𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒫𝓇ℴ𝓂𝒾𝓈ℯ𝒹 𝒪𝓃ℯ | 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲 |

#8 The Big Fight

167 days before

There wasn't anything we could've done for them. The campsite caught fire in such an all-drowning way, destroyed every last bit of friendliness we get out of these last weeks on the run in just an blink of an eye. It was devastating. The guilt ate me away fully, that the death eaters maybe saw us in that camp and destroyed it because of that. But if that was the point, they would've come straight for us next. Harry assured that they just saw them on their way and did it out of pure rage and love to destroy. That we were lucky that we didn't stay the night. And even though he didn't say it out loud, that there was a small possibility that Draco was one of them.

When you're living in time like we did, you're getting used to death and cruelty around you. It's hard to imagine that there were times, where our biggest fear or worry was, that we needed to attend another banquet we didn't want to. That there would be the exams soon, which we hadn't study nearly enough for. Nobody of us would've thought, that there would be a time where we would go to bed in the night, listening to a radio listing names of witches and wizards who were missing and praised Merlin that we survived another day without being found and captured. Without being hurt, tortured and killed.

Since Ron seemed well enough to apparate again, we ended up on top of a cliff where we decided to stay a bit and think about our next steps in this journey. A good distance between us and the campsite to make sure we were out of reach.

It was later that evening, the tent was lit up with the fairy lights Hermione and I created earlier this week. I had stationed myself on my bed, Pride and Prejudice in my lap, but I was simply reading over the notes on the edges to distract myself with the reason I'm doing this. Distracting myself from the flames on my inner eye, the screams of the friendly muggles who helped us and paid with their life for being at the wrong place to the wrong time.

Hermione and Harry had stationed themselves on the table in the middle of the tent. They were buried in their thoughts too, while Hermione cut Harry's hair. It was really getting out of control lately - definitely his younger self shining through. I had no idea, that Hermione was good in doing hair though. But since I sensed it had something to do with her parents, I didn't ask.

The sound of the scissors stopped and let the eery silence sink back in again after a few minutes.

"Oh, Merlin.", Hermione blurred out in a quick exhale, causing Harry to immediately reach for the back of his head, where his friend cut his hair before. His eyes widened in rushed panic.

"What?", he turned around and watched Hermione rush over to where I sat. She had placed the book she currently looked through next to me on her bed, along with at least four other ones. Her dark curls were hanging in her face and over the strained wrinkles on her forehead as she went through the pages.

"The sword of Gryffindor, it's goblin made.", she breathed out.

"Brilliant.", Harry answered too quick to be convincing that he knew where Hermione was coming from. But I really didn't either.

"No, I think you don't understand. Dirt and rust have no effect on the blade. It only takes in what makes it stronger.", the dark haired exclaimed, getting the gears in my head working as I realized what she tried to say.

„Oh my god.", I breathed out and let the book slide from my lap as I lifted, realizing that she probably made up a way to help us coming further.

"Okay?", the boy trailed off and let his eyes wander across us two.

"Harry, you already destroyed a Horcrux.", Hermione smiled down on him with the book in her hand, walking over to where he still sat. Ignoring the boy's hair spreading in every direction with the wave her fast steps did, even though the girl was always the one keeping the tent as clean and homey as she could manage.