Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Alone But Not Alone
Author's Note: Okay, I just realized, Hermione and Harry didn't leave until the next morning, and Ron could have been near them, though they were invisible. So Ron is just going to apparate to Shell Cottage without realizing they may still be near. I know it could go against canon, but this part is rather confusing at times. I've figured Ron spent anywhere between four and six weeks from Harry and Hermione. The descriptions have many days passing before Harry and Hermione go to Godric's Hollow and all of it takes place in one chapter in the book. So not this chapter, but next chapter I'll skip quite a few days, but add a little bit of stuff.
Against the glow of the moonlight, the river was a beautiful reflection of glistening light. Ron sat on the riverbank, listening to the water rushing down the river. Ron felt jealous for the river. It never worried about stupid things like quarrels. It's biggest worry would be that it could dry up during the hottest summers. It just ran smoothly with very few rapids, as fish playfully jumped at insects before returning their journey downstream. Ron wished he could be just as careless as the river.
But he wasn't. Everything seemed hopeless at the moment. What exactly was he going to do? What could he do?
It seemed like fate had it out for him. He had made a small mistake, and it was coming back to bite him. No... not a small mistake. A large one. He had left his two best friends in the world. What was over six years of friendship had possibly ended in the span of fifteen minutes.
And Ron knew it was his fault. He wished that night had never existed. He wished it was all one ugly dream. He wished that Dean Thomas, and those other men and goblins had never shown up near the tent. He wished he was still oblivious to the possible dangers Ginny was going through at Hogwarts.
As he sat there, Ron realized that his worries about Ginny were probably all for naught. If her punishment was a journey into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid, she surely would have been fine. He had overreacted because of his own history with the Forbidden Forest. And it was stupid to even think about it.
And now he was paying for it.
He looked around the forest, wondering where he could go. He didn't know where Hermione and Harry were. He could search for days and probably find no trace. They would never leave trace behind. Even if there was magic in the area where they had been, Ron couldn't sense it. He was not as wise as Dumbledore, who could find magic in even the tiniest morsel.
Ron weighed his options. He figured it was late November, though he wasn't exactly sure, given that he hadn't picked up a newspaper in so long.
Could he go back to the Burrow? To his parents? What would they say? They would be happy he returned, but they would also be furious that he had left Hermione and Harry behind. No, he couldn't go to the Burrow at the moment.
Ron's eyes sparkled as an idea came to him. It wasn't a surprise he hadn't thought of this before. He had only been to the location once in his life. A few weeks before Bill and Fleur's wedding, Bill had announced that he had a bought a small cottage for him and Fleur. Ron and the rest of the family had visited it once.
Ron sighed as he looked at the river. Could he go to Shell Cottage? Would he be welcome there. Would Bill be mad that he had left Harry and Hermione? Ron decided it was the best idea. He had no idea where else to go, and there was always a chance if he didn't go somewhere safe, he'd run into those men again.
He stood up and closed his eyes, envisioning Shell Cottage. He inhaled, taking deep breaths, and Apparated to Shell Cottage. With a sharp CRACK he landed a few yards from the cottage. He exhaled and breathed in, tasting the salty air and mist that blew in from the nearby sea. He walked toward the cottage, when suddenly, there was another loud crack. Ron thought it was someone else Apparating, but it turned out to be the front door of the cottage opening and closing loudly.
“Who's there?!” a voice called out.
Ron saw a tall shadow, glowing against a small orb of light.
“State your name!” the shadow said, and Ron recognized it as his eldest brother, Bill.
“It is I,” Ron said, remembering Lupin's introduction back at Grimmauld Place, “Ronald Billius Weasley, your youngest brother, born March 1st, 1980. I once witnessed you and our brother Charlie dueling with picnic tables at our home, known as the Burrow.”
“Ron?!” Bill said, rushing ahead toward him.
Bill's face lit up by the glow of his wand.
“What in bloody blazes are you doing here?!” Bill asked, “Where's Harry and Hermione?”
Ron sighed. “I don't know,” he said, “I --”
“No,” Bill said, “Not out here. Come inside and explain. Be quiet, though. Fleur's asleep. I can't believe you're here. Months without news.”
Ron sighed and followed behind Bill. Bill was muttering to himself, as he led Ron to the cottage. When they were safely inside, Bill locked numerous locks all along the door. Ron heard clicks and latches as the locks went into place.
“Come on,” Bill said.
He lead Ron into the kitchen and lit a few candles. Bill looked at Ron.
“What happened to you?” Bill asked, “You have quite the shiner, little brother. And what happened to your fingers? Splinched, in my opinion.”
Ron's eyes went wide, and he felt the bruise along the right side of his face. Before now, he hadn't felt the bruised that had been the result of getting punched by one of the men who had tried to capture him.
“Just fingernails,” he said, “And I can explain.”
“Oh, you will definitely explain,” Bill said.
He went over to his refridgerator and took out two bottles of butterbeer. He also took out a bottle of firewhiskey and Ron's eyes went wide.
“You'll need this,” Bill said, noticing Ron's reaction, “Sit down.”
Ron did as asked.
“Accio medical supplies!” Bill said, pointing his wand in the air.
A couple moments later, a large box zoomed onto the table. Bill opened it up and took out numerous things, including a couple potions and other things. He turned behind him, opened a drawer, then closed it and turned back around. He was holding a wooden spoon.
“What in the bloody hell is that for?!” Ron asked, a little loudly.
“Shh!” Bill hushed him, “You'll wake Fleur up. Believe me. You don't want to do that in the middle of the night.”
He handed the wooden spoon to Ron, who took it.
“You'll need it, believe me,” he said, “Now give me your right arm.”
Ron did so, and Bill raised up the sleeve of Ron's arm. Ron hissed: his last injury was still stung from time to time.
“You've been splinched before, I see,” Bill said, looking at Ron's arm.
“So you'll know what this will feel like,” Bill said.
“Not really,” Ron said, “I was unconscious last time.”
Bill sighed. “Put the stick of the spoon between your teeth.”
Ron wanted to ask why, but he decided against it. He did as was asked. Bill picked up one of the potions and held out Ron's hand, his two splinched fingernails closest to him.
“Ready?” Bill asked.
“I dun' fink so,” Ron muttered, his voice muffled against the spoon.
“I'll take that as a yes,” Bill said.
He poured a couple drops of potion over Ron's fingernails. Ron moaned. It stung horribly! He cursed behind the spoon.
“Such a toddler,” Bill said, rolling his eyes, as he put down the potion and picked up the bottle of firewhiskey, and opened it, “Here... take this.”
Ron spit out the spoon and took a swig of the firewhiskey. It seared his throat, but he forgot about the pain.
“Those fingernails will take a long time to come back,” Bill said, “But they are safe from infection.”
Before Ron could take too many swigs of the firewhiskey, Bill snatched it away from him.
“I think that is enough,” he said, switching the firewhiskey with the bottle of butterbeer.
Ron sighed and opened the butterbeer. Bill put the potions back in the box and sat down.
“Now, Ron,” he said, “You've barely been in touch since you disappeared on the day of my wedding. Remus said he has been in touch with you, but that was weeks ago. What in the bloody hell have you, Harry and Hermione been up to?”
“I can't tell you what we've been doing,” Ron said, taking a swig of butterbeer, “You know that. And I don't know where Harry and Hermione are. We got in a fight and I ran out. I tried to find them, but they were gone by the time I got back to where we were.”
“What can you tell me?” Bill asked, “How did you get the black eye? Harry didn't punch you, did he? Though I'm sure you might have deserved it.”
“I'm starting to agree with you,” Ron said, “But we didn't fight physically.”
Ron explained to Bill about how he Apparated to Tottenham Court Road and ran into the men who pursued and captured him, then how he got away.
“Snatchers,” Bill said after Ron finished.
“What are Snatchers?” Ron asked.
“Bounty hunters basically,” Bill said, “A mild form of Death Eaters, though without all the 'drama', I guess you could say. It was quick thinking lying to them. You seriously would have been in a lot of trouble if they found out who you were.”
“But they were looking for Muggle-born,” Ron said.
“Muggle-born aren't their only target,” Bill said, “They're looking for Harry, as well as Hermione. Not you though, cause of your ghoul. Anyway, Harry's the most wanted wizard right now. A lot of Galleons are going out for his capture. If they brought you to the Ministry, you would have been interrogated until you told them where Harry was. And I think you know they would have done anything to get that information.”
Ron cringed, and was thankful that he did get away.
“Is everyone looking for Harry?” Ron asked.
“There's a revolt against You-Know-Who still,” Bill said. “Think of it as a very large Order of the Phoenix, though again, without all the drama. Basically, it is those who believe Harry is doing something right. Though they aren't doing much about it themselves. They're scared, of course. But they still support Harry because they believe he can succeed at what he is out to do. ”
“What do they think he's doing?” Ron asked.
“It's generally believed he is trying to kill You-Know-Who,” Bill said, then looked right into Ron's eyes. “It is what he's doing, right?”
Ron sighed, but didn't answer. He decided to change the subject.
“I see you're not saying You-Know-Who's real name,” he said, “I don't mind that at all.”
“It isn't what you think,” Bill said, “There's a Taboo against his name now.”
“A what?!” Ron asked.
“A Taboo,” Bill repeated. “Basically if you say You-Know-Who's actual name, Snatchers or Death Eaters will be transported to your position so they can capture you. Anyone who says his name is usually someone who is brave enough to fight against him.”
Ron gasped. He realized that was exactly what had happened after Bill's wedding when Ron, Hermione and Harry had gone to Tottenham Court Road.
“It's a brilliant idea,” Ron said, I'll give them that.”
“Yes,” Bill said.
Ron sighed and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the calendar. It was only a day before December.
“December,” Ron said, “Wow, has it been that long?”
“You can understand why everyone is worried,” Bill said, “I've gotten numerous letters from Mum, asking if I had heard anything from you.”
“You can't tell her I am here, Bill,” Ron said. “They can't know. If they find out I ran out on Harry and Hermione --”
“I can't forgive myself at the moment,” he said, “I don't even want to think of anyone else's reaction.”
“Relax, little brother,” Bill said, “Don't beat yourself up over it. I'm sure they are fine.”
Ron nodded. “I just wish I knew where they were,” he said.
When Hermione woke up very early the next morning, her pillow was soaked and stained from her tears. She hadn't cried that much in a long time, though it was for a good reason. Ron was gone. He could have been miles from them.
What if he was in danger? What if something had happened to him? He must have apparated again. What if he had splinched himself? She couldn't think about it.
She stood up from her bed and looked at the other bunk. Harry was asleep on the top bunk, but the bottom bed, Ron's bed, was empty. She sniffled softly, and for one mad moment, she wanted to go over there and cuddle against the bed. To feel for any possible sign of Ron.
She heard a noise that sounded like a rustling of leaves. She gasped and ran toward the opening of the tent.
“Ron?” she called out, looking around for the noise.
She found the location of the noise: two squirrels were chasing each other through a pile of leaves on the ground. Hermione rolled her eyes, and two large tears rolled down her cheeks.
Ron wasn't there. He had ran out so fast after the fight. She had ran off after him, and called for him, but he didn't come back. A jolt of pain went to her stomach as she thought of Ron's last words. She could hear them clearly in her mind:
“I get it. You choose him.”
Ron's voice echoed around in her head. It jolted against her skull, and another jolt went through her stomach. She felt sick and raced over to the kitchen sink. She didn't retch, though she felt like she needed to. She collapsed to the floor, leaning against the cupboard.
"You choose him."
Large tears rolled down Hermione's cheeks as she thought about it. Did Ron really think she was in love with Harry? It was true: their friendship was very close, but it was platonic. Harry was like a brother to her. She could never fall in love with him like that. Her feelings were for another. And now it seemed like she would never see him again.
Hermione heard Harry rustling in his bunk as he woke. She quickly stood up and turned to the sink, acting as if she was working on something. She wiped away the tears from her eyes, though it was useless. She knew he could easily see she had been crying. She opened up the small fridge where a couple fish were laying, magically preserved. Harry must have caught these the previous evening after she had gone to bed. She sighed. It looked like they were having fish for breakfast.
She noisily worked on breakfast, so she wouldn't have to talk to Harry. She knew he probably wanted to say something, but he kept silent.
As they ate breakfast, it started raining again. Hermione almost laughed at this. It seemed the skies were mocking her. After breakfast, it was silently decided that they would have to go somewhere else. They couldn't stay here anymore. But Hermione wanted to stay as long as she could. She knew there was a chance Ron might come back. But for the next couple of hours, as she delayed packing things up, doing it slowly, looking through the now pouring rain, she still looked for him.
She hardly noticed the river rising slowly with the rain, but it was enough that she finally realized they needed to go somewhere else. So when she packed everything in her bag for the third time, though the first time was as good as the last two, Hermione took Harry's hand and they disapparated onto a large windswept hillside. Immediately, she let go of Harry's hand and walked away from him. She found a large rock and sat down on it.
Her stomach hurt again, and she knew it wasn't from her breakfast of fish. Ron's last lines to her were playing like a broken record through her mind again. Well aware that Harry was looking at her, she hid her face between her knees. She knew it would be obvious to Harry that she was crying, but she didn't care. It felt good. With everything that had been going on over the past few months, she needed a good cry.
She looked up at Harry, who was now putting the protection spells around them. She intended on saying that she could help with it, but Harry didn't even give a look of wanting help.
He seemed to be avoiding her, but she was smart enough to know better. He was just leaving her alone to cry.
Ron woke up, more comfortable than he had been in a long time. It was only when he opened it eyes, did he remember where he was, and what had happened in the span of hours. Bill had let Ron sleep in the guest room. It had been decided by Bill, before Ron went off to bed, that Ron could stay as long as he wanted. Ron was all ready to decline, but Bill was ready, and he immediately shushed his youngest brother.
On the chair near the bed were some jeans and a sweater. Ron figured they belonged to Bill, and both he and his brother were relatively the same size, so the clothes fit fairly well. Ron pocketed his wand and went downstairs.
Bill was sitting at the table, and for some strange reason he was fiddling with a radio. Fleur was fixing breakfast. Her hair was fanning out behind her.
“Well, well, well,” Fleur said, in a haughty voice, when she noticed Ron, “And here I was theenkin' Beel was lying when he told me you were here.”
“I wish he was,” Ron said, “I woke up today hoping everything that happened was just a dream.”
“Well, no matter what he said to you,” Fleur said. “We are vairy happy you are here.”
“When did I ever say I wasn't happy?” Bill asked.
“Thank you, Fleur,” Ron said, “And I must say your English is excellent.”
Bill rolled his eyes at Ron.
“Thank you!” Fleur said, “Now sit down. We're having crepes.”
“Brilliant!” Ron said, sitting down across from Bill, “I haven't eaten a good cooked meal in months.”
“Ha!” Bill said, “And I would have thought Hermione was a good cook.”
“She is!” Ron said, “But when all you got is mushrooms and berries to work with --”
“Berries and mushrooms?” Fleur asked, “Just where have you been staying?”
“Fleur!” Bill said, his eyes narrowed, “What did I say?”
Fleur emitted an annoyed sigh and returned to her crepes. Bill looked at Ron apologetically. Ron shrugged, and for the first time noticed the new edition of the Daily Prophet sitting on the table. He pulled it over to him, instantly looking at the date: the first of December.
Ron sighed to himself.
“What's wrong?” Bill asked, looking up from the radio.
“It's the first of December,” Ron said.
“Our five-month anniversary, Bill!” Fleur said.
“Has it already been five months?” Bill asked, looking up.
He paused for a moment.
“Five months,” Bill said, “I remember that day well.”
“Well, of course you should!” Ron said, “It was the day of your wedding!”
“I find it easier to remember what happened at the after-party,” Bill said, “Wouldn't you?”
Ron shrugged. “Harry, Hermione and I Apparated shortly after the Death Eaters arrived,” he said, “We weren't there long to see anything.”
“So that is why we couldn't find you,” Bill said, “I remember Mum yelling for you. But you didn't answer. It was hours later that we realized what happened. Dad sent his Patronus to find you.”
“We got it,” Ron said, recalling the night his father's Patronus came to Grimmauld Place.
“We know,” Bill said, “If a messenger Patronus doesn't come back to its owner, it means the message was sent.”
“I wanted to go back that night,” Ron said. “I wanted to know what had happened. But we didn't go.”
“I think its best you didn't go back that night,” Bill said.
Ron nodded and looked at the headline of the Daily Prophet. He gasped at the heading:
HARRY POTTER REMAINS A FUGITIVE
REWARD FOR LIVE CAPTURE INCREASED
Bill didn't need to look up this time to know what Ron was reacting to.
“It's been that way for a long time,” Bill said, “Harry's name has been part of the headline in the Daily Prophet for a long time now. 'Fugitive'... 'Live Capture'... there's been times when it said 'Capture Dead or Alive'.”
“I wanted to cancel the delivery,” Fleur said, “But Bill wouldn't let me.”
“We have to know about these things, Fleur,” Bill said.
“Well, it's still horrible to read that trash about a friend, Bill,” Fleur said.
“I know,” Bill said.
Ron slid the Daily Prophet away from him as if it had suddenly bitten him. He looked at Bill, who was still fiddling with the radio.
“Since when did you take after Dad?” Ron asked him.
“What?” Bill asked.
“The radio,” Ron said,
“Oh,” Bill said, “Yes. Well, a few days ago, we got a letter from Fred and George. They said we need to keep an ear out for something to go on the radio. They said we have to go through channels, while muttering the word 'Parry Hotter'.”
“Parry Hotter?” Ron asked.
“It's the password,” Bill said, “If we say the password at the right time on the right frequency, it will bring up something special. No clue what it is, but Fred and George said that we'll like it.”
“You're sure it's not just one of their jokes?” Ron asked, scoffing.
“That's what I said!” Fleur said.
“We'll have to wait to find out,” Bill said.
“Doesn't hurt I guess,” Ron said.
“Exactly,” Bill said, “There was one more thing they said.”
“What?” Ron asked.
“They mentioned this would be their only Christmas present from them,” Bill said.
“So maybe it will happen around Christmas," Ron said.
“Exactly,” Bill said again.
Ron grinned, but his eyes passed over the Daily Prophet again. It had been knocked to the other side of the fold. Ron then noticed two, one, bigger than the other, was a large picture of Harry, though he looked a few years younger. The picture was taken during the Triwizard Tournament. The other picture was a picture of Hermione, though Ron had no idea how this picture was obtained. Ron wondered why he wasn't there, then remembered, like Bill had said the night before, that the Ministry must have still been fooled by his ghoul.
He glanced at the pictures of Harry and Hermione, wondering where they were at this very moment. Would he ever see them again?
Chapter finished! I loved this chapter! Other than a small part between Harry and Hermione, the rest was completely original.
Next chapter, we'll get the debut episode of PotterWatch, along with some more of Ron at Shell Cottage, and more of Harry and Hermione.
Hope you liked it. Feedback would be great, as always!
Last edited by Fury; July 21st, 2010 at 12:38 am.
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Author's Note: As I said at the beginning of the previous chapter, this chapter will be skipping many days, though I will try to get some events in. The first part of this chapter will describe some of the days skipped.
As the days passed, Ron felt better than he had in months. There wasn't a day when he didn't worry about Harry and Hermione, but he was happy to be at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur. Shell Cottage was so isolated, that the only visitors were the owls that delivered the Daily Prophet and letters. Ron would spend his days on the beach, relaxing in the cool breeze and mist that the ocean brought.
A couple days after he had arrived at Shell Cottage, Ron had spoken up about trying to find his two best friends, but Bill and Fleur talked him out of it. Bill said it was too dangerous, and he could get caught by the Snatchers again. If he had been caught, it would have probably hurt Hermione and Harry more than help them. Still, every day, he wished he could go back to Harry and Hermione, but he had no idea where they were, and it was going to be impossible to find them.
There were many nights when Ron would have nightmares about Hermione and Harry in danger. There were also one or two of those nightmares that consisted of his fears about Hermione and Harry being closer than just friends. These affected Ron more than anything. He knew Harry still loved Ginny, but they were separated. Harry was technically single now, and Ron knew it was just a matter of time before Harry and Hermione were more than just friends.
Bill and Fleur never spoke up about Harry and Hermione to Ron, but Ron was sure they were talking about it behind his back. He hardly cared though. As long as they didn't pester him about what he, Hermione and Harry had been doing, Ron was perfectly fine around his brother and sister-in-law. A few days after Ron had arrived, Bill had decided to take a long holiday from his job at Gringott's, explaining that it was just too dangerous with everything happening.
With each edition of the Daily Prophet, the headlines about Harry lingered. There were even reports of Harry's capture. Ron was extremely worried that these reports were true, but after a few days of the same thing, Bill was quick to debunk the reports as false, explaining that there would be a lot more news about it then the simple reports they were giving out. Ron soon realized that these false reports were probably just the Ministry's attempts at injuring the bravo of Harry and everyone who supported him.
The first few days after Ron had left were quite miserable for Hermione and Harry. They barely talked to each other, though Hermione had realized that Harry was probably avoiding her, because he was afraid she would run out on him too. There were many times she had thought about exactly this. But she had no idea where she could go if she did. She wanted to look for Ron, but she had no idea where he was. There were times when she thought Ron was probably at the Burrow, but after a while, she started to realize he might have never gone back after all.
After a few days of silence, Hermione remembered that she and Harry were still on a mission: to hunt for the Horcruxes. She had surprised Harry at first with the act of talking to him, but they were soon back to speculating possible locations for the Horcruxes. These attempts didn't go well at all, though. Harry had even voiced at one point that he had felt that Dumbledore never exactly talked about any possible locations.
They were spending many evenings in near silence and Hermione took to bringing out Phineas Nigellus's portrait and propping it up in a chair, as though he might fill part of the gaping hole left by Ron's departure. Despite his previous assertion that he would never visit them again, Phineas Nigellus did not seem able to resist the chance to find out more about what Harry was up to and consented to reappear, blindfolded, every few days of so. Harry was even glad to see him, because he was company, albeit of a snide and taunting kind. They relished any news about what was happening at Hogwarts, though Phineas Nigellus was not an ideal informer. He venerated Snape, the first Slytherin headmaster since he himself had controlled the school, and they had to be careful not to criticize or ask impertinent questions about Snape, or Phineas Nigellus would instantly leave his painting.
However, he did let drop certain snippets. Snape seemed to be facing a constant, low level of mutiny from a hard core of students. Ginny had been banned from going into Hogsmeade. Snape had reinstated Umbridge's old decree forbidding gatherings of three or more students or any unofficial student societies. From all of these things, Harry deduced that Ginny, and probably Neville and Luna along with her, had been doing their best to continue Dumbledore's Army.
There were many times when Phineas Nigellus would slip in leading questions about Harry and Hermione's whereabouts. Hermione shoved him back inside the beaded bag every time he did this, and Phineas Nigellus invariably refused to reappear for several days after these unceremonious good-byes.
Hermione and Harry never stayed in one spot too long. They would spend nights on mountainsides, marshes and even a tiny island in the middle of a Scottish Loch. With each location switch, Hermione felt farther from Ron, and there were many times when this had brought her back to overwhelming tears.
It was a week before Christmas, and three weeks had gone by since Ron had arrived at Shell Cottage. So far, Fred and George's suggestion of something special coming on the radio hadn't happened yet, though Bill had taken to carrying around the portable radio with him where ever he went.
When Ron walked into the kitchen, Pigwidgeon was sitting on the windowsill. He was almost shocked to see him. He hadn't seen the owl in five months. At the sight of Ron, the tiny bird flew over to Ron and started flying around his head, hooting happily.
“He's extremely happy to see you, it seems!” Bill said, laughter filling his voice.
“The feeling's mutual,” Ron muttered, as he tried to avoid Pig's happy pecking, “Why's he here, anyway?”
“Well, Errol's getting old, isn't he?” Bill said, “Mum and Dad still need to send out letters through Owl Post.”
“But I thought the Ministry was checking all Owl Post,” Ron said, recalling reading an article in the Daily Prophet a few days before.
“Oh, they are!” Bill said, rather fiercely, “But I expect Pig's too small and too quick for them.”
“Ha!” Ron said, “Pig, you've finally come to be of some use. Did he send a letter, then?”
“Yep,” Bill said, “Christmas party invitation, but we had to decline.”
“What?” Ron asked, “You didn't have to do that!”
“Oh, don't be silly!” Fleur said, “We couldn't leave you here while we go there to party. No!”
“Look,” Ron said, “Just because I am here --”
“We've made our decision, Ron,” Bill said. “Besides, it is mine and Fleur's first Christmas together as husband and wife. It's a good excuse.”
Ron sighed and decided not to press the matter any further. For the first time in days, he was miserable again. If he had not come to Shell Cottage, Bill and Fleur would have gotten to spend Christmas with the family. He knew they were just there so he wouldn't have to be alone.
After breakfast, Ron had intended to spend the day on the beach, but the weather had other plans. A heavy snow fall had started and had begun to cover the beach and everything in site in white, wet snow. Bill and Fleur had opted to build a snow-wizard, and had invited Ron, but he declined. He just sat on the front porch, watching the happy couple building what looked like a snowy version of Albus Dumbledore.
Seeing how happy they were only made Ron miserable and jealous. He had loved Hermione for so long, and if he had done something about it ages ago, he may have not been in this position at the moment. The snowfall reminded him of the Yule Ball back in his fourth year, and how he had quite the argument with Hermione just because he was jealous of seeing her with Viktor Krum. If he had asked her right then and there, then maybe something great could have happened.
Remembering the Yule Ball made Ron remember Bill and Fleur's wedding when he and Hermione danced for so long. Oh, how he had wanted to admit his feelings there, but he couldn't. Perhaps it was the thought of their mission coming up that had stopped him. Perhaps it was the thought that Hermione would turn him down. What if she didn't feel that way? It would have certainly broken his heart.
No. As much as he wanted to admit to Hermione about his feelings for her, there was just some barrier that was always stopping him. And now he didn't have a clue where she was. What if he never saw Hermione and Harry again? What if, one of these days, an article in the Daily Prophet came up about Harry and Hermione's capture and it happened to be true?
Suddenly, a large snowball hit Ron in the side of the head, breaking him from his thoughts.
“Come on, Ron!” Bill said, “Don't look so mopey! It's great out here!”
Ron sighed rolling his eyes. He pondered for a moment, deciding what to do, when another snowball, larger in size, thrown by Fleur, hit him in the side of the head.
“Oi!” Ron said, laughing.
He stood up quickly, joining in the snowball fight. For the moment, Hermione and Harry were far from his thoughts.
Later that night, Ron was lounging on the couch in the living room, reading one of the wizarding magazines that Bill and Fleur had acquired over the weeks. The smells from the upcoming dinner were wafting all across the house. Bill was sitting on the reclining chair, working on the portable radio once again.
“I'll say this for your wife, Bill,” Ron said, looking up over the magazine at him, "She sure knows how to cook.”
“Oh, you have no idea, little brother,” Bill said, grinning, “You've never had her Bouillabaisse. You're in for a treat.”
Ron nodded and returned to the magazine. It was boring him, so he looked for another one in the rack. His eye caught one that surprised him. In fact, there was more than one edition of the magazine.
“Since when did you start reading the Quibbler?” he asked Bill.
“Since Ol' Lovegood gave us a subscription for a wedding present,” Bill said, “At first, they were just about some of the oddest creatures I've ever heard of.... or never heard of, I should say. Then they got more interesting. Take a look at last month's issue.”
Ron shrugged and picked up November's issue of the Quibbler. He was surprised to see Harry's face on the cover.
“What in Merlin's saggy knickers?” Ron asked.
“That was my reaction, more or less,” Bill said, “Seems Ol' Xeno has gone a whole new way in what he puts in the Quibbler.”
Ron vaguely recalled a moment, right before he had ran out on Harry and Hermione, when those men and goblins were talking about this exact thing.
“But the Quibbler always posts rubbish,” Ron said.
“Not recently,” Bill said. “He's supporting Harry and telling everyone to do the same. It's surprising to say the least, but it's also pretty nice. I've never really liked Xeno that much, but it looks like he means well. Oh, what is this!”
Ron looked over suddenly at Bill, as he heard heavy static over the radio. This was different than what they usually heard.
“Blimey, I think something has finally happened!” Bill said, “Hey, Fleur! Come in here!”
“What eez eet?!” Fleur said, walking into the living room, “I'm working on dinner.”
“Shh,” Bill said, pointing at the radio.
He turned up the radio, and they suddenly heard a voice.
“Good evening all, and welcome to the debut of PotterWatch!” a voice said.
“Potterwatch?” Bill mouthed.
“That voice sounds vaguely familiar,” Ron said.
“The name is River,” River said, “And the purpose of this little show is to give you updates on The Chosen One, wherever he may be. We'll also talk about the current events with Vol-- oh, I almost said it. It's You-Know-Who now, remember that folks. Or otherwise that ingenious little Taboo the baddies have on us will find us. But don't worry, listeners, we're safe and sound. Oh yes, I almost forgot. I have a couple colleagues for tonight's show. Over the next few episodes, we'll have more contributors, but its only the three of us for tonight. So, without further ado, let me introduce you to Rodent and One-Ear!”
“Rodent?!” Rodent asked, “Why must that be my nickname? I want something different.”
“Where do you get off calling me One-Ear?” One-Ear asked, "I thought we agreed to names starting with R."
“Eez that?” Fleur asked, “Fred and George?”
“It is!” Bill said, laughing.
“We'll talk about it later!” River said, “We're live here, remember! Okay, folks, sorry about that little hoo-hah. Rodent and One-Ear are here with me, and are very happy to be here... right?”
“Yeah,” Rodent said.
“What's that?” One-Ear asked, “I could barely hear you.”
“Anyway,” River said, “Like I said, we're here telling you the news that the Daily Prophet and the Wizarding Wireless Network won't tell you! Now... Rodent, have you heard anything on our good friend, the Boy Who Lived?”
“Not a whisper,” Rodent said, “But I have to think that is good news.”
“It is!” River said, “Definitely. The less news about our hero, the better. It means he is still out there.”
“Speaking of news,” One-Ear, “What do you think about those articles in the Daily Prophet about him?”
“Trash,” River said, “Pure trash. Listeners, ignore these articles. They are just trying to trick us. Okay... what do we have on Ol' Snake-eyes and his crazy crew?”
“Not a speck,” One-Ear said, “And I don't know if that is good news or not. I've gotten word that the Snatchers are out and about still, trying to get their greedy fingers on anyone against The Boy Who Lived.”
“Ah yes,” River said, “The Snatchers. Rodent, I think you have more on this?”
“Yep!” Rodent said, “I've taken some research into these evil goons. They hang around Diagon Alley, and I've noticed something distinct about the lot of them. They seem to have badges on their cloaks marking them as Snatchers.”
“Badges?” River asked, “But wouldn't that let everyone know who they are?”
“Well, yes,” Rodent said, “But I don't think they are the smartest of fellows.”
“Half-wits, definitely,” One-Ear said.
“Well, unfortunately, that is all for tonight, I think,” River said, “We wanted to talk about more stuff, but we aren't too sure of this hidey-hole we're in. But tune in around Christmas for another show. Be careful, everyone. Next show's password is Harry Christmas. So without further ado, this is River.”
“And Rodent,” Rodent said, “Though not for long.
“And One-Ear,” One-Ear said.
“Signing out!” River said, “Best of luck!”
The static resumed as everything went silent on the radio.
“Very clever little thing they have going,” Bill said.
“But doesn't eet seem... dangerous?” Fleur asked, “Zey could geet caught!”
“I think they know what they are doing,” Bill said.
“It does seem like something Fred and George would do,” Ron said.
“Oh, I have no doubt about zat, “ Fleur said, “I should geet back eento ze kitchen. Dinner eez almost ready.”
Bill stood up and walked into the kitchen with her. Ron stared at the now silent radio. Now that he was alone again, his mind went back to Hermione and Harry, suddenly wishing he knew where they were.
(Hermione's PoV – same night)
“Harry?” Hermione said, “I'm back. Whew, it's bloody cold out there!”
She took off the invisibility cloak as she walked into the tent. Harry and Hermione had chose to reside in the forest on the outside of another market town. Under the Invisibility cloak, Hermione had gone to the supermarket and picked up a few things for dinner. She dropped the money into an open till as she left.
“I picked up some spaghetti Bolognese and pears,” she said, “I hope that is fine.”
“Great,” Harry said.
He was sitting on the bottom bunk of one of the beds. A book was open on his lap.
“What have you been doing?” Hermione asked.
“The usual,” Harry said, “Reading. Trying to think of where to look next.”
Hermione nodded and began working on dinner. With all the book—reading and research, and moving around, it had become very monotonous over the past few days, and a good dinner could break that monotony.
“Have you thought about where to look?” Hermione asked.
“I have a few ideas,” Harry said, “But I'm not sure.”
“Same old, same old,” Hermione said, “Right?”
“Probably,” Harry said.
Hermione could tell Harry was deep in thought about something, but she decided not to bring anything up.
After dinner, Hermione had resorted to lounging in one of the armchairs, and started to read The Tales of Beedle the Bard again. It was not really reading though, because she had pretty much memorized the book. She was just skimming over it for something to do. She turned a few pages, looking over them, then turned to a story called “The Tale of The Three Brothers.” She was about to turn the page, when she noticed something odd she had never seen before. The “a” in Tale looked like it was capitalized. She looked closer. She raised an eyebrow. It didn't look like an “a” at all! It looked like a triangle with a circle inside and a line up the middle. She pondered for a moment. Could it be a rune?
She reached for her beaded bag and looked through it, then pulled out a book called The Spellman's Syllabary. She turned the pages, looking for the shape that was in the other book. But as she skimmed through it, she couldn't find the shape at all. Though as she looked at the shape closely, she swore she had it seen it somewhere else.
“Hermione, I’ve been thinking, and –“
“Harry, could you help me with something?” she said at once, still looking at the shape. She pointed to the shape, “Look at that symbol.”
“I never took Ancient Runes, Hermione.”
“I know that; but it isn’t a rune and it’s not in the syllabary, either. All along I thought it was a picture of an eye, but I don’t think it is! It’s been inked in, look, somebody’s drawn it there, it isn’t really part of the book. Think, have you ever seen it before?”
“No . . . No, wait a moment.” Harry looked closer. “Isn’t it the same symbol Luna’s dad was wearing round his neck?”
“Well, that’s what I thought too!”
“Then it’s Grindelwald’s mark.”
She stared at him, open-mouthed.
“Krum told me,” Harry said, “Grindelwald had it at his school. It was all over the walls. A lot of students didn't like it.”
“Grindelwald’s mark?” Hermione asked, astonished, She looked from Harry to the weird symbol and back again. “I’ve never heard that Grindelwald had a mark. There’s no mention of it in anything I’ve ever read about him.”
“Well, like I say,” Harry said, “Krum reckoned that symbol was carved on a wall at Durmstrang, and Grindelwald put it there.”
Hermione fell back into the old armchair, frowning.
“That’s very odd. If it’s a symbol of Dark Magic, what’s it doing in a book of children’s stories?”
“Yeah, it is weird,” said Harry. “And you’d think Scrimgeour would have recognized it. He was Minister, he ought to have been expert on Dark stuff.” “I know. . . . Perhaps he thought it was an eye, just like I did. All the other stories have little pictures over the titles.” She did not speak, but continued to pore over the strange mark. Harry tried again.
“I’ve been thinking. I – I want to go to Godric’s Hollow.”
She looked up at him, but her eyes were unfocused. She, too, had been thinking about Godric's Hollow.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’ve been wondering that too. I really think we’ll have to.”
“Did you hear me right?” he asked.
“Of course I did. You want to go to Godric’s Hollow. I agree. I think we should. I mean, I can’t think of anywhere else it could be either. It’ll be dangerous, but the more I think about it, the more likely it seems it’s there.” “
“Er – what’s there?” asked Harry.
“Well, the sword, Harry! Dumbledore must have known you’d want to go back there, and I mean, Godric’s Hollow is Godric Gryffindor’s birthplace –“
“Really? Gryffindor came from Godric’s Hollow?”
“Harry, did you ever even open A History of Magic?”
“Erm,” he said, smiling for what felt like the first time in months: The muscles in his face felt oddly stiff. “I might’ve opened it, you know, when I bought it . . . just the once. . . .”
“Well, as the village is named after him I’d have thought you might have made the connection,” said Hermione. “There’s a bit about the village in A History of Magic, wait . . .”
She opened the beaded bag and rummaged for a while, finally extracting her copy of their old school textbook, A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot, which she thumbed through until finding the page she wanted.
“’Upon the signature of the International Statute of Secrecy in 1689, wizards went into hiding for good. It was natural, perhaps, that they formed their own small communities within a community. Many small villages and hamlets attracted several magical families, who banded together for mutual support and protection. The villages of Tinworsh in Cornwall, Upper Flagley in Yorkshire, and Ottery St. Catchpole on the south coast of England were notable homes to knots of Wizarding families who lived alongside tolerant and sometimes Confunded Muggles. Most celebrated of these half-magical dwelling places is, perhaps, Godric’s Hollow, the West Country village where the great wizard Godric Gryffindor was born, and where Bowman Wright, Wizarding smith, forged the first Golden Snitch. The graveyard is full of the names of ancient magical families, and this accounts, no doubt, for the stories of hauntings that have dogged the little church beside it for many centuries.’
“You and your parents aren’t mentioned.” Hermione said, closing the book, “because Professor Bagshot doesn’t cover anything later than the end of the nineteenth century. But you see? Godric’s Hollow, Godric Gryffindor, Gryffindor’s sword; don’t you think Dumbledore would have expected you to make the connection?”
“Oh yeah . . .”
Harry paused. Hermione looked at him.
“Remember what Muriel said?” he asked eventually.
“You know,” he hesitated. “Ginny’s great-aunt. At the wedding. The one who said you had skinny ankles.”
“Oh,” said Hermione, wondering why Harry hadn't said Ron, but dismissed it quickly.
“She said Bathilda Bagshot still lived in Godric’s Hollow.”
