When Harry was very little, for three years in a row he asked Father Christmas for only one thing: a trike. Several other children on Privet Drive had one, and he would watch them zooming up and down the street enviously. Unfortunately, the Dursleys were, well, the Dursleys, and anything that made Harry happy was seen as potentially dangerous. The first year, he had come out of his cupboard to find a mountain of gifts, all for Dudley, and one single package for him, wrapped in a sheet of notebook paper scrawled with Uncle Vernon's jottings about an old order of drills. Still, it was a present, and he ripped it open with excitement only to find a half-used bar of soap.

"Better try harder to be a good boy next year, like Dudders," Uncle Vernon had said smugly as Aunt Petunia chuckled. "Father Christmas must know you're a bad little foundling."

Harry had resolutely not cried, at least not in front of them.

The following year, after months of being as angelic as he could, he opened his single gift (wrapped in an old grocery bag with oily stains this year) under the tree with trembling hands. Obviously, it was too small for a trike, but maybe it was a note telling him to look outside? Instead, he opened the package to find a box of expired batteries.

"Still not good enough, I see," Aunt Petunia had said as Dudley opened his twenty-third gift from Father Christmas. "Do you understand now how right I am when I tell you you're horrid?"

Harry hadn't bothered crying that year. Instead, he had hidden one of each pair of all of his aunt and uncle's shoes. They were still finding random left shoes in the umbrella stand or the back of the freezer through Easter. Harry hadn't had pudding for months, but it was worth it.

The third year, to Harry's shocked delight, a larger box, wrapped haphazardly but in proper Christmas paper, had his name on it under the tree. It was even big enough for his long-coveted trike. He ripped apart the paper, and there he found… a battered old wagon. It was missing one of its wheels.

"Well, there you are," Uncle Vernon had said, grinningly nastily along with Aunt Petunia at the boy's expression. "I suppose that's all Father Christmas thinks you've earned. Go ahead, go out and play with your new trike!"

Harry had sighed and dragged the "trike" behind him out the front door, still wearing his pajamas on the cold morning. He actually attempted getting in it and rolling down the drive, but, predictably, the thing wobbled like Uncle Vernon on New Year's Eve and then dumped him out on the pavement, skinning his knee. The other children, several of them riding their trikes, stared at him as though he'd gone mad. At that point he had come to two realizations. First, there was no Father Christmas. Second, having three wheels left a lot to be desired when you wanted everything to run smoothly.

Unfortunately, as Harry sat at the table in the tent and awkwardly ate breakfast across from Ron and Hermione, who were both blushing furiously while stealing looks at one another over their porridge, he came to the conclusion he'd definitely been right about one of those realizations. Being a third wheel was about as much fun as that skinned knee had been. However, he had to admit he wasn't so sure about Father Christmas not being real. A bloke who lived at the North Pole and had elves making toys he delivered via flying reindeer really didn't sound all the odd to him anymore.

Christmas had been a week ago now. They had tried a few random places, including an island in the middle of a loch, a deserted chapel in Devon, and a farmhouse with a distant connection to Helga Hufflepuff's sister. Nothing had led to a Horcrux. Currently, they had been stranded for two days in the middle of what had turned out to be a freak blizzard in the Highlands of Scotland outside a tiny town where Rowena Ravenclaw's mother had been born. It was a long shot, but then weren't they all? They still hadn't been able to search it with all the snow, and the clock was ticking.

Right now, as the New Year loomed before him, all Harry really wanted was breakfast. Well, that and to stop feeling like an interloper all the time.

"Pass the cinnamon?" Harry ventured.

"Wha?" Ron asked, not quite snapping back to reality.

"Cinnamon," Harry said, then mimed shaking it on his porridge.

"Oh, yeah, right, food," Ron said as though he had forgotten such a thing existed.

That alone was enough to tell Harry exactly how far gone his best friend was. He took the cinnamon Ron handed him and shook it perhaps a little too firmly over his oatmeal out of frustration, but it didn't help much. All it accomplished was making him cough when he tasted it.

