Harry Potter and the Simulacrum Seal

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Last Horcrux

Ron gently cradled Hermione's uninjured hand as she rested. He watched her peaceful face and tried to draw some of that peace into himself, but his mind was too disturbed.

'Leave me alone! I don't want your pity!' she had cried out to him between sobs.

'I don't pity you, I -'

'Go away!'

But he'd come back as soon as she was asleep. His eyes traced the dark red burn running from her right eye socket down the side of her face and under the neckline of her hospital gown. Ron would have torn his own eye out and given it to her if he could.

Everything that had happened to Hermione was his fault. If he hadn't been so stupidly injured, he could have helped her fight. He should never have let Harry go off on his own, and he should never have run over to "Ginny". Why hadn't he seen that something was wrong?!

Constant vigilance. Moody's catchphrase had never been so stinging. Ron felt the urge to punch something, but he didn't want to wake Hermione, so he kept his feelings bottled.

Luna slipped between the curtains and examined Hermione anxiously. 'Is she going to be okay?'

Bitterness surged in Ron's heart. 'What do you think? Does she look "okay" to you?'

With an unflappability that he found irritating, Luna replied, 'She looks better than she did before. Will she keep her arm?'

'I don't know!' he snapped. 'How can you ask that?!'

'Hermione will want to know when she wakes up.'

Ron's nostrils flared, but his anger ebbed. He knew it wasn't fair to be cruel to Luna - and she was right that Hermione would normally want to know everything about her own condition and everyone else's.

He remembered that Hermione had been asking after Harry before. Ron hadn't been able to focus on anything but Hermione, especially since Harry seemed to have no injuries at all.

His bitterness swelled again. A pity that Harry's luck didn't rub off on Hermione or my sister. But he knew that was horribly unfair even as he thought it, and he would never say it out loud to Luna.

'How's Harry?' Ron asked; he knew he sounded angry.

'The same.' Luna took a seat opposite Ron by Hermione's bed and stared up at the white lights.

He frowned, finding the answer completely unsatisfying. 'You mean he hasn't woken up yet?'

Without turning her eyes to his, she answered cryptically, 'I'm not supposed to tell you that he's awake yet.'

Ron blinked as he processed that. 'So he is awake?'

Luna looked at Ron as though he were dense. 'I'm not supposed to say,' she repeated slowly. 'I can tell you how he's feeling, though.'

He waited, but Luna didn't volunteer any information. 'So how is he?'

'Sad and angry. He blames himself for everything, just like you.'

Ron bristled, not liking to be told how he was feeling by a weirdo. 'Whatever. He'll be fine. The Order will debrief him and figure out what to do next.'

That was the first moment Ron had even considered that there had to be a "next". He realized he wasn't ready to think about it - not nearly ready.

They sat in silence, avoiding each other's gaze and trying not to disturb Hermione, until they were interrupted by a Healer who needed to check on Hermione's condition. They exited to give him room to work, and Ron stood uncomfortably in the midst of a large collection of human suffering.

At least they lived to suffer, he thought, thinking sadly of Neville's death. He had died a hero. Part of Ron had thought that would be his own fate, but instead Hermione had wasted resources on rescuing him and left herself open to attack.

He sucked in an uncomfortable breath, and Luna looked at him pityingly. His eyes bored into Hermione's curtains as he waited for the Healer to leave.

'Have you seen Harry?'

Bill's voice startled him. He looked into his brother's scarred face and wondered if that was how Hermione would end up looking. But Bill can see, at least.

Bill was impatient, and Ron wondered why. It was only as Luna responded, 'Yes; he's over there,' that Ron realized he'd been asked a question.

'He's not in his bed,' Bill insisted with urgency in his tone. 'Have either of you seen him about?'

'No,' said Ron. He hadn't seen Harry since the battle, he realized, and that seemed like a very long time ago, though it had been only a few hours.

'Damn it.' Bill turned away and strode out of the wing.

Luna appeared deeply troubled. 'That's strange. He didn't want to get up before.'

'You don't suppose he's in trouble, do you?' Ron knew, despite his anger, that he'd never forgive himself if anything happened to Harry because Ron couldn't bear to check in on him.

'Oh, I doubt that anyone's taken him away by force, if that's what you mean. Voldemort wouldn't need to hide if he came in here; he could kill all of us easily now that he can't die.'