“Bathilda Bagshot,” murmured Hermione, running her index finger over Bathilda’s embossed name on the front cover of A History of Magic. “Well, I suppose –“
She gasped dramatically. Harry drew his wand, looking around at the entrance.
“What?” he said, half angry, half relieved. “What did you do that for? I thought you’d seen a Death Eater unzipping the tent, at least –“
“Harry, what if Bathilda’s got the sword? What if Dumbledore entrusted it to her?”
“Yeah, he might have done! So, are we going to go to Godric’s Hollow?”
“Yes, but we’ll have to think it through carefully, Harry,” Hermione said, “We’ll need to practice Disapparating together under the Invisibility Cloak for a start, and perhaps Disillusionment Charms would be sensible too, unless you think we should go the whole hog and use Polyjuice Potion? In that case we’ll need to collect hair from somebody. I actually think we’d better do that, Harry, the thicker our disguises the better. We have to be really prepared for this. It's not like we could just go right in there. Death Eaters could be everywhere!”
Harry nodded. Hermione grinned. Finally they were going to do something to break the monotony. But she frowned thinking about it, wishing Ron was there with them. They could really use his help with this. She sighed as she looked at the symbol on the page of the Beedle the Bard book. Grindlewald's mark? Was it really just that? What else could it mean?
Chapter finished! Sorry the PotterWatch part was so short. Couldn't think of much.
Hope you liked the chapter! Godric's Hollow is next!
Feedback would be wonderful, as always!
Last edited by Fury; July 22nd, 2010 at 5:54 pm.
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Author's Note: The latter part of this chapter has a bit of stuff from the book, but it helps with the chapter. Just an early warning.
It was plain to see that Harry was really excited about going to Godric's Hollow. Hermione knew that Harry had never been back to his hometown since that fateful night so many year ago, so young at the time that he would probably never remember those days.
“So, I really think we should go to Godric's Hollow tomorrow,” Harry said, “We shouldn't wait.”
“Out of the question, Harry,” Hermione said.
“Why not, Hermione?” Harry asked, “If the sword is there, we shouldn't wait. It could be moved at anytime! Vol --”
“Harry!” Hermione interrupted quickly, “Don't say his name.”
“Oh, don't you start that now,” Harry said, with a sigh.
“Anyway,” Hermione said, “While I do see your point, we can't just walk into Godric's Hollow unprepared. Don't you think You-Know-Who is expecting you to be there? It's your home. It's where your parents are buried.”
Harry sighed, but didn't say anything.
“We really need to be prepared,” Hermione said, “I think we should wait another week.”
“A week?!” Harry repeated.
“Yes, a week,” Hermione said, “As I said earlier, if you were listening, we should learn Disillusionment Charms. If we can't, then I think we're going to have to use some of our stock of Polyjuice Potion. If so, we're going to have to find a couple people to disguise ourselves as. You're also going to have to learn how to Apparate and Disapparate while underneath the cloak. You were never good at that.”
Harry didn't respond.
“I know you don't like it,” Hermione said, “But it's the only choice we have. Either that or...”
“Or what?” Harry asked.
“Or we don't go,” Hermione said, “It's too risky without these precautions.”
“Fine,” Harry said, “We'll do it your way.”
“Okay,” Hermione said, “What should we do? The Disillusionment Charm or Polyjuice Potion?”
“Polyjuice Potion,” Harry said, “There's no way I'll be able to learn the Disillusionment Charm in a week, especially under the pressure of the locket.”
“Yes, I had thought about that as well,” Hermione said, “Okay, so I think for the week, we'll be safe here in the forest. With the heavy snowfall as of late, I don't think we'll get any intruders this far into the forest. I think we'll be able to find a couple people to get hairs from in the village.”
Harry silently agreed, and Hermione knew he was thinking about Godric's Hollow again.
“I'll take first watch,” Hermione said, “If that is okay with you?”
Harry nodded and walked over the bunk bed. Hermione put on her jacket and found a billycan underneath the sink. She walked over to the opening and sat down. A light snowfall had started. Hermione casted the purple fire spell into the billycan and put it down in front of her.
She thought about the upcoming trip to Godric's Hollow, and wished Ron was there with them.
During the next week, Hermione and Harry practiced Apparation and Disapparation as they traveled to the outskirts of the market town. During one of their visits, they discovered an elderly couple out doing their Christmas shopping. Harry successfully obtained their hairs while Hermione distracted the elderly couple by helping them decide some gift ideas.
Finally, a full week after they had made their decision to go to Godric's Hollow, it was time to go. Hermione wanted to arrive at the village when it was dark, so it was late afternoon when they finally swallowed Polyjuice Potion, Harry transforming into a balding, middle-aged Muggle man, Hermione into his small and rather mousy wife. The beaded bag containing all of their possessions (apart from the Horcrux, which Harry was wearing around his neck) was tucked into an inside pocket of Hermione’s buttoned-up coat.
Just as Harry was reaching for the invisibility cloak, Hermione gasped at a sudden thought.
“Oh no!” Hermione moaned, “Why hadn't I thought of this before?”
“What?” Harry asked.
“We don't know where Godric's Hollow is technically,” Hermione said.
“I've been thinking about that,” Harry said, “I don't think we have to worry about that.”
“Why?” Hermione asked.
“Because, technically, I've been there before,” Harry said, “So if we do Side-Along Apparation, I think we can get there easily.”
“You're sure?” Hermione asked, “It'd be a right sight if we were splinched in the middle of Godric's Hollow.”
“I'm sure,” Harry said, with little hesitation.
Hermione looked doubtful, but Harry gave her a reassuring smile and threw the invisibility cloak over her, before slipping under it.
“On three,” Hermione said.
“Yes,” Harry said.
“One,” Hermione said.
Harry closed his eyes.
“Two,” Hermione said.
“Three,” Hermione said.
Not a second later, blackness engulfed Hermione and Harry, and she felt the familiar tug of Apparation take her off her feet. A moment later, she felt fresh, chilly air, as she appeared once again. She felt Harry next to her before she saw him, and was relieved both of them were under the cloak still.
They were standing hand in hand in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night’s first stars were already glimmering feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the center of the village.
Hermione almost slipped as she took a step. She looked down. The ground was covered in a layer of snow.
“All this snow!” she whispered “Why didn’t we think of snow? After all our precautions, we’ll leave prints! We’ll just have to get rid of them – you go in front, I’ll do it –“
“Let’s take off the Cloak,” said Harry.
Hermione looked up at Harry, frightened. How could he suggest that?
“Oh, come on,” Harry said, “we don’t look like us and there’s no one around.”
Hermione sighed and nodded. Harry removed the cloak and put it in his jacket. They made their way forward, passing more cottages. Hermione noticed that Harry was looking around at them, probably wondering where his old house was. Hermione, though, was sure there wouldn't be any trace of the house left. She did not want to speak up about this though. Harry looked quite happy to be in Godric's Hollow.
Then the little lane along which they were walking curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to them. Strung all around with colored lights, there was what looked like a war memorial in the middle, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree. There were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square.
The snow here had become impacted: It was hard and slippery where people had trodden on it all day.
Villagers were crisscrossing in front of them, their figures briefly illuminated by streetlamps. They heard a snatch of laughter and pop music as the pub door opened and closed; then they heard a carol start up inside the little church.
Hermione's eyes brightened as she listened to the carol. It was a Muggle one that she used to sing with her parents when she was little. Thinking about this made her miss her parents dearly. She wondered what they were doing.
“Harry, I think it's Christmas eve!” she said.
“Is it?” Harry asked.
“I'm sure it is,” Hermione said.
She looked at the graveyard behind the church.
“They... they’ll be in there, won’t they?” she said, “Your mum and dad? I can see the graveyard behind it.”
Hermione looked at Harry, who was looking straight at the graveyard. His expression was somewhere between excitement, and strangely enough, fear. Though Hermione smiled and understood completely. She reached for his hand and lead him across the square. Halfway through, something appeared out of the corner of her eye and she looked up at it.
“Harry, look!” she gasped.
A war memorial that was standing in the middle had transformed into a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby boy sitting in his mother’s arms. Snow lay upon all their heads, like fluffy white caps.
Hermione felt a tear fall down her cheek as she realized who it was: Harry and his parents, immortalized in stone. She glanced up at Harry, who walked closer to it, looking up at it.
“C'mon,” Harry said, a moment later.
Hermione nodded, and they turned toward the church. As they walked away from the statue, it had changed back into the obelisk war memorial.
There was a kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard. Hermione pushed it open as quietly as possible and they edged through it. On either side of the slippery path to the church doors, the snow lay deep and untouched. They moved off through the snow, carving deep trenches behind them as they walked around the building, keeping to the shadows beneath the brilliant windows.
Behind the church, row upon row of snowy tombstones protruded from a blanket of pale blue that was flecked with dazzling red, gold, and green wherever the reflections from the stained glass hit the snow.
“Look at this,” Harry said, looking at a grave, “it’s an Abbott, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah’s!”
“Keep your voice down,” Hermione begged him.
They waded through the rows of graves. Harry walked down two rows from Hermione, but she kept one eye on him, as she looked at the graves. A specific one caught her eye.
A grave in dark stone read “Ariana Dumbledore” and another one read “Kendra Dumbledore”.
Hermione gasped: Professor Dumbledore's family!
“Harry,” she said, “Here!”
Harry raced over to her.
“Is it?” Harry asked.
“No!” Hermione said, knowing he meant his parents, “But look!”
Another look at the grave, shown her something she had missed. It was a quotation:
Where your treasure is, there will your heart will be also.
“Are you sure he never mentioned – ?” Hermione began.
“No,” said Harry curtly, then, “let’s keep looking,”
Hermione nodded and they split up once again. She walked down another row of graves. Suddenly, she saw the letter P on a moss-covered one and looked up.
“Here!” she said, a little loudly.
She looked at the grave again, then realized it did not say Potter. It said Peverell.
“Oh, no, sorry,” she said, “I thought it said Potter.”
Harry sighed. She ignored him, and rubbed away the moss. She gasped as she saw what was below the name. It was the mark from the Beedle the Bard book!
“Harry,” she said, “come back a moment.”
“What?” Harry asked.
“Look at this!” Hermione said, pointing at the grave.
Harry walked over to the grave. Hermione showed him the symbol beneath it.
“Harry, that’s the mark in the book!”
“Yeah...it could be...”
“Lumos,” she said silently.
She pointed her lit wand at the grave to get a better look.
“It says Ig – Ignotus, I think...” she said.
“I’m going to keep looking for my parents, all right?” Harry told her, a slight edge to his voice, and he set off again, leaving her crouched beside the old grave.
Hermione sighed. She did not like the tone in Harry's voice. She was sure this was important. The mark had come up again. Dumbledore had given her the book that also had the mark in it. What if this meant that there was a Horcrux near? She silently did a number of spells to the grave, but nothing happened.
She looked at the mark again. It meant something, but maybe it didn't mean the location of a Horcrux. She was sure that You-Know-Who wouldn't have put a Horcrux in Godric's Hollow. This location was the place of his most horrific moment in his life.
Hermione sighed and decided to move on. She walked on, looking at the graves. Suddenly, the graveyard became still and quiet, but then she realized had happened. The carols in the church had stopped. She turned back, and her lit wand illuminated two of the graves. She gasped as she saw the names.
BORN 27 MARCH 1960
DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981
BORN 30 JANUARY 1960
DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981
“Harry, they’re here,” Hermione said, her tone soft, “right here.”
Harry walked slowly over to Hermione. When he was next to her, she pointed her lit wand on the grave once again. The light illuminated the names, dates, and also a line below that Hermione hadn't seen until now:
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
“’The last enemy that shall be defeated is death’...” Harry said, “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 looked up at Harry as he stared at the graves of his parents. She couldn't imagine what he was thinking.
Hermione had taken his hand again and was gripping it tightly. She raised her wand, 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.
Harry put his arm around Hermione’s shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned in silence and walked away through the snow, past Dumbledore’s mother and sister, back toward the dark church and the out-of-sight kissing gate.
Hermione looked around cautiously, as she and Harry passed the graves. They were almost to the opening, when Hermione saw movement in snow-covered bush near the fence line.
“Harry,” she whispered, “Stop.”
“What's wrong?” Harry asked.
"There's someone there,” Hermione said, “Someone watching us. I can tell. There, over by the bushes."
"Are you sure?"
"I saw something move. I could have sworn I did..."
She broke from him to free her wand arm.
"We look like Muggles," Harry pointed out.
"Muggles who've just been laying flowers on your parents' grave?” Hermione's replied, “Harry, I'm sure there's someone over there!"
"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."
They glanced back repeatedly as they made their way out of the graveyard. They pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves. The pub was fuller than before. Many voices inside it were now singing the carol that they had heard as they approached the church.
“Let's go this way,” Hermione said.
She pulled Harry down the dark street leading out of the village in the opposite direction from which they had entered. They walked as quickly as they dared, past more windows sparkling with multicolored lights, the outlines of Christmas trees dark through the curtains.
"How are we going to find Bathilda's house?" asked Hermione, who was shivering a little and kept glancing back over her shoulder. "Harry? What do you think? Harry?"
She tugged at this arm, but Harry was not paying attention. He was looking toward the dark mass that stood at the very end of this row of houses. Next moment he sped up, dragging Hermione along with him, she slipped a little on the ice.
"Harry --" she said.
"Look,” Harry said, “Look at it, Hermione ..."
"I don't,” Hermione said, then she saw it, “oh!"
She could see it. The hedge had grown wild in the sixteen years since Hagrid had taken Harry from the rubble that lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in the dark ivy and snow, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart; that, she was sure, was where the curse had backfired. Hermione and Harry stood at the gate, gazing up at the wreck of what must once have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.
"I wonder why nobody's ever rebuilt it?" whispered Hermione.
"Maybe you can't rebuild it?" Harry replied, "Maybe it's like the injuries from Dark Magic and you can't repair the damage?"
He slipped a hand from beneath the Cloak and grasped the snowy and thickly rusted gate, not wishing to open it, but simply so he'd some part of the house.
"You're not going to go inside?” Hermione asked, “It looks unsafe, it might –“
Suddenly, she saw something out of the corner of her eye.
“Oh, Harry, look!" she said.
His touch on the gate seemed to have done it. A sign had risen out of the ground in front of them, up thorough the tangles of nettles and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:
On this spot, on this 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.
And all around these neatly lettered words, scribbles had been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood, still others had left messages. The most recent of these, shining brightly over sixteen years' worth of magical graffiti, all said similar things.
Good luck, Harry, wherever you are.
If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you!
Long live Harry Potter.
"They shouldn't have written on the sign!" said Hermione, indignant.
"It's brilliant,” Harry said, “I'm glad they did. I ..."
He broke off, and Hermione knew why. Someone was walking right toward them.
Decided to end it right there. If I did too much more, this chapter would be very long.
There's more to come soon. Feedback would be wonderful!
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
The Snake And The Light
The heavily muffled figure was hobbling up the lane toward them, silhouetted by the bright lights in the distant square. Hermione thought, though it was hard to judge, that the figure was a woman. She was moving slowly, possibly frightened of slipping on the snowy ground. Her stoop, her stoutness, her shuffling gait all gave an impression of extreme age. They watched in silence as she drew nearer. At last she came to a halt a few yards from them and simply stood there in the middle of the frozen road, facing them.
She raised a gloved hand and beckoned.
Hermione moved closer to Harry under the Cloak, her arm pressed against his.
"How does she know?" she said.
He shook his head. The woman beckoned again, more vigorously. Finally Harry spoke, causing Hermione to gasp and jump. His voice sounded weird to her. Perhaps it was just the cold affecting her hearing, or Harry was stuttering from the cold. Harry said something that Hermione couldn't make out.
The muffled figure nodded and beckoned again.
Beneath the Cloak Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Harry raised his eyebrows; 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.
She smelled bad, or perhaps it was her house. She closed the door behind them, her knuckles blue and mottled against the peeling paint, then turned and peered into Harry's face. Her eyes were thick with cataracts and sunken into folds of transparent skin, and her whole face was dotted with broken veins and liver spots. The odor of old age, of dust, of unwashed clothes and stale food intensified as the unwound a moth-eaten black shawl, revealing a head of scant white hair through which the scalp showed clearly.
Harry said something, but Hermione could barely make it out. Bathilda seemed to have understood, because she nodded again. Hermione shuddered. Something was definitely off. Bathilda pushed right by her as if the old woman couldn't see her. Hermione looked from Bathilda to Harry.
"Harry, I'm not sure about this," breathed Hermione.
"Look at the size of her, I think we could overpower her if we had to," said Harry. "Listen, I should have told you, I knew she wasn't all there. Muriel called her 'gaga.'"
A low hissing sound came from Bathilda, and it made Hermione jump.
“It's okay,” Harry said, reassuringly.
Hermione raised her eyebrows at him as she followed him into the sitting room. She could perfectly understand him that time. What was going on?
Bathilda was lighting candles, and Harry walked closer to her. Hermione stayed a good distance from the old lady. She still didn't trust her Something was very eerie with her and the house, but Hermione couldn't figure out what it was.
Harry said something, but Hermione couldn't hear what it was. Harry then took the matchbook from Bathilda and started lighting the candles. Hermione watched him closely, as he walked over to a large shelf. Numerous pictures were there. Harry asked Bathilda something, but Hermione couldn't hear it. Perhaps, she thought, her ears were clogged from the weather. She put a finger to her ear to clean it out. Harry was still talking to Bathilda, but it was like he wasn't saying anything, even though his tone seemed to get more fierce and fierce every second.
"Harry, what area you doing?" asked Hermione.
"This picture,” Harry said, holding up a picture, “Hermione, it's the thief, the thief who stole from Gregorovitch!”
He turned back to Bathilda and said something to her. Hermione had heard something clearly that time. But it wasn't English. It sounded like.... no it couldn't have been. It was absurd... impossible. She ignored this thought and turned to Bathilda.
"Why did you ask us to come with you, Mrs. - Miss -- Bagshot?" asked Hermione, raising her own voice. "Was there something you wanted to tell us?"
Bathilda walked past her as if she hadn't heard Hermione. Harry said something to Bathilda, and Hermione shuddered. This time she was sure. It had to be. But would Harry believe her?
"Oh, right... Hermione, I think she wants me to go upstairs with her."
"All right," said Hermione, "let's go."
But when Hermione moved, Bathilda shook her head with surprising vigor, once more pointing first at Harry, then to herself.
"She wants me to go with her, alone."
"Why?" asked Hermione, and her voice rang out sharp and clear in the candlelit room, the old lady shook her head a little at the loud noise.
"Maybe Dumbledore told her to give the sword to me, and only to me?"
"Do you really think she knows who you are?"
"Yes," said Harry, "I think she does."
"Well, okay then, but be quick, Harry."
Hermione heard the same noise from Harry. She had almost forgotten about it. She was about to speak up to Harry about it, but he had already gone up the stairs with Bathilda.
Hermione sighed. She needed proof of her theory. She decided to look around the house. She walked into the sitting room, and over to the portraits. Behind one of the portraits, she saw a book sitting there. Harry must have not seen it. Hermione picked up the book. It was very dusty. She blew off the dust with a large gust of breath, and looked at the cover. Albus Dumbledore was looking up at her. The book was a copy of “The Life and Lies Of Albus Dumbledore” by Rita Skeeter.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. She had heard about this book from reading the articles about it in the Daily Prophet months ago. She sighed as she looked at the book. Would Bathilda notice if she took it? Bathilda looked pretty blind. She really didn't need the book.
Hermione nodded and took the beaded bag from her jacket. She stuffed the book inside. She then started walking around the house looking for more proof on her theory. She moved into the kitchen, which smelled of mold and old food. She raced through it to the other arched doorway. She just wanted to get out of there, but first she needed to get Harry. She walked back to the stairway.
“Harry?” she called.
There was no answer from Harry, but she heard a loud thud. Hermione gasped and ran up to the next level and over to the open door.
She ran through it, and shrieked at the horrific sight. Nagini, the large snake, was in the room. Harry was on the floor. She whipped out her wand and pointed it at the large snake.
“Immobulus!” she yelled.
The snake lunged for her, and she dove out of the way. Her spell ricocheted and hit the curtained window, which shattered. Hermione's stomach hurt from her collision with the floor, but she stood up immediately.
“Reducto!” she yelled.
The snake flew into the air, smacking Harry hard in the face as it went, coil after heavy coil rising up to the ceiling. Hermione looked at Harry, who had slapped his forehead.
"He's coming! Hermione, he's coming!"
Hermione froze. No, it couldn't be...
As Harry yelled the snake fell, hissing wildly. Everything was chaos: It smashed shelves from the wall, and splintered china flew everywhere
Suddenly, Harry grabbed Hermione. She shrieked with pain as he pulled her back across the bed. The snake reared again, and lunged as Harry took a running leap, dragging Hermione with him; as it struck, Hermione screamed, "Confringo!" and her spell flew around the room, exploding the wardrobe mirror and ricocheting back at them, bouncing from floor to ceiling.
Hermione gasped as she realized what Harry was doing. Dragging her along with him, Harry leapt from bed to broken dressing table and then straight out of the smashed window into nothingness, her scream reverberating through the night as they twisted in midair.
Sight came back to Hermione as she landed with a hard thud. She had Apparated her and Harry to a mountainside. It was quick thinking on her part, but it was the only thing she could do. She looked around and saw Harry on the ground. He was thrashing around violently.
“Harry!” Hermione cried out.
She crawled over to him. He was sweating profusely in the face. His eyes were blinking rapidly. He was moaning something she couldn't understand. She looked over the rest of him, and saw that the sleeve of his shirt was red and wet. She ripped open the shirt. Harry was bleeding from two puncture holes in his arm where the snake had bit him. Hermione hurriedly took the beaded bag from her jacket and opened it.
“Accio Dittany!” she said.
The bottle of Dittany flew up into her hand. She uncorked it and poured some of it over the injury. It healed up instantly.
Hermione ripped the rest of Harry's shirt open. The locket was on his chest. She tried to pick it up, but it wouldn't move. She closed her eyes, knowing what she had to do.
“Sorry, Harry,” she said, “But I have to.”
She pointed her wand at the locket, and muttered a spell. A harsh ripping sound was heard, as the locket came free. Bloody was pooling up from where the locket had been. Hermione poured more Dittany over it. It also healed instantly, though she knew it would leave a mark.
Hermione looked over Harry. He was still sweating and shivering, as well as muttering indistinct words.
“I can't do anything else,” she said to herself, “until I get the tent up and some protective spells as well. Accio Tent!”
The tent zoomed out of the beaded bag. Hermione grabbed it and put it onto flat ground.
“Erecto!” she said, pointing her wand at it.
Instantly, the tent magically put itself together. She walked back over to Harry, and tried to lift him up, but it was useless. He was too heavy, and he had begun to thrash around as well. She sighed and pointed her wand at him.
“Wingardium Leviosa!” she said.
Harry hovered over the ground. Hermione led him into the tent, and over to one of the bunk beds, putting him on it. She found some blankets from a cupboard and covered Harry with them. She then walked outside and started circling the tent, putting protective charms all around it.
After she was finished, she picked up the locket near the beaded bag. She sighed, looking at the locket. She definitely did not feel like wearing it. After what had happened to her that evening, the locket would sap her of her energy. She put the locket in the beaded bag, and was about to head into the tent, when she saw something on the ground. She walked over to the object and picked it up.
Her eyes went wide as she recognized. It was Harry's wand, split in two, but barely held together by a fragile strand of its phoenix feather core. She sighed. Harry was definitely not going to be happy about this. She picked up the wand and headed back into the tent.
Harry looked very ill. He was still sweating profusely and visibly shaking. Hermione knew she had to do something. She walked over to the sink and found some washcloths underneath it. She picked up a rather dirty one, cleaned it up with the Tergeo spell, then soaked it. She went over to Harry and put the washcloth on his head.
She knew that she wasn't going to get any sleep until Harry woke up from the state he was in, so she decided a schedule for the rest of the evening. She would sit at the edge of the tent. It was the perfect spot for watching anything that could happen outside, as well as keeping an eye on Harry.
A few hours into her watch, Hermione's eyelids became heavy, but she never slept. Suddenly, she heard Harry moaning loudly again. She stood up quickly and raced over to him. He was sweating large beads of sweat again. Hermione raced over to the sink and found a sponge on top of it. She soaked it down, keeping most of the water in it, then returned to Harry, soaking his forehead with it.
“No,” Harry moaned.
"Harry,” Hermione cried out, “it's all right, you're all right!"
"No,” Harry moaned, “I dropped it... I dropped it ..."
"Harry,” Hermione said, “it's okay, wake up, wake up!"
A moment later, Harry opened his eyes. Hermione sighed in relief.
"Harry," Hermione whispered. "Do you feel all -- all right?"
"Yes," Harry said.
His eyes moved around as he looked around the tent.
"We got away,” he asked.
"Yes," said Hermione. "I had to use a Hover Charm to get you into your bunk. I couldn't lift you. You've been...Well, you haven't been quite..."
"You've been ill," she finished. "Quite ill."
"How long ago did we leave?" "
Hours ago. It's nearly morning."
"And I've been... what, unconscious?"
"Not exactly," said Hermione uncomfortably. "You've been shouting and moaning and ... things.”
She sighed as she looked at Harry's face. She couldn't think about it. He seemed to be fine now.
"I couldn't get the Horcrux off you," she said, "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...”
"Where've you put the Horcrux?" Harry asked.
"In my bag.” Hermione said, “I think we should keep it off for a while."
"We shouldn't have gone to Godric's Hollow,” Harry said, “It's my fault, it's all my fault. Hermione, I'm sorry."
"It's not you fault. I wanted to go too,” Hermione said, “I really thought Dumbledore might have left the sword there for you."
"Yeah, well,” Harry said, “we got that wrong, didn't we?"
"What happened, Harry?” Hermione asked, “What happened when she took you upstairs? Was the snake hiding somewhere? Did it just come out and kill her and attack you?"
"No." he said. "She was the snake ... or the snake was her ... all along."
"W-what?" Hermione asked, her voice shuddering in her throat.
He closed his eyes.
"Bathilda must've been dead a while,” he said, “The snake was ... was inside her. You-Know-Who put it there in Godric's Hollow, to wait. You were right. He knew I'd go back."
"The snake was inside her?"
"Lupin said there would be magic we'd never imagined." Harry said. "She didn't want to talk in front of you, because it was Parseltongue, all Parseltongue, and I didn't realize, but of course I could understand her. Once we were up in the room, the snake sent a message to You-Know-Who, I heard it happen inside my head, I felt him get excited, he said to keep me there ... and then …"
“She changed, changed into the snake, and attacked."
"It wasn't supposed to kill me, just keep me there till You-Know-Who came."
Harry tried to sit up. Hermione shook her head.
"Harry, no, I'm sure you ought to rest!" she said.
"You're the one who needs sleep. No offense, but you look terrible. I'm fine. I'll keep watch for a while. Where's my wand?"
She did not answer, she merely looked at him.
"Where's my wand, Hermione?" Harry asked.
Hermione bit her lip, and tears swam in her eyes.
"Harry …" she started.
"Where's my wand?” Harry asked a third time, this time more forced.
Hermione sighed and reached down for the wand near his bed. She held it out to him. He took it. Tears fell down Hermione's cheeks as she watched Harry stare at the broken pieces of the wand. She knew how much the wand had meant to Harry. It was his proof that he was a part of the wizarding world.
Harry held the wand out to her.
"Mend it. Please."
"Harry, I don't think, when it's broken like this --"
"Please, Hermione, try!"
She sighed and held out her wand
The dangling half of the wand resealed itself. Harry held it up.
The wand sparked feebly, then went out. Harry pointed it at Hermione.
Hermione's wand gave a little jerk, but did not leave her hand. The feeble attempt at magic was too much for Harry's wand, which split into two again.
"Harry." Hermione whispered so quietly he could hardly hear her.
"I'm so, so sorry. I think it was me. As we were leaving, you know, the snake was coming for us, and so I cast a Blasting Curse, and it rebounded everywhere, and it must have -- must have hit --"
"It was an accident." said Harry..
Hermione knew Harry was just trying to make her feel better.
"We'll -- we'll find a way to repair it," he said.
"Harry, I don't think we're going to be able to," said Hermione, the tears trickling down her face, "Remember ... remember Ron? When he broke his wand, crashing the car? It was never the same again, he had to get a new one."
"Well," he 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 he left her sitting beside his bed. She watched as Harry walked to the opening of the tent. She sighed, and collapsed into the bed. She felt as if this was all her fault. She didn't try hard enough to stop them from going to Godric's Hollow. She really wanted to go as well. She didn't try hard enough to fight off the snake, and her spell had broken Harry's wand. She cried into the pillow, as she tried to fall asleep.
(Ron's PoV – earlier that morning)
On Christmas morning, Ron woke up very early. It was still dark, so he lit up the lamp next to his bed with his wand. Then he saw Bill's radio, as well as a piece of parchment laying on the bedside table. He picked up the piece of parchment and read it:
Happy Christmas! Fleur and I left early to do some last-minute (quite literally) Christmas shopping! No, we're not going over to the Burrow, so don't try to talk us into it. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that there should be another PotterWatch episode on the radio today. I don't know the exact time, but you should try out the password “Harry Christmas” at different times. There's also supposed to be a lot of Muggle Christmas music on the radio.
We'll make a big Christmas brunch when we get home. Yes, we'll bring gifts!
Ron sighed and put down the piece of parchment. He then turned the knobs on the radio. Christmas music blared over it. Ron rolled his eyes. How anyone could stand this music, he did not know. It was way too cheesy. Someone like Fleur wouldn't agree with him, but Celestina Warbeck was the best when it came to Christmas songs. They actually made it feel like Christmas, and it was rumored that her voice brought snow on Christmas day.
“Ron,” a voice called out.
Ron spun around quickly. He had heard his name, and... as absurd as it sounded... it sounded like it was Hermione's voice! But she couldn't be here, could she? Suddenly, he realized where he heard the voice, and it was even more absurd. He had heard his name coming out of his pocket. He dove his hand into his pocket... and pulled out the Deluminator.
Ron stared at the Deluminator. He hadn't even thought of the tiny object for the last month and somehow it had remained in the pocket of his jeans.
His mind went over what he had heard. Was it even possible his name had come from the Deluminator? It seemed almost impossible.
Suddenly, the same voice came from the Deluminator. He could only make out the word “wand”. But he was sure it was Hermione. Somehow, she was calling out to him. What if she was in danger? How was he going to find her?
Ron licked his lips, thinking about what to do next. Without another thought, he clicked the Deluminator. The light in the lamp went out immediately. Suddenly, a bright glowing light appeared outside the window.
“What the...?” Ron said.
The light was bluish and pulsing. Ron's eyes went wide as he recognized it. It was the same light usually seen on a Portkey! The Deluminator was telling him where to go! He jumped up and immediately began to pack everything in his rucksack. He grabbed the radio on the bedside table and threw it in as well. He then put on the rucksack and raced out of the house and into the garden where the light was.
“What am I supposed to do now?” he asked the light.
It didn't answer. He felt stupid talking to a ball of glowing light. Suddenly the light started moving across the yard.
“Oi!” he yelled, “Wait up!”
He hurried off, following the light as it headed behind the shed.
“So?” Ron asked, “What now?”
Immediately the light rushed toward him. Before he could move out of the way, it went straight toward his chest. It disappeared, but he felt a great warmth inside him. It was like the light was telling him what to do. It was telling him where to go. He could Apparate safely and land near... well, maybe near Hermione and Harry! He inhaled and Apparated.
He landed softly on the side of a snowy hill.
“Hermione!” he immediately, “Harry!”
He strained his ears, listening for a reply. He waited many minutes, but nothing came. He sighed and looked at the Deluminator.
“You brought me here!” he said, “Where are they?”
Ron expected another light, but nothing came. But Ron knew that Harry and Hermione were near. They were just hidden by the protective spells around the tent.
Ron took off his rucksack and opened it. He took out his sleeping bag and cleared some snow away, then set it down. He sat on top of it and looked around. He would wait for any sign of Harry or Hermione. They were out there somewhere, and they would have to come out of their protection sometime. He would find them then and... and...
He sighed again. What would he say? How could he apologize for being gone for so many weeks? Would they ever forgive him. Would Hermione ever forgive him?
Yay! That worked out a lot better than I hoped! Especially Ron's part of this chapter!
There will be more to come. If I am thinking right, the Silver Doe will probably be in a couple chapters or so!
Hope you loved it as much as I did. Feedback would be awesome!
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Author's Note: Okay, this chapter is going to be VERY short, and for that I apologize.
Sleep hadn't come easily to Hermione. In fact, she hadn't slept a wink. There was one moment during the early hours of the morning that she thought she had heard a voice somewhere in the forest, but she had decided that it was probably Harry just talking to himself. When she couldn't get any sleep, she took out “The Life And Lies of Albus Dumbledore” from her beaded bag. She searched around for her wand, before remembering that Harry was borrowing it, and had to resort to a flashlight to give her enough light to read to.
While it wasn't a very nice read (though Hermione wasn't the least surprised given that the author was Rita Skeeter), it kept her occupied for a couple hours.
Finally, when she couldn't take anymore of the rubbish in it, she got up from her bed and decided to start the day early. She glanced over at Harry, who was staring out into the forest. If he had heard her moving inside the tent, he didn't give any sign of it.
Hermione sighed, thinking of the previous evening. She shook the thoughts away from her mind, and decided to make some tea.
After it was brewed, she poured the tea into a couple cups. She glanced over at Harry, then over at “The Life And Lies of Albus Dumbledore”. If the tea didn't get Harry talking, she was sure that the book would. She remembered Harry talking about something the previous evening at Bathilda's house, and she thought she might have found it in the book.
She stowed the book under her arm and carefully brought the two cups of tea over to Harry.
“Harry?” she said, getting his attention.
He looked at her, and she thought he might yell at her or something.
“Thanks,” he said, taking one of the cups.
“Do you mind if I talk to you?”
“No,” he said because he did not want to hurt her feelings.
“Harry, you wanted to know who that man in the picture was. Well . . . I’ve got the book.”
Timidly she pushed it onto his lap, a pristine copy of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.
“Where --- how --- ?”
“It was in Bathilda’s sitting room, just lying there. This note was sticking out of the top of it.”
Hermione read the few lines of spiky, acid-green writing aloud.
“ ‘Dear Bally, 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.’ I think it must have arrived while the real Bathilda was alive, but perhaps she wasn’t in any fit state to read it?”
“No, she probably wasn’t.”
Hermione sighed, as a few fresh tears leaked down her face. The way he was keeping his words short, she knew there was still something wrong between the two of them.
“You’re still really angry at me, aren’t you?” she asked.
“No,” he said quietly. “No, Hermione, I know it was an accident. You were trying to get us out of there alive, and you were incredible. I’d be dead if you hadn’t been there to help me.”
Hermione smiled, a little relieved, and Harry returned it. He then turned his attention to the book, flipping through the pages until he landed on one. Hermione recognized the picture from seeing it a couple hours beforehand. The caption below it read:
Albus Dumbledore, shortly after his mother’s death,.
With his friend Gellert Grindelwald
While she was reading the book earlier, the name had slipped past her mind like any other. It wasn't until now that she had realized who it was.
“Grindelwald!” she gasped.
She sat down on the ground, clutching her warm cup of tea, as Harry started to read the book. Hermione didn't read over his shoulder, but she thought of the name. Grindelwald. Why hadn't she recognized it hours ago? Was she just that tired, or was her mind so preoccupied that she had just skipped by it? Either way, it was odd to think about. Albus Dumbledore, and Grindelwald, the two wizards who took part in one of the wizarding world's most infamous duels were once best pals. It was just too weird to comprehend.
Then she thought about the obvious factor. It was Rita Skeeter who wrote this stuff. She must have gotten her facts wrong somewhere.
She looked at the book again, reading some of the pages that Harry was looking at. When Harry was finished, he looked up at her. She grabbed the book from him, fearing he might lash out again.
Harry shook his head, but she could tell what he was probably thinking.
“Harry,” she said, "Listen to me. It --- it doesn't make a very nice reading ---"
"Yeah, you could say that ---"
"--- but don't forget, Harry, this is Rita Skeeter writing."
"You did read that letter to Grindelwald, didn't you?"
"Yes, I --- I did." She hesitated, looking upset, cradling her tea in her cold hands. "I think that's the worst bit. I know Bathilda thought it was all just talk, but 'For the Greater Good' became Grindelwald's slogan, his justification for all the atrocities he committed later. And . . . from that . . . it looks like Dumbledore gave him the idea. They say 'For the Greater Good' was even carved over the entrance to Nurmengard."
"The prison Grindelwald had built to hold his opponents. He ended up in there himself, once Dumbledore had caught him. Anyway, it's --- it’s an awful thought that Dumbledore's ideas helped Grindelwald rise to power. But on the other hand, even Rita can't pretend that they knew each other for more than a few months one summer when they were both really young, and ---"
"I thought you'd say that," said Harry, "I thought you'd say 'They were young.' They were the same age as we are now. And here we are, risking our lives to fight the Dark Arts, and there he was, in a huddle with his new best friend, plotting their rise to power over the Muggles."
Harry stood up and walked around. Hermione sighed, as she looked at him. She knew he was trying not to lash out.
"I'm not trying to defend what Dumbledore wrote," she said. "All that 'right to rule' rubbish, it's 'Magic Is Might' all over again. But Harry, his mother had just died, he was stuck alone in the house ---"
"Alone? He wasn't alone! He had his brother and sister for company, his Squib sister he was keeping locked up ---"
"I don't believe it," said Hermione. She stood up too. "Whatever was wrong with that girl, I don't think she was a Squib. The Dumbledore we knew would never, ever have allowed---"
"The Dumbledore we thought we knew didn't want to conquer Muggles by force!" Harry shouted, his voice echoing across the empty hilltop, and several blackbirds rose into the air, squawking and spiraling against the pearly sky.
