When the publishers of The Daily Prophet asked me, at my great advanced age and for the millionth time, to finally write something, I simply thought to tell them to sod off…again. It was yet another lucrative book deal they were offering, and I was not interested.
Not because I am a hermit or a misanthrope, mind you, but because there are others that are better equipped to tell this particular piece of history. Furthermore, many of the memories and lessons of that time are painful to me. More importantly, I do not seek fame or glory for myself. Others have always, through my long life, been willing to tell my story.
So why did I decide to write this simple, short article for the Prophet that you are now reading?
You now know how I became the Boy Who Lived and the Chosen One. You know how I met Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Dumbledore, the Weasley Family, and the Order of the Phoenix. You've learned of the Dursley's cruelty, Voldemort's power, Severus Snape's treachery, Draco Malfoy's conflicted nature, and Albus Dumbledore's one fatal miscalculation. You have learned how I dealt with maltreatment, kindness, friendship, and loss. You have learned of my trip from childhood through adolescence, and the struggle that was thrust upon me during that time. You have learned of the battles I fought.
My unauthorized biographers and my would-be legend builders have told these stories. If you average out some of their more ridiculous creations, for good and for ill, you will find a close approximation of actual fact. They either vilify me or they canonize me. Between those two extremes, the truth lies.
So if the story is completely told, why am I wasting my limited remaining earthly time, and cramping my elderly hands, to bring you this article?
Well, in all of the tales of war and woe that have been published through the years, there is one missing factor. It is the most important factor, however, and it was the key to our victory.
The key to this victory was discovered during the last year of the War; in what I like to call the Seventh Year.
In the limited amount of history that I have read from that period, the historians, whether they love me or hate me, always point out that I had a vague plan for the final year of battle. From these histories you would also know that I had comrades for those battles. Based on the legends that have grown in the intervening decades, you would also think that I had magic and talent for those battles as well.
But this is not so.
What you don't know is that I did not have a weapon for those battles. I was very eager to fight, but I had nothing with which I could effectively fight. Sure, I had my wand and my wits and, at the risk of sounding immodest, I had loads of potential.
But you must understand that I was fighting Voldemort. By now, you know why that name struck terror into the heart of witch and wizard alike, and why it is still used to frighten misbehaving children.
The reason that I write this simple article is to let everyone know, once and for all, that if I had faced Voldemort without an appropriate weapon, it was hopeless. Simply put, I was going to be a lamb marching to slaughter.
Therefore, I will use The Daily Prophet's generous opportunity, and a bit of your precious time, Dear Reader, to tell a very short tale. It is a seemingly innocuous tale, but within it lays my discovery of the weapon that defeated the greatest dark wizard that the world will, hopefully, ever see.
More importantly (at least to me if not to the Wizarding World) is that it shows what true friends and comrades Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were to me, even when they were unaware of the inspiration they engendered.
Most importantly, this tale shows that the true architect of our victory was not me. It was a generous educator and headmaster who could find the undiscovered promise in each of his young charges. He was a kindly old man who knew the value of Love, and taught its importance to a wayward and lonely little boy. To him I am eternally thankful, as are we all.
Pardon me if my tale rambles a bit, or if there are holes in my recollection of events, or if something I write seems a tad crude. I am an old man now after all. I consider it my due to be a bit discombobulated and … cheeky.
But read on, and learn a bit of history that they never taught you in school…
The weapon was discovered in an elegant French garden on a warm August night. While I think of the night as incredibly special to me now, I was quite miserable at the time.
I had wandered off from a wedding that I was attending at the time. It was the wedding of Bill and Fleur Weasley, of whose story I am sure you have read (or perhaps you saw the tragically hilarious film, "She Bit Me!" by MagicMax Studios.)
Regardless, I was quite morose because I had recently broken up with my girlfriend, Ginny, from the previous Spring. I was even more morose because that same girlfriend had been plagued all evening by a never-ending string of French suitors belonging to the Delacour family. In my self-doubt and morbid curiosity, I had painfully, if surreptitiously, watched each twist and turn of that beautiful gem of a woman upon the dance floor.
Now the histories usually mention the fact that I was blessed with an invisibility cloak left to me by my father. What the histories generally fail to mention is that I was rather prone to sneak off by myself in that cloak.
Usually when I snuck off, I was getting into some mischief or other, but sometimes I used it just to get away from the press of a crowd, or to find some quiet time alone. That is the amazing thing about invisibility: you can be all alone while standing in a crowd of people.
At the time of discovering the weapon, however, I was not among people. I was sitting on a bench set in a garden on the expansive estate where the wedding and reception were held. I had found a tall hedge that had been trimmed and shaped into what looked and felt like a little three-walled room, with a narrow entrance where the fourth side was open. In this little hedge was a sturdy stone bench tucked back in the shadows. It was a very private nook, and I took the opportunity to sit and think. The weapon appeared while I was sitting on the bench, awash in self-pity over my failed romance, and comfortably tucked into my invisibility cloak within the shadows of the nook.
It was at that moment that all hell broke loose in the garden.
Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger appeared suddenly. At that moment they were engaged in a classic, all-time, most riotous row. I heard them approaching through the garden, my eyes rolling in annoyance at yet another dispute between them, when they decided to finish their argument right in the entrance to my three-sided hedge nook.
So you may wonder, as did I, why Hermione and Ron were having such an incandescent fight. I guess, at this point, it would be a good idea to give some small amount of background to that situation.
As you probably know, these two were my dearest school time friends. We had been inseparable for nearly six years at this point. There were never more dear, true and loyal compatriots for a young boy or man. In truth, I was so far over my head at that time in my life, that were it not for those two, I should never have survived it.
The tale of Ron and Hermione's friendship and romance has been told and retold over the intervening years, and I will not detail it too much further in this forum. For a true perspective, you may take a leisurely afternoon to read, "Bloody Hell! The Autobiography of Ronald Weasley." While this book mainly focuses on Ron's Quidditch career, he does dedicate two of the five chapters to our time at Hogwarts and the War - and most of that to discussing how Hermione drove him mad. For an equally true, yet completely opposite perspective, you should read, "A Witch's Tale of Friendship, Love, Life, Death, War, Teaching and Learning, With Perspectives on History, Politics, Civil Rights, International Magical Relations, Marriage and Children: The Memoirs of Professor Hermione Granger-Weasley, Esq." I will admit that in the last fifteen years I have only managed to get through volumes one, two and three of Hermione's thirteen volume work, but the parts that I did read were really good. In truth, she keeps adding volumes before I can finish reading the previous hefty tomes, and I hear volume fourteen is due out next spring.
But to return to our narrative, and to put it simply, at this point in their relationship Ron and Hermione were very confused. Under the façade of their always uneasy friendship there had been brewing a … change. They were developing more and more romantic feelings for each other, which had been complicated by adolescence, as well as all of their own quirks and insecurities. This problem had been obvious to me for quite some time.
I had been very conflicted over the idea of Ron and Hermione changing their relationship from friendship to romance. This had mostly been for selfish reasons on my part as I did not wish them to damage their always delicate friendship, and thereby cause a unbridgeable rift amongst our Trio.
But that previous school year and that summer, I became less opposed to the idea. This was based primarily on the same reasoning of preserving our Trio. During the previous term, Ron had taken up with some girl whose name I have difficulty remembering now, but she was a very pretty blonde. Hermione had been heartbroken in a measure completely inappropriate to friendship, though she will still not admit it to this day. Their friendship quickly dissolved at that point, and I found myself with the broken Trio I had been dreading.
