The following day had Harry soon realising that sharing the jobs in the tent extended beyond the chores and general upkeep of their hideout. It also meant sharing in the research. After deciding that their location was safe enough to remain for another day, Hermione pulled out various tomes from her portable library, stacking them on the dining table. Harry had been playing with his snitch, idly snatching it from the air when Hermione strode up to him and extended a very thick book his way. He caught the snitch for the 40th time that morning, tallying the points in his head, and looked up at Hermione, mouth open, question mute on his lips.

"We need to find the sword, Harry," she told him. Her face was pensive. Uncertain. Bringing up that topic came perilously close to breaking their unspoken rule. "We need to… think where Dumbledore would have hidden it."

Harry sighed, taking the book from her, looking at the cover. Hogwarts: A History. He gave a laugh.

"Finally making me read this? Haven't you read this cover-to-cover multiple times?"

"Yes but… maybe that's the problem. Maybe it needs a fresh pair of eyes… maybe I've overlooked something." She held his gaze. He dipped his chin glumly. It wasn't as if he had something else to do with his time and it made perfect sense for him to help her, after all, it was his mission to begin with.

Agreeing came with a reward of a cup of tea. Hermione set it down on the coffee table while she went to the dining table, surrounding herself with books as she got to work. He watched her picking up a pen, noticing that she was using muggle stationery in her note-taking. There was no point in abiding by the rules of parchment and quills when they were on the run, after all.

Harry opened the book and began to read. It felt like he was exercising muscles that had been left long dormant as he read, his eyes blurring out of focus every now and then before he forced himself to concentrate. He shifted his position on the chair, legs curled up over the arm of the leg, back pressed on the other side, now sprawled out. He flicked through the pages and finally reached the story of Godric Gryffindor.

He sat up as he carefully went over the chapter.

"Hermione?"

She started up at the sound of his voice. She looked over at him.

"Do you think it's likely that Dumbledore would have hidden the sword at Godric's Hollow?"

She stared at him, utterly still for a moment, before launching herself from the table and rushing over to him. "I sort of… guessed that Godric Gryffindor had something to do with Godric's Hollow before. Clue's in the name, but it was named after him. It was where he was born… just like…"

"You?" She said softly. He nodded.

"There's something about Godric's Hollow in A History of Magic," she said then, leaving him to return to her make-shift library. She found the book that she was looking for, opening it. She flicked through the pages rapidly, on the hunt for a very specific page. "Here."

She opened up the book over where Harry had Hogwarts: A History open. She pointed out the passage for Harry to read.

Upon the signature of the International Statute of Secrecy in 1689, wizards went into hiding for good. It was natural, perhaps, that they formed their own small communities within a community. Many small villages and hamlets attracted several magical families, who banded together for mutual support and protection. The villages of Tinworth in Cornwall, Upper Flagley in Yorkshire, and Ottery St. Catchpole on the south coast of England were notable homes to knots of Wizarding families who lived alongside tolerant and sometimes Confunded Muggles. Most celebrated of these half-magical dwelling places is, perhaps, Godric's Hollow, the West Country village where the great wizard Godric Gryffindor was born, and where Bowman Wright, Wizarding smith, forged the first Golden Snitch. The graveyard is full of the names of ancient magical families, and this accounts, no doubt, for the stories of hauntings that have dogged the little church beside it for many centuries.

When he finished reading, he looked up at her questioningly. She caught his look. "Professor Bagshot doesn't cover anything later than the nineteenth century so you and your parents aren't mentioned."

"Bagshot… as in Bathilda Bagshot?"

Hermione shut the book, showing them both the title and the author embossed on the cover. Bathilda Bagshot.

"Hermione, she lives in Godric's Hollow," he said, now sitting upright. "Muriel… at the wedding, I spoke to Muriel, you know…" Hermione nodded, knowing who he was talking about. Her face gave away her opinion of the old woman, clearly recalling what she had said about Hermione's skinny ankles. "She mentioned that she lives there, and you know, Dumbledore was from there too." Harry continued. "It's… far too much of a coincidence, don't you think?"

Rather than be elated that they had a lead, Hermione's expression was one of worry.

"I do and that's the problem. I think it's too much of a coincidence. It seems too obvious a hiding place, but then… it's the only lead we have."

