Unofficial Portkey Archive

The tunnel was beginning to get darker. The light from the alcove behind him was beginning to fade. Harry reached for his wand, but came up with nothing. He began to search all of his pockets, but again found nothing. He stopped dead in his tracks. He was defenseless without it. He would have to go back and find it. It must have fallen out when he landed on the pile of bones. He turned around and started to make his way back. He felt a terrible coldness sweep through him.

Each step he took towards the alcove drove the icy feeling deeper and deeper into his being. Each step became one of agony. It was becoming more than he could bear. He needed his wand. He had to make it. He simply had to.

A piercing whisper surrounded him, "Haaaarrrrry… Haaaaarrrryy…"

He stood perfectly still. He dared not move at all. He swallowed, but his throat was as dry as a parched desert. When he tried to again, the sound of his own throat sounded so dreadfully loud.

The whisper came again even louder. "Haaarrrrryy…" The whisper was suddenly upon him and filled the whole tunnel with its awful sound.

"Haaarrryyy… I'm coming for you! …. NOW RUN!"

His body gave him no choice. He began to run the opposite direction. He wanted his wand so badly, but the fear of what was coming after him was beyond reason. He ran so fast that he could barely keep from tripping over his own legs. His body felt gangly and awkward. Still he pushed himself to run faster than he had ever done in his life. The tunnel was becoming so dark that he could barely see where his next step would take him. His flailing arms knocked into the skeletons along the walls. Bones were knocked too and fro and the thought of touching so much death, with such reckless abandon, caused his fear to pique into an intense pain deep in his chest.

Harry called out in desperation, "Heeellp… Heeellp… Can anyone hear me?!"

Still he ran through the darkness. He began to run into the walls quite hard. He held his hands out, trying to feel his way through. The jagged stones along the walls began to cut into his skin. He felt cold blood run from his fingertips. He wanted to turn and look behind him, but he was terrified that whatever it was, was right there and he could not find the courage to face it.

There ahead of him was a dim light. Different from the light long behind him. It was a deep yellow and orange and was flickering strangely. A torch or a candle he thought in his frightened stupor. He could see well enough now, not to continually run into the sides of the tunnel. He pushed himself even harder and told himself over and over, that he was almost to the light. He felt a razor sharp sting on his back. It had caught up to him.

His panic was so powerful that he started to make involuntary screaming sounds. His voice sounded like a wounded animal. There was a doorway just a short distance in front of him. The light was coming from the other side. The door appeared to be made of thick wood braced with metal bandings. He leapt forward and grabbed the edge of the door as he passed it. Holding on for dear life he swung it shut in one wrenching motion. The door closed with a deep clunking sound. Now facing the closed door his eyes searched rapidly. There was a large iron sliding bar. He clutched the bar and slid it into place, barring the door through a matching iron sleeve.

Harry quickly stepped back and something very large slammed into the door. The hinges groaned under the massive pressure. There was silence for a moment and then the door was slammed into again. Again the metal and the wood held, but seemed to give way just a little more. Two more breaths and then again the door was hit by something huge. The door held a third time. Harry braced himself for another. There was silence again and after the longest moment anyone had ever endured, the thing began to crawl away down the empty hallway. After a few more minutes the sound had faded away into nothing. Whatever it was, it had appeared to give up.

Harry sat down hard on the hard stone floor. His body was still trembling from the fleeing instinct that screamed for him to run some more. He reached around to his back and felt that part of his shirt was ripped into sliced ribbons; as if a large claw had torn through it. A shiver of revulsion went through him. Realizing he had been given this temporary reprieve, he looked around him and began to notice the strange room he had burst into.

The room was small and round. There was a small metal stove in the middle of the room. Inside it, a warm fire was crackling. There was a pipe chimney running up to the ceiling and out into whatever might be out there. There was a wooden rocking chair in the corner with a woolen blanket laid across its back. A meager table and matching chair stood in the opposite corner. There was a brass jug sitting on top and an old brass mug right next to it. The only way in or out was the door he had just slammed shut. That thought brought no sense of comfort whatsoever.

