What Dies Inside, Part 2.
Harry was with Ron when he died. They had gone to the aid of a military blockade they’d seen in passing as they’d flown low over a midland forest. Dementors were overrunning it and Muggles and soldiers alike were fleeing in terror. The rain flew in menacing arcs, the cloud so black it was blue as the frost of dread came on, the very trees seeming to twist into snarling hands.
Harry only got as far as ‘Expecto…’
“Harry, look out!” Ron shouted as he shoved him roughly aside, the cracks that rang out deafening. Harry landed on one knee in the chill mud, wand levelled, looking for the source of the jinx or curse.
“Blimey that hurt,” Ron mumbled. Harry looked up at him in horror as he stood, momentarily frozen, one hand to his breast, dark crimson welling through his fingers. He collapsed backwards to the sodden ground and Harry rushed to his side, everything in him going cold.
“Just lie still!” He ordered frantically as he tried to think of an appropriate charm. Black shadows wheeled past and he could hear screams and cries not far off but he paid them no mind.
“What did you say they call those again?” Ron asked in a small, quiet voice, “Guns?” He coughed and blood misted upon his lips, rain plastering his hair and making his face seem all the more pale.
“I can’t…it’s not…it won’t…” Harry spat nonsensically as he worked feverishly, the wound stalwartly refusing to close.
“S’alright Harry…I was start…ing to get the rash anyway,” he wheezed, “It’s bet…better this way…”
“Just hang on Ron! Just hang on!” Harry snapped, his voice cracking.
“I bet my dad would’ve liked to see one of those,” Ron went on almost wistfully, the flow of scarlet beginning to spread. Harry pressed his palms to it helplessly as the storm beat down, his wand abandoned in the mud.
“Ron, you can’t….” Harry begged.
“Harry, tell Herm…Hermione…tell her…”
“You can’t do this Ron!” Tears ran in among the raindrops.
“You’re probably right…you were always better at talking to g…girls anyway, just tell her something…I dunno…sortof heroic…but that she might…actually believe.” His voice had become quieter, more distant.
“Don’t die.” Harry made it sound more of a hopeless question.
“Y’know…I always wished I was you, but…I don’t…I don’t know now…I think I’d be too scared to be al…all on my own…”
“Please don’t die.”
“Y’know something H-Harry…spiders don’t really seem…that scary now…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Take care…of Ginny won’t you?” Ron asked beseechingly as his breath grew short.
“I’m so sorry!” Harry’s voice began to rise.
“Please…” His eyes beginning to close.
“Yes!!!” Harry shouted at him, cradling his body up from the frozen ground.
“I’m going to…”
Harry never found out what Ron was going to do but he always wondered at what those last words might have been.
~
Hermione left after that. She blamed Harry for everything, told him that Ron had only died because he was Harry’s friend. He hadn’t the spirit or the want to tell her Ron had probably only lived this long because of that self same fact. She had told him not to look for her and Ginny had thought that might be best but Harry had found her again two months later.
She was alone in a small seaside cottage in Cornwall and far along with the symptoms. Ginny couldn’t bear it and remained barricaded in the deserted bed and breakfast they’d taken up in for the night. Hermione was bundled up in blankets but Harry could still see a broad trail of angry wheals coming up her neck and scouring back across her scalp. Her cough was constant and wet and her breathing was laboured, not aided much by the cigarette trailing from one bandaged hand.
“You shouldn’t smoke,” he offered lamely. She looked at him witheringly and tried to laugh, a piteous sound that sent her into racking spasms. He tried to go to her but she held up her hand.
“We still don’t know for certain how this works,” she warned him off. “I’m sorry Harry. I shouldn’t have blamed you.”
“None of that matters now.” He shook his head.
“You’re right about that.”
“Did you get back to your parents in time?” He asked with concern.
“In time for what?” She sighed, “If you mean to watch them die in agony, then yes.” She added coldly.
“I’m sorry.” Harry’s answer was quiet.
“So am I.” She looked away and took another drag, her blistered hand shaking. “How’s Ginny?”
“Still no signs,” he answered levelly.
“You’re keeping isolated I hope?”
“I don’t think there’s anyone much left to worry about, I only found you because you left a light on in here last night.”
“I was read…rea…” she went off into another fit of coughing and this time Harry ignored her as he came around the table to sit next to her. He stubbed out her cigarette and held her hand. She smiled kindly at him. “I’d ask you to take care of this for me Harry but I know you won’t.” A chill ran through him at the thought.
“I don’t think I’d have to worry about being forgiven for it anymore but no…I couldn’t. I’d have to want to for it work.” He shook his head, his insides growing slowly numb.
“I know. It doesn’t matter though.” She smiled and her head nodded strangely.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve found another way, rather primitive but it should do the job.” She gestured at the kitchen counter where sat a half empty spirit bottle and several plastic pill containers.
“You haven’t…you can’t…” Harry began in a panic “You’ve got to sick them up!” He demanded, scrambling for his wand.
“You have got to be kidding! Do you have any idea how many times a day I’m sick to begin with?” She asked a little foggily, “And why? I’ve seen what this does Harry, we both have, I don’t want that, I just want it to be over, I’ve wanted it to be over since…” she trailed off.
“Since Ron died. I know.” Harry finished for her and stilled himself. “Don’t do this,” he asked with quiet desperation.
“You can’t stop me Harry. Besides, I think it’s too far gone now anyway, I’m feeling awfully tired.” She emphasised the point with a yawn and her eyelids looked all the heavier.
“I’m not…I mean I won’t…I just…I…I can’t do this on my own…” Harry rambled, feeling that same slow well of anguish he tried to close off as much as he possibly could.
“Yes you can Harry. You always have, you’ll be alright, you’ll see.” She smiled a genuine, beatific smile.
“I don’t want to be alone,” he responded honestly and looked down at his feet.
“You’re not alone, you’ve got Ginny and she’s got you…”
“For how long?” He looked up sharply.
“I don’t know, no one does. I don’t think there’s anyone left who can know.” She shook her head, it had begun to loll more than a little.
“Please don’t do this,” he pleaded with her.
“I’m so sorry. Please don’t be angry with me. I love you Harry, and I’m going to miss you terribly…I miss everyone so much.” Her voice broke and tears welled from her eyes.
“So do I,” Harry breathed and he held her as she began to sob uncontrollably, “So do I.”
It wasn’t long before she dropped off. Harry carried her to her bed and pulled the blankets over her wasted form. He sat in a chair in the dark, wringing his hands about what best to do. The decision made itself in the end when her breath gave out. He walked dumbly through the cottage and out into the garden and stood clenching and unclenching his fists as he stared up at the clarity of the stars.
“WHY?!?!” He roared inarticulately at the night sky and slumped onto the back step like a fallen rag doll.
Another cold dawn, another grave dug.
What Dies Inside, Part 3.