Hermione Granger and the Deathly Hallows

I find the map and draw a straight line
Over rivers, farms, and state lines
The distance from 'A' to where you'd be
It's only finger-lengths that I see
I touch the place where I'd find your face
My finger in creases of distant dark places

I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
I, I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms

**

As soon as they were clear of the house and safely on the Weasley Quidditch pitch, Ron looked over his shoulder to make sure they weren't followed and mounted his broom. "Okay. Hop on."

The night wind tickled Hermione's face, lifting her hair a few inches off her shoulders. A delicious fear rippled through her; she couldn't believe they were actually doing this. They were only breaking about every rule and Ministry guideline for safety in existence. But if there was one thing that she had learned from her friendship with Harry and Ron, it was that sometimes, rules should be broken. That's why she had waited until Ginny was asleep before slipping up to Ron's door. She had known he'd still be awake. And she had simply asked how he would feel about helping her fly so she would be prepared for the mission tomorrow without the slightest bit of apprehension. Just as she had known he'd be lying on his bed, tossing the Quaffle in the air, she had known he'd say yes.

She started to climb behind Ron so she could wrap her arms around his waist, but Ron stopped her. "No, you're in front. You're flying us."

"What?"

Confusion flecked in Ron's eyes. "You wanted help flying, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I thought you'd fly and I'd watch," Hermione answered nervously. She barely managed to keep herself on a broom; she wasn't about to risk Ron's life by putting him in the backseat of a broom.

"Aren't you the one who says that practical application and practice is the best way to properly instruct and educate?" Ron recited almost verbatim with a quick smile. He really did have a wonderful memory; Hermione wished he could apply that gift could his lessons.

"Yes," Hermione conceded, "but not if the practical application will get you killed."

"You'll be fine. You're actually not that bad," Ron said bracingly.

"Not that bad?" Hermione repeated with raised eyebrows. "If I was 'not that bad' at school, do you think I'd be top of our year?"

Ron was already ready with a comeback. "And don't you hate being just 'not that bad' at something?"

He was challenging her. He was challenging her to get his way, yes, but Hermione never passed up a challenge uttered by Ron Weasley. With her head high, she mounted the broom in front of Ron. His hands stretched forward to close over hers to help her if necessary. A blush crept onto her cheeks, fortunately shielded by the darkness of the night. This was a rather good idea after all.

"Okay, get us in the air," Ron instructed. Hermione attempted to kick off, but with Ron's added weight, her legs weren't strong enough. Ron chuckled. "We're off to a great start."

"Ron."

Ron almost lazily kicked with her so the broom could hover into the air. "Take us over to those trees--steady, steady," he warned as the broom wobbled a bit. Hermione bit her lip in concentration as she tried to steer it in the indicated direction. She really wasn't used to having a second person on the broom. Ron's hands tightened around hers to help balance the load. "There you go. Not too bad."

She shot a quick glare over her shoulder to let him know she caught the snide reference. Determinedly, she steered the broom into a neat turn so she could start to circle the pitch. Ron raised his eyebrows, actually impressed. "Nice," he praised. Hermione had always been quite good at precision turning. He indicated the ground that was only fifteen feet below them. "Now do that a little higher."

"I thought you didn't want us to fly so high," Hermione said as she remained at their low but very safe height. Ron had mentioned that when they had been sneaking out into the yard.

"We can go a little higher," Ron said. "If you flew here, the Death Eaters could reach up from the ground and pull you out of the air."

"I highly doubt that a Death Eater will just jump up and down and try to grab my ankle instead of Stunning me or following me on a broom," Hermione retorted. "And that would have to be a really tall Death Eater."

"I doubt that you'll even have to fly on a broom tomorrow." Ron raised one shoulder and the corners of his lips. "Yet, here we are."

Here we are indeed. Hermione pulled at face at him, but she complied, pulling the broom higher into the night sky, comforted by Ron's hands still securely around hers. As long as he was here, they would both be safe. Ron stayed quiet, only giving her a few pointers now and then as she repeatedly circled the pitch, rising higher and higher in the night sky, closer and closer to the stars. The clouds threatened to soak her skin with icy condensation, but Hermione had never felt warmer. She settled herself more comfortably onto the broom, giving herself permission to sink a bit deeper into Ron's body. They had never been so close, so physically connected, for such an extended period of time. Fortunately, Hermione Granger had always been quite skilled at splitting her attention so she could concentrate on flying while savoring the way Ron's chest rose and fell with every breath, how that breath tickled the sensitive part of her neck, how she could lean that neck into his shoulder that would support her no matter what happened, because she had a feeling that this was a once in a lifetime chance. She and Ron wouldn't get very many of these moments after tomorrow.

