All of Harry Potter and anything related to it are the sole property of J.K. Rowling.
(Each title is derived from a song that, I believe, complements the overall narrative, if not the individual chapter.)
* This Chapter contains snippets of the original chapter from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
Random Location in England, 23 December 1997
Hermione's Point of View
Over a week had passed since the boys' fight, and we were all sitting quietly around the table, having breakfast. The scones Ron had made were delicious, but the tension was palpable. We all ignored the centre piece that had remained in place since I put it there, focusing on our food.
"Could you slide the jam this way?" Harry asked me quietly, with no hint of animosity but not much else either. I slide the jar with the red substance across the table to him. "Thanks," he muttered, taking it but didn't look up from his food.
I bit into my own scone and thought about how glad I was that I had thought to pack all the non-perishable food items that I had. We really didn't get a chance to go shopping, and besides the few times we had been close enough to water to summon fish, fresh food and meat were getting hard to come by.
We had managed to collect a number of mushrooms, however, and with all the food we did have, I made sure to cast Preservation Charms on and use transfiguration to enlarge and multiply the amount. Thankfully, so far, we hadn't starved, and both Harry and Ron knew how to cook certain things. I was glad this was the case because I had never cooked anything in my life besides perhaps toast.
"Did either of you see that flyer on that tree last night?" Harry asked quietly after he swallowed what was in his mouth, and I saw him lift his head enough to glance quickly at the two of us before focusing on his food again. Ron gave a grunt of response, which was more sound than he had made to acknowledge Harry since their fight.
"Of course," I risked saying. We were close to a small Muggle town, and they were advertising an artisan fair that was happening every day that week leading up to Christmas.
"I don't know about you two, but I thought maybe we could risk going. Might be a chance to pick up more food," Harry suggested. Ron and I both stopped eating at that and just stared at him in disbelief. Harry lifted his head and looked at us, an awkward but almost hopeful look appearing on his face before becoming sadly resolved again.
"I'm sick of this, you know," he mumbled to us. His eyes not resting on either of us for long before going back to the other. "I can't help but be angry," he said, then ran his hand through his messy black hair, nearly dislodging his glasses in the process. He took them off and looked down as he cleaned the lenses on his jumper, even though I knew the glasses wouldn't have been dirty. The 'Impervious' and 'Sebum Charms' stopped water and fingerprints. "So much has happened, you know. But I can see now that I let the Horcrux make things worse."
Ron scoffed, his freckled face contorting into a mix of disbelief and irritation. "Was it the Horcrux that made you have Hermione give you a bloody oath?" he asked bitterly.
"Ron," I said tiredly. Harry looked quickly at Ron, and then his eyes shifted back to me.
He sighed heavily and said in a low voice full of vulnerability, "Look, I'm trying to extend an olive branch, okay?"
"I wouldn't mind going," I told him with a measured tone. "We weren't planning on staying here long anyway, and honestly, I think it would be a good way to clear our minds."
"Ron?" Harry asked him.
"Whatever," Ron replied, going back to eating his breakfast. I bit my lip and looked at Harry. He gave me a small nod and went back to his own food. I swallowed hard, not knowing how to take the almost kind exchange between us.
A few hours later, we were meandering through the bustling stalls. The air was thick with the aroma of sizzling treats and the chatter of excited shoppers, and the air was warmed in spots with fires lit in large had each already bought a number of items, and Ron, perpetually hungry, was happy because he had sampled food from every one of the food stalls we had passed so far and gone back for more to store away of the ones he favoured.
The day was cold, but the sun was shining, and the happy Christmas music of the few performers was doing wonders for our depleted spirits.
"Can't believe how good this all tastes," Ron muttered, more to himself than anyone else, before taking another bite of the eggplant lasagne. "Muggle-borns reckon we're the odd ones, with our magical plants. But honestly, who in their right mind would expect to find eggs sprouting on a plant?"
"They're not eggs," I explained automatically. "They're actually a purple fruit, though most people mistakenly refer to them as a vegetable. The inside is white and quite spongy. Interestingly, they belong to the nightshade family and need to be grown in a warm, humid environment. I must assume they were grown in a green house," I told him. Ron's expression turned to one of horror as he glanced from me to his bowl of food and then dashed over to the nearest rubbish bin and threw it away.
"Why did you do that?" I asked when he came back over to Harry and me. Even Harry looked surprised by his response.
"You said it's part of the nightshade family," Ron exclaimed, his voice rising in disbelief. "Blimey, what's wrong with these Muggles? Are they trying to poison us or something?" he grumbled, throwing a suspicious glance back at the vendor.
"Oh, Ron," I said, shaking my head and smiling at him.
"What?" he asked, his ears going red. Even as he frowned back at me, I could almost see him realising his mistake.
"Lots of vegetables are part of the nightshade family, such as tomatoes and even potatoes. That doesn't make them dangerous," I told him fondly.
"So, it's not like belladonna or jimson weed?" he asked, and I smiled widely at him, glad to see all my hours of drilling poisons ingredients into him over the years for potions class had actually sunk in. Harry distracted us by giving a snigger.
"Shut up, Harry," Ron said, but it didn't sound angry now, which I was glad about.
"Let's head back and buy more of that lasagne. Even I have to admit, it smelled pretty fantastic," Harry said with amusement. I nodded, and we all turned back to the food stall.
While Ron was off looking at another food stall and Harry was distracted buying Ginny a gold bracelet with three dark green gemstones in the shape of hearts, I went to a stall across from him. There, nestled among hand-knit scarves and wooden toys, I found something perfect for Aiden.
It was a knitting toy—a whimsical green dragon. The body formed a circular ring, easy for little hands to grasp, and the dragon's head housed a bell that emitted a gentle rattle. It was cute, and though I knew I had no hope of giving it to him, I wanted to mark his first Christmas, even if it was only for myself.
A little while later, we came across some tables where people were selling second-hand items or things that had simply never been used. There, Ron decided to buy his dad a pair of roller-skates, his mum a bedazzler with rhinestones, Ginny he got puff-paint after it was revealed that it could be used to decorate her clothes and other things, and he bought the twins five Goosebumps books because he thought they could get some prank ideas from them. I hoped not. I didn't remember anything positive being in those books.
Ron had just spotted a pig on a spit, drawn by the delicious smell, and we were headed that way when an unnatural chill, a descending mist, and a sudden darkening of the skies made us freeze where we stood. Looking behind us, a nightmarish scene was unfolding.
Dementors were gliding out of the mist in the distance and descending into the camping grounds where the fair was being held. Harry seemed to become paralysed to the spot, looking pale and weak, but his wand fell out of his sleeve and into his hand.
"Harry, don't," I said quickly, realising he was intending to cast his Patronus.
"You'll bring the Ministry down on us," Ron added, also realising the problem.
"No, I'm of age," Harry disagreed weakly.
"Don't you remember what you told us you saw at the Ministry, mate? They're specifically on the lookout for you. They have more ways than the underage trace to track magic," Ron said.
"What do we do?" Harry asked.
