Chapter Eight: Into the Fire

.

A hush fell over them as they stepped into the untamed wilderness of Highgate cemetery. Even in the dead of winter, Ella could see evergreens poking out from underneath the snow. Despite the stone tombs that surrounded them, standing guard above the countless souls laid to rest beneath their feet, the very air seemed to tremble with life. Magic. It pulled at them, tugging them closer to the heart of the graveyard, where their goodbyes lay waiting.

They walked in silence, falling into place among a growing stream of people that swelled steadily as they approached the heart of the burial ground. After a time, their surroundings became wilder, the gravestones giving way to a forest of shrubs and trees. Up ahead, an archway loomed before them, built of crumbling stones half-coated in snow that seemed to sprout from the earth. Highgate had always been a place that toed the line. The line between the dead and the living, between the tamed and the untamed. It was hardly surprising that it toed the line between magic and Muggle as well.

They stepped through the archway, Robert's arm trembling slightly beneath hers as the magic brushed against them like a breath of gentle wind. She gripped his arm tighter as they moved aside, staring around in surprise. Where there had previously been an empty, snow-covered clearing, she could now see hundreds of graves, spreading out in circular rows. Everywhere she looked, she saw familiar surnames engraved in tombstones that looked centuries old.Nott. Fawley. Black.

Faint notes of music were stirring the air, the rueful melody twisting around her as it whispered of sorrow and loss. She inhaled sharply, blinking back the sudden tears when a soft voice called their names.

They turned around and spotted Daniyel, who was waiting beside the archway.

"I was looking for you," he said, stepping toward them. "All right?"

"We're hanging in there," Ella said, while Robert shrugged wordlessly.

"The others coming?"

"Harry said the Aurors would be dropping by," Ella said. "And I'm sure Hermione will too. Should we…"

"Yeah," Daniyel said, stepping into place beside them.

Together, they walked on towards the center of the graveyard clearing, where an immense fire was burning. The flames flickered to blue as they rose into the winter sky. The music was stronger here, its melancholy notes settling like lead in her heart. Maisie Cattermole, an intern with the Magical Events and Planning office whom Ella had run into at the Ministry on occasion, greeted them solemnly.

"You can write a message on these to the ones you lost," she said quietly, handing them several slips of parchment engraved with runes, "and throw it into the flames, so they may travel beyond the veil."

Robert drew in a sharp breath beside her as Ella reached for the slips of parchment and quill with a nod of thanks. They stepped out of the way, avoiding eye contact as others stared blatantly at them,at Robert. Ella thought she could detect both pity and suspicion in their gazes, and she clamped down her lips in anger. Robert had not asked for this; had enough guilt to carry without the accusation hiding in their eyes. She only prayed they would say nothing, that he would not see. They settled into three of the delicate chairs that had been placed in a semicircle around the flames and Robert brought a trembling hand to his eyes.

"It's all right," Ella said softly, squeezing his arm, wondering when everything had ever been less all right. But the words spilled out anyway, layering around them in waves. "It'll be all right." She slipped him a piece of runed parchment, and Robert grasped it in silence, his fingers gently folding it into the shape of a bird.

Ella shot a glance at Daniyel, who had settled on Robert's other side, before letting her eyes wander their surroundings. She could see a fresh row of graves off to the side, the barren ground buried beneath a sea of flowers. Fourteen. But one of them, she knew, was empty. The grave would remain, however. A testament to Saul.

The funerals, Hermione had told them, had been staggered over the past several days, with the Ministry footing the bill for both land and services. Today, this memorial for all who had been lost, was their final farewell. Robert, she realized with a pang as her eyes swept across the newfound graves, had not been able to attend Kevin's burial. Had not been able to see him laid to rest in the cold, hard ground.

She squeezed his fingers in reassurance, watching absently as a small figure crouched before one of the graves. There was something gnawingly familiar in the dark curls that spilled over her shoulders that she couldn't quite place, until the woman turned, allowing Ella a view of her profile.

"Shit," she muttered with a sigh, her heart slipping a little further into her stomach.

