Chapter Twenty-Five
The scene before them evoked the kind of palpable tension only death creates.
Everyone was there. Mr. Weasley was trying to comfort his wife, whose eyes were rimmed in a raw red color. Her whole body was trembling with an effort to hold back the torrent of emotions that were threatening to wash out of her with all the rage of a waterfall. She held back for her children, who didn’t bother withholding. Ginny was sobbing on her mother’s lap. Arthur’s head rested on Molly’s; his arm lay protectively around her. His eyes were glazed over as he glared into the flickering fire.
Ron sat on the sofa at the feet of his sorrowful sister, ramrod straight. His hands clasped in his lap, he didn’t move. He didn’t blink, but his Adam’s apple bobbed almost continually. Bill, Charlie, Fred and George were in the corner, whispering with low hisses.
When Hermione spotted Ron, she rushed over and threw her arms around his neck. With his girlfriend blocking everyone’s view of him, Ron let his rigid sorrow be released. Harry walked over to Mrs. Weasley, wanting badly to apologize for something he wasn’t sure of. She looked up at him with an indistinguishable expression. Still, she held out an arm, and Harry gladly hugged her, hoping that it helped in some way. His stomach felt like he’d swallowed an eggplant whole as he pulled away, leaving her to handle the bereaved Ginny. He looked at the group in the corner. George saw him and motioned him over.
“How did she know?” Bill asked when the dark-haired teenager got close enough.
“She saw it, when . . . uh, we did a reading,” he said uncertainly.
“Mum told us Ginny can see auras?” prompted Fred.
“Yes. Well, that’s what we call a reading. Kind of.”
“So your aura said Percy was being held captive?” asked George disbelievingly. He probably would have normally cracked a clever joke, but these were different circumstances.
“No. She went into my mind, and we went into You-Know-Who’s. Kind of a psycho-Legilimency thing.”
“I had no idea she could do that,” said Charlie.
“None of us did. Not until tonight, anyway.”
“Gin couldn’t speak when she arrived. What exactly happened, Harry? We all just got a message to come here quickly,” said Bill.
“What did you two see?”
Harry grew nervous again. He felt a pressure in the room as tangible as the death that touched the family. His head felt like it held a pound of pure lead. He didn’t care to share as much as Ginny didn’t. He understood what would happen if he came. As the only other person who knew what was going on was otherwise occupied, it was his obligation to at least answer a few questions. “We saw . . . his last moments.”
They took a moment to let this fact dribble down their spines like ice water. Suddenly, it seemed, the room was far too cold. Apparently, Mr. Weasley felt the chill as well, because he struck up a fire in the brick fireplace. The flare of the flames lent a rosy glow to everyone’s face. Harry wondered if this was where the fire was in his vision. Then he realized it couldn’t be, because Voldemort could not read the future, and this scene could not have been in his brain.
Fred spoke up. “What I don’t understand is, why Percy?”
“What’s the point in getting him?”
“V . . . You-Know-Who wanted information,” Harry answered regretfully.
“From Percy? All he knew was Cornelius Fudge, and now that he’s been sacked, it’s useless information,” said Charlie.
“It wasn’t about Fudge . . .” said Harry quietly, staring at the painting over the mantelpiece. It was the scene of a great battle. The streaks of spells flashing across the painting were nearly beautiful, even in their deadliness. There was much blood. One poor wizard in the corner was artfully painted. His eyes lay wide open and the skin on his cheek had been scraped off. Bone could be seen through the injury, and his leg was gruesomely bent at an inhuman angle.
“What then?” interrupted Fred, quickly irritated at Harry’s inattention.
Bill’s jaw twitched. “The only other thing Percy knows . . . knew about was . . .”
The widening eyes confirmed the answer. They knew.
“I’m sorry,” was all Harry could say, loathing himself for the part he played.
Harry felt like it was his fault; as if he’d betrayed the whole family by allowing Voldemort to see the Weasleys’ importance. They just stared at him. He couldn’t tell if their narrowed eyes were a confirmation of his feelings, or if they were simply wearing the expressions of people thinking hard about the repercussions of their realization. They were silent for what felt like hours. If there was a normal clock in the room, he certainly would have heard the tick-tick-tick of the second hand. Instead, he heard Ron’s low, husky voice, Ginny’s shuddering breath, and the occasional whispers of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Harry avoided their eyes. He was appalled to find his eyes always coming back to the painting over the mantle. He was afraid of the blame they surely would hoist upon his back. “It’s you!” they would say. “It’s your fault he’s dead! We should throw you out to those wolves!” Had he chosen to look into even one face, he would have seen only the perception of hovering danger; bravado laced with intense fear.
