A/N: I do not own any character references by JK Rowling in the Harry Potter series or agree with her comments. This story is a product of my pure imagination. I do not profit from this and will not pay for any commissions for art about this story.
Don't leave me hanging,
In a city so dead.
Held up so high,
On such a breakable thread.
You were all the things I thought I knew,
And I thought we could be.
You were everything, everything that I wanted.
We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it.
All of the memories, so close to me, just fade away.
All this time, you were pretending,
So much for my happy ending.
~ My Happy Ending by Avril
~*~26th December 1997 ~*~
Looking at the clock on the wall, Hermione realized that it had crept up to midnight. Leaning down, she kissed Harry's forehead, then slowly moved out from under him. Harry sighed in his sleep as he settled in on the sofa.
Grabbing her coat, she threw it on over Harry's jumper and went to the entrance of the tent. The place where Harry had apparated them after Godric's Hollow was the woods where they had gone to the Quidditch World Cup. Sitting on the ground, it crunched under her as she opened A History of Magic and started reading through it, looking for clues by the light of her wand.
Only five minutes in, Hermione froze. In the darkness, she heard movement. Listening closely, the snow fell around the tent, and in the moonlight, Hermione could swear that she saw a shadow of a person. Squinting, she extinguished her wand to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. A rabbit hopped across the snow, but she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was out there.
Glancing behind her, she looked to the table where Harry's Sneakoscope sat, but it sat still, motionless on the table.
After a few tense minutes, she heard nothing more and went back to her book.
An hour or so later, Hermione heard the crunch of limbs as if someone stepped on them somewhere close. Holding her breath, she listened closely. The wind haunted her, playing with her mind as if it were saying her name, bringing goosebumps to her skin, as she got to her knees with her wand ready.
Silence stretched across the field again, and the creeping feeling on the back of her neck went away, so she sat down again to read.
The sun had not started to come up yet when she heard footsteps behind her and glanced over her shoulder to see Harry.
"So, you are going to hate me," Harry said as he knelt next to her. "I think we should pack up early and move."
Hermione sighed in relief as she nodded, and he held out his hand to help her to her feet. Following him into the tent, she began putting away the things that needed to be stored.
"We'll go somewhere more sheltered," Hermione suggested as she took off his jumper, shivering as the cold air hit her skin, and handed it back to him. Pulling on her warmer pajamas, then her trousers over them, she took the jumper back from him as she put it back on. "I kept thinking I could hear people moving outside. I even thought I saw somebody once or twice."
Harry paused in the act of pulling on a jumper and glanced at the silent, motionless Sneakoscope on the table.
Hermione pulled her hair back, watching him. "I'm sure I imagined it," Hermione told him, trying to reassure herself and him. "The snow in the dark, it plays tricks on your eyes," She trailed off, "But perhaps we ought to Disapparate under the Invisibility Cloak, just in case?"
It only took them half an hour, as they worked together quickly. They didn't even have to talk, as they quietly packed everything away as much as possible. Harry put on the Horcrux, much to Hermione's dislike, and after taking the poles down, the tent collapsed. She shoved it into her beaded bag. Holding Harry's hand, she disapparated them.
Hermione fought back the nausea that disapparation was causing on an ever-empty stomach and thought of the Forest of Dean, where her parents had brought her to camp in the past.
"Where are we?" he asked, looking around as Hermione opened the beaded bag and began tugging out tent poles.
"The Forest of Dean," she said. "I came camping here once with my mum and dad."
Hermione started setting up the protective spells as Harry set up the tent. After Hermione had finished, she stood breathing in the bitterly cold air. The snow was making the trees that surrounded them seem to glitter in the sun.
Entering the tent, Hermione first made him remove the Horcrux and tuck it into her pocket. She then prepared a box of macaroni and cheese she had found in the back of the cabinet earlier in the year. Using some of her bright blue flames, she placed them in jars around the tent. The small amount of heat they gave off was just enough to ward off the cold. They huddled close on the sofa, snuggling under her grandma's old blanket while Harry read A History of Magic and she looked through one of her books about the founders of Hogwarts.
Exiting the bathroom after using it, Hermione opened some salve that she had found. "Can I see your chest?"
Harry looked at her over his glasses with a grin, "If you want me shirtless, Hermione, all you have to do is ask."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I want to put some of this healing salve on it. Hopefully, it helps the healing. Yesterday it was still angry and red."
Harry took his glasses off, then pulled his jumper off. The skin where the locket had laid was red, irritated, and looked to be getting infected. The edges were slightly blackened, indicating that it was a cursed object that had inflicted the injury. Hermione slathered up the area, making Harry hiss, then she tried not to grin as his eyes fluttered shut. Running the salve over his chest, she lightly scratched his chest, feeling the bones of his chest under her fingers. Harry let out a small moan, and Hermione tried not to grin. Moving her hands over his chest, she noticed that despite how skinny he was from lack of food, Harry had muscle tone to him. Exploring his chest, then his shoulders, Harry started grinning. "Hermione, I don't think the horcrux went that far."
Hermione slapped his chest, making him laugh, "I'm going to go fetch some more water."
Later that afternoon, big fat flakes started falling all around them, covering the whole world around them, even the little bit of shelter that the trees had provided them. By evening, Hermione was getting drowsy as a headache had taken over.
Harry pulled on his jumper and all the other jumpers in his rucksack to give himself more warmth for the cold night. Buttoning the throat buttons of his biggest jumper, one that had been Dudley's that he must have mistakenly grabbed, she sent him out with a sofa cushion to the entrance of the tent, and with a yawn, she moved into the bedroom. The exhaustion that had been plaguing her all day suddenly hit her hard, and she lay back on the bed. Closing her eyes for a moment to rest before she went to brush her teeth, she relaxed and entered the land of sleep. For the first time in weeks, she wasn't plagued with nightmares. She was that exhausted.
Until a sound like a gunshot in the night, Hermione woke up to a mighty crack. Reaching for her wand, she cursed when she realized Harry had it. Scrambling up, she swallowed back the bile that rose to her throat and rushed out to the entrance of the tent. Harry was nowhere to be found.
"Harry!" Hermione hissed, looking around in the darkness.
"Hey!" Hermione thought she heard someone say in the distance.
Anxiously, Hermione listened, her stomach rolling as her headache surged. Listening for any sign or bit of movement in the night, Hermione's stomach surged, and she doubled over, puking up pure stomach acid. While throwing up, she thought she heard Harry yell, "Stab!" Trying to pick her head up, she thought she heard Ron's name, followed again by him saying stab. Trying to stand, but falling to her knees, she started dry heaving.
A long, drawn-out scream echoed through the trees, and Hermione pushed herself up and ran. Running through the trees, barefoot, she made it toward the small pond when she saw him. He wasn't alone. She saw Ron, sword in his hand, and Harry, who was picking up the Horcrux.
She flinched as Ron dropped the sword and it clanged, reverberating through the night.
Grabbing onto the tree next to her, she watched Harry kneel next to Ron.
"After you left," Harry said in a low voice, "she cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn't want me to see. There were loads of nights when we never even spoke to each other. With you gone . . ." .
Hermione swallowed back more bile that tried to come.
"She's like my sister," Harry went on. "I love her like a sister, and I reckon she feels the same way about me. It's always been like that. I thought you knew."
Hermione gasped as tears came to her eyes. Turning, she ran back to the tent, sobbing. Throwing herself on the bed, she covered herself with her blankets, struggling to catch her breath.