"We have to leave. I'm not sure if the Dementors can see through the Disillusionment Charm, so you should use your cloak. We should also remain silent. Let's meet back up at the town limits sign," I said quickly.
"I don't think we should split up," Ron said, his tone firm.
"It can't be helped. Given we won't be able to speak or hear each other, it's sensible to have a predetermined meeting spot," I explained even as Harry took his cloak from his pocket and we went around the back of a tent.
"We'll set a secondary meeting point at the tree with the flyer we saw last night, in case there are more on the road out of town," Harry stated decisively.
"Agreed," I replied, watching Harry vanish beneath his cloak. "Ron, do you want me to cast the spell for you, or can you manage?" I asked him.
"I've got it," he said, and then cast his spell, vanishing from sight. I wasted no time in casting my own. I then made my way back out towards the crowd of people to see the eyeless Dementors glide amongst the Muggles who could not see them. However, it was unmistakable that they too could most assuredly feel the despair the Dementors spread as they passed them. No one was panicking, but the general mood had shifted dramatically, and people were already headed towards the exit.
I pushed through the throng of people, my own Disillusionment Charm making me nothing more than a whisper of movement. The Muggles' fear was intensifying with the heavy weight in the air that threatened to suffocate us all. I could feel the Dementors drawing closer, their hunger for despair driving them into the heart of the fair.
The sound of a small female cry of terror had me turn to see a young girl, no more than five, looking directly at a Dementor and I felt the blood drain from my face. The child could see it, meaning she was at the very least a squib. Almost at the same moment I realised this, the Dementor caught sight of the child and started towards her.
I sucked in a breath as I heard the scream of a young male somewhere not too far away, and I realised what was happening. They were searching for anyone with even a trace of magic. Without thinking, I turned and sprinted for the child, scooped her up into my invisible arms, and propelled her at the irritated mother who was standing behind her makeshift stall counter.
"Wha' in the name o'…?" the mother exclaimed, her voice rich with an Irish lilt, as she found her child unexpectedly pressed against her.
"Your child is in danger. Get her away from here. I'll keep you safe until you get her into your vehicle," I whispered urgently into the woman's ear.
"Who…? Wha'…?" The woman whispered in fear, taking a step back, her grip tightening protectively around her distraught child, her eyes darting about in search of the source of my voice.
"They are coming. Run," I said a bit louder. The woman looked around the area and suddenly seemed to recognise that she was not the only one feeling fear. The temperature dropped lower, and the child shrieked again. I turned to see the Dementor almost upon us.
"Run!" I cried out loudly, and the woman wasn't the only one to hear me, though she was the only one who obeyed. I turned and followed, racing out of the open tent, allowing my wand to drop into my invisible hand. I dearly hoped I could get the woman and her daughter away from here without having to use it. Especially after Ron and I had both stopped Harry from doing that very thing.
Thankfully, the crowd of people stopped the Dementors from following easily, and by the time we arrived at the woman's little car, we had lost the one that was following us. The woman had no way of knowing that, however, and was fumbling for her keys, while the child was still crying with her face buried in her mother's shoulder.
I took a few deep breaths, trying to settle my own nerves a bit, and waited until the woman had the door open. The woman jumped in fright again when I said, "You will be safe now, but please, if you feel this unnatural cold and despair again, don't ignore it. Don't ignore your daughter's terror. She saw real monsters today, and it is important that you believe her."
"Are ye an angel?" the woman whispered as she looked around and her fingers clasped the cross at her neck I could now see. I hesitated, knowing that Muggle-borns with very religious parents often had the most trouble transitioning to the magical world, if they managed to do so at all. I closed my eyes and hated that I was going to lie to this woman, but I hoped that any higher power would forgive me for it.
"Yes," I said softly. "I want you to know that your daughter is special. One day she will join the world of magic, but for now, you need to keep her safe. It is important you don't tell anyone of this; now please go."
"Thank ye. I will," she said with a breath, and then turned and got into the car with the child still in her arms. Once in the car, however, she gently disentangled the child from herself and then strapped her into the seat next to hers.
I quickly walked away then; the car park was quickly emptying, but a lot of cars were still there. The town limit was only a ten-minute walk from the camping grounds, and finally the sign loomed ahead, a beacon of safety in the encroaching darkness. Ron was already there, his outline shimmering as he struggled to maintain the charm.
"Your charm is waning," I said, making his shimmering outline react and drop.
"Oh, for the love of Circe's tits," he muttered, annoyed.
"Here," I said, too agitated still to comment on his swearing and recast the 'Disillusionment Charm' over him.
"Cheers for that, but why bother? I mean, I know that was fucked, but why stay invisible?" his voice asked.
"Harry has yet to arrive, and I can still feel Dementors," I said, hugging my arms around myself.
"I thought it was just a left-over effect, you know. That's why I reckoned I was having trouble holding the spell myself," he said, his voice slightly shaky.
We waited in tense silence for Harry, the minutes stretching out like hours.
"I've got a bad feeling about this. Harry should've been here ages ago," Ron's worried voice said, breaking the silence.
"Yes," I agreed.
"Let's head over to the backup spot. Maybe something spooked him enough to make him bolt there," Ron suggested.
"Alright, but extend your arm for me to grasp on to. We should keep quiet, but I believe it is a bad idea to separate again."
"Good idea," Ron's voice said. I ignored the hint of sarcasm and reached out towards his voice, found his arm, and took a hold of it. We then turned and headed into the trees while keeping the road within sight.
It took another ten minutes to reach the area we had camped the night before, knowing the flyer was on a tree on the other side of the road. I was about to step that way when Ron suddenly pulled me to a stop and pressed his hand to my mouth. I would have protested, but suddenly three dirty-looking men, two with lots of scars, came trudging into view.
The one in the middle of the group was holding the limp form of a young teen boy. I didn't need Ron's hand to keep me quiet, although I didn't dare move to break his hold, and I felt fear for the fate of the boy.
"Did you hear that?" the one in the rear asked the others. I had no idea what he had heard, but both Ron and I became non-breathing statues.
"What?" the one holding the boy asked.
"I heard the leaves shuffle," he replied, taking a step in our direction. I thought then of the potion in my coat pocket—the one I had promised Draco I would drink in a situation like this—and knew I couldn't keep that promise. I wanted to whimper in renewed fear, but knowledge of all that would be a stake kept me silent even as the Werewolf almost walked right into us. He came to a stop and started to sniff, and I closed my eyes tightly, sure I was found. And thanks to me, so was Ron. My mind was screaming out apologies to Ron, Draco, and Aiden for failing them.
I opened my eyes again just in time to see his hand reach out and almost touch my cheek, but Ron leaned us back just enough that the scarred man missed, and almost at the same time, Harry's voice rang out. His silhouette then appeared, the cloak slipping off, revealing him standing on the other side of the Snatchers.
"Bombarda!" he shouted, and the ground just in front of the Werewolf holding the boy exploded, obscuring sight of the pair. Dirt and debris showered the area, and the Werewolf standing in front of Ron and I, spun to look at what was happening.
