An hour later, Draco pulled himself out of the bath, banished the remaining water with a wave of his wand and dried himself off. That felt better. It just did. With another wave of his wand to clean the bath, Draco dressed and headed downstairs.

'So glad you could join us.'

'Indeed. What's the rush?'

'We were just planning on how to break in to Gringotts, weren't we? Your input would be welcomed.'

'What do you think I've been doing up there? Playing battleships?'

'Possibly.'

'Well, I wasn't actually. I was thinking on the problem.'

'And?'

'Well. It seems to me that getting in to Gringotts is the easy bit. It's getting out you have to worry about.'

'Can't we get out the same way we came in?'

'Well, if you think you can fight your way out through all the aurors and half the goblins in the country, go ahead. I think we need to allow for some subtlety, even if it is blended with a hefty load of brute force and ignorance.'

'You might have a point there.'

'Of course I do. I've spent hours thinking about this.'

'If you say so.'

'I have. Yesterday night and this morning in the bath.'

'All right. We believe you. But we've had another idea.'

'You have?'

'Yeah. Gringott's is a big'un, and no mistake, so we were wondering whether it might not be worth trying somewhere else first.'

'Oh?' Draco asked.

'Godric's Hollow.' Draco raised an eyebrow.

'Well, it sort of seems like it's worth a try. We've got a theory Dumbledore might have left us something there.'

'What?'

'Well, he left Harry the sword of Gryffindor in his will but the ministry withheld it. WE were wondering if it might have been put there.'

'Doesn't seem that likely to me. More likely that he will have placed a trap there.'

'And it's where my parents are buried.'

'Ok. When are we leaving?'

'That was quick.'

'Family's important.'

'We can come back here afterwards though, can't we?' Hermione asked.

'Seems like a good idea to me.'

'It'll be nice to get out. Anyone got any money?'

'Not on me- I've only got what's in Gringotts.'

'That's not much use then, is it?'

'Not really. Hermione?''

'I've got a little bit, but nothing you could buy anything with, just shrapnel.'

'I've got a little bit. Perhaps there'll be a village shop we can get something from.'

'Maybe.'

'Give us a moment, I want to get changed.'

'Fine. Meet you here in a couple of minutes, I've got something I want to fetch myself.'

'Ok. Draco, you couldn't grab my coat while you're there could you?'

'Sure thing.'

The next few minutes were all business and action as the tent was filled with a sense of purpose. Finally, something to do that might be useful and didn't involve sitting and thinking, slowly getting thinner and hungrier. They stepped out of the tent, grabbed hold of each other and apparated north-west.

A thin covering of powdery snow covered the ground and more was falling gently around them, filling the village with a deathly silence. Harry led the way in silence towards the church. They passed through the kissing gate at the entrance to the churchyard and stopped. Harry started to look for his parents graves. Hermione at length decided to help him, whilst Draco walked up to the church itself.

The great building, made out of flints and mortar towered high above the rest of the village. Slowly Draco opened the door. No-one was in, not even the vicar. Draco slowly walked round. In one corner stood a large organ, filling up a large space. No-one would mind if he had a play, would they? Draco didn't think they would and slowly opened the case, to reveal two manuals within. Well, there was nothing else for it, was there. Draco pulled himself onto the stool and pulled out a few stops. Yes, that one, no, not quite. Maybe, yes. Before long the organ was set up as Draco himself wanted it to be and he started to play. For Draco, the passage of time went unnoticed as the steady succession of crotchet to quaver and quaver to crotchet continued. Draco didn't notice when the others came in to join him, nor when the churchwardens or congregation arrived for the evening service. Draco played and played until, at long last, the village organist came to displace him.

'That was very well played, young man. Thank you.'

'Thank you for letting me play your organ.'

'You're welcome.'

Draco hurried out, slightly embarrassed as he looked around him. Before long, he had found Harry and Hermione waiting in the porch for him to come out.

'I never knew you were musical, Draco.'

'Oh, I've been playing for as long as I can remember. I started out with the piano and progressed to the organ when I was about ten.'

''It was really nice, you know. It made me feel sad though, what was it called?'

'Called? I don't really know, I just sort of made it up on the spot.'

'Wow.'

'Did you find, you know, what you were looking for.'

'Yes. And something else rather funny too. Come and have a look at this.'

Hermione dragged Draco through the churchyard to an ancient yew. Beneathing the spreading boughs was an ancient headstone.

'Look at that symbol. Any ideas?'

'No, I don't think I've seen it before.'

'We have.'

'Where?'

'Firstly it's in the tales of Beedle the Bard, you know, Dumbledore left me a copy.'

'Right.'

'And then Xenophilius Lovegood was wearing it at the wedding. Krum said it was Grindelwald's sign, but this gravestone is ancient. What's it doing here?'

