Hermione Granger and the Deathly Hallows

The lamp is burning low upon my tabletop

The smoke is softly falling

The air is still in the silence of my room

I hear your voice softly calling

If I could only have you near

To breathe a sigh or two

I would be happy just to hold the hands I love

On this winter's night with you

**

Hermione hadn't been quite sure what to expect at Godric's Hollow. A History of Magic had described it as a similar settlement as Ottery St. Catchpole, but Ron's hometown was much farther south than Harry's so it wouldn't be surprising that the two settlements would be completely different due to the different climates. Sure enough, Hermione opened her eyes to find themselves in a snow lane under a dark blue sky. Christmas decorations hung in every window as the streetlights in the distance beckoned to them. Hermione leaned her head back for a moment to enjoy the crispness of the air and the reassuring sound of life bubbling around her. It was so good to be around people.

Harry, looking much more like the eleven-year-old boy who snuck out under the Cloak just for the fun of it, managed to convince her to discard the Cloak since their footprints would be visible anyway, and the two set off towards the center of the village to try to ascertain where the magical settlements were. Everyone around here seemed to be Muggles bustling around for last minute Christmas preparations, carols echoing through the night sky, anticipation lighting up every child's face. For a moment, it almost felt like Christmas. In some Muggle wars, there had actually been one-day armistices on Christmas so both sides could celebrate properly. It was terribly naïve, but she couldn't help hoping that somehow, someway, the magical world could do the same.

But Hermione couldn't dwell in the revelation that it was in fact Christmas Eve. There was work to do. But first, before they did anything else, they needed to make a very important stop. Her eyes found a church. "They...they'll be in there, won't they? Your mum and dad? I can see the graveyard behind it."

Harry halted at the mention of the graveyard as if he had never expected to find his parents there, his face frozen with hesitation. Gently, Hermione took his hand to lead him across the square. He may think he didn't want to do this, but she knew better. Harry had to see his parents tonight. It was Christmas; everyone should see their families on Christmas.

However, as they headed toward the cemetery, it was Hermione's turn to come to a sudden halt. "Harry, look!"

She pointed to the statue that had morphed from the obelisk to a memorial for three heroes: a man, a woman, and a baby boy curled up in his mother's arms. It was so strange to see Harry represented in stone like this, a tribute for all to see for centuries after they had all passed to the next world. It was even stranger to see him without a scar on his forehead.

"C'mon," said Harry, uncomfortable as always to see himself displayed in such glor, and they turned again toward the church, the singing of carols growing louder. She and her parents had gone to services every Christmas eve. She wondered if they were at a service right now. They found a kissing gate that led into the undisturbed graveyard and Hermione pushed it open to admit them. Harry broke free of her hand, suddenly overcome with anticipation, and he raced to the nearest grave, childishly hoping that it would be the one he desperately needed to see, no matter how much grief it would cause him. "Look at this, it's an Abbott, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah's!"

"Keep your voice down," Hermione begged him as she looked about to ensure that they were still alone. Harry was already heading to the next row, too excited to be cautious. She would have to the careful one now. Hand on her wand, Hermione started her own search. She wasn't sure she'd ever be comfortable in this place.

Her anxiety however soon abated as she discovered a headstone bearing the surname 'Dumbledore'. "Harry, here!" she called while crouching down next to it to pass her hand affectionately over the marble. Being this close to Dumbledore's family somehow helped ease the hole Dumbledore had left in all of their lives.

Harry tore over to her, flushed even at this cold temperature. "Is it--?"

"No, but look!" She pointed to the dark stone and Harry stooped down to read it himself. He stayed quiet for a long time. Hermione watched him, knowing that he was once again missing their headmaster and wondering about all of the lies that had been plastered in the papers about him. This proved that Rita was actually telling the truth about something. There had to be a reason for Dumbledore deciding not to tell Harry about his family crisis. He hadn't told Harry much about the Horcruxes either, but there was a good reason, Hermione was certain of it. They just had to find it.

She nudged him ever so slightly. "Are you sure he never mentioned--"

"No," said Harry curtly, "let's keep looking," and he turned away, wishing he had not seen stone. Guiltily, Hermione renewed her search with increased fervor. This visit was going to be painful enough for Harry. He didn't need her bringing up bad memories about Dumbledore to boot.

"Here!" cried Hermione. Harry bolted over to her, but she winced as she realized her mistake. She rubbed the crumbling, mossy stone so she could check the name again. "Oh no, sorry! I thought it said Potter."

Harry turned to continue his search, but as Hermione continued to rub the gravestone, she spotted something that instantly garnered her suspicions. "Harry, come back a moment."

He complied, only just managing to hide his reluctance, but Hermione was too fascinated by the very familiar symbol she had just discovered. "What?"

"Look at this!" She indicated the symbol beneath the name. "Harry, that's the mark in the book!"

He peered at the place. "Yeah...it could be..."

He leaned in for a closer look and Hermione lit up her wand so they could both clearly see the curious symbol that Dumbledore had left in the book. It definitely was it. Hermione returned her attention to the name and used her free hand to read the name with her fingers. "It says Ig--Ignotus, I think..."

"I'm going to keep looking for my parents, all right?" Harry told her, a slight edge to his voice. He didn't want to be bothered with this. He set off again with a determined stride. In spite of everything they needed to accomplish to end this war, he wasn't going to think about any of that until he saw his parents. They deserved that respect.

