Chapter 30: The White Tomb


All lessons were suspended, all examinations postponed. Some students

were hurried away from Hogwarts by their parents over the next couple of

days - the Patil twins were gone before breakfast on the morning following

Dumbledore's death and Zacharias Smith was escorted from the castle by his

haughty-looking father. Seamus Finnigan, on the other hand, refused point-

blank to accompany his mother home; they had a shouting match in the

Entrance Hall which was resolved when she agreed that he could remain

behind for the funeral. She had difficulty in finding a bed in Hogsmeade,

Seamus told Harry and Ron, for wizards and witches were pouring into the

village, preparing to pay their last respects to Durnbledore.


Some excitement was caused among the younger students, who had never

seen it before, when a powder-blue carriage the size of a house, pulled by a

dozen giant winged palo-minos, came soaring out of the sky in the late

afternoon before the funeral and landed on the edge of the Forest. Harry

watched from a window as a gigantic and handsome olive-skinned, black-

haired woman descended the carriage steps and threw herself into the

waiting Hagrid's arms. Meanwhile a delegation of Ministry officials,

including the Minister for Magic himself, was being accommodated within

the castle. Harry was diligently avoiding contact with any of them; he


was sure that, sooner or later, he would be asked again to account for

Dumbledore's last excursion from Hogwarts.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were spending all of their time together.

The beautiful weather seemed to mock them; Harry could imagine how it

would have been if Durnbledore had not died, and they had had this time

together at the very end of the year, Ginny's examinations finished, the

pressure of homework lifted ... and hour by hour, he put off saying the thing

that he knew he must say, doing what he knew it was right to do, because it

was too hard to forgo his best source of comfort.


They visited the hospital wing twice a day: Neville had been discharged,

but Bill remained under Madam Pomfrey's care. His scars were as bad as

ever; in truth, he now bore a distinct resemblance to Mad-Eye Moody,

though thankfully with both eyes and legs, but in personality he seemed jusi

the same as ever. All that appeared to have changed was that he now had a

great liking for very rare steaks.


'... so eet ees lucky 'e is marrying me,' said Fleur happily, plumping up

Bill's pillows, 'because ze British overcook their meat, I 'ave always said

this.'


'I suppose I'm just going to have to accept that he really is going to marry

her,' sighed Ginny later that evening, as she, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat

beside the open window of the Gryffindor common room, looking out over

the twilit grounds,


'She's not that bad,' said Harry. 'Ugly, though,' he added hastily, as Ginny

raised her eyebrows, and she let out a reluctant giggle.

'Well, I suppose if Mum can stand it, 1 can.'


'Anyone else we know died?' Ron asked Hermione, who was perusing the

Evening Prophet.


Hermione winced at the forced toughness in his voice.


'No,' she said reprovingly, folding up ihe newspaper. 'They're still looking

for Snape, but no sign ...'


'Of course there isn't,' said Harry, who became angry every lime this

subject cropped up. They won't find Snape till they find Voldemort, and

seeing as they've never managed to do that in all this time ...'


'I'm going to go to bed,' yawned Ginny. 'I haven't been sleeping thai well

since ... well ... I could do with some sleep.'


She kissed Harry (Ron looked away pointedly), waved al the other two

and departed for the girls' dormitories. The moment the door had closed

behind her, Hermione leaned forwards towards Harry with a most

Hermione-ish look on her face.


'Harry, I found something ou( this morning, in the library ..,'


'R.A.B.?' said Harry, silling up straight.

He did not feel the way he had so often felt before, excited, curious,

burning to get to the bottom of a mystery; he simply knew that the task of

discovering the truth about the real Horcrux had to be completed before he

could move a little further along the dark and winding path stretching ahead

of him, the path that he and Dumbledore had set out upon together, and

which he now knew he would have to journey alone. There might still be as

many as four Horcruxes out there somewhere and each would need to be

found and elim-inated before there was even a possibility that Voldemort

could be killed. He kept reciting their names to himself, as though by listing

them he could bring them within reach: 'the locket .., the cup ... the snake ...

something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's ... the locket ... the cup ... the

snake ... something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's ...'