Outside, the storm was continuing to howl like a banshee. Even with all the warming spells laid on the tent, Harry couldn't help shivering just at the thought of how cold it must be out there. Worse yet, despite Ron's suggestion involving Fiendfyre, they had been confined to the tent without the ability to slip outside and discuss the prospect properly among the three of them without the Horcrux overhearing. Harry had managed to look up what it was in a book Hermione had silently handed to him while carefully discussing the ongoing weather, and while he was pretty sure Ron was right that it would destroy a Horcrux, it looked like it might just destroy everything else for a radius of several miles. He understood why Hermione had skipped over it, but she seemed to be reconsidering. She hadn't said anything, of course, but she was lost in thought, more so than usual, and Harry would bet a bag full of Galleons she wasn't just contemplating Ron. Harry was itching to find out what she might be planning.

"I don't think this storm is ever going to let up," Ron said as he collected the breakfast dishes and put them in the sink. "This is it. This is where we'll spend the rest of our days: sitting in a tent in the Highlands, buried in snow until the spring thaw when the sheep will find us, still huddled together and eating porridge with honey and cinnamon. And I'm sort of fine with that."

Harry wondered just how much he was joking and how much his words hid a bit of truth behind them. They'd been wandering through the world from place to place for months, yet not much of anything had been accomplished. Maybe staying still for a while was a better choice?

"We can't," Hermione finally spoke up. "The Death Eaters would come for us eventually. It's just not safe."

"I suppose you're right," Harry said, watching Ron wash his bowl but looking more tired than he'd seen him in a while. "It'd be nice though. I miss having a spot that feels like home."

"Yeah, even Hogwarts was homier than this. At least it stayed in one place," Ron said.

To Harry's surprise, Hermione giggled.

"What?" Ron asked. "Wait, does Hogwarts actually move or something and we just never noticed but you know from reading Hogwarts: A History which apparently no one else has ever done except the original author and possible his mum?"

"Her mum," Hermione corrected him. "It was written by Bathilda Bagshot."

"What, the one who wrote our history book?" Ron asked.

"The same," Hermione said.

"Crickey, no wonder no one's ever read the thing. It's got to be lethally dull," Ron said.

"Not really. It's just Professor Binns is a bit… ehm…" she said, obviously looking for a polite word.

"Dead," Ron provided helpfully.

"Well, yes," Hermione admitted, "but I think even when he was alive he wasn't precisely a fascinating orator, which isn't really his fault. Some people just don't have that talent. A lot of magical history is exciting, and he's even mentioned some of it, but by that point most of the class was usually asleep."

"Not you though," Ron said with a look of pride at her.

"Yes, well, perhaps we should keep Bathilda Bagshot on our list of possible people to look up for more clues," Hermione said, pulling a pen out of her bag and noting something down.

Harry was almost completely sure that whatever Hermione was writing, it wasn't Bathilda Bagshot's name. She didn't make a move to pass the note to him or Ron yet, though, but he and Ron exchanged a brief look that said they were both thinking the same thing.

"So, if Hogwarts isn't built on a pair of enormous roller skates that move it about randomly with no one any the wiser or summat, why did you laugh, then?" Ron asked.

"Giant roller skates?" Hermione said, giggling again, and even Harry had to admit it was a nice sound to hear. She did seem happier lately. "Now there's an image that will be stuck in my head a while. No, it's just I was thinking of a story about carrying one's house about."

"Oh, a story!" Ron said, grinning. "We've not had one of those since the one about the sentient fir tree that got burned up alive because it didn't appreciate what it had while it still had it. I liked how that one ended."

"You liked that he was set on fire?" Hermione asked, looking surprised.

"That's not the ending I meant," Ron said, his grin getting wider.

"Oh," Hermione said, blushing as she realized he meant the kiss, "yes, well, no, this one is a bit different than that one. It's one of Aesop's stories."

"The bloke who doesn't have a foot-pain thing!" Ron said enthusiastically.

"To be fair, neither do the Brothers Grimm," Hermione said, then frowned, "except for 'Cinderella,' which is how this all started."

"Yeah, they have more of a whole-body-pain thing going for them usually," Ron said, nodding sagely.

Harry saw Hermione open her mouth to object, then shut it before saying, "You have a good point."

"I do indeed," Ron said, grinning again. "So what's this fellow's story about?"

"Well, once—" she began, then paused.

"—upon a time," Ron finished automatically.