Ron eventually chucked the other girl, and our Trio was restored after Ron nearly died from poisoning. Hermione has never said anything about it, but I know that Ron's near-death experience restored her desire to have him a part of her life again. I believe Ron felt the same way at that point.
During the summer, the two of them came to stay with me for my last summer with the Dursleys. That visit contained some of the more amusing moments that I have experienced in my long life. For personal reasons, I will not go into that tale at this time, but let me just say that Ron did not take well to my muggle cousin Dudley and the antics which ensued were priceless.
During that summer visit, the tension between Ron and Hermione was palpable. Their conversations were punctuated by moments of terrible awkwardness, or sudden tenderness, or heated arguments; all for no reason that would be appropriate between two people who are simply school chums. To be honest, it was so tense it made me want to jump out of my own skin.
There are two examples of this behavior that I remember clearly. The first involved a time when Hermione and I took Ron to a "grocery store," which is where muggles go to buy food. If you are a reader that is not familiar with muggles, then you will sympathize with Ron's mystification at such odd contraptions as "refrigerated shelves," and "fluorescent lights." Hermione found it all very amusing, and even whispered to me how "cute" Ron was acting in the store. As we were paying for our purchases, Ron became absolutely enamored with the "cash register," which is a muggle device that calculates how much money needs to be paid for the food that is purchased.
There was a young and pretty teenage muggle girl operating the cash register and she misunderstood Ron's interest. She thought he was flirting with her, and she must have enjoyed that, because she began to flirt back. When Ron realized that the girl fancied him, he began to lay it on pretty thick. Meanwhile a long queue of disgruntled customers developed behind us. The laughable thing about it was that Ron kept stealing glances at Hermione to see if she was paying attention.
Hermione for her part tried to ignore it at first, but she became more and more waspish with Ron and the checkout girl as the spectacle continued. I stood there rather helplessly watching the situation deteriorate, until I finally said some angry thing or other to Ron that got him to leave the girl alone so we could get out of there. As we took our purchases and left, Hermione dropped a rude comment to the checkout girl, which left the girl stammering. Ron and Hermione were then short tempered and rude with each other for the rest of the day. This quickly devolved into an argument that left Hermione in tears and Ron sitting in the Dursleys' back garden, hoping to find a gnome to toss.
The second example that comes to mind about the tension between my two best friends occurred when Hermione and I took Ron to a "video shop." This is a place where muggles rent or buy things called "movies," which are stories with moving pictures and sound that you can watch and enjoy.
We rented some old classic movies for Ron to see. Ron frightened Dudley into allowing us to use the device which displays the movies, and we sat in my room for the evening and watched.
Each movie is about two hours long, and we watched two movies that night. As the movies began, I sat on my bed and Ron and Hermione sat on the floor next to my bed. At first they simply sat next to each other. Then Ron asked for some pillows so they could get comfortable. Then Hermione said she was cold and asked for a blanket. By the end of the first movie, they were both sitting close to each other and sharing the blanket. I am not certain how things progressed from there, because I dozed off during the second movie. However, when I awoke in the morning, it was to a very cozy sight indeed.
I awoke and looked down to see my two friends still on the floor together. Ron lay on his back with Hermione. He was awake and she appeared to be sleeping with her head resting lightly on Ron's shoulder and her arm draped across the chest of his Chudley Canon's tee shirt. Ron was awake, and wore an extremely pensive look on his face. The look told me immediately that nothing had occurred between them that could not be easily explained as platonic behavior. I could also tell that Ron was not entirely happy about it being only platonic. He was, however, gently running his fingers through Hermione's thick hair and doing his best to be a comfortable pillow for her.
I will never forget the embarrassed look on Ron's face when he saw that I was awake. He whispered to me with a little laugh, "Uh…I guess this looks a bit odd, eh, Mate?"
I will also never forget the little smile that I noticed curling Hermione's lips. It quickly disappeared as she continued to feign sleep while Ron caressed her hair. Finally, I will never forget the excruciating awkwardness that ensued for the entire day as the two tried to figure out how to act after their first night "in each other's arms," as innocent as it was.
Thus did the summertime with the Dursleys pass, and by the end of it, I must say that I was fed up. I spent the entire time being a referee to their squabbles, a relief to their awkwardness, and an unwilling witness to their growing feelings for one another. By this time I was hoping they would get together just so that I would not be subjected to all of their emotional baggage. My apprehension about their friendship was a non-issue by this point, since it was apparent to me that those two could not continue long as friends. No friendship could withstand the strain of such intense feelings.
To put it more simply, if you will pardon this dirty old man's vulgarity for a moment, it was getting to the point where I was hoping they would just shag and get it over with.
So as you can see, by the time of Bill and Fleur's wedding the atmosphere between Hermione and Ron was thick with tension, hope, anticipation and apprehension.
Then Viktor Krum showed up at the wedding.
If you have read anything about the War, you know of Viktor Krum. His heroism and steadfastness in battle is the stuff of modern legend, as are the stories of his dalliances with the ladies when he came to live in Britain after the war. Most of you only know of Viktor and Ron as war heroes, Quiditch teammates and fast friends. But at the time of Bill and Fleur's wedding, those days were yet to come. What many do not know about Viktor Krum is that he was, for several years, the bane of poor Ron's existence.
Oh, Ron would not admit it of course. He never even said it to me directly, and I was his best mate! But Ron was simply, terribly, and horribly jealous because of Viktor Krum. I won't go into the entire story here (see volume two, part twelve, chapter fifty-six of Hermione's biography for more detail), but suffice it to say that Viktor had been Hermione's first boyfriend…and it made Ron a nutter.
Needless to say, the warming and flirtatious behavior between Ron and Hermione, with which I had suffered all summer, abruptly ceased after we had left the Dursleys and arrived at the Weasley homestead. On that day, Bill and Fleur were at the Burrow with Ginny and Molly Weasley. All of the Weasley clan was aflutter with excitement about the impending wedding. Plans were being amended, revamped and finalized; all with a chaotic pace which may only be found among Weasleys.
Ron, Hermione and I happened to walk in on one such final preparation, and it set the stage for what was yet to come. By the time we arrived from the Dursleys, Ron and Hermione would often look at each other and smile in a hopeful and flirtatious way. I had the distinct feeling that their "friendship" would not survive a week.
I am not known for being a gossip, but I was looking forward to using the tidbits occurring between Rom and Hermione as conversation pieces with Ginny Weasley. This would allow me to avoid the awkwardness that I was sure would grow between us if we did not have some diversion.
I remember the exact scene of our arrival easily, and can describe what happened word for word. Ron, Hermione and I arrived flushed with exhilaration after apparating together for the first time. We were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Our faces held the sunshine of youth. We took our first step into the Burrow with the straight-backed hopefulness and unwarranted confidence of our age, and we were hoping the wedding would be one hell of a party.
In addition, we were hoping to surprise Molly with our early arrival. So we tried to quietly sneak through the kitchen door, when what should we hear but…
"Of course we should zeat Veektor with 'Ermione!" exclaimed Fleur as we cracked open the door. "She eez ze only ozer person Veektor will know. No?"
"That is not a good idea," said Ginny shaking her head. "Ron will have kittens over that."
"Why so?" asked Fleur, looking haughtily confused. "'Ermione and Veektor were togezer a few years ago. Why would Ron care if…"
We had entered the Burrow at this untimely moment to find Molly, Ginny, Bill and Fleur with their heads together pouring over a seating chart for the reception. They were going over the mundane and age-old task of ensuring that the people who sat with each other would enjoy the company they kept for the night. Old people were seated with old people instead of drunken rowdy youngsters. Ex-boyfriends or ex-husbands did not sit within a certain number of tables of their ex…that sort of thing.
