Chapter Twenty-Six
Harry woke up to unfamiliar surroundings, and took a minute to remember the events of the evening before. He couldn’t recall even falling asleep, much less the time such an event occurred. Someone had thought to cover him up after the fire had gone out. Ginny was no longer beside him. She had likely woken up early. Harry realized that she wasn’t the only one who had vacated the room. No one else could immediately be seen. He clamored to a stand, and followed the smell of greasy, frying sausages and the rich, earthy smell of potatoes into the kitchen. He couldn’t hear any conversation through the door, and so, could only be reassured of their presence by crossing the threshold.
Hermione and Ron fell into view as he passed through the sitting room. They were cuddled up the same way they were in the boys’ dormitory the other night. Even asleep, Ron looked exhausted. He wasn’t taking Percy’s death well at all, understandably. Today was the day of the Releasing Ceremony, Harry remembered. He took a deep breath, preparing for the gloom on the other side of the door.
His nose had correctly identified the savory scents. What joy there normally was at the breakfast table could not be located by any sense, however. Judging by the deep-set wrinkles, protruding veins, and darkened eyes, the few hours of sleep they may have acquired did little to soothe their minds.
“Good Morning, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley in a manner that meant otherwise. “Please sit. Breakfast will be ready shortly.”
Harry felt sitting wasn’t the right thing to do. “Actually, I was hoping I could finish up for you, Mrs. Weasley,” he replied, approaching the stove.
“Oh, don’t be silly-“
“It would help,” he interrupted pointedly.
Her shoulders relaxed and she handed the spatula over to Harry. He immediately got to work turning the hash, while Mrs. Weasley sat next to her husband at the table. She took his hand and gave it a strong squeeze. He, in turn, gave her a small smile. Their method of coping, grieving, and being strong for their family, was relying on each other’s strength.
Ever the matriarch, she glanced at each of her children to check on their well-being. Bill, Charlie, George and Fred sipped at their tea, staring anywhere but at each other. They had yet to shed a tear, but their contemplative silence spoke volumes about their true feelings. They were men, so they refused to open a hole in their towers of strength, for fear that they would crumple. Ginny was at the end of the long, wooden table. Her head was resting in her palm, and she was tracing the rim of her cup constantly and mindlessly.
The line between Mrs. Weasley’s eyes creased with concern. “Ginny dear, you’ve been up for some time. Are you sure you wouldn’t fancy a nap?”
“No, Mum,” she sighed. “I’m all right.”
Molly’s face crushed like a paper bag, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Oh. I love you all so much!”
“We love you too, Mum,” said Charlie softly.
“It’s just so . . . Most of you are in the Order, and now he’s coming after us . . .” her voice wavered.
“Molly, you don’t have to-“ said Mr. Weasley, moving to hold his despairing wife.
“No, Arthur. I want to.” She looked at them seriously, with bloodshot eyes. “I care for you all, so much,” she said, now and then looking at Harry, as well. “I want you to know that. And . . . I am so afraid to lose someone else. One . . . it’s bad enough.” She sniffled and looked at her husband. He gripped her hand, encouraging her to finish. “But, I do want you to go on. We have to. Just . . . just, please, think of your mother and father before you do something dangerous. Be careful . . .”
Mr. Weasley took over for his wife. “It’s difficult to think about continuing on with . . . the Order, and our purpose, but we have to. We can beat this. We just cannot give up hope.”
The Weasleys offered them small smiles of thanks. Harry listened to their blurred speech slumped, with his arms hanging loosely. They didn’t give the kind of speech one hears in films, but everyone felt the impact and meaning of those words anyway. They were truly loved, and they had a duty to help the wizarding world fight against Voldemort. He appreciated their unspoken efforts to include him in their emotional oration more than he could say.
Feeling anti-climactic, Harry cleared his throat. “Well, um . . . breakfast is ready . . .” he said and set plates in front of each person. Ron and Hermione wandered in later with immense yawns. No one felt like talking. They merely pushed the food around their plates with the appetites of rabbits. After some time, they admitted defeat and left the kitchen. For the first time, the dishes were left by the sink, unclean.
