They stayed that way, the three of them, for what felt like days: Ron and Hermione remained locked in a sorrowful embrace, while Ginny wept over Harry’s lifeless body. Time stood still, and none of them wanted to move; doing so meant dealing with the awful reality that surely awaited all of them beyond the Forbidden Forest…a life without Harry.
The clouds above them broke, and a soulful shade of blue spilled generously out across the sky. Pockets of gleaming sunlight filtered down between the thick, heavy tree limbs so that the cluster of leaves that draped over them appeared lit from within. They accentuated vibrant tones of jade and lime green. The rays from the strengthening sun cut across the air and exposed particles of dust that swirled playfully about in the golden beams that streamed towards the forest floor. The light landed in between numerous tree trunks, illuminating itself upon grass, shrubs, and dirt like nature’s version of theatrical spotlights. In the distance, they heard the low, steady cry of an owl call out from somewhere in mid-flight and a warm, soft breeze drifted over the clearing. The collage of trees surrounding them swayed slightly, causing the leaves to rustle as though they were applauding the beauty of nature itself.
Ron struggled to hold back his tears and felt Hermione choke back the remainder of her own, before wiping away the well of tears that had settled in her eyes. He leaned forward, tenderly kissed Hermione on the forehead, and slowly detached himself from her arms. Ron knelt next to his sister.
“Ginny…” he spoke in a soothing manner. His hand rested consolingly upon her shoulder. “Ginny…c’mon,” Ron tried compassionately to coax her from Harry’s side.
“No…” She flinched and shied away from his hand. Ginny struggled desperately to remain where she was.
A steady stream of tears continued to slip down her face, and she whimpered, almost as if to say please, don’t make me as Ron tried to pull her away again.
“He wouldn’t have wanted it this way,” Ron whispered painfully in his sister’s ear.
At his words, Ginny halted, and Ron caught her eyes. They told Ron that she was finding it quite difficult to resist the reality of his words, no matter how she tried. She drew her eyes back towards Harry for a brief moment and then turning, collapsed sobbingly into Ron’s arms. He held her comfortingly as long as he could and then decided that it was more than he could bear. Ron turned towards Hermione with a pleading expression that begged for her to intervene.
Hermione knelt down awkwardly beside them. She shook, barely able to contain the anguish she felt inside and the harassed expression upon her face emphasized the enormous strain she was under in trying to hold herself together. With a sigh of relief, Ron shifted Ginny into her arms. His own gaze now fell upon Harry. It just didn’t seem real, thought Ron. He wistfully eyed Harry as though at any moment he half expected his best friend to spring to his feet, declare that it was all some clever ruse, and laugh at Ron for actually buying into it. But Harry didn’t move. Instead, he just lay there cold and still.
Ron ran his hands through his tattered, gingery hair and tried to focus upon what to do next; he was painfully aware of the fact that if things were at all different, Harry would have known for certain just what that would be.
“We should take him back up to the school,” Hermione rambled with blatant hysteria in her voice.
“Yeah,” Ron replied hazily. “You’re probably right.”
“Perhaps, we could conjure a stretcher,” added Hermione. She comforted Ginny with one arm as she fumbled anxiously for her wand with the other. The tip of it caught on the inside lining of her pocket. In her haste to free the wand, she nearly dropped it. Hermione grappled to get a better hold on it and tears poured forth from her eyes again.
“No!” Ron answered definitively and stared at Harry’s body as though the topic wasn’t up for debate. He met Hermione’s eyes. “No…” Ron spoke softly to her and gently lowered the wand in her hand. “I’ve got him.”
Ron reached out for Harry and hesitated slightly. He was unsure of whether his emotions were going to hold together long enough for him to do what needed to be done.
“Ron,” Hermione replied in labored breaths between the sobbing of her tears. She witnessed the agony in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he responded with an unrecognizable strength in his voice.
He was not about to let down his best friend, he thought. Not now. Not after all of the times that Harry had been there for him.
Ron took a deep breath and reached out again for Harry’s arms. He was startled slightly by just how cool they actually were to the touch. Ron lifted them, one by one and rested them reverently across Harry’s chest. Sliding his own hand carefully beneath Harry’s shoulders, he then placed his other hand just behind Harry’s knees. Ron braced himself and lifted his best friend off of the ground.