"What's wrong?" Daniyel said quietly from across Robert.

"One of my students," Ella said, tilting her head in the direction of the graves, where Siggy had raised her fingers to one of the tombstones and was tracing it lightly. "I didn't know she knew someone in Mysteries..."

"Shit," Daniyel echoed, glancing at Siggy as well. He seemed to run through several potential things to say before settling on silence. A struggle Ella understood — for all of this, there were simply no words she found adequate.

"She's really nice," she said softly. "Bit shy, but loves the class. You can tell."

Daniyel nodded, his eyes sad. "I hope it wasn't anyone she knew well…" he mumbled.

She selfishly hoped so too.

"That's Siggy," Robert said in a choked voice, looking over at the graves as well.

"You… you know her?" Ella said, surprised.

"She's Nikolai's daughter," Robert said heavily. "He was one of the Unspeakables who…" He took a deep breath before adding, "I haven't met her, but he was so proud that she was going to uni. Had photos of her all over his desk."

"Oh," Ella whispered, her stomach clenching painfully. Siggy had stepped away from the tombstones and was making her way slowly toward the fire. Ella could just make out the tears trailing down her cheeks as she walked wordlessly past. She cursed bitterly inside, her heart breaking a little bit more with every moment, and reached for one of the slips of parchment in her hand.

She had known Nikolai. Had spoken with him on occasion when she visited Mysteries over the years. He had reminded her, in his unending enthusiasm for traversing the unknown, of her own father. She had never stopped to think that he may be someone else's.

She raised the quill, gently scribbling against the small square of parchment.May you find peace. We will remember.She didn't put a name; she meant it for them all.

A tall wizard in black robes had come to stand before the fire, drawing their attention, and the soft murmurs around them petered out to silence.. Ella watched him, heavy thoughts tumbling around in her head as he spoke of loss. Of remembering those gone. Of living with a new normal. His words weighed heavily on her as she gazed at the faces of those gone dancing in the flames and thought of Robert. Of Siggy.

The wizard introduced Kingsley, moving aside as the Minister for Magic stepped deftly onto the platform before the fire, Hermione standing silently at his side with other members of his cabinet. He paid tribute to the lost Unspeakables and spoke of justice. Nothing could bring them back. But they would make sure, Kingsley promised, that it would not happen again. They would rebuild, stronger than ever. They would not return to the days of Voldemort. She glanced back at his words, watching as the Aurors filed in, standing at attention in their dark blue uniforms behind the seated crowd, Harry and Ron among them. Harry rarely had cause to wear the official uniform, but she had watched him smooth it out last night with his wand, removing long-set wrinkles. It was a beautiful garment, swathed in all the intrigue of his office. She had always loved seeing Harry don it, but not now.Not like this.

She sat in silence as dusk crept in around them, and the fire burned brighter, gathering strength as light fell away. The music swelled, sending chills down her spine. It seemed to echo through her whole being, settling deep in her bones. Reshaping her. Bringing her own loss to the surface. The last week had changed her, had plunged her once again into a world where tragedy reigned. And there was only one way forward now. When they finally raised their wands to the sky to say their final goodbyes, the wandlight cut through the dark like a beacon, shining with strength.

She felt Harry's hand on her arm as she finally stepped to the fire, watching it flare and spark as she fed her folded parchments into its jaws until it burned them to cinders. They all stood together around her, and the relief at seeing all their faces bursting with life stabbed her with guilt. But she was so thankful that they, at least, were safe, if a little broken. Even if the world was burning around her.

She spotted Dumbledore as they walked towards the archway after the service. He nodded at her, and she broke away from the group and stepped to his side.

"Ella," Dumbledore said kindly. "It is always a pleasure to see you, if under difficult circumstances."

"Albus," she said in greeting. They had been working together so long, the time for formalities between them was long past. "I haven't come to see you, I'm sorry. It's been…"

"I quite understand," he said. "Our work will keep. It is, in any event, nearly complete."

