Breakfast was quiet in the morning. Hermione said nothing to Harry or me, we said nothing in return. The heavy feeling of Ron's lack of presence was there. The locket stayed laid on my chest, under my sweater, while we packed up the tent.
Hermione seemed to have realized that once we moved our location, Ron wouldn't be able to find us; she repacked the silver bag three times.
"Hermione," I said softly, "we should go."
She nodded quickly, still puffy-eyed from her sobbing session the previous night. I grabbed Harry and Hermione's hands, after taking down the protection charms, and turned on the spot.
The instant we arrived, Hermione dropped my hand and walked away from us, sitting down on a large rock. I knew she was still angry with us for it was also my fault that Ron had left. We did not discuss Ron at all over the next few days. Harry seemed determined to never mention his name again, still angry at their row, and Hermione seemed to know that it was no use forcing the issue, although sometimes at night when she thought we were asleep, I could hear her crying. I knew how much she cared for him, she's heartbroken.
We were spending many evenings in near silence, I played owl between Harry and Hermione, neither of them really talking to each other— Hermione was more lenient to talk to me surprisingly enough. Some nights, Hermione would bring 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. We had learned that Snape seemed to be facing a constant, low level of mutiny from a hardcore 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, I deduced that Ginny, and probably Neville and Luna along with her, had been doing their best to continue Dumbledore's Army.
Hermione took it upon herself to take most of the watches despite my head; it seemed as though she wanted to keep away from us, still angry. Slowly, it seemed as though I was losing my friends— first Ron and now Hermione... soon enough Harry.
As the weeks dragged on, the weather grew colder and colder. We did not dare remain in any one area too long, so rather than staying in the south of England, where a hard ground frost was the worst of our worries, we continued to meander up and down the country, braving a mountainside, where sleet pounded the tent; a wide, flat marsh, where the tent was flooded with chill water; a tiny island in the middle of a Scottish loch, where snow half-buried the tent in the night.
Just after our unusually good meal, I had gone to the supermarket under the Invisibility Cloak (leaving money into an open till), Harry paced the tent impatiently. Hermione and I were reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard, for no other reason than boredom, when Harry interrupted us.
"Yeah?" I looked up from the book.
Harry cleared his throat, looking nervous, and awkwardly scratched his neck.
"I've been thinking—"
"Harry, could you help us with something?" Hermione spoke over him. My jaw dropped a little at Hermione's disinterest. "Come look at this symbol," she pointed to the triangular eye with its pupil crossed with a vertical line– the Hallow 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..." Hermione continued to give her thoughts on what it was, while I stood up and paced debating whether or not to tell them what it was.
"—symbol of Dark Magic, what's it doing in a book of children's stories?"
I bit my lip and wrung my hands, looking at the two speculate on what it was.
"I've been thinking. I — I want to go to Godric's Hollow," Harry said, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Yes," said Hermione. "Yes, I've been wondering that too. I really think we'll have to."
"Did you hear me right?" Harry asked at Hermione's compliance.
"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," I laughed slightly. "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?"
"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.
"Harry, it makes sense," I exclaimed. "Godric's Hollow, Godric Gryffindor, Gryffindor's sword; don't you think Dumbledore would have expected you to make the connection?"
It had taken us a full week before Hermione allowed us to go. She was determined that we would go only after we had ensured that we had the best disguises possible; a few muggle hairs later and a few Apparation and Disapparation lessons from under the Cloak together, Hermione agreed to make the journey.
Opening my eyes, I saw we were standing 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 centre of the village.
"All this snow!" Hermione whispered beneath the cloak. "Why didn't we think of snow? After all our precautions, we'll leave prints!"
"Let's take off the Cloak," said Harry, and when Hermione looked frightened, "Oh, come on, we don't look like us and there's no one around."
Harry stowed away the Cloak under his jacket and led us down the road. From outside their houses, I saw people laughing and eating dinner in their warm houses without a care in the world.
"Harry, I think it's Christmas," Hermione said.
"Is it?"
We had completely lost track of the date; we hadn't seen a newspaper for weeks now.
"I'm sure it is," I said. "They... they'll be in there, won't they? Your mum and dad? I can see the graveyard behind it."
"Harry, look!"
Hermione was pointing at the war memorial. As we had passed it, it had transformed. Instead of a pillar covered in names, there was 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. It was Harry's parents with him as a baby.
"C'mon," Harry whispered sadly.
The singing grew louder as we approached the church. People inside sang lovely Christmas Carols, while the three of us walked past the squeaky gate and into the graveyard.
Hermione pushed it open as quietly as possible and we edged through it. On either side of the slippery path to the church doors, the snow lay deep and untouched. 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. Keeping our hands closed tightly on our wands, Harry moved toward the nearest grave.
"Look at this, it's an Abbott, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah's!"
