Sophia Holmes and the Search for Horcruxes (Harry Potter Fanfic) *Completed*

Chapter Fifteen

We land in the middle of a forest and fall apart.

"Is everyone okay?" I ask, grimacing as I stand.

"Yeah," Hermione replies, but Harry doesn't move.

"Harry?" I say, moving slowly over to him and kneeling down beside him. I shake him a little. "Harry? Can you hear me?" There's no response, but he has a heartbeat and he's breathing - if only a little shallow. "He's unconscious," I declare. Hermione breathes a sigh of relief.

"Help me get the tent up and we'll get him inside," she says.

It only takes a few minutes to erect the tent and we carry Harry inside and lie him on his bunk. He seems to stir as we set him down and Hermione leans over him.

"Harry..." she whispers softly. "Harry, can you hear me...?"

"Yes," he mumbles, barely coherent.

"Good," Hermione nods. "That’s good..."

"We got away," Harry says.

"Yes."

"Are you alright? Where's Sophie?"

"We're fine," Hermione reassures him "But you’ve been sick. Rest... Rest a bit more..." Harry relaxes and drifts off instantly.

Hermione turns to me and sighs. "Merry Christmas, Sophie."

"Merry Christmas, Hermione."

***

The next morning, I take the copy of A History of Magic outside to look for the name Ignotus Peverell, remembering the name on the headstone with the same symbol as in the book. Hermione joins me shortly afterwards, carrying the book she took from Bagshot's place and settles herself down by a tree opposite.

After reading for a while, I hear the tent flaps move aside and Harry comes out looking pale and battle worn. He turns around and looks over the vast valley outside the forest.

"You’ve outdone yourself this time, Hermione," he says and Hermione looks up.

"The Forest of Dean.  I came here once with my mum and dad, years ago," she says thoughtfully. "It’s just how I remember it. The trees. The river. It’s like nothing’s changed." She pauses for a minute and I see her sense. "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?" Harry asks.

"Wendell and Monica Wilkens now reside happily in Sydney, Australia," she says, trying hard to keep it together. "They have two dogs, run a small sweet shop, but floss daily. No children." She smiles, but it fades. "Maybe we should just stay here. Grow old."

Harry doesn't respond so she inhales, shaking off her tears.

"You wanted to know who the boy in the photograph was," she says, steadying herself. "Well, I know." Hermione holds up the book she's reading to reveal the title: '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 -"

"Who is he, Hermione?" Harry presses. "The thief? Did Dumbledore know him?"

"Yes," she answers.

"Well?"

"For a time."

"Tell me, Hermione. Who is he?"

"Gellert Grindelwald," Hermione says eventually. "He’s not very well known in Britain, but there was a time, before You-KnowWho..."

"Hermione, I don’t need to have read A History of Magic to know who Gellert Grindelwald is," Harry answers. I do, however. Gellert Grindelwald was a dark wizard that some people have called worse. Whereas Voldemort has kept his attacks largely within the UK, Grindelwald went for the universal approach.

Hermione nods and hands him the book, open on a photograph of a young Dumbledore and 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, looking completely different from the carefree photo beside.

"When Grindelwald was seventeen, he was expelled from Durmstrang," Hermione explains. "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 awhile, then ended up in Godric’s Hollow where his great aunt lived, Bathilda Bagshot."

"Skipping onto the part where he becomes a wand theif?" I urge, sensing Harry growing impatient beside me.

"She introduced him to Dumbledore," she says. "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." Sounds familiar. "They did a lot of talking that summer. But they always returned to one particular subject." Harry looks up and I narrow my eyes. "Wizard rule over Muggles."

"And Dumbledore believed in it?" Harry asks in disbelief.

"Yes."

Harry nods and I look at the photograph again.

"'For the Greater Good,'" I say, reading out the caption. "What does that mean?"

"It was something Dumbledore came up with," Hermione replies. "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, clearly the perfect image of his role model tainted now we read into his past.

"It was a different time, Harry," Hermione says, seeing Harry's conflict. "It was one summer. Dumbledore was young -"

"We’re young, Hermione," Harry argues back. "And here we are, risking our lives to fight against the very thing Dumbledore supported."

"He changed, Harry. Years later, it was Dumbledore who put Grindelwald in prison."

"People don't change," I say, shaking my head. "They just become better at hiding who they are."

Hermione bites her lip, showing she is reluctant in agreement. Harry stares at the photo of the laughing killer one last time before tossing the book away.

"Where’s my wand?" he sighs. "I’ll take the watch."

Hermione hesitates and we exchange apprehensive looks. Harry notices.

"Hermione. Where’s my wand?"

She shifts slightly and pulls the shattered wand from underneath the blanket. Harry gently takes it from her hand and examines the sole feather holding the two ends together.

"It’s my fault," Hermione says, shaking her head. "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 -"

"It’s done," Harry says, sounding defeated.

"Maybe we can -"

"It’s done," Harry asserts, his tone putting an end to it. Hermione nods. "Leave me yours. You get back in the warm. And give me that." Harry gestures to the locket and Hermione hands it over with a moments hesitation. Technically it's my turn, but Harry seems a bit over-eager to carry it which is worrying.

What's also worrying is now, out of the three of us, only one of us can do magic. We're supposed be going up against an army of dark wizards and we've only got a wand and a couple of bullets between us.