Harry stepped over to the table. His thirst was nagging at him so much so that he could scarcely ignore it. Without considering any consequence he grabbed the jug and felt it was full. He poured its contents into the mug and placed it back on the table. He took the mug and brought it to his nose. He smelled nothing at all. He tilted the mug to his mouth and let the fluid run down his throat. It was water, but it was tepid and tasted vaguely of dust and metal. For some reason though, it was the best glass of water he had ever had. He filled the mug up again and drank his fill.

Leaving the mug and jug behind, he crossed the room and fell into the rocking chair. It was old and had been worn by much use. The wood was smooth and slightly shiny from years of skin and oils wearing it down. It was comfortable and Harry found himself gently rocking back and forth. The tightness in his chest slowly left and he was finally able to settle his mind back from blind terror into a state of wary melancholy.

His thoughts inevitably came back to the murders he had committed. Maybe I should have let that monstrous creature catch me. The thought made him shudder. He leaned his head back and began to imagine all sorts of horrors that he felt should be visited upon him. This is nothing, he considered thoughtfully. For what I did, I deserve much, much worse. I wonder how much it hurts to be tortured in hell. Eventually, the terrible things will find me and get me. They'll make me pay for what I've done.

"I'm so scared. I know I deserve whatever happens, but I'm scared. I wish Hermione were here. I wonder if she would forgive me?" he wondered to himself.

That last thought made his eyes sting with tears. What if Hermione would not forgive him? Then what? He quietly moaned to himself and closed his eyes tightly. After a moment, he opened his eyes and stared at the door, wondering how long he could stay holed up here. He suddenly felt very tired. The rocking motion had a sort of sleepy hypnotic effect on him.

"Do people sleep in… in… well wherever it was he was right now?" he mumbled questioningly.

His question was soon answered as the strength left his limbs altogether and he slipped into the deep sleep that only the dead can know.

--- ---

Hermione thought that this glade, deep in some forest primeval was simply the most peaceful place she had ever known. The swirling mist of the forest was wispy and white. It felt cool, but not cold against her skin. The grass was so inviting as she curled her bare toes into it. She began to slowly spin in place, closing her eyes and reaching her arms out as far as they could go. This place was safe and beyond the reach of any dark things of the world she used to know. The battles of good and evil never touched this meadow. Evil simply ceased to exist in this place.

Her thoughts had also never been so clear. She had a perfect memory and all the events both good and bad from her life could be called up with absolute clarity. She was able to see things for what they really were and even the bad things that happened to her suddenly had purpose and meaning. They were all events that helped shape her life. She began to play back her favorite moments. When she first received the letter from Hogwarts, the first time she ever met Hagrid, the time Ron had finally admitted that Crookshanks was a good cat. Then her thoughts took a different turn. She began to concentrate on her memories of Harry. Those times became so vivid and close that she began to lose herself in them. She wrapped herself in the moments they were alone and they gave her great comfort. She found herself wishing he were here with her. She opened her eyes, hoping that he would somehow appear.

She laughed at herself, realizing this was impossible. Harry was probably still back at the Black's family estate waiting to find out what was going on. She wondered if he had found out that she had died yet. She wondered if he was terribly sad. Suddenly the perfect feelings were invaded by a strange sensation. What if Harry was crying right now? She was not there to comfort him. She was not there to help him. He would have to face all the dark evils surrounding his life without her. A feeling of regret and sadness welled up inside her.

"Harry needs me," she announced to the world around her. "Harry can't do this without me." There was, of course, no reply.

She looked even deeper into herself and realized another truth. She needed Harry. Without him near her, there was no such thing as heaven. She wondered if that was where she was now. Was this heaven? If it truly was then how could heaven be a happy place without the person she wanted to be with the most? These thoughts troubled her a great deal. Without even realizing it she had begun walking. There was no real sense of direction that she could determine, so she just put one foot in front of the other. She had come to the edge of the meadow and was now facing the immense trees that reached as far as she could see into the distance. The trees seemed so very old and had an air of wisdom about them; as if they had been silently watching the world since the beginning of time. She reached out to touch one and felt as if she was reaching into the past. It was a bit overwhelming. She looked around her and then plunged into the beckoning woods.