"I know it's dangerous and there's every possibility that there are going to be Death Eaters watching the area, but… maybe we should speak to Professor Bagshot," he said as Hermione took A History of Magic from his lap. "A historian seems like a pretty good person to talk to about Founder relics anyway. She might have some idea about what the mystery horcrux could be."

He could see that he had rather impressed Hermione with the argument. She chewed at her lip and turned from him, returning to the table.

"Do you know where she lives?" She asked him. He gave her a blank look. "Harry, we can't go around Godric's Hollow, knocking on doors until we find her."

She had a point. He didn't even know where he had lived, let alone a historian he had never met before. Thinking of that tickled at the back of his mind. There was something familiar about Bathilda's name, as if he knew it before, out of context, in a conversation he'd had or overheard. He rubbed his forehead, wracking his brain, exploring the tickle. Was he remembering something from before his parents died? That couldn't be possible. He had been a baby.

He gave a gasp and grabbed at the pouch that he carried around his neck, startling Hermione.

"Holy shit, Hermione. My mum wrote about Bathilda! Look…" He reached inside the mokeskin, fishing around for the old letter that he had recovered from Sirius's bedroom in Grimmauld Place. He pulled it out, unfolding it, scanning his mother's handwriting, his heart wrenching at the mention of himself. He continued until he found the point of relevance.

"Here, 'we had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda…" He read aloud, causing Hermione to gasp as she leaned over him, reading the letter over his shoulder.

"Bathilda Bagshot was there for your first birthday?" She then pointed at the letter's end. "'Bathilda drops in most days, she's a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore…' It sounds like she lived close to you.

"It does," he said softly, running his finger over the paper, lightly going over where his name had been written by his mother sixteen years ago. Hermione looked at him and her hand touched his shoulder. He raised his head, meeting her stare.

"I know you really want to pay your respects as well," she said, "A History of Magic mentioned a… graveyard."

Harry let out a breath, understanding what she was saying. "I do." She straightened, rubbing her hand on Harry's back as she did, her touch showing her support.

"We have your cloak and Polyjuice Potion," she told him, "we can scout it out before entering."

He watched her as her words hit him. Are we actually doing this? Are we going to Godric's Hollow? He looked down at the letter, suddenly realising that he would visit where the woman who had written that very letter was buried, his own mother. He would see where her body had been laid to rest. The thought brought a lump to his throat and he rested his hands on the precious scrap of paper.

"I don't want to be disguised as someone else," he said, glancing up at her, "I'll stay under the cloak but… I'm going as me." Hermione looked nervous but then she nodded and brought her arm around him in a half-hug, her hair brushing up against his head. The scent of her soap was warming and pleasant, sweetly floral, like camomile. He leaned his head against hers, closing his eyes at the contact.

"We'll make preparations and check the area properly as we did for the Ministry, but first… I want to do a bit more research before rushing off into this," Hermione said. He nodded, agreeing with her. He was a little relieved that he would have some time to mentally prepare himself.

"Alright. I might as well finish reading this, although it's going to take me longer than a day to get through this…" Harry said, looking down at the hefty book that was still resting on his legs, open.

"I… well… you don't have to read it," Hermione looked a little sheepish as she looked at Hogwarts: A History. "Like you said, I have read it myself a few times."

She closed it and heaved it off his lap. Harry looked up at her in surprise. "Unless you were enjoying it?"

Harry gave her an incredulous look at that. She grinned and carried both tomes away from him.

"I… still want to help," he said in an oddly feeble voice as Hermione returned her books to her collection on the table. He stood up from his seat, going to head over to see how he could be more help.

He caught Hermione glancing over at him, her gaze low. He looked down, seeing that his jumper and shirt had ridden up, exposing his midriff to the elements. He pulled his jumper down straight. Looking back at Hermione, he saw that her face was suddenly pink. He approached, a little baffled by her reaction, but shelved it away to think about later. He looked over at the various books she had.

"Bloody hell, did you bring all your books?"

"No, of course not. Just what I thought we'd need. It was hard to choose," she bit her lip, her face still pink. His gaze latched onto a book that Hermione had been reading non-stop ever since she received it from Rufus Scrimgeour as her bequest from Dumbledore. He edged towards it, curiosity pulling him over to it once again. He reached for it, picking it up. He saw a possessive look flash over Hermione's face but she didn't stop him.