'What?! What do you mean he can't die?'

Luna shushed him; they were gaining both disapproving and frightened looks. Quietly, she told him what had happened - that Voldemort, or Ginny, or however Ron was expected to think of his sister now, was hit by the Killing Curse and fell, but he (or she) reappeared moments later, killing Ministry loyalists in droves.

'Does Harry know why Voldemort can't be killed?'

'I think so, but he didn't tell me.'

Ron knew that, no matter how out of spirits Hermione was, she would want to know about this. Maybe it would be enough to snap her out of her grief.

He looked toward the exit to the wing only a few feet away from Harry's hospital bed.

'Let's find Harry.'

***

They still hadn't found Harry three days later; that was the date of the funeral for Neville and everyone else who had been killed in the battle. It had to take place at night in a secret location, for the Ministry didn't have the manpower left to fight Voldemort, and even Scrimgeour knew that all they could do was wait for the final, inevitable push before the government fell.

People were mostly surprised that it hadn't fallen already.

But for now Ron didn't think about that. He held onto the back of Hermione's wheelchair and let the funeral service filter through his ears. He spent most of the time looking down at the top of Hermione's head; a lot of her hair had been burnt off, and he stared at the portion where a wig had been sewed in. The colour was almost a perfect match, but it wasn't good enough to fool Ron when he examined it closely.

She must have been able to feel his eyes on her, because she looked up and sent him a nasty glare. Ron immediately looked away in embarrassment, and his eyes fell on one of the saddest people in the group (as if there were any happy ones): Tonks, sporting grey hair that had been falling out by the handful.

No one knew where Remus was, but they did know that he was still alive and he hadn't talked; Grimmauld Place was still protected by the powerful Fidelius Charm. It wasn't in Voldemort's interest to kill Remus before he divulged the house's location, so everyone in the Order knew that he was probably being subjected to inhuman tortures as they stood around and listened ineffectually to the funeral service.

Tonks was, naturally, the most deeply affected by that fact. She alone was still bothering to try to find Voldemort, even though people quietly insisted to her that it was pointless. Now that he had nothing to fear, He Who Must Not Be Named (people were even more stringent about not speaking his name now, having entirely forgotten Dumbledore's insistence upon it) was certain to make his presence all too obvious all too soon.

Whether Harry would ever come back was the real question. In his angriest moments, Ron shouted to the skies and proclaimed Harry a coward for abandoning them - but the part of him that had learned through a painful stab in the back to think things through insisted that Harry wouldn't have left without a very good reason.

He wondered what Hermione thought. She had avoided talking about Harry's disappearance; perhaps she, like Ron, wasn't sure how to take it yet.

***

The Prime Minister was certain that his first few months in office had been amongst the most ill-fated and bizarre in his nation's long history. The public at large agreed that it had been ill-fated, but he was generally seen to be handling matters better than the previous government.

The public, however, did not have the slightest clue just how bizarre his job portfolio had become. And if he were to mention it at one of his weekly media briefings as an excuse for why he was distracted from the policy changes he'd promised in the election, he'd be committed to an asylum, and his party would never be able to live it down.

For once, the Prime Minister could sympathise with his predecessor. He'd been given an unusually kind welcome to the job, considering he was of a different party. His predecessor had once oddly taken him aside and told him, 'Good luck; you'll need it. You'll wish to take a certain painting down in your office - you'll know the one by the end of the night. Don't bother trying.'

At the time, he'd thought that the message was merely the rambling of a tired old man. Now he knew better. He couldn't believe his predecessor had accomplished so much while living in the middle of a civil war taking place in his own country, completely unknown to the majority of its people.

The wizards made the northern Irish seem like a peaceful lot.

The Prime Minister had grown used to the almost daily interruptions informing him of calamities he could do nothing about. It had been unusually long since the last visit from Fudge - over three days - and he was starting to wonder how the battle Fudge had told him about against You-Know-Who had gone (no, he refused to think of him as "You-Know-Who" - it was nonsense. The fellow's real name was absurd enough: Voldemort).

He was about to head off to an important cabinet meeting to set out his plans for the new year when not only Fudge but at least a dozen others tumbled out of the fireplace and headed for the door (or magically blinked out of the room) as fast as they could.