This mantra seemed to pulse through Harry's mind as he


fell asleep at night, and his dreams were thick with cups, lockets and

mysterious objects that he could not quite reach, though Dumbledore

helpfully offered Harry a rope ladder that turned to snakes the moment he

began to climb ...


He had shown Hermione the note inside the locket the morning after

Dumbledore's death, and although she had not immediately recognised the

initials as belonging to some obscure wizard about whom she had been

reading, she had since been rushing off to the library a little more often than

was strictly necessary for somebody who had no homework to do.

'No,' she said sadly, 'I've been trying, Harry, but I haven't found anything

... there are a couple of reasonably well-known wizards with those initials -

Rosalind Antigone Bungs ... Rupert "Axebanger" Brookstanton ... but they

don't seem to fit at all. Judging by that note, the person who stole the

Horcrux knew Voldemort, and I can't find a shred of evidence that Bungs or

Axebanger ever had anything to do with him ... no, actually, it's about ...

well, Snape.'


She looked nervous even saying the name again.


'What about him?' asked Harry heavily, slumping back in his chair.


'Well, it's just that I was sort of right about the Half-Blood Prince

business,' she said tentatively.


'D'you have to rub it in, Hermione? How tTyou think 1 feel about that

now?'


'No - no - Harry, I didn't mean that!' she said hastily, look-ing around to

check that they were not being overheard. 'It's just that 1 was right about

Eileen Prince once owning the book. You see ... she was Snape's mother!'


T thought she wasn't much of a looker,' said Ron. Hermione ignored him.


'1 was going through ihe rest of the old Prophets and there

was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called

Tobias Snape, and then later an announcement saying that she'd given birth

to a -'


'- murderer,' spat Harry.


'Well ... yes,' said Hermione. 'So ... 1 was sort of right. Snape must have

been proud of being "half a Prince", you see? Tobias Snape was a Muggie

from what it said in the Prophet'


'Yeah, that fits,' said Harry. 'He'd play up the pure-blood side so he could

get in with Lucius Malfoy and the rest of them ... he's just like Voldemort.

Pure-blood mother, Muggie father ... ashamed of his parentage, trying to

make himself feared using the Dark Arts, gave himself an impressive new

name - Lard Voldemort - the Half-Blood Prince - how could Dumbledore

have missed -?'


He broke off, looking out of the window. He could not stop himself

dwelling upon Dumbledore's inexcusable trust in Snape ... but as Hermione

had just inadvertently reminded him, he, Harry, had been taken in just the

same ... in spite of the increasing nastiness of those scribbled spells, he had

refused to believe ill of the boy who had been so clever, who had helped him

so much ...


Helped him ... it was an almost unendurable thought, now ...

'I still don't get why he didn't turn you in for using that book,' said Ron.

'He must've known where you were getting it ali from.'


'He knew,' said Harry bitterly. 'He knew when I used Secfumsempra. He

didn't really need Legilimency ... he might even have known before then,

with Slughom talking about how brilliant I was at Potions ... shouldn't have

left his old book in the bottom of that cupboard, should he?'


'But why didn't he turn you in?'


'I don't ihink he wanted to associate himself with that book,' said

Hermione. 'I don't think Dumbledore would have liked it very much if he'd

known. And even if Snape pre-tended it hadn't been his, Slughom would

have recognised his writing at once. Anyway, the book was left in Snape's

old classroom, and I'll bet Dumbledore knew his mother was called

"Prince".'


T should've shown the book to Dumbledore,' said Harry. 'All that lime he

was showing me how Voldemort was evil even when he was at school, and 1

had proof Snape was, too -'


'"Evil" is a strong word,' said Hermione quietly.


'You were the one who kept telling me the book was dangerous!'