He turned it over in his hands. Why did Dumbledore bequeath Hermione with a book of children's stories? He recalled what Hermione had said the night before and that it was a first edition. It was valuable then, an original print. And then there were the other bequests. The snitch with the cryptic message and, of course, the sword of Godric Gryffindor.

"It's so typical of Dumbledore to leave us with vague hints. It's like with the Philosopher's Stone all over again." Hermione met his gaze, detecting the bitterness in his voice. "Why leave the Sword to me in his will in the first place if he planned to have a fake made while hiding the real one? Why not just… give me the real one?"

"Perhaps he planned to before everything happened," Hermione said quietly.

"I get that, but he must have had the fake made before we went to the cave. It was all planned. The snitch with the cryptic message, giving you this and giving R-." He stopped himself in time, drawing a sharp breath. He frowned, looking away. Hermione sighed softly. "What is he telling us, Hermione?"

"I don't know, Harry," Hermione said quietly, "I wish I did."

He looked up at her. "It's hard to not be angry at him."

"He knew that the Ministry would strip his Will down and made plans. Leaving you the sword was symbolic. He likely knew that the Ministry would never let you have it, so prevented them from confiscating it by planting a fake. A fake that eventually made its way into the wrong hands."

"If we had never overheard those goblins, we would be none the wiser."

"That's true, but the objective wasn't for us to find the fake, it was to keep you-know-who from possessing the real one," Hermione said, her voice becoming more steady as they fell into the familiar pattern of bouncing ideas off each other. "Just think, Harry, that sword is unbelievably dangerous since you used it to kill the basilisk. A scratch from it would be fatal. It's definitely not something that we want in you-know-who's hands."

He grimaced at that. Voldemort was deadly enough without a weapon that could instantly kill. It then hit him what she was saying.

"It's deadly to me."

She nodded. "You've proven to be rather hard for him to kill with the Killing Curse. I wouldn't be surprised if he plans to use an alternative method… if the first fails."

"Great…" Harry felt sick at discussing ways he could be murdered, but the frankness of the topic was a necessary one. "So the first contingency plan worked. What about this? What has this got to do with the sword?" He held up the book, frowning at it. Hermione looked over at it. She shook her head.

"Your guess is as good as mine. It really does appear that they are children's stories. Very strange stories, but there are no tales about Gryffindor or any of the other founders. I think it dates back before the Founders, but I'm not certain. Really, the first time I heard of those stories at all was when Scrimgeour handed it to me."

Harry studied the cover. "Do you think I should read it?"

"Be my guest. Maybe there is something I've missed," she said, giving a shrug, "they're fairly interesting."

Harry didn't want to say that she also found Hogwarts: A History interesting. Relieved to have found something to do that was productive, he carried the book over to his chair and settled down.


The leaves underfoot crunched uncomfortably loudly as Hermione paced the perimeter of the charms that kept her and Harry concealed from discovery. As she stepped, she cast more charms, adding additional layers to their security in case they had waned while they had stayed inside. She turned back to the tent, seeing the light flickering through the flap and hearing the distant clank of Harry busy in the kitchen. She wistfully smiled to herself and continued her patrol, the waves of magic sweeping out of her as she stepped.

Once she had made the full circle, she turned to look out at the view from their hillock. The dense forest and heathland were shadowed in the approaching twilight. The sun had already set, the night already bitterly cold, the unnatural mists clinging to the landscape. She rubbed at her arms and moved to return to the warmth of her enchanted fires and Harry's company.

The moment she stepped inside, it was like passing through a wall of heat. She sighed in relief, pinning the flap closed to keep as much warm air in the tent as possible. She then heard a voice. Harry was talking to himself. She smiled, listening in.

"Butter, salt. No pepper. Does Hermione like pepper? Do I even like pepper?" He then gave a small chuckle at himself. Hermione felt a clench in her heart. He really was coming back to her, the hardened exterior dropping away as he felt more comfortable being himself. She took off her boots and shed her coat before padding into the living space. The glasses with her flames were set around their living area chairs, keeping the space warm for when they would retreat there later after dinner. It had only been two days of just them and they were already creating a routine.

There was a rhythmic tapping from the kitchen as Harry started to cut up something. She turned, curious, seeing Harry's back to her as he worked in the small kitchen. He was partially obscured by a haze of steam that was billowing up from a pan that he had set up on the stove. He was moving about efficiently as he cooked.

