I Have a Rendezvous with Death

"I Have a Rendezvous with Death"

by Paracelsus

Chapter IX: Aftermaths

Ron Weasley sat at his desk at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, but his mind wasn't on the financial statement in front of him - it was too beautiful a day for that. He was daydreaming a bit, his thoughts flowing randomly from one thing to another: how he might soon be playing with the Cannons... Flying with the Cannons... other books in the Gryffindor common room... chess in the Gryffindor common room. And in his mind he suddenly heard the words, as clearly as if they'd been spoken yesterday:

"First - to Mr. Ronald Weasley... for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

The memory brought a smile to his face, as it always did. He'd taken the position of a knight in the chess game with McGonagall's giant chess pieces... he'd directed the pieces on his side, and won the game. He'd not only earned fifty points for Gryffindor, helping to win the House Cup for the first time in years: at that instant, he'd stopped being "Bill's/Charlie's/Percy's youngest brother" and begun to be "Ron Weasley". It was the first time he'd left his brothers' shadow and proven himself - in many ways, he considered it the moment his life had truly begun.

Of course, his life had nearly ended there on the giant chessboard: he'd been severely injured when he'd permitted the white queen to take him. But it was as he'd told Harry and Hermione: in chess, you've got to make some sacrifices. And it had been necessary if Harry was to go on, to get the Stone and defeat Voldemort.

His smile faded. Sacrifices... necessary to defeat Voldemort... why on earth was Ron thinking about that today? Today of all days, when Harry was out searching for the means to defeat Voldemort...

... alone...

And then it struck him.

*

Hermione Granger had rushed to return to the British Museum Recovery Project. Her lunch was already forgotten. She was too excited by the book she'd been inspecting that morning: unlike the majority of volumes she'd already catalogued, this was a work of fiction. An 18^th Century romance, written by and for the magical world.

She sat herself down at the table, opened the book again, and skimmed its first few pages. As she did so, her mind drifted to other works of fiction she'd read and loved through her life. And she saw clearly in her mind a memorable line, just as it had appeared on the printed page:

"It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them."

It was from J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, which in Hermione's opinion was one of the greatest fantasy stories ever written, by Muggle or wizard. It was the scene at the Grey Havens: Frodo was explaining to Sam why he was leaving Middle-Earth. He'd defeated Sauron the Great, but had been deeply wounded in doing so; only by leaving mortal lands forever could he know peace.

A bitter ending, Hermione had always felt. It seemed so unfair that Frodo couldn't enjoy life after the defeat of the Dark Lord... he'd sacrificed so much to achieve it.

Very like Harry, she realized with dawning horror. She fervently hoped Harry could enjoy life after defeating their own Dark Lord...

... and not leave forever...

And then it struck her.

*

Ginny Weasley sat in her favorite comfy-chair at the Burrow, jotting notes for the Dark Arts curriculum she'd be teaching at Beauxbatons next year. Her introductory lectures always began with a basic question: what distinguished Dark Magic from Light Magic? Were the spells themselves inherently Dark, or was it purely a matter of the spellcaster's intent?

Her classes usually had a roundtable discussion at that point, debating Dark intent. She didn't try to control the flow of the discussion, and so it could get rather freewheeling. Inevitably, the talk would lead to ethics ("Was it all right to use Dark Magic in a good cause?"), and often thence to moral absolutism ("Is Dark Magic 'dark' for everybody?") and various religious beliefs. And Ginny heard again a religious quotation one of her French students had cited to her last year:

"Come unto me, all you that are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

At the time, Ginny hadn't given the quote any further thought. Odd that it should suddenly pop into her mind today, she mused. It wasn't as though she felt unbearably weary or burdened. If anyone fit that description, it would be Harry. The poor man, he carried the weight of the wizarding world on his slim shoulders... if anyone deserved rest, it was Harry...

... eternal rest?...

And then it struck her.