'I'm trying to say, Harry, that you're pulling too much blame on yourself. 1

thought the Prince seemed to have a nasty sense of humour, but I would

never have guessed he was a potential killer ...'


'None of us could've guessed Snape would ... you know,' said Ron.


Silence fell between them, each of them lost in their own thoughts, but

Harry was sure that they, like him, were think-ing about the following

morning, when Dumbledore's body would be laid to rest. Harry had never

attended a funeral before; there had been no body to bury when Sirius had

died. He did not know what to expect and was a little worried about what he

might see, about how he would feel. He won-dered whether Dumbledore's

death would be more real to him once the funeral was over. Though he had

moments when the horrible fact of it threatened to overwhelm him, there

were blank stretches of numbness where, despite the fact that nobody was

talking about anything else in the whole castle, he still found it difficult 10

believe that Dumbledore


had really gone. Admittedly he had not, as he had with Sirius, looked

desperately for some kind of loophole, some way that Dumbledore would

come back ... he felt in his pocket for the cold chain of the fake Horcrux,

which he now carried with him everywhere, not as a talisman, but as a

reminder of what it had cost and what remained still to do.


Harry rose early to pack the next day; the Hogwarts Express would be

leaving an hour after the funeral. Down-stairs he found the mood in the

Great Hall subdued. Every-body was wearing their dress robes and no one

seemed very hungry. Professor McGonagall had left the thronelike chair in

the middle of the staff table empty. Hagrid's chair was des-erted too: Harry

thought thai perhaps he had not been able to face breakfast; but Snape's

place had been unceremoniously filled by Rufus Scrimgeour. Harry avoided

his yellowish eyes as they scanned the Hall; Harry had the uncomfortable

feeling that Scrimgeour was looking for him. Among Scrimgeour's

entourage Harry spotted the red hair and horn-rimmed glasses of Percy

Weasley. Ron gave no sign that he was aware of Percy, apart from stabbing

pieces of kipper with unwonted venom.


Over at the Slytherin table Crabbe and Goyle were mutter-

ing together. Hulking boys though they were, they looked

oddly lonely without the tall, pale figure of Malfoy between

them, bossing them around. Harry had not spared Malfoy

much thought. His animosity was all for Snape, but he had

not forgotten the fear in Malfoy's voice on that Tower top, nor

the fact that he had lowered his wand before the other Death

Eaters arrived. Harry did not believe that Malfoy would have

killed Dumbledore. He despised Malfoy still for his infatu-

ation with the Dark Arts, but now the tiniest drop of pity

mingled with his dislike. Where, Harry wondered, was Malfoy

now, and what was Voldemort making him do under threat of

killing him and his parents? ? ···>.


Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a nudge in the ribs from Ginny.

Professor McGonagall had risen to her feet and the mournful hum in the Hall

died away at once.

'It is nearly time,' she said. 'Please follow your Heads of House out into

the grounds. Gryffindors, after me.'


They filed out from behind their benches in near silence. Harry glimpsed

Slughorn at the head of the Slytherin column, wearing magnificent long

emerald-green robes embroidered with silver. He had never seen Professor

Sprout, Head of the Hufflepuffs, looking so clean; there was not a single

patch on her hat, and when they reached the Entrance Hall, they found

Madam Pince standing beside Filch, she in a thick black veil that fell to her

knees, he in an ancient black suit and tie reek-ing of mothbails.


They were heading, as Harry saw when he stepped out on to the stone

steps from the front doors, towards the lake. The warmth of the sun caressed

his face as they followed Professor McGonagall in silence to the place where

hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows. An aisle ran down the centre of

them: there was a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. It

was the most beautiful summer's day.