"He changed, Harry, he changed! It's as simple as that! Maybe he did believe these things when he was seventeen, but the whole of the rest of his life was devoted to fighting the Dark Arts! Dumbledore was the one who stopped Grindelwald, the one who always voted for Muggle protection and Muggle born rights, who fought You-Know-Who from the start, and who died trying to bring him down!"
Rita's book lay on the ground between them, so that the face of Albus Dumbledore smiled dolefully at both.
"Harry, I'm sorry, but I think the real reason you're so angry is that Dumbledore never told you any of this himself."
"Maybe I am!" Harry bellowed, and he flung his arms over his head, "Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Risk your life, Harry! And again! And again! And don't expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I'm doing, trust me even though I don't trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!"
His voice cracked with the strain, and they stood looking at each other in the whiteness and emptiness, and Harry felt they were as insignificant as insects beneath that wide sky.
"He loved you," Hermione whispered. "I know he loved you."
Harry dropped his arms.
"I don't know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn't love, the mess he's left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me."
"Thanks for the tea. I'll finish the watch. You get back in the warm."
She hesitated, but recognized the dismissal. She picked up the book and then walked back past him into the tent, but as she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand.
Harry never let up his watch for the rest of the day, and it was midnight by the time Hermione took watch. A heavy snowfall had begun. Though it was chilly, it didn't stop Hermione from thinking about what she had read in the book, and what Harry had taken from it. Could Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards the world had ever known, had a childhood such as Rita Skeeter had described? Could he have explored the Dark Arts?
Suddenly, she turned her head so fast, her neck cricked. She had heard a sound somewhere in the forest. She stood up and pointed her wand into the forest. She had recognized that sound. It was exactly like she had heard earlier the previous morning. She had mistaken it for Harry's voice, but it wasn't. Someone was out there in the forest. Did someone know they were there?
She shrugged it off. No, it was impossible. Perhaps the sound was just the wind. No one knew they were there. She sighed, realizing she needed something to occupy her. She stood up and returned into the tent. She walked over to her beaded bag, and opened it. She rummaged through it, and found the History of Magic book and walked back over to the opening of the tent. Sitting down, she opened the book and flipped through the pages until she found the chapter on Gellert Grindelwald. She started to read it, even though she had been over it so many times.
Before Lord Voldemort, there was another Dark wizard whose terror reigned for many years. Many wizards and witches will tell you that Lord Voldemort is the most evil Dark wizard of all time, but if any wizard of the age rivaled him, it would be Gellert Grindelwald.
Gellert Grindelwald (born circa 1883 A.D.) attended Durmstrang Institute where he was very popular amongst his peers. He had already shown signs of becoming a powerful wizard. Unfortunately, for Grindelwald, his dark ways shown early in life, especially in use curiosity for experimenting in Dark magic. He had used Dark magic at Durmstrang and was expelled for it.
Hermione read on, but there was also never any mention of his time with his Great-Aunt Bathilda Bagshot. Given that Bathilda was the author of the book, she thought it was pretty odd.
Hermione arrived at the part of the chapter she was most interested in:
Grindelwald's downfall came when Albus Dumbledore, famed Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, defeated him in battle. Not much is known about the most famous duel of the age, though Dumbledore did not kill Grindelwald in the duel. Grindelwald was taken to Nurmengard prison.
Hermione sighed as she looked up from the book. There was never any mention of Grindelwald's friendship with Albus Dumbledore in this book. Dumbledore was a friend of a Bathilda Bagshot. Had he asked her to keep this information out of the book? Was he afraid what might have happened if the information was ever released.
Suddenly, Hermione heard the same sound she had heard two times before. She stood up, dropping the book from her lap, and pointed her wand out into the forest, listening for the sound. Then a shadow moved off into the distance near a tree. She gasped, and looked in the same direction, looking for the shadow, but it was no longer there. She finally lowered her wand, but she knew one thing: what she heard was not the wind.
“I must be losing my mind out here,” she said, shaking her head.
She returned to the opening of the tent and sat down again. She picked up the book and dried off the soaked pages. But even the book couldn't take her mind off of what she had heard. She couldn't stop thinking that they were not alone.
Suddenly, another sound was heard, and she jumped as Harry joined her in the darkness.
“Damn you,” she muttered.
“Something wrong?” Harry asked.
She sighed. Would he believe her when she told him about the noises she heard?
“Hey, I was thinking,” Harry said, “We shouldn't stay here any longer. We should go somewhere else.”
She nodded, relieved and walked back into the tent.
“We''ll go somewhere more sheltered,” she agreed, pulling a sweatshirt over her pajamas. "I kept thinking I could hear people moving outside. I even though I saw somebody one or twice."
Harry paused in the act of pulling on a jumper and glanced at the silent, motionless Sneakoscope on the table.
"I'm sure I imagined it," said Hermione, looking nervous. "The snow the dark, it plays tricks on your eyes.... But perhaps we ought to Disapparate under the Invisibility Cloak, just in case?"
Half an hour later, with the tent packed, Harry wearing the Horcrux, and Hermione clutching the beaded bag, they Disapparated. The usual tightness engulfed them, and their feet parted company with the snowy ground, then slammed hard onto what felt like frozen earth covered in leaves.
"Where are we?" Harry asked, peering around at the fresh mass of trees as Hermione opened the beaded bag and began tugging out the tent poles.
"The Forest of Dean," she said, "I came camping here once with my mum and dad."
Hermione and Harry set up the tent once again. They took turns during the day, keeping watch at the opening of the tent. Hermione couldn't help but feel that, even though they were in a different spot again, that the monotony had returned.
I didn't realize when I started the chapter how short it was going to be. I tried my best to lengthen it up a bit.
Hope you liked it! Silver Doe chapter is next! This is definitely one of the chapters I was looking forward to when I started this!
Feedback would be great!
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
The Woes Of Ron Weasley
Ron spent most of Christmas evening walking around the hillside and calling out for Hermione and Harry. But after a while, he realized that the wind had muffled his voice too much, and if Hermione or Harry had heard him, they would have probably thought it was some kind of animal howling. Finally, sleep engulfed him, and he set out his sleeping bag.
The chilly air swept over Ron the next morning and he instantly awoke in his sleeping bag. Around him, a fresh layer of snow covered the ground. He was instantly very thankful that his sleeping bag was charmed to keep him warm in even the coldest temperatures. But once he left the sleeping bag, the chill of the air engulfed him, and he tugged his jacket around him.
“Bugger,” Ron muttered.
He looked around and didn't recognize where he was. Walking around in the night seemed to have gotten him lost. He was far away from, at least he thought, where Hermione and Harry were staying inside the enchantment-protected tent.
Suddenly, a fear settled over him. Had Hermione's enchantments confused him and set him out in a completely different direction during the night? He sighed and punched the trunk of a nearby tree. It didn't help much. In fact it had only caused Ron's hand to hurt, followed by a load of cold, wet snow to fall on his head.
“Bugger!” Ron said again, shaking the snow off of him.
He then traipsed his way through the snow, trying to find his way back to the spot he had originally apparated to. As he walked, his stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours other than some blackberries he had found in bushes.
Just when Ron thought he was down on his luck, he found a small stream a couple hundred yards from where he had slept. He took out his wand and pointed it toward the water.
“Accio Salmon!” Ron said.
Ron felt foolish as soon as he casted the spell, but a split-second later, two salmon rose out of the water and dropped right at his feet. He took a few branches from a nearby tree and dried them off with a quick spell, then made a fire. He hovered the two salmon over the fire for a few minutes until they looked good enough.
“I don't think I'll ever look at breakfast the same way again,” Ron said, grinning to himself.
After he had his fill, Ron disposed of the rest of the fish and covered up the ashes with snow, then continued on his way. Finally, nearly an hour later, he found the spot he had Apparated to.
“Hermione!” he called out, “Harry!”
Ron listened for any response, but all he heard was branches swaying in the breeze. He took out his sleeping bag and set it on the ground, then sat down. He decided he would wait for a while. If nothing happened... well, he really didn't know what to do next.
Ron spent the rest of the day, pacing around in one spot and staring at a location where he was sure Hermione and Harry were.
As the day turned into night, Ron had become agitated. He was losing hope that he would ever find Hermione and Harry again. He reached into his pocket and took out the Deluminator.
“Why did you bring me here?” he asked, “I thought you were going to bring me to my friends!”
He felt stupid. He was talking to an inanimate object. He was about to throw the stupid thing away when it suddenly felt warm in his hand. He raised an eyebrow and did the only thing he could think of: he clicked the Deluminator.
The same blue light that he saw at Shell Cottage appeared once again. This time though, it went straight into Ron's chest without delay. He felt the same warm feeling from before and knew what he had to do. He packed up his things, then inhaled deeply, and Apparated.
When he could see and breathe again, he was in a forest.
“So they're around here somewhere?” Ron asked the Deluminator.
The Deluminator did nothing.
“I'll take your word for it,” Ron said, rolling his eyes as he pocketed the Deluminator.
He trusted that he had apparated only a short distance from Hermione and Harry, though he didn't even try to yell out this time. He knew they were protected by enchantments, and that they would probably not be able to hear him. He hoped they had only been in the forest a short while and hadn't gone out to look for something to eat. If not, then he could surely find them then.
Once again, he took out his sleeping bag and put it up against the trunk of a tree. He sat down on it and looked around. He knew it would only be a matter of time. His stomach had started to rumble though; his breakfast of salmon long forgotten. He wanted to explore the forest and look for food, but he immediately decided against it. What if he had walked off somewhere and Harry or Hermione appeared? He would have missed them again. No, he couldn't take that risk.
Still, hunger ate at his stomach, and it had started to make him sleepy. At times, he felt like he was about to doze off, but he regained his composure. He stood up and walked back and forth, hoping it would keep him awake.
Then he saw it.
A blinding, bright light was moving through the forest just a few yards from him.
“What the...?” Ron said.
He shook his head, thinking he was seeing things. But the light was still there, and the closer he looked at it, the closer he realized that it was taking a shape. He hurried to pick up his sleeping bag and rucksack and rushed out after the light. He didn't know why he was doing it. For all he knew, the thing could be dangerous, but he had to know what it was. It picked up speed, but he continued pursuing it. As he got closer, he saw what it was. It looked like some kind of deer.
He gasped, as he realized what it was! It was a patronus. And, if he wasn't mistaken, it looked oddly close to Harry's patronus, though it did look different. It took him a moment for the information to dawn on him. Harry was close by.
Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow moving off in the distance, though it was much closer to the Patronus then he was. It must have been Harry. He had cast his Patronus for some reason. Did that mean Dementors were in the area? And where was Hermione?
His eyes went wide as he thought of Hermione. Had the dementors captured her? He had to catch up to Harry and know what was going on, but Harry and the Patronus were getting farther away from him. He ran as fast as his feet would carry him.
Then, after a few minutes, the Patronus stopped in a clearing. Something at ground level was shimmering in the distance. He got closer, and then he saw what exactly was shimmering. It was a small pool of water. Then he saw Harry. Without warning, Harry dove into the pool. Ron's eyes widened.
“What is he doing?” Ron asked himself, “Is he bloody mental?”
He ran toward the pool. As he did, he thought he saw something moving nearby behind a tree, but he ignored it. He reached the edge of the pool. Harry wasn't coming up. Ron saw Harry's clothes in a pile near the edge of the water. Ron gasped. Harry could freeze down there! What was he doing anyway?
Then he saw something shimmering at the bottom of the pool. Was that the thing Harry was after? What was it?
“Come on, Harry!” Ron said, looking in the pool.
He sighed. Harry wasn't coming up.
“Oh, bloody hell,” Ron muttered.
Instantly, he dove into the pool and swam toward Harry. Harry seemed to be wriggling and fighting something. Something was choking him. Ron swam faster toward Harry and caught up to him. He then saw what was choking Harry: the locket Horcrux. Ron tugged the chain away from Harry with all his might, and it finally broke free, He then pushed Harry up toward the surface. Ron took a deep breath of air as he reached the surface and dove back under the water. He had to get whatever Harry had been after. He swam, his muscles screaming from the ice-cold chill of the water, though he still swam toward the shimmering object. He reached out for it, and his hand grabbed something metal. He then gripped it and raced back up toward the surface.
When he broke the surface, he pulled Harry to the edge of the pool and helped him out of it.
Both he and Harry were sputtering and choking from the water, but they were out. Ron pulled himself to his feet.
Harry coughed and spluttered, his face down against the snowy ground. Ron inhaled and exhaled, catching his breath.
“Are – you – mental?” he asked Harry, still trying to catch his breath.
Shivering, Harry staggered to his feet.
"Why the hell," panted Ron, holding up the Horcrux, which swung backward and forward on its shortened chain in some parody of hypnosis, "didn't you take the thing off before you dived?"
Harry didn't answer. He just stared at Ron as if he was looking at a ghost.
"It was y-you?" Harry said at last, his teeth chattering, his voice weaker than usual due to his near-strangulation.
"Well, yeah," said Ron, looking slightly confused.
"Y-you cast that doe?"
"What? No, of course not! I thought it was you doing it!"
"My Patronus is a stag."
"Oh yeah. I thought it looked different. No antlers."
Harry put Hagrid's pouch back around his neck, pulled on a final sweater, stooped to pick up the wand. He then faced Ron again.
"How come you're here?" he asked.
Ron sighed. He wasn't exactly ready to answer that question. He barely knew the answer himself.
"Well, I've -- you know -- I've come back. If --" He cleared his throat. "You know. You still want me."
Ron looked down at his hands. He then realized what he was holding. It was the Sword of Gryffindor.
"Oh yeah, I got it out," he said, rather unnecessarily, holding up the sword for Harry's inspection. "That's why you jumped in, right?"
"Yeah," said Harry. "But I don't understand. How did you get here? How did you find us?"
"Long story," said Ron. "I've been looking for you for hours, it's a big forest, isn't it? And I was just thinking I'd have to go kip under a tree and wait for morning when I saw that deer coming and you following."
"You didn't see anyone else?"
"No," said Ron. "I --"
He hesitated, glancing at two trees growing close together some yards away.
"I did think I saw something move over there, but I was running to the pool at the time, because you'd gone in and you hadn't come up, so I wasn't going to make a detour to – hey!"
Harry was already running toward the two threes. Ron stared at Harry. After a moment, he returned to Ron.
"Anything there?" Ron asked.
"No," said Harry.
"So how did the sword get in that pool?"
"Whoever cast the Patronus must have put it there."
They both looked at the ornate silver sword, its rubied hilt glinting a little in the light from the wand.
"You reckon this is the real one?" asked Ron.
"One way to find out, isn't there?" said Harry.
He lifted the wand, letting the light shine around the vicinity. He then walked over to a flattish rock near a tree.
"Come here." he said and he led the way, brushed snow from the rock's surface, and held out his hand for the Horcrux.
When Ron offered the sword, however, Harry shook his head.
"No you should do it."
"Me?" said Ron, his eyes huge as saucers. "Why?"
"Because you got the sword out of the pool. I think it's supposed to be you."
"I'm going to open it," said Harry, "and you will stab it. Straightaway okay? Because whatever is in there will put up a fight. The bit of Riddle in the Diary tried to kill me."
"How are you going to open it?" asked Ron. He looked terrified
"I'm going to ask it to open, using Parseltongue," said Harry.
"No!" said Ron. "Don't open it! I'm serious!"
"Why not?" asked Harry. "Let's get rid of the damn thing, it's been months --"
"I can't, Harry, I'm serious -- you do it --"
"Because that thing's bad for me!" said Ron, backing away from the locket on the rock. "I can't handle it! I'm not making excuses, for what I was like, but it affects me worse than it affects you and Hermione, it made me think stuff -- stuff that I was thinking anyway, but it made everything worse. I can't explain it, and then I'd take it off and I'd get my head straight again, and then I'd have to put the effing thing back on -- I can't do it Harry!"
He had backed away, the sword dragging at his side, shaking his head.
"You can do it," said Harry, "you can! You've just got the sword, I know it's supposed to be you who uses it. Please just get rid of it Ron."
He sighed and looked at Harry. The sound of his name gave him hope again. He had finally found Harry again, and now he was going to refuse to do what his best friend asked? No, he couldn't do that. He knew he had to do what was asked of him.
"Tell me when," he croaked.
"On three," said Harry, looking back down at the locket and narrowing his eyes. "One...two...three... hiiiiyahasiheth.”
The little doors of the locket swung open with a little click.
“Stab,” Harry said, holding the locket steady on the rock.
Though his hands were shaking, he held up the sword. Then something happened he wasn't ready for: a voice was coming out of the locket.
“I've seen your heart, and it is mine,” the ghostly voice said.
Ron shuddered. He felt as if the voice was speaking right into his soul.
"Don't listen to it!" Harry said harshly. "Stab it!"
"I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible...."
"Stab!" shouted Harry, his voice echoed off the surrounding trees.
The sword point trembled in his wildly shaking hands and Ron gazed down into Riddle's eyes.
"Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter . . . Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend . . . Second best, always, eternally overshadowed . . ."
Ron gasped. The voice. It was revealing his inner secrets. How could it know? How?
"Ron, stab it now!" Harry bellowed.
Ron raised the sword still higher, and as he did so, Riddle's eyes gleamed scarlet.
Suddenly, without warning, the heads of Hermione and Harry raised up out of the locket. Ron's eyes widened and he staggered back in shock.
Hermione and Harry looked like ghosts. Were they dead? Ron shuddered, shaking from head to toe. The Sword of Gryffindor barely lingered in his hands.
"Why return?” the ghostly Harry said, “We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence.... We laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption--"
"Presumption!" echoed the ghostly Hermione. She swayed, cackling.
Ron stared at Hermione. He wanted to tell her he was sorry; to apologize. But was it too late? What had happened to her while he was gone? That Patronus he saw. Was it trying to fight off a Dementor that had captured her? Was it too late? Was he too late?
"Who could look at you who would ever look at you, beside Harry Potter? What have you ever done, compared with the Chosen One? What are you, compared with the Boy Who Lived?"
Ron's eyes went wide as he tried to say he was sorry, but no words came out of his mouth. He heard yelling nearby, but he couldn't understand what it was saying.
"Your mother confessed," sneered the ghostly Harry, while Hermione jeered, "that she would have preferred me as a son, would be glad to exchange..."
"Who wouldn't prefer him, what woman would take you, you are nothing, nothing, nothing to him," crooned Hermione, and she stretched like a snake and entwined herself around Harry, wrapping him in a close embrace: Their lips met.
“Nooo!” Ron moaned, though the words barely escaped his lips.
He raised the sword over his head. He just wanted them to be gone.
"Do it, Ron!" Harry yelled.
Ron's eyes widened. He heard the voice clearly this time. It was Harry, but he sounded different. He sounded like Ron recognized so many times before. Ron looked around and saw Harry.
"Ron --?" Harry asked.
“Noooooo!” Ron yelled, looking at the ghostly Harry and Hermione.
He just wanted the voices gone. He ran over to the locket, swinging the sword madly above his head. He plunged the sword toward the locket, and felt the metal breaking beneath his force. A long drawn-out scream erupted from the locket, and Ron backed up. He looked up, but couldn't see the ghostly versions of Harry and Hermione.
Tears escaped his eyes. Those voices... he could still hear what they were saying, deep in his mind. He could still see Hermione and Harry... embraced in a... a...
He dropped the sword, as it clanged on the ground. He dropped to his knees, covered his face in his arms and let the tears fall. He shook from head to toe, trying to get the images out of his head.
Suddenly, he felt a hand pat his shoulders, but he knew it was Harry behind him.
"After you left," Harry said in a low voice, "she cried for a week. Probably longer, only she didn't want me to see. There were loads of nights when we never even spoke to each other. With you gone..."
"She's like my sister," he went on. "I love her like a sister and I reckon that she feels the same way about me. It's always been like that. I thought you knew."
Ron sighed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Harry stood up and walked away from him. Ron turned around, looking at him. The truth seemed to bring warmth to him, but he couldn't say it out loud.
"I'm sorry," he said in a thick voice. "I'm sorry I left. I know I was a -- a --"
He looked around at the darkness. He couldn't find the right word to describe him. But whatever it was, he knew he would deserve it.
"You've sort of made up for it tonight," said Harry. "Getting the sword. Finishing off the Horcrux. Saving my life."
"That makes me sound a lot cooler than I was," Ron mumbled.
"Stuff like that always sounds cooler than it really was" said Harry. "I've been trying to tell you that for years."
Ron laughed. He walked over to Harry, and, though he felt a little foolish, hugged his best friend who returned the hug.
"And now," said Harry as they broke apart, "all we've got to do is find that tent again."
Ron sighed and nodded. He knew he still had one test in front of him: facing Hermione.
Whew! I'm very happy to get through that chapter. I really liked doing Ron's PoV in this one. It was very fun to write, though it took a lot of thinking.
Hope you like it as much as I do.
Feedback would be wonderful!
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Hermione stood at the top of the Burrow's driveway. The sight of the familiar house made her smile. She was near Ron again. She hadn't seen him in many weeks. She just wanted to be reunited with him. She wanted to tell him what she had kept inside for weeks, months, years on end. He had to know.
She raced down the driveway, though it felt as if she was floating. Finally, she reached the front door of the tall house, and walked through it.
“Ron?” she called out. “I'm here!”
She looked around the bottom floor, but she couldn't find Ron. In fact, she couldn't find anyone. She couldn't smell the familiar fragrance of Mrs. Weasley's delicious cooking. She couldn't hear the rustling of machinery outside in Mr. Weasley's garage. There was no laughter from the always happy Fred and George. No owls hooting. No gnomes scurrying around the outside walls of the Burrow.
“Ron?” she called out again, though her voice barely came out in a whisper.
She raced up the stairs, expecting Ginny or Percy to run out of their rooms, wondering what all the commotion was, but the stairwell was empty. Finally, she was at Ron's bedroom door. She opened it and walked inside. The ghoul was no longer there. The bed was made up neatly. The curtains behind the bed were closed up tightly. Pigwidgeon was in his cage, though he was surprisingly silent.
“Pig?” Hermione asked, “Where's Ron?”
Pigwidgeon caught sight of Hermione. He flapped his wings madly and hooted wildly.
“Pig!” Hermione said, “It's me. You know me. I am looking for Ron. Have you seen him?”
Pig went still and quiet.
“I guess not,” Hermione said.
She sighed and walked back out of the room. Where was Ron? Where was his family? Why was the house so quiet?
Hermione raced down the stairs. As she arrived on the bottom floor. She heard voices. They were coming from behind the Burrow.
She gasped, smiling, and ran out toward the back yard. A large crowd was there, talking to each other. Conversations overlapped others. As she looked at the familiar faces, Hermione realized they didn't look happy. Some expressions were somber, while others were blank.
As she looked around for Ron, she shivered. The atmosphere was strange. Grey clouds had covered the skies, threatening rain or snowfall. The ground, which was usually lush looked dead. No flowers or foliage were in sight.
Hermione walked through the crowd, though no one looked up at her as she passed by them. She was careful never to touch them, but they didn't move to let her through. As she made her way through the crowd, she heard a familiar voice. It was much easier to understand than the others.
“Does the girl's parents know?” Dora asked.
“No,” Mrs. Weasley said, “They're overseas somewhere. I'm not even sure they remember they ever had a daughter.”
“I understand,” Dora said, “It's probably easier that way. Do you know what happened to her? To... to them?”
“Arthur says it was most likely Snatchers,” Mrs. Weasley said. “He said that they probably didn't see the devils coming.”
“I'm so sorry, Molly,” Dora said.
“I-it's o-okay,” Mrs. Weasley said, “I'm starting to believe they're the lucky ones. With him gone, there's no chance anymore.”
“You can't believe that,” Dora said.
“I just don't see any other way,” Mrs. Weasley said, “We all know what the Prophecy said.”
Hermione gasped. What exactly were they talking about?
She pushed through the rest of the crowd and finally caught sight.
“We'll get through it,” Dora said, “We'll find a way.”
Dora wrapped her arms around Mrs. Weasley in a hug. She then walked away, leaving an opening for Hermione to see. She gasped as she caught sight of what Mrs. Weasley was staring at. Three graves were set up. Hermione read them:
July 31st 1980 – Date Unknown, 1997
The Boy Who Lived
March 1st 1980 – Date Unknown, 1997
Loved Son and Brother
September 19th, 1979 – Date Unknown, 1997
Smartest Witch Of Her Age
“No...” Hermione gasped, “It can't be true!”
Mrs. Weasley gasped and turned around.
“Oh, hello,” she said, “You haven't moved on, I see.”
“I-I-I'm not dead!” Hermione cried.
“I'm sorry, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said.
She looked down at the graves.
“I think I know why you're still here,” she said to Hermione, “You were looking for him.”
Hermione looked down at the graves, and realized she was talking about Ron.
“I know how you felt about him,” Mrs. Weasley said. “I think he might have felt the same way. He just never said so. But that's the way he always was. He always kept things silent... to himself. I'm sure of it. I'm sure Harry felt the same way as you feel for him.”
“What?” Hermione asked, “No! I love Ron!”
“Oh,” Mrs. Weasley said, “Well, that does surprise me. Why did you keep it inside then? You shouldn't have done that. You should have said something before the end, Hermione... Hermione... Hermione...”
No. It couldn't be true. They hadn't done what they had set out for. No...
Hermione opened her eyes and saw a figure. Was it Harry? It looked like him. She pushed her hair out of her face. He looked real. She sighed. Was it all just a terrible dream?
"What's wrong?” she asked, “Harry? Are you all right?"
She sat up. Harry looked real enough.
"It's okay, everything's fine.” Harry said, “More than fine, I'm great. There's someone here."
"What do you mean? Who --?"
Harry backed away. Hermione looked up and saw Ron standing there. She stood up and walked toward him. She was afraid he was going to disappear. She thought he might have been a ghost. Ron offered his arms out toward her.
She sighed and her eyes went wide. He was definitely real. She lunged at him, and struck at him with both fists. She didn't know why she was doing it. She really wanted to hug him, but the dream was still haunting her.
"Ouch -- ow -- gerroff! What the --? Hermione – OW!"
"You -- complete -- arse -- Ronald -- Weasley!"
She punctuated every word with a blow: Ron backed away, shielding his head as Hermione advanced.
"You -- crawl -- back -- here -- after -- weeks -- and -- weeks -- oh, where's my wand?"
She looked at Harry, but he pointed the wand at her and Ron.
“Protego!” he yelled.
The force of the spell knocked her to the ground. She spit the hair from her mouth and stood right back up.
"Hermione!" said Harry. "Calm --"
"I will not calm down!" she screamed. "Give me back my wand! Give it back to me!"
"Hermione, will you please --"
"Don't you tell me what do, Harry Potter!" she screeched. "Don't you dare! Give it back now! And YOU!"
She was pointing at Ron in dire accusation. Ron backed up a few steps.
"I cam running after you! I called you! I begged you to come back"
"I know," Ron said, "Hermione, I'm sorry, I'm really --"
"Oh, you're sorry!"
She laughed a high-pitched, out-of-control sound.
"You came back after weeks -- weeks -- and you think it's all going to be all right if you just say sorry?"
"Well, what else can I say?" Ron shouted.
"Oh, I don't know!" yelled Hermione with awful sarcasm. "Rack your brains, Ron, that should only take a couple of seconds --"
"Hermione," interjected Harry, "he just saved my --"
"I don't care!" she screamed. "I don't care what he's done! Weeks and weeks, we could have been dead for all he knew --"
"I knew you weren't dead!" bellowed Ron, drowning her voice for the first time, and approaching as close as he could with the Shield Charm between them. "Harry's all over the Prophet, all over the radio, they're looking for you everywhere, all these rumors and mental stories, I knew I'd hear straight off if you were dead, you don't know what it's been like --"
"What it's been like for you??
Her voice was not so shrill only bats would be able to hear it soon, but she had reached a level of indignation that rendered her temporarily speechless, and Ron seized his opportunity.
"I wanted to come back the minute I'd Disapparated, but I walked straight into a gang of Snatchers, Hermione, and I couldn't go anywhere!"
Hermione froze as she heard the word Snatchers. She had heard that exact word in her dream. She turned and threw herself into a chair. She did not want to think of that dream anymore.
"A gang of what?" asked Harry.
"Snatchers," said Ron. "They're everywhere -- gangs trying to earn gold by rounding up Muggle-borns and blood traitors, there's a reward from the Ministry for everyone captured. I was on my own and I look like I might be school age; they got really excited, thought I was a Muggle-born in hiding. I had to talk fast to get out of being dragged to the Ministry."
"What did you say to them?"
"Told them I was Stan Shunpike. First person I could think of."
"And they believed that?"
"They weren't the brightest. One of them was definitely part troll, the smell of him...”
Hermione knew Ron was looking at her, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of noticing.
"Anyway, they had a row about whether I was Stan or not. It was a bit pathetic to be honest, but there were still five of them and only one of me, and they'd taken my wand. Then two of them got into a fight and while the others were distracted I managed to hit the one holding me in the stomach, grabbed his wand, Disarmed the bloke holding mine, and Disapparated. I didn't do it so well. Splinched myself again" --
Ron held up his right hand to show two missing fingernails. Hermione raised her eyebrows coldly. She really didn't care at the moment.
"I came out miles from where you were. By the time I got back to that bit of riverbank where we'd been ... you were gone."
"Gosh, what a gripping story," Hermione said in the lofty voice she adopted when wishing to wound. "You must have been simply terrified. Meanwhile we went to Godric's Hollow and, let's think, what happened there, Harry? Oh yes, You-Know-Who's snake turned up, it nearly killed both of us, and then You-Know-Who himself arrived and missed us by about a second."
"What?" Ron said, gaping from her to Harry, but Hermione ignored him.
"Imagine losing fingernails, Harry! That really puts our sufferings into perspective, doesn't it?"
Harry said something, but Hermione ignored him.
"One thing I would like to know, though," she said, fixing her eyes on a spot a foot over Ron's head. "How exactly did you find us tonight? That's important. Once we know, we'll be able to make sure we're not visited by anyone else we don't want to see."
Ron glared at her, then pulled a small silver object from his jeans pocket.
Hermione raised her eyebrows as she looked at the object.
“The Deluminator?” she asked.
"It doesn't just turn the lights on and off," said Ron. "I don't know how it works or why it happened then and not any other time, because I've been wanting to come back ever since I left. But I was listening to the radio really early on Christmas morning and I heard ... I heard you."
He was looking at Hermione.
"You heard me on the radio?" she asked incredulously.
"No, I heard you coming out of my pocket. Your voice," he held up the Deluminator again, "came out of this."
"And what exactly did I say?" asked Hermione, her tone somewhere between skepticism and curiosity.
"My name. 'Ron.' And you said ... something about a wand...."
Hermione turned a fiery shade of scarlet. She knew what he was talking about. It had been the first time she had said his name in weeks.
"So I took it out," Ron went on, looking at the Deluminator, "and it didn't seem different or anything, but I was sure I'd heard you. So I clicked it. And the light went out in my room, but another light appeared right outside the window. It was a ball of light, kind of pulsing, and bluish, like that light you get around a Portkey, you know?"
"Yeah," said Harry and Hermione together automatically.
"I knew this was it," said Ron. "I grabbed my stuff and packed it, then I put on my rucksack and went out into the garden. The little ball of light was hovering there, waiting for me, and when I came out it bobbed along a bit and I followed it behind the shed and then it ... well, it went inside me."
"Sorry?" said Harry.
"It sort of floated toward me," said Ron, illustrating the movement with his free index finger, "right to my chest, and then -- it just went straight through. It was here," he touched a point close to his heart, "I could feel it, it was hot. And once it was inside me, I knew what I was supposed to do. I knew it would take me where I needed to go. So I Disapparated and came out on the side of a hill. There was snow everywhere...."
"We were there," said Harry. "We spent two nights there, and the second night I kept thinking I could hear someone moving around in the dark and calling out!"
"Yeah, well, that would've been me," said Ron. "Your protective spells work, anyway, because I couldn't see you and I couldn't hear you. I was sure you were around, though, so in the end I got in my sleeping bag and waited for one of you to appear. I thought you'd have to show yourselves when you packed up the tent."
"No, actually," said Hermione. "We've been Disapparating under the Invisibility Cloak as an extra precaution. And we left really early, because as Harry says, we'd heard somebody blundering around."
"Well, I stayed on that hill all day," said Ron. "I kept hoping you'd appear. But when it started to get dark I
knew I must have missed you, so I clicked the Deluminator again, the blue light came out and went inside me, and I Disapparated and arrived here in these woods. I still couldn't see you, so I just had to hope one of you would show yourselves in the end -- and Harry did. Well, I saw the doe first, obviously."
"You saw the what?" said Hermione sharply.
“Oh yeah,” Harry said, “We haven't told you yet. I was on my watch, when I saw the silver doe. It was shining really bright. Well, it led me to a pool of water. I saw the Sword of Gryffindor in there.”
Hermione's eyes went wide.
"But it must have been a Patronus!" she said. "Couldn't you see who was casting it? Didn't you see anyone? And it led you to the sword! I can't believe this! Then what happened?"
“I saw Harry jump in the water, and I went after him,” Ron said. “He was being choked by that bloody locket. I freed him from the locket, and brought him to the surface, then went back in for the sword. Then Harry wanted me to destroy the locket with the sword. So he opened it, using Parselmouth again, it was brilliant. The locket opened and.... and....”
"-- and Ron stabbed it with the sword." Harry cut in.
"And ... and it went? Just like that?" Hermione whispered.
"Well, it -- it screamed," said Harry with half a glance at Ron. "Here."
He threw the locket into her lap; gingerly she picked it up and examined its punctured windows.
Harry removed the Shield Charm and turned to Ron.
"Did you just say now that you got away from the snatchers with a spare wand?"
"What?" said Ron, who had been watching Hermione examining the locket. "Oh -- oh yeah."
He tugged open a buckle on his rucksack and pulled a short dark wand out of his pocket.
"Here, I figured it's always handy to have a backup."
"You were right," said Harry, holding out his hand. "Mine's broken."
"You're kidding?" Ron said.
Hermione sighed. She didn't need to hear that story again. She put the now-burnt locket into the beaded bag, then returned to her bed and put the covers over her head.
"About the best you could hope for, I think," murmured Harry.
"Yeah," said Ron. "Could've been worse. Remember those birds she set on me?"
"I still haven't ruled it out," Hermione muttered.
She sighed as she listened to Harry and Ron move around the tent. She was relieved that the dream was only a dream. But it seemed so real.
It was only the fact that Ron and Harry were there talking to her that she knew it was a dream. They were still alive. They still had a mission to do.
Chapter finished! Wrote that one pretty quickly! I have no idea where the dream came from, but I just thought of it and started writing it down. Seemed like a pretty good addition. Hope you liked it!
So much more to come.
Feedback would be awesome!
Last edited by Fury; July 28th, 2010 at 12:15 am.
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Hermione woke up the next morning, though she didn't immediately get out of bed. She stared up at the tarp-covered ceiling of the tent, not looking at anything in particular. She could hear Ron and Harry moving around near the opening of the tent, and she didn't want them to know she was awake already, so she feigned sleep as best as she could.
Even though she did not show it the previous evening, Ron's return had made her very happy. Other than a couple of splinched fingernails, he seemed no worse for the wear. This relieved Hermione the most. Ever since Ron had run out on them, she had feared every night for a month that he had been captured or killed. She had many dreams and nightmares of something happening to Ron, but none were as bad as the dream she had the night before.
The thought of it made her shudder so badly that it shook the wooden frame of the bunk bed making Ron and Harry jump and look over in her direction. She quickly rolled over and attempted to feign sleep once more. Apparently they were in the middle of a conversation, because Hermione could hear them now.
“She's still upset with me, isn't she?” Ron asked.
“I guess,” Harry said.
“Exactly how much crying had she done when I left?” Ron asked.
“A fair bit,” Harry said, “Enough to flood our tent, I think.”
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“That much, eh?” Ron asked, “Damn.”
“She was pretty beat up over it,” Harry asked, then laughed, “Enough to beat up someone else it seems.”
“I think I figured that out,” Ron said, “Hey! Don't laugh. You don't have bruises forming.”
“Better than a scar,” Harry said.
There was a pause, then...
“Ouch!” Ron said, “Is that from...?”
“That bloody locket, yeah,” Harry said, “Apparently it was stuck to my skin and Hermione had to use a Severing Hex.”
“Wow, I am really glad to be rid of that thing, then,” Ron said. “You know what this means, don't you?”
“What?” Harry asked.
"Someone helped us," Ron said, "Someone sent that doe. Someone's on our side. One Horcrux down, mate!"
“I don't know,” Harry said. “If someone was on our side, don't you think they would try to contact us themselves.”
“That's just it!” Ron said, “They couldn't! Hermione's protection charms are too good.”
“Ron,” Harry said, “the Patronus was just a few yards from the tent when I saw it. It was looking right at me. I think they know we're here.”
Hermione frowned as she thought what Harry had said. He was definitely right. If the Patronus did not know they were there, it would have just passed on and continued its search.
“The real question we must ask,” Harry said, “is whether the Patronus was sent for good purposes after all.”
“Harry, it lead you to the Sword of Gryffindor!” Ron said.
“It also led me off on my own far away from Hermione,” Harry said. “You said you thought you had seen someone close to the pool.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, “But it was dark. I was probably seeing things.”
“I don't think so,” Harry said. “You probably scared them off, whoever it was. If you weren't there, they could have captured me.”
“So you think it was a Snatcher who sent the Patronus?” Ron asked.
“I knew nothing about these Snatchers until you mentioned them last night,” Harry said. “Now it seems to be the best explanation.”
“Well, if you are right,” Ron said, “Then we got away anyway! And we have the sword of Gryffindor. One horcrux is down! If you're right, those Snatchers helped us this time.”
“I don't think we'll get the same appreciation,” Harry said, darkly, “the next time we meet them.”
Although Harry had some good points, Hermione also had her doubts. If the Snatchers were indeed in the area, they could have easily captured her while Harry was following the Patronus. Hermione shuddered once again as she thought about this. It was way too coincidental with her dream. She stood up from the bed, deciding she couldn't feign sleep anymore.