She approached him.

"Hiya," Harry said as he heard her, not turning. It was near impossible to sneak up on Harry. His hearing was just too good. "All fine outside?"

"Yes, I reinforced the spells to be on the safe side."

"No dementors?" He asked, moving aside to check on what it was he was cooking. As he did, Hermione saw the counter where he had everything prepared. Chopped-up carrots, peeled potatoes, a tin of peas and a pack of sausages were all set up in a surprisingly organised manner, reminding Hermione of how she organised her station for when she was brewing potions. He glanced over his shoulder, his look reminding her that he had asked her a question.

"No. No dementors," she confirmed, then stepped into the kitchen. Harry nodded and picked up the potatoes, dropping them into the large pan. "What are you making?"

"Nothing fancy. Just bangers and mash," he said as he transferred all the potatoes in. He side-stepped, gesturing over at the sausages. "It's a bit of a winter warmer so I figured what the heck."

Astonished, Hermione watched him put the carrots and peas in the second pan. He then turned, looking around as if searching for something. His brow was furrowed in concentration.

"Now where did I put the frying pan?"

"Top left," Hermione told him.

"Ah, thanks," he reached for the top left cupboard and fished out the pan. As he stretched upwards, she noticed his jumper riding up. Her face flamed as she recalled earlier how his midriff was exposed.

She didn't really know why she had reacted the way she did when she saw his bare stomach. There was something about the line of dark hair that ran down the middle of his abdomen, disappearing under his waistline, that sent her skin sparkling. Not just that, but seeing his belly button, his abdominal muscles…

"Ah, damnit. We didn't get any gravy," Harry said suddenly, putting his hand on his hips. She noticed that he had rolled his sleeves up. It struck her how casual and at ease he looked. He knew exactly what he was doing. Which, Hermione suddenly realised, was incredibly strange. Wizards didn't cook. Not as far as she knew. In her experience of the magical world, only house-elves and witches cooked. It reminded her starkly of what Harry had said yesterday in his slip-up. And yet, here was the most famous wizard of them all, knowing his way around a kitchen.

"You learnt this before Hogwarts."

"Hmm?" Harry glanced over at her. She noticed that his glasses were pretty far down his nose and he looked at her over the top of them. The intensity of Harry's green eyes sent her heart fluttering in a way that it hadn't for years under his gaze.

She found her voice and gestured at the cooker.

"Cooking. You… learnt how to cook before Hogwarts," she stated.

"Well, yes. I don't recall there being cooking lessons at Hogwarts unless I missed them."

"So you learnt at primary school?" She asked, surprised. "I thought that isn't taught until secondary in Food Education or Domestic Science, whatever it's called."

He gave a short laugh. "No, I didn't learn at school." He moved to check on the potatoes and turned down the heat. "My aunt taught me. Well, she told me what to do and yelled at me when I did it wrong. That's pretty much how I learnt how to do anything as a child."

Harry kept his face turned from her as he took the sausages and went to cook them on the frying pan. They sizzled loudly as the raw meat touched the red hot pan. Hermione rocked back on her heels as she processed what he had said. She worked it out quickly. Harry had been cooking in the kitchen when he was younger than eleven. A child.

"Why were you cooking at that age?" She asked him quietly. Harry had been turning the sausages when his back went rigid at the question. She winced. She had pried too much. His shoulders dropped and he sighed.

"Another time, Hermione," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the sizzling sausages. "I don't… want to talk about this while I'm wearing the horcrux… Bad memories."

She rested her hand on his back, hoping that her touch could keep him from falling down into those memories.

"Can I help, at least?" She asked him. He looked over at her in surprise, about to say that he was fine, but then he gave her a grateful smile and nodded.

"I think the potatoes might be done. Can you check?"

She went at once, taking a knife to poke at them. "They're done."

"Strain them. I left the strainer in the-."

"I've got it," Hermione told him, taking the potatoes off the heat and tipping them into the strainer that he had left in the sink. Steam blew up in a hot, wet cloud.

"Thanks… um… do you want to swap? I'll sort out the mash if you keep an eye on these."

"Sure, I can do that." Harry gave her a grateful look and stepped around her. As he did, did, he put his hands on her waist as he shifted around her. Their bodies came into contact.