"Keep your voice down," I begged him.
We waded deeper and deeper into the graveyard, gouging dark tracks into the snow behind us, stooping to peer at the words on old headstones, every now and then squinting into the surrounding darkness to make absolutely sure that we were unaccompanied. Hermione had found the tombstone of Kendra Dumbledore and her daughter, Ariana.
Hermione and I were just looking at Harry, wondering what to do. None of us said anything to each other, the wind blowing through the cemetery.
"Let's keep looking," I said curtly.
Hermione, Harry, and I searched through the tombstones with a false find from Hermione. Ploughing through the snow, I tripped over a hidden root and fall in front of a grave with an oomph.
"Lottie?" Harry's voice echoed in the empty graveyard. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I just—"
Looking up at the headstone, I recognized the symbol engraved on the old, weathered stone. Standing up, I rubbed the snow off the tombstone, the name barely legible. It was the mark from Hermione's child storybook. I lit my wand and pointed it at the name on the headstone. "It says Ig — Ignotus, I think."
"I'm going to keep looking for my parents, all right?" Harry told us, a slight edge to his voice, and he set off again, leaving us crouched beside the old grave.
Hermione and I gave each other a sad look; between the memorial stone and being in his hometown, this has taken a toll on Harry.
"Let's search with him, yeah?" I whispered. Hermione nodded and headed off in the direction of where Harry had gone.
Deeper and deeper amongst the graves I went, and every time I reached a new headstone I melted the snow, in hopes of finding the one that says Potter. Darkness and silence seemed to become, all of a sudden, much deeper. Quickly looking around, I searched for any sign of Dementors but found none; only the absence of Christmas carols. Somebody inside the church had just turned off the lights.
"Harry, they're here! Lottie, come on," I heard Hermione say.
Spinning around, I saw Harry run towards Hermione through the snow. I made my way over to them to see two large headstones
James Potter
Born 27 March 1960
Died 31 October 1981
Lily Potter
Born 30 January 1960
Died 31 October 1981
" 'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death'," Harry said with a kind of panic. "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— living beyond death. Living after death."
"It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry," said Hermione, her voice gentle. "It means— living beyond death. Living after death."
Harry sniffled and fell to his knees at the head of his parent's graves. Carefully, I place my hands on his head and ran my fingers through his hair as he cried into my thighs. Hermione rubbed Harry's shoulder as he cried in my arms.
"I-I didn't even bring a-a-anything," he sobbed. I looked up at Hermione who took out her wand and conjured a wreath of Christmas roses, handing them to me to give to Harry. Gingerly, he laid it on his parents' grave.
"Happy Christmas, Charlotte— Hermione," croaked Harry.
"Happy Christmas, Harry— Hermione," I whispered as Hermione said her greetings.
Lifting my hands from Harry's hair, he stood up and grabbed my hand, turning away from his parents. He snaked his arms around Hermione's shoulders; she put hers around his waist and I rubbed my thumb on his hand. In silence, we walked away through the snow, past Dumbledore's mother and sister, back toward the dark church and the out-of-sight kissing gate.
"Harry?"
"Yeah, Lotts?"
"Someone's watching us," I said cautiously. "By the church, to my right."
Harry nodded, careful not to look too soon, and then glanced over to me, looking past me. Hermione also turned her head and looked, inhaling a sharp breath.
"C'mon," Hermione said pointedly.
"But we look like Muggles," Harry pointed out.
"Muggles who've just been laying flowers on your parents' grave!" I said.
"If it was a Death Eater we'd be dead by now. But let's get out of here, we can out the Cloak back on."
We glanced around the graveyard as Harry put the Invisibility Cloak over us. Walking down the road, Harry led Hermione and me down the street and through the town. Something must have caught Harry's eye because, with his hands in ours, he dragged us down the street; Hermione slipped a little on the ice.
"Harry —"
"Look— Look at it..."
"I don't — oh!" Hermione gasped.
The Fidelius Charm, that was supposed to protect the Potters, must have died with James and Lily. 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. Harry, Hermione, and I 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?" I replied. "Maybe it's like the injuries from Dark Magic and you can't repair the damage?"
Harry let his hand slip out from underneath the Cloak and held onto the thickly rusted gate.
"You're not going to go inside?" Hermione said quickly. "It looks unsafe, it might — oh, Harry, look!"
His touch on the gate seemed to have done it. A sign had risen out of the ground in front of us, up through 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 the night of 31 October 1981,
Lily and James Potter lost their lives.
Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard
ever to have survived the Killing Curse.
This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left
in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters
and as a reminder of the violence
that tore apart their family.
All around the neatly lettered words were scribbles added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped.
"They shouldn't have written on the sign!" said Hermione, indignant.
But Harry beamed at us.