'Excuse me!' the Prime Minister insisted, sputtering in surprise at the sudden appearance. 'What on earth -'

Fudge grabbed his arms. 'Run! He's taken the Ministry!'

The Prime Minister didn't understand. Fudge, eyeing the office door through which others were running (the Prime Minister didn't know what he was going to tell his secretary about this), decided to take pity on him and explain a little more.

'You-Know-Who has taken control of the Ministry, and he's headed for the administrative offices as we speak! We're evacuating out of every available exit!'

'I see.' The Prime Minister wasn't sure what to say to that. Though he'd heard of the evil wizard's power (he still couldn't believe he was thinking the words "evil wizard" in all seriousness), it hadn't ever occurred to him that he'd actually win.

Fudge insistently tugged on his arm. 'You have to leave as well! He'll -'

Fudge was hit by a flash of green light, and his mouth stopped moving mid-sentence. He keeled over, and the Prime Minister yelped as he realized that the man had just died in his office (how would he explain that to his secretary - or to the electorate?!)

The Prime Minister turned to the only person left in the room - the person who had just come through the fireplace and murdered Fudge.

She looked like a perfectly ordinary, pretty young lady. That was what he thought until he looked at her eyes: they were red and catlike, and most definitely not normal - not that anything about his life could be called normal anymore. He had people in robes leaping out of his fireplace.

The Prime Minister knew enough about wizards and witches at this point to understand that running wouldn't do him any good, so he turned instead to his political instincts - they were the best of any politician around.

'Please, have a seat.' He indicated the chair in front of his desk.

She raised an eyebrow and smirked coldly. Without another word, the Prime Minister found himself seated in the very chair he had indicated - and she was sitting across from him in his own seat.

'I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I never take pleasure in meeting with dirty Muggles,' she said sweetly.

Considering that this girl was capable of killing him with the flick of her wrist - proof of which was currently sprawled out on his office floor - he decided to take the insult in stride. He'd been called much worse than a "dirty Muggle", after all.

Before he could respond, another person came through the fireplace. He was a wizard with long, greasy hair, a hooked nose, and an unpleasant sneer on his face. This, the Prime Minister supposed, must be Voldemort (no, Lord Voldemort - it wouldn't do to let the title slide).

'Your Lordship,' he greeted, bowing as politely as he could without leaving his chair (he didn't dare to with that frightening girl watching him).

Lord Voldemort's jaw dropped, and he looked over to the girl with fear in his eyes.

'Oh, this is amusing,' the girl remarked with a steady grin. 'He thinks you're me, Severus. You should see the look on your face.'

The Prime Minister inwardly cringed at his faux-pas. At the same time he wondered how a teenaged girl could claim to be a wizard who had terrorized Britain for decades. But he'd long ago learned that very little made sense with these people, and trying to unravel the mystery wouldn't help him out of his present (potentially deadly) situation.

'I don't think Scrimgeour is here,' said the man who was apparently not Lord Voldemort after all.

'My eyes can tell me that much,' snapped the girl. She turned to the Prime Minister, and her eyes bored into his own with an unnatural glow.

'Scrimgeour didn't pass through here,' she said after staring at him. Her eyes darted away. 'He must have taken another route out of his office.'

Yet another wizard came through the fireplace and nearly bumped into the first, who hadn't moved since he entered the room. This one was wearing a mask, which he promptly took off. His long blonde hair obscured his face as he bowed to the girl, and then he turned to the Prime Minister with a look of superior disdain.

He'd never been looked at so insultingly in his life, and he gave as good as he got.

'You boys can stop your staring contest now. It is boring me,' said the girl. The blonde's eyes immediately broke away, but not before betraying sincere fear.

The Prime Minister turned back to the girl. 'Er, Lord Voldemort, may I ask, now that you seem to have won your war, what do you intend to do?'

'I'm not going to kill you, if that's what you're worried about.' The girl turned to glare momentarily at the blonde, who seemed displeased by this pronouncement. 'I'm not going to bother ruling over Muggles. I intend to kill your kind as I see fit, but killing all of you would be a colossal waste of my time. So long as you show me the respect due to a higher being, I don't care who is in charge here.'

