Harry sat up, trying to ignore the pain, and put them on, feeling a small sense of relief as he realised that he was in Percy’s old bedroom at The Burrow. The pain in his chest and back increased slightly as apprehension slowly seeped into his blood, and a kind of sick feeling found its way into his stomach and lingered there unsettlingly. He couldn’t remember how he had got there, or why, or where anyone else was, and he suddenly felt lost and empty, as though there was a significant part of him missing somehow.
At that moment the door opened and Hermione appeared, promptly dropping the bundle of sheets that she was carrying.
“Oh, Harry!” she cried. “You’re awake! You’re okay! Oh, I’m so relieved!”
Harry, never having had a reaction so enthusiastic to his waking up before, was unsure of what to say, and just remained silent as she rushed over to him and embraced him tightly. She pulled back and looked at him, then hugged him again before running out of the door calling “I have to go and get Ron!”
The sick feeling in Harry’s stomach grew as he sat there alone, staring around, trying to piece together what he knew. There was something wrong, something missing, and the emptiness inside of him was telling him that, whatever it was, he felt wrong and helpless without it.
He glanced over at a family photograph on the wall and his mind flipped upside-down as everything came rushing back to him in a tumult of raw and blinding emotion: green light, red hair, and her, her “ her arms spread, her face determined “ as she fell in a blur of slow motion, gracefully, beautifully, into his arms; her body growing colder as he screamed, and the pain “ the agonising, insufferable pain “ that pulled at every limb and bone and tendon in his body, threatening to rip his soul out of him, until numbness and darkness graciously took over.
Harry threw back the covers and stood up, almost falling over as his legs buckled beneath him and he grabbed the bedside table for support. His vision was swimming; there were two rooms, two doors that he stumbled towards, two doorknobs and two stairs for every one that he took “ his mind was racing so fast that his thoughts were blank as he threw open the kitchen door and fell out into the blinding sunlight, his legs carrying him, dreamlike, over the ground. It was as though he knew where he was going, like he had been there every day for the past month, and when he reached the clearing in the apple trees he fell to his knees and stared at the stone that had been erected there.
Here were scattered the ashes of Ginevra Molly Weasley
August 11th 1981 “ August 1st 1996
Beloved daughter, sister and friend
“No,” Harry whispered, then, his voice rising to a yell, “NO!”
He collapsed forward onto the grass and racking sobs began to shake his whole body, shuddering their way up from deep within him, then bursting out in a torrent of overwhelming truth. He stayed that way until he ran out of tears, then, inhaling deeply through his nose, he breathed in the musty scent of the earth where she resided, giving life to the soft long grass that Harry’s hands clutched to desperately. There was some remnant of her here, this was all that was left, and it was fresh and solid and real but cold and heartless and terribly lonely “ desolate, like he was, like he felt, like it seemed he always would be. Without her.
He was woken from this numb state hours later by the touch of someone’s hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Ron gazing down at him, offering him his hand. Harry, whose mind was dry of words, took it and pulled himself up so that they were standing facing each other.
“Come inside,” said Ron in a choked voice.
Harry obeyed and they walked together in silence, as though in a dream, back to the house. They sat down opposite each other at the kitchen table, and the need for something to be said eventually became apparent.
“Do you remember?” asked Ron in a voice so low that it was almost a whisper.
Harry nodded, the rest of the events having come back to him within the several hours he had been outside.
“How long was I “ ?“
“Four weeks,” said Ron. “We weren’t sure if you were going to wake up.”
“And is Voldemort …”
Ron looked at him uncertainly, as though trying to decide the best thing to say.
“When your mum “ when your mum did the “ the same thing,” he stuttered, looking down at the table. “It’s … it’s the same.”
Harry knew exactly what he meant; Voldemort wasn’t dead, just bodiless again, as he had been almost fifteen years ago. Harry stood up abruptly.
“Where is he?” he asked gruffly.
Ron answered straight away this time, as though he had been anticipating the question.
“The Order knows,” he said, “they’ve been tracking him. They said … they said they had to wait until you woke up because “ “
“Because I’ve got to kill him,” said Harry simply.
They looked at each other for a minute before Harry spoke again.
“Will you come with me?”
Ron stood up and took a step towards Harry.
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up,” said Ron deeply, “so that we can go and do him in, once and for all.”
Harry nodded, feeling closer to his best friend than he had felt since they had got on the Hogwarts Express together six years ago. Voldemort was defenceless in the face of their determination; he had destroyed one heart too many, and the power of love would finally be his downfall.