As we had walked in, Fleur made her clueless comment and I heard Hermione curse under her breath in a most un-Hermione-ish way. She and I both looked at Ron, and all the shine in his eyes and spring in his step had become instead a stiff mask, and a tense stance.
"Viktor Krum is coming?" asked Ron in a flat voice to nobody in particular.
Ron never got his answer as he was immediately enfolded, as were we all, in the expansive greetings of Mrs. Weasley and the rest of the Weasley clan. Despite the warm greetings, handshakes, slaps on the back, hugs and kisses that were received and given to and from all present, the atmosphere between my two best friends had dramatically and immediately changed. Hermione anxiously bit her lip and looked like she was trying to think of something to say. Ron pointedly avoided Hermione's eye.
In short order Mrs. Weasley had us bundled around the table. As she made constant exclamations concerning our emaciation, Mrs. Weasley treated us to the bottomless surplus of her copious larder. Ron barely touched his food and was obviously, if quietly, upset. I snuck a peek or two across the table at Ginny and she gave me a smirk and a wink. It immediately put me at ease. Thanks to the romantic tension between my two best friends, I would definitely have plenty of safe topics to discuss with the object of my own repressed affection.
Now here you will have to pardon an old man, as my memory fails me to some extent, as does my decrepit writing hand. Due to the already unplanned length of this narrative, I will shorten it a bit to save both space and my aged fingers. Let me just say that the days at the Burrow leading up to the wedding, for me, were filled with three things.
First, was the fact that we were all immediately subsumed into wedding preparation, logistics and organization. Ron, Hermione and I were put to numerous duties by Mrs. Weasley, which involved a lot of flue powder and apparating on repeated errands to and from various shops and merchants, as well as the Delacour estate in France where the wedding would be held.
Second was the way in which I treasured any moment to sit or stand or otherwise be around Ginny. Thanks to the hive of activity that the Burrow had become, we never had long to be alone and grow nervous or run out of conversation. However, I began to wish for more awkward silences, just so I could be near her fiery hair, her warming smile, her slimly athletic form, her beautiful face and her biting wit.
To put it bluntly, I was starting to think that I had grossly miscalculated my decision to end our relationship at the end of the previous school term. I could tell she knew that I was questioning that decision. As the week went by, I found her often standing closer to me, or she casually brushed her hand against mine, or she pressed against me when she was leaning over for something, or otherwise did one of those many things that women may so easily do to so successfully catch the undivided attention of a young man.
Thirdly, and most importantly to this narrative, was the mounting discontent between Ron and Hermione. Ron moped and or acted surly when Hermione was around. At first Hermione acted solicitous and tried to coax Ron back into the awkwardly flirtatious behavior that had developed over the summer. Ron responded not a wit. He was abrupt and rude to Hermione, and did everything humanly possible to make being around the two of them aggravating to the extreme. After a few days, Hermione's accommodating streak had run its course, and she paid Ron back every rude comment, with interest. Luckily, the hectic events and our assigned quests from Mrs. Weasley kept things from coming to a head at that point, and prevented Hermione from giving Ron the tongue lashing of his life, and vice versa.
Sometimes, though, after a particularly abrupt or rude comment from Ron, Hermione would excuse herself while looking tearful. And sometimes when someone would mention Quiditch or Viktor Krum, or if Hermione struck home with a particularly telling verbal barb, Ron would look like he had eaten something rotten.
Thus did things continue for a week until we all found ourselves in France at the lovely Delacour estate for a wedding and the reception following.
So we see now, Dear Reader, the tensions of these several weeks that I have described, and particularly the last week at the Burrow. This was what came boiling forth in a raucous argument witnessed by me in that lovely French Garden from my little nook.
What I will relate next comes not only from my own memory, but also from the recollections of Fred and George Weasley. Soon after Bill and Fleur's wedding, I realized how important those events were. So I asked Fred and George for their memories of it, which have long been stored in my Pen Sieve. My own memories of that evening have been similarly stored, and thus I can make a detailed account of what followed without reliance on my current traitorous memory.
Dear Reader, Fred and George witnessed the beginning of that riotous row to which I have long alluded, and I saw the end of it. I shall tell it here as seamlessly as I can.
Throughout the day and night of the wedding, until they had their argument, Ron ignored Hermione completely. Hermione quickly grew tired and frustrated with Ron's peevishness, so she ignored Ron in turn. Hermione made her way about the reception and spoke amicably with various guests of the wedding. Hermione seemed to just drift through the crowd, but she was, in fact, seeking out Viktor Krum.
It has been related elsewhere, I believe, how Hermione corresponded with Viktor for several years after their brief time of romantic involvement. It is less known, however, that this correspondence was a constant bone of contention between Ron and Hermione due to Ron's jealousy. Hermione had rigidly maintained that her relationship with Viktor was purely platonic after our Fourth Year of school. Despite Ron's protestations to the contrary, I have no reason to doubt Hermione's contention, for reasons that I will now relate.
While this correspondence caused Ron angst for several years, he should not have been worried. Unknown to all of us, Hermione often wrote to Viktor about her feelings for Ron. During our Sixth Year, when Hermione's and Ron's relationship degraded as a result of him dating that blonde girl whose name I cannot recall (Lilac, perhaps? Or Lorrena? Curse my age!), Hermione needed at least one friend to whom she could turn in complete confidence and without fear of detection. She did not feel that I was that friend, because I was friends with both of them and she did not want to catch me up in the middle of that terrible dispute.
Thus, her shoulder to cry on, via Owl Post at least, was Viktor Krum's. And the most ironic thing was that Viktor consistently advised her to be patient, and to keep Ron in her life. If Ron had known that at the time, I think he would have swallowed his tongue.
I see that I am off on another tangent, here, and will try to get back on course. Anyway, at the reception Ron was ignoring Hermione and Hermione was ignoring Ron. Ron had terrible difficulty with being ignored by Hermione, because he was trying to upset her. When she simply went about her business, Ron moved quickly from irritable to furious.
Now Fred and George Weasley, of whom you have undoubtedly heard, had a famous reputation, and a profitable business, based entirely on their propensity for mischief. Unfortunately for their little brother Ron, he was often the object of their most laudable pranks, and the unwitting guinea pig for many of their new products. Thus, when Fred and George saw Ron fuming as well as the chilly atmosphere between him and Hermione, the Twins couldn't pass up the opportunity to have a bit of a laugh.
At the time of Bill and Fleur's wedding, Fred and George were developing an improved version of their wildly popular product known as the Extendable Ears, which were a listening device for eavesdropping. Their original product had a flaw because of its reliance on a long cord that would have to be near to the object of the eavesdropping. This made the Extendable Ears susceptible to being stymied by simple spells such as imperturbable and shield charms.
The improved product had no cord and consisted of two pieces. One piece could be placed on the person to whom you wished to listen, and the other piece could be held to your ear for a listen. The object of your eavesdropping carried the listening device wherever they went, and thus eliminated the difficulty of pushing through imperturbable or shield charms. They called it the "Anyw-ear," at first. The name was changed to "the Bug" after I told them of similar electronic muggle devices. Being that the device did indeed look like a little black centipede, and given that most wizards had no idea what "electronics" or "bugs" meant to muggles (and I am probably losing a few of my readers here), the name turned out to be a huge marketing coup, and the item eventually became their biggest seller.
Early in the evening, Fred and George saw the situation between Ron and Hermione developing, and decided to take advantage. The Twins placed one of the wireless devices on Hermione while pretending to give her an amicable pat on the back. Thus, they became privy to her conversations for the night.
