Chapter Twenty-Four: Familiar Surroundings

"Hermione, where are we," asked Harry. Looking up, he could see the splintered reflections of the moon through the dark canopy of leaves. Beneath him, he heard the crunch of the first fallen autumn leaves as he took a few steps forward. They were surrounded by the dark silhouettes of trees. His first thought had been the Forbidden Forest, but he knew almost immediately that wasn't quite right for the gaps between the numerous trees were far too wide and the roots were concealed safely beneath the ground.

"We've been here before," answered Hermione. She surveyed the dark forest with sadly. "This is where we camped during the Quidditch World Cup. I don't know why, but it's the first place I thought about—I wanted somewhere enclosed, somewhere miles away from any settlements or towns. Now that I think about it, it makes sense in a sort of poetic way. This is where it all began; the acquitted Death Eaters, the Dark Mark reappearing in the sky after more than a decade…"

"I prefer to remember the actual Quidditch match, Hermione," said Ron. "It wasn't all bad, was it?"

"No, of course not," she said quickly. "I was just thinking out loud. Harry, Ron, you can set up the tent while I start with the protective enchantments."

"Tent," asked Harry.

"In here," she said, handing him her handbag.

"Of course," said Harry. He used a Summoning Charm instead of rummaging through the bag. The tent shot out from the charmed hand bag in a pile of canvas, rope, and poles. Harry immediately recognized the tent as the very same one they had slept in the night of the Quidditch World Cup. Harry nearly asked Hermione how she had managed to acquire Perkins' tent but almost immediately found himself captivated as she circled them, her wand waving in a variety of motions. He caught flickers of distortions in the air as invisible substances took their shapes.

"Salvio Hexia," she chanted as a brief flicker of white light pulsed around them.

"Protego Totalum." Harry felt an electric charge beneath his feet.

"Repello Muggletum." Harry watched the leaves rustle as though a gust of wind had blown over them.

"Muffliato," she whispered, flicking her wand in a downward motion. A discernable haze fell over the forest a short distance away.

"Cave Imunicium," she said, this time with a skyward flourish. A dome shaped silver glow illuminated their small clearing beneath the trees and vanished. Harry was so engrossed in Hermione's spell work he hardly noticed Ron struggling with the tent.

"A little help here, Harry," said Ron as he seated one of the long poles into the canvas loops.

"Right, sorry," he said, shaking his head. "Sometimes I forget how good she is, you know, with spells." Ron grunted his agreement as he began seating another pole. Half an hour later, the tent had taken a lazy shape.

"Good enough, you reckon," asked Ron, admiring their work.

"You don't think it will just fall over, do you," he asked eyeing his corner. He was quite certain it shouldn't lean inwards.

"Nah," said Ron. "We might be rubbish at tent building, but it's still a magical tent."

"I've done as much as I can do," said Hermione joining them. "It won't keep Death Eaters or You-Know-Who out but we'll know when they're coming." She stood then, inspecting the boys' handiwork with an amused expression and giggled.

"Spit it out," said Ron. "Reckon you could've done better?"

"If only you had a wand," she said amusedly. Ron gave her a dumbfounded look.

"Honestly, are you a wizard or not, Ronald," she asked with a heavy sigh and finally it hit Harry. He felt his cheeks widen into a large grin.

"I think she's just had a bit of fun on your expense, Ron," said Harry.

"It's not like you thought to use a wand either, Harry," retorted Ron.

She sighed, flicked her wand in a quick, jab-like motion.

"Erecto," she said. In one fluid motion, their poorly constructed tent rose into the air as all the imperfections rippled and reformed into their proper shape and settled onto the ground once more as the tent pegs floated overhead before penetrating the ground at the corners of the tent.

"Honestly, Harry, I think you and I should just go on holiday," said Ron with a smile. "Hermione has things well under control here." They were silent for a moment, the noises of the forest easily heard despite the noise charms Hermione had enacted. Then the three broke into laughter for the first time that evening.

"Let's get inside," she said. The interior was exactly as Harry remembered: a small flat complete with a modest bathroom and tiny kitchen, both located to either side of a small sitting area in the center with a tiny wood stove. To the rear of the tent were two small bedrooms, the ceilings of which reached quite high with triple stacked bunk beds.

"I'll make us some tea," said Hermione after setting her handbag down on the old rickety table. She rummaged through the only two cupboards and found a kettle and several dusty mugs. They sat in silence as they waited for the kettle to boil. When it did, Ron finally spoke.

"Harry, why did you send Kreacher back to Hogwarts," he asked. "Couldn't he have come with us? I mean, he's been loads of help lately."