"Harry was able to use the Stone on his own," she said. "It works." The thought didn't bring her nearly the level of excitement she had once anticipated, tarred by the brush of circumstance, but she hoped it would return in time as the edges of this grief began to dull.

"That is wonderful news," Dumbledore said. "You have much to be proud of, Ella."

"We, I think, is more accurate."

Dumbledore gave her a kind smile. "But, I assume, this was an uncharted venture? One of the spares? The cogs of the Ministry do turn slowly..."

She nodded, his words cuttingly close to home. As slowly as the cogs of the Ministry had turned before, now they were no longer running at all. "We've tested it before, after all."

"Of course," Dumbledore said. "The approvals were only ever a formality. I have placed my full trust in your abilities and your judgement on this, Ella. But let us discuss the specifics on a happier occasion."

"Yes, absolutely," Ella said. "I do want to look into the residual energy it releases when I'm not the Traveler. When Harry used it, the collision of energies affected his surroundings. It might just be the learning curve… but I think maybe we should test it out with Dan. I'll stop by Hogwarts. Maybe next week? There's just a lot going on right now and..."

"Certainly," Dumbledore said, falling into step beside her as she walked back towards Harry. "I shall see you soon. Good evening, Harry."

"Professor," Harry said, nodding in greeting. "I hope you're well. I hear you and Ella are just about done with your research."

"Ah, Harry, the wonderful thing about research is that it is never done," Dumbledore said with a small smile. "But we have, indeed, achieved a milestone. Which I hear you have had the pleasure to test-drive, as the Muggles say."

"Er — yeah, I suppose," Harry said uncomfortably.

Dumbledore nodded. "Alas, perhaps 'pleasure' is not the most accurate description of the current state of affairs," he said. "I do apologize. I fear darkness may be looming. Should you need assistance, Harry, my door is always open. Now, I must return to Hogwarts. I bid you goodnight."

He inclined his head to them and slipped out through the stone archway, disappearing into the night. Ella and Harry watched him go before glancing at each other.

"That was ominous," Harry said. "D'you reckon he knows something?"

"I dunno," Ella said quietly. "Albus does like to do his own thing, but I think he'd come to you… now…"

"Maybe I'll take him up on his offer," Harry said, turning to join Ron, Hermione, Daniyel, and Robert, who waited beside the archway. "We haven't been able to track down Rookwood yet. He seems to have vanished off the face of the earth." He scowled at the words.

Ella grasped his hand silently before turning to Robert. "Do you want to stay at our place tonight, Rob? You shouldn't be alone after this."

"That's all right, I'll be fine," Robert said quietly.

"But—" Ella began.

"Don't worry," Daniyel added. "I'm sleeping on his couch."

Robert furrowed his brow. "Since when?"

"Since I've decided I'm doing it. Why, are you going to kick me out?"

Robert shrugged, seemingly unable to muster the necessary energy to resist.

"That's a wonderful idea, Dan," Hermione said with a smile. She hugged Robert tightly, setting off a chain of hugs that never seemed to end, until they finally stepped through the archway and parted, turning to Disapparate into their own dark corners of the night.

Daniyel was not aware of actively deciding to follow Robert home; he had simply come to the realization, as he sat beside his best friend in the cold and watched him fight back tears, that he couldn't bear the thought of sending Robert home alone. After today, he couldn't even bear the thought of returning to his own empty flat; and since Robert, despite his protests, clearly needed the company, and since Robert also had a fairly comfortable sofa, it had seemed like an all-around perfect solution.

"You want anything to drink?" Robert said, when they stepped into the sitting room of his small flat, which was conveniently located just a few blocks from Daniyel's own. "I think I have some Butterbeer, maybe…"

"Sure."

Robert summoned the drinks, wordlessly handing one to Daniyel, who took a sip as he settled on the sofa.

"You don't need to stay," Robert said. "I'm all right, really."

Daniyel shrugged. "I can't stand funerals," he admitted. "Ever since my grandpa passed when I was younger, it's been… Anyway, I reckon it's nice to have some company sometimes, so if you won't do it for you, do it for me, all right?" He grinned.