"Yes," Hermione said, seeming rather pleased that they had been able to complete the transition smoothly this time, "the Greek god Zeus was going to be married."

"We all know that'll end well," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "He probably cheated on his new wife with a nymph or ten before the reception was even over."

"Most likely," Hermione said. "The myths do tend to characterize him as a serial philanderer."

"Oh, those aren't myths," Ron said. "Most of the old stories are pretty accurate, or that's what Mum says, anyway."

"Wait, what?" Hermione said, looking stunned. "Obviously the wizarding world knows about most of the Greek myths. I mean, Circe is on a Chocolate Frog card, for pity's sake, and a good portion of the people I've met at Hogwarts are named after one or another of them, but I always assumed they were just false tales."

"Nah," Ron said. "Mum says the whole Olympian lot were probably witches and wizards who used magic to convince Muggles they were gods. It wasn't very nice of them, of course, and they took huge advantage of the situation."

Hermione blinked slowly.

"That really would explain a lot," she said slowly. "What do you think, Harry?"

"The Dursleys steered me away from anything like that just to be on the safe side, so I don't know much about it one way or the other," Harry said.

"Huh," Hermione said. "Well, in any case, regardless of Zeus's tendency towards mass infidelity, he invited all sorts of different animals to his wedding."

"Odd," Ron said. "Why?"

"I don't know. He spent a good amount of time transforming into a snake or a bull or a swan or what have you, so that might explain it," Hermione said, then stopped suddenly, her eyes getting large. "And I'm just now realizing he might have been a very powerful Animagus capable of assuming multiple forms! Oh, that really would be advanced! One animal form is hard enough to achieve, but several?"

"Hermione," Ron said, looking at her quizzically, "why haven't you ever tried to become an Animagus?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the question and wondered why he'd never thought of that either. If anyone at Hogwarts was capable of becoming an Animagus, it had to be Hermione, but as far as he knew, she had never shown the slightest interest in it. It was very odd, now that he thought of it.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Why haven't you?"

Hermione looked a little uncomfortable and winced.

"There's a reason," she said evasively.

"Which is?" Ron asked.

"Well," she said, then paused before continuing, "do you remember during second year when we used Polyjuice?"

"Yeah, not likely to forget that," Ron said with a grimace. "I wound up stuck as Crabbe for over an hour."

"Yes, but if you recall, I got stuck as a half-cat magical blunder for weeks in the Hospital Wing," Hermione said.

Ron tipped his head, considering, then said, "I'm still not sure you got the worse end of that one."

Harry started to laugh until he saw Hermione's face.

"It was horrible. They honestly weren't sure if I would ever go back to normal, and I stopped feeling completely human for a while. During the worst bits, I couldn't think straight, or rather with the same depth. I," she paused, and Harry wondered for a second if she was about to cry, "I even stopped being able to read for a while."

Harry and Ron both gawked at her.

"Blimey," Harry finally said, unable to come up with anything more intelligent to say.

"For you, that had to be outright torture," Ron agreed, the humor completely gone from his face.

"And when I did have moments that I was almost fully human, I sat there wondering which side was going to win, me or the cat. I felt like I was disappearing or being swallowed whole. After that, I just couldn't stomach the idea of an animal transformation, even one I could control," Hermione said, shuddering. "I don't ever want to feel that way again."

"I don't blame you," Harry said. "I'm suddenly feeling a lot worse for Lupin."

"You think that's bad, I'm actually not relishing the thought of Malfoy the Amazing Bouncing Ferret as much as I usually do," Ron said. "No. Wait. I'm over that. All the same, I'd no idea it was that bad, Hermione."

"It's not one of my favorite memories," Hermione said, then shuddered and seemed to try to pull herself together again. "Anyway, if I had to be an Animagus, I'd probably pick an owl. Being able to fly seems like a good thing."

"Yeah," Ron said, still sounding disturbed, "I'd probably agree with Sirius and go with some sort of dog, maybe a terrier like my Patronus. What about you, Harry?"

Harry was still trying to get past the nightmarish mental image of an illiterate Hermione but finally managed to say, "A chameleon. I'd want to be able to blend in."

"That makes sense," Hermione said, almost managing to sound normal. "You're on display so much of the time, you'd probably like being invisible once in a while."

He hadn't really thought about that consciously, but she was right, of course.