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It was a grey, dreary outdoors. The clouds hung low, dark with pregnancy. It was normal for this part of the world, but Harry felt as if this day was created by nature out of distress over Percy’s death.
Dumbledore had arrived previously, looking absolutely devoid of energy- a rare sight. He said he’s spent his evening putting up safeguards should an attack be launched against Hogwarts during his absence. He’d also mentioned that Harry’s affairs there had been successfully postponed for a few days. Harry hadn’t wasted a thought on the matter, however. Just before disappearing into a private meeting with Molly (to prepare her for the ceremony), he’d mentioned that he needed to see Harry as soon as he returned to school. It was a cryptic message, and Harry couldn’t think of anything Dumbledore could want from him. He shrugged it off.
Harry stretched his fingers across the window glass upon which he rested his forehead. The whole ordeal last night only brought back the poignancy of Sirius’ death. The glass felt cool, with grotesquely cheerful rain drops trailing down. He scowled at them, but was grateful for the coolness. It was so difficult to see the point of it all, from his vantage point. Why should all the rest of the world be saved, when Harry seemed to be losing everyone?
Some moments, he was within seconds of giving up.
Hermione smoothly padded down the length of stairs to him. He was sitting on the landing floor in front of a tall window. She waited there for a moment. Then, with an “Oh!” she flopped down beside him and encircled his thin torso with her arms. “I’m so sorry, Harry,” she whispered solemnly. He could feel his shirt getting wet from her tears.
He remained silent. He put a consoling arm around her, but that was all. He couldn’t look her in the eye. He felt as if the moment he did, he would be a bawling baby. The ever-perceptive witch pulled away and looked simply, openly and honestly into her best friend’s green eyes. “Please, Harry? I need this . . .”
She slumped into this chest and he caught her, feeling terrible. As Harry recalled, Percy was someone Hermione put on a pedestal of sorts. Of course she needed to grieve too. She’d been huddled with Ron the whole time, feeling as if she had to be strong for him. She could only find sympathy with the only other outsider, Harry. She lay there in his arms, crying for the better part of an hour. Her unrelenting flow of sorrow gave way to intermittent gasps; then silence.
It was almost funny how the tendrils of hair stuck to the tear trails. She now had eyes resembling a raccoon’s. She, however, paid her looks no heed. “I have to ask you for a favor,” she said seriously.
“What’s that?” he asked, his voice husky.
“I need you to talk to Ron.”
“Hermione, I don’t think he wants-“
“He does. He just doesn’t know it yet. I just . . . I can’t do it all on my own,” her voice shook, “You know what it’s like. I don’t- not really. You can do better than me.” Although she’d stopped crying, her breathing hadn’t slowed. Her tone spoke of desperation. “Don’t avoid him. It’s easier, I know, but he needs you. Just you.”
He nervously glanced around the small landing, but caught her eye. He eyed his socks and muttered, “All right.”
She rested a palm on his shoulder. “Thank you, Harry, for this. For everything.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Though her eyes welled up with tears again, she stared skyward and blinked them away.
Harry grudgingly went up the remainder of the staircase to the room he and Ron shared. He knocked quietly, inwardly hoping Ron wouldn’t hear, and Harry would be set free from this task.
“What?” called a groggy voice from inside.
Harry cracked open the door and stuck in his head. Ron waved him into the room grudgingly. He was lying on his bed, propped up against the headboard. He was half-heartedly flicking his wand. It would emit different colored sparks. It reminded Harry of himself those several weeks ago. “How are you holding up?” Harry asked, as sensitively- yet casually- as he could.
“I’m not leaping for joy or anything,” he said darkly.
Harry sighed. He knew this would be a challenge. “Can I?”
“What?”
“Well . . . just . . . I’m sorry, for . . .uh . . . what happened. I hadn’t said it before . . .” The sparks were getting stronger. Harry warily continued. “Do you, uh, want to talk . . . or something?” He added the last bit for masculinity’s sake. These scenes were always easier for girls.