Ron squeezed her fingers. "Okay, I'm going to let go now--"

"What?"

"Just for a minute," he reassured. She twisted around as best she could to express her disapproval, but only got a flash of his magic smile that could wipe away all doubts and fears. "Trust me."

"Okay," Hermione whispered, basking in his confidence in her. She didn't deserve all of the faith he had in her.

"One, two, three--!"

Ron's hands lifted off of hers and in a stomach-wrenching instant, they were plummeting to the earth that was miles below. Hermione screamed and tried to wrench the broom back upright, but there was suddenly no broom, and there was no Ron. There was just her, falling to her death, screaming for Ron once again, never being able to stop--

Harry Potter jumped back in surprise as Hermione abruptly jerked herself awake and yanked free of his hand. He had been shaking her shoulder in hopes of rousing her after realizing that she was having a bad dream. "'ermione?" Harry tried to ask a question, but had to pause to yawn widely. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Hermione lifted her head off of the book she was using as pillow and sat all the way up as she realized that she was stretched out at the entrance of the tent, her wand helplessly to the side. "Was I on watch?"

"Yeah."

Hermione clapped her hand apologetically over her mouth, babbling out a thousand apologies. She had never made such a huge mistake with their safety, but she hadn't been sleeping well lately and had stupidly thought she could rest her eyes for just a few seconds, they seemed to be permanently red and puffy for about a week now, she should have known that this would happen--

"Why don't you go to bed?" Harry interjected. "I'll do the watch."

"No--I'm fine, Harry, honestly, I won't fall asleep again, I promise--"

"Hermione." Harry rested a hand on her shoulder to stop the torrent of protests. "Go to bed. I've got it."

He rose back to his feet and was wading through the several inches of snow to make sure that they were still alone before Hermione could stop him. She remained on the floor of the tent, cursing her stupidity. She couldn't believe that she had done that. She hadn't been able to do much of anything since--

She got up so she could return the book to her library. Ron had been gone for fifteen days now: fifteen of the longest days Hermione had ever endured. She and Ron had fought and not spoken to each other many, many times, but she had at least seen him. She had been able to glimpse the way his red hair glimmered when the sunlight hit it or hear his laugh as Lavender made some sort of lewd comment. She had never realized how much she had needed those little, tiny flashes of Ron. Even though he had been furious with her or she with him, she had still needed him. Even the sight of him would be enough.

But to have him completely gone, with no possible way to find them, was excruciatingly foreign to her. Her heart physically ached with every breath she took and her mind constantly raced with thoughts about him; she just couldn't stop, no matter how hard she tried. And now it was affecting every little thing that she did: she hadn't been able to intelligibly join in their discussions for days, she was reduced into tears at every possible moment, and now she couldn't even stay awake for guard duty, instead slipping into dreams of past memories of Ron. It was so ridiculous that Hermione Granger, the most intelligent witch of her year, could become this absolute mess. Now she understood how awful Ginny had felt last summer: that although she had hid everything she was going through so well, Ginny had felt so utterly lost and confused because she knew deep in her heart that it was just a façade. This was not who she wanted to be.

Hermione had thought that the whole Lavender-incident was the lowest point of hers and Ron's relationship. She had never expected they would come to this. Realistically, she knew she shouldn't be missing him. She really should be absolutely furious at him. He had abandoned them, betrayed them, become the world's biggest git, idiot, prat, and all of the other insults in the history of mankind. They shouldn't worry about him. They would actually be better off without his snide comments and surly sneers. Ron really had been hindering their mission; now that he was gone, they could finally get some work done.

Hermione couldn't even begin to believe that.

Harry wasn't faring much better than her. She had sensed not to mention Ron's absence, or even Ron's name, but Hermione knew that Harry thought about Ron almost as much as she did. He went around with this new weight that caused him to slump, shuffle his feet, and keep his eyes downcast almost all of the time. There were days when she and Harry didn't even speak to each other, losing themselves for hours and hours to their dark thoughts. They were infinitely more lost now than they ever had been before. Trios just weren't trios without that perfect third person to complete the balanced triangle.

Hermione climbed into her bed even though there was no hope that she would be able to fall back to sleep. She pulled Ron's blankets, which she had swiped, around her so she could breathe him in. In spite of everything he had done, all of the mistakes he had made, she couldn't help wondering and wishing that wherever he was, he was safe and sound and maybe--just maybe--trying to find a way to come back home to them.