She took one last look of the grave, wishing that she could get a rubbing of the stone so they would have it. She had a feeling it might come in handy. Memorizing all of the information that she could make out, Hermione got back to her feet to continue her search. This time, she wouldn't call to Harry until she had found the stone that he really needed to see. Harry was moving deeper and deeper into the cemetery while she stayed within the same area, squinting her eyes to make out the names in the darkness. She really wished they could use her wand for a bit of light, but they were impersonating Muggles so she had to just do the best she could. It seemed to be growing darker by the second. They were running out of time.

A white headstone caught her attention, shining invitingly in the inky blackness of the graveyard. It looked very similar to Dumbledore's mother's and sister's graves so Hermione knew there was a very good chance that this was it. She had never known Harry's parents but somehow she knew that they would have similar tastes on such things. She stood in front of the grave, reading the names that she had known would be there with a hand over her heart. For the first time in her life, she wished witches and wizards had the power to raise the dead, even for just one moment. It might give Harry some peace of mind.

Before calling to Harry, Hermione knelt down in the snow so she could pass her hand over the cold stone as she had with Dumbledore's family. "I'll take care of him," she told them very quietly. "I promise." She had always wanted Harry's parents to know that. She raised her voice. "Harry, they're here...right here."

Harry had never moved faster, not even in Quidditch or when he was battling Death Eaters. Although he was still the middle-aged Muggle, he had never looked more like Harry. Now she understood how Luna had been able to see through his disguise. He came to a stop a few feet away so he could read the words with the utmost scrutiny, memorizing this life-changing moment where he had finally met his parents.

"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death," he read slowly. His face abruptly broke as a horrifying thought came to him. "Isn't that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?"

"It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry," said Hermione, her voice gentle. "It means...you know...living beyond death. Living after death."

She had hoped the concept would comfort him, but instead Harry's cheeks twitched, his lips trembled, and before she could do anything, the tears were boiling down his face, finally properly releasing the grief he had never really expressed. Her face broke along with his. It was the first time she had ever seen Harry cry. He hadn't even shed a tear in Dumbledore's funeral, remaining stony and solid and strong as always. Harry had lost so much in such a short period of time and he deserved so much more. He deserved nothing but happiness. They had to end this, Hermione swore to herself, they had to end this war so Harry could finally have the life he deserved.

Hermione took her hand and gripped it tightly to solidify her vow, although she wasn't sure he wanted it. Sometimes, when Harry was grieving, he just wanted to be alone. But Harry clung right back, trying to breathe. She suddenly wished Ginny could be here. One tear escaped. And Ron too.

Feeling they needed to do something to show their respects, Hermione raised her wand, taking care that no one else could see, moved it in a circle through the air, and a wreath of Christmas roses blossomed before them. Harry caught it and laid it on his parents' grave. A few of his tears splashed down on the white marble, a final tribute to his parents who had given him so much. Happy Christmas, Hermione wished tearfully at the lost couple. She hoped that somehow they knew that their son had come to visit them. That would be the best gift any parent could ever ask for.

Harry stood up and actually put her arm around Hermione's shoulders to keep her close. He needed a friend right now. Hermione put her arm around his waist so they could walk out of the cemetery together, for once feeling as though he was supporting him. Harry really was a lot like his parents; he always gave so much without expecting anything in return. She was glad that for once she could be there for him. He couldn't have come here alone. She hugged Harry a bit closer to her. She had never been so grateful to have him for a best friend.

A flash of movement out of the corner of her eye halted everything inside of her. She turned her gaze in time to see a dark figure moving out of sight. "Harry, stop," she warned in a hushed voice. She knew something like this would happen if they came here.

Harry's arm tightened around her shoulders, poised to push her out of the way if necessary. He knew that tone all too well. "What's wrong?" he said in his even voice that always amazed Hermione. She never knew how he could stay calm in such situations.

Her eyes scanned the area for that shape again, but she kept confusing gravestones for potential Death Eaters. It didn't help her nerves that they were quite alone and exposed in the middle of the night in a graveyard. "There's someone there. Someone watching us. I can tell." Another quick motion caught her eye. "There, over by the bushes."

Harry stayed quiet as he searched for what she had spotted. "Are you sure?" he asked doubtfully.

She was. "I saw something move, I could have sworn I did..."

She broke from him to free her wand arm, but Harry grabbed her warningly. "We look like Muggles," he pointed out.

"Muggles who've just been laying flowers on your parent's grave! Harry, I'm sure there's someone over there!"

A sudden rustle confirmed her suspicions. They both spotted a little eddy of dislodged snow in the bush Hermione had been watching. "It's a cat," said Harry, after a second or two, "or a bird. If it was a Death Eater, we'd be dead by now. But let's get out of here, and we can put the Cloak back on."

He made a good point, but Hermione was rather certain that only a very large cat could have displaced that much snow, and a bird definitely couldn't. They glanced back repeatedly as they made their way out of the graveyard and Hermione couldn't help being relieved as they pulled the Invisibility Cloak over themselves. She looked around the village to get her bearings. The obvious gaiety that was happening inside the warm pub was tempting, but Hermione pulled Harry down a dark street, murmuring, "Let's go this way." Now that they had paid their respects to his parents, they needed to get some work done.

Hermione ignored the Christmas trees in the windows and thought only of the sword; that was the one gift she needed this Christmas: the stupid sword. Well, that wasn't exactly true. "How are we going to find Bathilda's house?" asked Hermione. She kept glancing over her shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed and shivered, but it had nothing to do with the bitter cold. It had everything to do with Ron. "Harry? What do you think? Harry?"