This was the first good news the Prime Minister had heard that morning, though he wasn't keen on the bit about killing as he saw fit. But the Prime Minister was a savvy man, and he could see that Lord Voldemort was presently basking in victory - as the Prime Minister had done months ago (it seemed like years). He wasn't inclined toward negotiation at the moment, and the Prime Minister held no ground to negotiate, so he decided to wait until a more opportune moment to discuss a fairer settlement.

'That's the best settlement you'll get, Muggle,' the girl told him coldly, wrinkling her nose in distaste as if the Prime Minister stank of rotten eggs. The Prime Minister blinked in confusion; surely he hadn't spoken out loud?

'The Dark Lord can read your thoughts,' the dark-haired, sour man supplied helpfully. The Prime Minister nearly gasped; never, in all his time as a politician, had he needed to keep his thoughts in check (the press would have lynched him if they knew what he really thought of them).

'Don't concern yourself; we'll never meet again.' The girl rose from her chair and turned to the blonde. 'Lucius, have someone installed in the Prime Minister's outer office to keep watch on him; make sure he follows him everywhere. I won't countenance a conspiracy.'

'Yes, my Lord.' The blonde-haired man, whose name was Lucius, looked silly bowing to a young girl, but the Prime Minister quenched that thought immediately.

As Lucius turned to the fireplace, he was startled as the fire flared up again and yet another person stepped through it.

The Prime Minister, determined to think happy thoughts, decided that at least this arrival was a very attractive woman. That was before the blonde moved aside, and the Prime Minister saw that she was holding two severed heads by the hair. He gagged, but managed to resist vomiting.

'I've taken care of Scrimgeour,' the woman announced in a pleasantly chiming voice as she set one of the heads on the Prime Minister's desk. He cringed as thoughts of his desk being hauled into court as evidence in a murder trial pranced through his head.

She set the other head down, too, but more gingerly. It had a younger face and reddish hair, and it was wearing a pair of glasses. 'This one's a present for my dear George.'

The woman smiled at Lord Voldemort. 'Does this meet with your approval?'

'Of course,' Voldemort answered, but as she observed the unnamed dark-haired man, who was gawking at the newly-arrived woman in unmitigated horror, Lord Voldemort didn't look pleased at all.

She turned back to the Prime Minister. 'Don't you have a meeting, Minister? You'll be late.'

The Prime Minister was a clever man; he got the message, and he'd never been gladder to leave his office. He only prayed that they would take the corpse and the severed heads out before he returned.

***

The door closed quietly behind the Muggle Prime Minister. 'What have you done?' asked Severus Snape in a strangled voice. He watched the woman intently, as though too transfixed by dismay and disbelief to look away.

The face of Lily Potter smiled at him, and she flipped her mane of red hair.

'I'd been hoping to surprise you with her,' said the Dark Lord. He stepped away from the desk, and his female hand came to rest on Lily's shoulder; he had to reach up, for Lily was a little taller than Ginny Weasley.

'Before my battle with Potter, I created one last Horcrux for insurance. I allowed Potter to destroy the other Horcruxes so that he would think he could destroy me in our final battle, but I could not take the risk that his love for the girl was not genuine.

'This is the result, forged of Lily Potter's bones.' He appraised her, and the smile dropped gradually from his face. 'It is a pity...'

He gave Ginny's arm a disdainful poke. Then he turned back to Snape, whose face was turning a sallow green. Lily's eyes fell on him with an air of emotionless sensuality.

'I have no need of her, and I cannot make use of her. You were fond of Lily Potter, were you not, Severus? Lord Voldemort always rewards his followers,' he declared in his girlish voice. 'I suppose I should give her to you...to do with as you please.'

Voldemort wore a lecherous grin, and Lily smiled provocatively. Snape shuddered.

'I'm sure that is...too generous, my Lord.' Snape bowed deeply and averted his eyes from them both.

'I always am,' Voldemort declared, sounding entirely serious.

'Severus was always shy around me,' Lily announced. She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and leaned in. Snape recoiled as far as he could from her without breaking her hold.

Lucius Malfoy appeared bemused by the situation.

'Ah, and Lucius, how shall I reward you? Some important government post, perhaps?'

Bemusement was immediately wiped from Lucius's face; talk of reward seemed to have reminded him of something sour. 'The reward of serving you is too great, my Lord.'