An extraordinary assortment of people had already settled into half of the

chairs: shabby and smart, old and young. Most Harry did not recognise, but

there were a few that he did, including members of the Order of the Phoenix:

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, her hair miraculously

returned to vividest pink, Remus Lupin, with whom she seemed to be

holding hands, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill sup-ported by Fleur and followed

by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragonskin. Then

there was Madame Maxime, who took up two-and-a-half chairs on her own,

Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron, Arabella Figg, Harry's Squib

neighbour, the hairy bass player from the


wizardmg group the Weird bisters, hrnie Frang, dnver ol the Knight Bus,

Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley, and some people whom

Harry merely knew by sight, such as the barman of the Hog's Head and the

witch who pushed the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. The castle ghosts

were there too, barely visible in the bright sunlight, discernible only when

they moved, shimmering insubstantially in the gleaming air.


Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny filed into seats at the end of a row

beside the lake. People were whispering to each other; it sounded like a

breeze in the grass, but the birdsong was louder by far. The crowd continued

to swell; with a great rush of affection for both of them, Harry saw Neville

being helped into a seat by Luna. They alone of all the DA had responded to

Hermione's summons the night that Dumbledore had died, and Harry knew

why: they were the ones who had missed the DA most ... probably the ones

who had checked their coins regularly in the hope that there would be

another meeting ...


Cornelius Fudge walked past them towards the front rows, his expression

miserable, twirling his green bowler hat as usual; Harry next recognised Rita

Skeeter, who, he was infuri-ated to see, had a notebook clutched in her red-

takmed hand; and then, with a worse jolt of fury, Dolores Umbridge, an

unconvincing expression of grief upon her toadlike face, a black velvet bow

set atop her iron-coloured curls. At the sight of the centaur Firenze, who was

standing like a sentinel near the water's edge, she gave a start and scurried

hastily into a seat a good distance away.


The staff were seated at last. Harry could see Scrimgeour looking grave

and dignified in the front row with Professor McGonagall. He wondered

whether Scrimgeour or any of these important people were really sorry that

Dumbledore wasand he forgot his dislike of the Ministry in looking around

for the source of it. He was not the only one: many heads were turning,

searching, a little alarmed.


'In there,' whispered Ginny in Harry's ear.


And he saw them in the clear green sunlit water, inches below the surface,

reminding him horribly of the Inferi; a chorus of merpeople singing in a

strange language he did not understand, their pallid faces rippling, their

purplish hair flowing all around them. The music made the hair on Harry's

neck stand up and yet it was not unpleasant. It spoke very clearly of loss and

of despair. As he looked down into the wild faces of the singers he had the

feeling that they, at least, were sorry for Dumbledore's passing. Then Ginny

nudged him again and he looked round.


Hagrid was walking slowly up the aisle between the chairs. He was crying

quite silently, his face gleaming with tears, and in his arms, wrapped in

purple velvet spangled with golden stars, was what Harry knew to be

Dumbledore's body. A sharp pain rose in Harry's throat at this sight: for a

moment, the strange music and the knowledge that Dumbledore's body was

so close seemed to take all warmth from the day. Ron looked white and

shocked. Tears were falling thick and fast into both Ginny and Hermione's

laps.




They could not see clearly what was happening at the front. Hagrid

seemed to have placed the body carefully upon the table. Now he retreated

down the aisle, blowing his nose with loud trumpeting noises that drew

scandalised looks from some, including, Harry saw, Dolores Umbridge ...

but Harry knew that Dumbledore would not have cared. He tried to make a

friendly gesture to Hagrid as he passed, but Hagrid's eyes were so swollen it

was a wonder he could see where he was going. Harry glanced at the back

row to which Hagrid


was heading and realised what was guiding him, for there, dressed in a

jacket and trousers each the size of a small mar-quee, was the giant Grawp,

his great ugly boulder-like head bowed, docile, almost human. Hagrid sat

down next to his half-brother and Grawp palled Hagrid hard on the head, so

that his chair legs sank into the ground. Harry had a wonder-ful momentary

urge to laugh. But then the music stopped and he turned to face the front

again.


A little tufty-haired man in plain black robes had got to his feet and stood

now in front of Dumbledore's body. Harry could not hear what he was

saying. Odd words floated back to them over the hundreds of beads.