She took up the tool that Harry had been using to turn the sausages, her face hot. Harry had never touched her like that before. It felt purposeful, moving around her carefully, making sure she knew he was there and where he was going. Communication through touch alone. She glanced across at him as he put the potatoes back into the pan. He then smiled and leaned around her, grabbing at something. He was pressing against her.

"Harry, just ask for what you're after."

"Butter… please?"

She dragged the butter dish so he could reach it, shaking her head. When he moved back to the pan, she missed the contact of his body, the comfort of his presence.

"I like cooking," he said suddenly, startling her with his abruptness. He gave her a sheepish look when she jumped. "It was always my favourite chore."

"Harry, you don't have to talk about it," she insisted, "I didn't mean to pry."

"I know, I just… don't want you to think I can't get on with cooking and doing my part." He swallowed, breaking off as he searched for the masher. He found it in the drawer and straightened. "I'd rather be doing things, you know. Though, I wish there was a spell for mashing potatoes."

"Bludgeoning hex?" Hermione suggested. Harry smirked.

"That would probably destroy the cooker."

"Only because you put too much power into your spells." She said, taking out her wand. Harry shielded his potatoes with his body.

"Hey, hey, hey… not my potatoes, Granger."

"It'll be much faster than mashing them by hand with that thing."

"I need to use this so I can make them buttery and fluffy."

"You just said you wished there was a spell!" She burst out, trying to aim around him to get the potatoes. "Let me try."

"You are not going to bludgeon my potatoes."

He glanced over his shoulder, seeing her face, and they both cracked up laughing. Harry banged the pan down on the stove, grasping at his ribs. Hermione had to turn away from him, her hand pressed over her mouth as giggles erupted out of her.

"That is the strangest thing you've ever said," she squeaked out.

"What are we doing, Hermione?" He gasped out. "We're the two most wanted people in our world and we're fighting over potatoes."

He met her gaze and he turned to face her. He stepped up close to her, his gaze taking in her face intently. Hermione held her breath as he stood so close. With him standing directly in front of her, she could see that he was a few inches taller, making her need to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. His mouth was playing in a soft smile, his eyes giving an amused dance as he looked up at something in her hair. His hand then came up and his fingers tickled against her scalp. The briefest of touches sent a shock through her, right down her spine and down to her toes. Her lips slightly parted and he pulled back, holding a leaf in his hand.

She looked down at it, surprised. Had that been in her hair the whole time? How did it even get there?

"Hermione?" Harry's voice pulled her gaze back up. She noticed him glancing at the stove.

"Yes, Harry?"

"The sausages are burning."

By some miracle, Hermione kept herself from getting distracted long enough to not ruin Harry's hard work. She pocketed the leaf, not really sure why she was keeping it, and silently stared down at the pan as she turned the sausages. She glanced at Harry, trying to not look at his biceps that were now visible under his sleeves as he mashed his potatoes, his expression one of concentration. After a minute or so of strenuous mashing, he drew back, wiping at his brow.

"Whew. That was harder than I remember."

"Should have taken up my offer."

"Nah, I like to work up a sweat," he said, then gave her a crooked smile. She recognised the expression. He wore it whenever he dared to get cheeky with her. It was his way of showing her that he was messing around with her. Only this time, it was accompanied by a glint in his eye that made her face feel even hotter.

"Harry… was that supposed to be an innuendo?"

"Me? Make dirty jokes? I'll have you know I am a sweet innocent boy." Harry said, grinning as he turned away from her, straining the vegetables.

Hermione laughed. "I know perfectly well that isn't true. I heard from Ginny about a certain broom cupboard on the fourth floor that saw a lot of activity last June."

Harry's face lit up like a beacon, his cheeks turning a very impressive shade of deep pink. The pan that he had just emptied clanged loudly as he lost grip of it in his shock.

"She… she told you about that?" He choked out. He put a hand to his head and stared across at her, mortified. "Bloody hell. First my potatoes, then my private life? What's next?" He nodded down at the pan that Hermione was minding, the sausages now browned to perfection. "My privates?"

Hermione looked across at him, stunned, then they both laughed.

"Harry!"

"I'm sorry!"

"I'm going to lay the table before you say anything else." She said, shaking her head in mock disapproval. Harry sniggered in a way that she hadn't really heard before. He was clearly rather pleased with himself. Hermione didn't blame him. She was rather pleased with him too. She couldn't remember the last time she had enjoyed herself so much and they were on the run, in mortal danger!