“Well, I think we should go and find something for breakfast,” Ron said. “Er... there isn't a stream around here, is there?”
“Only body of water around here is that shallow pool,” Harry said.
“So it looks like we're going to have to resort to mushrooms again,” Ron said.
“Guess so,” Harry said.
“I'll volunteer,” Ron said. “Do you want to come with me, Hermione?”
Hermione, who was searching for a pot for water, looked at Ron with narrowed eyes.
“Guess not,” Ron said.
“Stay close,” Harry said.
“Right,” Ron said.
He stood up and disappeared off to the right of the tent.
“You should really try to be nicer to him, Hermione,” Harry said, though he wasn't looking back at her, “He really feels bad for what he did.”
Hermione didn't answer.
“I'm just saying,” Harry said.
Hermione found a metal pot and slammed it onto counter.
“I... I'll just go help Ron,” Harry said.
Hermione sighed and walked over to the beaded bag. She dug around, looking for a book, and picked up “The Life and Lies of Dumbledore”, then walked over to the opening of the tent. She sat down, and started reading it from the beginning again. She could hear Harry and Ron talking again, and it made reading very difficult.
"... and how did you find out about the Taboo?" Ron asked Harry.
"You and Hermione have stopped saying You-Know-Who's name!"
"Oh, yeah, Well, it's just a bad habit we've slipped into," said Harry. "But I haven't got a problem calling him V ---"
"NO!" roared Ron.
Hermione nearly jumped out of her chair. She scowled loud enough so Ron and Harry would hear it.
"Sorry," said Ron, "but the name's been jinxed, Harry, that's how they track people! Using his name breaks protective enchantments, it causes some kind of magical disturbance --- it's how they found us in Tottenham Court Road!"
"Because we used his name?"
"Exactly! You've got to give them credit, it makes sense. It was only people who were serious about standing up to him, like Dumbledore, who even dared use it. Now they've put a Taboo on it, anyone who says it is trackable --- quick-and-easy way to find Order members! They nearly got Kingsley ---"
"Yeah, a bunch of Death Eaters cornered him, Bill said but he fought his way out. He's on the run now just like us."
There was a pause.
"You don't reckon Kingsley could have sent that doe?" Ron asked.
"His Patronus is a lynx,” Harry said, “we saw it at the wedding, remember?"
"Oh yeah,” Ron said.
Their voices became lower, and Hermione figured that they had moved farther away from her. Hermione sighed and returned to reading the book. When she had first read the book, she had done it to find the man Harry had been dreaming about. Now she had a whole different mission. It would probably sound completely ridiculous to someone like Ron or Harry, but she figured that there had to be some kind of clue to the Horcruxes or that symbol she had found in the book by Beedle the Bard.
But after a few pages which consisted of rabble from Rita Skeeter, Hermione slammed the book down and went off to find Harry and Ron.
When she found them, they were looking at a large hedge for berries and mushrooms, though they were still deep in conversation.
“I don't know that it's such a big deal, though,” Ron said, “He was really young when they --"
“Our age,” Harry said.
Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry was talking to Ron about Dumbledore, and he seemed to be using the same retorts he had against her.
“Engorgio,” Harry said, “Engorgio!”
"Stop that," said Ron sharply, " I'm sorry I said Dumbledore was young, okay?"
“Sorry... Reducio!” Harry said.
Hermione then recognized what Harry was trying to curse: a large spider was scurrying away from them. Even after Harry's attempt at a Reduction spell, it was still the same size. Hermione frowned. The wand Ron had given Harry was not working well at all.
"You just need to practice," said Hermione, "It’s all a matter of confidence Harry."
After a short pause, Harry nodded. Ron smiled at Hermione, but she just rolled her eyes and walked back to the opening of the tent.
That night, Hermione was still using Rita Skeeter's book as a sort of defense to keep Ron and Harry from talking to her. Once or twice, she caught Ron looking up at her. She didn't give any sign that she had noticed, and he walked off over to his rucksack. He pulled out a large wooden wireless radio.
"There's this one program," Ron said to Harry in barely a whisper, "that tells the news like it really is. All the others are on You-Know-Who's side and are following the Ministry line, but this one ... you wait till you hear it, it's great. Only they can't do it every night, they have to keep changing locations in case they're raided and you need a password to tune in ... Trouble is, I missed the last one..."
Ron began to tap on the wireless with his wand. Hermione rolled her eyes, but tried to ignore it the best she could. She turned another page of the book, and saw Dumbledore's letter to Grindelwald. But this time, it was a copy of the original letter. She chose not to read the letter again, and she was about to turn the page, when she saw something she hadn't noticed in the other copy of the letter.
The capital letter A in Albus looked different than normal. She put the book closer to her face and looked at the letter. It was the same shape she had seen in the other book. The same sign she had seen on Peverell's grave, and the same sign that...
She immediately climbed down from the bed and walked toward Harry.
"If it's annoying you, I'll stop!" he told Hermione nervously.
Hermione ignored Ron as she passed him. "We need to talk," she said to Harry.
"What?" Harry said apprehensively.
"I want to go and see Xenophilius Lovegood."
Harry stared at her. "Sorry?"
“Xenophilius Lovegood, Luna’s father. I want to go and talk to him!”
“Er – why?”
She took a deep breath, and said, “It’s that mark, the mark in Beedle the Bard. Look at this!”
She thrust The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore toward Harry.
“The signature,” said Hermione. “Look at the signature, Harry!”
“Er – what are you -- ?” said Ron tentatively, but Hermione quelled him with a look and turned back to Harry.
“It keeps cropping up, doesn’t it?” she said. “I know Viktor said it was Grindelwald’s mark, but it was definitely on that old grave in Godric’s Hollow, and the dates on the headstone were long before Grindelwald came along! And now this! Well, we can’t ask Dumbledore or Grindelwald what it means – I don’t even know whether Grindelwald’s still alive – but we can ask Mr. Lovegood. He was wearing the symbol at the wedding. I’m sure this is important, Harry!”
Harry did not answer immediately. He looked into her intense, eager face and then out into the surrounding darkness, thinking. After a long pause he said, “Hermione, we don’t need another Godric’s Hollow. We talked ourselves into going there, and –”
“But it keeps appearing, Harry! Dumbledore left me The Tales of Beedle the Bard, how do you know we’re not supposed to find out about the sign?”
“Here we go again!” Harry felt slightly exasperated. “We keep trying to convince ourselves Dumbledore left us secret signs and clues –“
“The Deluminator turned out to be pretty useful,” piped up Ron. “I think Hermione’s right, I think we ought to go and see Lovegood.”
Harry threw him a dark look.
“It won’t be like Godric’s Hollow,” Ron added, “Lovegood’s on your side, Harry, The Quibbler’s been for you all along, it keeps telling everyone they’ve got to help you!”
“I’m sure this is important!” said Hermione earnestly.
“But don’t you think if it was, Dumbledore would have told me about it before he died?”
“Maybe . . . maybe it’s something you need to find out for yourself,” said Hermione with a faint air of clutching at straws.
“Yeah,” said Ron sycophantically, “that makes sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” snapped Hermione, “but I still think we ought to talk to Mr. Lovegood. A symbol that links Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Godric’s Hollow? Harry, I’m sure we ought to know about this!”
“I think we should vote on it,” said Ron. “Those in favor of going to see Lovegood –”
His hand flew into the air before Hermione’s. She knew why Ron was voting with her, but she ignored the thought and put her hand up.
“Outvoted, Harry, sorry,” said Ron, clapping him on the back.
“Fine,” said Harry, half amused, half irritated. “Only, once we’ve seen Lovegood, let’s try and look for some more Horcruxes, shall we? Where do the Lovegood’s live, anyway? Do either of you know?
“Yeah, they’re not far from my place,” said Ron. “I dunno exactly where, but Mum and Dad always point toward the hills whenever they mention them. Shouldn’t be hard to find.”
Hermione sighed and returned to her bunk. She looked at the mysterious shape again. Just what did it mean She only hoped Xenophelius Lovegood would give them a good explanation.
“You only agreed to try and get back in her good books,” Hermione heard Harry say.
“All’s fair in love and war,” said Ron brightly, “and this is a bit of both. Cheer up, it’s the Christmas holidays, Luna’ll be home!”
Another short chapter, I know. But again, I wanted to split the scenes up between chapters. Oh, and I only put in that last quote because it is the title of the story
Also, for anyone wondering about Hermione's attitude toward Ron, even though she was happy about his return... well... if she was too happy, she'd sorta give away her infatuation, hmm?
Hope you liked it. Feedback would be great!
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Hermione was too preoccupied with her excitement of the possibility of discovering the origins of the sign, that she completely forgot to be mad at Ron. When it came to Harry, however, it was easy to be unhappy with him. Everything he did or said seemed to oppose their trip to the Lovegood house.
“The best thing about visiting Luna,” Ron said, “is that she'll be so happy to see us, she'll probably cook a huge meal in our honor.”
Hermione caught Harry rolling his eyes at Ron's comment. However, Ron was thrilled with the fact that they'd be going to the Lovegood house, that he was oblivious to Harry's mood. His cheerful attitude continued on as they packed up their things, then Disapparated to a breezy hillside near Ottery St. Catchpole.
From their high vantage point the village looked like a collection of toy houses in the great slanting shafts of sunlight stretching to earth in the breaks between clouds. They stood for a minute or two looking toward the Burrow, their hands shadowing their eyes, but all they could make out were the high hedges and trees of the orchard, which afforded the crooked little house protection from Muggle eyes.
“It’s weird, being this near, but not going to visit,” said Ron.
“Well, it’s not like you haven’t just seen them. You were there for Christmas,” said Hermione coldly.
“I wasn’t at the Burrow!” said Ron with an incredulous laugh. “Do you think I was going to go back there and tell them all I’d walked out on you? Yeah, Fred and George would’ve been great about it. And Ginny, she’d have been really understanding.”
Hermione was surprised at this. She was sure Ron would have gone home.
“But where have you been, then?” she asked.
“Bill and Fleur’s new place. Shell cottage. Bill’s always been decent to me. He – he wasn’t impressed when he heard what I’d done, but he didn’t go on about it. He knew I was really sorry. None of the rest of the family know I was there. Bill told Mum he and Fleur weren’t going home for Christmas because they wanted to spend it alone. You know, first holiday after they were married. I don’t think Fleur minded. You know how much she hates Celestina Warbeck.”
Ron turned his back on the Burrow.
“Let’s try up here,” he said, leading the way over the top of the hill.
“Wait a minute,” Hermione said.
Ron and Harry nervously looked back to Hermione.
“We should be under the Invisibility Cloak,” she said.
“What?” Ron asked.
“Why?” Harry asked. “You know how slow we walk when we're under the Cloak. It will take forever to find the Lovegood house.”
“It's too dangerous without it,” Hermione said.
You're just thinking of this now?” Harry asked. “You were so excited last night, and now that we're actually here, you're scared that it will be too dangerous?”
“Hermione's right, Harry,” Ron said.
Hermione and Harry rounded on him.
“We've come too far to get in trouble now,” Ron said, “And I'm sure Luna's father has some useful information for us. Let's not risk capture just because we want to go as fast as we can.”
“Fine,” Harry muttered, clearly annoyed that Ron had agreed with Hermione once again.
He removed the Cloak from his pocket and put it over the three of them. Under the restrictions of the Cloak, it took a few hours to move along the cluster of hills. Other than a small cottage, the hills seemed to be deserted.
“Do you think it’s theirs, and they’ve gone away for Christmas?” said Hermione, peering through the window at a neat little kitchen with geraniums on the windowsill.
“Listen,” he said, “I’ve got a feeling you’d be able to tell who lived there if you looked through the Lovegoods’ window. Let’s try the next lot of hills.”
So they Disapparated a few miles farther north.
“Aha!” shouted Ron, as the wind whipped their hair and clothes. Ron was pointing upward, toward the top of the hill on which they had appeared, where a most strange-looking house rose vertically against the sky, a great black cylinder with a ghostly moon hanging behind it in the afternoon sky. “That’s got to be Luna’s house, who else would live in a place like that? It looks like a giant rook!”
“It’s nothing like a bird,” said Hermione, frowning at the tower.
“I was talking about a chess rook,” said Ron. “A castle to you.”
Hermione rolled her eyes.
Ron’s legs were the longest and he reached the top of the hill first. When Harry and Hermione caught up with him, panting and clutching stitches in their sides, they found him grinning broadly.
“It’s theirs,” said Ron. “Look.”
Three hand-painted signs had been tacked to a broke-down gate. The first read,
THE QUIBBLER. EDITOR, X. LOVEGOOD
PICK YOUR OWN MISTLETOE
KEEP OFF THE DIRIGIBLE PLUMS
The gate creaked as they opened it. The zigzagging path leading to the front door was overgrown with a variety of odd plants, including a bush covered in orange radishlike fruit Luna sometimes wore as earrings. Two aged crab apple trees, bent with the wind, stripped of leaves but still heavy with berry-sized red fruits and bushy crowns of white beaded mistletoe, stood sentinel on either side of the front door. A little owl with a slightly flattened hawklike head peered down at them from one of the branches.
“You’d better take off the Invisibility Cloak, Harry,” said Hermione. “It’s you Mr. Lovegood wants to help, not us.”
Harry took the cloak off the three of the them, and handed it to Hermione. She placed it in her beaded bag, then rapped three times on the thick black door, which was studded with iron nails and bore a knocker shaped like an eagle.
Barely ten seconds passed, then the door was flung open and there stood Xenophelius Lovegood, barefoot and wearing what appeared to be a stained nightshirt. His long white candyfloss hair was dirty and unkempt. Xenophelius had been positively dapper at Bill and Fleur's wedding by comparison.
"What? What is it? Who are you? What do you want?" he cried in a high-pitched, querulous voice, looking first at Hermione, then at Ron, and finally at Harry, upon which his mouth fell open in a perfect, comical O.
"Hello, Mr. Lovegood," said Harry, holding out his hand, "I'm Harry, Harry Potter."
Xenophelius did not take Harry's hand, although the eye that was not pointing inward at his nose slid straight to the scar on Harry's forehead.
"Would it be okay if we came in?" asked Harry.
"There's something we'd like to ask you."
"I . . . I'm not sure that's advisable," whispered Xenophelius.
He swallowed and cast a quick look around the garden.
"Rather a shock....My word...I... I'm afraid I don't really think I ought to ---"
"It wont take long" said Harry, slightly disappointed by this less-than-warm welcome.
"I --- oh, all right then. Come in, quickly, Quickly!"
They were barely over the threshold when Xenophelius slammed the door shut behind them.
"You'd better come up." said Xenophelius, still looking extremely uncomfortable, and he led the way.
The room above seemed to be a combination of living room and workplace, and as such, was even more cluttered than the kitchen. Though much smaller and entirely round, the room somewhat resembled the Room of Requirement on the unforgettable occasion that it had transformed itself into a gigantic labyrinth comprised of centuries of hidden objects. There were piles upon piles of books and papers on every surface. Delicately made models of creatures. The thing that was making such a racket was a wooden object covered in magically turning cogs and wheels.
"Excuse me," said Xenophelius.
He strode over to the machine, seized grubbily tablecloth from beneath an immense number of books and papers, which all tumbled onto the floor, and threw it over the press, somewhat muffling the loud bangs and clatters.
Hermione took a sweeping look around the room, and her eyes fell on something she had only read about in books. It was an enormous, gray spiral horn, not unlike that of a unicorn, which had been mounted on the wall, protruding several feet into the room.
"Why have you come here?" he asked Harry.
Hermione let out a cry of shock as she recognized the object. Or she thought she did... but she needed confirmation.
"It is the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," said Xenophelius.
She shook her head. She knew exactly what that thing was.
"No it isn't!" said Hermione.
"Hermione," muttered Harry, sounding embarrassed, "now's not the moment -"
"But Harry, it's an Erumpent horn! It's a Class B Tradeable Material and it's an extraordinary dangerous thing to have in a house!"
"How'd you know it's an Erumpent horn?" asked Ron, edging away from the horn as fast as he could, given the extreme clutter of the room.
"There's a description in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them! Mr. Lovegood, you need to get rid of it straightaway, don't you know it can explode at the slightest touch?"
"The Crumple Horned Snorkack" said Xenophelius very clearly, a mulish look upon his face, “is a shy and highly magical creature, and it's horn -"
"Mr. Lovegood. I recognize the grooved markings around the base, that's an Erumpent horn and it's incredibly dangerous - I don't know where you got it-"
"I bought it," said Xenophelius dogmatically. "Two weeks ago, from a delightful young wizard who knew my interest in the exquisite Snorkack. A Christmas surprise for my Luna. Now," he said, turning to Harry, "why exactly have you come here, Mr. Potter?"
Hermione sighed. She had to figure out a way to convince Xenophelius, but he seemed to be ignoring her now.
"We need some help," said Harry.
"Ah," said Xenophelius, "Help, Hmm."
His good eye moved again to Harry's scar. He seemed simultaneously terrified and mesmerized.
"Yes,” he said, “The thing is ... helping Harry Potter ... rather dangerous..."
"Aren't you the one who keeps telling everyone it's their first duty to help Harry?" said Ron.
"In that magazine of yours?" Xenophelius glanced behind him at the concealed printing press, still banging and clattering beneath the tablecloth.
"Er - yes, I have expressed that view. however -"
"That's for everyone else to do, not you personally?" said Ron.
Xenophelius did not answer. He kept swallowing, his eyes darting between the three of them. Hermione rolled her eyes and looked around the room. There was one person she hadn't seen since they had arrived.
"Where's Luna?" asked Hermione. "Let's see what she thinks."
Xenophelius gulped. He seemed to be steeling himself. Finally he said in a shaky voice difficult to hear over the noise of the printing press,
"Luna is down at the stream, fishing for Freshwater Plimpies. She...she will like to see you. I'll go and call her and then - yes, very well. I shall try to help you."
He disappeared down the spiral staircase and they heard the front open and close. Hermione looked at Ron and Harry, who looked back at her.
"Cowardly old wart," said Ron. "Luna's got ten times his guts."
"He's probably worried about what'll happen to them if the Death Eaters find out I was here" said Harry.
"Well, I agree with Ron, " said Hermione, "Awful old hypocrite, telling everyone else to help you and trying to worm our of it himself. And for heaven's sake keep away from that horn."
Harry crossed the room, and Ron glanced at Hermione.
“What should we do?” Ron whispered to her.
Hermione shrugged. Now that she was in Xenophelius' house, she didn't know exactly what she wanted to do. Xenophelius seemed to not want to talk to them.
“Look at this,” Harry said, breaking Hermione from her thoughts.
Hermione took a glance at the object. It was standing upon the cluttered, curved slide board; a stone but of a beautiful but austere-looking witch wearing a most bizarre-looking headdress. Two objects that resembled golden ear trumpets curved out from the sides. A tiny pair of glittering blue wing was stuck to a leather strap that ran over the top of her head, while one of the orange radishes had been stuck to a second strap around her forehead.
"Fetching," said Ron. "Surprised he didn't hear that to the wedding."
They heard the front door close, and a moment later Xenophelius climbed back up the spiral staircase into the room, his thin legs now encase in Wellington boots, bearing a tray of ill-assorted teacups and a steaming teapot.
"Ah, you have spotted my pet invention," he said, shoving the tray into Hermione's arms and joining Harry at the statue's side.
"Modeled, fittingly enough, upon the head of the beautiful Rowena Ravenclaw, 'Wit beyond measure is a man's greatest treasure!'"
He indicated the objects like ear trumpets.
"These are the Wrackspurt siphons - to remove all sources of distraction from the thinker's immediate area. Here," he pointed out the tiny wings, "a billywig propeller, to induce an elevated frame of mind. Finally, "he pointed to the orange radish, "the dirigible Plum, so as to enhance the ability to accept the extraordinary."
Xenophelius strode back to the tea tray, which Hermione had managed to balance precariously on one of the cluttered side tables.
"May I offer you all an infusion of Gurdyroots?" said Xenophelius. "We make it ourselves."
As he started to pour out the drink, which was as deeply purple as beetroot juice, he added, "Luna is down beyond Bottom Bridge, she is most excited that you are here She ought not to be too long, she has caught nearly enough Plimpies to make soup for all of us. Do sit down and help yourselves to sugar. "Now," he remove a tottering pile of papers from an armchair and sat down, his Wellingtoned legs crossed, "how may I help you, Mr. Potter?"
"Well," said Harry.
He glanced at Hermione, who nodded, smiling. Now they were getting somewhere.
“It's about that symbol you were wearing around your neck at Bill and Fleur's wedding, Mr. Lovegood.
Harry said, “We wondered what it meant."
Xenophelius raised his eyebrows.
"Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?" he asked.
Hermione glared at Xenophelius. She had no clue what he was talking about. She had never heard anything about these Deathly Hallows.
"The Deathly Hallows?" Harry asked.
"That's right," said Xenophelius. "You haven't heard of them? I'm not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. Witness that knuckle-headed young man at your brother's wedding," he nodded at Ron, "who attacked me for sporting the symbol of a well-known Dark wizard! Such ignorance. There is nothing Dark about the Hallows – at least not in that crude sense. One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest."
He stirred several lumps of sugar into his Gurdyroot infusion and drank some.
"I'm sorry," said Harry, "I still don't really understand."
"Well, you see, believers seek the Deathly Hallows," said Xenophelius, smacking his lips in apparent appreciation of the Gurdyroot infusion.
"But what are the Deathly Hallows?" asked Hermione.
Xenophelius set aside his empty teacup.
"I assume that you are familiar with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'?"
“No,” Harry said.
“Yes,” Hermione and Ron said,
"Well, well, Mr. Potter, the whole thing starts with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' . . . I have a copy somewhere . . ."
He glanced vaguely around the room, at the piles of parchment and books.
"I've got a copy, Mr. Lovegood,” Hermione said, “I've got it right here."
She pulled out The Tales of Beedle the Bard from the small, beaded bag.
"The original?" inquired Xenophelius sharply.
"Well then,” Xenophelius said, Why don't you read it out aloud? Much the best way to make sure we all understand."
"Er. . . all right," said Hermione nervously.
She opened the book and turned to the Tale Of The Three Brothers.
"'There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight –'"
"Midnight, our mum always told us," said Ron, who had stretched out, arms behind his head, to listen.
Hermione shot him a look of annoyance.
"Sorry, I just think it's a bit spookier if it's midnight!" said Ron.
"Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives," said Harry before he could stop himself.
Xenophilius did not seem to be paying much attention, but was staring out of the window at the sky.
"Go on, Hermione." Harry said.
"In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.
"'And Death spoke to them –'"
"Sorry," interjected Harry, "but Death spoke to them?"
"It's a fairy tale, Harry!" Hermione retorted.
"Right, sorry,” Harry said, apologetically, “Go on."
She sighed and continued once again.
"'And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of the three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.
"'So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.
"'Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.
"'And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.'"
"Death's got an Invisibility Cloak?" Harry interrupted again.
"So he can sneak up on people," said Ron. "Sometimes he gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking...”
Hermione glared at him again.
“Sorry, Hermione,” Ron said.
She continued reading.
"'Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so talking with wonder of the adventure they had had and admiring Death's gifts.
"'In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination.
"'The first brother traveled on for a week more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible.
"'That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden upon his bed. The thief took the wand and for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat.
"'And so Death took the first brother for his own.
"'Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him.
"'Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as to truly join her.
"'And so Death took the second brother from his own.
"'But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And the he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.'"
Hermione closed the book.
It was a moment or two before Xenophilius seemed to realize that she had stopped reading; then he withdrew his gaze from the window and said: "Well, there you are."
"Sorry?" said Hermione, looking up at him.
"Those are the Deathly Hallows," said Xenophilius.
He picked up a quill from a packed table at his elbow, and pulled a torn piece of parchment from between more books.
"The Elder Wand," he said, and drew a straight vertical line upon the parchment. "The Resurrection Stone," he said, and added a circle on top of the line. "The Cloak of Invisibility," he finished, enclosing both line and circle in a triangle. "Together," he said, "the Deathly Hallows."
Hermione stared at the drawing. This was the shape she had seen many times. But it still confused her. It also saddened her. She thought Xenophelius would know something about the Horcruxes. But the Deathly Hallows, in Hermione's opinion, didn't seem anything close to Horcruxes.
Decided to end it there, otherwise this would be a very long chapter. I apologize that there is so much from the book in this chapter, (and the next, I'll assume), but this is, of course, a very important part of the story.
There's more to come soon!!!
Feedback would be great! I love it!
ETA: After a little research, I realized I spelled Xenophilius wrong in this chapter. I will get it right now.
Last edited by Fury; July 31st, 2010 at 5:31 pm.
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Hermione continued to stare at the drawing in front of her. She had seen it so many times, and yet it seemed so odd, so strange, so new. She sighed as she looked back up at Xenophilius. This had to be another of his fairy tales. Like the Wrackspurt, or Snorcack.
"But there's no mention of the words 'Deathly Hallows' in the story," she asked Xenophilius.
"Well, of course not," said Xenophilius, maddeningly smug. "That is a children's tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognize that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death."
There was a short silence in which Xenophilius glanced out of the window. Already the sun was low in the sky.
"Luna ought to have enough Plimpies soon," he said quietly.
"When you say 'master of Death' –"said Ron.
"Master," said Xenophilius, waving an airy hand. "Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer."
"But then... do you mean..." said Hermione slowly, and Harry could tell that she was trying to keep any trace of skepticism out of her voice, "that you believe these objects – these Hallows – really exist?"
Xenophilius raised his eyebrows again.
"Well, of course,” he said.
"But," said Hermione, "Mr. Lovegood, how can you possibly believe – ?"
"Luna has told me all about you, young lady," said Xenophilius. "You are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at Xenophilius. How outrageous it was that he could call her close-minded!
"Perhaps you ought to try on the hat, Hermione," said Ron, nodding toward the ludicrous headdress. His
voice shook with the strain of not laughing.
Hermione ignored him.
"Mr. Lovegood," she began again, "We all know that there are such things as Invisibility Cloaks. They are rare, but they exist. But –"
"Ah, but the Third Hallow is a true Cloak of Invisibility, Miss Granger! I mean to say, it is not a traveling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?"
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but then closed it. Xenophilius had basically just described Harry's invisibility cloak.
"Exactly," said Xenophilius, as if he had defeated them all in reasoned argument. "None of you have ever seen such a thing. The possessor would be immeasurably rich, would he not?"
He glanced out of the window again. The sky was now tinged with the faintest trace of pink.
"All right," said Hermione, disconcerted. "Say the Cloak existed. . . what about that stone, Mr. Lovegood? The thing you call the Resurrection Stone?"
"What of it?"
"Well, how can that be real?"
"Prove that is not," said Xenophilius.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the man. How close-minded he was!
"But that's – I'm sorry, but that's completely ridiculous! How can I possibly prove it doesn't exist? Do you expect me to get hold of – of all the pebbles in the world and test them? I mean, you could claim that anything's real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody's proved it doesn't exist!"
"Yes, you could," said Xenophilius. "I am glad to see that you are opening your mind a little."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Harry interrupted.
"So the Elder Wand," he said, quickly, "you think that exists too?"
"Oh, well, in that case there is endless evidence," said Xenophilius. "The Elder Wand is the Hallow that is most easily traced, because of the way in which it passes from hand to hand."
"Which is what?" asked Harry.
"Which is that the possessor of the wand must capture it from its previous owner, if he is to be truly master of it," said Xenophilius. "Surely you have heard of the way the wand came to Egbert the Egregious, after his slaughter of Emeric the Evil? Of how Godelot died in his own cellar after his son, Hereward, took the wand from him? Of the dreadful Loxias, who took the wand from Baraabas Deverill, whom he had killed? The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of Wizarding history."
Hermione frowned at Xenophilius. She had heard all about the Elder Wand, and Xenophilius was, in fact, correct about his information. But the fact that it could be part of this rubbish legend?
"So where do you think the Elder Wand is now?" asked Ron.
"Alas, who knows?" said Xenophilius, as he gazed out of the window. "Who knows where the Elder Wand lies hidden? The trail goes cold with Arcus and Livius. Who can say which of them really defeated Loxias, and which took the wand? And who can say who may have defeated them? History, alas, does not tell us."
Hermione paused. Her mind went back to the name on the grave at Godric's Hollow.
"Mr. Lovegood, does the Peverell family have anything to do with the Deathly Hallows?"
Xenophilius looked taken aback.
"But you have been misleading me, young woman!" he said, now sitting up much straighter in his chair and goggling at Hermione. "I thought you were new to the Hallows Quest! Many of us Questers believe that the Peverells have everything – everything! – to do with the Hallows!"
"Who are the Peverells?" asked Ron.
"That was the name on the grave with the mark on it, in Godric's Hollow," said Hermione, still watching Xenophilius. "Ignotus Peverell."
"Exactly!" said Xenophilius, his forefinger raised pedantically. "The sign of the Death Hallows on Ignotus's grave is conclusive proof!"
"Of what?" asked Ron.
"Why, that the three brothers in the story were actually the three Peverell brothers, Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus! That they were the original owners of the Hallows!"
With another glance at the window he got to his feet, picked up the tray, and headed for the spiral staircase.
"You will stay for dinner?" he called, as he vanished downstairs again. "Everybody always requests our recipe for Freshwater Plimpy soup."
"Probably to show the Poisoning Department at St. Mungo's," said Ron under his breath.
"What do you think?" Harry asked Hermione.
She didn't need to ask him what he meant.
"Oh, Harry," she said wearily, "it's a pile of utter rubbish. This can't be what the sign really means. This must just be his weird take on it. What a waste of time."
"I s'pose this is the man who brought us Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," said Ron.
"You didn't believe it either?" Harry asked him.
"Nah, that story's just one of those things you tell kids to teach them lessons, isn't it? 'Don't go looking for trouble, don't go pick fights, don't go messing around with stuff that's best left alone! Just keep your head down, mind your own business, and you'll be okay. Come to think of it," Ron added, "maybe that story's why elder wands are supposed to be unlucky."
"What are you talking about?"
"One of those superstitions, isn't it? 'May-born witches will marry Muggles.' 'Jinx by twilight, undone by midnight.' 'Wand of cider, never prosper.' You must have heard them. My mum's full of them."
"Harry and I were raised by Muggles," Hermione reminded him. "We were taught different superstitions." She sighed deeply as a rather pungent smell drifted up from the kitchen. The one good thing about her exasperation with Xenophilius was that it seemed to have made her forget that she was annoyed at Ron. "I think you're right," she told him. "It's just a morality tale, it's obvious which gift is best, which one you'd choose –"
The three of them spoke at the same time: Hermione said, "the Cloak," Ron said, "the wand," and Harry said, "the stone."
They looked at each other, half surprised, half amused.
"You're supposed to say the Cloak," Ron told Hermione, "but you wouldn't need to be invisible if you had the wand. An unbeatable wand, Hermione, come on!"
"We've already got an Invisibility Cloak," said Harry.
"And it's helped us rather a lot, in case you hadn't noticed!" said Hermione. "Whereas the wand would be bound to attract trouble--"
"Only if you shouted about it," argued Ron. "Only if you were prat enough to go dancing around waving it over your head, and singing, 'I've got an unbeatable want, come and have a go if you think you're hard enough.' As long as you kept your trap shut --"
“Yes, but could you keep your trap shut?" said Hermione, looking skeptical. "You know the only true thing he said to us was that there have been stories about extra-powerful wands for hundreds of years."
"There have?" asked Harry.
"The Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, they crop up under different names through the centuries, usually in the possession of some Dark wizard who’s boasting about them. Professor Binns mentioned some of them, but -- oh it's all nonsense. Wands are only as powerful as the wizards who use them. Some wizards just like to boast that theirs are bigger and better than other people's.”
"But how do you know," said Harry, "that those wands -- the Deathstick, and the Wand of Destiny -- aren't the same want, surfacing over the centuries under different names?"
"What if they're all really the Elder Wand, made by Death?" said Ron.
"So why would you take the stone?" Ron asked him.
"Well, if you could bring people back, we could have Sirius...Mad-Eye...Dumbledore...my parents..."
Neither Ron nor Hermione smiled.
"But according to Beedle the Bard, they wouldn't want to come back, would they?" said Harry, thinking about the tail they had just heard. "I don't suppose there have been loads of other stories about a stone that can raise the dead, have there?” he asked Hermione.
"No," she replied sadly. "I don't think anyone except Mr. Lovegood could kid themselves that's possible. Beedle probably took the idea from the Sorcerer's Stone; you know, instead of a stone to make you immortal, a stone to reverse death."
The smell from the kitchen was getting stronger.
"What about the Cloak, though?" said Ron slowly. "Don't you realize, he's right? I've got so used to Harry's Cloak and how good it is, I never stopped to think. I've never heard of one like Harry's. It's infallible. We've never been spotted under it --"
"Of course not -- we're invisible when we're under it, Ron!" Hermione said.
"But all the stuff he said about other cloaks, and they're not exactly ten a Knut, you know, is true! It's never occurred to me before but I've heard stuff about charms wearing off cloaks when they get old, or them being ripped apart by spells so they've got holes, Harry's was owned by his dad, so it's not exactly new, is it, but it's just ... perfect!" "
Yes, all right, but Ron, the stone,” Hermione said. “It's common knowledge. No magic can bring someone back from the dead!”
“Well, I don't know what the ring does exactly,” Ron said, “But it sounds like it does something like that.”
“It's just impossible,” Hermione said, “I mean, like Harry --”
She looked around for Harry, but he was walking up some stairs.
"Harry, what are you doing?” she said, “I don't think you should look around when he's not here!"
“It was not a good idea to come here,” she said.
“What are you talking about?” Ron asked, “It was your idea!”
“But we've learned nothing!” Hermione said.
“Well, maybe you haven't,” Ron said.
“You know what I mean,” Hermione said, “None of this has to do with the Horcruxes.”
“How do you know?” Ron asked, “We never brought it up.”
Hermione was about to respond, but she heard footsteps. Harry was walking back down the stairs. He looked very odd.
“Harry?” Hermione asked, “What's wrong?”
Before Harry could say anything, Hermione heard more footsteps as Xenophilius had returned.
"Mr. Lovegood," said Harry, "Where's Luna?"
"Excuse me?" Xenophilius said.
"Where's Luna?" Harry repeated.
Hermione looked at Ron, who shrugged.
Xenophilius halted on the top step.
"I -- I've already told you. She is down at the the Bridge fishing for Plimpies."
"So why have you only laid that tray for four?" Harry asked.
Hermione and Ron both looked at the tray. Harry was right. Xenophilius tried to speak, but no sound came out. The only noise was the continued chugging of the printing press, and a slight rattle from the tray as Xenophilius's hands shook.
"I don't think Luna's been here for weeks." said Harry. "Her clothes are gone, her bed hasn't been slept in. Where is she? and why do you keep looking out of the window?"
Xenophilius dropped the tray. The bowls bounced and smashed Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew their wands. Xenophilius froze his hand about to enter his pocket. At that moment the printing press have a huge bank and numerous Quibblers came streaming across the floor from underneath the tablecloth, the press fell silent at last.
Hermione stooped down and picked up one of the magazines, her wand still pointing at Mr. Lovegood. She gasped as she looked at cover. It read “Undesirable Number One” on it and had Harry's picture on it.
"Harry, look at this" she exclaimed.
He strode over to her as quickly as he could through all the clutter. The front of the Quibbler carried his own picture, emblazoned with the words "Undesirable Number One" and captioned with the reward money.
"The Quibbler's going for a new angle, then?: Harry asked coldly, his mind working very fast. "Is that what you were doing when you went into the garden, Mr. Lovegood? Sending an owl to the Ministry?”
Xenophilius licked his lips.
"They took my Luna," he whispered, "Because of what I've been writing. They took my Luna and I don't know where she is, what they've done to her. But they might give her back to me if I -- If I--"
"Hand over Harry?" Hermione finished for him.
"No deal." said Ron flatly. "Get out of the way, we're leaving."
Xenophilius looked ghastly, a century old, his lips drawn back into a dreadful leer.
"They will be here any moment. I must save Luna. I cannot lose Luna. You must not leave."
He spread his arms in front of the staircase.
"Don't make us hurt you," Harry said. "Get out of the way, Mr. Lovegood."
Hermione saw something moving out of the corner of her eye.
“HARRY!” she screamed.
Figures on broomsticks were flying past the windows. As the three of them looked away from him. Xenophilius drew his wand. Harry launched himself sideways, shoving Ron and Hermione out of harm's way as Xenophilius's Stunning Spell soared across the room and hit the Erumpent horn.
There was a colossal explosion. The sound of it seemed to blow the room apart. Fragments of wood and paper and rubble flew in all directions, along with an impenetrable cloud of thick white dust.
Hermione screamed as she dove for cover as debris blew all over, some landing on her.
She heard Ron's yell, and a series of sickening metallic thuds which told her that Xenophilius had been blasted off his feet and fallen backward down the spiral stairs. Hermione tried to move some of the debris off of her as she looked around.
Half of the ceiling had fall in and the end of Luna's bed was hanging through the hole.
“You think Ol' Xeno was telling the truth?” a voice said, “You think Potter's here?”
Hermione looked up, thinking someone was there with them, but she then realized the voice was coming near the front door. She crawled over to Harry, and put a finger to her lips hushing him.
"Didn't I tell you there was no need to hurry, Travers?" said a rough voice. "Didn't I tell you this nutter was just raving as usual?"
There was a bang and a scream of pain from Xenophilius.
"I told you last week Lovegood, we weren't coming back for anything less than some solid information! Remember last week? When you wanted to swap your daughter for that stupid bleeding headdress? And the week before..."
Another bang, another squeal.
"When you thought we'd give her back if you offered us proof there are Cumple" -- Bang – "Headed"--bang--"Snorkacks?”
"No -- no -- I beg of you!" sobbed Xenophilius. "It really is Potter, Really!"
"And now it turns out you only called us here to try and blow us up!" roared the Death Eater, and there was a volley of bangs interspersed with squeals of agony from Xenophilius.
