𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟕 - 𝟔

It was another late night in the tent. Weasley was sitting outside on lookout, Hermione was lying dejectedly on her bed while halfheartedly reading the book Dumbledore gave her for the seventh time, and Potter was sitting on a tilting chair while I cut his hair.

Hermione sighed, got up, poured herself a glass of water, and then just as she was passing behind me she let out a loud gasp. "Oh my god!" She exclaimed, immediately running to the kitchen table, where we kept all our maps and notes, and began rummaging through papers furiously. I left Potter and followed her.

"What?" Potter asked, hands flying to the back of his head.

"I'll tell you in a minute," Hermione said to him, pulling out one of the books that had been brought in the bottomless bag.

"How about you tell us now?" I asked as Potter stepped next to me.

"The sword of Gryffindor," Hermione looked up at us, her voice still holding an awed edge to it. "It's goblin made."

"Brilliant," Potter gave her two thumbs up.

"No, you don't understand," she said, a small smile growing on her face. "Dirt and rust have no effect on the blade." She pushed the book, opened to a random page, towards us across the table. "It only takes in that which makes it stronger."

"Okay?" I said, not understanding her point.

"Harry, you've already destroyed one Horcrux, right?" Hermione threw her hands up, exasperated. "Tom Riddle's diary in the Chamber of Secrets."

"With a basilisk fang," Potter said slowly. "If you tell me you've got one of those in that bloody beaded bag of yours..."

"Don't you see?" Hermione asked. "In the Chamber of Secrets, you stabbed the Basilisk with the sword of Gryffindor. It's blade is impregnated with basilisk venom."

I caught on. A smile to match Hermione's dawned on my face. "It only takes in that which makes it stronger."

"Exactly!" Hermione said. "Which is why..."

"It can destroy Horcruxes," Potter finished for her.

"And that's why Dumbledore left it to you in his will," I added.

"You are brilliant, Hermione," Potter grinned.

"Actually I'm highly logical, which allows me to look past extraneous detail and perceive clearly that which others overlook," Hermione corrected, but I could hear how pleased she was.

Just as I laughed at her, the lights in all the lanterns around us went out simultaneously.

"There's only one problem, of course," Weasley's voice came from the dark. He entered through the tent flap. "The sword was stollen." He returned the lights, and we all stared at him blankly.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm still here. But you three carry on. Don't let me spoil the fun."

Potter sighed, closed the book, and walked over to him. "What's wrong?" He asked.

"Wrong?" Weasley repeated. "Nothing's wrong. Not according to you, anyway."

"Look, if you've got something to say, don't be shy. Spit it out," Potter invited him, almost impatiently.

"All right," Weasley said, color rising up his neck. "I'll spit it out. Don't expect me to be grateful just because now there's another damn thing we've got to find."

"I thought you knew what you signed up for," Potter replied furiously.

"Yeah," Weasley drawled. "I thought I did too."