*

Parvati and Padma Patil were at St. Mungo's Hospital, chatting with Lavender Brown. More accurately, Parvati was chatting with Lavender about the new fall fashions that Gladrags was about to bring out, while Padma busied herself with the fresh flowers they'd brought. She listened with half an ear to Parvati as she tossed the old flowers in the waste bin, and couldn't help smiling. Who'd have thought her flighty twin sister would've done so well as a fashion designer?

Lavender slept through it all, as she had for the last year and a half. Nothing anyone had said or done, none of the medical spells or treatments, had been able to awaken her from slumber. She gave an occasional moan in her sleep, as all sleeping people did, but that was...

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

With a full-throated cry Lavender sat bolt upright in her bed, gasping for breath and trembling. She'd broken out in cold sweat. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, filled with a horrible vision. Parvati and Padma stared at her as she hugged herself tightly, chest heaving.

"Lav?" asked Parvati in a small voice. "Lav, are you awake? Dear Merlin, it's a miracle..."

"P-P-Parvati?" Lavender turned convulsively to her friend and clutched her forearm. "Parvati, it's H-H-Harry. We-we've got to save Harry." Her voice was husky from disuse, but she spoke clearly - even urgently.

"Shhh, Lav, it's all right. It's all right." Parvati embraced Lavender in a warm hug and held her, as her mother had held her when she'd had nightmares as a child. "It was a dream, just a dream. Shhhh. You're awake now, that's what's important..."

"No, Parvati! It's Harry! It wasn't just a dream! Harry and You-Know-Who..."

"Hold on," Padma broke in. "What about Harry and You-Know-Who?"

Lavender started shivering in Parvati's arms. "They were dueling, and... oh, Parvati, I saw them. As clearly as I see you. And, and they grabbed hands, and there was an explosion, and... it wasn't just a dream, I tell you, I saw them!"

Parvati and Padma locked gazes over Lavender's head. Asleep for eighteen months, their looks said to one another. Adjustment problems are only to be expected. "I'll go get the nurse," offered Padma, and she took a step towards the door...

And then it struck all of them.

*

Across the length of Britain it struck, a psychic wave of emotion so deep and strong that none in the wizarding world were unaffected. It was a fierce howl of empty hatred, of rage made impotent, of pride brought low. It was the final scream of a malignant evil as it was sucked into a bottomless abyss, knowing it could never again impose its darkness on others, and despairing.

The difference between Lord Voldemort's first defeat and his final defeat could not have been greater. No need, this time, for owls to carry the news, or shooting stars to celebrate it. This time, all the wizarding world knew that Voldemort was dead, gone, never to return. They could hear his death cry. They believed it, and rejoiced in it.

It would take most wizards and witches a few minutes to realize there had been a second voice in that psychic cry. A quiet voice, but somehow strong. The voice of a gentle soul, but withal indomitable.

He had spent his first year of life loving and beloved - a love so strong that it was proof against even the deadliest magic. For the next ten barren years, he had been robbed of all forms of love - even simple attention and consideration were denied him. Finally, in his eleventh year and for ten years afterwards, he found love again: admiration and affection, an adoptive family, and the strong bonds of friendship. It was to him the most precious of gifts.

And having once regained love, he vowed he would never again let it be taken - his own life he deemed a small price to pay for such treasure.

At one year of age Harry Potter had saved the world, by living. Now, twenty years later he had saved it again, by dying.

*

Reports filtered in through the rest of the day. A team of Aurors, led by Rachel Naphtali, had attempted to Apparate directly to the Druid's Dolmen but was initially stymied. Eventually they had all mounted brooms, Apparated to a perimeter half a mile from the Dolmen, and flown the rest of the way. They discovered the high-ranking Death Eaters still stunned from the explosion, lying outside Potter's scrying wards. Quick tests determined that none of them were under the Imperius Curse, and all were taken into custody.