**

"So he wouldn't have hidden it in Hogwarts or Hogsmeade, not if he didn't trust Snape," Harry speculated. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the table leg, knocking his head impatiently against it as he tried to have a fresh idea for once. Hermione sat at the table above him with her chin propped in her hand as she stared thoughtfully down at crown of Harry's head. "So where would he take it?"

"Somewhere where he'd know you knew about, and you could get to easily," Hermione said once again. "What about the Gaunt house? Or another Horcrux hiding place? You certainly know how to get there."

Harry grimaced and shook his head. "You-Know-Who could come there to check on the Horcrux. If he got the sword, we'd never get it back." He leaned his head back so he could look at her. "It's always the last place we'd look," he said wryly. "So where'd that be?"

After three seconds of staring at each other, Hermione and Harry both reacted at the exact same moment: she rifled through every cabinet and drawer in the kitchen while he ransacked the rest of the tent with eager ferocity, hoping that Dumbledore had somehow known that they would want to use Perkins' tent again and stashed the sword somewhere inside the property and then given the tent to Mr. Weasley to give to them. Hermione had approached Mr. Weasley simply to ask him where she could purchase one of those tents, but Mr. Weasley had insisted that she just take the tent herself. Hermione had tried to deter him, saying it was too much, but Mr. Weasley had practically shoved the tent into her hands, pleading her to take it. She had thought it was because of his dire need to help them in whatever little way he could, but perhaps it was really due to Dumbledore's orders.

But it soon became evident that this was yet another asinine theory that couldn't possibly pan out. They both returned to their previous positions, dejected once again. This was how they spent most of their days: talking about the sword, then blazing with sudden inspiration, and becoming devastated as they soon realized that their new theories couldn't possibly be true. It was a rather vicious cycle they were trapped within.

"Could he have a vault of his own at Gringotts?" Hermione suggested helpfully after a few more minutes of mulling and musing. "That would be the safest place in the world."

"We'd need a key." Harry suddenly scrambled for the pouch around his neck to extract the Snitch Dumbledore had left him. "And that's what's in here!" He pressed his mouth against it again while Hermione held her breath, praying for a key to magically pop out of the golden ball. When nothing happened, Harry lowered the Snitch. "Damn it!"

Harry didn't swear terribly often--well, not as often as Ron--so Hermione knew that he was getting really upset. She quickly rose from the table. "I'll make us some tea."

"Do we have enough?" Harry asked worriedly. They had managed to steal a bundle of tea leaves several weeks ago which had become their daily treat; no matter how low food rations were, they always had tea. Sometimes, the warm beverage was the brightest point of their day.

"I think so," Hermione said as she tipped the bin side to side to ascertain how many leaves were left. "But we are going to have to find some more soon."

He nodded. "We'll find a town in a couple days," he decided. They could use some real food as well instead of the half-frozen mushrooms that not even Hermione had managed to make remotely digestible. His stomach grumbled as if to prove his point, but he ignored it. "The Snitch will only open at the close. We still don't know what that means so if is in there, we're not getting it anytime soon." Harry returned to knocking his head against the table leg. "Dead end." They had been hitting a lot of those lately.

"Okay," Hermione said encouragingly while bringing the water to a boil. "If it's not at Gringotts, where else could it be?"

"Somewhere at Hogwarts," Harry hypothesized wildly.

"I thought we said it couldn't be there," Hermione reminded him.

"Humor me." Harry sat up straight so he could watch her make the tea. "What about the Room of Requirement?"

"Anyone could walk in there," Hermione said dubiously, "if they knew about it. And Snape had to know about it, so if Dumbledore didn't really trust him, like we've talked about it--"

"It wouldn't be there," Harry finished for her. "And it wouldn't be anywhere in Hogwarts--Snape knows too much," he added, chiding himself for making yet another inane suggestion.

He lapsed into perturbed silence while Hermione poured two mugs of tea. She crouched down next to him. "Here. And stop that," she added as Harry kept on hitting his head on the table leg. He was going to give himself brain damage if he kept it up any longer. She curled up, cross-legged, on the floor and blew on her tea to cool it.

Harry however didn't touch the hot beverage; he set down the mug so he could lean forward thoughtfully. "Maybe we're going about this all wrong. Let's not think about where he'd hide it--maybe we should try to figure out who he would tell, or who he would give it to."