"We can't move about the country side with a house-elf in tow, Ron," said Harry. "If we really need him, I can summon him, but I'd rather Kreacher stayed at Hogwarts, for several reasons."

"You want him to spy on Snape, don't you," asked Hermione pouring hot water into each mug.

"I thought of doing just that, but I don't think it's wise," said Harry. "If he's caught, Snape will know immediately. It's better if he just goes about Hogwarts business as usual. And I can't trust him enough to not give us away. He knows about the locket. We can't risk Snape getting that information out of Kreacher if he's caught spying. Don't forget that Snape is a master Legilimens."

"Pity," said Ron. "So we're on our own for meals, then?"

"I have some provisions in the bag," said Hermione. "Some dried meats, crackers, pastries, things like that. It should hold us over for a little while. I've put a preservation charm on the pastries and other perishables so they won't spoil. I'll move them into the cold box in the morning. If we'd had more time, I could have grabbed more."

"No, it will do," said Harry. "You did brilliantly, Hermione." She gave him a short, warm smile.

"So what do we do now," asked Ron.

"There's little we can do tonight," said Hermione, taking her first sip of hot tea. Harry nodded his agreement but felt uneasy. While they had finally retrieved the locket, the weight of how far they still had to go lingered over him. They had no means of destroying the locket. They had no leads in locating another Horcrux. Everywhere Harry looked was met with a dead end.

"Do we really need the sword to destroy the Horcrux," asked Ron. "Didn't Kreacher say something about opening the locket to destroy it?"

"Fiendfire can destroy a Horcrux, but I don't much fancy trying it out," said Hermione. "It's a terribly dangerous spell. If you can't control it…"

"Oh, right," said Ron.

"Besides, Dumbledore would have been perfectly capable of using Fiendfire and elected to use the sword instead," observed Hermione. "I think we should follow his example."

"We should at least try and figure out how to open the locket," said Harry.

"That could be risky," warned Hermione. Harry understood her hesitation. Tom Riddle's diary immediately came to mind.

"I understand your worry, Hermione, but I don't think the locket will be anything like the diary," said Harry. "Remember that Tom created the diary with the purpose of opening the Chamber of Secrets. I think if I learned anything from those late nights with Dumbledore, it was that the rest of his Horcruxes were intended to protect his soul fragments and nothing else. Of course, we shouldn't rule out anything—we definitely need to be careful." Even as he said this, however, Harry remembered the powerful longing he felt from the locket. It had called to him from within Grimmauld the night they had escaped the Ministry. Still, what choice did they have?

"Well, if we're not doing anything else, I think I'll call it a night," said Ron.

"Alright," said Harry. "I think it'd be a good idea to take it in turns to keep a lookout. I'll take the first watch," he added, seeing Ron's disappointed look. He gave Harry a grateful look though once he'd realized he wouldn't be taking the first watch.

"You should rest too," said Harry, looking to Hermione.

"I'm not ready for bed just yet," she answered. "Would you like more tea?"

"Sure," said Harry. Hermione filled his mug with more steaming hot water and dropped the tea bag into the almost boiling liquid. He moved his wobbly wooden chair near the entrance of the tent so we he could watch from the opening. Hermione likewise moved her chair beside him.

"You really should get some sleep," said Harry, taking the offered tea.

"No, I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight," she said honestly. "As horrible as Grimmauld Place was, at least it was safe. Now we're sleeping in the country side and I've never felt more exposed."

"We can't stay in the same place for a more than a few days at a time either," he admitted.

"No, especially with the Snatchers out and looking for runaway Muggleborns," acknowledged Hermione. "It feels real now, doesn't it?"

"What do you mean," asked Harry.

"Well, we've always been inside Hogwarts, haven't we," she began, holding her steaming mug in both hands. "You-Know-Who was moving in the shadows then. Sixth year we were as safe as can be expected, shielded by Dumbledore and the walls of Hogwarts castle. Even after the Death Eaters crashed the wedding, we were once again taking shelter inside Grimmauld. But here in these woods, inside this small tent, I truly feel as though we've finally stepped out into the night and there's no more running, no more hiding, and no adults readily accessible for help. I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

"I like it when you ramble," said Harry. "And you're right; we're in it now. Though, I really think you should call him Tom."

"I don't think that I can," she said. "Tom sounds like a name of a person and he's not really a person anymore, is he? He despised humanity. It seems wrong to acknowledge he was once a student, a Prefect, Head Boy, admired by teachers and peers alike. Not after everything he's done…all the lives he's ruined…"

"I know what you mean," said Harry. "But I think Dumbledore had it right; using his real name, not the one he fashioned for himself or that stupid moniker everyone else insists on changes the relationship between us and him. It puts us back on equal ground."