Seizing the moment of distraction, Ron acted. "Incarcerous!" he shouted, casting the spell with a swift flick of his wand. Thick ropes shot out, coiling around the Werewolf and binding it tightly.
As soon as the Werewolf was restrained, I felt Ron release his hold on me and take off in a sprint, chasing after the fleeing wizard who had led the group. I dropped both our 'Disillusionment Charms', making the Werewolf in human form give a very realistic-sounding snarl of anger when he saw me.
"Stupefy," I said, wasting no time as he was already loosening the ropes around himself. "Obliviate," I cast next, focusing on erasing the last few minutes from his memory. When that was done, I raced over and did the same to the Werewolf that Harry had already knocked out. His leg was badly damaged and bleeding profusely, but I surmised that was due to the explosion's proximity to him.
Harry's cloak lay discarded on the ground next to me, so I picked it up and shoved it into my beaded bag. All the while, my eyes never left Harry as he deftly cast the 'Featherweight Charm' on the boy so he could lift him into his arms.
"Is he alright?" I asked, my voice laced with concern.
"I'm not sure," he answered, looking down at the pale face of the blonde boy in his arms. "Where's Ron?" Harry questioned, lifting his eyes to scan the treed area.
"He chased after the wizard," I said, and I pointed in the direction I had seen the Snatcher go. Seconds later, Ron dashed back into view, and I let out a breath of relief.
"Bastard got away," Ron said, panting as he came to a stop next to us.
"We need to move," Harry said with an angry look at Ron. "They'll be back and searching the area soon."
We all gathered close, Harry with his young burden in his arms, and I took us all away from there.
Ron's Point of View
We landed smack in the middle of a field, this one chock-full of cows giving us the eye. "Where the heck are we?" I asked Hermione, eyeing the cows who were munching on grass.
"Remember that farm you wanted to steal eggs from before you realised I had sufficient food packed?" she reminded me, heading off towards the fence line, steering clear of the cows. Harry was right behind, with the kid in his arms.
"How was I supposed to know what all you had stashed in that beaded bag of yours? Blimey, you hadn't shown us all the bits and bobs in there yet, right? And c'mon, I was just hankering for a good omelette," I said, a bit sheepish. She let out a chuckle, and it was a sound for sore ears, that. Laughter had been all too scarce lately.
"I'm just glad I had time to learn all those spells in advance. I can imagine how easily even I could have overlooked such a requirement if we hadn't had any time to prepare for all this," she remarked. After shimmying through the wire fence, she hoisted the top wire for me. I squeezed through, then turned back and took the kid off Harry's hands so he could clamber through after us.
"Thanks," he mumbled to Hermione when he was on the same side of the fence as the rest of us.
The December chill was biting as I trudged alongside Harry towards the centre of the paddock, as I eyed him with a mix of concern and leftover irritation. "What happened to you back there?" I asked, my breath forming clouds in the frosty afternoon air. We were mates, sure, but things had been rough lately, and it showed. Hermione was already busy with her spells to make us vanish, just after she handed over that purple beaded bag of hers to him.
"I had trouble moving," Harry muttered under his breath, so faint I reckon he didn't mean for me to catch it. Sure, I might be pissed at him right now, but I'm not thick; I know what Dementors do to him. That's exactly why I reckoned it was a rotten idea for us all to go our separate ways. But, as usual, Harry and Hermione didn't seem too bothered about what I had to say.
"I watched this old bloke in a wheelchair have his soul sucked out. His family was right there, clueless about the whole thing. I wanted to jump in, do something... and now I'm gutted that I didn't. Do you reckon I messed up by deciding to keep going?" I asked him, my throat tightening at the thought. Harry, who was on his knee rummaging for the tent in Hermione's bag, paused and swivelled to look at me. He looked accusing until his eyes dropped to the kid in my arms.
"I wish we could help everyone," he said, before turning back to fish the tent out of the bag with a frustrated tug.
"We'd be no help to anyone if we got snagged by the Ministry or the Death Eaters," I said, the guilt over that old man's death gnawing at my insides.
"I know," Harry agreed, his voice heavy with sadness. Not quite sure what else to say, I put the kid down on the ground and moved to the area Hermione hadn't covered yet. I'm no spell genius like her, but I've been working on these spells a fair bit lately. I felt pretty confident that I could lend a hand. I glanced at Hermione, and a sense of relief washed over me when she flashed that tiny grin and gave a subtle nod. It's like she was silently telling me, 'You've got this, Ron.'
Later on, the four of us were all sat together at the table, digging into a proper feast of roast beef, Yorkshire puds, a heap of veggies, and lashings of gravy. All of it, I'd picked up from different stalls at the fair throughout the day. It was a right good spread, if I do say so myself. I couldn't help but grin at the feast before us, feeling a bit chuffed with myself.
Thank Merlin for Hermione and her nifty spells for making the food stretch and stay fresh. The kid didn't even bring up the Horcrux, even though he gave it a long stare. Turns out he was just out cold, and after Hermione had him gulp down a couple of her potions, he was up and about, as perky as a Snidget.
"It's nice to meet you, Orick Thoras," Hermione said, all polite-like, to the squib kid.
"I prefer to be addressed as Rick these days," he replied with a proper accent of a high-class pureblood, his cheeks going a bit pink.
"That name rings a bell," I muttered as I stabbed a carrot and then chucked the tasty bit into my gob, devouring it gladly.
"How'd you find yourself in the hands of the Snatchers?" Harry asked, lookin' all serious and Harry-like.
"I had been employed at the fair, handling the sanitation duties," the kid said, eyes fixed on the juicy bit of beef on his plate before shoving a hefty chunk into his mouth. "Life's been rather turbulent of late, what with the absence of a permanent residence. However, the individuals there have shown commendable kindness, offering me employment and providing me with food."
"Did the Snatchers give you any reason for taking you?" Harry pressed, his green eyes all worried, and trying to suss out what's what.
"Your homeless?" Hermione piped up at the same time, her voice all thick with worry.
"Yes," he said to her, and then, with a quick, embarrassed glance at Harry, his face going a bit pink again, said, "Not in so many words, but I overheard a conversation. They were looking for people who they believed wouldn't be missed and could then be infected with lycanthropy. I believe they intended to transform me into a Werewolf," he finished, his voice dropping to a hushed, scared tone.
"That's horrible!" Hermione exclaimed. "Thank Merlin the full moon isn't tonight." I glanced at the kid, who was turning all shades of pink under Hermione's gaze. I took in his blonde mop and those brown eyes, and then it hit me like a Bludger—it clicked why his name sounded so bloomin' familiar.
"Emari! Emari Thoras," I blurted out, and just like that, all eyes were on me—the kid's, Harry's, and Hermione's.
"You're familiar with my sister?" He asked, his voice coming out a bit weak.
"Just that she's mental and got a year on us," I said, and that got a snort of laughter out of the kid.
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, her voice sharp with disbelief, probably expecting the kid to take offense—except he was clearly amused. Harry, on the other hand, eyed the kid, clearly still trying to suss him out.