"The place looks like it's about to fall in, Selwyn," said a cool second voice, echoing up the mangled staircase. "The stairs are completely blocked. Could try clearing it? Might bring the place down."
"You lying piece of filth." shouted the wizard named Selwyn. "You have never seen Potter in your life, have you? Thought you'd lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you'll get your girl back like this?"
"I swear...I swear...Potter's upstairs!"
"Homenum revelio." said the voice at the foot of the stairs.
Hermione gasped. That spell would alert the Death Eaters of their presence.
"There's someone up there all right, Selwyn," said the second man sharply.
"It's Potter, I tell you, it's Potter!" sobbed Xenophilius. "Please...please...give me Luna, just let me have Luna..."
"You can have your little girl, Lovegood," said Selwyn, "if you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plot, if it's a trick, if you've got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we'll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury."
Xenophilius gave a wail of fear and despair. There were scurryings and scrapings. Xenophilius was trying to get through the debris on the stairs.
"Come on," Harry whispered, "we've got to get out of here."
Hermione helped Harry clear himself from the rubble, then she crawled over to Ron who was buried the deepest. She used a silent Hover Charm to clear the rubble off of him.
"All right." breathed Hermione, as the broken printing press blocking the top of the stairs begin to tremble.
Xenophilius was feet away from them.
"Do you trust me Harry?" Hermione asked.
"Okay then." Hermione whispered. "give me the invisibility Cloak. Ron, you're going to put it on."
"Me?” Ron asked, confused, “But Harry --"
"Please, Ron!” Hermione said, “Harry, hold on tight to my hand, Ron grab my shoulder."
Harry held out his left hand. Ron vanished beneath the Cloak. The printing press blocking the stairs was vibrating. Xenophilius was trying to shift it using a Hover Charm.
Hermione knew her plan would work. She had to just wait.
"Hold tight" she whispered. "Hold tight...any second..."
Xenophilius' paper-white face appeared over the top of the sideboard.
"Obliviate!" cried Hermione, pointing her wand first into his face then at the floor beneath them. "Deprimo!"
They fell straight down as the floor collapsed beneath them. Hermione stood up and felt Harry and Ron still holding on to her.
“There!” one of the Death Eaters said.
Hermione pictured a location in her mind, then Apparated, as blackness engulfed her.
Another chapter finished. Did this one pretty quick.
Hope you liked it!
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
The Deathly Hallows
Hermione Apparated into a field. She felt Harry and Ron again, before they toppled back onto the ground. After making sure none of the Death Eaters had followed them, she started circling the vicinity and started putting up protective charms.
“Protego Totalum…Salvio Hexia…”
“That treacherous old bleeder.” Ron panted, “Hermione you’re a genius, a total genius. I can’t believe we got out of that.”
“Cave Inimicum…Didn’t I say it was an Erumpent horn, didn’t I tell him? And now his house has been blown apart!”
“Serves him right,” said Ron, “What’d you reckon they’ll do to him?”
“Oh I hope they don’t kill him!” groaned Hermione, “That’s why I wanted the Death Eaters to get a glimpse of Harry before we left, so they knew Xenophilius hadn’t been lying!”
“Why hide me though?” asked Ron.
“You’re supposed to be in bed with spattergrolt, Ron! They’ve kidnapped Luna because her father supported Harry! What would happen to your family if they knew you’re with him?”
“But what about your mum and dad?”
“They’re in Australia,” said Hermione, “They should be all right. They don’t know anything.”
“You’re a genius,” Ron repeated, looking awed.
Yeah, you are, Hermione,” agreed Harry fervently. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
She grinned at both of them, but it disappeared quickly as she thought of Luna. She had become the Death Eater's prisoner.
“What about Luna?” she said, voicing her thoughts.
“Well, if they’re telling the truth and she’s still Alive ---“ began Ron.
“Don’t say that, don’t say it!” squealed Hermione. “She must be alive, she must!”
“Then she’ll be in Azkaban, I expect,” said Ron. “Whether she survives the place, though…Loads don’t…”
“She will,” said Harry. He could not bear to contemplate the alternative. “She’s tough, Luna, much tougher than you’d think. She’s probably teaching all the inmates about Wrackspurts and Nargles.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Hermione. She passed a hand over her eyes. “I’d feel so sorry for Xenophilius if ---“
“---if he hadn’t just tried to sell us to the Death Eaters, yeah,” said Ron.
They put up the tent and retreated inside it, where Ron made them tea. After their narrow escape, the chilly, musty old place felt like home: safe, familiar, and friendly.
“Oh, why did we go there?” groaned Hermione after a few minutes’ silence. “Harry, you were right, it was Godric’s Hollow all over again, a complete waste of time! The Deathly Hallows…such rubbish…although actually,” a sudden thought seemed to have struck her, “he might have made it all up, mightn’t he? He probably doesn’t believe in the Deathly Hallows at all, he just wanted to keep us talking until the Death Eaters arrived!”
“I don’t think so,” said Ron. “It’s a damn sight harder making stuff up when you’re under stress than you’d think. I found that out when the Snatchers caught me. It was much easier pretending to be Stan, because I knew a bit about him, than inventing a whole new person. Old Lovegood was under loads of pressure, trying to make sure we stayed put. I reckon he told us the truth, or what he thinks is the truth, just to keep us talking.”
“Well, I don’t suppose it matters,” sighed Hermione. “Even if he was being honest, I never heard such a lot of nonsense in all my life.”
“Hang on, though,” said Ron. “The Chamber of Secrets was supposed to be a myth, wasn’t it?”
“But the Deathly Hallows can’t exist, Ron!” Hermione said, exasperated.
“You keep saying that, but one of them can,” said Ron. “Harry’s Invisibility Cloak ---“
“The Tale of the Three Brothers’ is a story,” said Hermione firmly. “A story about how humans are frightened of death. If surviving was as simple as hiding under the Invisibility Cloak, we’d have everything we need already!”
“I don’t know. We could do with an unbeatable wand,” said Harry, turning the blackthorn wand in his fingers.
“There’s no such thing, Harry!”
“You said there have been loads of wands --- the Deathstick and whatever they were called ---“
“All right, even if you want to kid yourself the Elder Wand’s real, what about the Resurrection Stone?” Her fingers sketched quotation marks around the name, and her tone dripped sarcasm. “No magic can raise the dead, and that’s that!”
“When my wand connected with You-Know-Who’s, it made my mum and dad appear…and Cedric…”
“But they weren’t really back from the dead, were they?” said Hermione. “Those kind of ---of pale imitations aren’t the same as truly bringing someone back to life.”
“But she, the girl in the tale, didn’t really come back, did she?” Harry said, “The story says that once people are dead, they belong with the dead. But the second brother still got to see her and talk to her, didn’t he? He even lived with her for a while…”
She smiled at Harry, though it was an expression of concern. She should have known Harry would take the Resurrection Stone with great seriousness. It would have assisted him in his greatest wish in life: to be reunited with his parents and those he had lost.
But she was also afraid. What if the Resurrection Stone was real? To think what would happen if those who were dead had returned. She shuddered as she looked at Ron, wondering what he thought about all of this.
“So that Peverell bloke who’s buried in Godric’s Hollow,” he said hastily, trying to sound robustly sane, “you don’t know anything about him, then?”
“No,” she replied, relieved at the change of subject. “I looked him up after I saw the mark on his grave; if he’d been anyone famous or done anything important, I’m sure he’d be in one of our books. The only place I’ve managed to find the name ‘Peverell’ Is Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. I borrowed it from Kreacher,” she explained as Ron raised his eyebrows. “It lists the pure-blood families that are now extinct in the male line. Apparently the Peverells were one of the earliest families to vanish.”
“Extinct in the male line?” repeated Ron.
“It means the name died out,” said Hermione, “centuries ago, in the case of the Peverells. They could still have descendents, though, they’d just be called something different.”
“Marvolo Gaunt!” Harry cried out loud.
“Sorry?” Hermione and Ron said together.
“Marvolo Gaunt! You-Know-Who’s grandfather! In the Pensieve! With Dumbledore! Marvolo Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!”
Ron and Hermione looked bewildered.
“The ring, the ring that became the Horcrux, Marvolo Gaunt said it had the Peverell coat of arms on it! I saw him waving it in the bloke from the Ministry’s face, he nearly shoved it up his nose!”
“The Peverell coat of arms?” said Hermione sharply. “Could you see what it looked like?”
“Not really,” said Harry, trying to remember. “There was nothing fancy on there, as far as I could see; maybe a few scratches. I only ever saw it really close up after it had been cracked open.”
Ron was looking from one to the other, astonished.
“Blimey,” he said, “You reckon it was this sign again? The sign of the Hallows?
“Why not said Harry excitedly, “Marvolo Gaunt was an ignorant old git who lived like a pig, all he cared about was his ancestry. If that ring had been passed down through the centuries, he might not have known what it really was. There were no books in that house, and trust me, he wasn’t the type to read fairy tales to his kids. He’d have loved to think the scratches on the stone were a coat of arms, because as far as he was concerned, having pure blood made you practically royal.”
“Yes…and that’s all very interesting,” said Hermione cautiously, “but Harry, if you’re thinking what I think you’re think ---“
“Well, why not? Why not? said Harry, abandoning caution. “It was a stone, wasn’t it?” He looked at Ron for support. “What if it was the Resurrection Stone?”
Ron’s mouth fell open.
“Blimey --- but would it still work if Dumbledore broke --- ?”
“Work?” Hermione asked. “Work? Ron, it never worked! There’s no such thing as a Resurrection Stone!”
She leapt to her feet. She couldn't believe Harry. He was so wanting to believe in this myth, he was putting things together randomly. And now he had convinced Ron.
“Harry,” she said, “you’re trying to fit everything into the Hallows story ---“
“Fit everything in?” Harry repeated. “Hermione, it fits of its own accord! I know the sign of the Deathly Hallows was on that stone! Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!”
“A minute ago you told us you never saw the mark on the stone properly!”
“Where’d you reckon the ring is now?” Ron asked Harry. “What did Dumbledore do with it after he broke it open?”
Hermione sighed. She couldn't believe her ears. Everything she learned at Hogwarts, everything magic in the world, opposed the Deathly Hallows. But here were Harry and Ron discussing their impossible existence as if the things were sitting right in front of them!
Hermione looked at Harry. There seemed to be an obsession in his eyes. He looked scary.
“Harry?” she called out.
Harry didn't seem to hear her. He had pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and was studying it. Hermione looked at Ron, who was looking at the Cloak as well.
“Dumbledore had my Cloak the night my parents died!”
Hermione could hear Harry's voice shaking.
“My mum told Sirius that Dumbledore borrowed the Cloak!” he said, “This is why! He wanted to examine it, because he thought it was the third Hallow! Ignotus Peverell is buried in Godric’s Hollow…He’s my ancestor. I’m descended from the third brother! It all makes sense!”
Hermione sighed. None of this made sense to her.
“Harry,” said Hermione again, but Harry was busy undoing the pouch around his neck, his fingers shaking hard.
“Read it,” he told her, pushing a piece of parchment into her hand. “Read it! Dumbledore had the Cloak, Hermione! Why else would he want it? He didn’t need a Cloak, he could perform a Disillusionment Charm so powerful that he made himself completely invisible without one!”
Hermione sighed as she glanced at the letter. But before she could read it, she heard something metal clanking and rolling on the ground. Harry knelt to the ground and picked it up. As he stared at it, Hermione looked at it as well. It was the Golden Snitch.
“IT’S IN HERE!” Harry shouted, “He left me the ring – it’s in the Snitch!”
“You -- you reckon?” Ron asked, surprised.
Hermione was relieved at Ron's surprised. This was just as strange to him as it was to her. Hermione looked at Harry, who looked excited. Then suddenly, his face went dark.
“That's what he's after,” Harry said.
Hermione frowned at him. The change in his voice was positively scary.
“You-Know-Who’s after the Elder Wand,” Harry said.
Hermione's eyes widened. She knew the Elder Wand existed. There was enough information on this. But to think that You-Know-Who was after it was hard for Hermione to imagine. If he knew about the wand and had acquired it, then it would be almost impossible for him to be killed. Everything they were doing would be all for naught.
Harry had walked to the opening of the tent, and was staring out it. Hermione looked at Ron, who looked just as scared as she did.
Harry turned back to them.
“This is it?” Harry said, trying to bring them inside the glow of his own astonished certainty, “This explains everything. The Deathly Hallows are real and I’ve got one --- maybe two ---“
He held up the Snitch.
“--- and You-Know-Who’s chasing the third, but he doesn’t realize…he just thinks it’s a powerful wand ---“
“Harry,” said Hermione, moving across to him and handing him back Lily’s letter, “I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got this wrong, all wrong.”
“But don’t you see? It all fits ---“
“Not, it doesn’t,” she said. “It doesn’t. Harry, you’re just getting carried away. Please,” she said as she started to speak, “please just answer me this: If the Deathly Hallows really existed, and Dumbledore knew about them, knew that the person who possessed all of them would be master of Death --- Harry, why wouldn’t he have told you? Why?”
“But you said it, Hermione! You’ve got to find out about them for yourself! It’s a Quest!”
“But I only said that to try and persuade you to come to the Lovegoods’!” cried Hermione in exasperation. “I didn’t really believe it!”
“Dumbledore usually let me find out stuff for myself. He let me try my strength, take risks. This feels like the kind of thing he’d do.”
“Harry, this isn’t a game, this isn’t practice! This is the real thing, and Dumbledore left you very clear instructions: Find and destroy the Horcruxes! That symbol doesn’t mean anything, forget the Deathly Hallows, we can’t afford to get sidetracked ---“
She then realized Harry wasn't paying much attention to her. If only he could see what she was talking about. They had to go after the Horcruxes. These Hallows were throwing Harry off his mission!
She looked at Ron.
“You don’t believe in this, do you?” she asked him.
Hermione saw Harry look up. Ron looked up at Harry, then to Hermione.
“I dunno…I mean…bits of it sort of fit together,” said Ron awkwardly, “But when you look at the whole thing…” He took a deep breath. “I think we’re supposed to get rid of Horcruxes, Harry. That’s what Dumbledore told us to do. Maybe…maybe we should forget about this Hallows business.”
“Thank you, Ron,” said Hermione. “I’ll take first watch.”
She walked over to the opening of the tent and sat down. She had to find a way to get Harry's focus back on the Horcruxes. If You-Know-Who was looking for this Elder Wand, it was now a race. A race for who could find what first: The Horcruxes or the Elder Wand.
Over the next few days, through at least two more locations (she had lost count weeks ago), Hermione caught Harry looking at the Snitch every now and then. Ron had also noticed this apparently, as he had voiced this to Hermione one night as they sat together in the opening of the tent.
“We should alert Ginny,” Ron muttered, jokingly.
“What?” Hermione asked.
“I keep catching Harry snogging that Snitch of his,” Ron said, grinning.
Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ron, then just grinned back at him.
“Well, he wouldn't,” Hermione said, then raised her voice so Harry could hear her, “If he was focused on the Horcruxes!”
“Horcruxes,” Harry said, from his bunk, “Right. You talk like it's some kind of obsession with you now.”
“Obsession?” repeated Hermione in a low fierce voice, “We’re not the one with an obsession, Harry! We’re the ones trying to do what Dumbledore wanted us to do!”
“’The last enemy shall be destroyed is death,’” Harry quoted calmly.
“I thought it was You-Know-Who we were supposed to be fighting?” Hermione retorted.
Harry sighed and turned his back on them.
“He'll come around,” Ron said.
“I doubt it,” Hermione said.
“No, you'll see,” Ron said, “It's just stressful for him. All this Horcruxes and Hallows stuff. Something will show him right.”
Hermione smiled and nodded, happy that Ron was siding with her.
And as the weeks continued on, and they went to countless more locations, Hermione could tell that even though Harry seemed to still be obsessed with the Hallows, Ron had taken a lead on things.
“Three Horcruxes left,” he said one day, “We need a plan of action, come on! Where haven’t we looked? Let’s go through it again. The orphanage…”
Hermione was a little annoyed, but she plowed on with Ron, if only to try and get Harry to tag along. They had explored a number of places, and many of those places had Snatchers all over the place.
“Some of them are supposed to be as bad as Death Eaters,” said Ron, as they returned to the tent after a close call with Snatchers, “The lot that got me were a bit pathetic, but Bill recons some of them are really dangerous. They said on Potterwatch ---“
“On what?” said Harry.
“Potterwatch, didn’t I tell you that’s what it was called? The program I keep trying to get on the radio, the only one that tells the truth about what’s going on! Nearly all of the programs are following You-Know-Who’s line, all except Potterwatch, I really want you to hear it, but it’s tricky tuning in…”
Ron spent evening after evening using his wand to beat out various rhythms on top of the wireless while the dials whirled. Occasionally they would catch snatches of advice on how to treat dragonpox, and once a few bars of “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love.” While he taped, Ron continued to try to hit on the correct password, muttering strings of random words under his breath.
“They’re normally something to do with the Order,” he told them. “Bill had a real knack for guessing them. I’m bound to get one in the end…”
But not until March did luck favor Ron at last. He and Hermione had been discussing new locations to search at. But after a while, they had stopped. While Hermione was polishing the Gryffindor sword. Ron was naming off passwords.
“Gryffindor,” he said, bored, “Hogwarts, Hagrid, Albus!”
Suddenly, Hermione heard something on the radio.
“That's it!” Ron said, grinning, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it! Password was ‘Albus’! Get in here, Harry.”
Hermione stared at the radio, and barely heard Harry walk into the tent. She was listening to the radio.
“…apologize for our temporary absence from the airwaves, which was due to a number of house calls in our area by those charming Death Eaters.”
Hermione gasped. She recognized that voice.
“But that’s Lee Jordan!” said Hermione.
“I know!” beamed Ron. “Cool, eh?”
“…now found ourselves another secure location,” Lee was saying, and I’m pleased to tell you that two of our regular contributors have joined me here this evening. Evening, boys!”
“’River’, that’s Lee,” Ron explained. “They’ve all got code names, but you can usually tell ---“
“Shh!” said Hermione.
“But before we hear from Royal and Romulus,” Lee went on, “let’s take a moment to report those deaths that the Wizarding Wireless Network News and Daily Prophet don’t think important enough to mention. It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murders of Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell.”
Hermione gasped in horror as she looked at Harry and Ron. She remembered when they had heard Dirk and Ted talking with Dean and the goblins. She wondered where Dean was. But she also mourned for Ted Tonks. She wondered if Dora had heard this news yet.
“A goblin by the name of Gornuk was also killed. It is believed that Muggle-born Dean Thomas and a second goblin, both believed to have been traveling with Tonks, Cresswell, and Gornuk, may have escaped. If Dean is listening, or if anyone has any knowledge of his whereabouts, his parents and sisters are desperate for news."
Hermione sighed in relief.
“Meanwhile, in Gaddley, a Muggle family of five has been found dead in their home. Muggle authorities are attributing their deaths to a gas leak, but members of the Order of the Phoenix inform me that it was the Killing Curse --- more evidence, as if it were needed, of the fact that Muggle slaughter is becoming little more than a recreational sport under the new regime.
“Finally, we regret to inform our listeners that the remains of Bathilda Bagshot have been discovered in Godric’s Hollow. The evidence is that she died several months ago. The Order of the Phoenix informs us that her body showed unmistakable signs of injuries inflicted by Dark Magic.
“Listeners, I’d like to invite you now to join us in a minute’s silence in memory of Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell, Bathilda Bagshot, Gornuk, and the unnamed, but no less regretted, Muggles murdered by the Death Eaters.”
“Thank you,” said Lee’s voice. “And now we can return to regular contributor Royal, for an update on how the new Wizarding order is affecting the Muggle world.”
“Thanks, River,” said an unmistakable voice, deep, measured, reassuring.
“Kingsley!” burst out Ron.
“We know!” said Hermione, hushing him.
“Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering as they continue to sustain heavy casualties,” said Kingsley. “However, we continue to hear truly inspirational stories of wizards and witches risking their own safety to protect Muggle friends and neighbors, often without the Muggles’ knowledge. I’d like to appeal to all our listeners to emulate their example, perhaps by casting a protective charm over any Muggle dwellings in your street. Many lives could be saved if such simple measures are taken.”
“And what would you say, Royal, to those listeners who reply that in these dangerous times, it should be ‘Wizards first’? asked Lee.
“I’d say that it’s one short step from ‘Wizards first’ to ‘Purebloods first,’ and then to ‘Death Eaters,’” replied Kingsley. “We’re all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.”
“Excellently put, Royal, and you’ve got my vote for Minister of Magic if we ever get out of this mess,” said Lee. “And now, over to Romulus for our popular feature ‘Pals of Potter.’”
“Thanks, River,” said another very familiar voice.
“Oh!” Ron said, “It's --”
“We know it’s Lupin!” Hermione said, with a sigh.
“Romulus, do you maintain, as you have every time you’ve appeared on our program, that Harry Potter is still alive?”
“I do,” said Lupin firmly. “There is no doubt at all in my mind that his death would be proclaimed as widely as possible by the Death Eaters if it had happened, because it would strike a deadly blow at the morale of those resisting the new regime. ‘The Boy Who Lived’ remains a symbol of everything for which we are fighting: the triumph of good, the power of innocence, the need to keep resisting.”
“And what would you say to Harry if you knew he was listening, Romulus?”
“I’d tell him we’re all with him in spirit,” said Lupin, then hesitated slightly, “And I’d tell him to follow his instincts, which are good and nearly always right.”
Tears leaked from Hermione's eyes, as she looked up at Harry.
“Nearly always right,” she repeated.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” said Ron in surprise. “Bill told me Lupin’s living with Tonks again! And apparently she’s getting pretty big too…”
“…and our usual update on those friends of Harry Potter’s who are suffering for their allegiance?” Lee was saying.
“Well, as regular listeners will know, several of the more outspoken supporters of Harry Potter have now been imprisoned, including Xenophilius Lovegood, erstwhile editor of The Quibbler,” said Lupin.
“At least he’s still alive!” muttered Ron.
“We have also heard within the last few hours that Rubeus Hagrid” – all three of them gasped, and so nearly missed the rest of the sentence -- “well-known gamekeeper at Hogwarts School, has narrowly escaped arrest within the grounds of Hogwarts, where he is rumored to have hosted a ‘Support Harry Potter’ party in his house. However, Hagrid was not taken into custody, and is, we believe, on the run.”
“I suppose it helps, when escaping from Death Eaters, if you’ve got a sixteen-foot-high half brother?” asked Lee.
“It would tend to give you an edge,” agreed Lupin gravely. “May I just add that while we here at Potterwatch applaud Hagrid’s spirit, we would urge even the most devoted of Harry’s supporters against following Hagrid’s lead. ‘Support Harry Potter’ parties are unwise in the present climate.”
“Indeed they are, Romulus,” said Lee, “so we suggest that you continue to show your devotion to the man with the lightning scar by listening to Potterwatch! And now let’s move to news concerning the wizard who is proving just as elusive as Harry Potter. We like to refer to him as the Chief Death Eater, and here to give his views on some of the more insane rumors circulating about him, I’d like to introduce a new correspondent. Rodent?”
“’Rodent’?” said yet another familiar voice, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione cried out together:
“No – is it George?”
“It’s Fred, I think,” said Ron, leaning in closer, as whichever twin it was said,
“I’m not being ‘Rodent,’ no way, I told you I wanted to be ‘Rapier’!”
“Oh, all right then, ‘Rapier,’ could you please give us your take on the various stories we’ve been hearing about the Chief Death Eater?”
“Yes, River, I can,” said Fred. “As our listeners will know, unless they’ve taken refuge at the bottom of a garden pond or somewhere similar, You-Know-Who’s strategy of remaining in the shadows is creating a nice little climate of panic. Mind you, if all the alleged sightings of him are genuine, we must have a good nineteen You-Know-Whos running around the place.”
“Which suits him, of course,” said Kingsley. “The air of mystery is creating more terror than actually showing himself.”
“Agreed,” said Fred. “So, people, let’s try and calm down a bit. Things are bad enough without inventing stuff as well. For instance, this new idea that You-Know-Who can kill people with a single glance from his eyes. That’s a basilisk, listeners. One simple test: Check whether the thing that’s glaring at you has got legs. If it has, it’s safe to look into its eyes, although if it really is You-Know-Who, that’s still likely to be the last thing you ever do.”
Harry burst into laughter, and Hermione looked at Ron, who just shrugged and grinned.
“And the rumors that he keeps being sighted abroad?” asked Lee.
“Well, who wouldn’t want a nice little holiday after all the hard work he’s been putting in?” asked Fred. “Point is, people, don’t get lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he’s out of the country. Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t, but the fact remains he can move faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo when he wants to, so don’t count on him being a long way away if you’re planning to take any risks. I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but safety first!”
“Thank you very much for those wise words, Rapier,” said Lee. ”Listeners, that brings us to the end of another Potterwatch. We don’t know when it will be possible to broadcast again, but you can be sure we shall be back. Keep twiddling those dials: The next password will be ‘Mad-Eye.’ Keep each other safe: Keep faith. Good night.”
The radio’s dial twirled and the lights behind the tuning panel went out. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were still beaming. Hearing familiar, friendly voices was an extraordinary tonic.
“Good, eh?” said Ron happily.
“Brilliant,” said Harry.
“It’s so brave of them,” sighed Hermione admiringly. “If they were found …”
“Well, they keep on the move, don’t they?” said Ron. “Like us.”
“But did you hear what Fred said?” asked Harry excitedly, “He’s abroad! He’s still looking for the Wand, I knew it!”
“Come on, Hermione, why are you so determined not to admit it? Vol –“
“—demort’s after the Elder Wand!”
“The name’s Taboo!” Ron bellowed, “I told you, Harry, I told you, we can’t say it anymore – we’ve got to put the protection back around us – quickly – it’s how they find –“
But Ron went silent, and Hermione knew why. She had heard it too. Cracks from Apparation, and voices were coming from just outside the tent.
Cliffhanger! Well, sorta. Everyone knows what is happening. But I also know this! Next chapter is Malfoy Manor, one of the chapters that I know everyone has been waiting for when it comes to Hermione's PoV. I'll probably switch it around some too, to describe what Ron is feeling.
That will come very soon!
Feedback would be great! I know this was another chapter with a lot of dialogue from the book, but I did some stuff in it to support Hermione's PoV.
Last edited by Fury; August 3rd, 2010 at 9:58 pm.
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
It was as if time was standing still. Ron was staring straight ahead, his eyes on the opening of the tent. Harry, the last to hear the noise outside the tent, was slowly looking around at the walls of the tent.
Thoughts were moving through Hermione's head at the speed of light. What were they going to do? They had to do something. Could they escape in time before whoever was outside could come in? Could they grab everything they needed in mere seconds and still Apparate safely?
Her thoughts were suddenly broken by three things happening simultaneously. The Sneakoscope was spinning and buzzing. A tiny click, followed by darkness, indicated that Ron had taken all the light from the tent using the Deluminator. And the voices they were hearing were now very distinct.
“Come out of there with your hands up!” came a rasping voice through the darkness. “We know you’re in there! You’ve got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don’t care who we curse!”
A moment later, Hermione grabbed her wand and pointed it at Harry's face. Thinking of the first spell she could come up with, she performed it non-verbally. A blinding white light shot into Harry's face, but the brightness blinded Hermione as well. She hadn't been ready for it.
Suddenly, she heard heavy footfalls coming inside the tent.
“Get up, vermin,” one voice said to Harry.
“Expelliarmus!” another voice said, closer to Hermione.
Suddenly, Hermione felt her wand leave her hand, and she was forced to the ground, hard. A pair of hands then picked her up. She almost called out Harry and Ron's names, but she thought better. These people didn't know who they were.
She was then forced to walk forward, out of the tent. She heard Ron mumbling behind her.
“Get—off—her!” Ron shouted.
Hermione vision became clear again just in time to see a man punch Ron in the stomach. Ron keeled over in pain.
"No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!" Hermione screamed.
"Your boyfriend's going to have worse than that done to him if he's on my list," said a familiar looking man as he walked toward Hermione, “Delicious girl... what a treat...I do enjoy the softness of the skin..."
Fenrir Greyback put a large hand onto Hermione's cheek and she turned away. He muttered a low growl.
“Search the tent!” the man holding Hermione said.
Near Hermione, Ron tried to lunge at Fenrir, but he was pushed back down onto the ground. Behind her, Harry had been forced down to the ground as well. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Fenrir, and he shoved her to the ground, then walked over to Harry.
“Now, let's see who we've got!” Fenrir said, rolling Harry over onto his back.
The tip of Greyback's wand lit up, and he hovered it over Harry's face. Greyback let out a throaty laugh.
"I'll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?"
|Harry did not answer.
"I said," repeated Greyback.
Hermione winced as Fenrir landed a blow to Harry's diaphragm that made him double over in pain.
"Stung." Harry muttered. "Been Stung."
"Yeah, looks like it." said a second voice.
"What’s your name?" snarled Greyback.
"Dudley." said Harry.
"And your first name?"
"I -- Vernon. Vernon Dudley."
"Check the list, Scabior." said Greyback.
Fenrir moved sideways over to Ron.
"And what about you, ginger?"
"Stan Shunpike." said Ron.
"Like 'ell you are." said the man called Scabior. "We know Stan Shunpike, 'e's put a bit of work our way."
Hermione winced as Fenrir launched a fist into Ron's face.
"I'b Bardy," said Ron, in a muffled voice.
Hermione almost gasped as she saw blood pour from Ron's nose and mouth.
"Bardy Weasley." Ron finished.
"A Weasley?" rasped Greyback. "So you're related to blood traitors even if you're not a Mudblood. And lastly, your pretty little friend...”
Hermione gasped as Fenrir looked at her again.
"Easy, Greyback." said Scabior over the jeering of the others.
"Oh, I'm not going to bite just yet,” Fenrir said, still looking at her, We'll see if she’s a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny. Who are you, girly?
"Penelope Clearwater." said Hermione, trying to keep her voice calm.
"What's your blood status?” Fenrir asked.
"Half-Blood." said Hermione.
"Easy enough to check," said Scabior. "But the 'ole lot of 'em look like they could still be 'ogwarts age -"
"We'b lebt," said Ron.
"Left, 'ave you, ginger?" said Scabior. "And you decided to go camping? And you thought, just for a laugh, you'd use the Dark Lords name?"
"Nod a laugh," said Ron. "Aggiden."
"You know who used to like using the Dark Lord's name, Weasley?" growled Greyback, "The Order of the Phoenix. Mean anything to you?"
"Well, they don't show the Dark Lord proper respect, so the name's been Tabooed. A few Order members have been tracked that way. We'll see. Bind them up with the other two prisoners!"
Scabior walked over to Hermione, as two of the other men picked up Harry and Ron. They were lead over a short distance, and Hermione could see the two other prisoners. She could hardly make them out, but one looked really small . Hermione was then pushed into a sitting position, as Harry and Ron were forced to do the same.
"Anyone still got a wand?" Harry whispered.
"No." Hermione and Ron said.
"This is all my fault,” Harry whispered, “I said the name. I'm sorry -"
|"Harry?" the prisoner next to Hermione said.
Hermione's eyes adjusted to the light, and she could see Dean and a goblin.
"Dean?" Harry asked.
"It is you!” Dean said, “If they find out who they've got -! They're Snatchers, they're only looking for truants to sell for gold -"
"Not a bad little haul for one night." Greyback said.
Hermione watched Greyback walk over to them, as she heard more sounds of rummaging in the tent.
"A Mudblood,” Greyback continued, “a runaway goblin, and these truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?"
"Yeah. There's no Vernon Dudley un 'ere, Greyback."
"Interesting," said Greyback. "That's interesting."
He kneeled down in front of Harry.
"So you aren't wanted, then, Vernon? Or are you on that list under a different name? What house were you in at Hogwarts?"
"Slytherin," said Harry automatically.
"Funny 'ow they all thinks we wants to 'ear that." leered Scabior out of the shadows. "But none of 'em can tell us where the common room is."
"It's in the dungeons." said Harry clearly. "You enter through the wall. It's full of skulls and stuff and its under the lake, so the light's all green,"
Fenrir looked at Scabior, who looked a little surprised. He looked down at Harry.
"Well, well, looks like we really 'ave caught a little Slytherin." said Scabior. "Good for you, Vernon, 'cause there ain't a lot of Mudblood Slytherins. Who's your father?"
"He works at the Ministry," Harry lied."Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."
"You know what, Greyback," said Scabior. "I think there is a Dudley in there."
Hermione tried not to react. Could they get out of this?
"Well, well." said Greyback, "If you're telling the truth, ugly, you've got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father'll reward us just for picking you up."
"But," said Harry, "if you just let us -"
"Hey!" came a shout from inside the tent. "Look at this. Greyback!"
Hermione turned her focus on the tent, as a man came bustling out, heading toward them. She almost gasped as she saw what the man was carrying: The Sword of Gryffindor.
"Ve-e-ery nice," said Greyback appreciatively, taking it from his companion. "Oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?"
"It's my father's," Harry lied, hoping against hope that it was too dark for Greyback to see the name etched just below the hilt. "We borrowed it to cut firewood -"
"'ang on a minute, Greyback!” Scabior said, “Look at this, in the Prophet!"
Hermione gasped, though attempted to muffle it. If the Snatchers recognized Harry, Ron or her from the Prophet, then there was no chance of escape.
"'Hermione Granger," Scabior said, "the Mudblood who is known to be traveling with 'arry Potter.”
Hermione gasped, and there was no hiding it this time. Fenrir grinned as he walked over to her again and crouched in front of her. He held out the Prophet and pointed at her picture.
"You know what, little girly?” he said, and Hermione could see his fangs in his grinning mouth, “This picture looks a hell of a lot like you."
"It isn't!” Hermione squeaked, “It isn't me!"
Fenrir grinned as he stood up. He looked at the Prophet again.
"... known to be traveling with Harry Potter," repeated Greyback quietly.
Silence filled the air, and Scabior and the other men stood still as they looked on. Harry seemed to be in pain, and Hermione knew it was his scar acting up. What was he seeing?
"Well, this changed things, doesn't it?" whispered Greyback.
He stood up and moved back over to Harry.
"What's that on your forehead, Vernon?" he asked softly.
Fenrir pressed a finger to Harry's forehead.
"Don't touch it! Harry yelled.
"I thought you wore glasses, Potter?" breathed Greyback.
"I found glasses!" yelped one of the Snatchers skulking in the background. "There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait -"
The man ran over to Harry, the glasses in his hand, and he forced them onto Harry's face. The other Snatchers crept in closer. Greyback's eyes widened as he looked at Harry.
"It is!" he rasped. "We've caught Potter!"
“What should we do with him?” Scabior asked, excited, “Should we take him to the Ministry?"
"To hell with the Ministry." growled Greyback. "They'll take the credit, and we won't get a look in. I say we take him straight to You-Know-Who."
"Will you summon 'im? 'ere?" said Scabior, sounding awed, terrified.
"No," snarled Greyback, "I haven't got -- they say he's using the Malfoy's place as a base. We'll take the boy there."
“But what if it isn't him?” Scabior asked, “Are you completely sure it's him? Cause if it ain’t, Greyback, we’re dead.”
“Who’s in charge here?” roared Greyback, covering his moment of inadequacy. “I say that’s Potter, and him plus his wand, that’s two hundred thousand Galleons right there! But if you’re too gutless to come along, any of you, it’s all for me, and with any luck, I’ll get the girl thrown in!”
“All right!” said Scabior. “All right, we’re in! And what about the rest of ‘em, Greyback, what’ll we do with ‘em?”
“Might as well take the lot,” Greyback said, staring at Hermione, “We’ve got two Mudbloods, that’s another ten Galleons. Give me the sword as well. If they’re rubies, that’s another small fortune right there.”
Scabior and the other men swooped in on Hermione and the others. Hermione was forced to her feet by Scabior. She was breathing hard, terrified of what was about to happen. She couldn't think.
“Grab hold and make it tight. I’ll do Potter!” said Greyback, seizing a fistful of Harry’s hair. “On three! One – two - three –“
Without warning, Hermione was engulfed in darkness.
Okay, so I decided to leave Malfoy Manor until the next chapter. I realized how long that whole scene will be, especially when I am going to add a little bit of my own stuff. This is one of the scenes I've been waiting for. It will be very good I promise you!
Hope you liked this chapter! Feedback would be great!
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Malfoy Manor (Part 1)
Author's Note: I'm probably going to make this chapter a little different when it comes to Hermione's PoV and the stuff happening to her. I'll still keep it like the book, but only lengthen it some.
Hermione inhaled a large breath of fresh air and landed hard on a gravel surface. When she could see again, she realized they were in a country lane on a gravel road. Harry, Ron and the other prisoners were near her, looking around.
When she looked up, she saw Scabior walking toward a large iron-wrought gate. He shook it and it rattled, but the gate did not budge.
“How do we get in? They’re locked, Greyback, I can’t – blimey!”
He whipped his hands away in fright. The iron was contorting, twisting itself out of the abstract furls and coils into a frightening face, which spoke in a clanging, echoing voice. “State your purpose!”
“We’ve got Potter!” Greyback roared triumphantly. “We’ve captured Harry Potter!”
The gates swung open.
“Come on!” said Greyback to his men.
One of the men strode over to Hermione and pulled her to her feet rather forcefully. All around her, the others were being pulled to their feet as well; Greyback had taken Harry. Then Hermione and the other four prisoners were tied back to back.
As they walked through the gate, Hermione saw a albino-white peacock run past them.
“Blimey,” Ron said, his eyes widening at the sight in front of them.
“Quiet, you!” Scabior snarled at Ron.
Hermione looked up at the large building. She could see it better as they came closer to it. It was a large, magnificent-looking manor. Firelight glowed through one of the tall windows. Hermione and the others were led down a cobbled walkway, surrounded by very high hedges. An opening in one of the hedges revealed a large garden.
Near the house, a large marbled fountain spouted water from the tip of a statue. As she walked by the statue, she noticed it resembled a tall hooded wizard. The water was pouring from the tip of what looked like a wand made of stone.