'Nobility of spirit' ... 'intel-lectual contribution' ... 'greatness of heart' ... it did

not mean very much. It had little to do with Dumbledore as Harry had

known him. He suddenly remembered Dumbledore's idea of a few words:

'nitwit', 'oddment', 'blubber' and 'tweak 1, and again, had to suppress a grin ...

what was the matter with him?


There was a soft splashing noise to his left and he saw that the merpeople

had broken the surface to listen, too. He remembered Dumbledore crouching

at the water's edge two years ago, very close to where Harry now sat, and

conversing in Mermish with the Merchieftainess. Harry wondered where

Dumbledore had learned Mermish. There was so much he had never asked

him, so much he should have said ...


And then, without warning, it swept over him, the dreadful truth, more

completely and undeniably than it had until now. Dumbledore was dead,

gone ... he clutched the cold locket in his hand so tightly that it hurt, but he

could not prevent hot tears spilling from his eyes: he looked away from

Ginny and the others and stared out over the lake, towards the Forest, as the

little man in black droned on ... there was movement among the trees. The

centaurs had come to pay their respects, too. They did not move into the

open but Harry saw them


standing quite still, half-hidden in shadow, watching the wiz-ards, their

bows hanging at their sides. And Harry remem-bered his first nightmarish

trip into the Forest, the first time he had ever encountered the thing that was

then Voldemort, and how he had faced him, and how he and Dumbledore

had discussed fighting a losing battle not long thereafter. It was important,

Dumbledore said, to fight, and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then

could evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated ...

And Harry saw very clearly as be sal there under the hot sun bow people

who cared about him had stood in front of him one by one, his mother, his

father, his godfather, and finally Dumbledore, all determined to protect him;

but now that was over. He could not let anybody else stand between him and

Voldemort; he must abandon for ever the illusion he ought to have lost at the

age of one: that the shelter of a parent's arms meant that nothing could hurt

him. There was no waking from his nightmare, no comforting whisper in the

dark that he was safe really, that it was all in his imagination; the last and

greatest of his proteclors had died and he was more alone than he had ever

been before.


The little man in black had stopped speaking at last and resumed his seat.

Harry waited for somebody else to get to their feet; he expected speeches,

probably from the Minister, but nobody moved.


Then several people screamed. Bright, white flames had erupted around

Dumbledore's body and the table upon which it lay: higher and higher they

rose, obscuring the body. White smoke spiralled into the air and made

strange shapes: Harry thought, for one heart-stopping moment, that he saw a

phoenix fly joyfully into the blue, but next second the fire had vanished. In

its place was a white marble tomb, encasing Dumbledore's body and the

table on which he had rested.


There were a few more cries of shock as a shower of arrows soared

through the air, but they fell far short of the crowd. It was, Harry knew, the

centaurs' tribute: he saw them turn tail and disappear back into the cool trees.

Likewise the mer-people sank slowly back into the green water and were

lost from view.


Harry looked ai Ginny, Ron and Hermione: Ron's face was screwed up as

though the sunlight was blinding him. Hermione's face was glazed with

tears, but Ginny was no longer crying. She met Harry's gaze with the same

hard, blazing look that he had seen when she had hugged him after winning

the Quidditch Cup in his absence, and he knew that at that moment they

understood each other perfectly, and that when he told her what he was

going to do now, she would not say 'Be careful', or 'Don't do it', but accept

his decision, because she would not have expected anything less of him. And

so he steeled himself to say what he had known he must say ever since

Dumbledore had died.


'Ginny, listen ...' he said very quietly, as the buzz of con-versation grew

louder around them and people began to get to their feet. 'I can't be involved

with you any more. We've got to stop seeing each other. We can't be

together.'


She said, with an oddly twisted smile, 'It's for some stupid, noble reason,

isn't it?'


'It's been like ... like something out of someone else's life, these last few

weeks with you,' said Harry. 'But 1 can't ... we can't ... I've got things to do

alone now.'