She tugged at his arm, but Harry was not paying attention. He was looking toward a dark mass that stood at the very end of the row of houses. He abruptly sped up, dragging Hermione along with him. He was much stronger and quicker than her so she skidded a bit on the ice and had to grab his arm to keep up. "Harry--"

"Look...Look at it, Hermione..."

"I don't...oh!"

Hermione's hand went to her mouth as she saw the house that had to have once been Harry's home. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy and snow, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart. That must have been where Harry's nursery was. She and Harry stood at the gate, gazing up at the wreck. Even though it must have been identical to the other cottages surrounding them, it looked different to Hermione, and not just because of the obvious spell-damage and waist-high grass. There was just something that was just so very Harry about this place. She could easily envision him playing in the garden, expertly whipping around on that broomstick he had shown her in that photograph. He really would have loved to grow up here.

Harry was looking too sad for her to bear, so Hermione broke the silence and whispered, "I wonder why nobody's ever rebuilt it?"

"Maybe you can't rebuild it?" Harry replied. "Maybe it's like the injuries from Dark Magic and you can't repair the damage?"

Hermione wasn't quite sure that was right and began to look around for some sort of clue, but she stopped when she saw Harry's hand creep out from under the Cloak so he could grab the snowy and thickly rusted gate. Her eyes popped wide open. "You're not going to go inside? It looks unsafe, it might--" A sign was rising out of the ground in front of them; Harry's touch must have enacted sort of spell, "oh, Harry, look!"

Together they stooped over to read the sign announcing this at the site of Harry Potter's survival and his parents' death, which was difficult thanks to sixteen years worth of magical graffiti. She let out an appalled exhale. "They shouldn't have written on the sign!" said Hermione, indignant. She didn't want anyone to vandalize anything that belonged to Harry.

But Harry didn't seem to mind. He just beamed at her as if it actually was a merry Christmas. "It's brilliant. I'm glad they did. I..."

He broke off as he spotted something over her head. Hermione turned to see a heavily muffled figure hobbling up the lane toward them, silhouetted by the bring lights in the distant square. Harry unconsciously took one quick step forward so he could be between Hermione and this new person and with baited breath, the pair of them watched in silence as she drew near. It wasn't until she passed all of the houses and came to a halt a few yards from them and stood there, facing them, that Hermione could make out that it was a woman, hunched over with age and cold. She looked utterly helpless, but Hermione couldn't help fearing her nevertheless. Every nerve and instinct in Hermione's body screamed: danger, danger, no, no, no...get out now...

But Harry ignored the pinch she gave his arm and merely watched as the strange woman raised a gloved hand and beckoned. Hermione moved closer to him under the Cloak, her arm pressed against his, so she could whisper, "How does she know?"

He shook his head. The woman beckoned again, more vigorously. Hermione looked her up and down in hopes of discovering her identity; a nametag stating "Hello, I'm Bathilda Bagshot" would have been rather helpful, but as that was impossible, Harry impulsively said, "Are you Bathilda?"

Hermione gasped and jumped as his voice rang out in the quiet December snow. That was the last thing they should have done. He had to learn to be a bit more careful. Luckily, the muffled figure nodded and beckoned again, urging them to come along.

Beneath the Cloak, Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Harry raised his eyebrows; against her better judgment, Hermione gave a tiny, nervous nod.

They stepped toward the woman and at once, she turned and hobbled off back the way they had come. Leading them past several houses, she turned in at a gate. They followed her up the front path through a garden nearly as overgrown as the one they had just left. She fumbled for a moment with a key at the front door, then opened it and stepped back to let them pass.

Together, Hermione and Harry sidled into the house and pulled off the Cloak. Hermione suddenly felt naked and exposed although she knew that her disguise was still intact. The woman unwound a moth-eaten black shawl, revealing a head of scant white hair through which the scalp showed clearly. Her skin that stretched across her face was almost as transparent as glass, exposing all of her veins, liver spots, and other blemishes. Her eyes were completely hidden these folds of spotted skin. Hermione studied the witch, trying to ascertain just how old she really was. Witches and wizards had longer life-expectancies than Muggles, but Bathilda had to be ages older than all the other magical persons Hermione had ever met. Witches and wizards also seemed to age a bit more gracefully than Muggles, but Bathilda appeared as though a violent sneeze would have knocked her over. She had to be ill and as much as Hermione hated to admit it, mentally unstable as well.

After Bathilda had pushed past her as though she was an insignificant lump that was merely taking up space, Hermione breathed, "Harry, I'm not sure about this." Bathilda was just not normal and for Hermione Granger, who had met Luna Lovegood and Sibyl Trelawney, to say that, that was really saying something.

"Look at the size of her; I think we could overpower her if we had to," said Harry. His eyes never left the sitting room their hostess had just disappeared into. He was shaking ever so slightly from anticipation. "Listen, I should have told you, I knew she wasn't all there. Muriel called her 'gaga.'"

Hermione opened her mouth to inform him that there were different degrees of 'gaga,' including psychotic and dangerous 'gaga,' but before she could, Bathilda's voice rang out with surprising intensity. "Come!"

Startled, Hermione jumped and clutched Harry's arm. "It's okay," said Harry reassuringly, and he ld the way into the sitting room.

The room was absolutely filthy; her mother would have had a fit to see a room in such disrepair. The dust had actually coated the carpet in a thick, crunchy layer as well as invaded every available surface in the room. Mildew, spoiled meat, and the overwhelming amounts of dust tickled Hermione's nose so she had to stifle a sneeze. She kept her hand over her nostrils to protect them from the stench. Her mum had volunteered for an organization that brought foods and goods for the elderly and Hermione couldn't help wishing that such a charity would look out for Bathilda. It was clear that her brains were so addled that she couldn't take care of herself anymore. She probably didn't have any family to look out for her either; she was all alone. Hermione hugged her arms to her chest in sympathy. She understood the pangs of loneliness all too well.