The wards, set to block only those with malicious intent, proved no barrier to the Aurors. Once inside, they found Potter's unscathed wand still empowering the wards; the Aurors collected it and cancelled the warding spell. Near the Dolmen they found the charred and twisted body of Tom Marvolo Riddle, alias Lord Voldemort. The ground next to him was cratered and burnt, as by a large explosion. Fragments of cloth, wood and glass were scattered over the hillside; the Aurors gathered them as forensic evidence.

Of Harry Potter's body they found no trace.

*

By Thursday, Arthur Weasley had restored his home to the Floo Network and made it Plottable again. He had done so reluctantly, but Molly had convinced him they had no choice: it had become necessary to set up a "meeting hall" for Harry's friends to gather and mourn. Of the three most appropriate sites, Harry's home was still hidden by the Fidelius Charm, and Hogwarts was too difficult to reach (not to mention that classes were still in session). By default, the Burrow became the locus of activity following Harry's death.

Ron, wandering through the kitchen, wondered how Mum and Dad could do all they did without breaking down. They were greeting each new arrival - Neville, at the moment - and making them feel welcome, sharing in their expressions of grief, urging them to stay as long as they liked, offering tea and sympathy. Yet he knew that Dad had collapsed at work when he'd heard the news. And Mum - Mum looked like she'd aged twenty years overnight.

A phrase from Muggle Studies came back to him: working on autopilot. Ron finally understood what it meant.

About to continue his meandering, he paused in the doorway, listening to his friends - Harry's friends - trade stories as they sat in the living room:

"Do you remember the time Malfoy and his stooges dressed as dementors at a Quidditch match? Thought they'd scare Harry off his broom again. And Harry didn't even blink. He just shot out this big silver Patronus at them without even looking ... too busy getting the Snitch. And he got it, too!"

"Yeah. Of course, we were there when Harry first got on a broom - he'd never even seen one before. And he caught Neville's Remembrall in mid-air, first try! Harry was the best on a broom..."

"Harry was the best. Period." Pause. "I wish he were here so I could tell him. I should've told him before..."

"It would only embarrass him. He hated that. Remember in sixth year, when Teen Witch tried to bribe Colin for candid pictures of Harry?"

"Oh, that was priceless. Harry made short work of that camera..."

Ron moved away unnoticed. He had to get away from the discussion. They meant well, but they didn't understand. They were trying to remember events in Harry's life. He remembered Harry: the boy, the man, the best possible friend. The messy-haired guy who knew exactly what to do when Ron needed him. The slender young man who was Ron's strength and support. The reluctant icon who was closer than a brother.

Brother. Friend. The words were so inadequate. Ron wished, not for the first time, that he had Hermione's intellect. He felt sure she'd know the right word for Harry... what he'd been for Harry... and what Harry'd been for them.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, feeling traces of moisture there, and steadied himself against the wall. He wondered if he'd accidentally splinched himself when he'd Apparated here this morning.

Because it sure felt like there was a gaping hole in his chest.

*

This is my fault, thought Hermione. Oh, this is all my fault...

She sat alone in Ginny's bedroom at the Burrow, wishing she could cry. The only reason she wasn't crying was that she'd cried almost continuously all day; her eyes felt like dead stones in her head. Now she sat in the semi-darkened room, staring dully into space, and reviewed again the chain of logic she'd built:

Harry had commissioned the anti-Clairvoyancy bracelets. Therefore Harry had reason to be concerned with Voldemort watching him. Therefore Voldemort had been watching him. Voldemort also had the book from the Hogwarts library. Voldemort knew Harry would be at the Dolmen that day. Harry knew Voldemort knew.

And he went anyway.

And I did nothing to stop him.

It didn't matter that Hermione had only deduced this in the hours following Voldemort's defeat. Never mind that she had no real proof Harry'd known he was going to his death. She should have known, she told herself remorsefully. She should have stopped him - or been there with him. Friends Don't Let Friends Fight Alone.