"Ordinarily, Emari is the darling of my family and all their friends. In our parents' view, she is beyond reproach," he shared with me, a bit of a bitter chuckle in his voice. I just shrugged, even though I sort of got it.
"Rick, why aren't you at home with your parents? Its Christmas," Harry asked the kid.
"I'm a squib," the kid said, shrugging it off like it was nothing, then dug right back into his grub. I loaded up my fork and kept eating, while Harry and Hermione gave him puzzled looks. Part of me wanted to spill the beans about what I knew, but then again, I've noticed that sometimes my mates had a habit not to hear certain things about the magical world.
Hermione got that wrinkle between her eyebrows—the one that means she's proper confused. She broke the silence with a, "I don't understand," but I could tell Harry was starting to get it. He shot me a quick glance of knowing, before turning his attention back to the kid.
"It means I lack magic," the kid said, cutting into his Yorkshire pud like he's at some fancy dinner.
"I know what it means, but I'm struggling to see the connection to why you aren't at home. You're quite young—no more than twelve, I would guess," she said, her tone rough around the edges but tinged with a genuine concern, trying to piece together the puzzle of the kid's predicament.
"I'm thirteen," he said, all unbothered, as he loaded up his fork and popped another heap of food into his mouth.
"Your sisters in Gryffindor," Harry said, lookin' a bit boggled by that.
"I'm aware," the kid said, blushing again, this time when he locked eyes with Harry.
Knowing this was going to bite me in the arse, I decided to put my cutlery down and throw in my two knuts. "Squibs, well, they don't exactly do well in the magical world. They're sorta better off in the Muggle world," I said, and blimey, did I get an eyeful. Three gobsmacked faces staring back at me—Hermione with her shock, Harry, and the kid, both looking like they'd been slapped with a wet Murtlap.
"Hardly better off, I assure you, when one finds oneself unceremoniously deposited on an unfamiliar thoroughfare, amidst a sea of unfamiliar faces and objects. And there you are, saddled with a mere pouch of Galleons, which, in the non-magical world, are as useful as a chocolate teapot," the kid explained, with a bit more metal in his voice than I expected. I had him pegged as the bashful type, especially since he blushed every time Hermione or Harry even glanced his way.
"Surely you're not serious?" Hermione piped up, her voice all wobbly with worry for him and a bit of righteous annoyance edging in.
Harry had a sharp look in his eyes when he turned to me and asked, "Is that what your family did, Ron?" His voice had a bit of an edge to it, and it felt like being on the receiving end of a hex.
"Got no clue, really. Way before my time," I replied with a casual lift of my shoulders. "But I do know the Prewett's are a stuffy lot, more hung up on tradition than us Weasleys. So yeah, I reckon there's a fair chance it's true," I added, then went back to my grub, trying to ignore the sting I felt.
"Your family... they discarded their own children?" Hermione asked, her voice quivering like she was on the brink of tears – dunno why, though.
"Squibs can't do magic, can they? Keeping them around… it's just not fair to them, is it?" I said with a frown as I looked back at her.
"Next, you're going to tell me you agree with the Death Eaters." Harry's words came out sharp and accusatory, a clear challenge in his tone, mixed with a barely contained anger.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked, all riled up. My fork went flying onto the plate with a clatter as I stood up, feeling a surge of anger fierce enough to make a dragon think twice. "You think I'd side with those tossers?"
"Stop, please," the kid said, his eyes wide with concern. "Please don't fight because of me. You're all correct. Life in the Muggle world is dreadful. I'm without a home, without a family, and I'm scared all the time. Yet, being around magic I couldn't use was equally atrocious. Observing the affection my parents and sister had for me, die a little more year after year, as it became increasingly evident that I possessed no magic… it was akin to torture. I would rather live in fear on my own than be a burden to those who resent me for failing to be what they wanted me to be."
Hermione just broke down, sobbing, and up and left the tent like a bat out of hell. "I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to upset her," he said as we all gawked at the tent flap flappin' shut behind her, bewilderment in his voice.
"Girls are a bit more on the emotional side, mate," I told him, and Harry bobbed his head in agreement.
"I never thought your family held any of those pureblood beliefs," Harry said, his voice treading lightly, as if he was tiptoeing around a sleeping dragon, clearly trying now to keep any trace of accusation out of his words.
"I'm not sure it's just about pureblood beliefs," I told him, feeling resigned. "It's more like… a truth, isn't it? A harsh part of the world I grew up in."
"How long have you been on your own?" Harry asked the kid, steering clear of any mention of what I'd said.
"Two years. I count myself lucky. I'm aware of some who were cast aside at the mere age of eight," he said matter-of-factly, then carried on with his meal. I figured I might as well do the same—no sense in letting good food go to waste.
"Right, you sound lucky," Harry said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"The most ghastly aspect was the sheer indifference of my parents to attend to the matter personally. Instead, they delegated the task to a friend of theirs, who unceremoniously deposited me amidst the Muggle populace," he said after swallowing his food and eagerly loading up his fork for the next bite.
"Rough," I agreed around my own mouthful.
"They were well aware of my dislike for Alecto Carrow. I assume they thought it was one final punishment for being a failure," he said.
I stopped eating mid-bite and stared at him at that with a frown. Did he reckon he was a failure just 'cause he couldn't do magic? That's a load of Hippogriff dung, if you ask me. I mean, I may know it was cruel to keep a squib in the magical world—a world full of magic—when they can't do a stitch of it themselves. Years of dodging Filch's detentions proved that not having magic made them miserable as a Flobberworm, and nasty too. But being born without magic wasn't the kids' fault and certainly didn't make him a failure.
"The Carrows are Death Eaters," Harry said, pulling me from my thoughts. "Why on earth would your family mingle with such folks?"
"Beats me, but they've all been friends for years," the blonde squib kid said with a shrug.
"Were they mates back in their Hogwarts days?" Harry asked, his eyes not leaving the kid, who was busy munching away. The kid gave another one of those non-committal shrugs, his shoulders lifting almost to his ears. Then he shot a quick, embarrassed glance at Harry, his cheeks turning a shade I'd seen on some Pygmy Puff's before he ducked his head back down to his food.
"I believe it was after that. I overheard them chattering about gatherings they all attended during the first war, but aside from that, I was largely uninformed about how their friendships came to be," he said, still looking at his food.
Hermione stumbled back into the tent, her face blotchy and red, while Harry's eyes were wide with shock as he turned to stared at me.
"Sorry," she mumbled, sinking back into her seat in front of her barely touched plate of food again.
"There are Death-Eaters in Gryffindor?" Harry asked, his voice laced with a mix of disbelief and a hint of surprise, as if I would have the insider scoop.
"Are you forgetting Pettigrew, mate?" I asked him, my voice softer than usual. Harry's eyes widened as he remembered the rat, and he ran a hand through his unruly hair.
"You know, it's strange, but I almost forgot about him," he admitted, his green eyes reflecting a moment of resignation. "I never really think of him as a Gryffindor."