She did not cry, she simply looked at him,

'Voldemort uses people his enemies are close to. He's already used you as

bait once, and that was just because you're my best friend's sister. Think how

much danger you'll be in if we keep this up. He'll know, he'll find out. He'll

try and get to me through you.'


'What if I don't care?' said Ginny fiercely.


'I care,' said Harry. 'How do you think I'd feel if this was your funeral ...

and it was my fault ...'


She looked away from him, over the lake.


T never really gave up on you,' she said. 'Not really. I always hoped ...

Hermione told me to get on with life, maybe go out with some other people,

relax a bit around you, because I never used to be able to talk if you were in

the room, remember? And she thought you might take a bit more notice if I

was a bit more - myself.'


'Smart girl, that Hermione,' said Harry, trying to smile. 'I just wish I'd

asked you sooner. We coukTve had ages ... months ... years maybe ...'


'But you've been too busy saving the wizarding world,' said Ginny, half-

laughing. 'Well ... I can't say I'm surprised. I knew this would happen in the

end. I knew you wouldn't be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort.

Maybe that's why I like you so much.'

Harry could not bear to hear these things, nor did he think his resolution

would hold if he remained sitting beside her. Ron, he saw, was now holding

Hermione and stroking her hair while she sobbed into his shoulder, tears

dripping from the end of his own long nose. With a miserable gesture, Harry

got up, turned his back on Ginny and on Dumbledore's tomb and walked

away around the lake. Moving felt much more bearable than sitting still: just

as setting out as soon as possible to track down the Horcruxes and kill

Voldemort would feel better than waiting to do it ...


'Harry!'


He turned. Rufus Scrimgeour was limping rapidly towards him around the

bank, leaning on his walking stick.


'I've been hoping to have a word ... do you mind if I walk a little way with

you?'


'No,' said Harry indifferently, and set off again.


'Harry, this was a dreadful tragedy,' said Scrimgeour quietly, 'I cannot tell

you how appalled I was to hear of it. Dumbledore was a very great wizard.

We had our disagree-ments, as you know, but no one knows better than 1 -'


·What do you want?' asked Harry flatly.


Scrimgeour looked annoyed but, as before, hastily modified his

expression to one of sorrowful understanding.

'You are, of course, devastated,' he said. 'I know that you were very close

to Dumbledore. I think you may have been his favourite ever pupil. The

bond between the two of you -'


'What do you want?' Harry repeated, coming to a halt.


Scrimgeour stopped too, leaned on his stick and stared at Harry, his

expression shrewd now.


'The word is that you were with him when he left the school the night that

he died.'


'Whose word?' said Harry.


'Somebody Stupefied a Death Eater on top of the Tower after Dumbledore

died. There were also two broomsticks up there. The Ministry can add two

and two, Harry.'


'Glad to hear it,' said Harry. 'Well, where I went with Dumbledore and

what we did is my business. He didn't want people to know.'


'Such loyalty is admirable, of course,' said Scrimgeour, who seemed to be

restraining his irritation with difficulty, 'bul Dumbledore is gone, Harry. He's

gone.'

'He will only be gone from the school when none here are loyal to him,'

said Harry, smiling in spite of himself.


'My dear boy ... even Dumbledore cannot return from the-'


'I am not saying he can. You wouldn't understand. But I've got nothing to

tell you.'


Scrimgeour hesitated, then said, in what was evidently


supposed to be a tone of delicacy, The Ministry can offer you all sorts of

protection, you know, Harry. I would be delighted to place a couple of my

Aurors at your service -'


Harry laughed.


'Voldemort wants to kill me himself and Aurors won't stop him. So thanks

for the offer, but no thanks.'


'So,' said Scrimgeour, his voice cold now, 'the request 1 made of you at

Christmas -'


'What request? Oh yeah ... the one where I tell the world what a great job

you're doing in exchange for --'


'- for raising everyone's morale!' snapped Scrimgeour.

Harry considered him for a moment.


