, turning several times on the spot; and then all at once his eyes locked onto something beneath them, which they could not see, and he vanished altogether right through the stone floor. No sooner than the boy melted away did a second being take his place, the form of a girl in her early teens.

Ron opened his mouth, astonished, and inhaled a lungful of ash. Coughing, eyes streaming, he looked at Hermione, desperate for an answer; yet her red eyes were as large as saucers, her confusion etched clearly in her face. Across the way, still standing beside the fiery cauldron, Ginny was no more than a blurry shadow against a background of chaos. He thought he could make out her voice over the roaring noise, but perhaps he was imagining her gleeful yells like he had the beasts in the fire.

Again and again these spirits came, faster now, more at once. Some of them vanished after a moment or two, shooting through the stone floor like it was nothing. Others looked around at the scene, found Ron and Hermione pressed against the wall, and nodded or smiled before taking a place among the crowd of the dead. More and more ghostly figures came and went and stayed. Then, all at once, a face appeared that Ron had been yearning to see.

"Fred!" He tried to shout, and he did not care about the smoke that filled his lungs. That was his brother, here again where he had not been previously, separated from Ron by a wall of fire that he could no longer feel. Hermione was pulling him back, keeping him away from the flames, but she could not stop him from locking eyes with Fred from across the tower. His brother nodded encouragingly, saying words Ron could not hear. He was smiling. They both were.

And as he began to recognize more and more of the faces which emerged from the flames, Ron began to understand what was happening. These were familiar souls that stepped forward and smiled. Tonks and Dumbledore and Ron's uncle Gideon - all smiling. All saved. Even the souls of the students had been recovered; which, Ron realized, must be moving towards their bodies as they left the tower. How many had already awoken in the Great Hall, suddenly and miraculously well? More souls appeared by the dozens, faster and faster, and the crowd around Ron and Hermione was now nearly a thousand strong.

Ron tore his eyes away from them to look at Hermione in disbelief. Realization had dawned on her face as well. They had done it. They had resolved to accept their casualties, and yet in this action they had saved them all.

Ginny's voice suddenly pierced the air, cutting over the noise of the flames, and through the smoke Ron saw her translucent silhouette move towards one of the souls that was emerging slowly from the flames. Even in the confusion, there was no mistaking the single word she shouted.

"HARRY!"

The two connected a moment later in a close embrace, the smoke and fire distorting their bodies so much that they could have been one being. It was not until the two finally broke apart that Harry truly looked around. His eyes lit up as they fell on Ron and Hermione. He and Ginny moved closer and their figures became more distinct; they were holding hands.

"We can't stay long!" Harry yelled, the noise still loud even though the souls were coming more slowly now, and the flames were beginning to peter out. "We have to go back. You need to destroy the stone."

"We know!" Hermione cried, her eyes full of tears.

"If you throw it into the fire, that should do it. You can do it, can't you?"

"'Course we can." Ron nodded.

"Good. Then this is goodbye."

"Yeah." said Ron. "It is."

Ron wanted very much to say something, anything, of meaning; but as always, words seemed to fail him when he needed them most.

"We're not leaving. Not really." said Ginny.

"Seems that way." Ron muttered.

"Well, it isn't." said Harry. "We'll still be with you; always have been. You just won't know it all the time."

"You'll be there?" Hermione asked.

"Every minute."

"All of you?"

"Everyone on earth who's ever cared about either of you."

"We'll still miss you." Hermione said, looking around at the faces of the dead that were slowly fading with the fire. "Every one of you."

"Don't worry." said Ginny. "It's not forever. When the time comes you'll see us again."

"I'm hoping that's not for a while." Ron said.

"It shouldn't be." said Harry. "You and Hermione - and your family and everyone else - you've got years and years of repose ahead of you. The war's done. I don't want to see either of you until you're good and ready."

"Excellent. I'm fought enough wars for one lifetime." said Ron.

Harry smirked. Like the flames behind him, his image seemed to be flickering.

"You know, it's not so bad." He and Ginny were stepping away.

"I'll take your word for it."

This time Harry's smile was sincere.

"Goodbye, mate." Ron said, and he tossed the Resurrection Stone into the fire.

For a moment the dead seemed to waver in the watery sunlight, and as the tiny ring glowed hot in the flames, they glimmered like sparks and then were gone. Just like that. All that remained were the charred black stones, scarred by the dying fire; the sound of Ron and Hermione's shallow breathing; and the diaphanous gauze that seemed to hover in the air, the ghostly memory of a thousand people that would never truly be gone.


Whoo! Nearly done; you will get an epilogue, I promise. Until then, thanks for reading!