"Right," I agreed, with that familiar grimace of disgust that always crept up on me whenever I thought back to all those times with the wizard who'd been hiding as my rat. It was enough to make anyone's skin crawl, wasn't it?
"Harry, every house at Hogwarts has families quietly sympathising with the Death Eaters cause," Hermione said, her voice barely louder than a mouse's squeak. Harry turned to her, and there was this look on her face, like she'd been caught nicking biscuits from the kitchen, that I couldn't make heads or tails of.
'More ruddy secrets' it hit me. And the knowledge that they didn't trust me was like a rogue bludger to the gut, stirring up a storm of temper I struggled to contain, knowin' they reckon I'm about as trustworthy as a Niffler in a Gringotts vault. I was at a loss, not knowin' what I'd done for them to think so little of me, but despite the sting of it, I wasn't about to turn my back on them. They're my best mates. Bloody hurt, though.
"Look, I'm not clued up on all that," I said, the annoyance clear as day in my voice. "But what I do know is that there's purebloods in every house, and a fair few of them wouldn't mind a trip back to the 'good old days' before Muggle-borns started asking for rights that shook everything up."
"I reckon it's best we put a pin in this for the moment," Harry said to all of us, catching me off guard. While Harry ain't as relentless as Hermione, usually once he's got his teeth in something he doesn't fancy, he's like a dog that won't let go of his bone.
"I agree. Nothing good could come from delving into this now," Hermione agreed with him, clearly disturbed by the topic at hand.
"We've got to figure out what to do with you, Rick. It's not safe to just leave you to fend for yourself," Harry said, his eyes flicking back to the kid.
"I'd manage," the kid said, swirling his fork around his empty plate, making patterns in the leftover gravy.
"Fancy a bit more?" I offered. His eyes sparkled for a sec, but then he gave his head a stubborn shake. I wasn't fooled, though; I knew that look. So, I grabbed his plate and headed off to the tent kitchen to pile on some more grub.
"Perhaps the Weasleys would be willing to offer him a place of refuge," I heard Hermione say, her voice all serious and hopeful.
"Of course they would, Mi. But that means taking him right to them, and I haven't got the foggiest idea where they're holed up at the moment," I said even as I finished dishing up the food and then walked back over to the table. Listening to Fred and George on the wireless was a small comfort to me these past few weeks, but as for useful news about the rest of the family? They've been as helpful as a knitted swimsuit.
"Thank you," Rick said as I set the plate down in front of him.
"We'll have to try find them. He won't be safe with us," Harry said, all serious-like, but I could tell he was feeling the heavy load of responsibility. Sometimes it seemed like he's got a built-in shield charm for everyone but himself.
"Seriously. I will be quite alright on my own," the kid insisted, sawing away at his roast beef.
"At the very least, we'll need to keep him for a few days," Hermione replied to Harry, not even glancing at the kid. Rick shot me a questioning glance, and I just rolled my eyes, making him crack a smile.
"What will we do with him when we head to Godric's Hollow?" Harry asked her.
"Are we still considering that?" I grumbled, the irritation clear in my tone.
"I never knew we'd ever stopped," Harry said with a bit of snark.
"I just reckon it's a complete waste of time. The sword won't be there," I told him, with the certainty of a knight taking a pawn.
"Ron, you can't possibly be certain of that, and neither can we. We've exhausted every other location that came to mind," Hermione said, her voice all stern, but I could tell she was just fed up with all this poking around to no avail.
"It's too bleeding obvious. If I was ol' Voldy and I thought you were hunting for something important, that'd be the first place I'd look. I'm thinking maybe Dumbledore had someone else stash it. That's what I'd do if I were him—strategically, it's what makes the most sense," I told them, piecing it together like a game of chess in my head.
"How would that make sense? If he were to do that, it would completely undermine our chances. We'd be left with absolutely no hope of ever locating it," Hermione disagreed, while Harry looked thoughtful. I just shrugged and went back to eating.
"You might be onto something, Ron. But you know, I've been thinking... Bathilda Bagshot might actually have it. She was supposed to be good friends with the Dumbledore family, according to what Rita Skeeter wrote. Besides, it'd be daft not to take a look," Harry pointed out, and I couldn't help but shoot him a look of surprise. Lately, we hadn't seen eye-to-eye on much, so hearing a bit of support from my best mate was like a sip of Butterbeer on a cold day.
"You're Harry Potter!" the kid blurted out, catching us all off-guard.
"Wait, you didn't know?" I asked him, a bit of surprise in my voice. He blushed hugely as he gawked at Harry, then gave a little shake of his head. "Well, that's a shocker," I added, trying to keep a straight face. Harry and Hermione were just eyeing him when Hermione let out a snicker, clapped her hand over her mouth, and turned away.
"Yeah, I'm Harry Potter," Harry finally agreed when the kid kept gawping at him.
"This is so cool," the kid finally said, eyes lit up with a mix of wonder and hope, his grin spreading ear to ear. "Please allow me to accompany you. I assure you, I shan't be a hindrance. I've traversed the lanes of Godric's Hollow more times than I can count and would be delighted to serve as your tour guide."
"It's the only choice we've got, really," I said, catching the worry in Harry's eyes before he could put it into words. "I'll keep an eye on the kid if you want," I offered up, knowing full well that Hermione and Harry were both more skilled at magic than me anyway, and they'd be the ones to pull us through if things went pear-shaped.
"You sure?" Harry asked, black eyebrows raised over his glasses in that surprised way of his.
"Better than being useless," I said, standing up to go pile more food onto my plate.
"Ron, you are not useless," Hermione insisted, her voice all stubborn-like from behind me. I just gave a bit of a shrug, knowing she was just trying to buck me up, but deep down, I knew my place in our little trio.
Rick reckoned he could find his way around Godric's Hollow blindfolded, so we all decided to Apparate there late the next night. None of us looked a thing like ourselves though.
Before we headed off, Hermione proved just how brilliant she was again when she whipped out large, corked phials of 'Polyjuice Potion' from that beaded purple bag she carried everywhere, and she even had these little glass tubes with hairs ready to go. It was mental how she was always one step ahead with her cleverness. She'd nipped off for a mo' earlier in the day to snag a hair from some kid somewhere, but she was back in a jiffy.
The kid had a rough time with the potion Hermione gave him. Poor kid was chundering like a dragon after a dodgy sheep. Reminded me of our first bash at Polyjuice—not exactly a picnic, that was. But the kid bounced back quick, and then there he was standing there in our cramped tent loo, gawking at himself in the mirror. He'd morphed into this little strawberry-blond nipper, couldn't be more than ten.
Hermione became a woman with this choppy strawberry-blonde hair and these piercing blue eyes, looking like she could be the kid's mother. Harry and I looked like a pair of middle-aged brothers. Harry, the poor bloke, didn't have a hair on his head—shiny as a Snitch. But I had this wispy light brown hair, thinning faster than a Boggart in daylight.
We we're both now a bit rounder in the middle, like a cauldron cake left out in the sun. But these blokes looked fairly healthy and not too short. So, while Harry was sprouting up like a beanstalk, I was shrinking faster than a 'Shrinking Solution' gone wrong.