'Such a flatterer,' Voldemort remarked. He looked toward Lily and Severus, who were still in an amorous embrace - Snape unwillingly so. 'It's a shame about your wife, Lucius. I suppose you ought to have chosen better breeding stock.'

Malfoy's back straightened as he apparently recalled how his wife was murdered, brutally, for the crimes of his son. 'Yes, my Lord.'

'I'll have to find you someone,' Voldemort remarked offhandedly, parting through the other three to reach the fireplace.

As soon as he was gone, Snape pushed Lily away.

She continued to smile at him, unperturbed by his rejection. Then her gaze alighted on the severed head of Percy Weasley again. 'I should give this to George while it's fresh! Do excuse me, Severus dear.'

She walked into the fire with a look of relish on her features.

'You are fortunate that he didn't comment on your unenthusiastic reception of his gift!' Malfoy told him with panicked eyes.

'That thing is a monstrosity!' shouted Snape furiously, pointing toward the fireplace where Lily had made its exit. 'It is a crime against nature! If it touches me again -'

'You have no reason to complain compared to me!' yelled Lucius. 'He murdered my wife!'

'We're lucky he hasn't killed us yet,' said Snape frigidly. 'We are no longer required. He will grow tired of us all and get rid of us.'

'What are we to do?' Lucius asked in a low voice. 'It's no longer possible to kill him, not even temporarily!'

Snape considered the problem. 'It is still possible to contain him eternally, though challenging - and, as you know, I would be incapable of assisting unless he were silenced. I must obey his every word.'

Malfoy did not appear keen on Snape's bare-boned plan. 'That will only get us killed sooner.'

Snape shrugged. He waved his wand about the room and removed the offending gore. After that, he moved toward the fireplace.

Before he walked into the flames, Snape quietly remarked, 'I would rather die than be touched by that thing wearing Lily Potter's bones ever again.'

***

'...and our new Minister for Magic has declared that he will keep Bernie Wimple on as Britain's representative to the International Confederation of Wizards. The ICW has not yet recognized our Lord's legitimate government. Our Lord has stated publicly that any official who is willing to bear his Dark Mark is welcome to return to work under the new regime...'

'Change the frequency,' ordered Hermione.

Ron sighed and reached over to the radio. It only emitted static and high whistling noises between stations that said the same things about how wonderful Lord Voldemort was for the country (though none of the commentators dared to speak his name, which Ron thought ought to indicate that he wasn't so swell). It was very late, and almost everyone in the house was in bed. Ron was sharing his room with Hermione, Bill, and Fleur now; Grimmauld Place was the only safe haven available, and it was completely packed with every Order member Remus had ever invited in.

'Allow me.'

She held out her hands, and Ron handed her the radio. After a few taps, the frequency band of the radio lengthened. Ron took the radio back and fiddled with the newly available frequencies until they found a station broadcasting from France.

...Which was, of course, broadcasting in French. Fleur, who was slumped exhaustedly in a chair, her belly bulging with her child-to-be, translated for them:

'...Now zat 'E 'Oo Must Not Be Named 'as taken unlawful control of ze wizairding government of Great Breetain, two questions are on everyone's minds: will 'e move against ozzer countries, and where -'

Fleur broke off, but Ron heard the name "Harry Potter". He knew that he, Hermione, and the rest of the Order couldn't be the only ones wondering where Harry was.

Fleur continued, 'On ze day of You-Know-'Oo's defeat of ze Meeneestry, we 'ave information zat 'Arry Potter left ze scene alive, but 'e 'as since disappeared. Zere are also unconfirmed reports zat You-Know-'Oo 'as possessed ze body of one of ze 'Ogwarts students 'oo was abducted by Portkey from Beauxbatons.' She looked at Ron tearfully; Bill squeezed her hand in support.

''E is scheduled to make a speech before ze International Confederation of Wizards at zair upcoming summit.'

The station broke for commercials after that.

'They won't help us,' said Hermione with no emotion in her voice. 'They'll hope he'll be satisfied with wizarding Britain and leave them alone. He'll consolidate his power here and then invade others.'

'And no one can stop him,' muttered Ron. 'He can't be killed.'

'It must have something to do with Harry,' Hermione insisted.