When the boys entered the tent, Hermione tried to steady her breath.
"Hermione!"
Hermione rolled over, pushing her hair out of her face. "What's wrong? Harry? Are you all right?"
"It's okay, everything's fine. More than fine. I'm great. There's someone here." Harry told her.
Sliding out of her bunk, she stared at Ron. Moving toward him, she stood in front of him, staring him down. Ron dared to smile at her and raise his arms as if he were expecting a hug. Hermione launched herself at him and punched him in the stomach, then in the nose, and started punching any inch of him that she could reach.
"Ouch — ow — gerroff! What the — ? Hermione — OW!" Ron yelled, covering his face.
"You — complete — arse — Ronald — Weasley!" She punctuated every word with a blow: Ron backed away, shielding his head as Hermione advanced. "You — crawl — back — here — after — weeks — and — weeks — oh, where's my wand?"
Hermione looked at Harry, "Give me my bloody wand!"
"Protego!" Harry yelled, and an invisible shield erupted between Ron and Hermione.
The force of it knocked her backward onto the floor. Spitting hair out of her mouth, she leapt up again.
"Hermione!" said Harry. "Calm —"
"I will not calm down!" she screamed at Harry as she marched over to him, "Give me back my wand! Give it back to me!"
Harry grabbed her shoulders. "Hermione, will you please —"
Hermione moved her arms up to get out of his hold, "Don't you tell me what to do, Harry Potter!" Hermione poked his chest, "Don't you dare! Give it back now! And YOU!" Hermione turned to Ron, and he backed up several steps. "I came running after you! I called you! I begged you to come back!"
"I know," Ron said, "Hermione, I'm sorry, I'm really —"
"Oh, you're sorry!" She laughed, "You come back after weeks — weeks — and you think it's all going to be all right if you just say sorry?"
"Well, what else can I say?" Ron shouted.
"Oh, I don't know!" yelled Hermione, "Rack your brains, Ron, that should only take a couple of seconds —"
"Hermione," interjected Harry, "he just saved my —"
"I don't care!" she screamed. "I don't care what he's done! Weeks and weeks, we could have been dead for all he knew —"
"I knew you weren't dead!" bellowed Ron, "Harry's all over the Prophet, all over the radio, they're looking for you everywhere, all these rumors and mental stories, I knew I'd hear straight off if you were dead, you don't know what it's been like —"
Hermione scoffed, her anger for both boys getting the best of her. "What its been like for you?" She yelled, her voice echoing through the canvas.
"I wanted to come back the minute I'd Disapparated, but I walked straight into a gang of Snatchers, Hermione, and I couldn't go anywhere!" Ron defended.
Hermione's eyes narrowed as Harry spoke up, "A gang of what?"
Throwing herself down in the chair, she crossed her arms and legs, stewing.
"Snatchers," said Ron. "They're everywhere — gangs trying to earn gold by rounding up Muggle-borns and blood traitors, there's a reward from the Ministry for everyone captured. I was on my own and I look like I might be school age; they got really excited, thought I was a Muggle-born in hiding. I had to talk fast to get out of being dragged to the Ministry."
"What did you say to them?" Harry asked.
"Told them I was Stan Shunpike. First person I could think of." Ron told him.
"And they believed that?" Harry asked, surprised.
"They weren't the brightest. One of them was definitely part troll, the smell off him. . . ." Ron said as he glanced at her. "Anyway, they had a row about whether I was Stan or not. It was a bit pathetic to be honest, but there were still five of them and only one of me and they'd taken my wand. Then two of them got into a fight and while the others were distracted I managed to hit the one holding me in the stomach, grabbed his wand, Disarmed the bloke holding mine, and Disapparated. I didn't do it so well, Splinched myself again."
Ron held up his right hand to show two missing fingernails.
"Serves you right," Hermione mumbled.
"And I came out miles from where you were. By the time I got back to that bit of riverbank where we'd been . . . you'd gone." Ron told them.
"Gosh, what a gripping story," Hermione bit out, "You must have been simply terrified. Meanwhile we went to Godric's Hollow and, let's think, what happened there, Harry?" Hermione looked at Harry, who looked away, "Oh yes, You-Know-Who's snake turned up, it nearly killed both of us, and then You-Know-Who himself arrived and missed us by about a second."
"What?" Ron said, gaping from her to Harry, but Hermione ignored him.
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Imagine losing fingernails, Harry! That really puts our sufferings into perspective, doesn't it?"
Harry looked at her. "Hermione," said Harry quietly, "Ron just saved my life."
Hermione looked at Ron but couldn't look him in the face without wanting to punch him. "One thing I would like to know, though," she said, "How exactly did you find us tonight? That's important. Once we know, we'll be able to make sure we're not visited by anyone else we don't want to see."
Ron glared at her, then pulled a small silver object from his jeans pocket. "This."
Hermione looked at him, confused. "The Deluminator?"
"It doesn't just turn the lights on and off," said Ron. "I don't know how it works or why it happened then and not any other time, because I've been wanting to come back ever since I left. But I was listening to the radio really early on Christmas morning and I heard . . . I heard you."
Hermione folded her arms back over her chest and narrowed her eyes. "You heard me on the radio?"
"No, I heard you coming out of my pocket. Your voice," he held up the Deluminator again, "came out of this."
"And what exactly did I say?" Hermione asked.
"My name. 'Ron.' And you said . . . something about a wand. . . ." Ron told her.
Hermione gritted her teeth, remembering. Angry at herself for mentioning Ron's own broken wand that night.
"So I took it out," Ron went on, looking at the Deluminator, "and it didn't seem different or anything, but I was sure I'd heard you. So I clicked it. And the light went out in my room, but another light appeared right outside the window." Ron raised his empty hand and pointed in front of him, his eyes focused on something neither Harry nor Hermione could see. "It was a ball of light, kind of pulsing, and bluish, like that light you get around a Portkey, you know?"
"Yeah," said Harry and Hermione together automatically.
"I knew this was it," said Ron. "I grabbed my stuff and packed it, then I put on my rucksack and went out into the garden. "The little ball of light was hovering there, waiting for me, and when I came out it bobbed along a bit and I followed it behind the shed and then it . . . well, it went inside me."
"Sorry?" said Harry.
"It sort of floated toward me," said Ron, illustrating the movement with his free index finger, "right to my chest, and then — it just went straight through. It was here," he touched a point close to his heart, "I could feel it, it was hot. And once it was inside me, I knew what I was supposed to do, I knew it would take me where I needed to go. So I Disapparated and came out on the side of a hill. There was snow everywhere. . . ."
"We were there," said Harry. "We spent two nights there, and the second night I kept thinking I could hear someone moving around in the dark and calling out!"
"Yeah, well, that would've been me," said Ron. "Your protective spells work, anyway, because I couldn't see you and I couldn't hear you. I was sure you were around, though, so in the end I got in my sleeping bag and waited for one of you to appear. I thought you'd have to show yourselves when you packed up the tent."
"No, actually," Hermione bit out. "We've been Disapparating under the Invisibility Cloak as an extra precaution. And we left really early, because, as Harry says, we'd heard somebody blundering around."
"Well, I stayed on that hill all day," said Ron. "I kept hoping you'd appear. But when it started to get dark, I knew I must have missed you, so I clicked the Deluminator again, the blue light came out and went inside me, and I Disapparated and arrived here in these woods. I still couldn't see you, so I just had to hope one of you would show yourselves in the end — and Harry did. Well, I saw the doe first, obviously."