"Okay," Hermione said, ready to try anything. "Could he have given it to someone in the Order?"

He shook his head as he got to his feet and started to pace, as he always did whenever he thought he might be on to something. "No, we told them at my birthday party that Dumbledore was trying to give it to me. They would have given it to me then."

"A Hogwarts professor?"

"No--maybe McGonagall--but no, she has no way to find us and we can't get to her."

"What about someone from his family?"

That question hit a big nerve. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck raised visibly as he wheeled to her to shake his head with gritted teeth. "I don't think so."

"So who did he trust?"

"Well, he was supposed to trust me," Harry burst out. He roughly kicked over his full mug of tea so the liquid splattered throughout all the corners of the tent. Hermione instinctively ducked so the tea wouldn't get into her hair. She started to get up to clean up the mess, but Harry waved his hand at her while he raised his wand to take care of it himself. He pocketed his wand with a grunt before charging towards the tent flap. "I'll get us some more wood."

"We don't need any..." Hermione trailed off as she gestured feebly towards the large stack of firewood they had collected only that morning. Harry really didn't care about collecting kindling for the fire. He just wanted to be alone.

Frankly, so did she. She could only take so many hours of these roundabout discussions. It was immensely frustrating to never get anywhere. She had irrationally hoped that the cloud Ron's departure had caused could have a silver lining: that they actually would get some work accomplished since they were free of Ron's negative attitude and constant sneers. But, damn it, they were more lost than ever--of course that would happen if Ron left them.

The daily round of tears started to trickle out of Hermione's eyes. She usually could manage to restrain herself until Harry was safely asleep, but some days, like today, she just couldn't help herself. She missed him so much. Harry was the best friend a girl could ever hope for, the brother she had always wanted, but he didn't rile everything up inside of her so that she had never felt luckier to be alive. He didn't make her feel the way Ron did and after six long years with that prat, she had become addicted to him. Even though Ron had degenerated into a selfish arsehole, he was her selfish arsehole. He was hers and she was his, even in the midst of all of their most terrible rows. She had belonged to Ron no matter what. But now, he was gone, off to Merlin-knows-where, and she had to remain here alone, struggling to survive with only half of her heart pathetically languishing away in her chest.

She pushed her red-rimmed eyes into the heels of her hands in hopes of stuffing the tears back into their ducts. Ron didn't deserve to be mourned with such overwhelming intensity. She had to stop obsessing over this. She was becoming rather useless to Harry and that really wasn't the Horcrux talking. She was absolutely no help to him right now. And if they expected to live through this, they had to keep moving; they had to have a plan. For the first time in a long time, Hermione thought about the stack of useless lists languishing in her beaded bag. All of her plans had included active roles for all three of them so they were all rather useless. They hadn't been much help anyway. Nothing could ever really prepare you for something as huge as this mission they were trying to undertake.

Hermione straightened up in hopes of concocting something brilliant to help them. Her eyes flitted over to the tent flap so she could stare out into the tempting dusk. Even though it had to be below freezing, Hermione couldn't help wanting to be outdoors in the fresh air. The tent was toasty warm, thanks to all of her charms and the precautions Perkins had placed on it, but it wasn't enough. She wanted to get out. They needed to get out of here, away from the stifling constraints of the tent that Hermione had grown to despise. Harry was the only other living person she had talked to in weeks; even if they couldn't really communicate with other people, they could at least see people and delude themselves that they were a part of reality for just a little while. Christmas was fast approaching and Hermione had never longed for her parents as much as she did right now. All she wanted to do was sit around the fire with hot cider, wrapping presents and answering Christmas trivia questions that her father always enjoyed asking. They had to be having a very lovely Christmas in Australia's temperate climate, probably as happy as clams, but she couldn't help believing that they weren't as happy as they could be if they had all been able to go skiing or bake butter cookies together.

The tears were threatening to return in full force so Hermione hastily went to her books to distract herself. Life was just so lonely right now; she could hardly stand it. She really needed to get out of here; Harry did too. A trip into a town to retrieve supplies would help, but only for a short while. She'd rather like to be out of the tent for an entire day, but the only way they could do that was if they had a plan to search somewhere for the sword or a Horcrux. She'd just like to talk to someone and not even about the Horcruxes. That was one thing that was so wonderful about Ron; he always seemed to know when to be suddenly and remarkably trivial. Usually, she would snap at him for distracting her, but she had always secretly appreciated it all the same. Even she had learned that one could be too obsessed with their studies.

