JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe. I own nothing but the inserted original characters/plot concepts. I make no money on this. This is simply a FAN based work.
I would like to give a huge shoutout to the wonderful betas that agreed to help me comb through past chapters to catch all the pesky lingering errors that I can no longer see: Amelia_Davies_Writes, GalaxyNightangale – thank you, your fresh eyes see more than mine.
And thank you to Greca for agreeing to read and beta my new stuff. Your help is greatly appreciated.
You should all know the general fic warnings by now so I will no longer be including them at the start of every chapter. I will only be including chapter-specific warnings from now on - so please check each chapter going forward.
Chapter Thirteen
On the 17th of December Hermione was sat in her circle on the tent floor surrounded by a large pile of books when Harry approached her.
"Hermione?" His voice was curious, but sounded a bit hesitant.
"Hm?" she looked up from her copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard as Harry sat down in front of her next to a particularly tall stack of books. She eyed him curiously when she saw him fidget with his fingers, it was rather odd behaviour for Harry. They had become extremely close over the last few months and she could not remember the last time he looked nervous like this before talking to her.
"Hermione," Harry said slowly. "I've been thinking – and I know that you're probably not going to like this, but I want you to hear me out okay?"
Hermione closed the book, keeping her page with her finger and sat up a bit straighter to give Harry her full attention. Harry's nervous look made her a bit anxious. She recognized the look in his eyes from when they were both kids and he was about to ask something that might be dangerous or would go against their safety rules because he thought whatever the thing was, was worth the risk. She pushed down her anxiety and took a quick breath before nodding. She trusted Harry and she knew that he wouldn't ask for something that made him nervous like this unless it was important.
"Okay," Hermione nodded, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees as she looked up to him. "Then I have a question for you after – so, let's hear it."
"I've been thinking. I – I want to go to Godric's Hollow."
Hermione sighed quietly as she rubbed her eyes tiredly with her hand.
"Yes," she said with a sigh. "Yes, I've been wondering that too. I really think we'll have to."
"Really?" Harry looked at her with disbelief.
"Yes," she laughed gently as she ran her hand over her hair to push it out of her face. "I'm starting to run out of ideas as to where else to look for the sword. It will be dangerous, but frankly the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor is starting to sound like a better and better idea each day."
Harry nodded as a small chuckle escaped his lips.
"I'll be honest Hermione, my reasons for wanting to go are two-fold. I want to see my parents' graves – the house – I – I want to be there, to see it. And the second is the sword. I was doing some reading and Bathilda Bagshot lived in Godric's Hollow. I thought it's possible that she might know something – assuming we would be able to find her."
"Harry, it's possible she might even have the sword," Hermione said with more enthusiasm. "Dumbledore knew her, it's possible that he left her the sword or that maybe he told her something. Maybe he expected us to go there because he knew that you would want to."
Her voice softened and she placed a gentle hand on his knee before she continued.
"It's only natural for you to want to see your birthplace Harry, and I think you should. Though – I do worry that that in and of itself will make it more dangerous. You Know Who is going to expect you to show up at some point. We'll need to be extremely careful."
"I had some thoughts on that actually," Harry said as he placed his hand over the one Hermione had left on his knee. "We still have some Polyjuice potion leftover from when we invaded the Ministry – we could snatch some hairs and arrive under disguise. Combine that with our shield charms and some disillusionments and – if we're cautious, I think we'll be alright."
Hermione nodded slowly in agreement.
"Okay, we'll have to stop at a town at some point and grab some hairs – I don't have any spares, so it will be a good idea to grab several extras for future use while we're at it and a few more supplies as well. We can plan that out for this week," she withdrew her hand from Harry's to re-open her book and turned a page toward him. Harry shuffled over to sit next to her so he could see it more clearly.
"This was what I wanted to ask you about, Harry," she said, pointing to a symbol at the top of one of the pages. It looked like a triangular eye whose pupil had been crossed with a vertical line. "It's been inked in, look, someone's drawn it there. At first I thought it was just an image above the story like some of the other chapters – so I didn't notice it right away. Have you ever seen this symbol before? I've been looking through my old notes and texts and it doesn't seem to be a rune or a symbol."