"It's brilliant. I'm glad they did. I—"
Harry stopped talking as a heavily muffled figure was hobbling up the lane toward us, silhouetted by the bright lights in the distant square. The woman 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. We watched in silence as she drew nearer. At last, she came to a halt a few yards from us and simply stood there in the middle of the frozen road, facing us.
It was as though she was staring at us and could see us. There was next to no chance that this woman was a Muggle: She was standing there gazing at a house that ought to have been completely invisible to her if she was not a witch. By all the rules of normal magic, meanwhile, she should not be able to see us at all.
All of a sudden the woman raised her gloved hand and beckoned us. Hermione and I shuffled closer to Harry under the Cloak.
"How does she know?" I whispered quickly.
He shook his head. The woman beckoned again, more vigorously. Hermione and I held hands behind Harry, terrified of the woman who could see through the cloak.
Finally, Harry spoke, causing Hermione and me to gasp and jump.
"Are you Bathilda?"
The muffled figure nodded and beckoned again.
Harry stepped forward, making Hermione and me follow him. We stepped toward the woman and, at once, she turned and hobbled off back the way we had come. Leading us past several houses, she turned in at a gate.
She smelled horrible, rotten almost. Harry pulled the Cloak off and pushed us inside. The woman was very short, my exact height, bowed down with age. She closed the door behind us, her knuckles blue and mottled against the peeling paint, then turned and peered into Harry's face. Another realization hit me as I realized Harry, Hermione, and I were still in our muggle disguises.
The odour of old age, of dust, of unwashed clothes and stale food, intensified as she unwound a moth-eaten black shawl, revealing a head of scant white hair through which the scalp showed clearly.
"Bathilda?" Harry repeated as I tightened my grip on his hand.
She nodded again. My heart raced, suddenly aware of how odd this was. From Harry's eyes to our conjoined hands to my own eyes, Bathilda gave me a blank, odd stare. She shuffled past us, pushing Hermione aside as though she had not seen her, and vanished into what seemed to be a sitting room.
"Harry, I'm not sure about this," I breathed, nearly cutting the circulation off in Harry's hand.
"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.' "
"Come!" called Bathilda from the next room.
I jumped and Hermione seized my arm.
"It's okay," said Harry reassuringly, and he led the way into the sitting room.
Bathilda was tottering around the place lighting candles, but it was still very dark, not to mention extremely dirty. Thick dust crunched beneath their feet, and underneath the dank and mildewed smell, something worse, like rotting meat.
"Let me do that," offered Harry, and he took the matches from her.
As we sat down, Bathilda continued to do small things around the house like lighting a fire and moving dusted plates off the table.
"Mrs. — Miss — Bagshot?" Harry said, and his voice shook slightly. "Who is this?"
Harry pointed to a photo of two teenaged boys. Bathilda was standing in the middle of the room watching Hermione light the fire for her.
"Miss Bagshot?" Harry repeated. "Who is this person?"
Bathilda looked from Harry to Hermione to me. When she looked at me, I felt the locket on my chest pulsate more, causing me to gasp. I did not like the feeling I got from her.
She peered at it solemnly, then back up at me.
"M-Ma'am?" I said to her Hermione and Harry looked at me. "Why are you looking at the nec—"
"Miss Bagshot, do you know who this is?" Harry cut me off, repeating his question in a much slower and louder voice than usual. "This man? Do you know him? What's he called?"
Bathilda merely looked vague.
"Who is this man?" he repeated loudly.
"Harry, what are you doing?" I asked.
"This picture, Charlotte, it's the thief, the thief who stole from Gregorovitch! Please!" he said to Bathilda. "Who is this?"
But she only stared at him.
"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?"
Bagshot. . ?
"You want us to leave?" he asked.
She repeated the gesture, this time pointing firstly at him, then at me, then at herself, then at the ceiling.
"Oh, right... Hermione, I think she wants us to go upstairs with her."
"All right," said Hermione, "let's go.
But when Hermione moved, Bathilda shook her head with surprising vigour, once more pointing first at Harry, then to me, then to herself.
"She doesn't want you to go."
"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.
"I don't know," I said.
"Do you think she knows who we are?"
"Yes," said Harry, "I think she does."
"Well, okay then, but be quick."
"Lead the way," Harry told Bathilda and grabbed my hand.
She seemed to understand because she shuffled around Harry toward the door. I glanced back at Hermione with a reassuring smile, but I was not sure she had seen it; she stood hugging herself in the midst of the candlelit squalor, looking toward the bookcase.
The stairs were steep and narrow: Harry led me up the stairs behind Bathilda, his hand still clasped in mine. It was pitch-black and smelled horrible: Harry had just made out a chamber pot protruding from under the bed before Bathilda closed the door and even that was swallowed by the darkness.
"Lumos," said Harry, and his wand ignited. Bathilda had moved close to him in those few seconds of darkness.