"Are we though," she asked quietly. "Are we on equal ground, Harry? He has decades of magic on us. I think about the cave you and Dumbledore went too; we can't even imagine doing magic like that. How are we supposed to beat him, Harry?"

"We can't give up," said Harry. He shook his head. Usually he was the one with doubts. Hermione always pushed forward, always found the solution. It felt strange to be the one reassuring her when it was usually her giving him the courage to keep going.

"Tom's weakness is that he thinks he knows everything," said Harry, recalling that crucial late-night conversation with Dumbledore. "Dumbledore always told me that Tom underestimates that which he does not value. He underestimated the abilities of a house elf and it cost him dearly. We can beat him. And if we do, it will be because of you."

"If there's anyone he underestimates, it's you," she responded, he cheeks flushed pink and red.

"I don't think that's true," said Harry quickly. "Think about it, Hermione; how many times has he managed to force me into dangerous situations? How many times have I played right into his hands? He knows who I am and he knows my weaknesses. I'm hot-tempered and impatient. I act without thinking about the consequences I'll face or worse, the consequences I bring on my friends."

"You've beaten him every time," Hermione argued. "And we knew the risks, Harry. I've told you this I don't know how many times."

"I've been lucky, Hermione," he said holding up his hands, "because I have something he doesn't—something he threw away before he even thought to try and understand it. It's not me Tom underestimates; it's you lot." He reached over and briefly, gently grasped her forearm. He tried to reassure her with a smile—one he meant genuinely. He had his doubts too, if he was honest—doubts he knew Hermione was quite familiar with—they were not secret. Despite his words, he could tell Hermione wanted to reject his modesty. Before she could convey her thoughts, however, Harry added: "He underestimated a Muggleborn the night he lost his powers; he'll underestimate you too."

"Your mother was incredibly brave," she said at last after a long silence settled between them. "I don't deserve to be considered her equal, Harry."

"She was brave," admitted Harry. "So was dad. They all were. I never had the chance to know mum, but from everything I've heard the others tell me, I think you're a lot like her: intelligent, brave, loyal, and beautiful." Hermione's blush darkened. But Harry hadn't finished.

"She didn't have to die for me; she had a chance to live, but she didn't move. Just like you the night we met Sirius." Harry stared out into the forest while he spoke. "You stood between me and Sirius. You were ready to die for me. If Sirius had been who we thought him to be, you would have, just like mum. That moment will stay with me for the rest of my life, Hermione. If you ever doubt that you're strong, or brave, I hope you know that I will never doubt you, your intelligence, your loyalty, or your courage, because in that moment, you were more courageous than when Dumbledore stood between me and Tom. You are every bit my mother's equal, Hermione." Harry turned to Hermione now and could the glistening tears that welled in her eyes. He pulled her into a one-armed hug as she rested her head on his shoulder. Neither sought to break the silence that fell over the tent and the need for any further words was lost in the midst of their presence. Harry knew doubt would follow them to the end. As long as he had Hermione, he knew they would not fail. After an hour or so had passed, Harry spoke again.

"I think you're ready for bed," he said, eyeing her closed eyes.

"I'm not tired," she mumbled. "I'm comfortable."

"Go on," he insisted. She opened her eyes lazily. The skin beneath her eyes were slightly red and puffy, but her tears had long evaporated. She took both their tea mugs over to the sink. Before she retreated to her room, she walked back over to Harry and kissed him on the cheek. Harry felt warmth spread across his face with Hermione's tender kiss. A kiss far more tender than any of Ginny's.

"You don't have to keep watch all night," she said walking away. "The enchantments will tell us if anyone gets close. You need sleep too."

"Alright, I will," he said. "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Harry."

He silently reprimanded himself as he gently felt his cheek once she left him at the doorway of the tent. He meant every word. He imagined another world where Tom didn't exist, where his parents had lived and they had gotten to know his two best friends. He knew they would have loved and accepted both of them, though he believed his parents would have adored Hermione. His dad would have immediately recognized her fierce loyalty and astounding intelligence—the very same traits Harry felt confident had drawn his father to his mother—while finding amusement in Hermione's insistence to obey the rules. His mother, on the other hand, would have found Hermione's compassion, moral conviction, and courage contagious. Harry was rarely sure of anything about his parents, but this he knew; they would have loved her as much as he did. He felt his heart swell while he entertained his imaginary world.