"I'm not sure," Harry said as he frowned and looked at the symbol. "Wait – wait, isn't it the same symbol Luna's dad was wearing around his neck at the wedding?"
"That's what I thought too!" Hermione said as she turned to look Harry in the eyes. "But I didn't get a good look at the wedding, so I wasn't sure, and wanted you to confirm."
"Then it's Grindelwald's mark."
Hermione blinked, surprised by the confidence at which Harry spoke.
"What?" Hermione asked, looking at him blankly.
"Sorry – Krum told me, I never even thought to mention it, I'd completely forgotten," Harry said somewhat sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.
Harry recounted the conversation he'd had with Krum at the wedding, how the mark belonged to the dark wizard Grindelwald – who killed many people including Krum's grandfather – and how he was very powerful until he was defeated by Dumbledore. Harry had no idea why Xenophilius would be wearing the symbol of such a horrible wizard, and he only hoped it was because Xenophilius did not realize what the mark meant. Hermione found the entire thing rather irritating as there was not a documented connection between the symbol and Grindelwald in any text she had seen. There was also no reason for a dark mark, if Krum was to be believed, to be written in a children's book. They agreed it was odd and likely had been intentionally added to the pages by someone – though it was unclear if the marking was by Dumbledore himself.
They agreed to look for the symbol in a few of the restricted section books from the Hogwarts Library that Hermione had been carrying around while they prepared for their trip to Godric's Hollow. Hermione was hesitant to go until they could both produce a shield charm lasting over 14 minutes each, and they needed to collect some hair from unsuspecting muggles – which meant a trip to town during the day.
Over the next week, they practiced their duelling intensely. They worked on their shielding charms and completed a very quick in and out mission to a nearby town to collect several hair samples while disillusioned and holding hands so that they would be prepared for a quick apparition away if trouble arose. But as luck would have it, the trip to town was so uneventful that Hermione and Harry even managed to grab a few extra supplies from a small store before heading back to the tent.
Each hair sample collected was carefully bottled with a label attached describing the person who it belonged to. Hermione was pleased that she had managed to snag an additional six different samples so they would have plenty of new disguises if the situation ever called for it. On one of their preparation days Hermione mastered a simple spell to vanish footsteps in the snow. She taught Harry how to do it, and they practiced it outside for half an hour before they began their duelling exercises.
After a week, Hermione and Harry felt prepared to go to Godric's Hollow. They had their disguises ready, disillusionment charms perfected, they could vanish their tracks, and they felt at the top of their game regarding physical shape and duelling abilities. They could even successfully implement their shield charms for fifteen minutes each. They agreed to apparate to Godric's Hollow in the evening to avoid any major crowds but still be able to potentially locate Bathilda since knocking on an old woman's door in the middle of the night seemed inappropriate. So, they ate a quick dinner, cleaned up, packed everything up including the tent and then choked down the disgusting brew that was Polyjuice.
Harry transformed into a balding, middle-aged muggle man. He felt himself get just an inch shorter and he looked over at Hermione who had turned into his small rather mousy looking wife. They laughed at each other's appearances nervously and Harry tried to tame the rolling of his stomach when he thought about where they were going. Casting their disillusionment charms they stood close to each other, Hermione's transformed hand holding Harry's tightly before they apparated away.
-x-x-
They landed in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky in which the first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the center of the village. Harry and Hermione stood stock still with their wands outstretched as they quickly looked around – hands still clamped together. There would be no homenum revelio or detection charms here, they already knew that they were surrounded by people.
They wandered cautiously down the snowy lane, looking at each cottage with uncertainty. Hermione and Harry both vanished their steps as they went, maintaining their disillusionment despite their use of Polyjuice potion. They had no idea where Harry's home was or where Bathilda might live and being so exposed in such a public place made them both uneasy. The lane they were walking on curved to the left and at the heart of the village a small square came into view. They slowed their pace to examine the square. A small war memorial was visible in the center, surrounded by a Christmas tree, a post office, several shops and a little church across the square. Several villagers cut across the square walking quickly through the snow to their destinations. One muggle opened the door to a pub, and they heard the faint sound of laughing as Christmas carols started up at the church. Hermione cast a muffliato around them before speaking.
