The Wand of Ravenclaw

Lost and Found

Harry couldn't form proper thoughts as he followed Hermione down the steps of Grimmauld Place. They would have to fly to the Burrow, as Hagrid couldn't Apparate. Harry had often observed that Hagrid looked too big to be allowed in almost any situation, but seeing him mount a broomstick was utterly absurd. The handle was barely up to his chest and Harry had quantifiable reservations that he would even get off the ground.

'Shall I Apparate, Harry?' asked Hermione. 'I don't have a broom see.'

'You can come on with me if you want,' said Harry. 'I'm sure it'll support us both.'

Hermione threw her leg over the broom and Harry scooted on behind her. Their bodies were pressed together and Hermione threw him a little smile over her shoulder and pushed back into him. Harry cursed the bad timing, even in light of the nature of the crisis, and took off after Hagrid who was already some way ahead. Hermione, who Harry remembered didn't like flying, was gripping onto Harry's hands very tightly as he guided the broom in flight. The Firebolt quickly caught Hagrid's broom and they flew on in silence.

It was late evening by this time and wispy clouds hung slightly above the trio as they flew. Summer was passing quickly and the Autumn air was chilly at the height they were flying. The sharp air mixed with the moisture of the clouds to freeze Harry's face as he shot along. Hermione in front of him was tense and her rigidity told Harry that she was probably thinking exactly as he was.

And there was only one topic. Who had died? Harry hated himself for doing it but he couldn't help but prioritise, to formulate a list of whom it would be least painful to part with. In spite of, perhaps even because of, their recent falling out Harry put Ron at the bottom of his list. The very thought that their final parting would come at a time then they were on such bad terms chilled him in a way harsh weather never could. It was all he could do to put the idea from his mind and focus on flying.

Then there were the other Weasley's, any number of whom could have been at the Burrow at the time of the attack. Fred and George were easily his favourites and he would despair greatly if either of them were the victim. Bill on the other hand, Harry thought, is half-werewolf now so perhaps it would be a blessing for him. But then that would devastate Fleur, for whom Harry had always harboured something of a tender spot, and he wouldn't want to see her upset, or dead for that matter.

That thought brought him on to Ginny. His thoughts on her were so convoluted that he had trouble deciphering them. He didn't want her dead, to be sure, but he thought he could deal with it if she had. Their relationship had deteriorated to such an extent that the selfish part of Harry's brain felt it would be easier without having to deal with the fallout from that. He chastised himself for thinking any death could be easy to face. In spite of this, he couldn't but own to its truth, or think that in any case Hermione would be there to help him get over it. It was then that he remembered that if it wasn't for him she would still have been there, she might have been in the line of fire. The thought made him give her a purposeful hug and grip her fingers as tightly as they were digging into him.

'What is it?' she called back to him.

'Nothing,' he replied. 'I'm just glad you're with me.'

'That's quite scary,' said Hermione.

'What is? What's scary about that?'

'Not the thing itself,' said Hermione. 'I was just thinking exactly the same thing. It was running through my mind, word for word. Then you said it.'

'That is scary,' said Harry. 'I'd better get back to my Occlumency soon.'

'Occlumency couldn't keep me out, Harry,' said Hermione. 'Not from you, anyway.'