There had to be more to this than just a meadow and a forest. Hermione would not be satisfied until she had learned everything there was to know about whatever this place was. So with her eyes wide open and her mind in constant motion she began to go wherever her feet would take her. Maybe, if she walked far enough and long enough, she would find Harry waiting for her. That thought brought back the feeling of peace she had when she had first arrived. Thinking about Harry always helped her focus on what really mattered to her. In this case, she laughed, what really mattered apparently was Harry.

--- ---

Everyone had gathered at the memorial service for Harry and Hermione. Hermione's body was laid to rest and an empty coffin was made for Harry. Hagrid had spent two days making it with his own hands. He wanted it to be very special. He cried almost the entire time. Ron knew this, because he was right there at his side while he whittled, cut, hammered and sanded away.

Now, the two coffins were being lowered into the ground. He had come so close to death himself. He was still coming to terms with the fact that it was Harry who had done it. At first he could not believe it when they tried to tell him. It was not until Dumbledore told him that he finally realized that it must somehow be true. When he thought back on it though, he could not bring himself to be angry at Harry for very long. It was nothing more than a terrible mistake. Ron wondered what he would do. The thought of having to go back to Hogwarts and face the next two years of school without his two best friends seemed like a terrible, cruel joke.

He thought about quidditch for a brief moment and then shook his head. He could care less about the damnable sport. What good was flying his new broom, when Harry would not be there at his side and Hermione would not be there to cheer them both on.

"What a complete bloody waste," he yelled out.

Everyone turned to look at him, but he was not sorry for saying it. He ignored all of their looks. He just kept staring straight ahead. He stood there for a long, long time. He still stood there long after everyone had gone. Mrs. Weasley walked over to him and said they were heading home and Ron pulled away from her.

"Go on then," he said defiantly, "I'm not ready to leave."

She looked at him thoughtfully. "I'll come back and check on you later. You just stay as long as you need to."

Ron did not respond. He just stood there looking; thinking that if he could just stare hard enough at their graves that he would be able to see them again. He did not move even after his mom had left. After a long while, he heard a soft voice from behind him.

"Ron?"

He refused to turn away from where Harry and Hermione were buried.

"I'll sing you a song that my mother used to sing to me when I was little," came the soft comforting voice again.

Luna began to sing. She held her hands up and placed them across her heart and began to sway back and forth. Her voice, though not perfect, was quite beautiful. Soft and breathy she sang a sweet lullaby. The notes seemed to seamlessly blend into Ron's thoughts. Each word kind of melted into his sorrow.

Ron turned and looked at her. She was wearing a short green dress that was very flattering in a sweet sort of way. Ron noticed that underneath that strange and vaguely absent persona was a nice girl. Someone who had been picked on a bit more than her share, but somehow seemed to let it all just blow over her. She was quite pretty and Ron felt kind of bad for noticing something like that here in this place.

Luna finished the song and walked straight up to Ron.

"I know what you need. You need a drink from a furgle-bender potion. Father says that it helps you forget about sad things."

"I've never heard of it," replied Ron with an exasperated look on his face.

"Oh, it's used all the time by farming wizards in South America. They drink it whenever it rains too hard and washes their goats out to sea. They have to do something, because it's such a terrible tragedy when the goats you care most about are taken away from you like that."

It was impossible for Ron to argue with that and so he just grinned a sad little grin.

"Since I don't have any furgle-bender potions with me, I guess you'll have to settle for this," Luna said with a sure voice.

She reached out to him with both of her arms and pulled Ron's head onto her shoulder.

"There, there now. It's okay to cry, nobody will see us," Luna announced quietly.

Ron snorted as if to laugh at her silly little comment. Then suddenly found himself crying in her arms. Luna ran her slender fingers through his bright red hair. It made Ron feel very safe.

"I can take you to where Harry and Hermione are," Luna said in whisper.

"What?" Ron replied. The shock of what she said briefly pulled him out of his sorrow. "What are you talking about? They're right here Luna! They're dead!"

"I know that," she replied with a hurt voice.

Ron immediately felt bad for being so harsh. Though, he really could not have helped it.

"Well, what is that you mean exactly?" he asked in a subdued voice.

"Come with me. I'll take you to where you can hear their voices."

Ron looked at Luna incredulously. For once though, he did not scoff at her outlandish statement. He would do just about anything to be able to talk to Harry and Hermione again. He would follow Luna as far and as long as she would lead him.