He imagined Sunday lunch: Hermione and both mums curled on the couch bathed in sunlight, each with a book in their lap as they spoke of subjects far and beyond his comprehension while he and both dads sat in the kitchen talking of Quidditch or perhaps a Muggle sport when they would have easily been contented to watch and be captivated by the women of their lives. Yes, Harry admitted. Life would have been different if Tom had never lived and visited Godric's Hollow. Just maybe—Harry allowed himself to imagine—maybe everything would have been different.

Harry shook his head. Those thoughts lead him to a dangerous place—a forbidden place. It was a dream he shouldn't—couldn't entertain. For even if those thoughts were not forbidden territory, they could never be reality because his parents had not survived Godric's Hollow and he too had a quickly approaching expiration date. He knew Dumbledore wanted him to hope, to believe he could survive once more, but in the depth of his heart he knew how it must end. His eyes grew heavy as his thoughts carried him away.

He felt electric excitement pulse through his veins as he bent down to eye level with the white-haired old man. Fear lingered in every aged line on his face. Harry smiled; this suited him perfectly. He held his wand to the old man's throat, pushing aside the rounded pure-white beard to expose the flesh of his neck.

"You know what I seek, Gregorovitch," he whispered in a high pitch. "I know you have it. Give it to me…and you will be rewarded. You cannot hide it from me…Lord Voldemort will have what he seeks. Try to keep it from me…and you will suffer horrific death, Gregorovitch."

"I don't have it," Gregorovitch pleaded. "Stolen decades ago…I know him not."

"Lies," he said, no longer whispering. "Do not lie to Lord Voldemort."

Harry moved closer to the old man, his own eyes locked with the wide, fearful gaze of the old man, his dark pupils swelling until that was all he could see—

Now he ran along the dark corridor in pursuit of a much younger, fitter Gregorovitch. He observed the flickering lantern light bounce off the rough stone of the workshop walls, illuminating the wood shavings that littered the floor. He watched Gregorovitch stumble forward as the lantern light exposed the perched silloutted figure in the window. A young face with golden hair looked back at him, framed by the window, the lantern light catching the gleeful glimmer in his hungry eyes. Gregorovitch hurled a Stunning Spell after the intruder but was too slow. The thief jumped from the window with a fit of laughter and was gone.

"Who was the thief, Gregorovitch," demanded Harry. Gregorovitch gave him a blank stare. Harry raged. He brought his wand from the man's throat to the center of his chest and pushed against his rib.

"Tell me!"

"I don't know," pleaded Gregorovitlch. "Please, I don't know—he was a young man—no, please!" Harry felt the excitement build in his chest.

"Avada Kedavra!" He smiled as the old man's last scream echoed in the workshop and the green light faded—

"Harry!"

He opened his eyes, his breathing heavy and his forehead splitting in pain. He had slipped from his chair and was now flat on his back on the tent floor, staring up at Hermione and to his surprise, Ron.

"Are you alright, Harry," she asked, holding out a hand for him to take. Together, she and Ron helped Harry back to his chair and allowed Harry to regain his bearings.

"I…I think so," Harry answered, ignoring the tingling in his scar. Instead, he found Hermione's gaze and relayed what he'd seen."

"You see what this means, don't you," said Harry, once he'd finished. "He found Gregorovitch and now he's dead. Tom's looking for whatever the thief stole from Gregorovitch."

"I wish you would try and learn Occlumency, Harry," said Hermione sadly.

"I'm rubbish at it and you know it," said Harry with a shrug. "As much as I really hate Snape, I think he was right about my ability to learn Occlumency; I can't shut off my emotions to do it properly."

"But what if he looks inside your mind, Harry," she asked.

"I told you, he's using Occlumency against me," said Harry. "He doesn't know it's happening again and it's not like I'm trying to hang out in his mind, you know. It's not exactly pleasant."

"Right, so he's not after wand makers like we thought," said Ron after a minute and was sure Hermione had nothing further to say on the matter. "If he was, why did he kill Gregorovitch?"

"He's after something they know about," said Harry. "I thought he was looking for a way around our shared cores, and maybe he still is, but whatever it is, I don't think it's something the wand makers can do for him."

"We can think about it more in the morning," said Hermione. "Harry, go and lie down and get some sleep."

"I'm fine," he said, "I won't be able to sleep after what I just saw."

"You're exhausted," protested Hermione. "Go on, to bed, now." The look she gave Harry dared him to challenge. Harry, recognizing defeat, nodded and followed Ron back to the room on the left. He watched from the second bunk as Hermione too entered her room. He peeked at his pocket watch; it would be dawn in a few short hours.

Who was the thief, Harry wondered as he felt once more the heaviness of his eyelids. He was sure he had seen the man before. Where or when, he wasn't sure. But it was clear to Harry as sleep threatened to overcome him that the thief's life was in danger.