Hermione's neck cracked as she looked at Harry. "You saw the what?"
They explained what had happened, and as the story of the silver doe and the sword in the pool unfolded, Hermione frowned from one to the other of them. Without even realizing it, she relaxed, her hands going to her hips instead.
"But it must have been a Patronus!" Hermione said, looking at Harry. "Couldn't you see who was casting it? Didn't you see anyone? And it led you to the sword! I can't believe this! Then what happened?"
Ron explained how he had watched Harry jump into the pool and had waited for him to resurface; how he had realized that something was wrong, dived in, and saved Harry, then returned for the sword. He got as far as the opening of the locket, then hesitated, and Harry cut in. "— and Ron stabbed it with the sword."
Hermione looked at them suspiciously, "And . . . and it went? Just like that?"
"Well, it — it screamed," said Harry with half a glance at Ron. "Here."
He threw the locket into her lap; gingerly, she picked it up and examined its punctured windows.
Harry removed the Shield Charm with a wave of Hermione's wand and turned to Ron. "Did you just say you got away from the Snatchers with a spare wand?"
"What?" said Ron, "Oh — oh yeah." He tugged open a buckle on his rucksack and pulled a short, dark wand out of its pocket. "Here. I figured it's always handy to have a backup."
"You were right," said Harry, holding out his hand. "Mine's broken."
"You're kidding?" Ron said.
Hermione stood up and walked over to her beaded bag. Putting the Horcrux into it, she climbed back into her bed and settled down without another word.
"About the best you could hope for, I think," murmured Harry to Ron.
"Yeah," said Ron. "Could've been worse. Remember those birds she set on me?"
"I still haven't ruled it out," Hermione told them from beneath her blankets.
~*~27th December 1997 ~*~
Hermione pretended to read over her book as Ron and Harry searched the hedges just past their camp. She was still so angry, and the boys knew it. Her anger was causing her head to ache as she tried to breathe slowly through her nose. The lack of food and the tension were wreaking not only on her body, but also on her mind.
". . . and how did you find out about the Taboo?" Ron asked, throwing a stick at a tree.
"The what?" Harry asked.
"You and Hermione have stopped saying You-Know-Who's name!" Ron told him.
"Oh, yeah. Well, it's just a bad habit we've slipped into," said Harry. "But I haven't got a problem calling him V —"
"NO!" roared Ron, causing Harry to jump into the hedge, and Hermione looked at him, annoyed.
"Sorry," said Ron, wrenching Harry back out of the brambles, "but the name's been jinxed, Harry, that's how they track people! Using his name breaks protective enchantments, it causes some kind of magical disturbance — it's how they found us in Tottenham Court Road!"
The hair on the back of Hermione's neck stood as she closed her book, listening.
"Because we used his name?" Harry asked in disbelief.
"Exactly! You've got to give them credit, it makes sense. It was only people who were serious about standing up to him, like Dumbledore, who ever dared use it. Now they've put a Taboo on it, anyone who says it is trackable — quick-and-easy way to find Order members! They nearly got Kingsley —" Hermione's head snapped up.
"You're kidding?" Harry stated in disbelief.
"Yeah, a bunch of Death Eaters cornered him, Bill said, but he fought his way out. He's on the run now, just like us." Ron scratched his chin thoughtfully with the end of his wand, and Hermione wished it would spark just to singe his skin a bit. "You don't reckon Kingsley could have sent that doe?"
"His Patronus is a lynx, we saw it at the wedding, remember?" Harry asked, picking up a rock.
"Oh yeah . . ." Ron trailed off as they moved farther along the hedge, away from the tent and Hermione.
Hermione sighed, reopening 'Tales of Beetle the Bard.'
"Harry . . . you don't reckon it could've been Dumbledore?" Ron asked, making her scoff.
"Dumbledore, what?" Harry asked.
"he had the real sword last, didn't he?" Ron asked.
"Dumbledore's dead," Harry said as they started walking back toward the tent again. "I saw it happen, I saw the body. He's definitely gone. Anyway, his Patronus was a phoenix, not a doe."
"Patronuses can change, though, can't they?" said Ron. "Tonks's changed, didn't it?"
"Yeah, but if Dumbledore was alive, why wouldn't he show himself? Why wouldn't he just hand us the sword?" Harry asked.
"Search me," said Ron. "Same reason he didn't give it to you while he was alive? Same reason he left you an old Snitch and Hermione a book of kids' stories?"
"Which is what?" asked Harry.
"I dunno," said Ron. "Sometimes I've thought, when I've been a bit hacked off, he was having a laugh or — or he just wanted to make it more difficult. But I don't think so, not anymore. He knew what he was doing when he gave me the Deluminator, didn't he? He — well. Must've known I'd run out on you."
"No," Harry corrected him. "He must've known you'd always want to come back. Speaking of Dumbledore, have you heard what Skeeter wrote about him?"
"Oh yeah," said Ron at once, "people are talking about it quite a lot. 'Course, if things were different, it'd be huge news, Dumbledore being pals with Grindelwald, but now it's just something to laugh about for people who didn't like Dumbledore, and a bit of a slap in the face for everyone who thought he was such a good bloke. I don't know that it's such a big deal, though. He was really young when they —"
"Our age," said Harry,
Harry pointed the new wand at something. "Engorgio." Harry tried again.
It must have worked that time because Ron was obviously uncomfortable with it. "Stop that," said Ron sharply. "I'm sorry I said Dumbledore was young, okay?"
"Sorry — Reducio."
Hermione got up and, with a sigh, heard it in his voice. The sadness was setting back in. Pulling Harry's old jumper closer to her, she walked closer to them as he looked at the blackthorn wand.
"You just need to practice," said Hermione, "It's all a matter of confidence, Harry."
Ron gave Hermione a tentative smile, and she narrowed her eyes at him, then went back to the entrance of the tent to read her book again.
Harry took first watch as darkness fell, leaving Hermione in the tent with Ron. Hermione sighed, settling into her favourite chair. Ron paced around the tent, then went to his old bunk, throwing his rucksack on it. She held her breath for a moment, noticing her shirt on Harry's bunk where the two of them had been sleeping. Ron thankfully didn't notice it as he went to the bathroom. Hermione glanced toward the door where Ron had gone and held out her wand, 'Accio shirt and pillow.' She thought.
The pillow flew toward her but hit the shirt halfway, sending the shirt to the ceiling of the tent, as the pillow hit her in the face.
"Oof," She gasped.
Harry glanced in, "Everything okay?"
Hermione frowned, "Yes."
Harry nodded, closing the flap.
Getting up, Hermione went to her old bunk just beyond the kitchen. She hadn't used it in weeks, and throwing her pillow onto it, she sat against the frame looking toward Harry as she went back to her book. She could see the shadow of his body as he practiced using the new wand.
Ron came out of the bathroom and took something small out of his rucksack, walking to the entrance and sitting next to Harry.
"There's this one program," he told Harry in a low voice, "that tells the news like it really is. All the others are on You-Know-Who's side and are following the Ministry line, but this one . . . you wait till you hear it, it's great. Only they can't do it every night, they have to keep changing locations in case they're raided, and you need a password to tune in. . . . Trouble is, I missed the last one. . . ."