"So, whose my father?" Rick chuckled, glancing back and forth between us. I was about to crack a joke, but Hermione was quicker, her usual no-nonsense reply coming from the woman.
"Neither. They are your uncles if it becomes necessary to claim a family connection," she told him. Harry, the kid, and I all exchanged amused glances.
"It's half past eleven; we'd better head off," Harry urged, a bit of a rush in his voice, eyeing the watch on his wrist that my parents had given him. And right then, I felt a proper pang of guilt for ever saying he didn't have a family. We might not have been brothers by blood, but my mum and dad, they loved him just as much as any of us kids of theirs.
"Ready, mate?" I asked Rick, who bobbed his head in agreement. The kid looked cute as a tiny ten-year-old. "Stick with me, yeah? Don't wander off."
"I'm not a kid. And I'm not stupid," he told me, sounding all high and mighty. He was a right adorable git, though, so I couldn't help but chuckle and ruffle his strawberry-blond mop. He gave me a dark look that could sour milk and batted my hand away, which set Harry off laughing too.
"Kids, eh? They think they're all grown up the minute they can tie their own shoelaces," I said, sharing a good chuckle with Harry at the kid's expense.
"Ron, leave Rick alone," Hemione said, but held her hand out towards the kid, who was now turning a shade of pink that even Lockhart's robes couldn't compete with while looking bewildered. "We all need to hold on to each other to Disapparate," she told him matter-of-factly.
"I knew that," he said, a bit sheepishly, with a quick, awkward nod. Then he shuffled forward and took her hand.
Just a tick later, there we were, trudging up this skinny little road through the snow. It was all cosy-like, with cottages on either side, their windows glowing with Christmas trees all lit up. Up ahead, the golden glow of streetlights was like a beacon, telling us we were nearly at the heart of the village.
"Follow me," said Rick, all buzzed up, practically bouncing on his toes as he herded us towards this massive obelisk smack in the middle of the village. It looked old and important and was covered top to bottom in names. But when we got up close, the thing morphed right before our eyes.
It wasn't just any monument; it was them—the Potters. Harry's dad, with his untidy hair and glasses, lookin' every bit the defiant hero. Harry's mum, her long hair cascading down her back, her face kind and beautiful, holding little Harry, 'The Boy Who Lived', in her arms. The snow rested on their statues like crowns of purest white, a silent homage to the family who had changed our world forever.
"In my younger years, I was a regular visitor here. My parents were rather indifferent to my whereabouts. Provided I wasn't underfoot, I could roam wheresoever I wanted. My family's mansion is only a short distance beyond the outskirts of the village, and I never minded the walk," Rick said, his eyes not leaving the monument for a second.
I caught Harry staring up at his mum and dad, etched in stone, and I couldn't help but take another peek myself. Got me thinking: What would it have been like knowing them? I like to reckon, in another life, that Harry, Hermione, and I would've been thick as thieves anyway. We would've spent holidays and such mucking about here, causing a ruckus, and having a laugh.
"It's beautiful," Hermione said.
"I've heard about this, but I've never seen it," I told her. Turning to the kid, I asked, "You can see this?"
"Sure," he said with a casual shrug.
"Thought squibs didn't have any magic in 'em," I said, a bit puzzled. He just shrugged again, as if not bothered.
Folks were milling about in and out of the little church across the way from us, and Christmas carols were wafting around like snowflakes, all merry and bright.
"The midnight service is set to commence imminently," Hermione remarked.
"Allow me to show you the little graveyard," Rick said. "I always liked walking through there. Amongst those interred here are kin of my own bloodline. Yet, it's the gravestones etched with the weird symbols that truly intrigued me."
"Weird symbols?" Harry queried, finally tearing his gaze from the statue.
"Yeah, it's a rather weird eye-looking emblem," Rick told him.
"Can you show us?" asked Hermione.
"Of course," the kid said, all chuffed, and he legged it towards the little graveyard by the church.
The singing got louder as we got closer, and those Christmas carols got me thinking about the fam. What were they up to tonight? Ginny was still at Hogwarts, and yeah, I was a bit worried about her, but I also knew she was safe. Being a pureblood has its perks, doesn't it? Keeps you out of trouble with those dodgy Death Eaters pretending to be professors. I reckon tomorrow she'll be finding a Weasley jumper from Mum on the foot of her bed, and despite my usual disdain for the maroon colour, I wished for my own Weasley jumper more than ever.
Kissing gates stood as the entrance to the graveyard next to the church, and Hermione reached out, nudging them open dead quiet. The snow was thick and pristine, like a blanket of white. We trudged through, leaving hefty footprints in our wake, skirting the edge of the graveyard by the church. The light from inside was spilling out the windows, casting a sort of glow on the snow. It was spooky and peaceful, in a ghostly sort of way.
Rows of gravestones stuck out from the snow like old teeth, all lit up with bits of red, gold, and green from the church's stained-glass windows. I kept a tight grip on my wand as we all stopped to take in the sight.
"Look at this; it's an Abbott. Could be some long-lost relation of Hannahs," Harry said.
"Keep your voice down," Hermione begged him.
"Hannah Abbott is a cousin of mine, though her familial line scarcely mingles with my parents," Rick said just as loud as Harry, earning an exasperated sigh from Hermione.
"Let's split up and look around," Hermione suggested, all calm and collected, even though the place gave me the creeps. "We'll cover more ground that way."
"But not too far," I added quickly.
"Would you like me to guide you to your parents' resting place?" Rick asked Harry, seeming a bit awkward about it.
"Yeah, that'd be great, thanks," Harry replied with a grateful nod.
Hermione tailed after them but kept her distance, while I hung back, feeling like there were eyes on us. I had a look around, but it was just us and the carols floating out from the church, which was sort of comforting. The stained glass was a sight too, but this niggling feeling, like someone was breathing down my neck, just wouldn't budge.
Part of me wondered if it was just jitters from that blasted Horcrux we'd been lugging around—that thing really did a number on us. Finally, I gulped down the nerves and edged further into the graveyard. That's when I spotted them—the graves with that odd symbol the kid had been on about.
"Mione," I called out quietly, and she looked up from where she was standing before a couple of other graves. She walked over towards me, and I pointed down at the symbol. She brushed more of the snow away to reveal the triangular mark with the circle and line in it. "That's that symbol from your book, isn't it? The one Harry reckons Xeno was wearing?" I asked her.
"Yes, it is," she agreed, her eyes squinting as she examined the symbol. She brushed away more snow, revealing the name Ignotius Peverell etched into the stone. "Any idea who this was?" she asked me.
"No clue," I responded.
"I discovered the graves of Dumbledore's mother and sister over there," Hermione told me sadly, even as she continued to stare down at this grave.
"Blimey, I didn't know Dumbledore's family lived here," I blurted out to her, my eyes wide as I took in the gravestones.
"Nor did I," she agreed, with that sort of scrunched-up look on her face—you know, the one where you can tell she's tuckin' away every tiny bit for later.