And now he was gone, and she was left with guilt and grief - grief so great that it squeezed her heart nearly to a stop. She almost hoped it would.

The door opened a crack, and Ginny put her head into the room. "Hermione?" she said tentatively.

Hermione didn't move, didn't say anything, but her eyes flicked up to Ginny's face before returning to their dull stare ahead. Ginny took this to be, if not exactly an invitation, then not a rebuff. She came into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. "Have you eaten anything today?"

Hermione shook her head slightly, but made no other motion.

Ginny sat down on the bed next to Hermione. For a moment, she considered hugging her friend, but decided it wouldn't be welcomed. Not yet. They sat together in the dimness, sharing the silence - Ginny watching Hermione, Hermione seeing nothing.

Hermione finally spoke in a barely audible whisper. "It's all my fault, Ginny."

"It's Voldemort's fault," replied Ginny quietly but firmly. "Voldemort's. No one else's."

"I helped give Harry everything he needed to go to the Dolmen. If it hadn't been for me..."

"I helped too. So did Mum, for that matter. Would you say it's Mum's fault? Then it's not yours, either."

Hermione shut her eyes. It was her fault. How could she make Ginny understand? Harry knew that Voldemort would come to him - so she should have known, too. She could never tell anyone that she'd failed to stop Harry when she had the chance...

... and she could never, never speak of her deeper suspicions, that Harry not only knew of Voldemort's arrival but had planned it. She had no proof, none at all. She had only a few circumstantial observations, which could be dismissed as coincidences - and a decade's experience with Harry Potter.

She opened her eyes to find Ginny watching her anxiously. She managed a wan smile. "It's all right, Gin. I'll be okay, you'll see. It'll just... take a while."

Ginny looked Hermione straight in the eye for a moment. She debated whether to bring up her worries, and finally decided to grab the bull by the horns. "'If Harry died tomorrow,'" she quoted, "'I'd want to die too.' Do you remember saying that, Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes went wide.

"Do you still feel that way?" Ginny persisted.

Hermione gulped convulsively. Her dry eyes began to fill with tears.

"Because if so," Ginny finished, and now she permitted herself to put her hands on her friend's shoulders, "if so, it'd be a pretty rotten thing to do to Harry."

Hermione gasped. "Do to Harry?"

"Yes, Harry. He died so we could all live. So you have to live, you hear me? You know that's what he'd say, if he were here."

"I know. I know better than anyone. He was... p-part of me..." And Hermione put her head on Ginny's shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably. Ginny held her close, stroking her hair, and started crying too. They stayed in the embrace a good while, until the tears became a trickle and finally stopped. And even after they'd stopped crying, they held one another tightly, each taking comfort in the other's presence.

"I loved him, Ginny," Hermione said in a tiny voice.

Ginny's reply was just as quiet. "I loved him too, Hermione."

Eventually they separated, sniffling and drying their cheeks. The room had grown somewhat darker, but neither of them felt like making a light.

"I'm going to mourn Harry," said Ginny finally. "I'm going to miss him with every fiber of my being. But you... I can't begin to imagine what it must be like for you."

"The same as for you," replied Hermione. "It's as if a dementor sucked out part of my soul. My soul didn't simply die - it's been torn apart. The best part, the part that's noble and chivalrous and good - it's been ripped out. Isn't that what it feels like to you? Because that's what it feels like to me."

"But souls can heal, given time." Ginny looked her in the eye again, not as a challenge, but to get her message across. "A lifetime is barely time enough for that. He made sure we'd have lives, Hermione, and I don't intend that his gift be thrown away." She held her breath and waited.

Slowly, Hermione smiled wistfully. "All right. I'm not going anywhere." She raised an eyebrow in faint but unmistakable humor. "How'd you get to be so smart, Ginny?"

"Easy," Ginny smiled back. "I have the smartest witch in the world for my friend."