He drummed lightly on the top of the radio with his wand, muttering random. For ten minutes or so Ron tapped and muttered, Hermione turned the pages of her book, and Harry continued to practice with the blackthorn wand.
Hermione saw the mark again, the one that had been hidden within Dumbledore's notes, as the tapping of Ron's wand got to be too much. Climbing down from the top bunk, Ron stopped his tapping at once. "If it's annoying you, I'll stop!" he told Hermione nervously.
Hermione ignored him as she walked over to Harry. "We need to talk," she said.
"What?" Harry said apprehensively.
"I want to go and see Xenophilius Lovegood," Hermione stated.
Harry stared at her. "Sorry?"
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, her breasts pushing together, and she hoped it made Harry uncomfortable. "Xenophilius Lovegood. Luna's father. I want to go and talk to him!"
"Er — why?"
She took a deep breath, as though bracing herself, and said, "It's that mark, the mark in Beedle the Bard. Look at this!" She thrust The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore under Harry's unwilling eyes
She watched Harry scan it, obviously not seeing what she had.
"The signature," said Hermione. "Look at the signature, Harry!"
"Er — what are you — ?" said Ron tentatively, but Hermione quelled him with a look and turned back to Harry. "It keeps cropping up, doesn't it?" she said. "I know Viktor said it was Grindelwald's mark, but it was definitely on that old grave in Godric's Hollow, and the dates on the headstone were long before Grindelwald came along! And now this! Well, we can't ask Dumbledore or Grindelwald what it means — I don't even know whether Grindelwald's still alive — but we can ask Mr. Lovegood. He was wearing the symbol at the wedding. I'm sure this is important, Harry!"
Harry did not answer immediately. He looked at her, then out into the night. After a long pause, he said, "Hermione, we don't need another Godric's Hollow. We talked ourselves into going there, and —"
"But it keeps appearing, Harry! Dumbledore left me The Tales of Beedle the Bard, how do you know we're not supposed to find out about the sign?" Hermione asked.
"Here we go again!" Harry said, "We keep trying to convince ourselves Dumbledore left us secret signs and clues —"
"The Deluminator turned out to be pretty useful," piped up Ron. "I think Hermione's right, I think we ought to go and see Lovegood."
Harry threw him a dark look.
"It won't be like Godric's Hollow," Ron added, "Lovegood's on your side, Harry, The Quibbler's been for you all along, it keeps telling everyone they've got to help you!"
"I'm sure this is important!" Hermione told him.
Harry looked at her, "But don't you think if it was, Dumbledore would have told me about it before he died?"
"Maybe ... maybe it's something you need to find out for yourself," Hermione questioned.
"Yeah," said Ron sycophantically, "that makes sense."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at home. "No, it doesn't, but I still think we ought to talk to Mr. Lovegood. A symbol that links Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Godric's Hollow? Harry, I'm sure we ought to know about this!"
"I think we should vote on it," said Ron. "Those in favor of going to see Lovegood —" His hand flew into the air before Hermione's. She stared at him before raising her own.
"Outvoted, Harry, sorry," said Ron, clapping him on the back.
"Fine," said Harry, half amused, half irritated. "Only, once we've seen Lovegood, let's try and look for some more Horcruxes, shall we? Where do the Lovegoods live, anyway? Do either of you know?"
"Yeah, they're not far from my place," said Ron. "I dunno exactly where, but Mum and Dad always point toward the hills whenever they mention them. Shouldn't be hard to find."
Hermione smiled to herself as she went back into the tent and grabbed her beaded bag from the bottom storage bunk. Grabbing some Muggle Tums, she ate two and climbed back up onto her bunk.
"All's fair in love and war," said Ron brightly, "and this is a bit of both. Cheer up, it's the Christmas holidays, Luna'll be home!"
~*~28th December 1997 ~*~
Hermione yawned as she begrudgingly took Ron's hand and they disapparated to the village of Ottery St. Catchpole.
The village looked like a collection of toy houses in the great slanting shafts of sunlight stretching to earth in the breaks between clouds. They stood for a minute or two looking toward the Burrow, their hands shadowing their eyes, but all they could make out were the high hedges and trees of the orchard, which afforded the crooked little house protection from Muggle eyes.
"It's weird, being this near, but not going to visit," said Ron.
"Well, it's not like you haven't just seen them. You were there for Christmas," said Hermione coldly.
"I wasn't at the Burrow!" said Ron with an incredulous laugh. "Do you think I was going to go back there and tell them all I'd walked out on you? Yeah, Fred and George would've been great about it. And Ginny, she'd have been really understanding."
Hermione looked at him, surprised. She had assumed he went to Molly and had gotten three perfect meals a day since he had been gone. "But where have you been, then?" asked Hermione, surprised.
"Bill and Fleur's new place. Shell Cottage. Bill's always been decent to me. He — he wasn't impressed when he heard what I'd done, but he didn't go on about it. He knew I was really sorry. None of the rest of the family know I was there. Bill told Mum he and Fleur weren't going home for Christmas because they wanted to spend it alone. You know, first holiday after they were married. I don't think Fleur minded. You know how much she hates Celestina Warbeck." Ron turned his back on the Burrow. "Let's try up here," he said, leading the way over the top of the hill.
Hermione turned to Harry, "Harry, I'd feel more comfortable if you were under the Invisibility Cloak."
Harry frowned, "With what we know? You should. That way, you could escape if needed."
Hermione shook her head. "You're more important."
Harry inhaled, "Hermione…"
"I agree with Hermione, mate. You shouldn't be seen," Ron told him, "There are wizards around here."
Harry reluctantly went under the cloak, and Hermione clutched her wand tightly as they started up the hill, the wind playing with her hair. They walked for nearly ten minutes in silence before Ron broke it.
"The Prophet said that the Snatchers even invaded London, but it's hard to tell what's true from it anymore." Ron stated, looking at Hermione, "You two didn't go near there, did you?"
Hermione bit the inside of her lip so hard she tasted copper. "We kept moving."
"That's not really an answer," Ron said.
Hermione shrugged, "Neither was your question a real question."
Harry stayed quiet as they walked on, close to an hour in, Ron spoke up again. "So, when I was gone, how did you decide where to go next?"
"A map," She snapped.
"Right, okay," Ron stated behind her.
She heard Ron ask, "Is she mad at you too?"
Hermione's jaw tightened, the pressure behind her eyes beginning to build again. She picked up the pace and walked ahead for space and air before she exploded. She could almost feel her magic sparking in her hair.
Harry murmured something to him. She didn't want to hear it. Refused to hear it, even. The ground beneath her feet felt as unstable as she felt. Everything felt like a lie lately. The fake calm that they had built was gone, and she was tired of pretending.
Reaching a low stone wall, she leaned her hands on the cold, mossy surface as she let the chilly air try to calm her. Her stomach flipped, the combination of hunger, anger, and apparition catching up to her. Closing her eyes, she breathed through it.
"I didn't mean to upset you," Ron said as the crunch of boots reached her ears.
"I'm not upset. I'm tired," Hermione lied.
"Well, with me back, I'll take back some of the watches, and you can catch up on your sleep," Ron told her.
Hermione looked at him, "It's kind of hard to get sleep when the nightmares plague you. Let's go. How much farther do you think it is?"
"Up a ways," Ron said as he sighed and walked away.
Hermione let out a breath, feeling Harry brush against her as the crunch of his boots followed Ron.
Finally, at the cluster of low hills appeared to be uninhabited apart from one small cottage, which seemed deserted.