Harry was helping Bathilda light the candles around the room as she was clearly too sick to remember how to use magic. Bathilda shuffled over to the fireplace to toss some logs onto the fire. She looked around for the matches she had forgotten she gave to Harry so Hermione quickly came forward to kneel next to her. "May I?" she offered.

Bathilda immediately backed away from her to stand in the center of the room. She didn't say a word, but Hermione could feel her milky eyes watching her every move, making her so nervous that she actually messed up the spell at first. She was starting to understand just how ill Bathilda really was, but that didn't change the fact that the woman was making all the little hairs stand up on the base of Hermione's neck.

"Mrs.--Miss--Bagshot?" Harry suddenly asked, his voice shaking slightly. He was still at the bow-fronted chest of drawers where the last set of candles he had lit were. "Who is this?"

There was no answer; Bathilda was still too busy staring at Hermione to respond. Hermione quickly tried again and her famous blue flames burst to life in the fireplace so she was free to get to her feet to see what Harry was going on about. He actually looked a bit unhinged himself. "Miss Bagshot?" Bathilda finally turned towards him and Harry pushed the picture forward. "Who is this person?"

She peered at it solemnly, then up at Harry.

"Do you know who this is?" he repeated in a much slower and louder voice than usual. "This man? Do you know him? What's he called?" Bathilda merely looked vague and Harry sighed with frustration and maybe it was a trick of the firelight, but Hermione swore that for the slightest second his eyes gleamed red. "Who is this man?" he repeated loudly.

"Harry, what are you doing?" asked Hermione, starting to get more than a little nervous. Bathilda was creepy enough; she couldn't take Harry losing his marbles right now.

"This picture, Hermione, it's the thief, the thief who stole from Gregorovitch! Please! Who is this?" Harry said excitedly, holding the picture almost right under Bathilda's nose so she couldn't miss it.

Bathilda showed no intention of answering, or even understanding the question, so Hermione raised her voice to the loud, clear tone that she used whenever speaking to her half-deaf great-uncle. "Why did you ask us to come with you, Mrs.--Miss--Bagshot? Was there something you wanted to tell us?"

Giving no sign that she had heard Hermione, Bathilda now shuffled a few steps closer to Harry. She was practically standing on Harry's toes and Hermione could see that they were both visibly shaking. With a little jerk of her head, she looked back into the hall. "You want us to leave?" Harry suggested. Bathilda repeated the gesture, this time pointing firstly at him, then at herself, then at the ceiling. "Oh right...Hermione, I think she wants me to go upstairs with her."

Hermione stuck her wand back into her coat pocket. Now it seemed that they were getting somewhere. The sooner they could get the sword and get out of here before the Polyjuice Potion wore off or Bathilda completely lost her mind, the better. "All right. Let's go."

But when Hermione moved, Bathilda shook her head with surprising vigor, once more pointing to Harry, then to herself, making it clear that Hermione wasn't supposed to come along. "She wants me to go with her alone," Harry informed her needlessly.

"Why?" asked Hermione, her voice rang out sharp and clear in the candlelit room; the old lady shook her head a little at the loud noise. She surreptitiously removed her wand again from her pocket. She really wasn't sure it was a good idea to split up, even if they were with a friend, and she was willing to duel to prove her point if necessary.

Harry shrugged, for once oblivious to the potential dangers. "Maybe Dumbledore told her to give the sword to me, and only to me?"

She bit her lip, unsure if they should go on, but knowing that they absolutely had to. If there was a chance they could find a way to destroy that locket, they absolutely had to do it. "Do you really think she knows who you are?"

"Yes," said Harry, looking down into the milky eyes fixed upon his own, "I think she does."

"Well, okay then," Hermione conceded, "but be quick, Harry."

"Lead the way," Harry told Bathilda. Hermione turned her head away as another sneeze threatened to explode out of her, hugging herself to keep it inside of her, but that was when her eyes found the bookcase. Hermione crossed over to the shelf as soon as she was certain Bathilda was safely out of sight so she could quickly examine the titles, unsure precisely what she was looking for, but she had a feeling she would know it when she found it.

A few seconds later, she found it. The volume actually wasn't on the dingy bookshelf, but sitting on top of a nearby end table: a pristine, unopened book that proudly proclaimed The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. A sheet of parchment was sticking out of the top of it. Hermione opened the small note and crinkled her nose as she recognized Rita Skeeter's spiky handwriting and traditional acid-green ink: Dear Batty, Thanks for your help. Here's a copy of the book, hope you like it. You said everything, even if you don't remember it. Rita.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Typical. She flipped through the stiff pages; clearly the book had never been opened. Bathilda probably didn't even know it was here. Without any reproach, Hermione pulled out the beaded bag so she could drop the book inside. They would read it when they got back to the tent.

Feeling she should do something to help tidy up, she followed her nose to the kitchen. The floor in here was just as thick and filthy with dust. The stench of foul food was overpowering. Hermione found a rickety refrigerator and opened it, nearly gagging as she saw the meat, cheese, fruit, and vegetables, all covered with furry green, blue, and black mold. With a fast wave of her wand, all of the food was sent to the nearest trash bin. Another flick of her wrist tied the trash bag into a tight knot and Banished it out into the back yard. Hermione didn't remove her hand from her nose until she had performed some air-freshening charms. It was the least she could do for her. Bathilda clearly hadn't been in here for ages.