“Grab his wand,” Ron muttered. He never once looked at it.
“I’ll get it,” Ginny responded. She broke away from Hermione’s arms and retrieved it from the ground with a determined speed that clearly left Hermione without recourse.
Together the four of them made their way out of the Forbidden Forest.
They crossed the battle ground that was their school. Billowing clouds of dark smoke trailed from where the castle sustained structural damage, and Ron noticed that a rather large chunk of the Astronomy tower was missing. Their fellow students were scattered across the lawn. Most were battered and bruised. Injuries, Ron surmised, inflicted by Voldemort’s followers in their quest to take over the school. From the looks of things the attempt had failed. Slowly, the head of each student turned to greet them. Some cried out, while others simply stared. Upon seeing Ron, a group of fifth years gasped and cupped their hands over their mouths in disbelief; gradually, the same horrified look of recognition registered upon all of the students’ faces. Ron glanced at Hermione. She wore a sober expression. Her arm remained draped over Ginny’s shoulder in comfort, and Ron noticed that his sister ” who never once looked up at any of them ” continued to grip Harry’s wand closely to her heart.
By the time the four of them reached the main entrance to the school, a small crowd had formed behind them. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny crossed the threshold and maneuvered their way around the scattered debris that now littered the flagged stone entrance hall. They made their way towards the stairs and the crowd ” ever growing ” tried to follow. They were wisely detained by Professor Slughorn and Madam Hooch, positioned there by Headmistress McGongall for damage control. The crowd watched in silence as the three of them climbed the marble staircase with Harry’s body. His one hand, having slipped from his chest, dangled loosely just beneath Ron’s elbow with each step. They reached the top of the stairs and disappeared around the corner.
Having made their way along the cold, stone corridor they came to rest outside the massive doors to the hospital wing. Ron heard what sounded like a flurry of activity just on the other side. A multitude of voices rose and then fell, so quickly that it was hard to make out anything that was being said. Hermione glimpsed at him as if to say are you ready? to which Ron responded with a half-hearted nod. She pushed open the heavy wooden doors. They creaked, sounding somehow louder than normal, Ron thought, and a collective hush fell over the room.
Several familiar faces stared back at them. At the far end of the room were Ron’s oldest brother Bill and his wife Fleur. Bill’s long, red hair was pulled back loosely in a ponytail, and he appeared quite disheveled. He looks similar, Ron couldn’t help but think, to the way Lupin often does after a full moon. Fleur stood stoically at his side and her delicate, porcelain-like hand rested gently upon his forearm. They stood together beside a bed where Remus Lupin lay unconscious. A very weary Nymphadora Tonks sat vigil at his bedside. Just beyond them, Ron’s second oldest brother Charlie leaned tiredly against the wall; his fatigued face bore the mark of several scrapes and cuts. A sling hung from around his neck supporting one arm. Nearby were the twins Fred and George. Their expressions were quite grim, something Ron had never recalled seeing on their faces before. The three brothers flanked Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, whose attention was drawn to a second bed. Ron’s estranged brother Percy lay before them. His eyes remained closed. Leaning over his wife, who sat on the edge of the bed, Mr. Weasley rested his hands supportively upon her shoulders. They cast their own eyes upon Ron and the exhausted looks upon their faces shifted slightly to that of sincere disbelief. A few feet away Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood were both solemn and still.
Madam Pomfrey, Rubeus Hagrid, and Headmistress McGongall ” with a most dejected look upon her face ” rounded out the room. Woven in and amongst them all were a series of other faces. Some were pushed so far back in the pack that it was difficult to make out just who they were, while the identities of others simply did not register in Ron’s mind as he stood before them now with Harry’s body in hand.
“Bring him here, Mr. Weasley,” McGongall spoke. Her voice broke the silence, and she ushered him further into the room towards an empty bed before her.
With great care, Ron made his way down the center aisle. All eyes were once again upon him and his best friend as they passed. But instead of feeling self-consciousness or even rightful sorrow, Ron’s mind wandered to the number of times over the years that he and Harry had found themselves in this very room together.