Hermione felt uneasy. "Do you think it's theirs, and they've gone away for Christmas?" She asked the boys as she looked through a window into a small kitchen with flowers on the windowsill.
Ron snorted. "Listen, I've got a feeling you'd be able to tell who lived there if you looked through the Lovegoods' window. Let's try the next lot of hills."
So they Disapparated a few miles farther north. Hermione grabbed at Harry, subconsciously knowing that he was there as a wave of dizziness hit her.
"You okay?" Harry asked, concerned.
Hermione closed her eyes as Ron rushed ahead into the wind whipping around them, "I need to get some food."
"Aha!" shouted Ron, as the wind whipped their hair and clothes. Ron was pointing upward, toward the top of the hill on which they had appeared, where a most strange-looking house rose vertically against the sky, a great black cylinder with a ghostly moon hanging behind it in the afternoon sky. "That's got to be Luna's house, who else would live in a place like that? It looks like a giant rook!"
Hermione frowned, looking at the oddly shaped house. "It's nothing like a bird."
"I was talking about a chess rook," said Ron. "A castle to you."
Ron walked ahead of them, and Harry hung back at her side. Hermione's legs burned, and her sides ached as they climbed the incline to the top of the hill where the odd little house sat. Glancing at Harry, he seemed to be out of shape as she was, as he too struggled for breath. Their days of going without food were taking a toll on their bodies.
"It's theirs," said Ron. "Look."
Three hand-painted signs had been tacked to a broken-down gate. The first read, THE QUIBBLER. EDITOR: X. LOVEGOOD the second, PICK YOUR OWN MISTLETOE the third, KEEP OFF THE DIRIGIBLE PLUMS
The gate creaked as they opened it. The zigzagging path leading to the front door was overgrown with a variety of odd plants, including a bush covered in the orange radishlike fruit Luna sometimes wore as earrings.
"You'd better take off the Invisibility Cloak, Harry," said Hermione. "It's you, Mr. Lovegood wants to help, not us."
He did as she suggested, handing her the Cloak to stow in the beaded bag. She then rapped three times on the thick black door, which was studded with iron nails and bore a knocker shaped like an eagle. Barely ten seconds passed, then the door was flung open and there stood Xenophilius Lovegood, barefoot and wearing what appeared to be a stained nightshirt. His long white candyfloss hair was dirty and unkempt. Xenophilius had been positively dapper at Bill and Fleur's wedding by comparison. Hermione's unease grew.
"What? What is it? Who are you? What do you want?" he cried in a high-pitched, looking first at Hermione, then at Ron, and finally at Harry, upon which his mouth fell open in a perfect, comical O.
"Hello, Mr. Lovegood," said Harry, holding out his hand. "I'm Harry, Harry Potter."
Xenophilius did not take Harry's hand, although the eye that was not pointing inward at his nose slid straight to the scar on Harry's forehead.
"Would it be okay if we came in?" asked Harry. "There's something we'd like to ask you."
"I . . . I'm not sure that's advisable," whispered Xenophilius. He swallowed and cast a quick look around the garden. "Rather a shock . . . My word . . . I . . . I'm afraid I don't really think I ought to —"
"It won't take long," said Harry.
"I — oh, all right then. Come in, quickly. Quickly!"
Hermione glanced toward Harry as Ron entered first, and then they followed.
They were barely over the threshold when Xenophilius slammed the door shut behind them.
They were standing in the most peculiar kitchen, all of it had been painted with flowers, insects, and birds in bright primary colors. It screamed Luna to Hermione.
"You'd better come up," said Xenophilius, still looking extremely uncomfortable, and he led the way.
The room above seemed to be a combination of living room and workplace, and as such, was even more cluttered than the kitchen. Though much smaller and entirely round, the room somewhat resembled the Room of Requirement on the unforgettable occasion that it had transformed itself into a gigantic labyrinth comprised of centuries of hidden objects. There were piles upon piles of books and papers on every surface. Delicately made models of creatures, all flapping wings or snapping jaws, hung from the ceiling. Luna was not there: The thing that was making such a racket was a wooden object covered in magically turning cogs and wheels. It looked like the bizarre offspring of a workbench and a set of old shelves, that it was an old-fashioned printing press, due to the fact that it was churning out Quibblers.
"Excuse me," said Xenophilius, and he strode over to the machine, seized a grubby tablecloth from beneath an immense number of books and papers, which all tumbled onto the floor, and threw it over the press, somewhat muffling the loud bangs and clatters. "Why have you come here?"
Hermione let out a small cry of shock. "Mr. Lovegood — what's that?" She was pointing at an enormous, gray spiral horn, not unlike that of a unicorn, which had been mounted on the wall, protruding several feet into the room.
"It is the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," said Xenophilius.
"No it isn't!" said Hermione.
"Hermione," muttered Harry, embarrassed, "now's not the moment —"
"But Harry, it's an Erumpent horn! It's a Class B Tradeable Material and it's an extraordinarily dangerous thing to have in a house!" Hermione told him.
"How d'you know it's an Erumpent horn?" asked Ron, edging away from the horn as fast as he could, given the extreme clutter of the room.
"There's a description in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them! Mr. Lovegood, you need to get rid of it straightaway, don't you know it can explode at the slightest touch?" Hermione asked.
"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack," said Xenophilius very clearly, a mulish look upon his face, "is a shy and highly magical creature, and its horn —"
"Mr. Lovegood, I recognize the grooved markings around the base, that's an Erumpent horn and it's incredibly dangerous — I don't know where you got it —" Hermione stated.
"I bought it," said Xenophilius dogmatically, "two weeks ago, from a delightful young wizard who knew of my interest in the exquisite Snorkack. A Christmas surprise for my Luna. Now," he said, turning to Harry, "why exactly have you come here, Mr. Potter?"
"We need some help," said Harry, before Hermione could start again.
"Ah," said Xenophilius. "Help. Hmm." His good eye moved again to Harry's scar. He seemed simultaneously terrified and mesmerized. "Yes. The thing is . . . helping Harry Potter . . . rather dangerous . . ."
"Aren't you the one who keeps telling everyone it's their first duty to help Harry?" said Ron. "In that magazine of yours?"
Xenophilius glanced behind him at the concealed printing press, still banging and clattering beneath the tablecloth. "Er — yes, I have expressed that view. However —"
"That's for everyone else to do, not you personally?" said Ron.
Xenophilius did not answer. He kept swallowing, his eyes darting between the three of them. Making Hermione very uneasy.
"Where's Luna?" asked Hermione. "Let's see what she thinks."
Xenophilius gulped. "Luna is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She . . . she will like to see you. I'll go and call her and then — yes, very well. I shall try to help you." He disappeared down the spiral staircase and they heard the front door open and close. They looked at each other.
"Cowardly old wart," said Ron. "Luna's got ten times his guts."
"He's probably worried about what'll happen to them if the Death Eaters find out I was here," said Harry.
"Well, I agree with Ron," said Hermione. "Awful old hypocrite, telling everyone else to help you and trying to worm out of it himself. And for heaven's sake keep away from that horn."
Harry crossed to the window on the far side of the room, then to a stone bust of a beautiful but austere-looking witch wearing a most bizarre-looking headdress. Two objects that resembled golden ear trumpets curved out from the sides. A tiny pair of glittering blue wings was stuck to a leather strap that ran over the top of her head, while one of the orange radishes had been stuck to a second strap around her forehead.