*

By Friday, Hermione was able to socialize with the others in the Burrow, and even managed to eat some light food, much to Mrs. Weasley's relief. There were still people coming and going all the time, so it wasn't until Friday afternoon that Ron and Hermione could get a few minutes alone together.

They met in Mr. Weasley's study, which by some miracle was empty at the moment. Ron held a wooden box, which he set on the table. "This just arrived from the Auror Corps. They thought we'd like to have it."

"We?" asked Hermione.

"As it turns out, Harry'd named us jointly the executors of his estate." Ron looked a bit dazed, but seemed determined to act professionally. "Gringotts will be contacting us next week, I reckon. In the meantime, we're going to have to discover who's Harry's Secret Keeper, or we'll never be able to get into his house. Or flat, or whatever."

"So the Aurors thought we should get this box? As Harry's executors?" Hermione looked at the box and couldn't suppress a shiver. "Is it... what I think it is?"

"Yeah. This is what they found at the Druid's Dolmen - that they're willing to release, anyway." Ron opened the box and reached inside. He brought out Harry's wand. "This is the most important, I guess. They said it's a miracle it was undamaged." He stopped and looked at her more closely. "Hermione, are you all right?"

"No... but we need to do this anyway." Hermione took a deep breath and summoned calmness. "Exactly what did they find at the Dolmen?"

"Lots of little things, evidently - scraps of clothing, some green leather, and so on - but this is the stuff they're sure was Harry's, and that they don't need as evidence. Not a lot here, really, but we have Harry's wand intact... and we have these." He brought out a twisted set of spectacle frames; one of the lenses was gone, and the other lens was cracked extensively. Then he brought out a burnt fragment of red-and-gold silk.

"Gryffindor necktie," Ron commented. "Why he was wearing that to scry for the wand, I have no clue."

Hermione reached out with a finger and caressed the scrap of silk. "He was proving he was a true Gryffindor, Ron. He didn't need any other reason."

Ron looked puzzled. "Was there ever any doubt?"

"Not in my mind." She set aside the silk and reached for the eyeglasses. They were beyond the help of a Reparo charm... and anyway, she thought they should stay as they were found. As a symbol.

Ron found it hard to say anything to Hermione for some reason. He searched his memory and recalled a discussion from earlier that day. "They've decided to hold the memorial services for Harry at Hogwarts. It was one of his favorite places, after all."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. Noon." He saw Hermione look at him sharply and held up a hand. "I know it's almost too soon. But the full moon's coming, and Dumbledore wanted Lupin to be able to attend."

"Oh. Okay."

The silence descended again, and threatened to become awkward. Hermione cleared her throat and said, "Padma was here this morning... did you get a chance to talk with her? She told me Lavender's shaken off her sleeping spell. She's awake again, and starting physical therapy."

"That's good news," said Ron, welcoming the change of subject. "Good for Lavender! When did this happen?"

Hermione gave a bitter smile. "Wednesday," she said simply. She didn't even need to specify the time. Ron understood immediately.

"She says she had a dream of Harry and Voldemort, and that's what woke her. I'm told," she added thoughtfully, "that lots of people had a similar dream. Anyone who was asleep at the time - wizard or Muggle."

"Even Muggles were affected?" Ron asked worriedly.

"If they were asleep, and receptive. Don't worry, Ron, we won't have to Obliviate every sleeping Muggle. They'll just write it off as a dream, and no more."

"I wish it were a dream," Ron blurted out. For a moment, there was a crack in his businesslike façade. For that moment, a world of hurt and pain shone out from his eyes. Then he turned his head away, breathed deeply, and turned back to Hermione ready to resume their discussion.

Is it that he won't speak of it, or that he can't? The latter, Hermione decided. She leaned forward and embraced him, to his surprise. After a moment, he relaxed and returned the embrace.

Neither of them noticed that it was a one-armed embrace - his right arm, her left arm - and that each had left their other arms hanging free at their sides... as though those armshad been taught to expect a third person at that spot, in a three-way hug.