Unfortunately for Ron and Hermione, the product was still only in development. There were a few bugs in "the Bug" as it were, that had not yet been sorted out. These will become important to this story as you will see.
Hermione ultimately found Viktor in the crowd and began to engage him in conversation. Viktor is a bit of a curmudgeon, but he always seemed to put a smile on Hermione's face and vice versa. They soon were talking and laughing and otherwise enjoying themselves and each other's company. Viktor and Hermione eventually ended up on the dance floor, twirling gracefully to one of the more stately dances.
This was the point at which Ron began to look murderous. He also looked like he was about to walk over and punch Viktor in the nose.
I saw Ron at this stage as well, because this stately dance was one in which Ginny was escorted onto the dance floor by a Delacour boy of about my age. The prat had no business being that good looking, and I decided my presence at the reception was no longer required. Then did I slip away to begin my morose stroll through the gardens, and I mentally wished Ron good luck as I left. The remainder of this part of the story will therefore come largely from Fred and George's memory.
As Hermione and Viktor danced, their conversation turned from the pleasantries and banter they had been enjoying to more serious topics. Hermione apparently began to show the strain that her current situation with Ron was causing.
"Hermowninny, you look so sad. Is it that Veasley boy again?" asked Viktor.
"He is not a boy, Viktor," said Hermione sternly. Her voice turned soft, however, as she said, "But yes. It is him."
"I don't know vy you fill so many letters to me about him if you will not even go talk to him. Are you sure off how you feel?"
"I am sure. He just needs more time, I think; like you said."
"But vy wait for him to come to you, Hermowninny? It seems like such a vaste off time. Just go tell him how you feel und let things fall vair they vill."
Hermione's voice got very soft and a bit despairing. "It is complicated, Viktor, but I want Ron to come to me on his own. I want him to do something."
At this point, Fred and George looked at each other. "All fun and games aside…" said George.
"…Ron needs to hear this," finished Fred.
The Twins quickly pressed through the crowd to Ron and explained what they had planted on Hermione. Ron looked torn for a moment between being indignant that the Twins had tested their device on Hermione, and ecstatic to be able to hear her talking to the detested Krum. After a moment of indecision, he placed the listening device to his ear.
Ron quickly pulled the ear piece away, however, and rubbed his finger in his ear with a pained expression. "Ow1" he exclaimed. "What are you playing at? That nearly burst my eardrum."
"It gets like that," said Fred, looking a bit peeved.
"Haven't worked out all the kinks, yet," said George, nodding.
"It keeps getting louder until you stop listening," said Fred.
"It stops being loud the moment you stop paying attention," said George with a shrug.
Fred shrugged as well in imitation of his twin. "It has something to do with the charm on the planted piece, but we can't figure it out."
"Just hold it out from your ear a bit," said George, looking impatient.
Ron complied and the earpiece was now loud enough for all three of them to hear Hermione and Viktor speaking if they huddled close together. Unfortunately, since Ron had not heard the beginning of the conversation, he took the next bit completely out of context.
"Vat do you mean, Hermowninny?" Viktor was saying.
"I mean that Ron is not like you, Viktor," said Hermione in a lecturing tone. "He wears his heart on his sleeve, so I can tell how he feels. He is also not as comfortable with himself, so he does not have your self-confidence."
"I still think that you must go and…"
The twins and Ron never heard what was said next, because Ron threw the earpiece on the floor in disgust. The Twins looked at each other apprehensively as Ron went from red to mauve with rage. "Wait, Ron…" they said together.
It was too late, however, as Ron was storming across the large dance floor towards Viktor and Hermione. Ron was moving as fast as he could, but he had a large dance floor to cover and a lot of people to push through. Every inch of his figure presaged a battle was about to begin.
"Should we tell him?" said George.
"Maybe we should…" began Fred uncertainly.
"I bet this one will be bad, though," said George. "Classic."
"And this is why we brought this thing, anyway," said Fred, picking the earpiece up off the floor. He looked at his brother and they shared a slow smile.
"We just need a patsy to keep listening and it should work," said George.
"Ginny. Ginny!" called Fred, waving as he had noticed her coming off the dance floor in their direction.
"Perfect!" whispered George as she approached
"What did you two do to Ron?" accused Ginny. "I just saw him turf a five-year-old as he rushed by."
"You don't want to miss this!" said Fred and George in unison. Fred handed the earpiece to Ginny.
"What is…Is that Hermione?" asked Ginny looking at the earpiece suspiciously.
"Shhhh!" ordered the twins as they jammed their ears next to hers, trying to catch what was about to be a classic row between Ron and Hermione. They did not have to strain for long, as the defect in the earpiece increased its volume.
"This is going to be sooooo good!" said Fred gleefully.
"Shhh…" said Ginny.
Ginny and the Twins were not to be disappointed this night.
Ron approached Viktor and Hermione like an emotional whirlwind. Viktor had seen Ron coming, and had chivalrously stepped between Ron and Hermione upon noticing the rage on Ron's face. That was probably the worst thing Viktor could have done given Ron's mood, as Ron cursed loudly upon seeing it, drawing the eyes of a bystander or two with his rude epithet.
"Oh what now, for heaven's sake," mumbled Hermione.
Ron looked barely able to constrain himself as his pale countenance moved through various shades of red and purple. "Enjoying yourself?!" asked Ron in a voice dripping with sarcasm as he shook with emotion.
"Ve Ver," said Viktor simply, looking at Ron down his nose despite the fact that Ron topped Viktor by a couple of inches.
"Oh I bet you were trying to, weren't you? You Bulgarian bastard!" said Ron threateningly, balling his hands into fists.
"Ron, have you gone mental?" said Hermione furiously as she came around in front of Viktor to place herself between the two young men. "What is the matter with you?"
As Viktor overcame his shock at the unwarranted insult, he began to return Ron's threatening posture. "I vill not be insulted by you, Veasley!" growled Viktor.
"Oi! And what are you going to do about it, Sally!" growled Ron. Now, several dancers had turned to view the proceedings with interest.
"Ron!" said Hermione aghast. She appeared absolutely dumbstruck by Ron's behavior.
Once his brain had translated the likely meaning of the last insult, Viktor tried to push past her to get at Ron. "Viktor!" exclaimed Hermione as she was jostled by the two.
"This boy is not vorthy, Hermowninny," said Viktor with aristocratic disdain, suddenly assuming a relaxed pose, but staring daggers at Ron.
Ron barked a sarcastic laugh. "Will you think I'm worthy when I put my boot in your arse?!"
That was too much for Hermione. "That's enough, Ronald!" she yelled before Viktor really understood what Ron had said. She put her hand on Ron's chest and began pushing him backwards. "Viktor, I'm sorry about this. May we finish our dance later?"
"Of course," said Viktor with a stately nod of his head. His face still appeared puzzled as if he was trying to figure out what an "arse" was.
Hermione turned to Ron and looked ready to escort him off the dance floor. A small crowd had now started to linger in their vicinity. Ron knocked away Hermione's restraining hand.
"I'm not going anywhere with the likes of you!" he growled in a strangled voice.
Hermione's face looked hurt and furious at the same time. "What the hell has gotten into you, Ronald Weasley?!"
Ron screwed his face up for a moment, and then in a quavering voice he said, "Have a good laugh with your boyfriend, did you?! Did you compare notes on how pathetic I am?!"
"What?" said Hermione, looking truly bewildered.
"I heard you talking about me!" said Ron. His voice became more strained as he attempted to speak in a high pitch in a poor imitation of Hermione and raised his hands in a prissy way. "'Little Ronniekins wears his heart on his sleeve. He's such an annoying little prat.'"