"Harry, I think it's Christmas Eve!" Hermione exclaimed and she clutched Harry's hand tighter. "I was so caught up in getting prepared for today I completely lost track of my days."
She turned to look at Harry, or where the balding middle-aged man which was Harry should be standing next to her. She could make out the small shimmer of his disillusionment, but she could not see his face.
"Happy Christmas, Harry," she said gently as she squeezed his hand.
"Happy Christmas, Hermione," Harry responded softly, as he returned the squeeze.
They stood quietly for a moment before Hermione started leading them toward the church across the square.
"Your parents Harry, they might be there," she said quietly as they neared the small crowd in the square. Harry nodded, unable to speak, so he squeezed her hand again in confirmation.
His heart raced as they worked their way across the square. Being this open and exposed and surrounded by people made him on edge – he knew it would be a long while until he acclimatized himself to being in public after the war ended. Each movement or voice from a passing muggle made them both twitch as their eyes darted from side to side. The quiet of living in a tent for the last few months had made every sound from the village seem like it was coming from a loudspeaker and it filled his heart with unease.
Crowds left them open to attack from any which way, so they moved cautiously and ensured that they vanished their footsteps completely. When they passed the center of the square Harry glanced at the war memorial – no muggles seemed to notice it so he assumed that they must not be able to see it. They continued their walk across the second half of the square slowly, and Harry could feel his disillusionment charm wearing thin. So, as they passed through the gates along the side of the church to the graveyard, he pulled out his invisibility cloak from his pack and draped it over them.
The graveyard was quiet and still, snow-covered the many graves that sat in neat little rows and low hanging trees buckled under the weight of the snow. They moved in silence, up and down each small row of graves looking for the Potters.
As they looked, they noticed a gravestone for Abbott – possibly a relation to Hannah – it was interesting to think that her family may have also been from Godric's Hollow. When they came across two particularly old looking white gravestones Hermione pulled Harry to a stop and they crouched down to get a better look. One was for Kendra Dumbledore, the other for her daughter Ariana. Small letters graced the bottom of the stone and read: 'Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also'.
"Dumbledore never mentioned that he had family here, did he?" Hermione asked as she looked at Harry from under the cloak. Their disillusions had worn off so she was able to see the balding muggle man next to her.
"No," Harry said with a frown, shaking his head. "He never mentioned it."
Hermione frowned in response before they stood up to keep looking. Several rows later Hermione pulled him to a stop excitedly and they both ducked down under the cloak again to get a better look.
"Harry, I think this says Potter," she quickly dusted off the snow and old dead moss, but her movements slowed as she realized that the name on the grave read Ignotus. "Oh, sorry, the snow made it look like it might have been your family."
"It's okay, Hermione," Harry said kindly as he helped her to her feet. "We'll keep looking."
As they walked past another two rows of graves Harry could feel his heart start to drop. What if they're not here, he thought with agitation. Hermione must have sensed his tension because she squeezed his hand reassuringly.
They rounded toward the back of the graveyard and he spotted a white gravestone, like the Dumbledore's, under a low hanging tree. It was separated from some of the others in the yard and the area around it felt still. He pulled Hermione toward it and as they approached, he was able to make out the words clear as day.
James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981
Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death
Harry stood quiet and unmoving, any words he might have had died in his throat as he looked at his parents' grave. Hermione raised her wand under the cloak and charmed a Christmas wreath, then placed it gently in his hands. Harry dropped to his knees with a small thud and placed the wreath in front of the gravestones as hot tears poured from his eyes. She knelt next to him and leaned her head on his shoulder – and without thinking he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tightly to his side, placing a gentle kiss on her temple.
"Thank you for being here, Hermione," he said in a whisper, the strain of his emotion evident in his voice. "Not just here today right now – but always. Thank you. Thank you for coming with me everywhere, for helping me, for being there when I needed you. I – I couldn't do this without you. I wouldn't be here without you – thank you for agreeing to come."