Ron pursed his lips together. “Ok,” said Harry, and lay back on his own bed.
Moments later, Ron decided he did have something to say. “Why the bloody hell does he have to come after us?” he shouted. Harry was glad Ron’s wand was no longer within his grasp. “What do we have?”
Ron stood and angrily paced the room. He glared at the very air. “It’s my fault, you know,” he said distinctly Malfoy-like.
“It’s not-“
“It’s me that associated with you first year. Me! I brought him into this-“
“-Well I didn’t know this would happen!”
“Well, it did, didn’t it? Why can’t he just leave us alone? It’s you he wants!”
Harry couldn’t conceive of controlling his anger during this direct attack. “Hell, I guess I should just leave, huh? Just leave the country! Is that what you want?” he spat cruelly.
“I want you out of my life!”
“I want you out of my house!”
“This wouldn’t be your effing house if Sirius hadn’t died because of you!”
Ron had crossed the line. Harry swung a right hook into Ron’s face. He, in turn, charged at Harry, ramming his fists into his stomach. They grappled there, sending choruses of bangs and clunks downstairs. Hermione and Ginny burst into the room, one after the other. Their jaws dropped in shock at the sight before them.
“Ron!”
“Harry!”
The boys were far too caught up to pay attention, however. The ladies didn’t want to risk hurting them or themselves in order to break apart the fight. The only option- and ultimately, the best choice- was to let them expel their mutual aggression. Hermione and Ginny sat on Harry’s bed, watching shrewdly. There was nothing to fear. After all, the good punches had already been wasted. At this point, they were only wrestling away their anger.
Only a few minutes later, they broke away and sat panting on the floor. Hermione’s jaw was clenched. “And what’s all this about?”
“You two are best friends, and decided now would be as good a time as any to pummel each other to death?” Ginny snapped.
“He blamed Sirius and Percy on ME!”
“With good reason,” Ron growled back, achingly getting to his knees.
“What?” Hermione said, distressed. “It’s not his fault, and you know it!”
“Do I? Miss know-it-all?”
Harry and Ginny shrank back. Ron looked at her defiantly. Her voice dropped dangerously low. “Don’t you get started on me-“
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll lose yourself a friend AND a girlfriend.”
“You wouldn’t . . .”
She only glared back at him. He got his breath under control, and climbed to his feet. He sat next to his girlfriend, his clawed hands in his hair, and staring at the floorboards. As Harry worked at getting to his feet, Ginny spoke to her brother tentatively. “Ron? I know, ok? It’s hard to . . . try to do this without someone to blame. But . . . it’s not Harry.”
“I know,” Ron mumbled, annoyed.
After pausing a moment, she continued. “It’s hard for me too, you know. I didn’t . . .” Tears were forming in her eyes. “I didn’t even try to talk to him. I didn’t even get to tell him I’m sorry.”
He looked kindly at his little sister. “Gin,” he groaned, “I wasn’t even thinking about you. I’ve been-“ He gestured at nothing in particular.
He hugged her in a way that only a brother could. Sometimes, Harry didn’t appreciate that Ron and Ginny were part of a very close family. This was not one of those times. He gave her a consoling squeeze, and backed off a bit. Hermione held Ron’s hand in a manner reminiscent of Molly and Arthur. It was an association that lent a bit of warmth to the situation. Ron was twiddling with the bed sheets when he said, “And, I’m sorry, Harry. I . . . didn’t really mean all that. I-“
“I know.”
While the blood was still pounding through Harry’s veins, he mentally decided to let the gross offense rest. If it was said under any other circumstance . . . well, there were no guarantees. He realized he was staring through Ginny while he was trying to make his body calm down. His eyes focused on her. Her moment with Ron had left a hair sticking to her cheek. He used a finger to push it aside quickly. It felt familiar. She smiled weakly.
There was a knock at the door. The teenagers watched as Mr. Weasley quietly pushed it open and entered. If he saw the fresh bruises, he said nothing.
“The Releasing Ceremony will be held in forty-five minutes . . . at The Burrow.” His jaw clenched as he said, “I should tell you. They’ve set fire to our home.”