"You are Potter?" she whispered.
"Yes, I am."
"And you?" she said to me.
"Uh, H-Harring."
"Snape," she nodded slowly, solemnly.
I looked up at Harry in surprise, no one has ever called me a Snape beside Harry– but he was angry. I felt the Horcrux beating fast, faster than my own speeding heart: it was unpleasant, like an electrical shock. The beating caused my mind to race, I didn't like any bit of it. It felt off. I couldn't. . . think more or less remember.
"Have you got anything for me? For us?" Harry asked, but she seemed distracted by his lit wand-tip. From my sleeve, I slowly and carefully took out my wand.
"Have you got anything for me?" he repeated.
Then she closed her eyes and two weird things happened at once: Harry winced in pain and the Horcrux twitched so that the front of my sweater actually moved.
Harry swayed where he stood as I tried to steady him. The dark, foul-smelling room seemed to close around him again; he did not know what had just happened.
"Ma'am, have you got anything for us?" I asked her softly.
She tilted her head at me and nodded. She pointed to the corner and whispered, "Over here." With my wand, I cast Lumos as well and waved it towards the corner where I saw the outline of a cluttered dressing table beneath the curtained window.
This time she did not lead us. Harry let go of my hand and edged between her and the unmade bed, his wand raised. He did not want to look away from her.
"What is it?" he asked as he reached the dressing table, which was heaped high with what looked and smelled like dirty laundry. I stayed at the doorway, watching Bathilda and Harry.
"There," she said, pointing at the shapeless mass. She quickly turned to me and tilted her head again, but then looked back at Harry, who had looked away from us.
It was quite an odd thing to witness, as though Bathilda's tongue had turned into a—
Nagini.
"Harry!" I shouted and raised my wand. Instead of going for me, the snake struck Harry as he turned towards us and raised his hand to the snake. The force of the bite to his forearm sent the wand spinning up toward the ceiling; its light swung dizzyingly around the room and was extinguished.
"Petrificus Totalus!" I cried aiming for the snake that just moved out of the way.
"Harry? Lottie?" Hermione called from the first floor.
"IT WAS A TRAP!" I shouted while trying to Stun the snake. "HELP—"
"No!" Harry gasped, as the snake pinned him to the floor.
"Yes," whispered the snake. "Yesss . . . hold you . . . hold you . . ."
"Petrificus Totalus!" my shaky hands prevented me from aiming correctly. "Get off him! Get—"
I was cut off by the thrill of the necklace on my chest. I fell to my hands and knees, my wand slammed against the floor and my palm. The Horcrux hard into my chest, a circle of ice that throbbed with life, inches from my own heart, and my brain was flooding with cold, white light, all thought obliterated, my own breath drowned, distant footsteps... A metal heart was banging outside my chest, and now I felt like I was floating.
"Charlotte!" a voice shouted and I saw a red light flash past me.
"No! Stop —" I gasped, trying to pull off the locket while I watched the snake attempt to attack Harry once more.
"Expulso!" I struggled out and weakly pointed at Nagini, Voldemort's pet. The explosion caused the serpent to fly into the air, smacking Harry hard in the face as it went, coil after heavy coil rising up to the ceiling. Harry raised his wand, but as he did so, he wheezed in pain.
"He's coming! Charlotte, Hermione, he's coming!"
As he yelled, the snake hissed wildly. Everything was chaos: It smashed shelves from the wall and splintered china flew everywhere as Harry jumped over the bed and tackled Hermione and me to the ground.
The snake lunged as Harry took a running leap, dragging Hermione and me with him; as Nagini tried to strike me, Hermione screamed, "Confringo!" and her spell flew around the room, exploding the wardrobe mirror and ricocheting back at us, bouncing from floor to ceiling; I felt a hot pain hit my shoulder.
Harry pushed Hermione and me through the window; our back hit the shattered window, spiralling towards the ground. Quickly, Harry twisted in midair, but just before the view turned to darkness, I saw a long white hand clutching the windowsill we had just jumped through. Voldemort.
"Hermione, help," I cried.
We had landed in the forest. Harry was passed out in between Hermione and me.
"What's wrong?"
"It burns, I can't get it off," I cried, trying to pull the Horcrux off my chest. It melted into my skin, almost becoming one. "Hermione, i-it's stuck!"
"Lottie, remove your hands," she raised her wand to me. My hands stayed clasped to the locket as I tried to pry it off. "Charlotte, take your hands off!"
I raised my hands as the locket continued to burn. I wondered if this is what Harry's scar felt like; the fire from the locket, eating at my chest and making it hard to breathe. My shaky hands turned into fists as Hermione shouted, "Diffindo!" and cut the locket out of my chest. She quickly healed my chest, leaving an oval branding mark on my skin.