Hermione nodded against his shoulder and clutched his hand again tightly. She could not even begin to imagine how Harry felt in this moment, what must be going through his mind. So she just sat with him quietly, allowing him to feel everything that he needed to feel and to feel close to the family he never got to meet.
"The quote on their grave is nice," Hermione spoke quietly as she sat back a bit to look at Harry. "The idea of defeating death by living beyond it."
Harry nodded next to her before giving her a small sad smile. with his eyes bright with tears, he pulled them both up to their feet. As they moved their way back out of the graveyard they both could not help but feel as though they were being watched, and Hermione jumped when she thought she saw movement to her right.
"Harry," she said quietly, as they paused at the edge of the square. "I think I saw something, and whatever saw us could have seen us at your parents' grave."
Harry nodded next to her and they locked hands more tightly, wands drawn and ready.
"Okay, let's duck around this way," he said as he pulled her down a path to the right. "I don't fancy being in a crowd of unknown people, cloak or not – we'll get out from here and look for Bathilda, but apparate away immediately if we see anything again."
Hermione nodded her agreement and kept her wand pointed as they moved down the dimly lit street. Despite the dark they actually felt safer being away from the crowd – knowing that there was less chance for someone to sneak up on them and being comforted by the idea that they had room to fight or escape if necessary. After passing several cottages and looking around they started to wonder how they could possibly be successful in locating Bathilda. They were just rounding a corner and quietly discussing breaking into the post office to try and find her address when Harry froze.
A dark mass stood out in front of them to the left, it looked like the remains of a house. Harry pulled them toward it as his heart thumped loudly in his chest, the fidelius charm must have ended, but the house still stood. They approached and saw the remains of rubble still littered the yard, a large and wild-looking hedge grew out of control at the front, but most of the cottage still stood.
The top floor was blown apart and seeing it made Harry's heart ache. He knew that it must have been from the attack – and he realized that perhaps he would not be handling this so well if not for Hermione gripping his hand so tightly. His heart felt heavy, overweight with exhausted. He had not anticipated how emotional this was going to make him feel and it felt like someone was unravelling him like a ball of yarn.
Harry laid his hand on the gate as they stood in front of the house and a small sign raised up, with words still visible on the old wood:
On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.
Sixteen years-worth of messages had been inked and carved on the sign. The words varied but the messages were largely the same, 'Good luck, Harry, wherever you are', 'If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you!', 'Long live Harry Potter!'
Harry could feel his chest tightening as he read the words and looked back up to the top half of the exploded house. He was entranced by it until Hermione tugged his arm and he immediately felt it too. They were being watched. Raising his wand he turned to see the stooped figure of an old woman approaching. She was looking at them, and back at the house. She must have been a witch to be able to see them and then she began beckoning them with her old crooked finger. Harry tightened his grip around Hermione as he spoke.
"Are you Mrs. Bagshot?" he asked as he kept his wand trained on the old lady.
She nodded slowly, pointed at Harry and then motioned for them to follow her as she turned to walk down the street.
"Harry," Hermione said cautiously as she watched the old lady wobble away. "Do you think we should go? We need to be careful."
"We'll go," Harry said in a whisper. "Keep your wand out, and if anything suspicious happens we get the hell out of here. But we need to at least try – she could have the sword."
"Okay," Hermione nodded once in agreement. "But don't you dare let go of my hand."
They followed her down the lane that she had come from, staying several steps behind the old woman. As they walked, they passed several cottages until they rounded on a small one with a metal gate. Following her up the path she led them to the front door and then struggled with the key before swinging it open and allowing them entrance. The door was too narrow to allow them to walk through it together under the cloak so, begrudgingly, they removed it and Hermione stored it in her bag quickly as Harry walked into the house first.
The first thing that Harry noticed when he stepped over the threshold was the god-awful smell. The house smelt like it had been closed up for months and that something had possibly gone bad in it. Harry wondered if anyone had been by recently to check on the old woman as she walked into the front hall and pulled out some matches. Bathilda's hands were blue and mottled, her eyes thick with cataracts and sunken into the folds of her pale skin. She looked positively ancient, her face dotted with liver spots and broken veins while she moved slower than molasses.
