Author's Notes:
Harr Potter doesn't belong to me, I'm just putting my own twist on the story
Chapter Nine
As angry as she was with Ron, Heather couldn't help but miss his presence for the next few days. It was as though there was a gaping hole in the tent now that he used to fill. In the cold light of morning, she regretted slapping him, though she had to admit it had felt good to finally give him what he had deserved. The morning after his departure Hermione dawdled over their campsite, looking around constantly to see if he would turn up. They both knew that once they left here, there would be no way for Ron to find them again.
They hardly spoke for a week, Hermione constantly going from crying to red faced anger, pacing back and forth while ranting at the canvas walls, sparks flying from the wand clutched tightly in her hand. The first time she had blown up like this, Heather had tried to join in on the Ron bashing, but Hermione had completely ignored her. After this, Heather was determined to never mention Ron's name again, a sentiment that Hermione appeared to agree once she was done ranting. When conversation resumed, the only subject either of them wanted to discuss was the possible location of the Sword of Gryffindor. If Dumbledore had swapped it without telling Snape, it meant that he hadn't actually wanted it to pass to Heather through his will. All that was supposed to do, Hermione supposed, was to clue Heather into needing to find the sword. If so, Heather thought that once more Dumbledore had left a lot to chance.
That being said, puzzling out the location proved a task that neither of them made much headway with. Try as she might Heather couldn't remember Dumbledore making any mention of a location where he might hide something important. She thought about venturing the idea of the Gaunt House, or perhaps the old Riddle Mansion in Little Hangleton. Both of those locations Dumbledore knew she was aware of, but she couldn't see him hiding it where Voldemort might visit on a whim.
In the hours of silence that separated their speculations, Heather had taken to pulling out the Marauder's Map and watching for the arrival of Ron in the midst of the rest of the black dots, signaling his return to school. She found Ginny and Luna's dots, and watched them spend a large amount of time with Neville. This fit with the news they were getting now from Phineas Nigellus. Despite his declaration that he wouldn't be returning to his portrait, he seemed to be compelled to return every few days. His visits became something they looked forward to, starved as they were for any sort of outside company.
He was not a completely reliable source of intelligence however. He revered Snape and at even the slightest hint of their disapproval he would vanish for several days. They did find out from him that Snape was facing a rebellion from certain students, Neville and Ginny chief among them. Hermione was always careful to use Heather's old name anytime that the portrait was outside her beaded handbag, just in case Phineas was lingering out of sight. Often he would ask leading questions about their location, prompting Hermione to put away his painting. It wasn't a happy relationship between the three of them, but it did much to alleviate the oppressive monotony.
Heather didn't admit it to Hermione, but at night, either in her bunk or sitting guard outside, she had started to wonder if Ron had been right about one thing at least. As much as she wanted to defeat Voldemort once and for all and end this horrible war, there was a part of her was enjoying being hidden away and free to be herself. Ever since she had rejoined the wizarding world, she had been in one spotlight or another. It was nice, in a way, to be out of sight. Would she really be able to go through with her plans once the job was done, assuming she survived? Would she have the guts to stand up and be herself in full view of the wizarding public. Most nights she was able to reassure herself that yes, she would. When it was her turn to wear the horcrux however, fighting off those thoughts wasn't as easy.
The weather began to get steadily colder as October passed into November, which gave way in turn to December. Heather was starting to need to wear several layers of jumpers in order to take watch. What little warmth was put out by the small stove in the middle of the sitting area didn't extend much to the entrance, and what little might reach them there was quickly overpowered by the icy wind. They began to see the signs of Christmas appearing as they travelled, decorated trees and lights on muggle houses on the rare occasions they stole into a town to buy supplies.
One evening they sat in silence after an excellent dinner, Hermione rereading The Tales of Beedle the Bard for what felt like the hundredth time while Heather did her nails. She hadn't taken much time lately for such silly things, but something about her stomach being happily full made her want to pull out her dwindling supply of cosmetics and have a little fun. She had just taken a dose of her potion, which she was now only able to take every month or so while the supplies Hermione had packed lasted. Remembering the stockpile that Kreacher had accumulated for them at Grimmauld Place, she wished once more that she could summon him, both to assist with procuring food as well as getting access to her potion again.
She had been thinking for more than a week now that she wanted to visit Godric's Hollow. After what she had learned about Dumbledore once living there, she thought it was the most likely place for him to hide the sword. Paramount however in her mind was the draw of her parent's graves their old house. Perhaps visiting where all of this had begun for her would provide some sense of clarity which currently escaped her.
"Hermione" she said, looking up from applying one more coat to her nails
"Hmmm" she replied, clearly not paying attention.
"Hermione?" she repeated, and this time Hermione looked up from her book. Not wanting to waste time, Heather came right out with it. "I want to go to Godric's Hollow."
