When two worlds collide.

Nagini.

"Merry Christmas, Harry, Hermione." I drag my breath in.

"Merry Christmas, Alex, Harry." Hermione folds her arms.

"Merry Christmas." Harry inhales sharply.

"Someone's watching us. By the gate.." Hermione whispers.

Harry and I nod, careful not to look too soon, then I glance up. A short figure, barely discernible in the drifting snow, stands in the shadows of the church. She, it is distinctly female, and older, doesn't move initially - as if wanting me to see her, then turns away.

We look at each other before following the woman. All light has left the sky at this point. The stooped figure hobbles along, past the pub, where shadows play against the windows and muffled voices can be heard.

I eye the woman ahead, then looks about their surroundings, feeling trapped.

"I don't think this is a good idea." Hermione states.

"Me neither." I add, nodding slightly.

"We look like ordinary Muggles." Harry shrugs.

"Yeah, Muggles who've just been laying flowers on your parents' grave. Just then, up ahead, the stooped woman holds up her hand and we stop. Seconds later, a group of snatches passes by the alley. As they vanish, the woman continues on.

"Relax. This is right. I know it.." Harry reassures.

"Bro...bad idea! Let's just go back.." I turn to leave but Harry tugs on my wrist.

"It's okay."

I look at him before walking on, reluctantly. The woman hobbles on. The lane is lined with modest cottages with small and tidy gardens. Hermione barely gives them a glance, nervously eyeing the woman ahead, before realizing she is walking alone.

She turns, sees us standing several yards back, staring at a dark cottage, its garden overgrown with weeds, its roof entirely covered in ivy and snow.

It's so familiar.

Hermione returns to look at me.

"Oh my God...Alex.." Hermione gasps.

"This is where he tried to kill me..Hermione. This is where he died.." I whisper.

Hermione and Harry study my bitter profile, then the house, careful not to disturb the moment with words. Absently, I place my fingers upon the locket at my chest. It is trembling, over-so-slightly. Then, without turning, while still staring at the house, I start to speak.

"You're Bathilda, aren't you?"

Hermione blinks, confused, then turns and jumps. The old woman is standing only yards away, watching us.

The door rattles open and tiny Bathilda Bagshot hobbles inside, followed first by me, then Harry, then Hermione, who wrinkles her nose. As Bathilda exits the room, Hermione glances about.

"I'm not sure about this." Hermione looks at Harry and me.

"Hermione, she knew Dumbledore. She might have the sword. Besides, she's barely knee-high to a house-elf. I think we can overpower her if it turns ugly." I roll my eyes.

"There's something odd about her.." Hermione whispers.

"And what's that smell?!" Harry gags.

"She's gaga, remember?" I roll my eyes.

Bathilda returns, holding a box of matches. She strikes one, tries to light a candle, but her movements are clumsy.

"Here. Let me do that." I take the box from her and light the match.