A frenzied shrieking caused them to jerk their heads up and separate. A white blur was flying around the room at dangerously high speed. For a moment, Hermione wondered if Pig had fallen into the laundry bleach again, but then saw that despite its frenetic activity, this wasn't Pigwidgeon - this was Hedwig.

Ron spotted it at the same time. "Hedwig!" he called, and held out his hands as if to calm the owl and catch her.

Hedwig ignored them both and landed on the table with a thump. They had never seen her so bedraggled and unkempt. And though Ron and Hermione couldn't say how they knew, they both knew that Hedwig was absolutely exhausted - as if she'd done the owlish equivalent of running the Marathon in an hour.

"Where've you been, Hedwig?" asked Hermione, reaching out to smooth her ruffled feathers. Hedwig was having none of it. She gave a jump back, away from Hermione's hand, and held out her leg stiffly. She was holding a rumpled piece of paper in her talons. Hermione took it and spread it flat.

It was a blank sheet of business stationery... Muggle, from the look of it. The page bore a letterhead, but nothing else:

Christchurch Hospital, Riccarton Avenue, Private Bag 4710, Christchurch; Phone 03 364 0640.

"Christchurch?" asked Hermione finally. "Christchurch, New Zealand?! Ron, what was Hedwig doing in New Zealand?"

Ron shrugged. "Maybe Harry sent a letter there before he..." He didn't complete the sentence. Hedwig gave them both a withering look that would have done Snape proud. She flapped her wings once, took off from the table, and flew from the room.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other in amazement. Before they could speak, Hedwig returned bearing a small framed picture of Harry - taken, Ron noted, from the mantel over the fireplace. She landed back on the table and set the picture on the sheet of hospital stationery. Then she stared at Ron and Hermione, fiercely expectant.

"Ron," said Hermione, "am I going crazy, or is Hedwig trying to tell us something about Harry?"

"Harry and New Zealand?" Ron shook his head. "Far as I know, he'd never been there. And now that he's dead..."

Hedwig interrupted with a screech. She gave the picture a tiny shove with her foot, moving it closer to the address on the letterhead, and resumed her unblinking stare at them. The image of Harry in the picture chose that moment to look around. It appeared to read the address, then nodded, looked directly at Ron and Hermione, and smiled sunnily.

"They never found his body..." Hermione said slowly. Her eyes began to brighten.

"Blown to bits..." replied Ron skeptically.

"Remember Wormtail," she said with mounting enthusiasm. "Remember what Moody taught us. If there's no body, don't assume..."

"No, Hermione, don't even think that way. We have to assume he's dead, there's no way he could've Apparated away - Apparated anywhere, let alone the other side of the planet -"

"He needs you! Go there! Now!"

Hermione and Ron looked at each other. Neither of them had spoken. As one, they turned and stared stupefied at Hedwig.

"Was that...?" Hermione managed to say.

"Did you just...?" Ron finally exclaimed.

Hedwig silently stared back at them, haughty as only an owl can be, and waited.

For a long, long moment, all movement in Arthur Weasley's study totally ceased. Then the stillness was broken by a burst of activity:

"I'll go to Gringotts, withdraw some cash from Harry's account..."

"I'll go to the Ministry, talk to Percy, see if he can pull some strings and get us passports right quick..."

"Need to find out about international Apparition, too, and how fast it can be done..."

"Should probably find out who's Minister of Magic in New Zealand, too, can't hurt to know..."

Together they ran from the room. Ron spared half a moment to look back at Hedwig speculatively. I'm sure glad now that I treated Pig well, he thought. Then he turned and followed Hermione out the door.

Hedwig watched closely to make sure they knew what to do. Once they'd gone, she spread her aching wings and flew over to the Weasley's barn... there to groom herself, take a long nap, and wait for Hermione and Ron to find her boy and bring him home.

-finis-