Memories of spending hours in the library with Ron raced through her mind so she had to drop her books. Everything was reminding her of Ron. She couldn't even study now. She stared into the yawning contents of her magic bag, desperate for something to do. She couldn't just sit here any longer. After rifling around, her hand closed around the corner of a large portrait frame. Phineas Nigellus wasn't a very pleasant man, but neither was Ron for the last few weeks he had been here, for that matter. She yanked out the portrait and propped it up so she could gaze upon the murky backdrop.

"Professor Nigellus?" Hermione asked tentatively. "Are you there? Can I talk to you, please?"

It took several more attempts, all including the word 'please', before his cold snide voice floated out from the frame. "If you think I will come back so easily after how I was treated the last time, you are sorely mistaken, Mudblood."

Her stomach clenched as it always did when she heard the slur, but she ignored it. Apparently, Phineas wasn't going to be as charming as he normally was. "I'm sorry about that. Would you please come back?"

"A meaningless apology does not change the fact that I was abused. Heavily abused. No Black has ever been treated with such disrespect."

"I find that hard to believe," Hermione retorted. She happened to know that Sirius was treated with such disrespect: by his own mother.

The very top of Phineas' head appeared in the bottom corner. Hermione slipped out her wand and aimed it. "Are you contradicting me?"

"Yes, I am. What are you going to do about it?" Hermione said lightly. Thanks to Ron, she knew just how to rile someone up.

"It does not do to have such a flippant attitude, little girl," Phineas scolded. His head moved from side to side. "Where are your friends? I'd much rather speak to them."

"They're not here," Hermione said. "That's why I wanted to talk to you."

He snorted. "You just wanted to talk to me, did you?"

"Yes, I did. You seemed a bit lonely and I know I am so I thought--" Hermione swiped her hair out of her eyes impatiently. "I thought we might help each other."

She could see the Slytherin shake his head in disgust. "You are such a Gryffindor, always thinking with your pathetic heart."

"That's the first nice thing you ever said to me," Hermione remarked. "See, we're already off to a lovely start."

Phineas popped into the frame very suddenly so he could catch a glimpse of their whereabouts, but Hermione was already ready for it. The blindfold plastered itself securely around the former headmaster's eyes. He yowled in humiliation. "Take this off!"

"No," Hermione refused. "I won't keep you long, I promise." She started to say more, but Harry suddenly charged into the tent, alerted by the Phineas' shouts of protest. He relaxed when he realized what it was although he obviously was quite confused. "It's all right, I'm fine."

"Oh. All right." Harry sheathed his wand and went to take a seat on one of his armchairs. Like Hermione, he looked almost glad to see another face, even if it was a blindfolded and angry one.

Phineas blindly turned his head in the direction of Harry's voice. "Is that Mr. Potter?"

"Actually, I'm his identical twin, Barry," Harry quipped. "Sound a lot alike, don't we? Now what's going on at Hogwarts? Ginny all right?"

"It is not my job to check on the whereabouts of that blood-traitor brat--"

A stab of his wand emitted a shower of sparks and a very loud, threatening bang. Phineas immediately ducked with a frightened cry, waving his arms about his head to ward off whatever was rushing to attack him. Harry twirled his wand through his fingers. "Wow. Wish you could see what I just did. Never seen anything shrivel up and die so fast, have you, Hermione?"

"Never."

"Huh," Harry said in feigned awe at his abilities. "So what's going on at Hogwarts?"

Phineas lowered his arms, shaking like a frightened house-elf even though his tone was as sharp and snide as ever. "Why should you bother yourself with such a treacherous mutineer? Could Harry Potter be suffering the pangs of adolescent love?"

"Shut it," Harry said very coldly. No one, not even a painting, could know how he felt about Ginny. "And why did you call her a mutineer? What did she do now?"

"What hasn't she done?" Phineas mumbled contemptuously. "That girl is all sorts of trouble." Harry looked down at the floor, his eyes flickering with newfound adoration. "Hopefully, the ban on Hogsmeade will help keep her in line--"

"Ginny got banned from Hogsmeade?"

Phineas groaned as he realized what he had accidentally let slip. He wasn't the smartest Black to ever wear the family crest. "You are an impossible boy, Mr. Potter."

"Thanks. Why'd she get banned?"