"Well played," Robert said, a small smile flashing momentarily across his face. He sat slowly down beside Daniyel. "All right, you can stay."

"Excellent," Daniyel said, lounging back on the sofa. "I mean, those four, they're all married off and have each other. What are we to do but keep each other company in dark times, right?"

Robert lowered his drink, his hand seeming to tremble. "R-right." The edge of the bottle knocked against the side table with an audible click before slipping out of Robert's fingers and falling over, its contents spilling everywhere while Robert gazed blankly ahead.

"Evanesco!"Daniyel said hurriedly, vanishing the Butterbeer before it could seep into the fabric of the sofa. "Rob? Are you OK?"

"Fine," Robert said. "Sorry, I just need a minute."

He stood abruptly, stumbling to the door that led to the bedroom. Daniyel stared mutely after him, sincerely wondering if he was missing something. Robert had been close with his coworkers, he knew that. Being the lone survivor of the attack on the Ministry had to be more devastating for him than Daniyel could imagine. And yet… The level of Robert's grief seemed to run deeper than he could comprehend.

Daniyel had dealt with his own grief over the years. The aftereffects of the battle. Losing Hogwarts. Losing Ginny. But even so, he felt slightly at a loss as he watched Robert struggle. He had never quite grasped the heart of emotional conversation, preferring to bury his feelings in action instead. Kickboxing had helped. Robert had always been there for him though, his support as solid as a wall. So when Robert didn't return, Daniyel stood silently and knocked on the bedroom door before slipping inside.

He stepped into it — the understanding that had eluded him — at the same moment as he stepped inside the room. It was hanging on the walls, encased in frames filled with laughing faces. It was draped across the backs of chairs, dressed in clothes that Robert had never owned. It was clenched in Robert's hands in the shape of a photograph where two sets of lips touched gently, the paper wilting as his tears fell upon it like rain. The now-familiar face of Kevin peeked at him from everywhere, forever frozen in a smiling loop that would no longer exist beyond the canvas that contained it.

He sat down beside Robert in silence, bearing witness to his grief as he slipped an arm around his shoulders.

"I'm here," he said softly, when Robert's tears had run dry at last. "We're all here."

Adrift as he was, for the moment he knew it was the only thing — the only place — he could be.

Ron pored over the parchment before him late into the night, rubbing at the edges of his eyes to ward off the exhaustion. Hermione sat across from him in companionable silence, engaged in her own work, as the darkness swelled outside their windows.

It had been three days since they had dug through every inch of Rookwood's home, and the man was still missing. In lieu of finding him, they had rounded up every other offender on Hermione's list. All had been interrogated. And all had led nowhere. The memorial that afternoon had further fueled Ron's burning desire to see the offender who had left the Ministry in shambles put to justice. And yet, as he stared at the parchment outlining the composition of the wands taken from Rookwood's home, his brain presented him with nothing but a jumble of fragmented thoughts.

He sighed, dropping his head wearily in his hands.

Hermione glanced up, eyeing him across the small kitchen table. "Have you run them through the wand scanner?"

"Of course," Ron said, snapping his head back up to meet her eyes. "It was the first thing we did. They don't belong to anyone."

"To anyone on the registry," she corrected.

Ron sighed. "Everyone's on the registry, Hermione."

"Everyone who got a wand from a licensed wandmaker," she said, "or who got an education from one of the established wizarding schools. Or visited the Ministry."

"Fine, most everyone. And yet we have over a hundred wands unaccounted for. I s'pose there's a rogue wandmaker running around. Maybe it's Rookwood."

"Could be," Hermione said, smoothing out her own paperwork. "If so, it's a very well hidden skill. I've been through all the records of his trial, his Hogwarts course-load, his projects at Mysteries — what survived, anyway. Nothing suggests a proclivity to wandmaking. Have you consulted with Ollivander?"

"Sure," Ron said. "Nothing he recognized. He called the styling 'antiquated,' whatever that means."