Struck by that thought, Hermione knelt down to examine the coating of dust on the floor. Hers were the only footprints in the room. Bathilda hadn't been in her kitchen for ages which meant that she hadn't eaten in ages. But that was impossible...

Hermione quickly returned to the sitting room to search for any signs of life, but could find none other than the tracks she, Harry, and Bathilda had just left. This entire house was filthy and decaying, but not because an old woman didn't know how to take care of herself. If that was the case, there would have been plates with half-eaten dinners lying around, stacks of opened books on the floor, or discarded clothing and blankets lying in heaps around the space. This house was dying because no one was living in here. No one had been in these rooms in months, maybe years, and so the house had fallen into disrepair. Bathilda didn't live here anymore.

Hermione stood in the center of the room with her heart pounding and mind whirling. Another thought suddenly came to her: if Bathilda couldn't even remember how to light a candle with magic, how on earth was she able to see under an Invisibility Cloak as foolproof as Harry's. Only Dumbledore had been able to do that. Who was this woman?

CRASH.

Although she was expecting it, Hermione still jumped out her skin. Her hand immediately fell to her wand. "Harry?"

There was no answer. Hermione could only bear to wait three more seconds before hurtling up the stairs, calling for Harry again. If he could answer her, he would have--he'd know by the terse squeak of her voice that she was becoming more frightened by each passing second and he would have stopped whatever conversation he was having with Bathilda to reassure her. The sound had come from the far right, so Hermione instinctively turned in that direction when she finished mounting the stairs. She could hear some strange slithering sounds from one of the bedrooms so Hermione sprinted into the low-rise bedroom and screeched to a halt as she saw what was happening within.

Harry, her best friend, currently her only friend in the world, had collapsed on the floor, white as a ghost, half-conscious, with a gigantic snake coiling herself around his helpless form, crushing the air out of him. With all of her lists of meticulously thought-out plans for any possible mess they could get themselves into, none of them could have prepared her for what to do when a killer snake was seconds away from devouring the famous Harry Potter. But D.A. had trained her well, and Hermione didn't need a plan; she just needed to confidently swish her wand, bellow a curse, and wait.

Enraged, Nagini yowled in pain as the red sparks struck her hide. She loosed her hold on Harry so she could turn her head to confront her attacker. Hermione kept her wand at the ready, but didn't use it just yet. She needed Nagini to move farther away from Harry before she struck again. Hermione took a few taunting steps backwards, daring the beast with a raise of her chin, as she often had done with Ron. Come on, she urged the snake. Wouldn't you rather have a Mudblood instead?

She would. Nagini struck so quickly and violently that Hermione had to dive out of the way while firing the next spell; it missed and hit the curtained window, shattering the glass. The snake's body was all around her, threatening to ensnare her at any moment, hissing and snapping. Hermione ducked behind the bed to evade the coils, wincing as her tail whacked into her shoulder, but still valiantly waiting until she had spotted Nagini's glittering eyes so her curse could pack the greatest impact.

There was a loud bang as the red light lit up the entire room, blasting the snake straight back into Harry's face. Hermione flinched as he stumbled but kept his balance, wand raising towards the airborne snake. He started to utter a spell, but he abruptly keeled over, his entire body crumbling in agony. His palm flew to his scar.

"He's coming! Hermione, he's coming!"

There was no need for him to elaborate. Hermione bit down a squeal at the thought of seeing Voldemort again, but there was no time to panic. Nagini had returned to earth and landed belly-up on the floor so she was thrashing wildly in an attempt to flip back over and devour her victims. Wood, glass, and stone were hurling all across the room so it was impossible to see anything. Hermione's arms flew up to protect her face, but Harry was suddenly beside her, seizing her arm and causing the most horrendous pain to fire up her arm. Hermione couldn't help letting out a cry as she tried to discern what was wrong with her arm, but there was no time. She had to struggle to keep up with Harry leaping over the bed and then contend with the fact that the snake was back, more irate than ever, spitting in outrage as she struck again.

"Confringo!" Hermione shouted. Like the snake, the Blasting Curse was everywhere, ricocheting off every possible surface of the room so once again, shards of glass, wood, and stone filled the space and blocking Nagini's path to them. Harry took advantage of the moment as he dragged Hermione towards the window she had blasted open. Hermione's eyes popped out of her head. Harry, no--

They were in the air, hurtling towards the ground. At any moment, they would smash into the dirt and die. Hermione couldn't help screaming again as her vertigo nearly got the best of her, but Harry's terrified hand on her arm reminded her that she had another life to save. She closed her eyes and forced herself back to Apparition class so she could expertly twist herself around in the night sky and disappear, barely realizing that another scream was echoing along with hers.

Hermione let out a gasp of relief as her feet slammed into the dirt. One quick glance around told her that they were safely back in the forest they had left this morning. But one quick glance was all she could take; Harry's hand was still tightly on her so when he pitched forward into the dirt, she did too. "Harry?" she demanded, spitting out the grime and snow she had unintentionally swallowed. She had to pry his tight fingers off of her arm so she could take a look at him. "Harry, are you all right?"

Harry wasn't moving again. Hermione scrambled back to her knees so she could flip him over onto his back. His face was still chalk-white and dripping in sweat. He was hardly breathing. "Harry!" Hermione shouted, slapping his cheeks lightly in hopes of rousing him. Harry just moaned and twitched away from her, mumbling something about finding it. She pressed a hand against his forehead and had to wrench it away as his burning fever scalded her skin. He was really sick.