"D'you reckon Harry had a clue?" I asked her.
"I don't know," she said, looking all uncertain. Her eyes darted over to our other mate and his small companion, who seemed to be nattering away at him about something. Harry's face, however, was like a storm cloud, all sad and brooding. "Let's go over there; come on," she said, getting all decisive and started striding off at once. So I trailed behind, getting there just as she did.
Blimey, it was a right sombre moment, standing there next to Harry as he laid eyes on his parents' graves for the first time. I felt like a right prick for my comments about them being dead. Seeing their graves, it hit me harder than a Bludger. Made it all real, more than ever before. Got me thinking how gutted he must be feeling now. I couldn't stand the thought of my mum and dad being buried deep in this cold, hard ground.
Hermione kept her eyes on Harry, and then, as if some sort of spell was guiding her, she gently grabbed his hand. Harry looked a bit taken aback, as if he hadn't even noticed her there until that very moment. But he didn't shake her off; he just let her hand stay there. I glanced down at the stone that had James Potter and Lily Potter on it, with their dates of birth and death. And beneath it all were the words: 'the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.'
"Isn't that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?" Harry asked, voice all panicky.
"It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry," Hermione said, her voice all gentle-like. "It means… you know… living beyond death. Living after death."
Harry didn't look comforted by those words at all, and I'll be honest, they struck me as a bit odd too. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hermione raise her wand, moving it in a circle through the air. Before us, a wreath of Christmas roses blossomed—a reverent tribute to Harry's loss. Harry caught the wreath and gently laid it on his parents' grave.
Harry got to his feet and stepped back, like he was ready to make a quick exit. And honestly, I was right there with him. I still couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching us, and it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
"I'm sorry, Harry. My intentions were never to make you feel bad," the kid said to him.
"It's not your fault, but I think it's best if we make a move," Harry said, his gaze still fixed on the graves. I clapped him on the shoulder, snagging his attention before we all started moving off.
We were halfway back towards the gates when Hermione suddenly said, "Stop."
"What's wrong?" Harry muttered to her, all hushed-like, his breath fogging in the winter air.
"Something's off," I muttered just as quiet. Harry's eyes met mine, a silent question passing between us. We all stood there in the graveyard, the bare trees like silent sentinels around us. The chill wasn't just from the snow underfoot; it was the feeling of eyes on us, the kind that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. I'd had the nagging suspicion we weren't alone since we arrived, and now, with Hermione's sudden halt, I knew it wasn't just in my head.
"Yes," Hermione said, real quiet-like, and Harry's eyes snapped back to her. It was like the whole world went silent for a sec. "There's someone there. Someone watching us. I can tell. There over by the bushes."
"Are you sure?" Harry muttered back to her, but his eyes flicked over to me too.
"Rather a lot of cats seem to frequent this spot," Rick blurted out, trying to sound casual, but you could tell he was spooked. I quickly pulled the kid closer, getting a good grip on his shoulder, ready to bolt if we had to. He didn't put up a fuss, which told me he was just as ready to get out of here as I was.
"Right, let's get a wiggle on then, if we're hoping to find Bathilda Bagshot's place," I whispered, trying to sound braver than I felt. Harry had that look about him, all serious and dead set, like he's ready for a duel. Hermione looked worried, her forehead all scrunched up, probably thinking a mile a minute, running through a hundred 'what-ifs' in her head. But they looked at me, and it was enough to say they were with me, fear and all. With a quiet nod from each of them, we were off again, treading carefully in the eerie quiet.
"Perhaps this wasn't such a wise decision. We might be better off leaving," Hermione whispered, her voice quivering just a touch, right as Harry swung the gate closed with a final thud.
"We've already come this far," Harry countered, his voice steady and sure as he gave her arm a gentle squeeze. "We can't just give up now." It was a relief to see him reach out like that, considering how brassed off he's been with her lately. Hermione's throat worked with a hard swallow, but she nodded, steeling herself for what's ahead.
"I wish we could use the cloak, but there's simply too many of us," Hermione muttered, her voice shakin' a bit as her eyes darted all over the quiet street we started down.
"Pass it over to Ron and Rick; that way, at least we can keep the kid safe," Harry said, all firm and no-nonsense. Hermione gave a quick nod, dug into her bag, and whipped out the invisibility cloak. She spun around, handed it to me, and I jammed it into my pocket without missing a beat. She handed me a potion next, and I gave her a quizzical look.
"It's the 'Exploding Potion'. Give it to Rick," she told me. I nodded and handed it to the kid. He looked at it and quickly tucked it into a pocket in his trousers.
"Do you still wish to visit your family home?" Rick asked Harry from next to me, his voice as tiny and uncertain as he looked just then.
"Yes," Harry said, his voice leaving no room for doubt.
We passed a pub that was packed to the gills, voices belting out Christmas tunes, all merry and a bit sloshed. Just for a sec, I wished we could pop in, soak up the cheer, snag a pint, and just meld into the lot havin' a ball on Christmas Eve. And for a tick, I even caught myself wishin' we were part of those old pureblood traditions on Christmas Eve, though the Weasleys never put much stock in the Offering.
"It's this way," Rick said, steering us down another dimly lit lane that took us out of the village the opposite way we came in. From this spot, I could just make out where the row of cottages ended, and the lane opened up into the countryside once more, passing by more windows glittering with multicoloured lights on the Christmas trees standing out behind the shadowy curtains.
"Bathilda Bagshot was never held in high esteem by my family, yet her residence was known to us, owing to its proximity to the destroyed Potter home," the kid said, all matter-of-fact-like. "Can you make out that dark mess at the far end of the cottages?" he asked, squinting into the dark and pointing.
Just like that, Harry was off like a shot from a wand, leaving us all in the dust as he bolted for the fence around the ruined house. The hedge, it'd gone mad with growth over the sixteen years since Hagrid yanked Harry out of the rubble, now tangled up in the grass that's just as high as the fence.
Most of the cottage was still there, hidden under a thick cloak of dark ivy and a blanket of snow. But the right side, right where the top floor was, it was all blasted open; 'that's got to be where the curse went all wonky', I thought. We all just stood there, gawking at the remains of what was once a proper home, now just a shell of its former self, surrounded by the other cottages, untouched by time and dark magic.
"I wonder why nobody's ever rebuilt it?" Hermione muttered, all hushed-like.
"Maybe you can't rebuild it?" Harry suggested, with a bit of a frown. "Maybe it's like the injuries from dark magic, and you can't repair the damage?"
"Touch the gate," Rick urged Harry.
"Why?" I couldn't help but ask, even as Harry's hand was already moving towards it. The kid stood there with this grin on his face, and as Harry touched the gate, a sign shot up from the ground right before us. It sprouted up through the nettles and weeds, quick as anything. And there, in shiny gold letters on the timber, it read:
'On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the killing curse.'
'This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.'