Finally, Harry carried out two plates laden with food. He shook his head at her, smiling, as he approached, putting them down. Hermione had already sorted out their cutlery and drinks. He settled down in his space opposite her. This time, he didn't glance at the vacant space, instead, leaning over the table.

"I'm exhausted!" He exclaimed.

"I'm not surprised."

They both calmed down as they ate. Hermione was startled at how smooth and buttery the mash potato was. Credit where it was due, he did know what he was talking about when it came to using muggle utensils over magic. Harry ate at lightning speed as per usual. How he didn't get indigestion was a mystery.

When she cleared away all the books from the table, she purposefully left 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard' out where Harry had left it. He had been reading the book all day. Seeing the book restored her curiosity towards the book. She made a mental note to ask Harry about it later when they were finished with dinner.

The same as the night before, Harry waited for her to finish before leaving the table.

"I'll tidy up," he said, taking both their plates.

"Harry, you're forgetting something," she told him. He stopped.

"I am?"

"Yes. We're sharing jobs." She stood up. "You wash, I'll dry."

His face split into a grin.

"Are you sure it's safe for us to both be in that kitchen?"

Hermione replied by smacking him on the arm.


Winding down for the evening, both of the teens were fairly sleepy as they lounged in their respective seats. Blue flames flickered and danced around them, the soft patter of rain starting up as another wet and cold night settled in. Just like the previous night, they had mugs of hot chocolate, doing their best to stave away the frigid chill that clung to the air.

Harry was back reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Hermione was checking over the notes that she had made during the day, making corrections. Both were valiantly trying to read in the low light, but Harry was the first to give up, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose where he was straining his already poor eyesight.

He closed the book and set it down on the coffee table. He finished his hot chocolate and then reclined back into the chair, yawning as he did. He shot a glance over at Hermione, tilting his head to one side, curious, trying to make out her alarmingly neat and compact handwriting.

"You've been busy," he said, catching her attention. She looked up at her, meeting his gaze. He nodded down at her notes. "Did you find anything more about the sword or Godric's Hollow?"

She sighed at the question and looked down at her notes. She settled back into her chair, putting her notes aside when she saw that Harry was genuinely interested in what she was doing.

"Not really," she admitted, "I looked in some books that cover more recent history than A History of Magic." Harry raised an eyebrow at her. She gave him a sheepish look. "I have some books that mention you and what happened when you-know-who attacked your family." His stomach clenched at the thought that information about that night was readily available in some book, but it wasn't news to him. In fact, Hermione herself had told him such the very first time they met. She mentioned the books where she had come across his name.

"Why would you be interested in reading about me in a book when you can just… ask me?"

"I wondered if they would specifically mention Godric's Hollow and where you lived. Not an address, but some sort of landmark. It's common for sites of historical significance to be commemorated in some way. A memorial or something."

Harry felt a stab of anger at the violation of having the site of his tragedy being turned into a tourist destination. Hermione looked up at Harry, her expression faltering. "I'm sorry, Harry. I just… thought if we have something specific to pinpoint when apparating, we would spend less time aimlessly searching."

It made sense but it didn't make him feel any better. He gave a shallow dip on his chin to assure her that he wasn't mad at her.

"And is there something?" He dared to ask. Hermione nodded.

"Yes. According to The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, the curse that backfired completely saturated the ruin in Dark Magic that made it impossible to restore the house to its previous state. Rather than rebuild it, the Ministry chose to leave it in its state as a homage to your loss and your survival. It's concealed from muggles, of course, but we should be able to find it easily."

Harry looked away from her, horrified, his heart racing at the thought that he would actually be able to see the damage of the curse for himself. He would be able to see where his parents were murdered. Hermione's hand took his.

"It's best to know what to expect when we go, Harry," she said softly, "it'll be less of a shock."

He nodded, closing his eyes. She was right, of course, but it still hurt.

"That I'm actually going to see where this happened," he rubbed at his scar, "it's… hard to take in."

"I'll be with you every step of the way," she told him softly. He squeezed her hand at her words, so very grateful that she had told him that. It would be immeasurably more difficult to face his oldest and greatest hurt alone. He swallowed and met her gaze.

"What else did you find?"

"Nothing much, which is why I spent the day instead preparing for Godric's Hollow. If we're going to risk going out in the open again, we need to have a getaway planned this time. Playing it by ear at the Ministry nearly got us all caught by Yaxley."