Hot panic flooded all of Hermione's senses, but she didn't lose all of her wits just yet. Remembering herself, she leapt to her feet so she could perform the necessary protection spells to avoid detection. She had never cast so many spells so quickly. She next scrambled for her bag to wrench out the tent and erect it with another flash of her wand. The door flapped open invitingly, ready to welcome them home. Hermione bent down to slide her hands under Harry's shoulders in hopes of heaving him to his feet. "Harry? Harry, can you hear me? Can you stand? We have to get inside--Harry?"

He wasn't going anywhere. He was actually starting to convulse, as though he was having a seizure of some sort. Hermione abandon her attempts to move him manually and cast a Hover charm to levitate Harry carefully to the lowest bunk, snatching up Harry's fallen wand as she led him inside the tent. Harry dropped gratefully onto the mattress and immediately commenced his spasms, his mutterings growing more and more feverish. Hermione fell to her knees next to him to try to determine just what was wrong. His upper arm was coated with blood so Hermione dove for her beaded purse again to fish out a washcloth, a sponge, the Essence of Dittany, and a bezoar. She wiped the wound clean, disinfected it with a quick charm, and dropped the dittany onto his bicep. She had to hold his arm firmly down so the medicine wouldn't slip off as he convulsed. After the dittany had healed the wound, Hermione wiped the sweat and tears off of her face and forced his mouth open so he could swallow the bezoar. She held Harry's mouth shut, and while waiting for him to involuntarily swallow, for the first time in a long time, she thanked Ron. She might have not thought of bringing a healthy supply of bezoars if he hadn't nearly died last March.

The wound was healed and the venom would soon be cleansed from his system, and yet, Harry still showed no signs of calming down any time soon. He continued to babble wildly under his breath and convulse for several more minutes, Hermione all the while trying to quiet him with every possible spell she could think of while using the damp sponge to mop his face. It wasn't until one of his hands flopped desperately towards his chest that Hermione finally knew just what was happening. Cursing herself for not thinking of this before, she rammed her hand underneath his shirt to free him from the Horcrux.

It was as though she had grabbed a live electric wire. Hermione fell backwards away from the bed, her arm tingling, heart pounding, and eyes widening with horror. This could not be happening. Determinedly, Hermione pushed herself back to her knees to try yet again to pry the necklace off of him. But the Horcrux wouldn't budge; it seemed to have welded itself directly to Harry's skin so it could eagerly suck the life out of him. Finally, Hermione gave up and cast a Severing charm, cutting the chain in two. She seized one end of the now loose chain and yanked as hard as she possibly could. There was a sickening squelching sound as the Horcrux was unhappily wrenched from Harry's skin. Harry yelped in agony before collapsing into the mattress, completely silent and still. With a cry of her own, Hermione flung the locket away from her and shook her sizzling hand to dissipate the current that was still running through her blood. Really powerful magic had to lie within that locket. Hermione couldn't wait for them to be rid of it.

Leaving it on the floor for the time being, Hermione returned to her post to examine Harry's chest. As she had feared, a scarlet oval was burned into Harry's chest, branding him forever as a bearer of the Horcrux. She tried spreading some dittany onto it, but the mark didn't fade in the slightest. Harry had yet another scar. Hermione momentarily pressed her face against her shaking hand. Why did everything have to happen to him?

She waited a few more minutes to ensure that Harry wasn't about to go into another fit before getting to her feet so she could place the locket safely inside her bag. Harry would murder her if he woke up to find the Horcrux lying out in the open. As she closed the purse, her eyes went to the other item she had flung to the floor in her haste to get Harry safely to bed. Harry's wand lay pathetically on the ground, hanging on by only a thin strand of phoenix feather, the wood splintered completely apart. Her heart stopped completely. "No," she breathed. She snatched up the wand and stupidly tried to repair the damage with her bare hands. It must have happened when they jumped out the window, right after she had cast that Blasting Charm that went everywhere, destroying every object in its path--

"No, no, no, no, no, NO!" she moaned. She clapped a hand over her mouth and sat down hard on the floor, trembling in earnest. There was no way she could repair this; she had researched wand repair after Ron had snapped his in second-year and learned that when the wood was splintered to such a severe degree, there was no hope of saving it. You had to get a new one. And unless there was a wand-maker lurking around the forest, Hermione didn't think they would be able to get to one any time soon. Harry's wand had been his one weapon against Voldemort and now that was gone. She may have just killed Harry's chance to win the war.

"I'm not him," Harry muttered his first coherent statement. Hermione hastily pushed her grief aside--losing a wand was rather like losing a best friend--and scrambled back to Harry's side, calling his name in hopes that he would soon rouse himself. But Harry only continued to groan. His face was so white that he could have passed for Nearly-Headless Nick's nephew. His skin was dripping with sweat again, so Hermione retrieved the sponge to continue mopping his face. He flinched as the cold material touched his skin and he jerked up, opening his eyes and seizing her wrist. Hermione froze, eyes wide, as she stared into the oh-so-familiar green eyes that she had grown up with. The color and the shape were the same, but the resemblance ended there. These weren't Harry's eyes. This was a stranger. "It's too easy," he informed her gleefully. "It's all too easy."

"What is?" Hermione asked faintly. Harry released her wrist as if she had thrown hot potion on him and started to shudder again as if trying to shake something out of him. "Harry?"

His eyes opened wide, wider than Hermione thought was humanly possible and he tilted his head and chest backwards so he could scream at the heavens, "I am NOT him!"

Hermione grabbed his shoulders to try to force him back into the bed, but Harry only turned on her, seizing her arms so she once again let out a cry of pain as her arm burned with fire. Momentary sympathy and regret flashed across Harry's face. "I'm not him," he repeated pleadingly, almost as though the statement was now a question he desperately needed the answer to.