"Look at this," said Harry.
"Fetching," said Ron. "Surprised he didn't wear that to the wedding."
Hermione stared at it, trying to recall where a tiara had been mentioned within her books.
They heard the front door close, and a moment later Xenophilius had climbed back up the spiral staircase into the room, his thin legs now encased in Wellington boots, bearing a tray of ill-assorted teacups and a steaming teapot.
"Ah, you have spotted my pet invention," he said, shoving the tray into Hermione's arms and joining Harry at the statue's side. "Modeled, fittingly enough, upon the head of the beautiful Rowena Ravenclaw. 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure!'" He indicated the objects like ear trumpets. "These are the Wrackspurt siphons — to remove all sources of distraction from the thinker's immediate area. Here," he pointed out the tiny wings, "a billywig propeller, to induce an elevated frame of mind. Finally," he pointed to the orange radish, "the Dirigible Plum, so as to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary." Xenophilius strode back to the tea tray, which Hermione had managed to balance precariously on one of the cluttered side tables. "May I offer you all an infusion of Gurdyroots?" said Xenophilius. "We make it ourselves." As he started to pour out the drink, which was as deeply purple as beetroot juice, he added, "Luna is down beyond Bottom Bridge, she is most excited that you are here. She ought not to be too long, she has caught nearly enough Plimpies to make soup for all of us. Do sit down and help yourselves to sugar."
The smell of the drink was making Hermione's stomach turn again.
"Now," he removed a tottering pile of papers from an armchair and sat down, his Wellingtoned legs crossed, "how may I help you, Mr. Potter?"
"Well," said Harry, glancing at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly, "it's about that symbol you were wearing around your neck at Bill and Fleur's wedding, Mr. Lovegood. We wondered what it meant."
Xenophilius raised his eyebrows. "Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?"
Harry turned to look at Ron and Hermione. "The Deathly Hallows?"
"That's right," said Xenophilius. "You haven't heard of them? I'm not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. Witness that knuckleheaded young man at your brother's wedding," he nodded at Ron, "who attacked me for sporting the symbol of a well-known Dark wizard! Such ignorance. There is nothing Dark about the Hallows — at least, not in that crude sense. One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest." He stirred several lumps of sugar into his Gurdyroot infusion and drank some.
Despite her hunger, Hermione didn't think any amount of sugar could let her drink hers.
"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I still don't really understand."
"Well, you see, believers seek the Deathly Hallows," said Xenophilius, smacking his lips in apparent appreciation of the Gurdyroot infusion.
"But what are the Deathly Hallows?" asked Hermione.
Xenophilius set aside his empty teacup. "I assume that you are all familiar with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'?"
Harry said, "No," but Ron and Hermione both said, "Yes."
Hermione looked at Harry, "It's the children's story I've been reading to you."
Xenophilius nodded gravely. "Well, well, Mr. Potter, the whole thing starts with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' . . . I have a copy somewhere. . . ."
He glanced vaguely around the room, at the piles of parchment and books, but Hermione said, "I've got a copy, Mr. Lovegood, I've got it right here." And she pulled out The Tales of Beedle the Bard from the small, beaded bag.
"The original?" inquired Xenophilius sharply, and when she nodded, he said, "Well then, why don't you read it aloud? Much the best way to make sure we all understand."
"Er ... all right," said Hermione nervously. She opened the book, and Harry saw that the symbol they were investigating headed the top of the page as she gave a little cough, and began to read. "'There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight —'"
"Midnight, our mum always told us," said Ron, who had stretched out, arms behind his head, to listen. Hermione shot him a look of annoyance. "Sorry, I just think it's a bit spookier if it's midnight!" said Ron.
"Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives," said Harry before he could stop himself.
Xenophilius did not seem to be paying much attention, but was staring out of the window at the sky.
"Go on, Hermione," Harry told her.
"'In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure. "'And Death spoke to them —'"
"Sorry," interjected Harry, "but Death spoke to them?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's a fairy tale, Harry!"
"Right, sorry. Go on." Harry said, holding his hands up.
"'And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him. "'So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother. "'Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead. "'And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.'" Hermione read.
"Death's got an Invisibility Cloak?" Harry interrupted again.
"So he can sneak up on people," said Ron. "Sometimes he gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking . . . sorry, Hermione."
Hermione stopped glaring at him and continued. "'Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts. "'In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination. "'The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible. "'That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat. "'And so Death took the first brother for his own. "Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him. "'Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her. 'And so Death took the second brother for his own. "'But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.'"
Hermione closed the book. It was a moment or two before Xenophilius seemed to realize that she had stopped reading, then he withdrew his gaze from the window and said, "Well, there you are."
"Sorry?" said Hermione, sounding confused.
"Those are the Deathly Hallows," said Xenophilius.
He picked up a quill from a packed table at his elbow and pulled a torn piece of parchment from between more books. "The Elder Wand," he said, and he drew a straight vertical line upon the parchment. "The Resurrection Stone," he said, and he added a circle on top of the line. "The Cloak of Invisibility," he finished, enclosing both line and circle in a triangle, to make the symbol that so intrigued Hermione. "Together," he said, "the Deathly Hallows."
"But there's no mention of the words 'Deathly Hallows' in the story," said Hermione.
"Well, of course not," said Xenophilius, "That is a children's tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognize that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death." There was a short silence in which Xenophilius glanced out of the window. Already the sun was low in the sky. "Luna ought to have enough Plimpies soon," he said quietly.
"When you say 'master of Death' —" said Ron.
"Master," said Xenophilius, waving. "Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer."
Hermione swallowed hard, looking at Harry, then closing her eyes. Harry's cloak. Harry's cloak that never needs to be washed, never needs to be repaired. They had put that through the ringer, and it looked just the same as it did when Harry received it. It seemed to grow with them, even.
"But then . . . do you mean . . ." said Hermione slowly, "that you believe these objects — these Hallows — actually exist?"
Xenophilius raised his eyebrows again. "Well, of course."
"But," said Hermione, "Mr. Lovegood, how can you possibly believe — ?"
"Luna has told me all about you, young lady," said Xenophilius. "You are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded."
Hermione's opinion of Luna's father was rapidly changing.
"Perhaps you ought to try on the hat, Hermione," said Ron, nodding toward the ludicrous headdress.
"Mr. Lovegood," Hermione began again. "We all know that there are such things as Invisibility Cloaks. They are rare, but they exist. But —"
"Ah, but the Third Hallow is a true Cloak of Invisibility, Miss Granger! I mean to say, it is not a traveling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?"
Hermione opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again.
She, Harry, and Ron glanced at one another. They know exactly one of those.
"Exactly," said Xenophilius, "None of you have ever seen such a thing. The possessor would be immeasurably rich, would he not?" He glanced out of the window again. The sky was now tinged with the faintest trace of pink.
"All right," Hermione said, looking at him. "Say the Cloak existed ... what about the stone, Mr. Lovegood? The thing you call the Resurrection Stone?"
"What of it?" Xenophilius asked, looking at her.
"Well, how can that be real?" Hermione asked.
"Prove that it is not," said Xenophilius.
Hermione glared at him. "But that's — I'm sorry, but that's completely ridiculous! How can I possibly prove it doesn't exist? Do you expect me to get hold of — of all the pebbles in the world and test them? I mean, you could claim that anything's real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody's proved it doesn't exist!"
"Yes, you could," said Xenophilius. "I am glad to see that you are opening your mind a little."