Hermione raised her hand to her chest in disbelief, appearing the picture of affronted innocence. "Ron, I would never say something like that about you. Never!"
Ron's face darkened as he plucked the Bug from Hermione's shoulder and held it up under her nose accusingly. "I heard you, Hermione. This is like an Extendable Ear and I heard everything you said!"
"Wha…you heard…you were spying on me!" exclaimed Hermione indignantly.
"A good thing I was, too!" said Ron triumphantly.
"This is a new low, Ronald, even for you." Hermione's voice was heavy with angry disappointment. The crowd that was gathering murmured disapproval. Viktor snorted in derision.
"I didn't know the Twins had put it on you. I just overheard them listening to you," Ron began, seeming slightly abashed, but he quickly regained his accusing tone. "And that's beside the point! Why were you talking about me behind my back?!" Some members of the crowd now mumbled questioningly, looking at Hermione with disapproval.
"I wasn't! You obviously jumped to conclusions, as you always do!" shouted Hermione. The crowd was beginning to look like they were watching a tennis match, their heads swiveling in unison from one to the other as the argument continued.
"How could you?" accused Ron, not wanting to give away his momentary advantage. "All summer you hang all over me, and then as soon as Vicky shows up, you run off and throw yourself at him!"
"I was hardly…" Hermione began, looking absolutely horrified at what Ron was saying to her. She didn't finish what she was going to say because Ron made one of the more ill-advised comments of his young life.
"Bloody slut!" growled Ron under his breath. He said it in a voice loud enough to carry and a collective hiss went up from the onlookers.
Hermione's full-armed slap struck Ron heavily across the face. He staggered to the side under the impact, a large red handprint appearing on his cheek. His hand shot to the spot and he remained half bent where he had stumbled. He appeared to be in complete disbelief about what had just happened.
Hermione's eyes had grown round and wild with anger and other emotions. "How…how…could you? How…dare you…" she sputtered.
Hermione took a deep breath as Ron stood there, still stunned from Hermione's slap. Suddenly, shaking like a leaf, Hermione literally burst into tears. She let out a sob as she pushed past Ron and through the circle of watchers. The crowd, in turn, looked at Ron like he was something someone would scrape off of their shoe.
Ron stayed half-bent over as he looked up at Viktor in consternation. He had the Bug clutched in one hand and his cheek in the other. "I…I…didn't mean to say that…" stammered Ron.
"Veasley," exhaled Viktor, his disdainful look replaced with one of sorrow and sympathy, "you are a fool." With that, he turned on his heel and walked away.
After a moment more of stunned silence, Ron straightened and pushed desperately through the crowd after Hermione in the opposite direction.
Thus we come back to my personal recollections of the evening, Dear Reader, as we wind down this onerously long article. Thanks to my trusty memory devices, I think we will find that what remains herein is quite reliable and true to events.
First, I must tell you that I had been sitting in my little nook in the garden and, as I previously related, I was engaged in a very thorough teenage session of moping. Before the appearance of Ron and Hermione, my dark thoughts had turned to the losses suffered throughout the previous year. The most egregious of these losses was the death of my great friend, protector and mentor, Albus Dumbledore. The depth of that loss and its effect on the War has been thoroughly studied by other sources, and I will not reiterate the theories of those much cleverer than me.
I will, however, tell you something that may surprise you. That night, I was soon to realize that Dumbledore had fulfilled his goals for the war.
See, as I sat in the garden my thoughts revolved around my beautiful Ginevre Weasley. I sat there and I knew that I was in love with her. I sat there and I knew that I could not lose her the way I had lost so many others in my life that I loved, like Dumbledore. In truth, I was nearly petrified at the thought of losing Ron and Hermione, and I was convinced that one, or perhaps all, of our Trio would not come back from what lay ahead. Ron, Hermione and I were soon to depart on the well-documented Horcrux hunt, and I feared for them. But I also knew I could as easily remove my right and left arm as I could get through what was to come without my two best friends.
I was also sitting in the nook and thinking, repeatedly, that I could not leave Ginny without letting her know how I felt about her. I was also trying to figure out how I could tell her without inspiring her to follow us on the hunt. I had no doubt that once I let her know that I was in love with her that she would move heaven and earth to help me in my upcoming struggle. I sat in the nook and repeatedly shook my head. I could not risk her. I simply could not.
In short, I was frozen with indecision. I had nobody to turn to for advice, so my thoughts went to the man from whom I could always expect words of wisdom and comfort. At that moment, I thought of my beloved headmaster.
I could see his wizened face, and the small knowing smile that was always just about to curl his lip. I could see his piercing blue eyes and the power that he exuded. I could almost hear his merry voice whispering through the trees in the garden. I could nearly smell the scent of chocolate frogs and acid pops that always wafted around him. I sat and I imagined myself in the presence of Dumbledore.
I don't know if you do something that I often do. Sometimes I will be sitting and be particularly thoughtful about one thing or another. If there is a person involved in that thing, whether that thing is a historic event, or an event from my memory, or an anticipated meeting, I will often imagine the conversation that should have or would pass, as the case may be. It is a silly thing, I know, and often the conversation will be fanciful or ridiculous or have no connection to things as they might be. But sometimes…just sometimes…that imagined conversation may give you a perspective or a comfort that you would not find otherwise. Thus, as I sat in the nook, at about the same time that Ron began his tirade on the dance floor, I began an imaginary conversation with that wise old man.
"Harry," said the imagined headmaster, "what is the matter, My Boy."
"Nothing, Sir," I lied, looking surprised to see Dumbledore appear from the mists of my mind.
"Oh don't be so surprised to see me, Harry. I am only a bit of your imagination, and I am always here at your beck and call." The Professor smiled his knowing smile.
"Uh…okay, Sir."
"Well that is good that nothing is the matter, and quite unusual given what lies ahead for you. I dare say that you must be the bravest young man in the history of history, given that nothing is the matter at such a time." The imagined Dumbledore still wore that amused and knowing look.
"Well," I answered peevishly, "I have to be, don't I?"
"You do have to be brave, Harry, I do not doubt that," replied Dumbledore seriously. "But you do not have to be not human."
"I'm not sure I understand, Professor," I replied.
"Oh I think you must understand, Harry, for I am simply a figment of your imagination at present. Therefore by me saying that you have the right to be human, it is really you saying to yourself that you have the right to be human. Nevertheless I will explain. By that, Harry, I mean that it is entirely proper and human to have doubts and be conflicted in a situation such as yours, and to seek someone to help you with such feelings."
"Well, Professor, don't I have to be more than human to defeat Voldemort? Isn't he more than human?" I replied angrily.
"Ahhh, there it is, Harry. That is the crux of your battle to come, isn't it?" said Dumbledore, holding his arms out expansively and smiling as if I had just unburied a secret treasure.
"Uh…what are you talking about?" I said with a flippant attitude that I never would have managed had the real Dumbledore been sitting in front of me.
"Please address me as 'Sir' or 'Professor,' Harry. My untimely demise, and my existence merely within your imagination is not, I think, a reason to disregard appropriate formality," said Dumbledore pleasantly.
I looked abashed. "Sorry, Sir, it's just that I am not sure that I understand what you mean."
"What I mean, Harry, is that the battle to come is one of humanity versus inhumanity, is it not?"
I looked at him blankly.
"Well, I see we shall have to review a few things. You said that Voldemort is 'more' than human. What is your basis for saying that?"
"He's immortal, Sir," I said with a nod.
"Is he immortal, Harry, or has he set up complex, but certainly earthly, safeguards to prolong his life?"