She released the sponge so she could soothingly push his soaked hair off of his forehead and press her palm against his still burning scar. Harry's eyes closed in ultimate relief. "Of course you're not," Hermione told him shakily. "You're Harry Potter. And you always will be."

Harry went limp and collapsed back down to the bed. He was soaked through and through so Hermione took advantage of the stillness to rip the wet blanket off of him and Summoned another one towards her. However, the activity around him kicked Harry out of his momentary unconsciousness. He flung off the heavy covering and rasped for oxygen, more beads of sweat popping up on his face, neck, and chest. "I'm Harry--I'm not--I am--he's me--it's me--I'm it--but I'm not." His hands flailed wildly in hopes of grabbing something to aid his plight. "Help--please--"

"I'm trying!" Hermione shouted uselessly at him, starting to get more than a little hysterical. Harry was acting as though he was possessed. "Harry, I don't know what to do!"

"I'm NOT!" Harry shrieked, his back arching almost beyond the normal capabilities of human beings in a desperate attempt to fling out whatever was attacking him. He tumbled to the side and Hermione had to jump up onto the mattress to catch him before he fell to the floor. Harry quieted for a moment after Hermione touched him, but only for a moment. He soon started to moan again as tears leaked out from the corners of his eyes. "Please--please--"

The sight of Harry crying was too much for Hermione to bear. She turned her head away from Harry and pressed the back of her hand against her eyes, trembling violently. Ron, please come back, she begged uselessly. If Ron was here, one of them could stay with Harry while the other went for help. This was too much for her to handle alone. She had been studying Healing, but no amount of training could have prepared her for this. Ron wouldn't have known what to do either, but at least someone would be by her side, struggling right along with her. She wouldn't have felt as alone as she did right now.

Damn you, Ron Weasley, Hermione cursed tearfully at him for the millionth time. Why did he have to leave her?

Harry was now laughing, a deep, maniacal laugh that chilled Hermione to her very core. She knew this laugh although she had never heard it before; Ron had described it to her after he had followed Harry to his dormitory after a particularly grueling Occlumency lesson with Snape. Harry had collapsed in their bedroom and started laughing exactly like this. They had discovered the next morning that Voldemort had been elated to break his faithful followers out of Azkaban; Hermione could only pray that this wasn't a similar occasion and Harry was just sick and not channeling Voldemort again.

Ron's anxious face, etched with fear, flashed in her mind, as the two of them stood in an empty classroom. Ron was shaking his head, recalling the unsettling scene for Hermione: "He was laughing like mad; I had to hit him to get him to stop."

Ron didn't always have the best of ideas, but it was at least worth a shot. And after all, she was running out of options. "Harry, I'm really sorry about this," Hermione apologized before reaching her hand back as far as it could go and slapping Harry as soundly as she had once smacked Draco Malfoy.

The act of violence however only seemed to further enrage Harry. He wheeled on her, almost foaming at the mouth in indignation. "Stand aside, you silly girl!"

"No!" Hermione yelled distractedly at him as she tried to force him back into a prone position. "I'm not leaving you!"

"Stand aside, now!"

"I'm not even standing!"

"This is my last warning!"

"And this is mine!" Hermione returned desperately. She gave him three more seconds before trying Ron's strategy again. Harry however deftly caught her wrist and shoved her as hard as he could so she flew off the bed and bounced off of the floor. He watched her grip her now aching wrist, a combination of pride and horror mixed across his face. "Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" he ordered again, even though she was clearly out of the way so he could do as he pleased. He really had no idea what he was saying.

"That's not you!" Hermione reminded him frantically, knowing that this couldn't be Harry talking. "You are Harry Potter! Remember? Harry Potter!"

Harry froze. "Harry?"

"Harry Potter," Hermione repeated clearly again. Harry absorbed the warm sound of his own name, allowing himself to bask in it as his eyes rolled back inside of his head and he fell almost in slow-motion back into the pillows. He barely had time to murmur Ginny's name before slipping back into unconsciousness again. Hermione stood up, poised the spring forward in case he started up again, but when it became apparent that she had some time, she twisted her arm in front of her to find the deep gash that was giving her so much trouble. Bits of glass were still embedded within the wound. After double-checking that Harry's fit had passed for the moment, Hermione cleaned the cut and poured some dittany on it. She kept her arm parallel to the floor so it could heal more quickly and caught her breath, bracing herself for the next imminent fit to consume her best friend.

Sure enough, for the next several hours, Harry would slip in and out of these fits. He would lay pale and silent for long stretches of time, hardly breathing, and then it would start. First he would start muttering under his breath while his head would twitch from side to side, his scar visibly prickling. Then, his whole body would begin to shake, the tremors growing more and more violent until he would finally wrench himself upright, open his eyes and start screaming spells or obscenities or cry out for someone to help or to remind the world that he was not Voldemort. Hermione would stay right beside him, talking to him whenever she could, hoping that he somehow understood her while taking care to wipe his face with the sponge and change his blankets and sheets whenever possible, all the while wishing and hoping that somehow Ron could come to the rescue as he had a thousand times before. It was quite possibly the most terrifying night Hermione had ever passed.

But as dawn began to break, something changed. After a particularly violent fit, Hermione had managed to restrain Harry by mentioning Ginny's name. As she had hoped, Harry had quieted almost immediately and drifted back into unconsciousness, but this time his face was different. Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on it. She set aside her sponge so she could check his temperature again and almost cried with relief. His fever had finally broken. It was only a matter of time now.