"It means—" she began.

"I didn't mean it literally." Ron sighed. "I'm not an idiot, Hermione."

"Just trying to help,Ronald." Hermione glared at him from across the table.

"Sorry," Ron said shortly, putting his face back in his hands.

She sighed. "Me too."

The silence hung between them, weighing down the air until Ron felt like it was too thick and heavy to find its way into his lungs.Did Hermione feel it too?

Last week's argument seemed to loom again, its shadow rising up from the floor to entangle them. They had never resolved it. Had never apologized for it. The tragedy at the Ministry had knocked it clear from their minds.

"I—" he began.

"I'm sorry," she said abruptly. "About comparing you to Harry. I… I didn't mean it."

Ron closed his mouth in surprise. Opened it again. "I'm sorry too, for being bloody useless with the chores. I'll… try."

"It's all I ask," she said quietly. "A partnership."

"I know. And I try—"

"Do you?" She looked at him intently, sizing him up.

"Of course! You're my wife, aren't you?"

She scoffed. "On paper, maybe," she said, her eyes seeming to burn holes in his own. "But sometimes I feel like your maid, and your mother too."

Ron scowled. "I thought we were making up," he said, wearily lowering the parchment. "Can't you—"

"No," Hermione snapped, stumbling to her feet. "I fucking can't. Because you make all these empty promises, and nothing ever changes. What's different now?"

She whirled around, crossing her arms against her chest. The anger seemed to radiate off her in waves.

"Hermione…"

"Do you even love me anymore?" she said softly. The words echoed through the silent kitchen. Through the aching chambers of his heart. How could she possibly think…

"How can you even ask me that?" he said angrily. Her words stung, the pain washing over him in waves that seemed to grow only taller.

"You didn't answer the question," she said, still refusing to look at him. He thought he heard her voice shake, but in his growing anger he ignored it.

"How can you not know the answer?" His voice rose in angry spirals. "Do you think I'd fucking be here, if I didn't love you?"

She was silent, still staring away from him. Ron drew in a shaky breath. He had never visited Mum. Never got the recipe. There hadn't been time, with everything else.

"Hermione," he tried again, "please. I love you more than anything. I want to be with you. Have a family with you—"

"Right," she said bitterly. "A family. Because I'm not enough alone, right? Itoldyou I'm not ready. But I suppose now that Harry and Ella are having a baby, it's some competition, isn't it? Harry's doing it, so you have to too."

Her words cut through him, settling in his stomach like chunks of ice.

"Ella lost the baby," he said quietly.

She froze. He could hear her sharp intake of breath. "What?" she managed.

"They lost the baby," he repeated dully. "So don't worry. No contest at all."

She turned around, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Oh my God," she whispered. "When?"

"Friday, I think."

"You didn't tell me." Her voice shook.

He said nothing. Hermione seemed lost for words. The tears tipped over, slipping down her cheeks, and she brushed them away. He wondered for a moment what — who — she was crying for.

"No..." she murmured. "That's… Oh, Ron…"

She seemed to sag, as if all the anger that had filled her up had deflated, leaving only a shadow. She walked to the sofa, sitting down heavily.

"They must be devastated," she whispered, bringing her hands to her temple. "And Ella hasn't said a word… Harry told you?"

Ron walked slowly to the sofa as well, sitting down beside her. "I don't think he really meant to. It was... sort of an accident that I found out." He flashed back to Harry's boggart. To how pale his face had turned, standing out starkly against the redness of the blood as it seeped across the floor. Harry had not heard his shouts, had not even been aware of Ron's spells shooting past him. He couldn't even imagine what Harry and Ella had to be carrying every day. Hermione could make out the edges of it though. He could see that in the teary shadows of her eyes.

She leaned silently against him, and he draped an arm around her shoulders; the argument once again sinking beneath the turbulent waters upon which they had built their home.

He vowed, this time, not to let it resurface. If she didn't believe he loved her anymore, then he would just have to prove her wrong. Hermione was the one thing in this world he wasn't willing to lose.