The rows of beds on either side of him cued Ron’s memory and a myriad of recollections drifted through his thoughts. He heard the distant sound of Harry’s voice echo in his head; bits and pieces of their conversations held long ago. Ron passed another bed and wrinkled his nose. He swore that he smelt the putrid stench of Skele-Gro lingering somewhere in the air and recalled the rubbery, boneless arm that Harry had endured after one of Professor Lockhart’s spells went awry. The scent was quite faint and Ron was certain now that it was merely a figment of his memory. He passed a broom resting against one of the nearby walls. The handle was split down the middle and a vast array of its twig-like bristles was burnt beyond recognition. It had definitely seen better days, thought Ron, and for a brief moment, he saw a younger image of himself standing over a bed holding Harry’s own broken Nimbus Two Thousand; an encounter with a swarm of Dementors high above the Quidditch Pitch had caused Harry to fall some fifty feet off of his broom. Ron walked on, past the tired, weary faces that stared back at him. He had seen looks like these before, most notably upon Harry’s face the night he witnessed the murder of Cedric Diggory and the rebirth of Lord Voldemort. Harry had entered the hospital wing that night with Dumbledore at his side, pale and exhausted. It was perhaps the most fragile Ron had ever seen his best friend.
Ron made his way to the end of the aisle towards McGongall and his thoughts drifted back to the present. He turned to face the Headmistress and out of the corner of his eye, caught a glimpse of Alastor Moody just on his right. Moody, too, lurked silently beside another bed, and his usually gruff demeanor softened a bit as he cast his sights upon Harry. Ron’s eye drifted to the bed next to where Moody stood. Professor Snape rested there. The sight of him startled and confused Ron. He didn’t know what happened to Snape, or why he was given the privilege of being brought back to Hogwarts after all he had done, but Ron knew one thing for certain…the man was now quite dead.
“Lay him here,” McGongall’s words drew Ron’s thoughts back to the task at hand. She patted the empty bed. “Gently, now,” she offered, and Ron carefully lowered Harry’s body onto the bed, as though how he did so still mattered.
“Is he all righ’, Ron?” asked Hagrid. Their eyes met as he bent over the bed to help with Harry’s body.
Ron froze and suddenly found that he didn’t know what to say, or for that matter even how to say it. He just looked at Hagrid and then to McGongall at a loss for words.
“Mr. Weasley?” chimed in the Headmistress. “Is Mr. Potter all right?”
“No…” Ron stammered, and his lower lip quivered. “He’s dead. Hagrid, he’s dead!” Ron croaked, having seen the look of disbelief in the giant’s eyes.
The silence that fell when they entered the room suddenly broke with a number of hushed whispers, and Ron’s words were passed from person to person in between pronounced gasps of astonishment.
“Don’ say that,” replied Hagrid sharply. “Don’ yeh say that Ron…it’s not true.”
“Yes, Hagrid” Ron replied, now unable to hold back his tears, “it is true.”
Why was he doing this? Thought Ron. Couldn’t Hagrid see just how much it was killing him to even say the words?
“But how, Mr. Weasley?” McGongall asked, and she turned a shade of white Ron had never seen before. “How did this happen?”
“He sacrificed himself…” Ron moaned, “to destroy Voldemort.” The words tumbled out of his mouth and although he heard them, the ambiguity in Ron’s voice denoted that even he couldn’t believe what he was saying.
“Merlin’s beard, no…” Hagrid gasped beneath his breath. His shocked and saddened gaze fell upon Harry. A rather large tear formed in the corner of his eye and making no attempt to wipe it away, Hagrid allowed it to fall carelessly down his cheek.
The room erupted, this time with the sounds of bewilderment and gentle sobbing.
“Can anything at all be done?” Ron heard McGongall say.
Confused as to why she would even be asking him such a question, Ron laid eyes on the Headmistress. He soon realized that she wasn’t addressing him at all. Instead, she looked to her right ” just past Hagrid ” into the crowd of faces at the foot of Harry’s bed. Ron followed her gaze and watched the mob of people slowly part. In their midst, they revealed a rather tall man with flowing silver hair, beard and mustache; a pair of half-moon spectacles sat upon his crooked nose. Albus Dumbledore stood serenely before them.
“But…but how?” Ron sputtered, and the same look of astonishment upon his own face crossed over Ginny and Hermione’s.
Surely, he was seeing things, thought Ron.