"We don't have to worry about anti-apparation charms this time around, though."

"I don't want to take any chances, Harry. If we're caught by Death Eaters, there is nothing stopping them from trapping us behind charms. We need a way to quickly leave without a moment's notice."

Harry stared at her. What did she mean? What sort of magic allowed that sort of instant getaway from behind powerful wards? His mind got there.

"Portkeys. You want to make portkeys." Hermione smiled, her eyes lighting up as he worked it out. He smiled back. "That's brilliant, Hermione. Do you think you could make some?"

Her smile dropped a little and she glanced over at her notes. "I need to research a little more. It is very advanced magic. It's no wonder portkeys aren't more commonly used. Apparation is a lot more straightforward, but has drawbacks. It can be blocked. Portkeys can't be."

"Hmm… I found that out the hard way," Harry said, giving a shudder as he thought of the tri-wizard cup that had dragged him and Cedric from the safety of Hogwarts into a nightmare.

"I need to look into it a lot more. What texts I have that cover the theory leave out a lot of information. I think we are going to have to do a bit of trial and error."

Harry caught her use of 'we'. He looked over at her and her mouth quirked up. "And yes, Harry, I think you should learn how to make portkeys too. Especially when it could save your life."

He couldn't argue with that. He gave a nod, thinking about what he knew about portkeys. He had once witnessed Dumbledore making one in the Ministry atrium in front of a disgruntled Fudge. He had made it look so easy, but of course, it had to be anything but.

"Well, if you think I can manage it, I'll give it my best shot," he said.

"Give yourself some credit, Harry. You mastered the Patronus Charm at thirteen and that isn't covered in the curriculum until seventh year. Even qualified wizards struggle with the charm."

Her praise made him smile. "I had a lot of help with that though. We're going at this blind."

"We can figure it out. Two heads are better than one, so they say," she said, then she looked over at the book that Harry had put on the table. "Speaking of which, did you find anything in The Tales of Beedle the Bard? You've had your nose in it all day."

At the thought of the book, Harry rubbed at his nose again where the headache was still throbbing.

"I read it through a few times, but I think you had a much more productive day of it than me. All I've learnt is to not mess with Death, which I could have told you already." He said heavily. Hermione gave him a strange look, as if waiting for him to say something else. He held her look, baffled. He sighed. "There is… something. I don't know if this is just me reading too much into it but… the last tale, The Tale of Three Brothers… don't you think it's a bit strange about the Cloak at the end?"

He saw Hermione recoil at bit, surprised, as if what he had said was nothing like what she was expecting. She reached for the book, flicking to the back to find what part he meant.

"What part in particular?" She asked him, turning the book over to him. He leaned over, edging close, peering at the passage.

"The end," he said, then rolled his eyes when he saw that she wanted him to read it out. "'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'."

He felt very uncomfortable at how intently Hermione was watching him when he read it out.

"If we believe that Dumbledore left that book to… impart some wisdom to us or give us some help, don't you think that bit would be the most interest to me?" Harry asked her when she didn't speak, clearly not seeing the same significance as he did. "Hermione, what did Dumbledore give me on my first Christmas at Hogwarts?"

Her eyes widened and she grabbed the book back to herself, staring down at it.

"'The youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son…'" She repeated the line. "Dumbledore gave you your father's cloak."

"I have no idea what meaning I'm meant to take from that, other than 'wear your cloak all the time, Harry, to hide from Death'."

Hermione didn't respond to his humour. She was studying the text intently as if expecting the meaning to jump out at her.

"I think it's safe to assume that your Invisibility Cloak didn't belong to Death," Hermione said eventually. Harry gave a laugh.

"I did get the point about these being stories, Hermione," he said.

"But… Harry, could you show me that letter again? The one your mum wrote to Sirius?" Harry stared at her in surprise, but did as she asked, reaching into his pouch and taking out the precious letter for a second time that day. He reluctantly handed it over. He was grateful at the care Hermione took when she unfolded it.

"Here… 'James-," at mentioning his dad's name, Hermione's gaze flickered up to his apologetically, "- is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell – also Dumbledore's still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions."