'Released Stan Shunpike yet?'


Scrimgeour turned a nasty purple colour highly remin-iscent of Uncle

Vernon.


'1 see you are -'


'Dumbledore's man through and through,' said Harry. 'That's right.'


Scrimgeour glared at him for another moment, then turned and limped

away without another word. Harry could see Percy and the rest of the

Ministry delegation waiting for him, casting nervous glances at the sobbing

Hagrid and Grawp, who were still in their seats. Ron and Hermione were

hurry-ing towards Harry, passing Scrimgeour going in the opposite

direction; Harry turned and walked slowly on, waiting for them to catch up,

which they finally did in the shade of a beech tree under which they had sat

in happier times.


"What did Scrimgeour want?' Hermione whispered.


'Same as he wanted at Christmas,' shrugged Harry. 'Wanted me to give

him inside information on Dumbledore and be the Ministry's new poster

boy.'

Ron seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then he said loudly to

Hermione, 'Look, let me go back and hit Percy!'


'No,' she said firmly, grabbing his arm.


'It'll make me feel better!'


Harry laughed. Even Hermione grinned a little, though her smile faded as

she looked up at the castle.


'I can't bear the idea that we might never come back.' she said softly. 'How

can Hogwarts close?'


'Maybe it won't,' said Ron. 'We're not in any more danger here than we are

at home, are we? Everywhere's the same now. I'd even say Hogwarts is

safer, there are more wizards inside to defend the place. What d'you reckon,

Harry?'


'I'm not coming back even if it does reopen,' said Harry.


Ron gaped at him, but Hermione said sadly, 'I knew you were going to

say that. But then what will you do? 1


'I'm going back to the Dursleys' once more, because Dumbledore wanted

me to,' said Harry. 'But it'll be a short visit, and then I'll be gone for good.'


'But where will you go if you don't come back to school?'

'I thought I might go back to Godric's Hollow,' Harry mut-tered. He had

had the idea in his head ever since the night of Dumbledore's death. 'For me,

it started there, all of it. I've just got a feeling I need to go there. And I can

visit my parents' graves, I'd like that.'


'And then what?' said Ron.


Then I've got to track down the rest of the Horcruxes, haven't I?' said

Harry, his eyes upon Dumbledore's white tomb, reflected in the water on the

other side of the lake. That's what he wanted me to do, that's why he told me

all about them. If Dumbledore was right - and I'm sure he was -there are still

four of them out there. I've got to find them and destroy them and then I've

got to go after the seventh bit of Voldemort's soul, the bit that's still in his

body, and I'm the one who's going to kill him. And if I meet Severus Snape


along the way,' he added, 'so much trie better tor me, so mucn the worse

for him.'


There was a long silence. The crowd had almost dispersed now, the

stragglers giving the monumental figure of Grawp a wide berth as he

cuddled Hagrid, whose howls of grief were still echoing across the water.


'We'll be there, Harry,' said Ron.


'What?'

At your aunt and uncle's house,' said Ron. 'And then we'll go with you,

wherever you're going.'


'No -' said Harry quickly; he had not counted on this, he had meant them

to understand that he was undertaking this most dangerous journey alone.


'You said to us once before,' said Hermione quietly, 'that there was time to

turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?'


'We're with you whatever happens,' said Ron. 'But, mate, you're going to

have to come round my mum and dad's house before we do anything else,

even Godric's Hollow.'


'Why?'


'Bill and Fleur's wedding, remember?'


Harry looked at him, startled; the idea that anything as normal as a

wedding could still exist seemed incredible and yet wonderful.


'Yeah, we shouldn't miss that,' he said finally.


His hand closed automatically around the fake Horcrux, but in spite of

everything, in spite of the dark and twisting path he saw stretching ahead for

himself, in spite of the final meet-ing with Voldemort he knew must come,

whether in a month, in a year, or in ten, he felt his heart lift at the thought

that there was still one last golden day of peace left to enjoy with Ron and

Hermione.

The End.