Everywhere around the sign, there were all sorts of scribbles from other witches and wizards who'd swung by to see the place where 'The Boy Who Lived' had dodged the big one. Some just scribbled their names in Everlasting Ink; others had gone and etched their initials straight into the wood. And then there were the ones who left messages. The latest lot of this magical graffiti, shining out over sixteen years of others, all seemed to be saying the same sort of thing.
'Good luck, Harry, wherever you are.' 'If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you!' 'Long live Harry Potter.'
"Look at this; it's my mark. O.C.T.," Rick said, jabbing a finger at the initials gouged into the timber.
"You really shouldn't have done that," Hermione said, her voice full of disapproval. But Harry, he just beamed at the kid, his smile wide and chuffed.
"It's brilliant. They're all brilliant. I'm glad they did. I…" Harry cut himself off as a blaze of light washed over us. The door to one of the cottages swung open, and an old lady stood framed in the doorway, just a shadow against the light. She shuffled out towards us, hesitant, as if the snow might bite.
She took a couple of steps, her eyes on the ruined cottage, then her gaze landed on Harry. Even though he was disguised by the 'Polyjuice Potion', she gazed at him as if she recognised him, like she could see right through it. Didn't even give a flicker of attention to me or the others, just stared straight at Harry. Right off the bat, I had this dodgy feeling that something was off. It was bonkers, but the feeling in my gut was telling me she was the one who'd been watching us a little bit ago.
"I don't like this, Harry," Hermione muttered, nicking the words right out of my head. Even the kid edged closer to me, like he could sense the trouble brewing. But Harry wasn't paying her any mind.
"Your Bathilda Bagshot, aren't you?" Harry asked, bold as brass, stepping towards her. Not a shred of fear in him, unlike the rest of us. The old lady just nodded and gave a little wave, like she wanted him to come nearer.
"Don't go near her, Harry," I blurted out, but Harry, stubborn as a Griffin, just got closer to the old woman, with Hermione right behind him. "Oi, Harry! Will you ruddy listen to me for once?" I snapped, and that got him. He stopped and swung around, a right annoyed scowl on his face.
"Ron, she could have the sword. You get how crucial that is, right?" he said to me, a bit of a bite in his voice.
"If she's got the sword, tell her to lug it out here," I told him, trying to keep my voice steady. Something was off, really off. I shot a glance at the old woman; she'd gotten a lot closer to us, and something about her made my skin crawl.
"That might be a good idea, Harry," Hermione chimed in, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. The last thing I wanted was for them to disappear into that house. It was creeping me out, proper. And that old witch? She was really giving me the willies, too.
Harry shot us a look as if we'd lost the plot, then turned back to the old bat. "Do you have something for me?" he asked her. She gave a nod and gestured for him to follow once more.
"Just tell her to bring the bloomin' sword out here, will you? You're not going in there," I said firmly, and Harry shot me a glare that could've melted a cauldron. "Come on, mate, you know as well as I do that splitting up is a rubbish idea," I added, trying to knock some sense into him. His gaze flicked to Rick, who was practically glued to my side, then gave a reluctant nod and faced the old witch again.
"Would you mind bringing it out to me?" He asks her, all polite-like. But then, out of nowhere, he's clutching his noggin like he's just been hexed with a headache jinx. The old bat just shook her head, no, and waved him over again.
"You can trust them," Harry insisted, trying to sound convincing even as he grimaced, hand pressed to his scar. But the old bat wasn't having any of it, shaking her head again. Heaving a heavy sigh, he turned back to us and joked, with a wry twist to his voice, "I'll just go in for a minute. I'm sure I could overpower her if I need to."
"I'll go with you, Harry," Hermione piped up, and together they headed for the door.
"No, blast it!" I said, my voice rising with frustration. I charged towards Harry, grabbing him by the shoulders, ready to give him a good shake. We were right next to that old witch, and the smell—it hit me like a Dementor's icy breath, seeping through my skin and chilling my bones. It was like a wave crashing against the shore, only this wave smelled like rotting fish and bad luck. I'd smelled something similar during that trip to Egypt—death, unmistakably. And there she was, the old witch, emanating it like a cursed perfume. I wrinkled my nose, squinted at her, and wondered what kind of dark magic she was dabbling in.
"You're dead," I said, the shock hitting me like a Bludger to the gut, my voice coming out strong despite the horror and my face draining of colour.
"Ron!" Hermione gasped, her voice sharp as a magical penknife. I couldn't tell if she reckoned I was threatening the old bat or just being an outright prat, but one thing was clear as crystal: we were in proper danger here.
"She's dead," I said again, eyeing the old witch. "Can't you smell it?" I asked them. Took 'em a moment, but then it hit them too, and we all stepped back together.
The dead witch started hissing like a bleeding snake, and Harry answered, "Yes, I am."
Harry winced, grabbing his head as if it was about to split open, and that old bat was hissing something fierce. I reckon that's when I clocked it—I was listenin' to Parseltongue. Next thing you know, the dead witch's body just caved in, and out slithered this massive snake from where her neck used to be. Rick's screams nearly burst my eardrums, scared witless he was, and who could blame him!
The snake made a go at us, but we all jumped back in the nick of time. Its wicked fangs missed us by a hair's breadth, but with a quick flick of my wrist, I had my wand out, ready in my hand once again. Never should have put the thing away!
"He's coming," Harry bellowed, still pressing his hand against his forehead, while the snake was hissing something fierce. The slippery beast made another go at Harry, but Hermione was on it with a 'Blasting Curse', dragging Harry to safety just in time. I spun 'round to the kid, staying tight, ready to bolt the moment we got the chance. That snake, though, was quick as a Snitch, dodging Hermione's spell and making another strike at Harry.
"Vipera Evanesca," I tried, and for a sec, the scales lit up like it was bonfire night. But it only seemed to piss the thing off. It shot me a venomous look and hissed something wicked. It then lashed its tail, nearly sending the kid and me skidding on the snow. But we kept our footing, and the kid lobbed the 'Exploding Potion', scaring the ruddy snake back even further from us and allowing us to bolt through the dark snowdrifts towards Hermione and Harry.
"He's coming!" Harry yelled, his voice cracking with sheer panic. "He's nearly here!" The snake was all hiss and fury, thrashing about like a Grindylow on land.
I grabbed Hermione's arm in a flash, making sure I had the kid secure with my other hand. And then, with a twist and a pull from Hermione, we were Apparating away from there, landing with a thud in the middle of a dark forest.
We'd barely caught our breath when Hermione's eyes suddenly dropped to a glow we could see come from her sleeve, where we knew she had the tattoo on her arm. Her expression shifted to one of shock, then awe, as she peered into the shadowy depths of the forest.
"He's here," she breathed out, her voice alive with amazement. Without another word, she bolted into the darkness of the trees, leaving us gobsmacked.
Author's notes: - I understand that most in the UK know eggplant by the name of aubergine, but I made the decision that it isn't a widely known vegetable in the magical world, seeing as we know there are rarely vegetables served at Hogwarts.
: - Rkook1210, thank you as always for continuing to read this story. I really appreciate your support. I would also like to thank everyone who has either Followed or Favorited this story. Thank You!