“What?” they asked, horrified.
“That’s stupid. We can repair it easily with magic-“
“Not everything, Ron,” said Hermione.
“Most of it was salvaged. That wasn’t the point. It was meant to be symbolic of their intent.”
“But Dad, what if they’re still there? Won’t they try to get to us during the ceremony?”
“No, Ginny, Honey. I’ve arranged an extensive guard, as well as many protective spells on the area. There were several people at the ministry who were eager to help. It’s what we’ve been doing most of the day. I think it’s the only appropriate place to . . . release him.” He choked up a bit, but blew in his eyes to dry them. “Girls, Tonks has set out black robes for you. You boys can find something black, as well?”
They nodded.
“Um, Mr. Weasley? What do we do? For the ceremony, I mean?” asked Harry. He had never been to a wizard funeral of any kind, and felt lost in the preparation.
“You’ll know.”
“How?” Harry didn’t want to appear rude, but he had to know.
“Do you remember that kind of magic you performed before you knew you were a wizard, Harry?”
Hermione nodded along with Harry. She was ever eager to learn new information. She had never been to a Releasing Ceremony either.
“We call it wandless magic. It comes from witches and wizards of long ago, who didn’t use wands. It is the type of magic that is used for Releasing Ceremonies. The ceremony goes beyond any of our books and teachings; it is ancient. The wandless magic comes from a part of ourselves that we sometimes forget. It’s something like a magical intuition. It will all come naturally.”
With that, he strolled out. Ginny and Hermione crawled off the bed. “We’d better go get ready.”
Harry had an easy time finding a black robe. Ron dug around for fifteen minutes, and managed to find a dingy one with a tattered hemline. He clicked his tongue in grudging acceptance, and put it on. Like most men, they were ready in minutes.
“Harry, can I ask you something?”
Harry looked at him, signaling an affirmative. “Percy was gone for so long, before . . . you know. So I can’t tell if it’s like he’s not gone now, or if he was gone the entire time.”
“Yeah?”
“Is that bad? Was he d- passed on, to me? Before?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“You’re not like that.”
“Oh.”
The conversation was enough for two teenage boys. Verbal clarity of thoughts was not their highest concern. They decided to pass the remaining minutes with a wordless game of Wizard Chess. Ron was playing mindlessly, so Harry was winning. It was a hollow victory.
Without warning, a low rumble sounded and the house shook as it would on an erupting volcano. It reminded Harry of a ship’s horn, but this one was more of a hum; as if done over a loudspeaker by a deep-voiced man. Both boys jumped to their feet and wandered into the hallway.
They walked slowly, side-by-side, and stared straight ahead. Hermione motioned them to fall in behind them by cocking her head to the side. The rumble continued, and Harry found himself humming with it. A glance to the side confirmed Ron was also. Harry couldn’t tell if it was the vibration or the noise, but the hairs on his arms were standing on end and chills continually raced down his spine.
They took each step down the stairs slowly. To Harry, it seemed to be a kind of dark wedding march. They steadily made their way into the sitting room. Some of the Order members were already there. They, too, were humming. Harry surmised they were likely the source of the uproarious noise. The sound was incredibly loud, but soothing in some way. Everyone was wearing black. There were a few new faces, but Harry didn’t think hard on that fact. The foursome filled a gap within a particularly large circle of people, and put their left hands on a large, silver hoop as the other did. As one, they stomped their foot once while continuing the eerie hum.
Upon the signal, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came in through the kitchen. At least, Harry was certain that was who it was. Mrs. Weasley looked to be heavily shrouded. He couldn’t even see her face. They, too, touched the huge ring when they filled in the gap left open for the couple.
In unison, the group stomped once. Without thought, their free arms wrapped around the torso of the person to their right. Harry perceived it as a gesture of cohesiveness. The ring began to emit a faint, electric-blue hue. It gained strength and color. Harry felt the power of the object deep in his abdomen. The group took two stomps. The humming ceased instantly, and they were whisked away to The Burrow.