"So the Elder Wand," said Harry quickly, "you think that exists too?"
Hermione looked at Harry, surprised. He had been far too quiet.
"Oh, well, in that case, there is endless evidence," said Xenophilius. "The Elder Wand is the Hallow that is most easily traced, because of the way in which it passes from hand to hand."
"Which is what?" asked Harry.
"Which is that the possessor of the wand must capture it from its previous owner, if he is to be truly master of it," said Xenophilius. "Surely you have heard of the way the wand came to Egbert the Egregious, after his slaughter of Emeric the Evil? Of how Godelot died in his own cellar after his son, Hereward, took the wand from him? Of the dreadful Loxias, who took the wand from Barnabas Deverill, whom he had killed? The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of Wizarding history."
Hermione frowned, thinking of the History of Magic and all Binns' lectures. A wand had never been mentioned as the cause.
"So where do you think the Elder Wand is now?" asked Ron.
"Alas, who knows?" said Xenophilius, as he gazed out of the window. "Who knows where the Elder Wand lies hidden? The trail goes cold with Arcus and Livius. Who can say which of them really defeated Loxias, and which took the wand? And who can say who may have defeated them? History, alas, does not tell us."
"Mr. Lovegood, does the Peverell family have anything to do with the Deathly Hallows?" Hermione asked, thinking about the wizarding family history book and how it mentioned that Harry's family was descendants of one of the brothers. The same name was in the cemetery next to his parents.
"But you have been misleading me, young woman!" said Xenophilius, now sitting up much straighter in his chair and goggling at Hermione. "I thought you were new to the Hallows Quest! Many of us Questers believe that the Peverells have everything — everything! — to do with the Hallows!"
"Who are the Peverells?" asked Ron.
"That was the name on the grave with the mark on it, in Godric's Hollow," said Hermione, still watching Xenophilius. "Ignotus Peverell."
"Exactly!" said Xenophilius, his forefinger raised pedantically. "The sign of the Deathly Hallows on Ignotus's grave is conclusive proof!"
"Of what?" asked Ron.
"Why, that the three brothers in the story were actually the three Peverell brothers, Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus! That they were the original owners of the Hallows!"
With another glance at the window, he got to his feet, picked up the tray, and headed for the spiral staircase.
"You will stay for dinner?" he called, as he vanished downstairs again. "Everybody always requests our recipe for Freshwater Plimpy soup."
"Probably to show the Poisoning Department at St. Mungo's," said Ron under his breath.
"What do you think?" Harry asked Hermione.
"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head, "it's a pile of utter rubbish. This can't be what the sign really means. This must just be his weird take on it. What a waste of time."
"I s'pose this is the man who brought us Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," said Ron.
"You don't believe it either?" Harry asked him.
"Nah, that story's just one of those things you tell kids to teach them lessons, isn't it? 'Don't go looking for trouble, don't pick fights, don't go messing around with stuff that's best left alone! Just keep your head down, mind your own business, and you'll be okay.' Come to think of it," Ron added, "maybe that story's why elder wands are supposed to be unlucky."
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, confused.
"One of those superstitions, isn't it? 'May-born witches will marry Muggles.' 'Jinx by twilight, undone by midnight.' 'Wand of elder, never prosper.' You must've heard them. My mum's full of them." Ron told them.
"Harry and I were raised by Muggles," Hermione reminded him. "We were taught different superstitions." She sighed deeply as a rather pungent smell drifted up from the kitchen. Her nausea was coming back.
"I think you're right," she told him. "It's just a morality tale, it's obvious which gift is best, which one you'd choose —"
The three of them spoke at the same time; Hermione said, "the Cloak," Ron said, "the wand," and Harry said, "the stone."
They looked at each other, half surprised, half amused.
"You're supposed to say the Cloak," Ron told Hermione, "But you wouldn't need to be invisible if you had the wand. An unbeatable wand, Hermione, come on!"
"We've already got an Invisibility Cloak," said Harry.
"And it's helped us rather a lot, in case you hadn't noticed!" said Hermione. "Whereas the wand would be bound to attract trouble —"
"Only if you shouted about it," argued Ron. "Only if you were prat enough to go dancing around, waving it over your head, and singing, 'I've got an unbeatable wand, come and have a go if you think you're hard enough.' As long as you kept your trap shut —"
"Yes, but could you keep your trap shut?" said Hermione, looking skeptical. "You know, the only true thing he said to us was that there have been stories about extra-powerful wands for hundreds of years."
"There have?" asked Harry.
Hermione looked exasperated, and her anger returned at the grins on their faces. "The Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, they crop up under different names through the centuries, usually in the possession of some Dark wizard who's boasting about them. Professor Binns mentioned some of them, but — oh, it's all nonsense. Wands are only as powerful as the wizards who use them. Some wizards just like to boast that theirs are bigger and better than other people's."
"But how do you know," said Harry, "that those wands — the Deathstick and the Wand of Destiny — aren't the same wand, surfacing over the centuries under different names?"
"What, and they're all really the Elder Wand, made by Death?" said Ron.
Harry laughed.
"So why would you take the stone?" Ron asked him.
Hermione's heart twanged in her chest. Damn, Ron and his emotional unavailability hit at the worst moments.
"Well, if you could bring people back, we could have Sirius... Mad-Eye... Dumbledore... my parents. But according to Beedle the Bard, they wouldn't want to come back, would they?" said Harry, "I don't suppose there have been loads of other stories about a stone that can raise the dead, have there?" he asked Hermione.
"No," she replied sadly. "I don't think anyone except Mr. Lovegood could kid themselves that's possible. Beedle probably took the idea from the Sorcerer's Stone; you know, instead of a stone to make you immortal, a stone to reverse death."
The smell from the kitchen was getting stronger, and Hermione was having to breathe through her mouth not to get sick.
"What about the Cloak, though?" said Ron slowly. "Don't you realize, he's right? I've got so used to Harry's Cloak and how good it is, I never stopped to think. I've never heard of one like Harry's. It's infallible. We've never been spotted under it —"
"Of course not — we're invisible when we're under it, Ron!" Hermione snapped.
"But all the stuff he said about other cloaks, and they're not exactly ten a Knut, you know, is true! It's never occurred to me before, but I've heard stuff about charms wearing off cloaks when they get old, or them being ripped apart by spells so they've got holes in. Harry's was owned by his dad, so it's not exactly new, is it, but it's just . . . perfect!" Ron defended.
"Yes, all right, but Ron, the stone is not logical!" Hermione hissed, "A stone cannot bring someone back from death."
Hermione looked around and noticed Harry near the stairs.
"Harry, what are you doing? I don't think you should look around when he's not here!" Hermione said, standing up and following him.
Hermione followed him upstairs and froze in awe. "This has to be Luna's room."
Her own face peered back at her through the painting on the ceiling. She was beside Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville. Looking closely, in small golden writing, was the word 'friends'.
Harry walked over beside her bed and picked up a picture frame. Hermione frowned as she looked down, and Harry's steps to the bed had left footprints in the dust that had accumulated on the carpet.
"Something is wrong," Hermione told Harry as he took her hand, and they descended the staircase.
Xenophilius reached the top of the stairs from the kitchen, now holding a tray laden with bowls.
"Mr. Lovegood," said Harry. "Where's Luna?"
"Excuse me?"
"Where's Luna?" Harry asked as Hermione motioned for Ron to stand.
