Later
Harry and Ron stepped into the house. As Harry glanced around, the first thought that entered his mind was, What happened to the holes? It was definitely not sparsely furnished, and Harry assumed that only the most important people stayed in this house. A large cushiony couch stood in the corner, a stone fireplace added to the décor. A table and a few chairs were scattered around the room, but it gave the place a home-y look. The walls were covered with a light shade of paint. A stove sat against a wall. In fact, the house looked as good inside as it looked horrible on the outside. And to Harry and Ron it was like heaven. There seemed to be no holes in the walls or any reason for the house to look roughly built. There were no windows either but it didn’t seem too bad.
‘Sit down, boys,’ said Douglas, not unkindly. Harry and Ron sat on the chairs while Douglas bustled around and quickly conjured up a tray of tea and biscuits from seemingly nowhere. Harry instantly began to salivate.
‘Eat,’ said Douglas firmly. Harry took a biscuit without any hesitation and took a moment to look Douglas over. He was a tall man, well-built and around forty. He was wearing modest clothing: a white shirt, breeches and a clean, crisp brown coat. Large, thick boots covered his feet and he wore mittens made of some kind of thick cloth, over his hands. A mop of grayish-blond hair sat on his head and a few laugh-wrinkles sat on the skin around his eyes. He had a long strangely shaped nose that almost didn’t belong, as if an artist had planned to make the nose differently but in the middle he changed his mind about the shape and improved as well as he could. Harry did a quick double-take as these thoughts ran through his mind. Douglas’s eyes. Harry stared at Douglas’s eyes for a good few minutes. He couldn’t tear his own eyes away. There was something about his eyes. They were blue, bright-electric blue and they gave him youth. Although the wrinkles and the gray hair suggested that Douglas was nearing old age, his eyes insisted otherwise. But that wasn’t what drew Harry’s attention. No, it was something else, something unnatural. Something was telling him something… but he didn’t know what either something was.
Harry pulled his gaze away when he realized Douglas was speaking to them.
‘What are you two doing out here?’ he asked. ‘I’m sure you can’t be traveling, or you would have been prepared better.
Harry looked at Ron and Ron looked back. Harry knew that they shouldn’t say anything about why they were really roaming around Massachusetts in the winter but something was telling him that it was okay to tell Douglas. Harry sighed. That stupid ‘something’ was sure to get him into trouble if it didn’t stop telling him strange things.
‘You’re right,’ replied Harry almost involuntarily. ‘We’re not traveling.’
Ron gaped at Harry. Harry shot him a look that said: ‘Keep your mouth shut while I try to figure out how to get out of this!’
Ron snapped his mouth shut. Douglas continued talking, as if he hadn’t noticed the exchange of meaningful glances between Harry and Ron. Maybe he hadn’t noticed, thought Harry.
‘So why are you here?’ he asked.
‘We-ll,’ said Harry drawing out the word. ‘We were in Salem a while ago and…’
‘And?’ urged Douglas.
‘Our friend got accused of being a witch,’ replied Ron, sadly.
‘And so you decided to pop up here in the middle of no where because someone made fun of your friend? Good plan,’ said Douglas nodding wisely.
Ron scowled. ‘No, our friend was hanged you dunce!’
Douglas raised an eyebrow at the rudeness but said nothing about it. ‘I’m very sorry.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ muttered Ron. ‘Too bad you weren’t the one being lynched.’
Harry kicked Ron under their table. ‘We had to leave. We were friends of a ‘witch’ and they refused to believe that we were innocent.’ He emphasized the word witch.
‘I see,’ said Douglas, putting his long fingers together. Harry stared at him. There went that strange something in his brain again, trying to give him a message.
‘So who was this friend?’ asked Douglas, conversationally.
‘Her name was Hermione,’ replied Harry slowly and sadly. The memories were still so painful. Douglas nodded. ‘She was just our friend. From… school.’
Douglas nodded again. Then he said: ‘She has just moved on. Grieving will not help her or you.’
Harry looked up at him. Where had that come from?