"Anyway, Zeus sent invitations to all sorts of animals, and all of them agreed to come. The lion and the bear, the horse and the donkey, the crow and the swan, even the frog and the snake were certain to attend," Hermione said.

"How'd they all get there?" Ron asked. "Portkeys?"

"Possibly," Hermione said. "It's never really explained. Aesop's story just says that all of the animals went to the wedding."

"What about fish?" Ron asked. "Or a whale? That'd be awkward, having the bride need to squeeze around a whale on her way down the aisle."

"I'd assume that either the water animals were automatically excused or some sort of magic was done to make them able to breathe on land for a while," Hermione said.

"Maybe Zeus had a really big aquarium," Ron suggested, a twinkle in his eyes.

"I suppose he could have borrowed something from his brother Poseidon," she said with a playful smile. "It would make a rather pretty backdrop for a wedding. In any case, there was only one animal who refused."

"Stupid animal," Ron said, shaking his head. "What was it? Wait, no, let me guess! A garden gnome?"

"No."

"A Bowtruckle?" Harry ventured.

"No."

"A gerbil?" Ron said, receiving a bemused shake of the head.

"Lemming?" Harry asked, but Hermione shook her head again.

"Oh," Ron said, looking concerned, "it's not a human, is it?"

"No, though sometimes I think we qualify as the stupidest members of the animal family," Hermione said.

"Then what was it?" Harry asked.

"A tortoise," Hermione said.

"But… they're supposed to be really smart usually in stories, aren't they?" Ron said, confusion clear on his face.

"Usually, yes, but the tortoise sent a message to Zeus saying he didn't want to travel because he preferred to stay home," Hermione said.

"I'm guessing that using the excuse of being an introvert didn't go over well," Harry said, smirking.

"No, it did not," Hermione said. "Zeus said that if the tortoise loved being at home so much, then he was condemned to always carry his home about with him from then on, and so he has."

"Wait, that's it?" Ron said, eyebrows shooting up on his forehead. "That's all he did to him? Just gave him a shell?"

"Yes, that's the end of the story," Hermione said.

"Why, what's this Zeus fellow usually tend to do if someone gets him angry?" Harry asked.

"Oh, hit them with lightning bolts, incinerate them, tie them to a mountaintop and have an eagle eat their liver every day and have it grow back every night so the torture never ends, throws a volcano or two on them, the usual," Ron said casually.

"Okay," Harry said slowly, "that's disturbing. I'm starting to think the Dursleys may have given me a bit of break without meaning to by not letting me read them."

"Oh, but they're fascinating!" Hermione said. "There's Perseus—"

"Who kills a woman because she's ugly then carries her bloody head in a bag and uses it to kill someone else," Ron said.

"Yes, well," Hermione said uncomfortably, "then there's Hercules—"

"Who has an issue with anger management and one of his major accomplishments is cleaning a mountain of poo out of a stable," Ron added.

"Um, Bellerophon—"

"Hagrid would hate that guy for killing the Chimaera, and then Zeus knocks him dead with a lightning bolt for being too full of himself," Ron said.

"Orpheus loved his wife Eurydice so much that he walked into Hades to get her back—"

"—then lost her because he was paranoid then started fancying blokes and got torn apart by a bunch of drunk, jealous women," Ron finished.

"Alright," Hermione said carefully. "I'm not even going to bring up the Trojan War or Oedipus."

"Please don't," Ron said with a shudder. "The basic takeaway on those is don't judge a beauty contest and don't get Apollo angry. Neither of those ever ends well."

"That's a rather oversimplified summary of the moral of the myths, but it's still pretty much on target," Hermione said. "Anyway, that's the end. Rather a short one this time, but it seems apt as we really are carrying our house about with us."

"Yeah, but that's not much of a punishment for us," Harry said. "We might be closed in here with the blizzard and all, but I still prefer it to Privet Drive. As homes go, this is okay by me. It's not like I had much to lose there, and we do have everything we need, especially with Hermione's bag."

"Not me," Ron said gloomily. "I miss the Burrow and everyone in it. Even if it is a bit topsy-turvy and loud, it's home, from the noisy ghoul in the attic to the way the front door creaks. I miss everything about it."