“Come on,” Greyback said, again, “We don't want to keep them waiting. You know how they are.”
“Are you still sure this is a good idea?” a Snatcher near Hermione asked.
“Yes!” Greyback snarled, “Of course I am!”
Finally, they made it to the large front door of the manor. Greyback rapped his knuckles on the door.
“Come on, come on!” Greyback said, impatiently.
A moment later, a few metallic clicking sounds were heard, and the door opened, spilling light over them. A tall figure stood in the doorway. Hermione could only see a shadow at first.
“What is this?” said a woman’s cold voice.
Light fell over the woman's face. She had long blonde hair, and her face was a pale-white. Wrinkles and crow's feet could be seen on her face. Hermione instantly recognized this woman from her memories. She had been in Madam Malkin's store in Diagon Alley the summer before last when Hermione, Ron and Harry went in. This woman was Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother.
“We’re here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” rasped Greyback.
“Who are you?”
“You know me!” There was resentment in the werewolf’s voice. “Fenrir Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!”
Greyback seized Harry and dragged him toward the light. Hermione was pulled away.
“I know ‘es swollen, ma’am, but it’s ‘im!” piped up Scabior. “If you look a bit closer, you’ll see ‘is scar. And this ‘ere, see the girl?”
Scabior pushed Hermione back into the light. Narcissa raised her eyebrows at her. Hermione looked away, hoping the woman didn't recognize her.
“The Mudblood who’s been traveling around with ‘im, ma’am,” Scabior continued, “There’s no doubt it’s ‘im, and we’ve got ‘is wand as well! ‘Ere, ma’am –“
Narcissa turned from Hermione and looked at Harry. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Narcissa raise her eyebrows at Harry. Hermione wasn't sure if it was an expression of belief or doubt.
“Bring them in,” she said.
“Come on, then!” Greyback said, “No dawdling, you heard her.”
Hermione was forced up the stairs and through the door. She could feel the other prisoners struggling to move with her. They were in a long hallway lined with portraits.
“Follow me,” said Narcissa, leading the way across the hall. “My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know.”
They were lead into a large drawing room. Compared to the darkness outside, the room dazzled with light. A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the room was decorated with more portraits, hung against the purple walls. But Hermione didn't have long to look around before she noticed a figure rise out of their chair. Nearby, another person was sitting in a chair, though he was looking at them.
From the fireplace behind them, the firelight lit up their faces, and it didn't take long for Hermione to recognize them. When Narcissa answered the door, Hermione knew these two couldn't be far behind. Lucius and Draco Malfoy stared at them, confused looks lighting up their faces.
“What is this?” Lucius asked, his eyes dancing from one prisoner to the next.
“They say they've got Potter,” Narcissa said, as she walked to the front of the prisoners, “Draco, come here.”
Draco rose from his chair and walked over to them. Hermione was forced to turn away from him as Greyback pushed Harry underneath the light of the chandelier.
“Well, boy?” Greyback rasped.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Draco flinch at the sound of Greyback's voice.
“Well, Draco?” Lucius asked, “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”
“I can't – I can't be sure,” Draco said.
“But look at him, carefully, look!” Lucius said, his voice fast-paced and excited, “Come closer!”
There was a pause. Draco seemed to be hesitating as he looked at Harry.
“Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv –“
“Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope Mr. Malfoy?” said Greyback menacingly.
“Of course not, of course not!” said Lucius impatiently.
There were footsteps as Lucius walked closer to Harry.
“What did you do to him?” Lucius asked Greyback. “How did he get into this state?”
“That wasn’t us.” Greyback said.
“Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me,” said Lucius.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Lucius get into Harry's face and put a finger to his forehead.
“There’s something there,” he whispered. “it could be the scar, stretched tight...”
He paused and turned to Draco, who was backing away.
“Draco, come here, look properly!” Lucius said, “What do you think?”
Draco moved closer to Harry.
“I don't know,” he said.
Hermione heard Draco's footsteps as he walked back over toward the fireplace. Hermione took this chance to look at Ron, who caught her glance and shrugged. What was Draco playing at? Was he possibly, though it seemed impossible, trying to set them free?
“We had better be certain, Lucius,” Narcissa called to her husband in her cold, clear voice. “Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord... They say this is his” – she was looking closely at the blackthorn wand – “but it does not resemble Ollivander’s description... If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing...Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?”
“What about the Mudblood then?” Greyback asked.
Without warning, Greyback grabbed Hermione, pulling her into the light of the chandelier.
“Wait,” said Narcissa sharply. “Yes – yes, she was in Madam Malkin’s with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn’t it the Granger girl?”
Hermione stared at Draco, as he looked into her eyes. If only she could plead with him somehow. Lie, Draco, lie, Hermione thought, Let us go. You couldn't kill Dumbledore. Perhaps there's some good in you after all. Lie.
“I...” Draco said, hesitating, “maybe...yeah.”
Draco frowned at Hermione and turned around to his mother. Hermione looked at the ground as she heard more footsteps. Lucius was walking over to Ron.
“It’s them, Potter’s friends,” he said, “Draco, look at him, isn’t it Arthur Weasley’s son, what’s his name – ?”
“Yeah,” said Draco again, his back to the prisoners. “It could be.”
Behind Hermione, the drawing room door opened again.
“What's this?” a woman spoke up in a high voice.
The voice made Hermione's stomach turn. She knew who this woman was. She didn't even have to look around to recognize her.
“What's happened, Cissy?” Bellatrix Lestrange asked.
Hermione heard footsteps, and suddenly Bellatrix was staring right into Hermione's eyes. She grinned.
“But surely,” she said quietly, “this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?”
Hermione didn't make a sound. She didn't know what to do. They all knew who she was. Who Harry and Ron were. What were they going to do now? How could they escape?
“Yes, yes, it’s Granger!” cried Lucius, “And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!”
“Potter?” shrieked Bellatrix.
She backed away from Hermione, though her eyes were staring right at Harry.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Lucius and Greyback both nodded vigorously. Over near the fireplace, Hermione noticed Draco's head drooping.
“Well then,” Bellatrix said, “the Dark Lord must be informed at once!”
Hermione's eyes went wide as she watched Bellatrix lift up the sleeve of her arm. She could see the Dark Mark shining black over Bellatrix's forearm. Hermione closed her eyes. She knew it was only a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, before Voldemort was there. What would they do then? What could they do?
“I was about to call him!” said Lucius, and his hand actually closed upon Bellatrix’s wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. “I shall summon him, Bella. Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority –“
“Your authority!” she sneered, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. “You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!”
“This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy –“
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy,” interjected Greyback, “but it’s us that caught Potter, and it’s us that’ll be claiming the gold –“
“Gold!” laughed Bellatrix, still attempting to throw off her brother-in-law, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. “Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his – of –“
She stopped struggling, her dark eyes fixed upon something. Hermione looked for what Bellatrix was staring at. She found it: a Snatcher near Greyback was holding the Sword of Gryffindor. Beside Bellatrix, Lucius threw his hand to his own sleeve.
“STOP!” shrieked Bellatrix, “Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!”
Lucius froze, his index finger hovering over his own Mark. Bellatrix strode past Hermione, and walked over to the Snatcher.
“What's that?” she asked, pointing at the sword.
“Sword,” the Snatcher grunted.
“Give it to me,” Bellatrix commanded.
“It’s not yours, missus,” the Snatcher said, “it’s mine, I reckon I found it.”
Bellatrix brandished her wand from her robes, and before the Snatcher could react, there was a bang and a flash of red light. The Snatcher fell to the floor, stunned. All around the stunned Snatcher, his accomplices roared angrily. Scabior withdrew his wand from his pocket.
“What are you playing at?” Scabior demanded.
“Stupefy!” Bellatrix screamed, ”Stupefy!”
Even though they outnumbered her, the four Snatchers, including Scabior, fell Stunned by Bellatrix's wand. Only Greyback was left, and he was kneeling on the ground now, his arms outstretched, all forced by Bellatrix's wand. Bellatrix picked up the Sword of Gryffindor and stared at Greyback.
“Where did you get this sword?” she whispered to Greyback as she pulled his wand out of his unresisting grip.
“How dare you?” he snarled, his mouth the only thing that could move as he was forced to gaze up at her. He bared his pointed teeth. “Release me, woman!”
“Where did you find this sword?” she repeated, brandishing it in his face, “Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!”
“It was in their tent,” rasped Greyback. “Release me, I say!”
She waved her wand, and the werewolf sprang to his feet, but appeared too wary to approach her. He prowled behind an armchair, his filthy curved nails clutching its back.
“Draco, move this scum outside,” said Bellatrix, indicating the unconscious men. “If you haven’t got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me.”
“Don’t you dare “ said Narcissa furiously, “speak to Draco like –“
“Be quiet!” Bellatrix interrupted with a high-pitched scream, “The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!”
She stood, panting slightly, looking down at the sword, examining its hilt. Then she turned to look at the silent prisoners. Hermione could feel the woman's cold gaze upon her.
“If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed,” Bellatrix muttered, more to herself than to the others. “The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself....But if he finds out...I must...I must know...”
She turned back to her sister.
“The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!”
“This is my house, Bella, you don’t give orders in my –“
“Do it! You have no idea of the danger we’re in!” shrieked Bellatrix. She looked frightening, mad; a thin stream of fire issued from her wand and burned a hole in the carpet.
Narcissa hesitated, then nodded.
“Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback.” she demanded.
She paused, and grinned.
“Wait,” she said, sharply. “All except...”
She looked at Harry, then Ron, then to Hermione. The gaze sent chills down Hermione's spine, and she knew what was going to happen before Bellatrix said it.
“...except for the Mudblood.” Bellatrix finished.
Hermione closed her eyes, and she heard Greyback grunt with approved pleasure.
“No!” shouted Ron. “You can have me, keep me!”
Hermione's eyes opened just in time to see Bellatrix crossing the room toward Ron. She slapped a large hand across Ron's face. The walls of the drawing room echoed with the crack from the collision.
“If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next,” she said. “Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet.”
She threw Greyback’s wand back to him, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Hermione free from the other prisoners and grabbed a handful of Hermione's hair. Pain tore through Hermione's skull as her hair threatened to rip from it.
Hermione was then thrown into a wooden chair in the middle of the room. The chair had no armrests on it and it was rather uncomfortable.
“Shouldn't you bind her to the chair?” Lucius asked.
Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Lucius sitting in one of the comfortable-looking armchairs in front of the fire. Though he was looking at her and Bellatrix, he looked bored.
“Silence!” Bellatrix snarled, “The Mudblood will cooperate.”
Bellatrix turned her attention back to Hermione, looking right into her eyes.
“Won't you?” she asked.
“Yes,” Hermione said, “Yes!”
“Of course you will,” Bellatrix said, raising her wand and pointing it at Hermione. “Because if you don't... Crucio!”
Pain ripped through Hermione's body as she fell off the chair and onto the hardwood floor, screaming in pain. It was the first time she had ever had the Cruciatus Curse put on her. She had never felt this amount of pain before. Her whole body seemed to scream out.
From somewhere below her, Hermione could hear Ron's voice screaming her name. Suddenly the pain stopped, and she was pulled back onto the chair.
“This was the first time you were ever subjected to the curse, was it not?” Bellatrix asked.
At first, Hermione was confused as to why Bellatrix was asking her these things. Then she realized what was going on: Bellatrix was toying with her. It was widely known that Bellatrix Lestrange loved to play with her food before she ate it.
“Was it... not?” Bellatrix asked, pointing her wand at Hermione.
“Yes!” Hermione cried out, “It w-was the f-first time.”
“Pity,” Bellatrix said, “It's a pity that Hogwarts doesn't teach its students how to withstand this curse. Draco, my dear boy, remind me, would you please? What was it that they referred to this Mudblood as at Hogwarts?”
“I don't know,” Draco said.
“Of course you do,” Bellatrix said, turning to her nephew, “You always seemed to talk about it. You were envy of it. What was it?”
“The... the Smartest Witch of Her Age,” Draco muttered.
“Ah!” Bellatrix squeaked, as she looked back at Hermione, “Yes. The Smartest Witch of Her Age. Tell me, dear. Do you currently feel like the Smartest Witch of Her Age?!”
Without another warning, another jolt of pain erupted through Hermione's body, and she screamed out loudly as she collapsed onto the floor. She could hear Ron's voice screaming out her name again. She wished that she could answer back. To let Ron know that she was okay even though she wasn't. Ron's screaming pierced through her more than the Cruciatus Curse did.
Hermione heard other voices. They were closer. She could barely make them out through her pain.
“Quit playing with her, Bella,” Lucius said, “Just get around to it.”
“SILENCE!” Bellatrix screamed, “I am loosening her tongue first! She will tell me!”
Then the pain stopped. Hermione breathed as she heard Bellatrix's footsteps move away, then return. Bellatrix then leaned down into Hermione's face, pointing the Sword of Gryffindor at her.
“You will now tell me how you came by this sword,” Bellatrix said.
“W-we found it,” Hermione said, “in a small lake.”
“LIAR!” Bellatrix screamed out.
Pain erupted through Hermione's body once again. It felt like knives were slicing through her veins and flesh. She screamed out and the pain stopped once again.
“I’m going to ask you again!” Bellatrix said, staring at her, her eyes as big as saucers, “Where did you get this sword? Where?”
“We found it,” Hermione screamed, “we found it --”
Bellatrix pointed her wand at Hermione again, and snarled.
“PLEASE!” Hermione screamed.
“What if she's telling the truth,” Draco asked from his chair.
“Draco, hush!” Lucius said.
“She is not telling the truth, my dear boy,” Bellatrix said, staring at Hermione. “The last time I saw this sword, it was at a vault in Gringott's. The Dark Lord asked – trusted me for the job. If he finds --”
Hermione saw Bellatrix shiver, but recovered quickly. She turned her wand back on Hermione.
“Please,” Hermione said, “It was at the bottom of a pool.”
“You’re lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!”
“I am!” Hermione cried out.
“Wrong!” Bellatrix screamed, “Crucio!”
Hermione screamed out, but the pain was brief. Bellatrix stood over Hermione and brandished the long knife. She inched closer to Hermione.
“What else did you take?” Bellatrix demanded, “What else have you got? Tel me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!”
“You won't get your answer if you do that,” Draco said.
“Draco!” Lucius growled.
“It's true,” Draco scoffed.
“We have nothing!” Hermione said, “We haven't been to Gringott's!”
“You're a filthy little liar!” Bellatrix said, “Crucio!”
Immense pain pulsed through Hermione's body. It felt as if Bellatrix had sliced her with that knife, but the woman was just standing there, grinning as Hermione wriggled with pain and screamed.
“What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!”
Hermione's screams echoed throughout the drawing room. She could hear something knocking hard on a wall below, and, through her pain, wondered if it was Ron. Throughout this whole predicament, it was only the thought of Ron and Harry that was keeping her sane. But she wondered when that would buckle. When it would be Ron to go through this and she would be –
She couldn't think of that. She concentrated on the voices below, as the pain circuited through her body, her voice letting out a scream once again. She could hear Ron calling out her name again. The pain then stopped.
She knew she had to say something convincing. She didn't know how much more of this she could survive.
“How did you get into my vault?” screamed Bellatrix, “Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?”
“We only met him tonight!” Hermione sobbed. “We’ve never been inside your vault...it isn’t the real sword! It’s a copy, just a copy!”
“A copy?” screeched Bellatrix. “Oh, a likely story!”
Hermione closed her eyes. She couldn't think of anything else to say.
“But we can find out easily!” came Lucius’s voice. “Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!”
Draco stood up quickly and raced out of the room.
“You better hope that goblin tells me what I want to hear,” Bellatrix said, staring at Hermione, “And it better be the truth! Otherwise...”
Bellatrix lowered the wand down a couple inches above Hermione's throat and mimicked a slicing movement.
“I'll leave you to Greyback after that,” she said, grinning.
Hermione could hear Greyback let out a throaty laugh.
“Where is he, Lucius?” Bellatrix asked, “I'm growing impatient!”
“It's quite a walk to the cellar, Bella,” Lucius said.
Bellatrix sighed deeply.
“I'm getting bored,” she said, tapping her foot.
“I want to hear the Mudblood scream again,” Greyback said, “I just adore seeing my meal wriggle.”
Bellatrix rolled her eyes and pointed her wand at Hermione. Hermione tried to ready herself, before hearing the incantation, but no words came, only pain. Over her screaming and wriggling, she could hear Greyback laughing loudly.
Suddenly, Hermione heard a loud CRACK coming from below, and her pain stopped.
Bellatrix, Lucius and Greyback looked up in the direction of the hallway. Draco and the goblin, Griphook, walked into the room.
“What?” Draco asked, “I did what you asked.”
“Did you make that sound?” Lucius asked.
“What sound?” Draco asked.
“That cracking sound!” Bellatrix asked, “It sounded like Apparation!”
“No,” Draco said, “But I'll go and check in the cellar again.”
““Draco,” Lucius said, “no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!”
“Greyback!” Bellatrix said, “Grab the goblin!”
“Urgh,” Greyback said, as he walked over to Griphook, “I hate goblins. Taste like venom in the mouth.”
Draco handed Griphook over to Greyback and disappeared out of the room.
“You called on me, ma'am?” Griphook asked Bellatrix.
“Yes,” Bellatrix said, “I need you to look over something for me. This sword. I want you to prove if it is authentic or not.”
Bellatrix nodded to Greyback, and the werewolf dragged Griphook over to her.
“It will take a few minutes,” Griphook said, straightening up.
“Be quick about it!” Bellatrix demanded, handing the sword to Griphook. “One wrong move and I slice you in two with that very sword!”
Griphook only nodded. Hermione gulped. Griphook would surely tell Bellatrix it was the real thing. Then what would happen? What would happen to her?
Draco returned to the drawing room.
“Wormtail's doing what was asked of him,” he said.
“Perfect,” Lucius said.
“Goblin,” Bellatrix asked, “Are you finished?”
“It takes time, ma'am,” Griphook said, “This is quite the sword.”
“You will do it now!” Bellatrix said, “Or this will happen to you!”
Without warning, Bellatrix pointed her wand at Hermione once again. Hermione writhed in pain and her vision was becoming blurry. Darkness engulfed her once again.
Part 1 finished! Part 2 will be in Ron's PoV.
That chapter was extremely difficult. I was having trouble describing the torture. I hoped it satisfied you. Still more to come in the manor!
Feedback would be wonderful!
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Malfoy Manor (Part 2)
(Ron's PoV – a few minutes earlier)
Ron was having the worst day of his life. He was stuck in a chilly, dark cellar. There was a small bulb of light floating around in the corner that he had produced with his Deluminator, but it only made the cellar a lot more spookier than before.
Ron and Harry weren't the only prisoners in the cellar. Dean, Griphook the Goblin, Luna Lovegood and Mr. Ollivander the wand-maker were with them. Out of all of them, Mr. Ollivander looked the worst. Bones were protuding from his face and arms. He looked extremely pale.
But nothing in the cellar was worse than what Ron imagined was happening in the Malfoy's drawing room. Hermione was being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, and her screams were echoing throughout the manor, making the walls vibrate. Ron could almost picture in his mind what was happening to her, and it only made him scream out her name. He wanted her to know that he was there. If anything, he hoped that would give her some peace and hope.
Ron's voice was almost hoarse from screaming. Harry and the others weren't helping one bit either. Every time Ron would scream out Hermione's name, Harry would try to silence him. But Ron knew he couldn't be quiet. If he did, Hermione would think he gave up. Then she would give up. No... he couldn't let that happen.
Nearby, Harry was staring into a mirror shard. Ron was about to ask Harry what he was doing, when --
“Help us!” Harry yelled at the shard, “We’re in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, help us!”
Ron was sure that Harry was losing his mind in the darkness of the cellar. Upstairs, Hermione's screams echoed against the walls, and the ceiling above them was vibrating.
“HERMIONE!” Ron yelled out, “HERMIONE!”
“How did you get into my vault?” they heard Bellatrix scream. “Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?”
“We only met him tonight!” Hermione sobbed. “We’ve never been inside your vault...It isn’t the real sword! It’s a copy, just a copy!”
“A copy?” screeched Bellatrix. “Oh, a likely story!”
“But we can find out easily!” came Lucius’s voice. “Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!”
Ron watched as Harry dashed across the cellar to where Griphook was huddled on the floor. Harry said something to the goblin that Ron couldn't hear. Behind him, Ron heard footsteps walking down the stairs toward the cellar.
“Stand back,” Draco's shaking voice said, “Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!”
They did as they were bidden; as the lock turned, Ron clicked the Deluminator and the lights whisked back into his pocket, restoring the cellar’s darkness. The door flew open; Malfoy marched inside, wand held out in front of him, pale and determined. He seized the little goblin by the arm and backed out again, dragging Griphook with him. The door slammed shut and at the same moment a loud crack echoed inside the cellar.
Ron clicked the Deluminator. Three balls of light flew back into the air from his pocket, revealing Dobby the house-elf, who had just Apparated into their midst.
“Dob --” Ron called out, surprised!
Harry punched him in the arm, and Ron silenced himself quickly. He looked up at the ceiling, hoping beyond hope that they hadn't heard him.
Dobby’s enormous, tennis-ball shaped eyes were wide; he was trembling from his feet to the tips of his ears. He was back in the home of his old masters, and it was clear that he was petrified.
“Harry Potter,” he squeaked in the tiniest quiver of a voice, “Dobby has come to rescue you.”
“But how did you – ?”
Before Harry could finish his sentence, Hermione's screams echoed above. Ron whimpered, but didn't call out her name. Dobby was there. There was a chance. Perhaps Dobby could rescue Hermione.
“You can Disapparate out of this cellar?” he asked Dobby, who nodded, his ears flapping.
“And you can take humans with you?”
Dobby nodded again.
“Right. Dobby, I want you to grab Luna, Dean, and Mr. Ollivander, and take them – take them to –“
Ron looked at Dobby.
“Bill and Fleur’s,” said Ron. “Shell Cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth!”
The elf nodded for a third time.
“And then come back,” said Harry. “Can you do that, Dobby?”
“Of course, Harry Potter,” whispered the little elf.
He hurried over to Mr. Ollivander, who appeared to be barely conscious. He took one of the wandmaker’s hands in his own, then held out the other to Luna and Dean, neither of whom moved.
“Harry, we want to help you!” Luna whispered.
“We can’t leave you here,” said Dean.
“Go, both of you! We’ll see you at Bill and Fleur’s.”
“Go!” Harry beseeched to Luna and Dean. “Go! We’ll follow, just go!”
They caught hold of the elf’s outstretched fingers. There was another loud crack, and Dobby, Luna, Dean, and Ollivander vanished.
“What was that?” shouted Lucius Malfoy from over their heads. “Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?”
Ron and Harry stared at each other.
“Draco – no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!”
Footsteps crossed the room overhead, then there was silence.
“We’re going to have to try and tackle him,” Harry whispered.
“Leave the lights on,” Harry added.
They heard someone descending the steps outside the door, and backed against the wall on either side of it.
“Stand back,” came Wormtail’s voice. “Stand away from the door. I’m coming in.”
The door flew open. For a split second Wormtail gazed into the apparently empty cellar, ablaze with light from the three miniature suns floating in midair. Then Harry and Ron launched themselves upon him. Ron seized Wormtail’s wand arm and forced it upwards. Harry slapped a hand to his mouth, muffling his voice. Silently they struggled: Wormtail’s wand emitted sparks; his silver hand closed around Harry’s throat.
“What is it, Wormtail?” called Lucius Malfoy from above.
Ron's eyes widened. He had to do something.
“Nothing!” Ron called back, in a passable imitation of Wormtail’s wheezy voice. “All fine!”
“You’re going to kill me?” Harry choked, attempting to prise off the metal fingers. “After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!”
Ron watched, as Wormtail's hand moved slightly. He seemed to be letting go of Harry. Harry wrenched himself free. Wormtail's eyes widened in surprise and fear.
“And we’ll have that,” whispered Ron, tugging Wormtail’s wand from his other hand.
Wandless, helpless, Pettigrew’s pupils dilated in terror. His eyes had slid from Harry’s face to something else. His own silver fingers were moving inexorably toward his own throat.
“No –“ Harry said.
Ron watched as Harry tried to move Wormtail's hand away, but it wasn't budging.
“No!” Harry said again.
Ron had released Wormtail too, and together he and Harry tried to pull the crushing metal fingers from around Wormtail’s throat, but it was no use. Pettigrew was turning blue.
“Relashio!” said Ron, pointing the wand at the silver hand, but nothing happened.
Pettigrew dropped to his knees, and at the same moment, Hermione gave a dreadful scream from overhead. Wormtail’s eyes rolled upward in his purple face; he gave a last twitch, and was still.
Ron looked at Harry, who looked back at him. Ron had no clue what had just happened. How it had happened. But before he could ponder it any further, Harry moved past him through the door. Ron followed him up to the main floor and back into the shadowy passageway leading to the drawing room. Cautiously they crept along it until they reached the drawing room door, which was ajar. Now they had a clear view of Bellatrix looking down at Griphook, who was holding Gryffindor’s sword in his long-fingered hands. Hermione was lying at Bellatrix’s feet. She was barely stirring.
“Well?” Bellatrix said to Griphook. “Is it the true sword?”
Harry waited, holding his breath, fighting against the prickling of his scar.
“No,” said Griphook. “It is a fake.”
“Are you sure?” panted Bellatrix. “Quite sure?”
“Yes,” said the goblin.
Relief broke across her face, all tension drained from it.
“Good,” she said.
With a casual flick of her wand she slashed another deep cut into the goblin’s face,and he dropped with a yell at her feet. She kicked him aside.
“And now,” she said in a voice that burst with triumph, “we call the Dark Lord!”
And she pushed back her sleeve and touched her forefinger to the Dark Mark.
Ron looked at Harry, who was wriggling in pain, as if he had been the one who was hit with the Cruciatus Curse. Ron looked into the drawing room. Bellatrix was standing over Hermione. Ron's eyes widened. He had to do something.
“And I think,” said Bellatrix, “we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Ron yelled out.
Ron burst into the drawing room; Bellatrix looked around, shocked; she turned her wand to face Ron instead –
“Expelliarmus!” he roared, pointing Wormtail’s wand at Bellatrix, and hers flew into the air.
Ron didn't know who had caught the wand. He just pointed the wand at Bellatrix, who was staring madly at him.
“Stupefy!” Harry yelled out.
Ron heard a body drop to the floor. Greyback, Narcissa and Draco all yelled out spells, and Ron had to duck behind a sofa.
“STOP OR SHE DIES!” Bellatrix screamed out.
Ron looked up over the sofa. Bellatrix was supporting Hermione, who seemed to be unconscious, and was holding her short silver knife to Hermione’s throat.
“Drop your wands,” she whispered. “Drop them, or we’ll see exactly how filthy her blood is!”
Ron stood rigid, clutching Wormtail’s wand. He whimpered. There was no use. But he had to save Hermione, but how? How?!
Harry straightened up, still holding Bellatrix’s wand.
“I said, drop them!” she screeched, pressing the blade into Hermione’s throat.
Ron whimpered again as he saw beads of Hermione's blood trickle down her throat.
“All right!” Harry shouted, and he dropped Bellatrix’s wand onto the floor at his feet.
Ron did the same with Wormtail’s. Both he and Harry raised their hands to shoulder height.
“Good!” she leered. “Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw Harry's face scrunch up. He was in pain. Ron knew it. He knew what that meant. Voldemort was coming.
“Now,” said Bellatrix softly, as Draco hurried back to her with the wands. “Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight.”
At the last word there was a strange grinding noise from above. All of them looked upward in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it began to fall. Bellatrix was directly beneath it; dropping Hermione, she threw herself aside with a scream. The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin, who still clutched the sword of Gryffindor. Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions; Draco doubled over, his hands covering his bloody face.
Ron was only focused on Hermione. He knew she was unconscious underneath the chandelier. He had to save her. Even if it killed him in the process. He ran over to Hermione. He slid to his knees beside Hermione, attempting to tug her free of wreckage. Behind him, Ron heard commotion. Harry must have grabbed the wands out of Draco's hands, because he was now yelling curses.
Bellatrix sprang to her feet, her hair flying as she brandished the silver knife; but Narcissa had directed her wand at the doorway.
“Dobby!” she screamed and even Bellatrix froze. “You! You dropped the chandelier – ?”
The tiny elf trotted into the room, his shaking finger pointing at his old mistress.
“You must not hurt Harry Potter,” he squeaked.
“Kill him, Cissy!” shrieked Bellatrix, but there was another loud crack, and Narcissa’s wand too flew into the air and landed on the other side of the room.
“You dirty little monkey!” bawled Bellatrix. “How dare you take a witch’s wand, how dare you defy your masters?”
“Dobby has no master!” squealed the elf. “Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!”
“Ron, catch – and GO!” Harry yelled, tossing one of the wands to Ron.
Ron caught the wand, then with a last mighty tug, he freed Hermione from under the chandelier. He closed his eyes, quickly focusing on Shell Cottage. He inhaled deeply, as darkness fell over him.
Well, that was quick! It was a rather short, but so much happened in a short time.
Next is Shell Cottage, and I will definitely be having some private Ron and Hermione moments during it.
Hope you liked it! Feedback would be great, as always!
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Shell Cottage Again
A familiar smell of salt made its way up Ron's nostrils as he exhaled and inhaled. His ears rung from the quick Apparation, and if he had Splinched himself in any way, he did not care about his own well-being at the moment. Hermione was laying on the ground beside him.
He looked at her, and was relieved to see her chest moving up and down. The blood, which had dripped earlier from slim cut on her neck was now dry. Her eyes were still closed, however.
“Hermione?” Ron asked, “Can you hear me?”
“Ron!” a voice came from behind him.
Ron spun around. Bill was running toward him.
“What is going on?” he asked, as he raced over to Ron and Hermione, “I was just talking to Xenophilius Lovegood's daughter, but she isn't saying much, and Ollivander looks as if he has been tortured. What --”
He looked down at Hermione.
“What has happened to her?” Bill said, “We need to get her inside.”
“I'll do it!” Ron said, fiercely.
He stood up and picked up Hermione, cradling her in his arms.
“Wait here for Harry,” Ron said, as he passed Bill, “He should be coming soon... I hope.”
“Ron!” Bill said, in a demanding tone, “Tell me!”
Ron ignored him and headed for the cottage. When he arrived, Dean raced over to him.
“There you are!” Dean said.
He looked down at Hermione.
“Will she be okay?” he asked.
“She'll be fine,” Ron said.
“Where's Harry?” Dean asked.
“Bill's waiting for him,” Ron said. “Where's Luna?”
“She's resting in one of the bedrooms,” Dean said, “Your brother was talking to her earlier, but she didn't say much before she drifted off to sleep.”
“Okay,” Ron said, “Listen. Harry should be back soon. Bill is waiting for him. Why don't you go down there?”
Dean nodded and raced out the door. Ron ran over to the hallway, toward the bedrooms. Fleur was walking out of one of the rooms.
“Ronald!” she gasped, then looked at Hermione, “Eez she all right?”
“She's uncon – asleep,” Ron said, quickly.
“Put her in one of the guest bedrooms,” Fleur said, “I'll attend to her.”
“No,” Ron said, “Not yet. I want to be here when she wakes up. Listen... Bill's on the beach waiting for Harry. Harry might need help.”
“Okay,” Fleur nodded.
She walked off, then turned back around.
“Ron, here,” she said, “Take these washcloths. Put one on her forehead.”
Ron nodded. Fleur stuffed the washcloths in Ron's pocket. Ron sighed and carried Hermione past Fleur and into one of the empty bedrooms. He laid her softly on the bed, then pulled a nearby chair closer to the bed and sat down.
“Hermione,” he said. “Please wake up. I know you're all right.”
Ron sighed. Was she all right? His mind switched to thoughts about Neville's parents. They had gone insane from the Cruciatus Curse. Had Hermione suffered the same fate?
Ron took the washcloths from his pocket. From his other pocket, he took the wand. He didn't know whose wand it was.
“Aguamenti,” he said.
He wasn't sure if it would work, and was therefore surprised when water poured out from the wand and onto the washcloth. He then put the washcloth over Hermione's forehead. With the other washcloth, he cleaned up the dried blood on Hermione's neck.
Ron sighed as he leaned back into the chair and stared at Hermione. He just stared at her, trying to keep himself awake and, at the same time, trying to keep himself from thinking anything bad. It was a huge relief to be away from trouble, but at the same time, he still felt horrible. He only wished he had persuaded Bellatrix better and that he had been the one to suffer from the Cruciatus Curse.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Bill and Fleur rushed into the room. Fleur walked over to Hermione's bed,
“Is Harry back yet?” he asked, looking up at them.
Bill nodded, but he looked somber.
“What?!” Ron demanded, “What's going on?”
“The house-elf is dead,” Bill said.
“What?” Ron said, standing up from his chair, “Dobby? How?”
“Harry wouldn't tell us,” Bill said. “Why is he giving us the silent treatment? Why are you?! What is going on? Hermione looks like she was tortured!”
“I can't tell you,” Ron said.
“Of course you can't,” Bill said, shaking his head, and looking very annoyed.
“Is she going to be all right?” Ron asked, looking at Fleur.
“Her breathing eez steady,” Fleur said, “She's just recovering. I'm sure she'll wake up soon.”
“Listen, Ron,” Bill said, “Why don't you go down to Harry. I'm sure he needs your help with Dobby's grave.”
“No!” Ron said, “I want to be here when she wakes up.”
“Ron, you're not helping,” Bill said.
Ron sighed, annoyed. He didn't want to leave Hermione's side. But Bill was being quite unfair.
“Fine,” Ron said.
With a last, long glance at Hermione, he walked out of the bedroom and made his way out of Shell Cottage. He walked down to the beach, and found Harry and Dean. Harry was in a large hole, digging with a spade.
Harry looked up at him.
“How’s Hermione?” he asked.
“Better,” said Ron, if only to convince himself. “Fleur’s looking after her.”
Dean grabbed one of the two remaining spades left and jumped into the hole. Ron did the same. It seemed to take forever, but after a while, they were satisfied that the hole was deep enough.
Harry wrapped a coat around Dobby. Ron knew he had to do something for the house-elf. He was so brave coming to their rescue, and Ron knew that if it wasn't for the house-elf, he might not have gotten out of there, and even if he had, it might have been too late for Hermione.
He sat on the edge of the grave and stripped off his shoes and socks. He placed the socks on the elf's bare feet. Dean produced a woolen hat, which Harry placed carefully upon Dobby’s head, muffling his bat-like ears.
“We should close his eyes.” Harry said.
Ron heard shuffling in the darkness behind him.
Bill was wearing a traveling cloak, Fleur a large white apron.
Through the darkness, Ron saw Hermione. She was wrapped in a borrowed dressing gown, pale and unsteady on her feet. Ron jumped to his feet and walked over to her. She smiled at him, and he put an arm around her.
Luna, who was huddled in one of Fleur’s coats, crouched down and placed her fingers tenderly upon each of the elf’s eyelids, sliding them over his glassy stare.
“There,” she said softly. “Now he could be sleeping.”
Harry placed the elf into the grave, arranged his tiny limbs so that he might have been resting, then climbed out. As Ron looked down at Dobby's limp body, he was oddly reminded of Professor Dumbledore's funeral. It had been less than a year since the funeral, and yet to Ron, it felt like decades. So much had happened over the past months. Enough for one person to have in a lifetime, and it still wasn't over.
“I think we ought to say something,” piped up Luna. “I’ll go first, shall I?”
And as everybody looked at her, she addressed the dead elf at the bottom of the grave.
“Thank you so much Dobby for rescuing me from that cellar,” she said, “It’s so unfair that you had to die when you were so good and brave. I’ll always remember what you did for us. I hope you’re happy now.”
She turned and looked expectantly at Ron. Ron cleared his throat.
“Yeah,” Ron said, “Thanks, Dobby.”
“Thanks,” said Dean.
“Goodbye, Dobby,” Harry whispered.
Bill raised his wand, and the pile of earth beside the grave rose up into the air and fell neatly upon it, a small, reddish mound.
“Do you mind if I stay here at moment?” Harry asked, looking at Ron and the others.
“No,” Bill said, “Go ahead.”
“We'll just be inside, Harry,” Ron said.
Ron patted him on the back, then escorted Hermione back inside with the others.
“Hermione,” Bill said, “I think it would be a good idea if you rested again.”
“Yes, of course,” Hermione said, “I'm still rather weak from...”
“I'll take you,” Ron interrupted.
He didn't feel like having to explain to Bill what had went on at the manor.
“Don't be too long, Ron,” Bill said, “She needs her sleep.”
Ron nodded and escorted Hermione to one of the bedrooms.
“You didn't tell Bill what happened?” Hermione asked, as she sat down on the bed.
“Bill doesn't need to know,” Ron said, “Besides, I don''t want – want --”
“-- to go through all of that again?” Hermione asked, “Or you don't want me to have to relive it?”
“Both,” Ron muttered.
“You don't have to talk about if you don't want to,” Hermione said.
“Shouldn't I be saying that to you?” Ron asked.
“I know I'm not the only one who had a difficult time,” Hermione said.
Ron sighed. How could she compare what she went through to anything that had happened to him? Compared to her ordeal, his was a piece of cake.
“I heard you in the cellar, Ron,” Hermione said, looking into Ron's eyes.
Ron tried to say something, but his mouth was dry. Down in the cellar, he wanted Hermione to hear him, but the thought of it now was a little embarrassing.
“I wouldn't have survived Bellatrix's torture,” Hermione said, “If I hadn't heard you calling out my name. It gave me strength. It distracted me enough from the pain. Thank you.”
“Perhaps I should let you get some sleep,” Ron said.
“I can't sleep right now,” Hermione said.
“Do you want me to stay with you?” Ron asked.
“How thoughtful of you,” Hermione said, smiling, “But I doubt it would help.”
“I didn't mean it that way,” Hermione said. “I meant... I'm just not tired right now.”
“But,” Ron said, “Bill --”
“Bill's done enough,” Hermione said.
“All right,” Ron said, “But he won't be happy.”