Hermione closed the book and considered her for a moment. "Yes, I expect we'll need to."
"You do?" asked Heather incredulously. She had expected more of a fight.
"Absolutely. After all, from what you told me that Muriel said about Bathilda Bagshot knowing the Dumbledores, she might have been the perfect person to guard the sword for Dumbledore."
"Right" said heather, nodding excitedly.
"We'll have to be careful. This will take some careful planning."
With a renewed sense of purpose, they spent the next morning practicing apparating under the invisibility cloak, and after lunch Hermione snuck out under it to find some hairs while Heather remained behind to watch the tent. When she returned a few hours later, she shot Heather a look of slight trepidation.
"What's wrong?" asked Heather, fearing news of Death Eaters in the area, or worse.
"Well, there weren't many people at the market..." said Hermione, holding out two bunches of hair.
"Okay?"
"I'm sorry Heather but I couldn't find two women to steal hairs from. I got these from an old married couple who were looking at a sled with their grandson."
Heather had to struggle not to burst out laughing. Of all the things for Hermione to be worried about right now this was far down on Heather's list. As Hermione continued to stand here holding out the hairs, Heather's dam burst and she laughed. It was such a freeing sensation and was so infectious Hermione soon joined in, both of them falling into squashy armchairs. They hadn't laughed since Grimmauld Place, there having been precious little to find humor in for the last several months. It was a long time before either of them found breath to speak.
"So, you don't mind?" Hermione asked, clutching at a stitch in her side.
"Not at all. But I appreciate you're thinking of me." Replied Heather smiling. They hugged.
It was late the next evening when they set out for the village, intending to arrive under cover of night. They arrived in a snowy lane scattered that appeared empty, but both of them were on alert. At the sight of such heavy snow, it was agreed to abandon trying to stay invisible because of the trouble of trying to hide their footsteps.
Taking each other around the waist, they started down the lane towards an old war memorial in the village square. It felt very strange to Heather to be so male again, despite what she had said to Hermione. The old man wasn't that much bigger than she was herself, but she already missed the weight she had become accustomed to feeling on her chest. It just felt wrong, somehow. She reminded herself constantly that this was only temporary, and that soon she would be back in her right form. This more than anything confirmed once more in her mind that she had made the right choice to begin taking her potions. For clothes she was wearing some of Ron's old stuff that had been rattling around in Hermione's bag, which also wasn't doing much to soothe her feeling of wrongness.
As they approached the memorial, Hermione let out a small gasp. What had been a stone obelisk moments before had melted to show a trio of stone figures, two of them adults holding a small baby. As she had seen pictures of her parents in her photo album, Heather thought it a good likeness of James and Lily. She stared at the small baby, her brain not fully accepting that it was supposed to be her. A tear welled up in the corner of her eye which froze on contact with the cold air, and she turned away before Hermione could see.
There was a church on the square, behind which sat a small graveyard. Heather knew this was where her parents must be buried, and led Hermione towards the small kissing gate that stood at the entrance. As they approached the church, which was beautifully lit, the sound of carols being sung made them both realize that it was Christmas Eve. It had been so long since they had seen a newspaper that they had long since lost track of the date.
Pushing open the little gate, Heather set off amongst the stones, searching for names he recognized. Twice Hermione called her over from her search, once to show her the grave of Dumbledore's mother and sister, and then because she had found that strange eye symbol carved into the tomb of one "Ignotus Peverell." Heather didn't find either of these as interesting as she might have in other circumstances, intent on finding her parents.
"Heather" came Hermione's voice in the darkness, the lights from the church had just been extinguished throwing them into utter blackness. By the tone of her voice Heather knew she had found them. Hermione was kneeling in front a white marble stone which Heather could see bore the names of James and Lily, accompanied by the dates of their birth and death.
"Hermione, could you give me a minute?" she asked quietly.
When she had moved off, Heather knelt down and touched the cold stone. In the late hours of the previous night she had wondered what she would say or do when she came to be here. Questions she would ask or things she would say. She remembered the one time she had spoken to the ghostly images of her parents in the Little Hangleton graveyard, and hoped they were proud of her wherever they were. She rose to find Hermione standing nearby, holding a wreath of Christmas roses out to her, which Heather laid on her parent's stone. With this, a desire to leave came over her and she turned without another word and started walking towards the kissing gate.
Hermione followed quietly, but suddenly reached out a hand and took Heather's in hers.
"I think we're being followed" she whispered into Heather's ear, and pulled her closer.
Heather turned to look and saw the unmistakable shake of a tree on the other side of the stone wall that ringed the graveyard, as though something had disturbed it. Together they ducked behind a large stone and threw the cloak over themselves. With heightened apprehension, they emerged back into the square, which was darker without the lights of the church. On the opposite side was a pub, from which music and sound filtered. Before Heather could recommend that they hide there, Hermione had started dragging her off down the lane.