“You died…” he rambled and swallowed hard in disbelief, “you’re supposed to be dead.”
“Ah, yes, well Mr. Weasley things are not always as they seem,” replied Dumbledore with a casual air of delight.
“Can the boy be saved, Albus?” McGongall asked, her voice grave.
“That depends,” answered Dumbledore and he made his way to Harry’s bedside.
“On what?” Ron asked in an incredulous tone, for he knew that there was no way to reverse the Killing Curse. At least it was something he and the others had always been told.
“On how exactly, Mr. Weasley, he died,” clarified Dumbledore.
Hermione stepped forward. She cleared her throat and recounted for them the gruesome details of what occurred in the forest just that very morning. The crowd stood silently before her and stared, hanging on her every word. The news of Harry being a Horcrux caused a particular stir of emotion, at one point, that fluttered about the room in one collective, agitated gasp of horror. In everyone, noticed Ron, but Dumbledore. Instead, the old Headmaster just looked at Hermione as though she had only confirmed what he had already long ago suspected. The crowd settled and Hermione found her voice again. She touched upon Harry’s death and just over his shoulder, Ron heard Ginny sniffle. He perused the crowd and saw that many of the faces that were once so focused upon Hermione, were now tilted towards the floor. Everyone was apparently lost in their own thoughts. Ron’s eyes drifted to Hermione, whose expression told him that she was feeling quite vulnerable. He wanted nothing more than to ease her suffering, to shield her from the awful truth. Their eyes met and Ron saw his own pain reflected back at him. He reached out for her smooth, delicate hand and took it in his own.
“Albus?” McGongall spoke up at once. Expectation rang quite clearly in her voice.
Instead of answering, Dumbledore simply turned and addressed Hermione.
“You are certain, Miss Granger,” he calmly asked the young witch, “that it was Harry’s own wand that he used on himself?”
“Yes, sir. I am.” Hermione answered confidently, and Ron recalled in his own mind how Harry had silently summoned forth his wand from the ground.
“Well then, Minerva,” Dumbledore replied, giving his full attention to the Headmistress. “All may not yet be lost.”
Dumbledore sat on the bed next to Harry, and with great ease leaned over the young wizard’s face. Ron watched him hover just above Harry, as though he were searching for some small sign of life behind the boy’s otherwise vacant façade.
“Harry,” Dumbledore called soothingly to the boy, and Ron felt the crowd tighten in around him. “It is time…” he added. “Open your eyes.”
All of them held their breath in anticipation. Not a single person in the room moved. The silence would have been deafening, Ron thought, if not for the distant sound of the clock tower down the hall. One chime. Harry’s eyes remained closed. Two chimes. His body lay silently upon the bed. Three chimes. Still nothing. Four chimes. Hope faded.
One by one, they allowed themselves to breathe again, and the awful reality of the situation painfully presented itself to all of them once more. Ron felt despair as the masses turned away from Harry’s bed. They were crushed and disillusioned, the expressions on their faces telling him that many had concluded that it was simply too late.
Ron cradled Hermione in his arms, and she wept. He eyed Ginny ” who had been clinging heavily to hope. Her eyelids were closed tight, as though she were trying desperately to block out the reality of the moment and a trickle of fresh tears fell down her face. The sorrow in the room intensified and peaked somewhat when Hagrid ” overcome with an enormous amount of sorrow ” burst out crying. He blew his nose into his oversized handkerchief and was ushered by McGongall to a nearby corner for further comfort. Dumbledore, however, simply remained seated next to Harry. He wore a rather peaceful expression, a look that anyone, who truly believes there is a better world beyond their own, carries with a subtle sense of comfort.
Ron’s eyes fell upon Neville. He stood at the foot of Harry’s bed looking utterly helpless. Ron thought he knew exactly how Neville felt. Slowly, he drew his sights back towards Harry. Ron felt the hot, stinging sensation of his own tears, and tightening his hold on Hermione, buried his face in her neck.
And that’s when he heard Neville shout.
“Look!”
Ron’s head shot up, and he and Hermione abruptly broke apart. Ginny, too, opened her eyes. They focused hard upon Neville and the crowd quickly gathered around Harry’s bed once more.
And slowly…gradually…they all saw it too.