As she hoped, the next time Harry began to stir, it was different. It was much easier to contain Harry's flailing and he seemed to only be Harry. He was a very distraught Harry, but he was her Harry nevertheless. Sponging his face, Hermione continued to tell Harry that he was all right and beg for him to wake up until he finally opened his eyes with gasp.

Hermione nearly fainted with relief. There had been a few moments during this night that she never thought she'd see his eyes again. "Harry? Do you feel all--all right?"

It was a stupid question; obviously Harry felt horrible. But, as always, Harry nobly lied. "Yes." He sat up and gazed around the tent as though he could hardly believe that they were really there. "We got away."

"Yes," said Hermione. "I had to use a Hover Charm to get you into your bunk, I couldn't lift you. You've been..." It was almost as though she could see Ron shake her head at her, warning her not to tell Harry just how ill he had really been. It would only make him feel worse. "Well, you haven't been quite...you've been ill," she finally settled. "Quite ill."

"How long ago did we leave?"

"Hours ago. It's nearly morning," Hermione relayed, trying to keep dabbing his face. He was still sweating profusely. Harry evaded the sponge and struggled to keep himself upright. He was already beginning to tire.

"And I've been...what, unconscious?" he asked warily, sensing just how weak he was.

"Not exactly," said Hermione uncomfortably. The last thing Harry needed to hear was how he had been alternatively crying and channeling Voldemort. "You've been shouting and moaning and...things." Harry looked as uncomfortable as she did so she quickly changed the subject. "I couldn't get the Horcrux off you. It was stuck, stuck to your chest. You've got a mark; I'm sorry, I had to use a Severing Charm to get it away. The snake bit you too, but I've cleaned the wound and put some dittany on it..."

Harry pulled his sweaty T-shirt so he could examine his new scars. "Where've you put the Horcrux?"

"In my bag. I think we should keep it off for a while," Hermione replied. She actually was ready to convince Harry that they needed to stop wearing the Horcrux once and for all, but this wasn't the right moment. She'd have to wait until Harry recovered before bringing that up.

Harry lay back on his pillows and looked at her for a long moment. She had never seen him look so exhausted and guilt-stricken. "We shouldn't have gone to Godric's Hollow. It's my fault, it's all my fault, Hermione, I'm sorry."

Hermione wished she could hug him, but she reckoned that he wasn't quite strong enough yet so she settled for patting him reassuringly on the arm. "It's not your fault. I wanted to go too; I really thought Dumbledore might have left the sword there for you."

"Yeah, well...we got that wrong, didn't we?"

You can say that again, Hermione thought, biting her lip as she thought about Harry's ruined wand lying near her feet. She had made so many mistakes tonight and that was probably the worst of them all. Harry had been through so much; she couldn't bear putting him through the loss of a wand. To put off the dreaded conversation a bit longer, she asked Harry what had happened which admittedly was enough to consume and nauseate her for a short while. She couldn't believe that Nagini had been Bathilda--that Voldemort could actually do that--Hermione shuddered, suddenly very, very cold. They really were facing by the Darkest magic there was.

But as Harry determinedly threw back the sweat-soaked blankets so he could take the watch, Hermione knew that this was it. It didn't help that he was being so considerate and only insisting on getting up so she could get some rest. Why did she have to have such wonderful best friends when she went and ruined their lives?

"Where's my wand?"

Harry had asked her three times now; she couldn't avoid this any longer. She reached down beside the bed and held the nearly severed wand out to him. Harry took the wand in his hands as gently as he would have cradled a baby, his face devoid of hope and reason. Hermione blinked back even more tears. This was even worse than Harry yelling or crying or reacting in any volatile way. Seeing Harry so lost had to be the worst thing possible.

"Mend it. Please."

"Harry, I don't think, when it's broken like this--"

"Please, Hermione, try!"

She couldn't deny him of anything. Shakily, Hermione retrieved her wand so she could point it at the broken one. "R-Reparo."

As expected, the wand snapped back into place, but when Harry attempted to use it, the spells hardly worked and the wand split back open once again. Magic was just too much for it. Harry stared at it, aghast, unable to take in what he was seeing. Hermione was dangerously close to blubbering; losing a wand was really like losing a beloved pet or even a child. Your wand bound you to the magical world, a world that she and Harry had only recently discovered and now couldn't seem to live without. Being denied of your wand was almost like being shut out of the wizarding world itself. She tried to explain what had happened, but Harry cut her off with a numb shake of his head.

"It was an accident," said Harry mechanically. "We'll--we'll find a way to repair it."

The dam broke; tears trickled down Hermione's face with no hope of ever stopping. "Harry, I don't think we're going to be able to," she said. "Remember...remember Ron?"

Harry looked over at her as if to say 'how could I ever forget Ron'. Hermione gulped before continuing, her chest throbbing; she hadn't realized how much it would burn just to say his name. "When he broke his wand, crashing the car? It was never the same again, he had to get a new one."

Harry continued to gape at his ruined wand. A month ago, they had been three best friends with three perfect wands, and now they were down to two barely surviving friends with only one wand between them. If they were attacked now, they'd be slaughtered in thirty seconds. "Well," Harry said in a falsely matter-of-fact voice, "well, I'll just borrow yours for now, then. While I keep watch."

Her face glazed with tears, Hermione handed over her wand and Harry left the tent so he could get as far away from her as humanly possible. Hermione instantly collapsed onto the floor, crying so hard that she forgot how to breathe and missing Ron so much that she forgot what it felt like not to hurt.

It was the worst Christmas in the history of existence.