After lighting two candles she reached up to remove her black shawl and revealed a head of white hair underneath. The room was dark, the flicker of candles cast eerie shadows on the walls and Harry noted the thick dust that seemed to cover everything in the small entrance room. As if it hadn't been touched in years. The golden locket around his neck twitched against his skin making his heart jump as he looked around the room – perhaps the sword was here. Bathilda then moved into the next room with the matches in hand.
"Bathilda?" Harry called out to her as he heard more matches being struck.
Hermione and Harry stood fixed to their spot and looked at each other nervously. Best case, Bathilda was not a talker – worst case, there was something wrong. A knowing look passed between them before they both were startled by Bathilda's voice as it rang out from the other room.
"Come," Bathilda called to them.
Harry reached out and took Hermione's hand again before moving into the room that Bathilda had entered. It was the front sitting room, and the smell in the next room got worse as they approached Bathilda. Similar to the last room everything was coated in dust, the room was dark, the candles provided a disturbing vibe and Harry's gut rolled over. He did not like this – he did not like this at all. But as the locket twitched lightly against his chest again, he knew that they needed to stick it out – they needed to get Bathilda to talk and see if she had the sword.
The rotting smell made the back of Harry's throat gag, as the quiet that settled in the room seemed to thicken. Hermione gripped him like death, and he knew that she was obviously just as uncomfortable as he was. They needed to speed this up and get out of this place.
Bathilda was lighting candles by hand again but now risking her lace sleeve catching fire. Harry sighed inwardly with a groan and pulled Hermione with him to step toward Bathilda and offer to light the candles. Taking the matches from her quickly he then used his wand to light six more candles as Bathilda trundled over to the fire pit and began struggling with the logs. When he had lit the last candle, his eyes glanced over a large chest of drawers covered in framed photos. Casting a quick tergeo, he looked over the pictures before picking one up as his back stiffened. It was the golden-haired man from his dreams who had perched on Gregorovitch's window seal – the same man he had seen in the Life and Times of Albus Dumbledore from Rita's book.
"Mrs – Mrs – Bagshot?" Harry stammered as he held up the photo. "Who is this?"
Bathilda was unmoving in the center of the room, and she did not look up toward Harry until the fireplace flames had ignited. Hermione glanced nervously between Harry and Bathilda and gripped her wand more tightly.
"Mrs. Bagshot?" Harry asked again, his voice tight as he started to lose his patience. He dropped Hermione's hand and stepped toward Bathilda and held up the photo for her to see. He felt Hermione shift uncomfortably behind him and he wondered if Bathilda was either deaf, senile or being forced into this situation.
"Who is this person?" Harry demanded as he shook the picture in front of her. They needed to cut the crap so they could get out of here as quickly as possible.
Bathilda stared at him solemnly but still did not respond.
"Do you know who this is?" Harry repeated much more slowly than normal this time. "This man? Do you know him? What's his name?"
Hermione could see Harry becoming more frustrated with his questioning as Bathilda refused or was unable to respond. She was not sure why he was so fixated on the picture when they were here for the sword.
"Harry what are you doing?" she asked him quietly as she nervously looked between the two of them again. "We're here for the sword, remember? What's with the picture?"
"This picture, Hermione – it's the man I saw, the thief, the one who stole from Gregorovitch." His eyes never left Bathilda as he spoke. "Please, Mrs. Bagshot, who is this man?"
"Mrs. Bagshot, you asked us to come with you – was there something that you wanted to tell us?" Hermione asked as she slowly approached the old woman from behind Harry. She understood Harry's urgency now. The man had been in a dream, well, vision really, that Harry had seen from You Know Who. They needed answers and then they needed to leave – now. The longer they stayed in the house the more nervous she became and the more she figured this was a trap.
Bathilda however, ignored Hermione and her words completely. She started gesturing again at Harry and then toward the door to the hall.
"Do you want us to leave?" Harry asked her.
Bathilda shook her head vigorously and then started to point again between herself and Harry and the hallway.
"Oh – I – Hermione, I think she wants us to go upstairs." Harry said, glancing toward Hermione quickly and back to Bathilda who nodded.