'Beats me. Couldn't be a coat of arms or something, could it. Or just a coincidence, it's all geometric shapes after all, nothing that couldn't just be something muggle.'

'I suppose so, might be worth looking into though.'

'Yeah, is there anything else we need to do?'

'Not need, but I'd like to have a look and see if we can find where it happened. This is where everything started for me.' Harry said. Draco understood, for Harry this trip was about finding out where he came from, who he was, far more than it was about defeating the dark lord. The snow fell in increasingly large flakes, settling on the gravestones in the churchyard and the roves of the houses in the village. Slowly the three wandered down the main road of the village. Then they saw it. In front of them stood one house that wasn't like the rest. The top floor had been completely destroyed, with only a few timbers left to indicate where the roof had once been. This must have been it. Draco stood, horrified by the damage that magic could do. To him it had always been something useful, constructive. Yet it could do things like this, leaving his friend bereft of family from a young, tender age. They approached the ruins slowly and as if sensing their presence, a golden pillar ascended from the ground until it was level with their eye line. On it was a simple description of the house, describing in clinical, almost cruel, language what had happened here. It was barely legible however, for all the graffiti that had been written on top, saying things like "Support Harry Potter" and "Long live the chosen one."

All this. So many.' Harry stopped, unable to find the right words to choke past the building tears. There was only one thing Draco could do. He put a supporting arm around Harry, who turned around and started to cry on his shoulder. Awkwardly, Draco put the other round and patted Harry on the back, making "there there" noises. Hermione came over and gave Harry a hug from the other side and for a good while they stood there, like a small huddle of giant penguins, gently swaying as their tears began to flow. Draco stopped crying first. As he blinked the tears from his weepy eyes he saw a woman watching them. A woman who looked like a huddle all by herself.

'Who's that?' Draco asked. Startled the others turned around. Then the woman started beckoning at them. Who could it have been? It was Harry who worked it out first.

'Miss Bagshot?'

The woman nodded and beckoned again. Was this where Dumbledore had left it? With her? You never knew. The old woman shuffled along the street, her feet barely picking themselves up, instead just skating along the surface. From the distance they heard the church clock strike the hour. Eight o'clock.

At long last they were at Bathilda's home. The front door had been left oddly open, as if it was hanging off its hinges. The inside of the house smelt foul, rich with a stench that Draco couldn't place. He and Hermione looked about downstairs, seeing if they could come up with anything. Rooting about in the kitchen Draco found a bag of onions and a small sack of potatoes which loked rather livelier than they were supposed to. Suddenly he heard Hermione call.

'Draco. Come and look at this. What do you think this is?'

'It's a photo.'

'Not that, look closer, there's something on it. I think it's blood.'

'Blood? Yes, that's blood alright. Why do you think it's.' Suddenly a thought hit Draco.

'I don't think that's Bagshot upstairs. Come on. Let's go and see what's happening.

eAs they climbed the stairs they heard strange hissing noises.

'Not good. Come on.'

They ran the last few steps just in time to see a vast snake emerge from Bagshot's clothes and dive straight at Harry, who despite the shock, dived to one side. Whipping his wand out, Draco cast a spell at the great snake, which bounced off as harmlessly as a stick off a troll. That wasn't good. Slowly the snake turned to face them. Harry slowly picked himself up from where he had fallen and snuck quietly as they snake slowly rounded on Draco and Hermione.

'Hermione. You get Harry out of here. Apparate home. I'll deal with the snake. Hermione reached out to touch Harry and the two of them were gone. The noise distracted the snake, allowing Draco to make a run for it downstairs. Nagini resumed the chase quickly. Draco however was faster and jumped down the stairs. He rushed through back to the kitchen and slammed the door shut. He leaned against it with all of his weight and breathed a sigh of relief. Now there were two inched of solid oak between him and the snake he felt better, although he soon realised that where the snake was, her master was never far behind. Damn! Draco felt for his wand. Where was it? Ahh, there. Thank goodness, he hadn't lost it.

'Colloportus' That was better, the door was shut fast now. Draco dropped the knife and started to rummage in the cupboards. There were the spuds and the onions. He might as well take them, it wasn't as if they'd be wanted by anyone now. Was there anything else though? Aside from a few jars of pickle, there was nothing without a fur coat. Well, what he'd already got would be a good start. There was a hissing noise outside. Draco reacted quickly, apparating away as the door imploded in front of him.

He arrived at the tent, still clutching onto the bags of potatoes and onions, with a large splinter sticking out of his leg. Crimson was flowing around it and every move Draco made hurt.

'Guys? You there?' There was no reply. 'Come on. I need some help here.' Draco said, almost screaming. The only noise to answer him was that of the wind in the trees. This was no good. No good at all. Draco dropped the vegetables and limped inside. Where were they? They should have been back ages ago. He looked around. Clearly someone had been there. Too late he turned around to find a man in black robes standing behind him.

'Gotcha.' He snarled.