Ron spoke up, angrily. ‘She was our best friend… You expect us just to forget about her?’
‘I expect you to cherish her memory, since that still remains with you, but you should not keep cherishing her soul as that has moved on to, hopefully, a better place.’
Ron snarled. ‘That’s still like forgetting her.’
‘No of course it isn’t!’ said Douglas. ‘You keep her memory in your heart, ensuring that she is not forgotten but you accept that she has moved on and that gives not only her soul freedom, but you too!’
Harry thought about Douglas’s words. ‘It’s like your saying that death is okay. Something… good.’
‘Not good, exactly,’ started Douglas. ‘But, not bad either. She has moved on. She has not ceased to exist. Instead she has begun the next adventure. It is not worse than this life and it may even be better. She may be watching you, and enjoying herself.’
Harry listened to Douglas and something went off in his brain. Something that Harry lost grasp of as soon as it clicked. He tried to figure out what he had realized but he was unable to remember.
‘Death is okay,’ said Douglas softly.
Harry sighed and took a sip of his steaming tea. The hot beverage warmed him right up, going to the tips of his fingers and toes. Harry sighed again, this time contentedly. He was feeling warm for the first time in a few days and to him a few days seemed like forever. Ron seemed to have gotten lost in his thoughts momentarily (probably thinking of a way to kill Douglas) but now he spoke again.
‘Death is okay? That means you think all the killing going on in Salem is alright?’ he said, obviously trying hard to contain his anger.
‘Never said that, did I?’ said Douglas with a flourish. ‘Death is okay, it should not be regretted because what has happened has happened and would have happened anyway. But killing people is not okay, especially if there is no real legitimate reason.’
Harry grabbed another biscuit off the tray. Where had this conversation started off? All of a sudden they were discussing death. Death. Harry knew more about that topic than he’d ever let on: His parents, Cedric, Sirius and now Hermione.
‘Where do you think Hermione would be now if she hadn’t died?’ Douglas was asking.
‘With us!’ retorted Ron. ‘Here, safe and sound and happy!’
Douglas shook his head. ‘You mean cold, wet and starving?’
Ron just pouted stubbornly. ‘If she hadn’t died we would never have come here.’
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ replied Douglas pleasantly. ‘You may have left anyway.’
And as Harry thought about it, he realized Douglas was right. They would have left eventually. Somehow. They had to get back to their own time, eventually, no matter how long it took. But that still didn’t mean that Hermione’s death was all hunky-dory, goody-goody joy-joy, move on with your lives people; that she would have died even if she hadn’t been hung.
Ron rolled his eyes. He obviously didn’t agree with Douglas either.
‘I’m not saying she would have died under your care,’ Douglas continued. ‘I am only trying to impress upon you the… probability of death. She would have died eventually. It is the path all of us must take… the one thing that actually distinguishes us as human. The grief you feel now, you would have felt someday, whether it was to be sooner or later. Whether your friend was young or old when she moved on, here or there. It would have happened.
‘I will die and you will die, and the men outside will die, and we shall all continue walking our path. Your anger and despair at Hermione’s death has been ever increased because she was hanged on a false accusation. Had she died a somewhat more peaceful death, it would have been easier to bear.
‘But I think, maybe, that is not the only reason for your anger. Anger sprouts from fear, at times. Fear leads to anger you know. Fear of death, in this case. Fear of the unknown. Fear of where your next step will take you. The fear that maybe, tomorrow, you will meet a painful, horrific ending, or you will witness yet another painful, horrific ending.
‘What we must understand, boys, is that our lives do not end here on Earth. We all should be prepared to take the next step. We should be prepared to leave those we love, or have them leave us. We should expect the unexpected.’
Neither Harry nor Ron spoke. Ron had suddenly become interested in the floor, and Harry was swallowing gulps of warm tea as fast as he could, trying to keep tears from his eyes. Douglas’s words were bringing Hermione’s last words rushing back to him. Her last moments. Her still, dead face. Douglas’s words were also slamming Harry’s worst fear in his face. Leaving his loved ones, dieing, having to go on, go away, without knowing what would become of his friends. Having to endure pain and suffering at the hands of another, for the last time, and not being able to avenge himself and others.