"Okay," Hermione said slowly as she took Harry's hand and they started to step toward the hall only to have Bathilda shake her head again and point meaningfully at Harry.
They stopped and looked at each other for a moment as the realization of what Bathilda was asking for sunk in.
"I think she wants only me to go upstairs," Harry said stiffly, looking at Hermione with concern.
Neither one of them liked this, something was wrong and they knew it – they just didn't know what. Possibly an ambush? Possibly a set-up? It was difficult to find the old woman threatening when she could barely walk around but something was definitely not right.
Perhaps her silence was out of fear. Or perhaps someone had threatened her, or hurt her and she was being forced to assist for fear of her own life. The house creaked eerily around them and the air seemed thick with darkness. Hermione looked down at Harry's wand and then quickly back to his eyes and nodded once firmly to Harry and he understood. They needed to get whatever information they could from Bathilda and then get the hell out of this house.
"Okay," Harry said slowly as he looked back to face Bathilda. "I'll come with you upstairs, and Hermione will stay down here and maybe see if she could make us some tea."
Bathilda seemed to get the message and she turned to start walking toward the hallway. Harry and Hermione quickly side-stepped out of view of the hall and Hermione cast a non-verbal muffliato around them. Then Harry cast his shield charm faster than she had ever seen him do it – the dark purple glow encasing him quickly before disappearing from sight.
"Five minutes," Harry said firmly as he grabbed her hand. "If something happens, we will disapparate separately back to the cliff by the North Sea – I'll meet you there."
"Okay – but if you're not down in five minutes, I'm coming to get you. I'll cast my own shield charm as soon as you're gone. I'll see if I can find out what the hell is going on down here – call me if something happens."
Harry nodded firmly and squeezed her arm before turning to quickly rejoin Bathilda as Hermione cast her own shield charm and removed her silencing spell.
-x-x-
Harry followed Bathilda up the stairs. By the speed she was moving he was worried that his shield charm might run out before they even got to the top of the damn staircase, but he had set a timer with his wand as he approached the hallway so he could keep track. When they finally reached the top of the staircase he had eleven minutes left on his shield.
"You are Potter?" Bathilda whispered to him when they finally stood in a small low ceiling bedroom at the top of the stairs. The room was dark, and smelled disgusting – Harry couldn't help but wrinkle his nose as he cast a lumos to see. Everything about this situation was disturbing, the house felt like death and if not for the slightly twitching Horcrux he would have already left.
"Yes, I am." He responded quickly, his eyes never leaving her form. She nodded slowly, but made no motion to do anything else.
Oh for fuck's sake, he thought as his temper started to flare once more. He did not want to be here, he did not want to be separated from Hermione and he did not understand why Bathilda would only speak to him. Dumbledore had left stuff for Hermione in his will too, so surely Dumbledore hadn't wanted to withhold information from her. His only thought was that maybe Dumbledore had said something like 'this is for Harry' and Bathilda was the one who interpreted it as a secret.
"Have you gotten anything?" he asked her with a tone of frustration. "Please, Mrs. Bagshot – did Dumbledore leave you with anything to give me?"
Bathilda closed her eyes and Harry tensed as the Horcrux against his chest twitched so physically that his sweater moved and his scar prickled. The dark room wobbled in front of him as he felt a bizarre leap of joy course through his body as a cold voice echoed in his head.
Hold him!
Harry swayed on his spot and steadied his footing. What the fuck?! He thought as he looked at Bathilda to see that she was watching him intently. This needs to end now.
"Have you got anything?" he asked more intently as his hand tightened on his wand.
"Over here," she finally responded to him and pointed to the corner. Harry raised his wand to see a cluttered dressing table beneath a curtained window and moved slowly toward it, not taking his eyes off Bathilda as he went. He noted that she did not move to lead him this time. He checked his internal timer and noted that he now had just under 6 minutes left on his shield.
He reached the side of her bed and could make out what looked like a tangled laundry pile from his peripherals.
"What is it?" He asked impatiently as he kept his wand outstretched, not trusting to look away from her.
"There," she said as she pointed to the shapeless mess.
