Daughter of Black

7.18

It was weirdly quiet, like the memory of visiting Godric's Hollow the other day. It was no longer snowing, but frost glittered on the ground. Hermione sat by the fire, reading a book. The hillside is glorious, overlooking a vast valley. "You've outdone yourself this time." Hermione and I turn, finding Harry standing outside the tent. He looks a little pale, but other than that, fine.

"The Forest of Dean. I came here once with my mum and dad, years ago. It's just how I remember it. The trees. The river. It's like nothing's changed. Not true, of course. Everything's changed. If I brought my parents here, they wouldn't recognize any of it. Not the trees. Not the river. Not... me."

"Where are they?" I ask, remembering how hard it has been for her since she took away her parents' memories.

"Wendell and Monica Wilkens now reside happily in Sydney, Australia. They have two dogs, run a small sweet shop, but floss daily. No children." She smiles, then it fades. "Maybe we should just stay here and grow old." We have no words as Harry and I look at each other. Hermione shakes it off, taking a deep breath. "You wanted to know who the boy in the photograph was. Well, I know." Harry and I take a seat next to her, warming ourselves from the open flame. Hermione holds up the book in her lap: The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. "It was in Bathilda's sitting room. Rita Skeeter had sent it to her. Harry, it doesn't make for very nice reading..." I look back at Hermione, confused.

"Who is he, Hermione? The thief? Did Dumbledore know him?" Hermione looks at Harry, not saying anything. "Tell me, Hermione. Who is he?"

"Gellert Grindelwald. He's not very well known in Britain, but there was a time before You-Know- Who..." Harry cuts her off.

"Hermione, I don't need to have read A History of Magic to know who Gellert Grindelwald is." Hermione nods, hands him the book, open to a photo of a teen Dumbledore laughing with another boy (Grindelwald). The caption: "For the Greater Good? Dark Days; Dumbledore and Grindelwald." On the opposite page is a photo of Grindelwald in later days, clad in black, holding a jagged wand, no longer the carefree lad of youth.

"When Grindelwald was seventeen, he was expelled from Durmstrang. He'd started doing some twisted things at school: experiments." A few teachers had always protected him, but they couldn't anymore. After he left, he traveled for a while, then ended up in Godric's Hollow where his great aunt lived: Bathilda Bagshot.

"Get to the hard part, Hermione." I scowled at Harry.

"She introduced him to Dumbledore. It made sense. Dumbledore's mother had just died, Grindelwald was troubled and they were both brilliant; they'd never really had anyone they could talk to on the same level. They did a lot of talking that summer. But they always returned to one particular subject." Harry looks up. "Wizard rule over Muggles."

"And Dumbledore believed in it?" I asked Hermione, not believing what I was hearing.

"Yes." Harry nods, looking at the photograph again. "He believed wizards were superior and should rule over Muggles, but gently, for their own good. Grindelwald took a more violent position." Harry shakes his head, staring at the book. "It was a different time. It was one summer. Dumbledore was young..." I cut off Hermione.

"We're young. And we are fighting against the very thing that Dumbledore supposedly supported."

"He changed. Years later, it was Dumbledore who put Grindelwald in prison." Harry stares at the photograph of the laughing thief one last moment, then tosses the book away.

"Where's my wand? I'll take the watch." Hermione hesitates. Her expression makes him apprehensive. I look at Hermione as well. "Hermione. Where's my wand?" She points. There, lying by the fire, is a shattered stick. He picks it up gently, sees that it is nearly severed in two. One fragile strand of phoenix feather holds it together.

"It's my fault. As we were leaving Godric's Hollow, I cast a curse and it rebounded... I'm sorry, Harry, I tried to mend it but wands are different..." Harry cuts her off, clearly frustrated but not wanting to argue.

"It's done. Leave me yours. You get back in the warm. And give me that." Harry gestures to the locket on my neck. I started to speak, but I had been wearing it the longest now. So, I hand it over. Hermione hands him her wand and heads back inside. I look back at Harry.

"I love you, Harry." I whispered, squeezing his hand before I went back inside the tent. I think I heard him say it back, making me smile as I entered the warm tent.