"I don't know, Sir."
"Oh, I think you must, Harry, since you are simply talking to yourself right now." He looked at me with those piercing blue eyes.
"Well, I guess he has simply found a way to prolong his life. But it is the same isn't it?" I said with a frown.
"Correct, Harry, it could be the same. If nobody destroys those means by which he prolonged his life, then it will, in a practical sense, be the same. But if you destroy those Horcruxes, is he more than human?" Dumbledore was in his finest teaching form at this moment.
"Well, he is still very powerful," I said uncertainly.
"As was I, Harry. I dare say, at the risk of sounding immodest, that I was at least a match for Voldemort in terms of raw power. Unfortunately, as my presence in your imagination attests, and as the presence of my body buried in the grounds of Hogwarts suggests, mere power does not raise one to superhuman status."
"I see, Sir," I said, thinking sadly of my beloved headmasters entombed remains.
"Ahh, don't be sad, Harry. Only my body is buried there, Dear Boy. As our current conversation shows, I still go on in one form or another." He looked at me with that kindly comforting look. "But back to our important discussion. Thus, power does not make him more than human, and the Horcruxes, if destroyed, show that he is no more than human. So what does that leave us?"
"He is just a human," I said looking at Dumbledore questioningly. A pause ensued wherein the headmaster simply watched me with his fingers steepled in front of his mouth. He was waiting for something.
"No," I continued quietly, "he is less than human, isn't he? He gave away pieces of his soul, and made himself less than human." Upon saying it, I knew it was true.
"Go on."
I looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, Voldemort stripped away his humanity, piece by piece, with each murder that built a Horcrux. In doing so he took away his ability to feel all of those things that humans can feel. Absorbed in his own power and sense of superiority, he cannot see how such things can defeat him, like with my mother. In order to defeat Voldemort, therefore, I must be that which he can never be again. I must be more human than he can ever be. Is that right, Sir?"
"Exactly, Harry. But more to the point, what is the defining characteristic of your humanity? What can you do that Voldemort cannot?" asked the headmaster looking thoroughly pleased.
"I don't know if there is anything that I can do that Voldemort cannot, Sir," I said, but I already knew that was not true. I just feared the conclusion that I would reach by acknowledging it.
"I don't think you believe that, Harry." The headmaster's pleased look wavered for a moment. "Let me ask it a different way. What was it that saved your life, and exiled the Dark Lord for ten years?"
"My mother," I said, but I already knew where Dumbledore was going. "My mother's love!" I admitted.
"Go on," said Dumbledore, continuing to watch me.
"Love is a truly human characteristic. It is something only humans can do," I said; or perhaps it was Dumbledore, as his words and mine seemed to blend together in my imaginings.
"And love, as your mother showed, has great power," continued Dumbledore (or was it me?). He was smiling and nodding now.
"And it is a power that Voldemort cannot have, can he? He forsook it when he constructed the Horcruxes," I or Dumbledore said.
Dumbledore looked at me expectantly; or perhaps, I merely felt the anticipation of my own realization.
"It is the power the Dark Lord knows not!" we said together.
Dumbledore looked at me. I could tell he was very pleased with me, and with himself. His bright eyes shone with restrained emotion and, perhaps, tears. "Dear Boy, you show me that I have not been a complete failure as your teacher. I must say that it brings me great pleasure to see that our six years together were fruitful, and I believe that I can rest easily knowing that I have left the future of the World in such young, but capable hands."
"Professor, I don't know if I can do this alone, Sir. I'm…afraid," I said shakily, realizing Dumbledore's departure was drawing near.
"Fear is another side of humanity, Harry," said Dumbledore simply, looking at me with sympathy, but with confidence. "You must take the good with the bad, I fear. But you are not alone. You have your friends…your very capable friends. In fact, I think that I may hear them coming, now. I believe they are engaging in their favorite indoor sport at the moment."
At this point, the sound of Ron and Hermione entering the garden came to my awareness, and the image of my beloved headmaster began to fade from my imagination. I rolled my eyes in frustration.
"I will leave you with a last thought, Harry," said Dumbledore hurriedly. "Remember that the things you realized tonight are within you. This is merely your conversation with yourself. My work is done, and the rest is up to you. And remember your humanity, and the power you need to defeat Voldemort. Therein, I think, lays the answer to your inner turmoil this night, and the answer to the question that drove you into this garden to mope." The ghost of Dumbledore winked at me through my mind's eye.
I looked at him sadly as he faded. "Professor, I wish you didn't have to go."
"I am sorry, Dear Boy," he reached forward to pat my shoulder in a comforting way. "But remember I am just a figment of your imagination. I was never really here…was I?" He winked at me again, and the wind took his merry laugh through the trees, and he was gone.
I reached up to touch my shoulder and felt the wind rustle my cloak where my headmaster had patted my shoulder.
Then Hermione and Ron appeared in the entrance to my nook.
I fear, with the length to which this article has grown, that you may consider this to be the meanderings of the senile. If you are a student of the history of the War and its players, I think you must wonder where this narrative is taking us. As I said at the beginning, I believe it is the piece of the puzzle that is never properly illustrated in other histories, even those written by my friends, because they did not experience the last battle of the War in the manner in which I did.
I will address that more thoroughly in a moment. For now, we need to finish our narrative. I must show you how and when the weapon of which I spoke, and to which Dumbledore had pointed me, was discovered.
Hermione and Ron entered the garden in full throaty roar at each other. I did not pay attention as they first entered the garden, but as I said, Fred and George did. Ron had pushed through the crowd to catch up Hermione at the entrance to the garden.
As he grabbed her hand he said, "Hermione, wait!"
She spun around, full of fire and ire, and tried to slap him again. "Don't touch me!" she screamed. "I hate you!"
Ron ducked and let go of her hand. She continued into the garden at a near run, tears streaming down her face. "'Mione!" Ron called and took off after her again.
Fred looked at George over Ginny's head as the volume of the Bug had gotten to the point where it sounded like a loud conversation.
"Oh, I think he's really done it this time," said Ginny fretfully. "I hope he can make it up with her, 'cause this is bad."
"Yeah, we'll see," said George slyly. "I think that is about all I can take of this. I'm gonna go get a drink."
"What?" said Ginny surprised.
"Yeah, me too," said Fred. "Watching Hermione belt Ron always makes me thirsty."
Ginny crinkled up her eyes and looked at the two of them suspiciously. Her mistrustful question died on her lips as another yell of, "I hate you!" came over the Bug. Ron had caught up to Hermione again.
The device was now loud enough to make a normal spoken voice sound as loud as a shout, and a shout sound like something said over a megaphone. Several people were now noting the argument with interest. A few even peered interestedly at Ginny and down at the garden path, which was at a lower elevation than the reception area. It gave the watchers a bit of a bird's-eye view of what was to follow.
"Hey, how do you turn the volume of this thing down?" Ginny shouted after Fred and George, trying to make herself heard over the epithets Hermione was yelling at Ron, much to the onlookers amusement.
"A perfect patsy," said Fred, laughing.
"Indubitably," said George, chuckling in turn.
Thus poor Ginny stood fuming at her twin brothers for leaving her with the ever increasing volume of the Bug, among a growing crowd of interested witches and wizards, who were about to hear the best Ron and Hermione row of all time. This row was now occurring right in front of me, at the entrance to my little nook in the garden.
"You don't mean that!" said Ron desperately. I saw him stuffing something in his pocket distractedly. I now know it was the Bug.
"I do! I hate you! How could you say that about me?! How?!" shouted Hermione.
"Look," Ron said, softening his voice. "I didn't mean it, alright? It just slipped out! I'm sorry!"