"At least you have a chance of going home when this is over," Hermione said. "My parents sold our house when they moved. I don't suppose I'll ever sleep another night in it again."

The three of them looked at one another with matching expressions of unhappiness. But then Harry saw Hermione blink, as if she'd just realized something that startled her. She didn't say anything, but if Harry had a hundred Galleons, he would bet them all that she was thinking a mile a minute. Her glance flitted to the Horcrux briefly, which was glowing dismally from its spot hanging from the back of a chair on the opposite side of the tent, but she said nothing.

"Any chance the storm is breaking up?" Ron asked, but Harry saw him wink very subtly, showing he knew something was up.

"I suppose we could check," Hermione said. "It's certainly quieter, and it's getting too stuffy in here."

"Fair enough," Harry said, throwing on his cloak.

Ron and Hermione also put on their cloaks and opened the tent flap. When they went outside, sure enough, the snow was slowing down. Drifts of it were piled against one side of the tent, and it was at least a foot deep all around, but the wind had died down and the snowflakes were no longer blinding. The half-moon was even visible above, giving them a bit of light.

"Okay, Hermione, what've you got?" Ron asked quickly.

She stole a look over her shoulder at the tent flap, securely closed.

"I did know about Fiendfyre," she admitted, "but I thought it was far too dangerous to try. It's awful stuff."

"But?" Harry prompted.

"But I had an idea because of something Harry said," Hermione explained. "You mentioned my bag and how it has everything we need in it."

"Right," Harry said, "so?"

"I really did put every protective spell on it I could think of," Hermione said. "It should keep anyone from going into it, but it should also keep anything I put inside of it from getting out."

"Like the Horcrux," Ron said.

"More than that," Hermione said. "I think it should be able to contain Fiendfyre."

"So if we put the Horcrux in the bag," Harry said, "then you conjure Fiendfyre and close it—"

"—and drop it in the ocean or something," Hermione said, "yes, that's precisely what I was thinking."

"Do you think it will work?" Harry said, his heart hammering at the idea they may have found a potential solution.

"It has a very good chance, but there are two problems as far as I can see," Hermione said, looking grim. "First, someone is going to have to go in the bag with the Horcrux to cast the spell."

"Would a person be able to fit in there?" Harry asked uncertainly. He'd never been clear on the dimensions of the bag.

"The interior is roughly the size of the common room in Gryffindor Tower," Hermione said. "The opening is small, but I can easily enlarge it. That's not the problem. The problem is it's an extremely volatile spell. If something goes wrong, it could be bad. Very bad."

"How bad?" Ron asked, squinting suspiciously at her.

"Fiendfyre is semi-sentient, and it can't be put out with regular water," Hermione explained. "The best thing to do would be to let it keep burning while the spellcaster escapes, then shut the bag and dump it in the ocean. I'm guessing we'll know when the Horcrux is destroyed."

Harry nodded grimly. He was sure Voldemort's fragmented soul would provide its own lightshow. The Dark Lord really was a bit of a drama queen, not that he'd ever say it in front of Hermione.

"So whoever casts the spell has to be able to get out fast," Ron said.

"And on top of that, if the person can't get out in time," Hermione stopped and swallowed, "the bag would still need to be closed and thrown in the ocean. Otherwise, the Fiendfyre would escape the bag and Merlin knows what it might do. There might be no stopping it. In theory, it could incinerate all of Great Britain."

Harry and Ron were both dumbstruck. No wonder Hermione hadn't wanted to use the spell.

"So if someone were to trip," Ron said slowly, "that's it. No second chance."

Hermione silently shook her head.

"I'll do it," Harry said quietly.

"No, you won't," Hermione said firmly. "We may not completely understand that prophecy, but you're the one who needs to confront You-Know-Who in the end of all this. You can't risk it."

"She's right, you know," Ron said.

"You're assuming I won't get out in time!"

"And you're assuming you will!" Hermione said. "It's not a safe assumption to make."

"Yeah. It's obvious that I've got to be the one to do it, mate," Ron said.

"No, it's not," Hermione said, turning to look at him. "It should be me who does it, Ron."