Douglas stood up and picked up the, now empty, tray. ‘I suggest you boys stay here for the night. I’ll pack some food stuff for you and you can head over to Lynn Town tomorrow.’
Harry nodded, blinking his eyes and setting the tea cup down on the table. ‘Th-thanks. Er- I don’t want to impose or anything put do you know of a doctor who could fix my friend’s hand? He got shot.’
Douglas’s eye’s flicked to Ron and then down to his hand. ‘It just your luck boys, that I happen to know how to fix up this kind of wound. I’ll put something on it for you and wrap it and it’ll be as good as new tomorrow.’
Douglas had professionally wrapped Ron’s wrist up after dabbing it with something that stung and the two boys were settling into bed. Harry was feeling happier than he’d ever been in his life. The impact of Douglas’s earlier words had worn off and now he could focus on what was around him… a warm bed, covers: he was finally going to be able to sleep after so many nights and days of walking. Okay, the ‘beds’ were only a couple of straw mattresses covered by cloth and set near the lit fireplace and their covers were thin, furry blankets but it was better than the hard, cold, snow-covered earth. There was no fear of freezing in your sleep when you were sleeping in a warm house. Douglas had retired to a small room which he had insisted was his normal bedroom. It contained no bedding however, from what Harry had seen: it had a small couch and that was all. Harry propped himself up on his elbow and faced Ron.
Ron yawned and then said, ‘He’s crazy.’
‘Not really crazy,’ replied Harry thoughtfully. ‘He just has some er-strange ways of looking at things.’
‘He’s crazy,’ said Ron again, nodding.
‘Whatever.’ Harry turned over and lay down again, pulling the covers over him.
‘What’re we gonna do tomorrow?’ asked Ron after a while.
‘Move on I guess. We’ll have to see what Douglas says. Maybe we’ll go to Lynn like he suggested.’
‘What if Lynn is like Salem? All that witch stuff isn’t safe for two wizards is it?’
‘I dunno. I think this sort of stuff only happened in Salem.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Well, I remember reading about it and the book only talked about Salem. Like, I remember, the book said something about a four-year-old girl who had been sent to prison in Salem because she was a suspected witch.’
‘A four-year-old?’
‘Yeah, I know. She died in prison from starvation.’
‘Whoa. These people are mental!’
Harry couldn’t agree more. Superstition. That’s all it was. Superstition and fear of the unknown. Doctors couldn’t figure out what was making people so sick so they blamed unnatural things. Things that did exist but it wasn’t like normal wizards actually went around murdering muggles.
‘What was he trying to tell us?’ asked Ron suddenly.
‘Who? Douglas? Tell us? What do you mean?’
‘Well, he was going on and on about how dying was okay. Why?’
Harry thought for a moment. Ron was right. ‘I don’t know. Maybe we looked depressed or something.’
‘And he expected us not to be?’ muttered Ron.
Harry sighed, his eyes aching with exhaustion. ‘Well forget it… he was just trying to make us feel better I suppose. Anyways, I’m going to sleep. ‘Night.’
‘’Night,’ replied Ron as he extinguished the candle sitting by their straw mattresses on the floor.
After a moment of silence, Ron spoke again. ‘Mate, I keep forgetting to tell you… I never knew you read so much. Turning into a bookworm, are we? Binns would be so proud. In fact, when we get back, I’ll be sure to tell him.’ There was laughter in his voice.
Harry sat up and hit Ron with his pillow, laughing too. His heart seemed to fill with new hope as he smiled. The fact that Ron and touched the possibility that he and Harry would return to Hogwarts someday, and that he believed it well enough to joke, was heartening.
As Harry’s eyes adjusted to the velvety darkness one last thought zoomed through Harry’s brain just before he dropped off to sleep. Will we ever really accept Hermione’s death?