Fuck, Harry swore inwardly and he quickly darted his eyes to the pile, looking for a hint of the sword or literally anything that would be useful and justify the risk that they were taking. His stomach was in knots with nerves and the hairs on the back of his neck had started to stand up as the rank smell agitated his senses. The second he looked away from Bathilda he saw her move strangely from the corner of his eyes and he immediately returned his gaze towards her.
A wave of horror and panic washed over him as the body of Bathilda Bagshot seemed to melt and drop away to the ground like a suit and a great snake began to pour from the body's neck. Harry opened his mouth and yelled without a second thought.
"HERMIONE GO!"
The words tore through his throat in a loud bellow as he non-verbally cast two stunners and a diffindo in quick succession. The snake faltered only slightly from the impact and Harry rolled to the side quickly to dodge as its great tail took a swing at his midsection. Fuck! Harry thought as he rolled to his feet, I have to watch both fucking ends?!
He could hear Hermione barreling up the staircase as he went to strike the snake again – this time intending to cut it in half with sectumsempra then apparate away when all of a sudden, his forehead felt like it was split open with a hammer.
He faltered, nearly dropping his wand as his hand instinctively rose to his forehead. He couldn't see, his vision was blurred as his heart started to race wildly out of control with joy. He was flying – flying without a broom or a thestral and he felt mad with excitement. A hard hit to his chest jolted him out of the rush of emotions that were washing over him and he fell to the floor hard, cracking his head as he landed. He meant to apparate away, but he simply couldn't – his mind was not his own, his body was not under his control. Everything was clouded and messy and unfocused. The smell of death overwhelmed him and he gagged at the taste as his eyes searched blurrily around the dark room. Suddenly, it felt like a troll was seated on his chest and he raised his arms in front of his face protectively before he felt a sharp pressure on his arm. It was bearing down on him hard until he felt a sharp pain in his arm and a small crack.
"SECTUMSEMPRA!"
He heard Hermione bellow the words but he could not see her as she burst through the door loudly, powerful as a hurricane and struck the snake hard. It dropped the arm it had been biting and Harry groaned as his broken limb fell to his side with a thump. Harry rolled to his right toward Hermione's voice – his vision was coming back in waves as he cast two more non-verbal spells in the direction of the snake and Hermione did the same. Bright colours lit up the small room as Hermione fired spell after spell, relentlessly hurtling her full artillery at the creature.
The snake was crashing and thrashing around the room, attacking and lunging wildly while trying to avoid both his and Hermione's spells. He could hear it hissing, "NO! NO! I must hold you!" over and over as it attacked.
"HARRY!"
He heard her call and he jerked his head as the snake lunged between them, he jumped back before throwing himself over its coils to get to the same side of the room as Hermione, closer to the door and away from the window. Then his head burst open in pain once more and he could not stop the scream which raged from his mouth.
"HERMIONE!" He called blindly, his hoarse voice desperate as he managed to focus his eyes to see three red spells cast in quick succession fly past his right side as the wall behind him exploded violently. "We have to go – NOW – HE'S COMING!"
He heard her footsteps, three of them, and could make out the shadow of her next to him followed by a very loudly shouted Confringo. Then he saw and felt Voldemort in full force. He was livid and violent and reeking of death. He burst through the curtained window across the room from them – white hand outstretched, wand ready. Harry saw himself, through Voldemort's eyes – a balding muggle, with his mousy wife grabbing the back of his neck with a look of fearless determination as they vanished from sight with a loud pop.
He screamed in rage, exploding the opposite side of Bathilda's house as his anger flared and scorched the walls of the house with wordless magic. Harry's mind was lost, lost in memories and visions and thoughts that weren't his. It felt like his head had slipped below water and he was unable to come up for air. Everything had gone dark as the images and memories assaulted him. He was screaming, writhing in pain and he saw his family – his parents. He saw them die, he was crying and shaking, and angry with fear. He was Voldemort. He stood in the broken home of Bathilda Bagshot and raged at the thought of Harry escaping his clutches. Then he saw the photo on the ground, the thief – the man he had been looking for.