Xenophilius halted on the top step. "I — I've already told you. She is down at Bottom Bridge, fishing for Plimpies."
"So why have you only laid that tray for four?" Harry asked.
Xenophilius tried to speak, but no sound came out. The only noise was the continued chugging of the printing press and a slight rattle from the tray as Xenophilius's hands shook.
"I don't think Luna's been here for weeks," said Harry. "Her clothes are gone, her bed hasn't been slept in. Where is she? And why do you keep looking out of the window?"
Xenophilius dropped the tray: The bowls bounced and smashed. Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew their wands: Xenophilius froze, his hand about to enter his pocket. At that moment, the printing press gave a huge bang, and numerous Quibblers came streaming across the floor from underneath the tablecloth; the press fell silent at last.
Hermione stooped down and picked up one of the magazines, her wand still pointing at Mr. Lovegood. Her stomach dropped seeing the headline. "Harry, look at this."
He strode over to her as quickly as he could through all the clutter. The front of The Quibbler carried his own picture, emblazoned with the words UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE and captioned with the reward money.
"The Quibbler's going for a new angle, then?" Harry asked coldly, his mind working very fast. "Is that what you were doing when you went into the garden, Mr. Lovegood? Sending an owl to the Ministry?"
Xenophilius licked his lips. "They took my Luna," he whispered. "Because of what I've been writing. They took my Luna and I don't know where she is, what they've done to her. But they might give her back to me if I — if I —"
"Hand over Harry?" Hermione finished for him, swallowing back the bile.
"No deal," said Ron flatly. "Get out of the way, we're leaving."
Xenophilius looked ghastly, a century old, his lips drawn back into a dreadful leer. "They will be here at any moment. I must save Luna. I cannot lose Luna. You must not leave." He spread his arms in front of the staircase.
"Don't make us hurt you," Harry said. "Get out of the way, Mr. Lovegood."
"HARRY!" Hermione screamed, looking out the window.
Figures on broomsticks were flying past the windows.
Harry launched himself sideways, shoving Ron and Hermione out of harm's way as Xenophilius's Stunning Spell soared across the room and hit the Erumpent horn.
Hermione saw it as it happened and threw her wand up, putting a shield over herself, and was able to shield Harry slightly as the room blew apart.
Fragments of wood, paper, and rubble flew in all directions, along with an impenetrable cloud of thick white dust.
The explosion sent Harry flying through the air. Hermione screamed as Ron yelled out as rubble rained over them. Harry was half covered as she tried to hold the shield, as dust burned her lungs. Struggling to catch her breath, she looked around to see that half of the ceiling had fallen in, and the end of Luna's bed was hanging through the hole.
Hermione pushed herself up to stand and heard voices downstairs. Walking quietly over to Harry, she pressed her finger to her lips as he saw her. Harry was lying next to the now-broken bust of Rowena Ravenclaw, with half its face missing. Fragments of torn parchment floated through the air, and most of the printing press lay on its side, blocking the top of the staircase to the kitchen.
A door downstairs crashed open. "Didn't I tell you there was no need to hurry, Travers?" said a rough voice. "Didn't I tell you this nutter was just raving as usual?"
There was a bang and a scream of pain from Xenophilius. "No . . . no . . . upstairs . . . Potter!"
"I told you last week, Lovegood, we weren't coming back for anything less than some solid information! Remember last week? When you wanted to swap your daughter for that stupid bleeding headdress? And the week before" — another bang, another squeal — "when you thought we'd give her back if you offered us proof there are Crumple" — bang — "Headed" — bang — "Snorkacks?"
"No — no — I beg you!" sobbed Xenophilius. "It really is Potter! Really!"
"And now it turns out you only called us here to try and blow us up!" roared the Death Eater, and there was a volley of bangs interspersed with squeals of agony from Xenophilius.
"The place looks like it's about to fall in, Selwyn," said a cool second voice, echoing up the mangled staircase. "The stairs are completely blocked. Could try clearing it? Might bring the place down."
"You lying piece of filth," shouted the wizard named Selwyn. "You've never seen Potter in your life, have you? Thought you'd lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you'll get your girl back like this?"
"I swear . . . I swear... Potter's upstairs!"
"Homenum revelio," said the voice at the foot of the stairs.
Hermione gasped as magic swept over her and grabbed Harry's hand to pull him to his feet.
"There's someone up there all right, Selwyn," said the second man sharply.
"It's Potter, I tell you, it's Potter!" sobbed Xenophilius. "Please . . . please . . . give me Luna, just let me have Luna. . . ."
"You can have your little girl, Lovegood," said Selwyn, "if you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plot, if it's a trick, if you've got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we'll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury."
Xenophilius gave a wail of fear and despair. There were scurryings and scrapings: Xenophilius was trying to get through the debris on the stairs.
"Come on," Harry whispered, "we've got to get out of here."
Ron was buried deepest: Harry and Hermione climbed, as quietly as they could, over all the wreckage to where he lay, trying to prise a heavy chest of drawers off his legs.
While Xenophilius's banging and scraping drew nearer and nearer, Hermione managed to free Ron with the use of a Hover Charm.
"All right," breathed Hermione, as the broken printing press blocking the top of the stairs began to tremble; Xenophilius was feet away from them. "Do you trust me, Harry?"
Harry nodded.
"Okay then," Hermione whispered, "give me the Invisibility Cloak. Ron, you're going to put it on."
"Me? But Harry —" Ron said, confused.
"Please, Ron! Harry, hold on tight to my hand. Ron, grab my shoulder."
Harry held out his left hand, and Ron vanished beneath the Cloak, his hand steady on her shoulder.
The printing press blocking the stairs was vibrating: Xenophilius was trying to shift it using a Hover Charm.
"Hold tight," she whispered. "Hold tight... any second..."
Xenophilius's paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard.
"Obliviate!" cried Hermione, pointing her wand first into his face, then at the floor beneath them. "Deprimo!" She had blasted a hole in the sitting room floor.
They fell like boulders, Harry still holding onto her hand for dear life; there was a scream from below, and he glimpsed two men trying to get out of the way as vast quantities of rubble and broken furniture rained all around them from the shattered ceiling.
Hermione closed her eyes and prayed for the first time in a while that her plan would work as they twisted in midair, and the thundering of the collapsing house deafened her for a moment as they disapparated.
*Rowling, J.K.. Harry Potter: The Complete Collection (1-7). Pottermore Publishing. Kindle Edition.
Preview of Chapter 9 - Nothing But the Silence
Bellatrix cast a Crucio on her again. The pain was all-consuming… until it wasn't.
"What is this!?" Bellatrix asked, "How are you doing this?"
It was as if Hermione was leaving her body. Opening her eyes, she saw a shimmering shield all around her.
"It's her magic, it is attempting to protect her," Lucius stated, "I've only seen it a few times before."
Hermione moaned as Bellatrix took her by the hair after she couldn't hold whatever her magic was doing anymore.
"Who did you take the magic from? You filthy mudblood!" Bellatrix asked, "Whose magic did you steal?"
"No one," Hermione sobbed as Bellatrix fired a cutting hex at her, and she screamed out as it cut her cheek. "Please, we didn't take it from you!"
Bellatrix pressed her wand to Hermione's throat, and pain surged through her throat as if the wand was sinking into it. She screamed out, garbled as more blood came to her mouth, as she threw up the contents of her stomach.
Then it stopped again as a crack echoed around the room.