Ron and Hermione left the bedroom and walked back out to the living room. Bill looked up at them, and before he could say anything, Ron intervened.
“She's fine,” he said, “She can't sleep.”
Bill opened his mouth to speak, but he just nodded.
“We were just talking about Luna's kidnapping,” Bill said, nodding to Luna. “She said that they had taken her at the Hogsmeade before she got on the Hogwarts Express right before Christmas.”
“That long?” Hermione asked.
“I was afraid that they might take Ginny now,” Luna said, looking at Ron, “Now that you've escaped their grasp, Ron, I thought they might have gone after your sister.”
“We're just lucky that Ginny’s on holiday,” Bill said, “If she’d been at Hogwarts they could have taken her before we reached her. Now we know she’s safe too.”
Ron looked across the living room and saw Harry walk in.
“I’ve been getting them all out of the Burrow,” Bill explained to Harry, “Moved them to Muriel’s. The Death Eaters know Ron’s with you now, they’re bound to target the family –don’t apologize,” he added at the sight of Harry’s expression. “It was always a matter of time, Dad’s been saying so for months. We’re the biggest blood traitor family there is.”
“How are they protected?” asked Harry.
“Fidelius Charm,” Bill answered, “Dad’s Secret-Keeper. And we’ve done it on this cottage too; I’m Secret-Keeper here. None of us can go to work, but that’s hardly the most important thing now. Once Ollivander and Griphook are well enough, we’ll move them to Muriel’s too. There isn’t much room here, but she’s got plenty. Griphook’s legs are on the mend. Fleur’s given him Skele-Gro-we could probably move them in an hour or—“
“No,” Harry said and Bill looked startled. “I need both of them here. I need to talk to them. It’s important.”
Ron looked at Hermione who looked just as puzzled as he did.
“I’m going to wash,” Harry said, “Then I’ll need to see them, straight away.”
Harry walked into the kitchen.
“What was that about?” Ron whispered to Hermione.
“I don't know,” Hermione said, frowning.
Outside the living room, dawn was breaking. Bill and Fleur stood up and walked toward the stairs near the kitchen.
“Come on,” Hermione whispered.
Ron nodded and they crept over to the door.
“...to Griphook and Ollivander,” Harry was saying.
“No,” said Fleur. “You will ‘ave to wait, ‘Arry. Zey are both too tired –”
“I’m sorry,” Harry said, “but it can’t wait. I need to talk to them now. Privately – and separately. It’s urgent.”
“Harry, what the hell’s going on?” asked Bill. “You turn up here with a dead house-elf and a half-conscious goblin, Hermione looks as though she’s been tortured, and Ron’s just refused to tell me anything –”
“We can’t tell you what we’re doing,” said Harry flatly. “You’re in the Order, Bill, you know Dumbledore left us a mission. We’re not supposed to talk about it to anyone else.”
“All right,” Bill said, “Who do you want to talk to first?”
“Griphook,” Harry said. “I’ll speak to Griphook first.”
His heart was racing as if he had been sprinting and had just cleared an enormous obstacle.
“Up here, then,” said Bill, leading the way.
Ron heard Harry's footsteps as they walked up the stairs, then a pause.
“I need you two as well!” he called out.
This made Ron and Hermione jump, but they quickly walked to the foot of the stairs.
“How are you?” Harry asked Hermione. “You were amazing – coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that –”
Hermione gave a weak smile as Ron gave her a one-armed squeeze.
“What are we doing now, Harry?” he asked.
“You’ll see. Come on.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed Bill up the steep stairs onto a small landing. Three doors led off it.
“In here,” said Bill, opening the door into his and Fleur’s room,
Harry moved to the window, turned his back on the spectacular view, and waited, his arms folded. Hermione took the chair beside the dressing table; Ron sat on the arm.
Bill reappeared, carrying the little goblin, whom he set down carefully upon the bed. Griphook grunted thanks, and Bill left, closing the door upon them all.
“I’m sorry to take you out of bed,” said Harry. “How are your legs?”
“Painful,” replied the goblin. “But mending.”
He was still clutching the sword of Gryffindor, and wore a strange look: half truculent, half intrigued.
“You probably don’t remember –” Harry began.
“—that I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts?” said Griphook. “I remember, Harry Potter. Even amongst goblins, you are very famous.”
Harry and the goblin looked at each other, sizing each other up.
“You buried the elf,” he said, sounding unexpectedly rancorous. “I watched you from the window of the bedroom next door.”
“Yes,” said Harry.
Griphook stared at Harry.
“You are an unusual wizard, Harry Potter,” he said.
“In what way?” asked Harry, rubbing his scar absently.
“You dug the grave.”
Griphook did not answer.
Griphook, I need to ask –”
“You also rescued a goblin.”
“You brought me here. Saved me.”
“Well, I take it you’re not sorry?” said Harry, sounding impatient.
“No, Harry Potter,” said Griphook, and with one finger he twisted the thin black beard upon his chin, “but you are a very odd wizard.”
“Right,” said Harry. “Well, I need some help, Griphook, and you can give it to me. I need to break into a Gringotts vault.”
Ron stared at Harry. Had he heard his best friend right? Break into one of the vaults at Gringotts? Ron was about to speak up, but Hermione spoke up first.
“Harry –” said Hermione, but she was cut off by Griphook.
“Break into a Gringotts vault?” repeated the goblin, wincing a little as he shifted his position upon the bed.
“It is impossible.”
“No, it isn’t,” Ron contradicted him. “It’s been done.”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “The same day I first met you, Griphook. My birthday, seven years ago.”
“The vault in question was empty at the time,” snapped the goblin, “Its protection was minimal.”
“Well, the vault we need to get into isn’t empty, and I’m guessing its protection will be pretty powerful,” said Harry. “It belongs to the Lestranges.”
Ron looked at Hermione, who looked just as astonished as he did. What was Harry thinking?
“You have no chance,” said Griphook flatly. “No chance at all. If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours –”
“Thief, you have been warned, beware – yeah, I know, I remember,” said Harry. “But I’m not trying to get myself any treasure, I’m not trying to take anything for personal gain. Can you believe that?”
“If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain,” said Griphook finally, “it would be you, Harry Potter. Goblins and elves are not used to the protection or the respect that you have shown this night. Not from wand-carriers.”
“Wand-carriers,” repeated Harry:
“The right to carry a wand,” said the goblin quietly, “has long been contested between wizards and goblins.”
“Well, goblins can do magic without wands,” said Ron.
“That is immaterial! Wizards refuse to share the secrets of wand-lore with other magical beings, they deny us the possibility of extending our powers!”
“Well, goblins won’t share any of their magic either,” said Ron. “You won’t tell us how to make swords and armor the way you do. Goblins know how to work metal in a way wizards have never –”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Harry, “This isn’t about wizards versus goblins or any other sort of magical creature –”
Griphook gave a nasty laugh.
“But it is, it is precisely that! As the Dark Lord becomes ever more powerful, your race is set still more firmly above mine! Gringotts falls under Wizarding rule, house-elves are slaughtered, and who amongst the wand-carriers protests?”
“We do!” said Hermione. She had sat up straight, her eyes bright. “We protest! And I’m hunted quite as much as any goblin or elf, Griphook! I’m a Mudblood!”
Ron frowned at Hermione.
“Don’t call yourself –” he muttered.
“Why shouldn’t I?” said Hermione. “Mudblood, and proud of it! I’ve got no higher position under this new order than you have, Griphook! It was me they chose to torture, back at the Malfoys!”
As she spoke, she pulled aside the neck of the dressing gown to reveal the thin cut Bellatrix had made, scarlet against her throat.
“Did you know that it was Harry who set Dobby free?” she asked. “Did you know that we’ve wanted elves to be freed for years?”
Ron fidgeted uncomfortably on the arm of Hermione’s chair. He always had a hard time agreeing with Hermione's view on house-elves.
“You can’t want You-Know-Who defeated more than we do, Griphook!” Hermione continued.
The goblin gazed at Hermione with the same curiosity he had shown Harry.
“What do you seek within the Lestranges’ vault?” he asked abruptly. “The sword that lies inside it is a fake. This is the real one.” He looked from one to the other of them. “I think that you already know this. You asked me to lie for you back there.”
“But the fake sword isn’t the only thing in that vault, is it?” asked Harry. “Perhaps you’ve seen other things in there?”
The goblin twisted his beard around his finger again.
“It is against our code to speak of the secrets of Gringotts. We are the guardians of fabulous treasures. We have a duty to the objects placed in our care, which were, so often, wrought by our fingers.”
The goblin stroked the sword, and his black eyes roved from Harry to Hermione to Ron and then back again.
“So young,” he said finally, “to be fighting so many.”
“Will you help us?” said Harry. “We haven’t got a hope of breaking in without a goblin’s help. You’re our one chance.”
“I shall...think about it,” said Griphook maddeningly.
“But –” Ron started angrily; Hermione nudged him in the ribs.
“Thank you,” said Harry.
The goblin bowed his great domed head in acknowledgment, then flexed his short legs.
“I think,” he said, settling himself ostentatiously upon Bill and Fleur’s bed, “that the Skele-Gro has finished its work. I may be able to sleep at last. Forgive me. . . .”
“Yeah, of course,” said Harry.
Harry leaned forward and took the sword of Gryffindor from beside the goblin, then led Ron and Hermione out of the room.
“Little git,” whispered Ron. “He’s enjoying keeping us hanging.”
“Harry,” whispered Hermione, pulling them both away from the door, into the middle of the still-dark landing, “are you saying what I think you’re saying? Are you saying there’s a Horcrux in the Lestranges vault?”
“Yes,” said Harry. “Bellatrix was terrified when she thought we’d been in there, she was beside herself. Why? What did she think we’d seen, what else did she think we might have taken? Something she was petrified You-Know-Who would find out about.”
“But I thought we were looking for places You-Know-Who’s been, places he’s done something important?” said Ron, looking baffled. “Was he ever inside the Lestranges’ vault?”
“I don’t know whether he was ever inside Gringotts,” said Harry. “He never had gold there when he was younger, because nobody left him anything. He would have seen the bank from the outside, though, the first time he ever went to Diagon Alley. I think he would have envied anyone who had a key to a Gringotts vault. I think he’d have seen it as a real symbol of belonging to the Wizarding world. And don’t forget, he trusted Bellatrix and her husband. They were his most devoted servants before he fell, and they went looking for him after he vanished. He said it night he came back, I heard him.”
Harry rubbed his scar.
“I don’t think he’d have told Bellatrix it was a Horcrux, though,” he said, “He never told Lucius Malfoy the truth about the diary. He probably told her it was a treasured possession and asked her to place it in her vault. The safest place in the world for anything you want to hide, Hagrid told me. . . except for Hogwarts.”
Ron shook his head, in half-wonder and half-amazement.
“You really understand him.” he said, to Harry.
“Bits of him,” said Harry. “Bits... I just wish I’d understood Dumbledore as much. But we’ll see. Come on – Ollivander now.”
Ron looked at Hermione. He wouldn't admit it, but he was a little impressed about all this. It looked as if Harry was now focused on the mission again.
Thought I should end it there. There's still more to come. Hope you liked my additions with Ron and Hermione.
Feedback would be great!
Last edited by Fury; August 9th, 2010 at 1:05 pm.
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Author's Note: A lot of this chapter has excerpts from the book, but near the end, there's original stuff between Ron and Hermione.
Harry walked across the little landing, and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a voice called out, weakly.
Harry opened the door, and Ron and Hermione followed him in.
The wandmaker was lying on the twin bed farthest from the window. He had been held in the cellar for more than a year, and Ron knew he must have been tortured there. Ron couldn't think about that, because when he did, he saw Hermione in Ollivander's position.
Ollivander was emaciated, the bones of his face sticking out sharply against the yellowish skin. His great silver eyes seemed vast in their sunken sockets. The hands that lay upon the blanket could have belonged to a skeleton.
Ron and Hermione sat on the empty bed, and Harry joined them.
“Mr. Ollivander, I’m sorry to disturb you,” Harry said.
“My dear boy,” Ollivander’s voice was feeble. “You rescued us, I thought we would die in that place, I can never thank you . . . never thank you . . . enough.”
“We were glad to do it,” Harry said, “
“Mr. Ollivander, I need some help.”
“Anything. Anything.” Said the wandmaker weakly.
“Can you mend this? Is it possible?”
Ollivander held out a trembling hand, and Harry placed the two barely connected halves in his palm.
“Holly and phoenix feather,” said Ollivander in a tremulous voice. “Eleven inches. Nice and supple.”
“Yes,” said Harry. “Can you -- ?”
“No,” whispered Ollivander. “I am sorry, very sorry, but a wand that has suffered this degree of damage cannot be repaired by any means that I know of.”
Ron looked at Harry's face. He looked a little disheartened.
“Can you identify these?” Harry asked, taking two wands out of his pocket.
The wandmaker took the first of the wands and held it close to his faded eyes, rolling it between his knobble-knuckled fingers, flexing it slightly.
“Walnut and dragon heartstring,” he said. “Twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange.”
“And this one?”
Ollivander performed the same examination.
“Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy.”
“Was?” repeated Harry. “Isn’t it still his?”
“Perhaps not. If you took it –”
“—I did – ”
“—then it may be yours. Of course, the manner of taking matters. Much also depends upon the wand itself. In general, however, where a wand has been won, its allegiance will change.”
There was a silence in the room, except for the distant rushing of the sea.
“You talk about wands like they’ve got feelings,” said Harry, “like they can think for themselves.”
“The wand chooses the wizard,” said Ollivander. “That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore.”
“A person can still use a wand that hasn’t chosen them, though?” asked Harry.
“Oh yes, if you are any wizard at all you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is the strongest affinity between wizard and wand. These connections are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand.”
“I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force,” said Harry. “Can I use it safely?”
“I think so. Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master.”
“So I should use this one?” said Ron, pulling Wormtail’s wand out of his pocket and handing it to Ollivander.
“Chestnut and dragon heartstring. Nine-and-a-quarter inches. Brittle. I was forced to make this shortly after my kidnapping, for Peter Pettigrew. Yes, if you won it, it is more likely to do your bidding, and do it well, than another wand.”
“And this holds true for all wands, does it?” asked Harry.
“I think so,” replied Ollivander, his protuberant eyes upon Harry’s face. “You ask deep questions, Mr. Potter. Wandlore is a complex and mysterious branch of magic.”
“So, it isn’t necessary to kill the previous owner to take the possession of a wand?” asked Harry.
“Necessary? No, I should not say that it is necessary to kill.”
“There are legends, though,” said Harry, and as his heart rate quickened, the pain in his scar became more intense; he was sure that Voldemort has decided to put his idea into action. “Legends about a wand – or wands – that have been passed from hand to hand by murder.”
Ollivander turned pale. Against the snowy pillow he was light gray, and his eyes were enormous, bloodshot, and bulging with what looked like fear.
“Only one wand, I think,” he whispered.
“And You-Know-Who is interested in it, isn’t he?” asked Harry.
“I – how?” croaked Ollivander, and Ron noticed that the wandmaker, was looking at him and Hermione, then back to Harry. “How do you know this?”
“He wanted you to tell him how to overcome the connection between our wands,” said Harry.
Ollivander looked terrified.
“He tortured me, you must understand that! The Cruciatus Curse, I – I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, what I guessed!”
“I understand,” said Harry. “You told him about the twin cores? You said he just had to borrow another wizard’s wand?”
Ollivander, Ron noticed, looked a little scared. He nodded slowly.
“But it didn’t work,” Harry went on. “Mine still beat the borrowed wand. Do you know why that is?”
Ollivander shook his head slowly as he had just nodded.
“I had...never heard of such a thing. Your wand performed something unique that night. The connection of the twin cores is incredibly rare, yet why your wand would have snapped the borrowed wand, I do not know...”
Ron and Hermione looked at each other. It had been a while since Harry had mentioned what had happened the night he confronted Voldemort in the air above Dora's parents house.
“We were talking about the other wand, the wand that changes hands by murder. When You-Know-Who realized my wand had done something strange, he came back and asked about that other wand, didn’t he?”
“How do you know this?”
Ron expected Harry to answer, but he remained silent.
“Yes, he asked,” whispered Ollivander. “He wanted to know everything I could tell him about the wand variously known as the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, or the Elder Wand.”
Ron knew all about the history of this wand. It was famous in wandlore. But to hear Ollivander mention it. Ron looked at Hermione. She looked flabbergasted.
“The Dark Lord,” said Ollivander in hushed and frightened tones, “had always been happy with the wand I made him – yes and phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches. – until he discovered the connection of the twin cores. Now he seeks another, more powerful wand, as the only way to conquer yours.”
“But he’ll know soon, if he doesn’t already, that mine’s broken beyond repair,” said Harry quietly.
“No!” said Hermione, sounding frightened. “He can’t know that, Harry, how could he --?”
“Priori Incantatem,” said Harry. “We left your wand and the blackthorn wand at the Malfoys’, Hermione. If they examine them properly, make them re-create the spells they’ve cast lately, they’d see that yours broke mine, they’ll see that you tried and failed to mend it, and they’ll realize that I’ve been using the blackthorn one ever since.”
Ron sighed as he looked at Harry.
“Hey,” he said, “Let's not worry about that now --”
But Mr. Ollivander intervened.
“The Dark Lord no longer seeks the Elder Wand only for your destruction, Mr. Potter. He is determined to possess it because he believes it will make him truly invulnerable.”
“And will it?” Harry asked.
“The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack,” said Ollivander, “but the idea of the Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit . . . formidable.”
“You – you really think this wand exists, then, Mr. Ollivander?” asked Hermione.
“Oh yes,” said Ollivander. “Yes, it is perfectly possible to trace the wand’s course through history. There are gaps, of, course, and long ones, where it vanishes from view, temporarily lost or hidden; but always it resurfaces. It has certain identifying characteristics that those who are learned in wandlore recognize. There are written accounts, some of them obscure, that I and other wandmakers have made it our business to study. They have the ring of authenticity.”
“So you – you don’t think it can be a fairy tale or a myth?” Hermione asked hopefully.
“No,” said Ollivander. “Whether it needs to pass by murder, I do not know. Its history is bloody, but that may be simply due to the fact that it is such a desirable object, and arouses such passions in wizards. Immensely powerful, dangerous in the wrong hands, and an object of incredible fascination to all of us who study the power of wands.”
“Mr. Ollivander,” said Harry, “you told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand, didn’t you?”
Ollivander turned, if possible, even paler. He looked ghostly as he gulped.
“But how – how do you -- ?”
“Never mind how I know it,” said Harry, “You told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the wand?”
“It was a rumor,” whispered Ollivander. “A rumor, years and years ago, long before you were born I believe Gregorovitch himself started it. You can see how good it would be for business; that he was studying and duplicating the qualities of the Elder Wand!”
“Yes, I can see that,” said Harry. He stood up. “Mr. Ollivander, one last thing, and then we’ll let you get some rest. What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?”
Ron and Hermione both stared at the wandmaker. Ron hoped that Ollivander could confirm what they had heard over the past few months.
“The – the what?” asked the wandmaker, looking utterly bewildered.
“The Deathly Hallows.” Harry repeated.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ollivander said, “Is this still something to do with wands?”
Ron looked into the sunken face of Ollivander. He seemed to be honest. He knew nothing about the Hallows.
“Thank you,” said Harry. “Thank you very much. We’ll leave you to get some rest now.”
Ollivander looked stricken.
“He was torturing me!” he gasped. “The Cruciatus Curse . . . you have no idea. . . .”
“I do,” said Harry, “I really do. Please get some rest. Thank you for telling me all of this.”
Ron and Hermione followed Harry out of the room and down the stairs.
Ron saw Bill, Fleur, Luna, and Dean sitting at the table in the kitchen, cups of tea in front of them. They all looked up at Ron, Harry and Hermione as they passed, but Harry merely nodded to them and continued into the garden. Ron and Hermione followed him toward the garden.
“Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand a long time ago,” he said, “I saw You-Know-Who trying to find him. When he tracked him down, he found that Gregorovitch didn’t have it anymore: It was stolen from him by Grindelwald. How Grindelwald found out that Gregorovitch had it, I don’t know – but if Gregorovitch was stupid enough to spread the rumor, it can’t have been that difficult.”
Harry paused. Ron wondered if Harry was seeing something in his mind. To his left, Ron noticed that Hermione looked very worried about something.
“And Grindelwald used the Elder Wand to become powerful. And at the height of his power, when Dumbledore knew he was the only one who could stop him, he dueled Grindelwald and beat him, and he took the Elder Wand.”
“Dumbledore had the Elder Wand?” said Ron. “But then – where is it now?”
“At Hogwarts,” said Harry.
“But then, let’s go!” said Ron urgently. “Harry, let’s go and get it before he does!”
“It’s too late for that,” said Harry, “He knows where it is. He’s there now.”
Ron and Hermione's eyes widened. Ron looked furiously at Harry. He couldn't believe they were just standing there.
“Harry!” he said,“How long have you known this – why have we been wasting time? Why did you talk to Griphook first? We could have gone – we could still go –”
“No,” said Harry, and he sank to his knees in the grass. “Hermione’s right. Dumbledore didn’t want me to have it. He didn’t want me to take it. He wanted me to get the Horcruxes.”
“The unbeatable wand, Harry!” moaned Ron.
“I’m not supposed to,” Harry said, “I’m supposed to get the Horcruxes...”
Harry stared blankly into the ground. Hermione looked at Ron worriedly, then nodded back to the cottage. Ron knew Hermione wanted to leave Harry alone with his thoughts. Ron nodded and followed Hermione into the cottage. They ignored Bill and the others and walked up to one of the empty bedrooms. Neither talked until they were safely inside.
“I can't believe this,” Hermione said, dryly.
“It's rather ironic,” Ron said. “We were trying to get Harry to ignore all that Deathly Hallows rubbish, and all this time You-Know-Who was going after the most dangerous one. Though now I completely understand why Dumbledore gave us those objects from his will.”
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.
“Dumbledore was leading us on,” Ron said. “I think he wanted Harry to get the Elder Wand.”
“I don't think so,” Hermione said.
“Why not?” Ron asked.
“Well,” Hermione said, “If he did, then why didn't Dumbledore just give him the Elder Wand?”
“Because Dumbledore was a Quester!” Ron said, “It's obvious he wanted Harry to find it on his own.”
“Then why didn't he ever talk about the Hallows?” Hermione asked.
“I don't know,” Ron said, “But either way, it's too late. You-Know-Who has the wand.”
“It's not too late,” Hermione said.
“It is!” Ron said, “If You-Know-Who has the Elder Wand, how is Harry supposed to beat him now?”
“We still have to go after those Horcruxes,” Hermione said.
“Yeah,” Ron said, though he was very disheartened.
“Well, it's been a very long night,” Ron said, then looked out the window, “And a longer morning. We need some sleep.”
“So I... I'm just going to go and let you get some sleep,” Ron said.
Ron headed out of the bedroom, but before he left, he turned to Hermione. He wanted to admit that he loved her, but this was not the time. They were too busy for anything romantic. Ron knew this.
He only smiled at Hermione, and she returned the smile. He left the bedroom and went to the adjacent room to get some well-needed rest.
Another short chapter. Still more to come.
Apologies for having so little originality in this chapter. There'll be a lot more in the coming chapters. I promise!
Feedback would be great!
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
The Goblin's Bargain
Harry had fallen into another silent stupor ever since the revelation that Voldemort had taken the Elder Wand. It was so obvious, that Bill had even noticed, but when Ron's brother tried to ask Harry about it, Harry wouldn't say anything to him. This left Ron trying to think of an explanation to give to Bill.
“I think he misses Ginny,” Ron said, a couple days after his return to the cottage, when Bill finally decided to interrogate Ron about it.
“They are together?” Bill asked.
Ron had to think about this for a second. Were Harry and Ginny still technically together? They did kiss on Harry's birthday.
“They were,” Ron finally said, “But Harry broke up with her at Dumbledore's funeral.”
“That was so long ago,” Bill said.
“Well,” Ron said, “Harry's been so lonely lately.”
“But he has the two of you,” Bill said.
“Sometimes I don't think he realizes that,” Ron said.
“And what about you?” Bill asked.
“I couldn't have better friends in the world,” Ron said. “It is my deepest regret that I abandoned them once.”
“That isn't what I mean,” Bill said.
Ron just stared at his brother.
“Do you feel rather lonely?” Bill asked.
“What do you mean?” Ron asked.
“I see how you look at Hermione,” Bill said.
Ron blushed dark red. He was very happy Hermione wasn't in the vicinity. She had chosen this moment to try to cheer up Harry.
“It's n-n-nothing like that,” Ron said, quickly.
“Uh-huh,” Bill said, doubtfully.
“Er... I'm just going to see how Harry is doing,” Ron said.
Ron walked away from Bill, knowing well enough that his eldest brother's eyes were watching him as he walked away.
The following day, Ron still hadn't had much luck talking to Ron. He mentioned his fears to Harry about how You-Know-Who had the Elder Wand, and his doubts of the impossibility that Harry could now beat him. Harry remained silent during these moments.
Later that morning, Ron noticed Hermione and Harry in the garden. Harry was staring silently at the cottage wall.
"You could never have done that, Harry," Hermione said, "You couldn't have broken into Dumbledore's grave."
“But is he dead?” Ron asked, referring to Dumbledore.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Yes, he is, Ron,” she said, “Please don't start that again!”
"Look at the facts, Hermione," said Ron, speaking across Harry, who continued to gaze at the horizon. "The solve doe. The sword. The eye Harry saw in the mirror --"
"Harry admits he could have imagined the eye! Don't you, Harry?"
"I could have," said Harry, though he didn't look at them.
"But you don't thing you did, do you?" asked Ron.
"No, I don't," said Harry.
"There you go!" said Ron quickly, before Hermione could carry on. "If it wasn't Dumbledore, explain how Dobby knew we were in the cellar, Hermione?"
"I can't -- but can you explain how Dumbledore sent him to us if he's lying in a tomb at Hogwarts?"
"I dunno, it could've been his ghost!"
"Dumbledore wouldn't come back as a ghost," said Harry. "He would have gone on."
"What d'you mean, 'gone on'?" asked Ron.
Before Harry could speak up, a familiar voice spoke up.
“'Arry?” Fleur asked behind them, “Grip'ook would like to speak to you. 'E eez in ze smallest bedroom, 'e says 'e does not want to be over'eard."
“Thanks, Fleur,” Harry said.
Ron and Hermione just stood there, looking at each other as Harry walked toward the cottage.
“Oi,” Harry said to them, “You're coming along, aren't you?”
Hermione nodded timidly, and Ron followed her and Harry into the cottage. Griphook was in the same bedroom that Hermione slept in.
"I have reached my decision, Harry Potter," said the goblin, as they entered the room, "Though the goblins of Gringotts will consider it base treachery, I have decided to help you --"
"That's great!" said Harry, "Griphook, thank you, we're really --"
"-- in return," said the goblin firmly, "for payment."
"How much do you want?” Harry asked, though hesitant, “I've got gold."
"Not gold," said Griphook. "I have gold."
His black eyes glittered; there were no whites to his eyes.
"I want the sword,” Griphook said, “The sword of Godric Gryffindor."
Ron sighed. He was about to speak up, but Harry beat him.
"You can't have that," he said. "I'm sorry."
"Then," said the goblin softly, "we have a problem."
"We can give you something else," said Ron eagerly. "I'll bet the Lestranges have got loads of stuff, you can take your pick once we get into the vault."
Ron knew immediately he had said the wrong thing. Griphook flushed angrily.
"I am not a thief, boy!” he said, “I am not trying to procure treasures to which I have no right!"
"The sword's ours,” Ron said.
"It is not," said the goblin.
"We're Gryffindors,” Ron said, “and it was Godric Gryffindor's --"
"And before it was Gryffindor's, whose was it?" demanded the goblin, sitting up straight.
"No one's," said Ron. "It was made for him, wasn't it?"
"No!" cried the goblin, bristling with anger as he pointed a long finger at Ron. "Wizarding arrogance again! That sword was Ragnuk the First's, taken from him by Godric Gryffindor! It is a masterpiece of goblinwork! It belongs with the goblins. The sword is the price of my hire, take it or leave it!"
Griphook glared at them. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, then turned back to the goblin.
"We need to discuss this, Griphook, if that's all right,” he said, “Could you give us a few minutes?"
The goblin nodded, looking sour.
They walked downstairs to the empty drawing room. Harry paced in front of the fireplace, as Ron and Hermione took a seat on the loveseat. Neither Hermione nor Harry spoke up. Ron knew both were thinking about Griphook's deal.
"He's having a laugh,” Ron said, “We can't let him have that sword."
"It is true?" Harry asked Hermione. "Was the sword stolen by Gryffindor?"
"I don't know," she said hopelessly. "Wizarding history often skates over what the wizards have done to other magical races, but there's no account that I know of that says Gryffindor stole the sword."
"It'll be one of those goblin stories," said Ron, "about how the wizards are always trying to get one over on them. I suppose we should think ourselves lucky he hasn't asked for one of our wands."
"Goblins have got good reason to dislike wizards, Ron," said Hermione. "They've been treated brutally in the past."
"Goblins aren't exactly fluffy little bunnies, though, are they?" said Ron. "They've killed plenty of us. They've fought dirty too."
"But arguing with Griphook about whose race is most underhanded and violent isn't going to make him more likely to help us, is it?"
Ron looked up at Harry to see what he thought, but Harry was looking out the window.
"Okay," said Ron, and Harry turned back to face him, "how's this? We tell Griphook we need the sword until we get inside the vault and then he can have it. There's a fake in these, isn't there? We switch them, and give him the fake."
"Ron, he'd know the difference better than we would!" said Hermione. "He's the only one who realized there had been a swap!"
"Yeah, but we could scamper before he realizes --"
He quailed beneath the look Hermione was giving him.
"That," she said quietly, "is despicable. Ask for his help, then double-cross him? And you wonder why goblins don't like wizards, Ron?"
Ron felt his ears burn from his embarrassment. He hated to admit it, but Hermione had a point.
"All right, all right! It was the only thing I could think of!” he said, “What's your solution, then?"
"We need to offer him something else,” Hermione said, “something just as valuable."
"Brilliant,” Ron said, sarcastically, “I'll go and get one of our ancient goblin-made swords and you can gift wrap it."
Hermione frowned and looked away. Ron looked up at Harry for help, but he was looking out the window again.
"Maybe he's lying," Harry finally said. "Griphook. Maybe Gryffindor didn't take the sword. How do we know the goblin version of history's right?"
"Does it make a difference?" asked Hermione.
"Changes how I feel about it," said Harry, taking a deep breath, "We'll tell him he can have the sword after he's helped us get into that vault -- but we'll be careful to avoid telling him exactly when he can have it."
Ron grinned, liking that idea, but one look at Hermione told him she wasn't too happy.
"Harry, we can't --"
"He can have it," Harry went on, "after we've used it on all of the Horcruxes. I'll make sure he gets it then. I'll keep my word."
"But that could be years!" said Hermione.
"I know that, but he needn't. I won't be lying... really."
"I don't like it," said Hermione.
"Nor do I, much," Harry admitted.
"Well, I think it's genius," said Ron, standing up again. "Let's go and tell him."
Hermione and Harry followed Ron slowly back to the bedroom. Neither looked excited as he did. Back in the room, Ron listened intently as Harry made the offer. Ron liked how he had worded it out, but Hermione was looking straight the floor. Ron wanted to nudge her, but he was afraid Griphook might catch him.
"I have your word, Harry Potter, that you will give me the sword of Gryffindor if I help you?"
"Yes," said Harry.
"Then shake," said the goblin, holding out his hand.
Harry took it and shook.
Griphook then backed up and clapped his hands together, and said, "So. We begin! I have visited the Lestranges' vault only once," Griphook told them, "on the occasion I was told to place inside it the false sword. It is one of the most ancient chambers. The oldest Wizarding families store their treasures at the deepest level, where the vaults are largest and best protected...."
Ron was soon reminded of the endless planning he, Harry and Hermione had done back at Grimmauld Place. The days stretched into weeks as they planned each and every tidbit of the heist. There were many problems, as each had stated.
“We'll definitely need to use Polyjuice Potion,” Ron said one day.
“There's really only enough left for one of us,” Hermione said.
Ron looked downtrodden, but Harry only smiled behind the hand-drawn map of Gringotts Griphook had drawn out.
“That will be enough,” he said.
Hermione looked at Ron, and he knew she had her doubts.
Ron had noticed that the other inhabitants of Shell Cottage were beginning to take notice of what he, Hermione, Harry and Griphook were planning. They had only emerged from the bedroom for mealtimes, during which Bill would stare at them, though he never asked what was going on.
After a while, Ron could easily tell that Griphook was being a right pain in the backside, and even Bill and Fleur were getting annoyed. He heard them in the kitchen one night.
“I am getting sick – sick, I tell you – of waiting on that thing hand and foot, Bill!” Fleur shrieked, “No more. Either he eats down here with the rest of us, or he'll just have to starve.”
Ron was reminded of his mother, and it wasn't a surprise when Bill backed away slightly at his wife's outburst.
“Fleur,” Bill said, “You have to understand --”
“No!” Fleur replied, “I don't have to. You will march upstairs and tell him, Bill Weasley. He will eat with us from now on!”
Bill sighed and walked upstairs.
From then on, Griphook had eaten in the kitchen with the rest of them. although he refused to eat the same food, insisting, instead, on lumps of raw meat, roots, and various fungi.
Ron knew that Harry felt very unhappy that Bill and Fleur had to deal with all of this. Harry had gone into the kitchen with Fleur, while Ron and Hermione were setting the table for dinner one night. He couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but he had sworn he heard his name mentioned once or twice. But before Ron could et closer to overhear the conversation, Luna and Dean walked in and were chatting animatedly.
"... and if you ever come to our house I'll be able to show you the horn, Daddy wrote to me about it but I haven't seen it yet, because the Death Eaters took me from the Hogwarts Express and I never got home for Christmas," Luna was saying, as she and Dean relit the fire.
"Luna, we told you," Hermione called over to her. "That horn exploded. It came from an Erumpent, not a Crumple-Horned Snorkack --"
"No, it was definitely a Snorkack horn," said Luna serenely, "Daddy told me. It will probably have re-formed by now, they mend themselves, you know."
Hermione shook her head and continued laying down forks. Bill appeared, leading Mr. Ollivander down the stairs. The wandmaker still looked exceptionally frail, and he clung to Bill's arm as the latter supported him, carrying a large suitcase.
"I'm going to miss you, Mr. Ollivander," said Luna, approaching the old man.
"And I you, my dear," said Ollivander, patting her on the shoulder, "You were an inexpressible comfort to me in that terrible place."
"So, au revoir, Mr. Ollivander," said Fleur, kissing him on both cheeks. "And I wonder whezzer you could oblige me by delivering a package to Bill's Auntie Murie!? I never returned 'er tiara."
"It will be an honor," said Ollivander with a little bow, "the very least I can do in return for your generous hospitality."
Fleur drew out a worn velvet case, which she opened to show the wandmaker. The tiara sat glittering and twinkling in the light from the low-hanging lamp.
"Moonstones and diamonds," said Griphook, who had sidled into the room. "Made by goblins, I think?"
"And paid for by wizards," said Bill quietly, and the goblin shot him a look that was both furtive and challenging.
Bill and Ollivander set off into the night. The rest of them squeezed in around the table; elbow to elbow and with barely enough room to move, they started to eat. The fire crackled and popped in the grate beside them. Fleur, Ron noticed, was merely playing with her food; she glanced at the window every few minutes; however, Bill returned before they had finished their first course, his long hair tangled by the wind.
"Everything's fine," he told Fleur. "Ollivander settled in, Mum and Dad say hello. Ginny sends you all her love, Fred and George are driving Muriel up the wall, they're still operating an Owl-Order business out of her back room. It cheered her up to have her tiara back, though. She said she thought we'd stolen it."
"Ah, she eez charmant, your aunt," said Fleur crossly, waving her wand and causing the dirty plates to rise and form a stack in midair. She caught them and marched out of the room.
"Daddy's made a tiara," piped up Luna, "Well, more of a crown, really."
Ron rolled his eyes as he remembered the crown at the Lovegood's house.
"Yes, he's trying to re-create the lost diadem of Ravenclaw. He thinks he's identified most of the main elements now. Adding the billywig wings really made a difference --"
There was a bang on the front door. Everyone's head turned toward it. Fleur came running out of the kitchen, looking frightened; Bill jumped to his feed, his wand pointing at the door; Ron, Harry and Hermione did the same. Silently Griphook slipped beneath the table, out of sight.
"Who is it?" Bill called.
"It is I, Remus John Lupin!" called a voice over the howling wind. "I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret-Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come in an emergency!"
Ron's eyes widened. What had happened? He was thinking of his family. Had something happened to them?
"Lupin," muttered Bill, and he ran to the door and wrenched it open.
Lupin fell over the threshold. He was white-faced, wrapped in a traveling cloak, his graying hair windswept. He straightened up, looked around the room, making sure of who was there/
"It's a boy!” he cried out, “We've named him Ted, after Dora's father!"
"Wha --? Tonks -- Tonks has had the baby?"
"Yes, yes, she's had the baby!" shouted Lupin. All around the table came cries of delight, sighs of relief:
Hermione and Fleur both squealed, "Congratulations!"
"Blimey, a baby!" Ron said, grinning.
"Yes -- yes -- a boy," said Lupin again, who seemed dazed by his own happiness.
He strode around the table and hugged Harry.
"You'll be godfather?" he said as he released Harry.
"M-me?" stammered Harry.
"You, yes, of course -- Dora quite agrees, no one better --"
"I -- yeah -- blimey --"
Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw Hermione grinning.
"I can't stay long, I must get back," said Lupin, beaming around at them all, "Thank you, thank you, Bill"
Bill had soon filled all of their goblets, they stood and raised them high in a toast.
"To Teddy Remus Lupin," said Lupin, "a great wizard in the making!"
"'Oo does 'e look like?" Fleur inquired.