-x-x-
Hermione landed roughly in the Forest of Dean, Harry dropping with a soft thump into the snow beside her. She crouched next to him, hand still on his skin as she cast several quick detection spells and alarms spells in rapid succession. They all came back negative, showing no threats in the area. Homenum revelio showed nothing either – they were completely alone, back to the quiet snow-covered forests and deserted locations that they were used to.
They were safe for the moment.
She grabbed Harry and rolled him over in the snow, he was twitching and muttering and moaning in agony but otherwise, he seemed okay. The snake'd had Harry's arm in its mouth as she entered the disgusting bedroom, but similar to the werewolf attack – there were no puncture wounds, just deep bruising. She cast a diagnostic on his arms and saw the small fracture from the pressure of the creature's bite. It ran along the length of his forearm – they would need to see if there was any way to strengthen the shield against physical blows and not just prevent punctures and magic. Broken bones are still a nuisance when in a battle, and the more protection they could have from their shield the better.
She quickly mended his arm before casting another diagnostic and checking over his entire form. The Horcrux was physically stuck to his chest, like it had melted into his skin. She had to use a severing charm to dislodge the cursed thing before throwing it around her own neck and using some dittany on his chest to try to prevent any scarring. As she searched his body for other injuries her heart fell – his wand was snapped in half. She gathered the remains carefully and wrapped them in a small cloth she summoned from her bag. Once she was satisfied that he was okay, at least physically, she grabbed her bag and fetched the tent to set it up.
One hour later the tent was safely pitched, the alarms were set, the wards were placed, the enchantments were made, and 6 detection spells were strategically cast around the grounds. She had levitated Harry into his bunk and she now sat by his head in a chair with a book. She shivered as she looked down at him and gently brushed some loose strands of black hair from his eyes. He was still for the moment at least. She had seen Harry like this before in the past, and she knew immediately when she saw the glassy-eyed way he had looked on the floor of Bathilda's house that Voldemort had been in his head.
As a result, Harry was almost incapacitated by the connection and he was clearly in excruciating pain. She stared at him sadly as a single tear dropped from her eye and she took his hand in hers, abandoning the book in her lap. She worried for Harry. She worried about the connection that he shared with Voldemort – not only because of the implications and what it might mean, but also because it put him at risk. The connection had made him almost defenceless against Nagini's attack because he'd had no control over his body or mind and she doubted that he could even see anything. If she wasn't so sure that the snake was not actually trying to kill him and was instead trying to hold him for Voldemort, he might actually have died.
They needed to do better. They needed to spend more time meditating and working on his occlumency or the next time this happened it might be the end.
She shuddered as she thought back to the sight of Voldemort crashing through the window and looking at them with such hatred and rage. His blood-red eyes had bore into her, his anger was like a physical presence in the room that made her sick to her stomach. She couldn't understand how anyone could stand to be near that unbearable man. If one could call that thing a man.
She had apparated them away quicker than she had ever done so in her life and the only reason she wasn't panicking was because she knew that Harry would be okay. She knew that he would come to on his own and she would be there for him when he did. Panicking wouldn't do them any good. She needed to focus and problem solve. She needed to research ways to better their shielding charm and better prepare them still. This run-in with Nagini and Voldemort had chilled her to her very core, she felt like she had tasted death as he stood before her – he was rank with it, it pooled off of him in waves. The power he emanated was fearful and limitless, and it made her doubt that they would prevail.
But as her mind raced, she could not look away from Harry. She could not stop stroking his hair, fidgeting with his blankets to make sure he was properly tucked in, holding his hand and checking his forehead for a temperature to make sure he was okay. She stared at him for what felt like hours as her hope flittered, her stomach tightened, and her heart felt like it was breaking and healing and breaking all over again.
They had once again, in just a few short months, almost died. They had once again almost lost everything. She had once again almost lost Harry – and the acknowledgment of her feelings for him or not, had had absolutely no impact on how she felt. She felt the same. She felt the dread, the fear and the worry. She felt the panic and the agony over what had happened regardless of whatever label she slapped on their relationship. She felt the terror just the same – she knew that her feelings for Harry were set. Refusing to acknowledge them for what they were made no fucking difference.
Harry was right.
This was it. Harry was worth fighting for. They were worth fighting for, and it would not make her weaker to acknowledge it.