The fact that it was pouring rain at the Weasley home didn’t stifle the ceremony a bit. The instant they stood, they resumed the drone; only this time, it was even louder. Hundreds of other witches and wizards were there. They formed a large crowd, split down the middle. It was a passage for the company newly arrived- the family of the dead.
Harry could see, at the end of the passageway, a body lying on a high platform. His stomach tightened. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley led the way. In sets of two, they slowly walked toward what used to be Percy.
When they entered the sea of people, the hum was deafening. It only gained momentum as they neared the body, until it sounded as though the world was covered in bees. They each were handed a white lily as they passed. Harry was disturbed by a poignant thought about his mother.
When they reached the base of the platform, they formed a semi-circle. Harry noticed Mr. Weasley joined the family, but Mrs. Weasley did not. Harry, along with the rest of the family, locked hands with the people on either side of him. Mrs. Weasley mounted a step Harry hadn’t seen before, turned and faced the massive gathering. She threw off her voluminous black robes to reveal scarlet ones. She opened her mouth, and out came a sound that reminded Harry of Indian music. Upon first hearing the shrill sound, the humming stopped. Her voice sent Harry’s heart in a flutter. The chill was perpetual.
In the distance, Harry could see The Burrow. Part of the roof was gone. Soot was visible all over. The windows were darkened. The house wasn’t getting wet though. There was likely a shield put over it. The prolonged silence brought back Harry’s attention.
Mrs. Weasley was both wet and crying. Ginny, Hermione, and- surprisingly- George were in a similar position. The rest seemed to be working constantly at controlling their emotions. Molly gathered herself, and began to sign an enchanting, lilting song; a lone voice in the black mass.
“We gather this day to mourn for thee,” she sang sweetly with high notes.
Unexpectedly, Harry found himself singing a response with the crowd. “Known to us all, blessed be, blessed be.”
“The thread of life is cut for thee.”
“'Tis Fate’s design, blessed be, blessed be.”
“The cloud collects; rain falls for thee.”
“They feel our pain, blessed be, blessed be.”
“Our hearts will bleed; we grieve for thee.”
“Heal our tears, blessed be, blessed be.”
“Though our souls, they cling to thee.”
“We set thee free, blessed be, blessed be.”
The last line, Mrs. Weasley sang with all of her emotion. It was drawn out, willing an end to the song. “We release thee.”
They responded in kind. “Blessed be.”
The words seemed to come directly from Harry’s soul. He felt as though the song was an ancient consciousness that resided in an abandoned corner in the minds of all of wizard kind.
Mrs. Weasley stepped down. Ginny, who was on the far left, moved onto the step. She set her lily on the body of her brother. The rain was pouring down in great buckets, extinguishing any chance of hearing what Ginny was so fervently saying to Percy. After a moment of her head lying on his stomach, she stepped down and returned to her place, as the next person followed suit.
Harry watched as each person returned. All were visibly upset upon their return. He had an inkling that Percy still looked the worse for wear. Too quickly, it was his turn. His feet and brain were numb. The rest of him felt soggy and cramped as he took the step.
Percy’s cheeks had sunk in, outlining his skull beneath. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. “I’m . . . sorry, Percy," he wavered. He looked down at the face he'd scowled at. It was the same one that now carried the deep scars of torture.
"I misjudged you . . . so many times." The hum washed through him, instilling a strength he thought had melted away. His every organ was vibrating with some surreal power. "I wish he didn’t come after you."
He stared at the face that held the features of so many dear to him. His jaw set as a heat rose in his face and burned his eyes. "You didn’t deserve it.” A tear rolled down his cheek, but it only felt like the rain that matted his hair. He looked up, and noticed the sky turning even more abysmally dark. “You did well. I want to say that," he said resolutely, resting his hand on Percy's arm. "And . . . thank you. Thank you for doing whatever you could to protect them . . . and me,” he whispered.
He gingerly set his lily atop the pile already on his chest. He took a last, lingering survey of his face, and then stepped down. Mr. Weasley took his turn- it lasted a long while- and then Mrs. Weasley did. She looked magnificent. Like everyone, her hood was off. Harry noticed that all of the women wore their hair down. Even though they were all sopping wet, it was a beautiful sight. There was a natural pulchritude about it.