"Look, out of the three of us, I'm easily the least important!" Ron said. "Harry's got to fight Tommy face-to-face, and you know that you're the smartest out of all of us and the only reason we're still alive at this point. You've got to be here to protect Harry, and if something goes wrong, you've got to finish the quest and figure out some other way to stop You-Know-Who, because you're the only one with enough brains to do it."

Hermione drew in a breath and shut her eyes.

"No, Ron," she said. "It has to be me."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because I'm the only one of us who knows how to cast the spell," she said, her voice small. "It's just that simple. I read about Fiendfyre last summer at the Burrow, and before I decided it would be too dangerous, I thought I'd better learn how to cast it just in case. While I obviously didn't try it out directly, I tried a watered-down version of the spell used for learning it, and I eventually managed it after about a month."

"So teach me," Ron said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "If you can learn it, so can I."

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears.

"Don't make me say it, Ron," she whispered. "Please, just don't."

"I can do it!" he said fiercely.

"I don't doubt it, but not in enough time," she said. "We need to do this soon."

She lifted a trembling hand and gently touched his cheek.

"You know there isn't another way," she said with a sad smile.

"Yes, there is. I say we all do this together," Harry said, setting his jaw.

"And potentially kill every hope for the whole world, Muggle and wizard?" Hermione said.

"So instead we just risk your life?" Ron asked angrily. "How is that better?"

"If all of us die, there's no one else who knows what's happening. No one would be able to carry on," Hermione said. "Each of us is the failsafe for the others."

"We really should have at least one other person who on the outside who knows what's happening," Harry said.

"But we don't, and as we're stuck in the middle of nowhere, we don't have many options for finding someone suitable right now. If we want to do something about that later, fine, we can discuss it, but we can't risk all three of us dying trying to get rid of one Horcrux when there are more of them out there," Hermione reasoned. "It's only sensible."

"Then damn being sensible!" Harry yelled.

Ron looked like he was about to explode, and finally, he did. With an ear-splitting cry, he dropped on his knees in the deep snow and collapsed on the ground, shaking. Hermione looked uncertain, but after a few moments she knelt next to him on the ground and gently stroked his back.

"I hate this bloody war," Ron said his voice shaking with what Harry knew were tears. "I hate it."

Hermione nodded, though she knew he couldn't see her.

"We really don't have another choice, do we?" he said, looking up at her.

"No," she said, letting her fingers stroke softly over his face.

"Then when are we doing this?" he asked, turning his gaze over to Harry.

Harry wanted to argue against it, but the truth was, Hermione was right. He didn't want her to be, but he didn't see another alternative. Then he realized something.

"Hermione, you said there were two problems, right? What's the second one?" he asked.

Hermione looked exhausted, but said, "What I've packed inside the bag. It's either got to be moved or lost. I can try to make a second bag and use extending charms on it, but we'll need to come up with some excuse so that the Horcrux doesn't become suspicious. Even so, we won't be able to save everything. We just don't have time. Besides, the Fiendfyre will need kindling."

Harry rubbed his forehead in frustration. He trusted Hermione would be able to save most of what was essential, but even so, this was going to make things more difficult.

"Four days," Harry said, looking at the other two. "We'll check Rowena Ravenclaw's mother's home first, then move gradually closer to the coast. Hermione, save what you can. What you can't, we'll have to do without."

Ron and Hermione glanced at one another, then nodded in agreement. Slowly, Ron and Hermione stood and joined Harry. None of them spoke a word as they went back into the tent, but Harry saw Ron take her hand. The Horcrux must have sensed their low mood because its sickly green glow looked particularly strong in the tent when they entered. They each went to their own usual sleeping spots and laid down, never saying anything.

Harry wondered if any of them would sleep that night. He stared at the roof of the tent, listening as the wind picked up outside once again. Inside, they were safe, like the tortoise in the shell that Zeus had made him carry about. But outside of their home, they were vulnerable, exposed. He had spent so long hoping for a way to destroy the Horcrux that he had never considered it might destroy them as well.

When dawn came, Harry was still staring up at the ceiling watching as light slowly stained the canvas roof. By its dim light, he could see Ron sitting up on his couch, rocking backward and forward silently, his eyes shut tightly as though he were trying to block out the world. Harry opened his mouth to say something to him, then stopped, realizing there was nothing to say. Instead, he got up, stretched his aching back, and plodded into the kitchen to begin making breakfast.