"I think he looks like Dora, but she thinks he is like me. Not much hair. It looked black when he was born, but I swear it's turned ginger in the hour since. Probably blond by the time I get back. Andromeda says Tonks's hair started changing color the day that she was born." He drained his goblet. "Oh, go on then, just one more," he added, beaming, as Bill made to fill it again.
The wind buffeted the little cottage and the fire leapt and crackled, and Bill was soon opening another bottle of wine. Lupin's news seemed to have taken them out of themselves, removed them for a while from their state of siege: Tidings of new life were exhilarating.
"No... no... I really must get back," said Lupin at last, declining yet another goblet of wine. He got to his feet and pulled his traveling cloak back around himself.
"Good-bye, good-bye -- I'll try and bring some pictures in a few day's time -- they'll all be so glad to know that I've seen you --"
He fastened his cloak and made his farewells, hugging the women and grasping hands with the men, then, still beaming, returned into the wild night.
Bill and Harry walked off into the kitchen, leaving Ron and Hermione alone with the others.
“Well, at least we have some good news,” Hermione said.
“Yeah,” Ron said, “And it seems Teddy didn't turn out like his father, then.”
“Seems that way,” Hermione said.
Ron sighed and drank the rest of his firewhiskey. The announcement of the arrival of Remus and Dora's son had definitely lightened the mood, but Ron knew that would end abruptly, and his fears were answered later that evening when Harry announced that it was almost time. They would be headed for Gringotts Bank in two days.
Another chapter finished! Next chapter I'm going back to Hermione's PoV. It will be fun in her PoV when she has to act like Bellatrix!
It will come soon! Hope you liked this chapter! Feedback would be brilliant!
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Gringotts (Part 1)
Author's Note: I'm going out of what happened in the book a bit for the first part of this chapter. But it's not much. It gives it some originality. Also, this will be a 2 part chapter. Very long, it is, indeed.
Hermione was woken up by a knock on the door. She sat up straight and looked around. Luna was not in her bed and Hermione figured she must have woken up rather early.
“Who's there?” Hermione asked.
“It's Ron and I,” Harry said, “Can we come in?”
“I'm still in my pajamas!” Hermione hissed, “Oh, whatever. Come in!”
The door opened, and Harry and Ron walked in. Harry closed the door behind him.
“Were you still asleep?” Ron asked.
“Er... yeah,” Hermione said.
“We decided to start on our last-minute preparations early,” Ron said, “Harry thought it was best if we could avoid Griphook for a while. I agreed with him.”
“So we're going tomorrow?” Hermione asked.
“Yep,” Harry said.
Hermione sighed. She felt like there was still a lot to do. She felt unprepared. For one thing, she didn't have her own wand.
“What's wrong?” Harry asked, noticing her reaction.
“I just... I don't feel ready,” Hermione admitted.
“Hermione,” Ron said, “We've been planning this for weeks now. Longer than that, it seems. I thought you'd be the most ready out of all of us.”
“I feel weak without my wand,” Hermione muttered.
“You don't have to worry about that,” Harry said.
“What do you mean,” Hermione asked.
“Well,” Harry said, looking from her to Ron.
“You'll be disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange, right?” Ron said.
“Yeah,” Hermione said.
She looked on the mantelpiece. There was a small glass phial sitting there. It had a single hair inside. A few days ago, Hermione had plucked a long strand of black hair from her sweater. It was the same sweater she had been wearing when she had been tortured. The hair was Bellatrix Lestrange's hair.
“Well, since you'll look like her,” Ron said, “Then...”
“You'll be using her actual wand," said Harry, nodding toward the walnut wand, "so I reckon you'll be pretty convincing."
Hermione stared at the wand. She hated that thing. She had been tortured with it, and that memory was still fresh in her mind. The dreams she had about it... she didn't want to think about them.
"I hate that thing," she said in a low voice. "I really hate it. It feels all wrong, it doesn't work properly for me . . . It's like a bit of her."
Hermione had tried to use it once or twice, but it didn't work right at all.
"It'll probably help you get in character, though," said Ron. "think what that wand's done!"
"But that's my point!" said Hermione. "This is the wand that tortured Neville's mum and dad, and who knows how many other people? This is the wand that killed Sirius!"
"I miss my wand," she said miserably. "I wish Mr. Ollivander could have made me another one.”
“Well,” Harry said, “I guess we should find Griphook. I hate to have to deal with him so much, but we need him.”
“We need to talk to my brother first,” Ron said.
Hermione and Harry looked at him.
“We have to tell him that we are leaving tomorrow,” Ron said.
Harry was about to speak up, but Ron put up his hand.
“We won't tell him what we're doing,” Ron said, “We just need to let him know that we're leaving. I didn't get to tell them when I left last time. I just want to be able to say goodbye.”
Harry looked at Hermione, who nodded.
“Ron,” she said, “You and Harry go talk to him. I need to get dressed.”
Ron nodded, and left the room with Harry. Hermione sighed and stared at the walnut wand.
“Please work for me tomorrow,” she begged it, “I really need you to.”
She sighed again and proceeded to change into her clothes. When she was tying her shoes, the door opened again, and Harry and Ron walked in. Harry looked at the beaded bag on the bed.
“I've been meaning to ask,” he said, nodding to it. “How did you keep that away from the Snatchers?”
“Stuffed it down my sock,” Hermione shrugged and grinned.
“Brilliant,” Ron said.
Suddenly, the door opened again as Griphook entered.
"We've just been checking the last-minute stuff, Griphook,” Harry told the goblin, “We've told Bill and Fleur we're leaving tomorrow, and we've told them not to get up to see us off."
Griphook grunted, and Hermione could tell he was paying more attention to the sword rather than Harry. Throughout the rest of the day, Griphook had kept an annoyingly close watch. Hermione knew this was Harry's fault. She was afraid that Griphook knew what they were planning.
Hermione, Ron, and Hermione slept in sleeping bags that night, in the same room, so they would not wake anyone up when they left. While Harry and Ron went outside. Hermione retreated to the bathroom. She put up temporary silencing charms around the walls so the other house-guests wouldn't wake up. She figured it would be rather noisy changing into Bellatrix Lestrange.
She took the vial of Polyjuice Potion, Bellatrix's walnut wand, and some old robes out of the beaded bag. The old robes had come from Grimmauld Place, and Hermione hoped they would be passable.
She uncorked the vial and, plugging her nose with two fingers from one hand, upended the vial into her mouth with the other. The potion tasted horrible, and she gagged a bit. Her vision became a little blurry as she stared into the mirror. A couple of painful minutes passed, and when her vision returned, she was staring at the reflection of Bellatrix Lestrange in the mirror.
She shuddered slightly. Her last memory of this woman haunted her and now she was disguised as the very same person who had tortured her.
“Here goes nothing,” she said, in Bellatrix's low voice.
She shuddered again at the change of her voice. She then removed the silencing charms, cleaned up the bathroom and walked through the door.
“Nice disguise,” Griphook's throaty voice said.
“Er... thanks,” Hermione said. “We should get going. Harry and Ron are waiting outside.”
Griphook grunted and Hermione followed him outside and over to Harry and Ron.
"She tasted disgusting, worse than Gurdyroots! Okay, Ron, come here so I can do you . . ."
"Right, but remember, I don't like the beard too long"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, this isn't about looking handsome"
"It's not that, it gets in the way! But I liked my nose a bit shorter, try and do it the way you did last time."
Hermione sighed and set to work, muttering under her breath as she transformed various aspects of Ron's appearance. He was to be given a completely fake identity, and they were trusting to the malevolent aura cast by Bellatrix to protect him. Meanwhile Harry and Griphook were to be concealed under the Invisibility Cloak.
"There," said Hermione, taking a glance at Ron.
Ron's hair was now long and wavy; he had a thick brown beard and mustache, no freckles, a short, broad nose, and heavy eyebrows.
"How does he look, Harry?" Hermione asked.
“Well, he's not my type, but he'll do," said Harry. "Shall we go, then?"
All three of them glanced back at Shell Cottage, lying dark and silent under the fading stars, then turned and began to walk toward the point, just beyond the boundary wall, where the Fidelius Chard stopped working and they would be able to Disapparate. Once past the gate, Griphook spoke.
"I should climb up now, Harry Potter, I think?" he said.
Harry bent down and the goblin clambered onto his back, his hands linked on front of Harry's throat. Hermione pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of the beaded bag and threw it over them both.
"Perfect," she said, bending down to check Harry's feet. "I can't see a thing. Let's go."
Hermione was the last to Apparate, and after darkness and a quick intake of breath, she arrived at Charing Cross Road. Ron, in his disguise, was nearby, and she knew Harry and Griphook were concealed nearby under the cloak.
They made their way to the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione in front.
The bar of the Leaky Cauldron was nearly deserted. Tom, the stooped and toothless landlord, was polishing glasses behind the bar counter; a couple of warlocks having a muttered conversation in the far corner glanced at Hermione and drew back into the shadows.
"Madam Lestrange," murmured Tom, and as Hermione paused he inclined his head subserviently.
"Good morning," said Hermione.
Tom looked shocked, though Hermione ignored it.
"Too polite," Harry whispered in Hermione's ear as they passed out of the Inn into the tiny backyard. "You need to treat people like they're scum!"
"Okay, okay!" she said, sighing.
Hermione drew out Bellatrix's wand and rapped a brick in the nondescript wall in front of them. At once the bricks began to whirl and spin: A hole appeared in the middle of them, which grew wider and wider, finally forming an archway onto the narrow cobbled street that was Diagon Alley.
It was quiet, barely time for the shops to open, and there were hardly and shoppers abroad. More shops than ever were boarded up, though several new establishments dedicated to the Dark Arts had been created since his last visit. Harry's own face glared down at him from posters plastered over many windows, always captioned with the words UNDESIRABLE NUMBER ONE.
A number of ragged people sat huddled in doorways. A few of them moaned to the few passersby, pleading for gold, insisting that they were really wizards. One man had a bloody bandage over his eye.
As they set off along the street, the beggars glimpsed Hermione. they seemed to melt away before her, drawing hoods over their faces and fleeing as fast as they could. Hermione looked after them curiously, until the man with the bloodied bandage came staggering right across her path.
"My children," he bellowed, pointing at her. His voice was cracked, high-pitched, he sounded distraught.
"Where are my children? What has he done with them? You know, you know!"
"I--I really--" stammered Hermione.
Suddenly, the man lunged at her. She didn't want to step back, because she knew Bellatrix wouldn't act that way, but what was she to do?
Then, with a bang and a burst of red light he was thrown backward onto the ground, unconscious. Ron stood there, his wand still outstretched and a look of shock visible behind his beard. Faces appeared at the windows on either side of the street, while a little knot of prosperous-looking passerby gathered their robes about them and broke into gentle trots, keen to vacate the scene.
Hermione realized how much trouble they were in. They were gathering a lot of attention, something they did not want to do. Before Hermione could speak to Ron, another voice was heard.
"Why, Madam Lestrange!"
Hermione looked straight ahead. A tall, think wizard with a crown of bushy gray hair and a long, sharp nose was striding toward them.
Hermione did not recognize this man from the Daily Prophet. Hermione made herself as tall as she could and looked at the man.
"And what do you want?" she asked, threateningly.
Travers stopped in his tracks, clearly affronted.
“His name is Travers,” Hermione heard Harry breathe in her ear, “He's a Death Eater!”
"I merely sought to greet you," said Travers coolly, "but if my presence is not welcome..."
"No, no, not at all, Travers," said Hermione quickly, trying to cover up her mistake. "How are you?"
"Well, I confess I am surprised to see you out and about, Bellatrix,” Travers replied.
"Really? Why?" asked Hermione.
"Well," Travers coughed, "I heard that the Inhabitants of Malfoy Manor were confined to the house, after the... ah....escape."
Hermione did not panic. She knew what would happen if she did.
"The Dark Lord forgives those who have served him most faithfully in the past," said Hermione, imitating Bellatrix's most contemptuous manner. "Perhaps your credit is not as good with him as mine is, Travers."
Travers looked a little offended, but he shrugged and looked at the man Ron had stunned.
"How did it offend you?"
"It does not matter, it will not do so again," said Hermione coolly.
"Some of these wandless can be troublesome," said Travers. "While they do nothing but beg I have no objection, but one of them actually asked me to plead her case in the Ministry last week. 'I'm a witch, sir, I'm a witch, let me prove it to you!" he said in a squeaky impersonation.
"As if I was going to give her my wand--but whose wand," said Travers curiously, "are you using at the moment, Bellatrix? I heard that your own was--"
"I have my wand here," said Hermione coldly, holding up Bellatrix's wand. "I don't know what rumors you have been listening to, Travers, but you seem sadly misinformed."
Travers seemed a little taken aback at that, and he turned instead to Ron.
"Who is your friend?” he said, taking in Ron's appearance, “I do not recognize him."
"This is Dragomir Despard," said Hermione.
They had decided that a fictional foreigner was the safest cover for Ron to assume.
"He speaks very little English,” Hermione continued, “but he is in sympathy with the Dark Lord's aims. He has traveled here from Transylvania to see our new regime."
"Indeed? How do you do, Dragomir?"
"'Ow you?" said Ron, holding out his hand.
Travers extended two fingers and shook Ron's hand as though frightened of dirtying himself.
“So what brings you and your--ah--sympathetic friend to Diagon Alley this early?" asked Travers.
"I need to visit Gringotts," said Hermione.
"Alas, I also," said Travers. "Gold, filthy gold! We cannot live without it, yet I confess I deplore the necessity of consorting with our long-fingered friends."
Travers smiled and motined Hermione forward.
“Shall we?” he asked.
Hermione nodded and followed Travers toward Gringotts. She did not look back, but trusted Ron, Harry and Griphook were close by.
All too soon they arrived at the foot of the marble steps leading up to the great bronze doors. As Griphook had already warned them, the liveried goblins who usually flanked the entrance had been replaced by two wizards, both of whom were clutching long thin golden rods.
"Ah, Probity Probes," signed Travers theatrically, "so crude--but so effective!"
And he set off up the steps, nodding left and right to the wizards, who raised the golden rods and passed them up and down his body.
Hermione's long black hair rippled behind her as she climbed the steps.
"One moment, madam," said the guard, raising his Probe.
"But you've just done that!" said Hermione in Bellatrix's commanding, arrogant voice.
Travers looked around, eyebrows raised. The guard was confused. He stared down at the thin golden Probe and then at his companion, who said in a slightly dazed voice,
"Yeah, you've just checked them, Marius."
Hermione swept forward. Ron by her side, Harry and Griphook trotting invisibly behind them.
The long counter was manned by goblins sitting on high stools serving the first customers of the day.
Hermione, Ron, and Travers headed toward an old goblin who was examining a thick gold coin through an eyeglass.
"Dragomir, if you will notice," she invented quickly, letting Travers get ahead of her, "The main hall of Gringotts Wizarding Bank is a grand room. One of the grandest --"
Ron raised an eyebrow toward her. Clearly he didn't know what she was getting at.
"Next," the goblin grunted
Hermione stepped forward.
"Madam Lestrange!" said the goblin, evidently startled. "Dear me!" How--how may I help you today?"
"I wish to enter my vault," said Hermione.
The old goblin seemed to recoil a little.
"You have . . . identification?" asked the goblin.
"Identification? I--I have never been asked for identification before!" said Hermione.
Your wand will do, madam," said the goblin.
The goblin took Bellatrix's wand, examined it closely, and then said, "Ah, you have had a new wand made, Madam Lestrange!"
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"What?" said Hermione, "No, no, that's mine--"
"A new wand?" said Travers, approaching the counter again; still the goblins all around were watching. "But how could you have done, which wandmaker did you use?"
"Oh yes, I see," said Travers, looking down at Bellatrix's wand, "yes, very handsome. and is it working well? I always think wands require a little breaking in, don't you?"
Hermione looked from her wand to Travers. She only nodded, wondering what had happened.
The old goblin behind the counter clapped his hands and a younger goblin approached.
"I shall need the Clankers," he told the goblin, who dashed away and returned a moment later with a leather bag that seemed to be full of jangling metal, which he handed to his senior. "Good, good! S, if you will follow me, Madam Lestrange," said the old goblin, hopping down off his stool and vanishing from sight. "I shall take you to your vault."
He appeared around the end of the counter, jogging happily toward them, the contents of the leather bag still jingling. Travers was now standing quite still with his mouth hanging wide open.
“Wait – Bogrod!”
Another goblin came scurrying around the counter.
“We have instructions,” he said with a bow to Hermione. “Forgive me, Madam, but there have been special orders regarding the vault of Lestrange.”
He whispered urgently in Bogrod’s ear, but the goblin raised a bony hand in dismissal.
“I am aware of the instructions, Madam Lestrange wishes to visit her vault... Very old family...old clients... This way, please...”
And, still clanking, he hurried toward one of the many doors leading off the hall. They walked through the doorway.
“We’re in trouble; they suspect,” said Harry as the door slammed behind them and he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak.
Griphook jumped down from his shoulders.
Hermione's eyes widened as she looked at Travers and Bogrod. But they did not react in any way.
“They’re Imperiused,” Harry added, “I don’t think I did it strongly enough, I don’t know...”
“What do we do?” asked Ron. “Shall we get out now, while we can?”
“If we can,” said Hermione, looking back toward the door into the main hall.
“We’ve got this far, I say we go on,” said Harry.
“Good!” said Griphook. “So, we need Bogrod to control the cart; I no long have the authority. But there will not be room for the wizard.”
Harry pointed his wand at Travers.
The wizard turned and set off along the dark track at a smart pace.
“What are you making him do?” Hermione asked.
“Hide,” said Harry as he pointed his wand at Bogrod, who whistled to summon a little cart that came trundling along the tracks toward them out of the darkness. Harry was sure he could hear shouting behind them in the main hall as they all clambered into it, Bogrod in front of Griphook, Harry, Ron, and Hermione crammed together in the back.
With a jerk, the cart moved off, gathering speed. Hermione sighed a very un-Bellatrix-like sigh. So much had already happened in so little time, and Hermione knew the hardest part was still to come.
Had to stop it abruptly! This part definitely needs to be in two parts or it would be very long. Part 2 to come!
Hope you liked it! Feedback would be awesome!
Last edited by Fury; August 11th, 2010 at 4:08 pm.
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
Gringotts (Part 2)
Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. I lost my internet at home for a while, so I've had to go to the library for internet access. I can still write my chapters at home, but I don't go to the library too often.
The cart began twisting and turning through the labyrinthine passages, sloping downward all the time. Hermione had never been down this deep in the vault, but she knew of the stories. It was dangerous to wander too far into the depths of Gringotts. The vaults were rarely broken into because of the dangers.
And yet, here they were, traveling toward Bellatrix Lestrange's vault, about to do that very thing. Even with Griphook tagging along, Hermione was sure this heist wasn't going to be simple at all.
Suddenly, as the cart turned around a sharp corner, she saw a large waterfall pounding over the track. She didn't need Griphook yelling “No!” to tell her that waterfall was dangerous. But before she could say anything, the cart sped right through the waterfall. Hermione's eyes and mouth filled with water. She sputtered, trying to breathe, hardly feeling the pain through her body.
A moment later, she could see again, and the cart suddenly lurched, tossing them all into the air. Hermione struggled to lift Bellatrix's wand in front of her as she started falling toward the ground.
“Spongify!” she shrieked.
Everyone, including Hermione, landed weightlessly onto the rocky floor. Ron helped her to her feet.
“C-Cushioning Charm,” she sputtered.
Hermione looked at Ron, and realized that his appearance had gone back to normal. Hermione felt her own face, but hardly needed the confirmation: she looked like herself again.
“The Thief’s Downfall!” said Griphook, clambering to his feet and looking back the deluge onto the tracks, “It washes away all enchantment, all magical concealment! They know there are imposers in Gringotts, they have set off defenses against us!”
Hermione gasped and felt her robes for her beaded bag. She sighed, relieved when she felt the lump indicating the bag.
To her left, Hermione noticed that the goblin, Bogrod, was shaking his head. He was no longer under the Imperius Curse.
“We need him,” said Griphook, “we cannot enter the vault without a Gringott’s goblin. And we need the clankers!”
“Imperio!” Harry repeated.
Hermione didn't have time to see if the spell had worked. She heard something that sounded like voices farther up the tracks.
“Harry, I think I can hear people coming!” said Hermione,
She pointed Bellatrix’s wand at the waterfall.
“Protego!” she cried out.
The Shield Charm break the flow of enchanted water as it flew up the passageway.
“Good thinking,” said Harry. “Lead the way, Griphook!”
“How are we going to get out again?” Ron asked as they hurried on foot into the darkness after the goblin, Bogrod panting in their wake like an old dog.
“Let’s worry about that when we have to,” said Harry. “Griphook, how much farther?”
“Not far, Harry Potter,” the goblin said, “not far … “
They turned a corner, and Hermione almost screamed.
A gigantic dragon was tethered to the ground in front of them, barring access to four or five of the deepest vaults in the place. The beast’s scales had turned pale and flaky during its long incarceration under the ground, its eyes were milkily pink; both rear legs bore heavy cuffs from which chains led to enormous pegs driven deep into the rocky floor. Its great spiked wings, folded close to its body, would have filled the chamber if it spread them, and when it turned its ugly head toward them, it roared with a noise that made the rock tremble, opened its mouth, and spat a jet of fire that sent them running back up the passageway.
“It is partially blind,” panted Griphook, “but even more savage for that. However, we have the means to control it. It has learned what to expect when the Clankers come. Give them to me.”
Ron passed the bag to Griphook, and the goblin pulled out a number of small metal instruments that when shaken made a long ringing noise like miniature hammers on anvils. Griphook handed them out: Bogrod accepted his meekly.
“You know what to do,” Griphook told Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “It will expect pain when it hears the noise. It will retreat, and Bogrod must place his palm upon the door of the vault.”
They advanced around the corner again, shaking the Clankers, and the noise echoed off the rocky walls, grossly magnified. The dragon let out another hoarse roar, then retreated. Hermione frowned. She could see bruises on the dragon, and realized that when the dragon heard the Clankers, it m ust have remembered some kind of pain.
“Make him press his hand to the door!” Griphook urged Harry.
Hermione watched as Harry pointed his wand at Bogrod. The goblin obeyed, pressing his palm to the wood, and the door of the vault melted away to reveal a cave-like opening crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armor, the skins of strange creatures – some with long spines, other with drooping wings – potions in jeweled flasks, and a skull still wearing a crown.
“Search fast,” said Harry, “We're looking for one of two things. If it's Hufflepuff's cup, it is small and gold, as well as Hufflepuff's sign, the badger. If it's Ravenclaw's, well... I don't know what that looks like.”
“We'll find it, Harry,” Hermione reassured him, “If it's Ravenclaw's, it will have a eagle on it, most likely.”
Suddenly, there was a muffled clunk behind Hermione, and she gasped. The door had reappeared, sealing them inside the vault, and they were plunged into total darkness.
“No matter, Bogrod will be able to release us!” said Griphook as Ron gave a shout of surprise. “Light your wands, can’t you? And hurry, we have little time!”
Hermione, Ron and Harry did as commanded. Using the light from Bellatrix's wand, Hermione looked around the vault for objects. Suddenly, Hermione saw a goblet. In her excitement, reached for it.
“Harry, could this be -- ?” she said, grabbing it, “Aargh!”
Hermione screamed in pain. The goblet was extremely hot, and it had burned her skin. The goblet fell to the ground and split, showering the floor with numerous goblets. Seconds later, the floor was covered in identical cups rolling in every direction, the original impossible to discern amongst them.
“It burned me!” moaned Hermione, sucking her blistered fingers.
“They have added Gemino and Flagrante Curses!” said Griphook, “Everything you touch will burn and multiply, but the copies are worthless – and if you continue to handle the treasure, you will eventually be crushed to death by the weight of expanding gold!”
“Okay, don’t touch anything!” said Harry desperately.
Beside Hermione, Ron Ron accidentally nudged one of the fallen goblets with his foot, and twenty more exploded into being while Ron hopped on the spot, part of his shoe burned away by contact with the hot metal.
“Stand still, don’t move!” said Hermione, clutching at Ron.
“Just look around!” said Harry. “Remember, the cup’s small and gold, it’s got a badger engraved on it, two handles – otherwise see if you can spot Ravenclaw’s symbol anywhere, the eagle –”
They directed their wands into every nook and crevice, turning cautiously on the spot. It was impossible not to brush up against anything; Harry sent a great cascade of fake Galleons onto the ground where they joined the goblets, and now there was scarcely room to place their feet, and the glowing gold blazed with heat, so that the vault felt like a furnace.
Hermione could feel herself panicking, but she plowed on.
“It's there!” Harry screamed, pointing his wand at something, “It's up there!”
Hermione and Ron pointed their wands at it too, so that the little golden cup sparkled in a three-way spotlight: the cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff.
“And how the hell are we going to get up there without touching anything?” asked Ron.
“Accio Cup!” cried Hermione, without thinking.
“No use, no use!” snarled the goblin.
“Then what do we do?” said Harry, glaring at the goblin. “If you want the sword, Griphook, then you’ll have to help us more than – wait! Can I touch stuff with the sword? Hermione, give it here!”
Hermione fumbled insider her robes, drew out a beaded bag, rummaged for a few seconds, then removed the shining sword. Harry seized it by its rubied hilt and touched the tip of the blade to a silver flagon nearby, which did not multiply.
“If I can just poke the sword through a handle,” Harry said, “but how am I going to get up there?”
Hermione shuddered. There was no way to get the cup. They couldn't just walk through the searing objects in the vault.
Suddenly, the dragon roared on the other side of the vault door, and the sound of clanking growing louder and louder.
They were truly trapped now: There was no way out except through the door, and a horde of goblins seemed to be approaching on the other side.
“Hermione,” said Harry, as the clanking grew louder, “I’ve got to get up there, we’ve got to get rid of it –”
She raised her wand, pointed it at Harry, and whispered, “Levicorpus.”
Hermione watched, concentrating, as Harry was lifted into the air by his ankle. He hit a suit of armor, and copies came out of nowhere. They rolled down to Hermione and the others, and they screamed as the replicas burnt their skin.
“Impervius!” Hermione screeched, pointing her wand at her, Ron, Harry and the goblins.
The spell gave a little relief, but it was still extremely hot, and the replicas were still coming. They were buried waist-deep. Hermione screamed at the pain. This was worse than Bellatrix's torture. Bogrod was sinking, and Hermione and Ron had to pull him up.
Hermione looked up as Harry grabbed the cup He crashed and pulled Griphook, who had almost been buried.
“Where's the sword?” Harry screamed, “It had the cup on it!”
“There!” Griphook said.
Griphook lunged for the sword and grabbed it. Hermione knew it was hopeless. Griphook knew they weren't going to keep their word. Griphook flung the cup and Harry caught. Bogrod opened the vault again, and Hermione and the others slid over the avalanche into the outer chamber.
Hermione saw Harry shove the cup into his pocket. She then looked around for Griphook and the sword, and saw him sprinting through the crowd of goblins.
“Thieves! Thieves! Help! Thieves!” he cried out.
He vanished into the midst of the advancing crowd, all of whom were holding daggers and who accepted him without question.
“Stupefy!” Harry said, pointing his wand at the goblins.
Hermione and Ron did the same, stunning some goblins as they toppled over. Other goblins advanced, and out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw wizards running around the corner.
The tethered dragon let out a roar, and a gush of flame flew over the goblins; The wizards fled, doubled-up, back the way they had
“Relashio!” Harry yelled.
Hermione's eyes widened as she saw the chains around the dragon break.
“This way!” Harry yelled.
“Harry – Harry – what are you doing?” cried Hermione.
“Get up, climb up, come on –”
Harry climbed onto the dragon, and without a second thought, Hermione did the same, climbing up behind Harry. Ron did the same, climbing up behind her. Then the dragon realized it was untethered.
With a roar it reared: Harry dug in his knees, clutching as tightly as he could to the jagged scales as the wings opened, knocking the shrieking goblins aside like skittles, and it soared into the air. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, flat on its back, scraped against the ceiling as it dived toward the passage opening, while the pursuing goblins hurled daggers that glanced off its flanks.
“We’ll never get out, it’s too big!” Hermione screamed, but the dragon opened its mouth and belched flame again, blasting the tunnel, whose floors and ceiling cracked and crumbled. By sheer force, the dragon clawed and fought its way through.
Hermione then realized what could help.
“Defodio!” she screamed.
The spell enlarged the passageway. Harry and Ron copied her, blasting the ceiling apart with more gouging spells.
They passed the underground lake, and the great crawling, snarling beast seemed to sense freedom and space ahead of it, and behind them the passage was full of the dragon’s thrashing, spiked tail, of great lumps of rock, gigantic fractured stalactites, and the clanking of the goblins seemed to be growing more muffled, while ahead, the dragon’s fire kept their progress clear –
And then at last, by the combined force of their spells and the dragon’s brute strength, they had blasted their way out of the passage into the marble hallway. Goblins and wizards shrieked and ran for cover, and finally the dragon had room to stretch its wings: Turning its horned head toward the cool outside air it could smell beyond the entrance, it took off, and with Hermione, Ron and Harry still clinging to its back, it forced its way through the metal doors, leaving them buckled and hanging from their hinges, as it staggered into Diagon Alley and launched itself into the sky.
Chapter finished! Wow, this chapter was tough to write. It was like reading the vault part all over again. The very first time I read it, it was so suspenseful and hard to read cause I was imagining it so vividly!
Don't know when the next chapter will come, since I'm having internet issues currently.
Feedback would be great!
Re: Love And War - A Ron And Hermione PoV of Deathly Hallows
The Final Hiding Place
Author's Note: The chapter that I'm basing this on doesn't have much stuff for Ron and Hermione, so I'll add some conversation that isn't in the book to extend this chapter.
The dragon soared higher into the sky, and the air became much cooler as they ascended. Hermione didn't want to look behind her, but she was sure Diagon Alley and London were far behind them.
The cool air felt nice against her blisters, but every movement she made still hurt. Tears came to her eyes. She couldn't help, but cry. Between the pain and the relief that the three of them had survived that horrible experience was enough to send her emotions sky-rocketing.
Behind her, Ron kept swearing at the top of his voice, though Hermione didn't know if it was from the pain or something else.
“Will you stop?!” Hermione hissed to Ron.
“Sorry,” Ron said, “I just can't believe we made it out of there alive.”
“I agree,” Hermione said, “But if you keep it up, this dragon is going to attack us.”
“You don't think he realizes we're up here?” Harry asked.
“He's very old and very blind,” Hermione said, “though I'm not sure how well his hearing is. So if you please, I would not like to find out how well he can hear us.”
“He must feel us on top of him,” Ron said.
“I don't know,” Hermione said, “Between the cool air and the injuries he's sustained over the years, I would expect his body is quite numb.”
“I wish I could feel the same way,” Ron said, hissing as he moved to a more comfortable position, “These burns are horrible. Can't we do something about them?”
“I have Essence of Dittany,” Hermione said, “But I dare not use it until we get off this dragon.”
“That brings up my next question,” Ron said, “Exactly how are we going to get off this thing?”
“I'm sure it will need water and nourishment soon,” Hermione said.
“Yeah,” Ron said, “Let's just hope we're not his next meal.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but silently agreed with him all the same.
"What do you reckon it's looking for?" Ron said as they flew farther and farther north.
"No idea," Harry replied.
The sun slipped lower in the sky, which was turning indigo; and still the dragon flew, cities and towns gliding out of sight beneath them, its enormous shadow sliding over the earth like a giant dark cloud.
"Is it my imagination," Ron said after a considerable stretch of silence, "or are we losing height?"
Hermione looked down and saw deep green mountains and lakes, coppery in the sunset. the landscape seemed to grow larger and more detailed as he squinted over the side of the dragon, and he wondered whether it had divined the presence of fresh water by the flashes of reflected sunlight. Lower and lower the dragon flew, in great spiraling circles, honing in, it seemed, upon one of the smaller lakes.
"I say we jump when it gets low enough!" Harry said, "Straight into the water before it realizes we're here!"
“I agree,” Ron said.
“Yeah, I-I guess,” Hermione said.
“NOW!” Harry said, after a few moments.
With a little difficulty, Hermione slid off the dragon and fell for about twenty feet, before landing with a great splash into the cool water. Her blisters and burns hissed at first impact, but as Hermione swam for the surface, she could barely feel the pain anymore. The water had cooled the burns down considerably.
Hermione reached the surface, spluttering and gasping for air. Harry and Ron had reached the surface as well, coming up only feet from her. Hermione turned around to look for the dragon and found it landing on a distant bank. Harry headed for the opposite shore, and Hermione and Ron followed him.
The lake did not seem to be deep. Soon it was more a question of fighting their way through reeds and mud than swimming, and at last they flopped, sodden, panting, and exhausted, onto slippery grass.
Hermione collapsed, coughing and shuddering. She was about to stand up to start casting the protective charms, but Harry started on it.
To Hermione's left, Ron staggered to his feet and helped her get up. She could see the angry red burns all over his face and arms, and part of his clothing had been singed away. The way Ron was looking at her, Hermione knew she must have looked the same way.
Hermione took her beaded bag from her cloak and set it down. She opened it, and took Bellatrix's wand from her jeans pocket.
“Accio Essence of Dittany!” she said, pointing the wand toward the bag.
The bottle of Dittany flew out, and Hermione grabbed it. She also found a few washcloths she had nabbed from the tent. She poured some of the Dittany onto one of the cloths and handed it to Ron, then did the same to another cloth and started dabbing it all over her burns. When Harry returned from casting the protective spells, Hermione handed him the bottle, then pulled out three bottles of pumpkin juice she had brought from Shell Cottage and clean, dry robes for all of them. They changed and then gulped down the juice.
"Well, on the upside," said Ron finally, who was sitting watching the skin on his hands regrow, "we got the Horcrux. On the downside-"
"-- no sword," said Harry through gritted teeth.
Hermione frowned as Harry hissed as he dripped dittany through the singed hole in his jeans onto the angry burn beneath.
"No sword," repeated Ron. "That double-crossing little scab..."
Harry pulled the Horcrux from the pocket of the wet jacket he had just taken off and set it down on the grass in front of them. Glinting in the sun, it drew their eyes as they swigged their bottles of juice.
"At least we can't wear it this time, that'd look a bit weird hanging around our necks," said Ron, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
Hermione looked across the lake to the far bank where the dragon was still drinking.
"What'll happen to it, do you think?" she asked, "Will it be alright?"
"You sound like Hagrid," said Ron, "It's a dragon, Hermione, it can look after itself. It's us we need to worry about."
"What do you mean?"
"Well I don't know how to break this to you," said Ron, "but I think they might have noticed we broke into Gringotts."
All three of them started to laugh, and once started, it was difficult to stop.
"What are we going to do, though?" said Hermione finally, hiccuping herself back to seriousness. "He'll know, won't he? You-Know-Who will know we know about his Horcruxes!"
"Maybe they'll be too scared to tell him!" said Ron hopefully, "Maybe they'll cover up the whole thing."
“I can't see how they could,” Hermione said, “He'll find out soon enough. He'll soon realize what we're after.”
“Yeah, I reckon he will,” Ron said, “What will we do then?”
“We'll plow on,” Hermione said, “We have to. Otherwise this was all for nothing. But first...”
She looked at the cup. Ron looked at it too.
“We have to figure out how to destroy this one,” Hermione said.
“How?” Ron asked, “We don't have the sword.”
“We'll have to think of something,” Hermione said, “I'll do more research. Day and night if I have to.”
“We could always get Kreacher to tail Griphook,” Ron said, “Like he did with Dung. Kreacher could get us the sword back.”
“I don't know,” Hermione said, “We don't know how Kreacher is. I mean... the Death Eaters can get into Grimmauld Place. I hope they didn't do anything to him.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, “I was really beginning to like the little bugger.”
“What do you think, Harry?” Ron asked, “Should we summon Kreacher?”
Harry didn't answer. Hermione and Ron looked at him. Harry's eyes were closed, and he looked like he was in pain.
“Hey, mate?” Ron asked, “Are you okay?”
“Harry?!” Hermione asked.
Harry's eyes opened suddenly, and he looked at Hermione and Ron.
"He knows." he said, "He knows and he's going to check where the others are, and the last one..”
He stood up.
"...is at Hogwarts,” he continued, “I knew it. I knew it."
"What?" Ron asked, his mouth agape.
"But what did you see? How do you know?"
"I saw him find out about the cup,” Harry said, “I - I was in his head, he's... he's seriously angry, and scared too, he can't understand how we knew, and now he's going to check the others are safe, the ring first. He things the Hogwarts one is safest, because Snape's there, because it'll be so hard not to be seen getting in. I think he'll check that one last, but he could still be there within hours -"
"Did you see where in Hogwarts it is?" asked Ron, now scrambling to his feet too.
"No, he was concentrating on warning Snape,” Harry said, “he didn't think about exactly where it is -"
"Wait, wait!" cried Hermione as Ron caught up to the Horcrux and Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak again. "We can't just go, we haven't got a plan, we need to -"
"We need to get going," said Harry firmly. "Can you imagine what he's going to do once he realizes the ring and the locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn't safe enough?
"But how are we going to get in?" Hermione asked.
"We'll go to Hogsmeade," said Harry, "and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school's like. Get under the Cloak, Hermione, I want to stick together this time."
"But we don't really fit -" Hermione said.
"It'll be dark,” Harry said, “no one's going to notice our feet."
The flapping of enormous wings echoed across the black water. The dragon had drunk its fill and risen into the air. They paused in their preparations to watch it climb higher and higher, now black against the rapidly darkening sky, until it vanished over a nearby mountain. Then Hermione walked forward and took her place between the other two, Harry pulled the Cloak down as far as it would go, and together they turned on the spot into the crushing darkness.
I had a feeling this chapter was going to be rather short. It was the shortest chapter in the book. Ah well. We're finally getting closer to the Battle of Hogwarts!
Chamber of Secrets chapter will be in two or three chapters, I think. Can't wait to get to that!
For now, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Feedback would be great!
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