Hermione crossed her arms, and lowered her voice as well, but she still looked at Ron like she wanted to poke him with a thousand needles. "Lot of bloody good that does," said Hermione angrily. "Why should I accept your apology now that you've embarrassed me in front of your whole family and everyone?"
"Because I'm sorry, alright?" said Ron, his voice aching with angry shame and embarrassment.
Hermione suddenly seemed to deflate in front of my eyes. "I'm sick of this, Ron! I'm sick of it and I can't do it anymore." There was a despairing tone in her voice, and she hung her head, her extravagant curls falling in front of her eyes.
"What the bloody hell does that mean?" asked Ron in confusion. "Look, I never would have said anything if you hadn't gone dancing around with bloody Krum. You know how I feel about him!"
"No, Ron." said Hermione softly, tears flowing freely again. "I don't know a thing about how you feel!"
"What are you talking about? I always get angry over him."
"That's my point, Ron. I'm sick of it, do you hear me? I'm sick of all of this nonsense and tension and waiting!" Hermione was shouting again.
"You're mental, you are!" said Ron throwing his hands up.
"You prat! You insensitive prat! Are you really that clueless? Why should I care what you think of Viktor? Why should I listen when you say you don't like a boy who likes me? What have you ever done to give yourself the right?"
Ron looked on the verge of blurting out something that was either incredibly touching or incredibly insensitive, but then he visibly got control of himself with a shake.
"Because I…I'm your friend…I'm…" Ron began and then sighed. "He's not good enough for you, alright? I'm…I'm just looking out for you."
"Well, Ron," Hermione said loudly in exasperation, "in case you haven't noticed, I am a big girl, now. I can take care of myself. I'm not your sister, and I think tonight will establish that we're not friends. So you can just mind your own business!"
At this point, I noticed a bit of an echo to what the two were saying. Unknown to me, the Bug was now amplifying the argument to the all of the guests in attendance above. People were lined around the edges of the reception area watching the garden, jostling one another for a better look. Being that I was sequestered, or perhaps trapped, in my little nook, I could not see this. But Fred and George were guffawing over the spectacle they had created, while avoiding Mrs. Weasley as she tried to hunt them down among the crowd. In truth, I was thinking about a convenient avenue of escape. But like a bystander watching a terrible accident unfold, I could not pull myself away.
"It is my business!" growled Ron.
"Why!?" asked Hermione pointedly.
"I told you, you mental woman! He's not good enough for you!"
"That's not adequate, Ronald." Hermione had taken on just the lecturing tone that was best calculated to drive Ron mad. "Who is good enough for me?"
"Not him!" said Ron, starting to look like a cornered badger.
"Why?" asked Hermione.
"I…I don't know, alright? He just isn't! I just can't stand…the idea…of you being…with…the wrong bloke." Ron was starting to look like he would explode from mental strain at any moment.
"Who is the right bloke, Ron?" asked Hermione, looking suddenly calm.
Ron seemed about to say something, and his eyes opened wide for a moment. Then suddenly a calm mask descended over his features like a lowering castle gate. He wore mock dignity like a suit of armor. He drew himself up to his full impressive height.
He then said nonchalantly, "I am not getting into all of this with you right now. I told you I'm sorry, and I meant it." His red face and shaking hands belied his sudden attempt at aloofness.
"Why can't you tell me?" asked Hermione, despair crept over her features again, but her voice remained very level.
Ron waived his hand dismissively and turned back towards the reception area. His countenance was raw with nerves and embarrassment, now, not with anger. "Look, I'm leaving," he said.
"If you walk away, I will never speak with you again, Ronald."
Ron looked back at her questioningly over his shoulder. His hands were still shaking and he seemed about to burst.
"I promise you. Never. I can't take it anymore," said Hermione in a coldly calm voice.
Ron turned back around and stood facing Hermione for a moment. He was visibly torn with the fear of leaving and the fear of staying.
"What do you want from me, Hermione!" he shouted desperately, his voice cracking on her name.
Suddenly, Hermione was a streak of bushy hair and flailing fists as she threw herself at Ron. She definitely wasn't calm now! She struck him in the chest several times.
"I want you to tell me how you feel about me, YOU STUPID COWARD!!!" shrieked Hermione, frustrated anger flooding her and spilling out in impotent fury.
Ron withstood Hermione's blows with a surprised look for a second, and then he backpedaled away from her, trying to grab her arms and succeeding only in gripping her shoulders. He shoved her back roughly, saying, "Geroffme!" They stood looking murder at each other and breathing heavily.
Finally, something seemed to snap in Ron. He threw his hands in the air in exasperation and he set his chin like a man walking to the gallows. He looked fearful but brave.
"What do you want me to say, Hermione!? You want me to tell you I fancy you!? FINE! I fancy you, alright!? You want to hear that I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach every time I think of you with Krum or McClaggen or some other bloke!? FINE! I do! You want to hear that I think I'll die if you get hurt in this War!? I WILL!"
Ron's tirade paused for a moment, and Hermione stood there, disbelievingly dumbstruck.
"What else do you want from me, Hermione!? You want me to tell you that a complete idiot like me doesn't deserve someone like you!? IT'S TRUE! You want something else from me!? Do you!? You want my blood!? You want my soul?! Do I have to just throw everything at your feet so you can step on me!? You want to crush me!? What else!? What ever it is, I'LL GIVE IT TO YOU! So, what do you want, ey!?"
Hermione stupidly shook her head in response to the rhetorical questions. Ron's words sounded like the roar of thunder. Swept up in the moment as the two of them were, they did not realize they were hearing the echo of the Bug, which was now amplifying the exchange to the countryside. I peeked around the corner of the hedge to see Ginny above. She was helplessly holding the Bug at arm's length with a finger stuck in one ear. The entire overlook above the garden was packed with witnesses to Ron's confession.
Ron was leaning half forward now, his arms swinging as he ranted, his eyes wide and desperate. "I…I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU! Alright!? Are you happy now!? Are you satisfied!? Is that what you want to hear!? Now go …"
Ron never got to finish what he was going to say next. Hermione let out a little cry and streaked into his arms. Ron's breath rushed out in a gasp as Hermione nearly bowled him over. He grunted as she squeezed him as hard as her slender frame could manage. Her face was buried under her bushy curls against his chest and her shoulders shook, whether from tears or laughter I could not tell. Ron stood there stunned for a moment. But then he wrapped his arms around her and patted her awkwardly on the top of the head. He held her with a look of red-faced wonder.
"That," began Hermione, her voice muffled against his chest, "is exactly what I wanted to hear."
"'Mione, I…" Ron began.
"I love you, too," finished Hermione and then her arms were twined around his neck and she pulled him down into their first kiss. He still seemed stunned for an instant, but then he quickly began enjoying the moment. He lifted Hermione off her feet and swung her around in a circle. She was giggling into his mouth, but refused to pull herself away from the wonderful thing that Ron's lips had become.
To my own surprise, I felt like jumping up in the air and whooping in celebration.
"IT IS ABOUT TIME!" shouted an excited voice from above, perhaps Neville. Hermione and Ron were so taken aback that they tumbled over in mid-twirl with a grunt.
I peeked around the corner of the hedge trying to see who had said it, rustling the hedge leaves as I did so. Ginny's eyes suddenly swiveled to where I stood. I saw her drop the listening device she was holding. She stepped on it and the amplified sound died instantly.
"Definitely about time!" said Ginny loudly. She was still looking straight at me.