When she finished, Mrs. Weasley turned toward the crowd. She lifted her arms into the air.
“Emancipatium,” they chanted as one.
They all stomped once, and the earth- rumbling droning recommenced. The sound escalated, and grew more vibrant. Harry then saw tiny specks of light rising out of Percy. They didn’t dissipate, but floated through the air, like bubbles. Some landed on noses; some floated endlessly upward. Many more floated into trees and onto the grass. Each light extinguished as it hit a solid object.
One such sprinkle fell upon a gold ring Harry had taken to wearing. It was the same Dumbledore had given him for his birthday. Instead of extinguishing, it ignited the ring, and caused it to illuminate for several seconds.
He was even more mystified when Percy’s body faded away as the last firefly-like lights emitted from his body. The thrum ended just as Percy was extinguished. Harry must have looked worried, because Mr. Weasley leaned in. “It’s supposed to happen. He is now a part of the air we breathe.”
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The crowd was gone. After the ceremony, they approached the surrounding wood, which was rich green in color from the barrage of rain. The leaves lent a crisp quality to the air, and moved as the wet droplets landed upon their leafy veins.
The guests grabbed hold of their separate portkeys and left. Harry sensed an inner peace, or at least acceptance, after the ceremony. Still, he was curious. He saw Bill standing alone, staring vaguely through sheets of rain at the horizon.
“Bill?”
“Mm?”
“The lights. Was that his soul?”
“Yes, it was,” he sighed, and pulled his fingers through his long hair. It, too, hung freely. Pulling it back did little good, because the rain washed it back down onto his forehead.
“It was trapped in there until today?”
“Yes. That’s why it’s called the Releasing Ceremony. We release the soul to return from whence it came,” he said. His hand weaved through the air, and returned to his pocket.
“Where did he disappear to?”
“We don’t know, really. Does it happen to Muggles?”
“No.”
“No . . . I guess it wouldn’t, with the soul still inside.”
“I thought the soul leaves when they . . . when they pass.”
“No. At least, not in wizards. It- as I understand it- permeates every cell of the body, spreading out. That’s why they look like they’ve . . . gone. It’s no longer en mass, and offers no expression. Those tiny bits that spread out, those are what you saw tonight.”
“Oh,” said Harry lamely. It was disappointing to know wizards knew about as much as Muggles when it came to death. “And the lilies?”
“Symbolic of returning to our purest state. That’s also why they’re white.” He spoke with a low rumble. It seemed that speaking was soothing to him. “There’s a lot of symbolism. Mum was the Mistress of Ceremony as the matriarch of the family. There’s something special about a mother’s blood, which is why she wore red.” He paused, and spoke his thoughts aloud. “It was very difficult for her. She spent the whole day in training to channel her sorrow and power. Without that, Percy couldn’t have been released.”
“Can I ask something stupid?” asked Harry, reminding Bill of his presence.
The corner of his mouth tweaked upward. “Yeah.”
“Is it raining because of us?”
“I’ve wondered that before, too. I’ll put it this way: wizards have never been able to change the weather at will. Yet, strangely enough, I’ve never been to a Releasing Ceremony where it hasn’t rained, just like this.” He put his palm out in front of him, captured a few rain drops, and clasped them tightly in his fist. He seemed sad to see the drops slip between his fingers and fall to the ground.
“It’s kind of nice.”
“The rain?” he asked doubtfully.
“Yeah,” he said, staring off toward the trees, where he saw a young woman standing alone against the creeping darkness. “It feels like someone’s on our side.”
Life of the Legend: A Year Six Story by AlexisTaylor
Chapter Notes: (A/N) This chapter has some belief/faith elements that may stand contrary to the reader’s interpretation of such matters. Please do not let it offend you. It is a unique belief system, which I feel fits in well with the Harry Potter universe. Please take it in an unbiased manner. If you cannot, please skip this chapter.