"He had the cloak," Harry said quietly. Hermione handed the letter back over to him and he stowed it away safely. He turned in his chair to where they kept his Invisibility Cloak at hand so they could go under it quickly if they ever needed to. He had always known that Dumbledore had his father's cloak, but something about the way his mum had worded it, as if his father had been complaining that Dumbledore had his cloak. And then there was the question of 'why?'. Surely having an Invisibility Cloak while hiding from Voldemort would have been a sensible precaution? A horrible feeling swept over him. Would it have made any difference if they did have the cloak with them that Halloween?

Not wanting to torment himself with such thoughts, he gave a shrug. "I'm not sure what this could be a message about but I just thought it was a little close to home, is all."

"No, it's good Harry. It's the sort of unilateral thinking we need," she told him, giving him a warm smile, "that's why… I should run things over with you more often. Like this." She brought the book of fairy tales back over to him, this time showing a different page, the first page of 'The Tale of Three Brothers'.

"That symbol… written over the title? I thought it was an embellishment. The other stories have little diagrams, but this… it feels familiar somehow." She showed him what she was looking at. He frowned. It looked like a rune to him and Hermione knew full well that he didn't take Ancient Runes. "I've checked the Spellman's Syllabary and it's not a rune as far as I can tell." She answered his unspoken thought.

He took the book from her, studying it closely. Now that she had pointed it out, there was something familiar about it.

"I thought it might be an eye, but it's in place of the 'A'... I don't know why it's bothering me so much. Like it's some sort of symbol or sign."

Sign. The word lit a spark in his head. He could see where he had seen it before all of a sudden. A silver pendant against very garish bright yellow robes. Luna's father, Xenophilius Lovegood, had been wearing it at Bill and Fleur's wedding. He could hear Viktor Krum's surly voice.

"If he vus not a guest of Fleur's I vould duel him, here and now, for veering that filthy sign upon his chest."

"Sign? Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Grindelvald. That is Grindelvald's sign."

Harry felt the blood drain from his face as he recollected. He saw Hermione's worried expression as she saw his reaction.

"Harry? Harry, is it your scar?"

His eyes snapped over to Hermione, then down at the book again. It was unmistakable. The same strange symbol.

"It's Grindelwald's sign," he said hoarsely. Hermione just stared at him, her mouth hanging open.

"Grindelwald…" She repeated eventually, leaning forwards to take the book back from Harry. "As in Gellert Grindelwald… the Dark Wizard-."

"Who Dumbledore defeated, yes, the same," he said, swallowing, "Hermione, why… why on Earth would Dumbledore give you a book with his sign in it? A Children's book? Grindelwald was responsible for killing thousands of muggles… what… what sort of message is this?"

Hermione closed the book and put it down on the table, her expression of shock mingling with disgust.

"I really don't know, Harry," she said eventually, "but it's clear now that we need help. We're not getting the answers from these riddles. We're just getting more and more questions."

Frustrated, Harry thudded his head back against the padded back of his chair.

"Damn it, Hermione, why does it feel like every time we take two steps forward, we're going one step back?"

"I know…"

"I mean… really? Grindelwald's sign?" Harry burst out, his anger now resurfacing. He jumped up to his feet, restless with fury now. "What the hell was he playing at?" His voice was getting louder. Hermione's eyes were widening as his temper frayed.

"Harry… calm down."

"I… I can't, Hermione. I'm fed up with these damn riddles!" He yelled, then caught sight of Hermione's expression. Fear. He let out a breath and reached up to his neck. His fingers found the cold metal of the horcrux and pulled it off over his head. He dropped it on the coffee table. He stood for a moment, breathing heavily, calming himself down.

"Sorry," he said eventually, "I… shouldn't lose it like that. Not after…" He sighed.

"I know you're frustrated. I am too, Harry. It eats me up inside that you were given this mission with next to nothing to go on." Hermione's voice was soft, the fear in her eyes now gone as he mellowed out.

He nodded at her words, letting the tension leave him. He turned his head from the book of children's stories. It felt like they were mocking him. Making him feel like a child playing at a war he couldn't win.

Hermione got up from her chair and approached him, putting her arms out. He understood and moved up to her, letting her hug him tightly.

"How about we go to bed and look at all this with fresh minds tomorrow?" She said to him. "Better than that, how about we forget about that silly book all together and try to master how to make illegal portkeys?"

Harry gave a rumbling laugh.

"I like the sound of that. Especially the 'illegal' part."