"Do you really think I am going to tell you anything?" Phineas said scornfully. "I serve our venerable headmaster, Severus Snape--"

Harry shuddered and muttered an obscene opinion on the matter. He tried to be quiet, but Phineas's ears weren't plugged. With a quick scowl and shake of his irate finger, he disappeared out of the side of the frame, muttering about the insolence of youth. Harry leaned back into the squat armchair, looking oddly satisfied. He hadn't smiled in weeks--Hermione wasn't sure he ever would until he either saw Ron or Ginny again--but just for a moment, he looked content with himself and the world. "Well, that was fun," he commented to Hermione.

She returned the portrait frame to the bag as her lips also tried to remember how to smile. It was still difficult, but maybe one day it would be easier. "Yeah. It was."

**

"The mayhem has settled down a bit, with everyone preparing to go home for the holidays, but Severus is still having all kinds of difficulties," Phineas relayed. With each visit, he became much more forthcoming with information, but for very bad reasons. "I'm sure you two are having troubles of your own, out by yourself, without your other angry friend--"

Hermione jammed the frame back into the bag to stifle the rest of his unpleasant statements. It was obvious that Phineas had told Snape that he was communicating with her and Harry and Snape had instructed him to find out their whereabouts. Phineas was therefore dropping more information about what was happening at Hogwarts in hopes of loosening their tongues as well. He really was a true Slytherin, but his presence was still greatly appreciated, even if it was just for a few minutes every couple of days.

As always, after Phineas' visit, Harry settled down into his armchair and pulled out the Marauder's Map so he could find Ginny's dot on the parchment. Hermione had snuck a peek a few times to see if another Weasley had arrived, but no one else appeared. Ron hadn't gone back to Hogwarts after all; he was still missing.

With a deep breath, Hermione quickly went to her books. She could cry about Ron after Harry fell asleep. Right now, she needed to get some work done. She sat down at the table with a stack of books and forced herself to mentally go through the steps again. Dumbledore had made a copy of the sword, knowing that the Ministry would confiscate it. He had known that the sword was the one thing they could use to destroy the Horcrux. He had known Harry would need it; he would have thought of a way to sneak it to Harry. But how?

Perhaps Harry was right to be so frustrated with Dumbledore. Dumbledore's winks and cryptic messages may be clever, but they certainly weren't helpful, especially now that they were stranded in the middle of nowhere, uncertain where to go or what to do next. They needed facts. Why couldn't Dumbledore have just flat out told Harry what to do? How could they ever expected to figure this out?

Her eyes fastened on The Tales of Beedle the Bard. She hadn't looked at it in several days, becoming obsessed with tracking the sword. Dumbledore had given her this book for a reason, a very important reason. He trusted her to find what his hidden message. Perhaps that hidden message was a way to find the sword. She started to flip through the pages she had read hundreds of times. She had read these stories over and over again until she had them practically memorized. But perhaps it wasn't the stories themselves that were useful; perhaps it was sudden in the pages themselves, something stitched into the cover, or written in invisible ink or a thousand other surreptitious ways to slip a message to another person.

Curiously, Hermione started murmuring under her breath and moved her wand every surface of the book. It may take a moment for things to start appealing so Hermione was free to return her thoughts back to Phineas's latest conversation. Hogwarts was settling down for Christmas as students prepared to leave the confines of the castle and go home to get some peace for a few weeks. Hermione rather wished they could do the same.

Or maybe they could.

She glanced over at Harry nervously, as though he could sense her thoughts even though she hadn't uttered them aloud. Harry was still absorbed in the map, looking so wistful that she didn't push the half-formed crazy idea away. She closed her book so she could think this through properly. Magical history recorded that Godric Gryffindor had lived at Godric's Hollow, the very same place Harry would have grown up. Dumbledore could have hidden the sword there, in the place of Gryffindor's birth, in his and Harry's mutual childhood homes. Harry might have mentioned to him that he wanted to visit there and even if he hadn't, Dumbledore would have known that Harry had always wanted to know whatever he could about his parents. He knew Harry would go there eventually. It would be an ideal place to hide the sword.

It was a crazy idea. And it would be extraordinarily dangerous. She was certain that You-Know-Who would be keeping his eye on Godric's Hollow. If Harry could instinctively know You-Know-Who's thoughts and feelings, You-Know-Who had to have the same secret insight into Harry. He wanted Harry more than anything in the world and he would be patiently lying a trap, just as he had in fourth-year, and waited gleefully for his clueless prey to fall victim to yet another one of Lord Voldemort's full-proof plans. But they had to go. They couldn't afford not to.

She reopened her book so she could get back to work. She wouldn't tell Harry just yet about her latest discovery. There were still a lot of things to think through. But one thing was for certain: Harry was finally going to go home for Christmas.