“Uh,” Charlie began, clearing his throat. “So, he . . . died because he didn’t know anything?”
He realized Percy had never been to Grimmauld Place. Even if there wasn’t a Secret Keeper for the Order, Percy had no information to give. “He never said he didn’t know anything. He kept saying he wouldn’t tell . . .”
“So he was all right?” asked George.
“After everything . . .” said Bill.
Fred looked aghast. “Blimey.”
“Yeah,” said Harry unnecessarily. “He was.”
With the newfound information that Percy refused to give them up, even after he’d effectively disowned his own family, offered some comfort to the remaining members of the Weasley clan. Finally, something Harry said made it a little better than terrible and pointless. There wasn’t much to say after that, so he turned back toward the group on the furniture, along with the older male Weasleys. He spotted Ginny looking at them as they approached. Her eyes were squinting, and Harry assumed it was from the lighting the fire offered. She seemed mollified, and satisfied in her findings. She gave Harry a very slight nod.
She turned to her parents. “ I want you to know, he died for us, for the Order.”
They were stunned. Mrs. Weasley sucked in her breath audibly. “What? Darling, what do you mean?”
“Yes, how could you know that?” asked Mr. Weasley, obviously concerned. “Has Harry had another vision?”
“Erm . . .Well, yes . . .” she replied evasively.
Harry hadn’t expected the crestfallen droop of his eyes. He didn’t know it was even possible. It made Arthur look far beyond his years. Each wrinkle became more pronounced. His forefinger and thumb pressed hard into his eyes. Harry’s chest constricted as though in a vice. He wasn’t sure he could handle Mr. Weasley’s tears. “If only . . .” he choked out. The family waited for him, anticipating a question. He paused, and took a moment to collect himself. His forehead resting on his palm, he asked Harry with great anxiety, “Was it quick? He didn’t suffer, did . . .?”
Harry’s eyes flickered at Ginny for a millisecond. He didn’t want to lie, but he was sure he couldn’t say it out loud, to himself or them. “No . . . n-no he didn’t,” he said simply.
Ginny affirmed with another one of her private nods. It was good that such a simple phrase made them feel better, but Harry heard the echoing scream resounding in his brain.
The family all pretty much stayed in the sitting room for the remainder of the long night. Occasionally, Molly would go into the kitchen to replenish the tea. Sometimes, Mr. Weasley would go with her, and they would stay gone for long periods of time. Ron and Hermione were sitting against the wall, speaking in hushed tones. Harry was glad for Hermione’s presence. Harry had no idea what to say to Ron. “I’m sorry your brother’s dead,” just seemed too blunt and inappropriate.
Once, late into the night, Hermione all but pushed Ron into the kitchen. He was biting back anger. His face bulged in a deep red. Harry was unpleasantly reminded of Uncle Vernon. It was disturbing to see his best friend in such form. Harry only heard disconnected words, a few thuds, and a plate shattering. Harry felt helpless. After some time, he and his girlfriend walked back into the room, and asked for some pillows and blankets. Harry watched Bill and Charlie absently as they retrieved the requested supplies.
The vision he and Ginny shared coursed through his brain repetitiously. Nearly all of it made sense, after Dumbledore had explained it. Harry expected quite a bit of information passed freely between Malfoy and his father. This bit was likely the ranting of annoyance rather than purposeful blabbering. It didn’t weaken Harry’s hatred of Malfoy. In fact, the whole of it seemed very Kreature-like. As Sirius felt about the embittered house elf, so Harry felt about Malfoy. He was a constant nuisance, muttering insults under his breath and wagging his tongue to Lucius Malfoy. The cruel comparison made Harry feel slightly satisfied.
There was only one part of the vision that as yet remained a mystery. The great flame that rose up- so close that he felt flushed by it- pinched at his thoughts.
At a time that was either very late, or quite early, the household received word that Dumbledore would be arriving that Thursday to assist with the Releasing Ceremony. The event was based upon the same principle as Muggle funerals, as Harry understood it. Yes, that Thursday was going to be dismal and despairing.
Mrs. Weasley encouraged everyone to go to bed, but they only shrugged it off. “I can’t sleep,” said Ginny without emotion.
She tried to stay up with her children, but Mr. Weasley sweetly asked her to come up to bed with him. With a comforting arm about her waist, he slowly led his wife upstairs. Moments like these reminded Harry of why they stayed together over the years. He gained a kind of hope from witnessing such sweet scenes.