Ginny's statement was a trigger. Like the activation of a volcano, an eruption of cheers and applause came forth from above. I looked up in surprise to see a smile on every face in the gathered throng. People smacked each other on the back, and couples kissed, and friends threw their arms around each other in comradely fashion. Everyone, just everyone, was clapping or laughing in appreciation of what they had witnessed. I saw Fred and George shake each other's hands in a congratulatory manner, and I saw Molly hug Arthur and wipe away a tear. Hagrid was twirling Madame Maxime in a most dangerous fashion, especially given how much Elvish Lager he had imbibed that night. Remus Lupin looked twenty years younger as Tonks attacked him and refused to release the tight hold she had on his neck. Even Minerva McGonagall let out a loud whoop, and that is saying something.
Ron and Hermione looked sheepish for a moment once they regained their feet. But as the adulation rained down, they started to chuckle. Soon Ron was pumping his fist in the air like he had just won the Quiditch World Cup and bowing and capering like a fool. Hermione slapped his arm down in reproach, but her giggles took all of the heat from it.
"Kees her again, you Eedyot," shouted Fleur, shouting through cupped hands. The crowd laughed as Ron complied, scooping Hermione up in his arms like a groom about to carry a bride across a threshold. He planted a lasting theatrical kiss on her lips. Hermione laughed and buried her head in his neck, surrounding them both with the privacy of her voluminous curls.
"Alright, everyone, alright" shouted Arthur Weasley. "Leave them be! Leave them be!" He began pulling the people, talking and laughing, from the edge of the overlook. He herded them back towards the dance floor with the help of Molly and Lupin.
"Ish this a party, or what?!" roared an intoxicated Hagrid. "Whersh the music?"
"Maestro," I heard Bill call in amusement. "If you please, I still need to dance with my new wife."
Thus did the happy crowd disperse back to the reception; with a glow surrounding every face. In short order the overlook was empty but for one lone figure. Ginny still stood there gazing right at me. A conspiratorial smile slowly spread her face. She subtly nodded her head to the side, and looked pointedly to a shadowed section of the garden. It was a good ways distant from the merriment of the reception, as well as the embarrassingly distracted Ron and Hermione.
I quietly made my way past the new couple as they toppled to the ground again with romantic abandon. I made my way to the shadowed spot in the garden as Ron and Hermione began arguing over who should kiss whom and how. The argument began to get a little strident before it dissolved into giggles and a quiet that could only result from renewed snogging. Apparently, the relationship of my two best friends would not entirely change, thank heavens.
So now you are wondering what the hell all of these teenage hormones had to do with the War. You have sat through this entire article, and you cannot imagine what is relevant about this story. The answer comes soon, Dear Reader. It comes soon.
Indeed, since I presently hear my spouse loudly banging pots and pans together as she makes breakfast, I therefore know that I have been up all night writing this monstrosity. Under her breath, she scolds the foolishness of an old man such as I who will make himself sick staying up all night on such projects. She is, right now, speaking to no one in particular about how surprising it is that I, an aged headmaster myself, could neglect my duties and students so terribly by not getting enough rest.
That is the benefit of marriage: you always know exactly where your faults lie.
Because of this indirect tirade that I am presently experiencing, trust me when I say that my article is winding down now. I will get to the moral of this tale directly.
As you undoubtedly know, the War got very bad within days of that wedding. The Battle of Godric's Hollow was fought within a week. At first, it was but a small skirmish between some Ministry agents against a few Death Eaters who were following me. This battle grew as each side poured reinforcements into it, and the Order of the Phoenix came to my aid. In two days the skirmish grew to be the largest battle of the War, excepting the Final Battle.
The Battle of Godric's Hollow can best be called a draw, or perhaps even a defeat to the Ministry forces what with the havoc that the Giants caused. Many good witches and wizards were killed, and many wounded. Yet, the history books tell us that that this was the first time that Voldemort's forces did not achieve their goals. Thus, this battle is called the "turning point" in the War. That is pure Ministry propaganda masquerading as historic record.
I ask you to simply speak to any of those that attended the wedding at the Delacour Estate. Almost every one of them fought in the battle at Godric's Hollow. Ask them what the turning point in the War was for them.
I have asked them. Almost each and every one of them say that it was the wedding. The wedding brought hope again. They witnessed a beautiful event, and the comedic and happy story of Ron and Hermione. Young love bloomed between Bill and his beautiful bride, and between my two best friends. Those who saw it enjoyed that last golden night of peace. The simple joy and wonder of those two events put a smile on every face, and laughter in every heart. We were all comrades, inspired and moved by the simple emotion that Ron and Hermione expressed to each other that night.
Love.
At that point, at that wedding, each guest then knew why they fought. They knew why they cared. They knew why they must fight and must care. They knew why they must fight and fight and fight again, as my old headmaster taught us all.
Historians look at casualty lists and the names of leaders who die. They look at objectives defeated and objectives achieved. Based on an analysis of these factors, they decide who won and who lost a battle. But they do not fight in battle, and they did not fight in the last battle when Voldemort was defeated.
I fought that battle. You already know what happened.
You know how the Ministry, through the timely and measured action of Percy Weasley, sought assistance after the near debacle of Godric's Hollow. You know how they finally allied with the Order of the Phoenix. You know how Scrimgeour sought the assistance of the Muggle Prime Minister. You know the destruction the Muggles unleashed on the Giants at the Final Battle with armored vehicles and crack troops, and how they tipped the scales of that quarter of the battlefield. You know how Wizards now do not disdain the power of Muggle technology or the courage of Muggle soldiers.
You know how Lupin's generalship, Grawp's example, Dobby the House Elf's sacrifice, and the Centaur army's sudden arrival and climactic charge turned the tide of the Final Battle. You know how these proud people ushered in a new era in relations between Wizards and Magical Creatures. These heroes show that to be "human" does not mean to be a simple man or woman.
You know how Draco Malfoy turned on his father and saved the other members of his family. You know how he became a deserved hero in the end.
You know how Arthur Weasley, injured and nearly dead, defeated and killed Lucius Malfoy in a brutal single combat before expiring himself. You know how his sacrifice protected the portkey to the Crucible of the Magus and made my defeat of Voldemort possible. You can now see the statue raised to his memory at the Ministry of Magic.
You know how Hagrid sacrificed himself to save Ron, Ginny, Hermione and me while we destroyed the last of Voldemort's horcuxes in Transylvania.
You know how the Weasley family was not as large after the War as it was before, and why the story of that time is thus so painful to me.
You know how Neville Longbottom avenged his mother and father, and my godfather, on Bellatrix LaStrange.
And volumes have been written about the Crucible of the Magus and my final duel with the Dark Lord there.
Through it all, the victory of these participants was not determined by their skill with wand or weapon. All of us, each and every one, did not fight those battles for glory or for honor. We fought it for each other. We fought it for our families. We fought it for the good of those we loved.
We fought it, in short, because of love.
As Dumbledore taught me, and as he told me that night in the garden: love was the power the Dark Lord knew not. It was the weapon with which we fought.
I discovered this weapon, as I said, under the moonlight in a beautiful French garden. I was hidden under an invisibility cloak with the woman that would become my wife and companion to this present day. She is the woman that is scolding me even now, and banging pots and pans together as I write these last few lines.
I discovered it as I looked into a beautiful pale face with bright green eyes. I discovered it as I ran my hands through her sunrise hair. I discovered it as I realized that she would become, from that day to this, my destiny.
I discovered it as she told me she forgave me.
I discovered it as our lips met.
I discovered it when I told her I loved her, and she me. From that moment, I knew one thing for certain. I knew something about the greatest dark wizard that the world will, hopefully, ever know.
I knew that Voldemort never stood a chance.