Ron found it strange not to have her fiercely inquisitive eyes staring into his, searching for his agreement. He supposed that Hermione must find it much worse than strange.

Bill nodded, staring at his wife's stomach. 'We need him.'

Hermione's jaw was set in a grim line, and it made her face look very hardened without her eyes to light it up. Ron knew Hermione didn't mean to appear so harsh; her burnt face still pained her whenever she moved, so she tried to keep it still. 'Then we have to find him. We haven't even tried to look yet; he could be hiding in plain sight.'

The word "sight" made the room freeze. Ron tried hard not to stare at the scarf that was wrapped around Hermione's head, covering her eye sockets.

Bill bravely pressed through the tension. 'We can't look for him. We don't have the resources. He'll have to find us if he's still...'

There was silence. It was broken by a knock on the door.

'Come in,' said Hermione. Ron noticed that her lips were parched and handed her a glass of water, which she drank gratefully.

He would never have expected it to be Draco Malfoy. 'What do you want, Malfoy?' Ron barked.

Malfoy was standing in the doorway nervously. Kreacher was hissing from behind Malfoy's legs; he'd become very attached to the young man whom he wished was his true master. The two were inseparable, which was fine by Ron because it made it easier to avoid the two most worthless creatures in the house.

'Master shouldn't try to help the traitors, master should leave with Kreacher...'

'I have a proposal for you,' he said. He boldly stepped into the room. 'It's to do with Kreacher.'

Ron eyed the house-elf with undisguised hatred. 'If you want to chop off its head and hang it somewhere, you won't find any objections from us.'

Kreacher's ugly mouth widened with glee, and he rapidly nodded his head. 'Kreacher likes that idea, yes...'

'I propose that we use him to find Potter.'

Ron could detect a subtle frown through the silk scarf covering Hermione's brow, as though she were puzzling something out. Then she grinned broadly in a way Ron hadn't seen since before she lost her sight.

'That's a brilliant idea! Why didn't I think of it?! Oh, I've been so caught up thinking about myself...!'

Hermione pouted, furious with herself. Ron was perplexed. 'I don't get it.'

Malfoy rolled his eyes. 'I can't believe that a Muggle-born understands and you don't - though I suppose your family has always been too poor for it to matter to you -'

Ron snarled, but Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder to quiet him. 'He means that a house-elf can always find his master - so long as he hasn't been ordered not to.'

'Kreacher doesn't want to find old master!' he cried, stomping loudly on the ground.

'But you'll do it for me, won't you?' asked Draco.

Kreacher nodded frantically again, almost as taken with the idea of obeying an order from Draco as he was with the thought of having his head removed and displayed on the wall.

'Thank you, Draco,' said Hermione diplomatically. 'That would be very helpful.'

Hermione's thanks seemed to take Draco by surprise. 'Well, we're all in this together now,' he muttered, uncomfortable with the praise. He drew his eyes away from her face, his body language indicating disgust, and Ron was angered by the idea that he found her appearance gross now.

Hermione shouldn't have to put up with that sort of look from the likes of Malfoy. Perhaps it was a blessing that she couldn't see his revulsion.

***

Voldemort turned the radio off by twisting the dial so hard that it broke.

'What is Potter doing?' he wondered aloud furiously. 'He hasn't attempted to raise a larger army to capture me...he hasn't made contact with any foreign government at all! It's been weeks, and there's no sign of him!'

'He's not as clever as you are,' Lily commented calmly from her chair. Her fingers ran rhythmically through George's hair; he would have liked nothing better than to escape her touch. She terrified him more than he did now.

He couldn't really be frightened when he looked at Voldemort in his sister's body - he could only feel the full force of the intense grief that always lurked below the surface.

'Just because you would have thought to do that doesn't mean he will,' she added.

Voldemort didn't look appeased. He was going to give Ginny wrinkles with all that frowning. When George nearly laughed at that ridiculous thought, he realized that he was certainly going insane. To distract himself from Lily's touch, he gazed into the deadened eyes of Nagini's petrified corpse hanging in tribute on the mantle. It reminded George of the spot in his cell where Lily had carefully and precisely hung Percy's head, so he looked away.

He turned to Voldemort, whose angry eyes stared into the roaring fire as if he could find Harry inside it by searching hard enough.

'Where are you, Potter?'