No one else felt inclined to leave the sitting room. It was as if they were afraid to blink, for fear one of them would be snatched away while one’s eyes were closed. Harry noticed a few cots out, along with the multitudes of plush, cotton covers and pillows. They would all sleep together, the Weasleys, and take comfort in the presence of their kin. The loss of Percy created an urge to cling fast to one another.
Harry saw a bit of himself in the human need. He, however, had no family to cling to. Renewed sorrow leapt up from somewhere behind his sternum. Yes, he was sad for Percy. He hadn’t known him too well, though. He would never tell the others, but Percy’s death reminded him of Sirius’, and caused him more pain than he could ever feel for the former Head Boy. Why couldn’t Voldemort just forget about everyone else, and come after Harry, like he wanted to?
He knew why. He understood the logic behind the tragedy. It didn’t filter through his anger at the pointlessness of it all, though. Everyone was dying- because of him! He would gladly give up his life if he knew it would be the end of Voldemort’s reign of hypocrisy and murder. He knew that wouldn’t happen. So the self-styled Dark Lord wanted eternal life? It looked like he’d achieved that, so what was the point? Did he want to be King of the World or something? Would even that be enough?
He kicked the leg of the sofa, resulting in a pulsing ache in his toes, and shooting pain in his calves. He’d been pacing, frustrated and restless, seeking an answer within his mind. However, there was only one person who had an answer, and it was the very man he wished he knew how to kill, once and for all.
Ginny called him from amid a pile of blankets in front of the fire. “Harry? Sit with me . . .”
He went over and settled next to her, propping one leg up. Her face looked sunburned from being so near the fire. “Why don’t you go get a cot? You’re getting burned.”
“I can’t. Everywhere else is so cold.” She glared with malice at the very fire that brought her inner comfort. She bit her upper lip in thought. “It was good of you to lie to them. I wanted to thank you for that.”
“Lie?”
“About his death being painless.”
“You heard it too, then? In the vision?”
She only looked down at her hands in response. While she was in the throes of remorse several hours earlier, this was not the pose she held now. Her knees were brought up, slightly apart, with her arms folded across them. It was a contemplative posture.
“I was thinking earlier. I wondered if it was worth it.” Harry looked at her questioningly, but chose not to interrupt her stream of thoughts.
“Why do we bother going through with all of this? Trying to save everyone’s life. What would happen if there was no more Voldemort? People still would have lost their families.” Her voice acquired a hard edge. “And in the end, some other dark wizard will rise up and claim the power. Can there ever be peace? Is there even such a thing as peace?”
Harry thought for a moment. “I don’t think it matters.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe it doesn’t matter if peace exists or not. It’s just something we have to believe in to carry on with our lives.”
“I suppose . . .” she said thoughtfully, absently picking at her nail.
“Even if there is another Voldemort,” he continued, “if we can make life safer . . . and happier- if only for a little while- isn’t that better than not trying at all, and living every day in a horrible world?”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I have to. It’s something my parents- and Sirius- died for . . . and Percy. If I didn’t believe there was something better in the future; some short-lived happiness, then I wouldn’t bother going on. My life’s been rubbish. It’s the moment that matters, I guess I’m trying to say. ‘Seize the Day’ and all that.”
She smiled a little. “Carpe Diem . . .Well,” she sighed, “If that’s the case, then I won’t be backing down. Personally, I’m looking forward to that happy day.”
“I knew you wouldn’t back down. You’re stronger than that. Besides, I need you on my side anyway in case you develop any more interesting powers.”
She snorted a little. “I have plenty to be getting on with.”
“That aura bit has to be annoying; always seeing colors and thoughts . . .”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as you would think. The job’s got its perks.”
“Like what?”
“Like knowing who’s got a thing for Ron,” she smirked.
“Oh really?”
“Yep!” she said proudly. “And, who’s got a thing for me . . .” she said tentatively.
He raised an eyebrow and tried to appear nonchalant. The air suddenly got quite tense, and Harry wasn’t at all comfortable in it. She rested her chin on her forearms, looking into the flames. “Yes, well, I wish he could read MY aura. Then he’d realize that all he has to do is ask, and I’d be happy to go with him,” she said matter-of-factly.
Harry absolutely had to ease the tension. “Is Goyle that obvious?” he joked, trying to get out of this strange hole.
She punched him in the leg. “Oh, right!”
“Ow! You’ve been working out . . .”
After a much lighter moment, she rested her hand on his wrist. “Look. Tomorrow’s going to be hard. Could you, maybe, back me up if I start to fall to pieces?”
“Anytime, bully.”
The corner of her mouth twitched up. “Thank you . . . for the whole night,” she said, and let her lips skim across his cheek. She didn’t see him blush as her head fell to his shoulder. Instinctively, his arm wrapped around her back.