The night was humid and windy.
Two children dressed as pumpkins waddled through the square. Paper spiders crawled all over the shop windows. They were all tacky Muggle accessories, decorating a world they did not believe in...
He floated along with the sense of purpose, power, and rightness that always came to him on such occasions...
It was not anger... that was only felt by souls weaker than him...
It was victory. Yes... he had been waiting for this moment, looking forward to this moment...
"That was a beautiful disguise, sir!"
A little boy ran over and looked under the hood of the cloak. His smile faltered as fear clouded his painted face.
The child turned and ran away... his hand under the cloak grasped the wand...
If he moved a little, the child would never reach his mother again...
But there was no need, no need at all...
He walked down a new, dimmer street. His destination was finally in sight. The Loyal Spell had been broken, but they did not know...
He made a sound softer than the dry leaves sliding on the road. He crept up to the dark hedge and looked inside...
They had not drawn the curtains, and he could see clearly that they were in the little parlor, the tall, black-haired man with glasses, blowing out puffs of colored smoke with his wand to amuse the little black-haired boy in blue pajamas.
The child giggled and grabbed the smoke, squeezing it in his little fist...
A door opened and the mother came in, saying something he could not hear. Her long crimson hair fell beside her face.
The father picked up his son and handed him to the mother. Then, he threw the wand on the sofa, stretched and yawned...
The door creaked as he pushed it open, but Jaime Potter did not hear it.
The pale hand pulled the wand from under the cloak and pointed at the door. It opened with a bang.
As he crossed the threshold, Jaime rushed into the hall. It was so easy, so easy that Jaime did not even pick up the wand...
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll stop him — "
Stop him without the wand in his hand...
He laughed heartily, and then cast a spell …
"Avada Retribution!"
Green light filled the narrow hall, illuminating the pram leaning against the wall. The banister on the stairs glowed like a lightning rod. Jaime Potter fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut...
He heard her scream upstairs. There was no escape. But if she had any sense, at least she had nothing to fear...
As he climbed the stairs, he was amused to hear her trying to shield herself from him.
She did not have the wand...
How foolish and gullible they were. They thought that they could entrust their safety to their friends. They thought that they could throw away their weapons, even for a little while …
He threw open the door and, with a lazy wave of the wand, tossed aside the chairs and boxes she had hurriedly piled behind the door...
She stood there, with the child in her arms.
As soon as she saw him, she put her son in the cradle behind her and opened her arms, as if it would be of some use, as if she hoped to block the child so that he would choose her instead.
"Jaime, please, don't kill Jaime Jaime!"
"Get away, you stupid woman... get away..."
"Don't kill Harry, I beg you, kill me, kill me —"
"I warn you for the last time -"
"Don't kill Harry, I beg you... have mercy... have mercy..."
Don't kill Harry! Don't kill Harry!
Please — I'll do anything — "
"Get away - get away, woman -"
He could have pushed her away from the cradle, but it seemed safer to kill her...
The green light flashed through the room. She fell as her husband had fallen.
The child did not cry: he could stand now, holding on to the bars of the cradle, looking up with interest at the intruder's face. Perhaps he thought it was Papa hiding in his cloak, conjuring up more pretty fireworks, and Mama ready to jump up laughing...
He pointed the wand very carefully at the boy's face. He wanted to see it happen, to see the destruction of the one and only inexplicable danger.
The child began to cry. He knew already that he was not Jaime.
He did not like the sound of it. He had never been able to bear the weeping of children in the orphanage...
"Avada Retribution!"
Then he shattered. He was nothing, only pain and fear. He had to hide. He could not hide in the ruins of the house. The child was still crying inside. He had to hide far away … far away …
"No."
The snake rustled across the dirty, cluttered floor. He had killed the boy, but he was the boy...
"No..."
Now he was standing in front of the broken window of Bashida's house, immersed in the memory of his biggest failure. At his feet, the snake slid across the glass of broken porcelain … He looked down and saw something … something incredible …
"No..."
"Harry, it's all right, you're all right!"
He bent to pick up the broken photograph. It was him - the unknown thief, the thief he had been looking for...
"No... I lost it... I lost it..."
"Harry, it's all right. Wake up, wake up!"
He was Harry... Harry, not Voldemort... and that rustling thing was not a snake...
He opened his eyes.
The memory stopped. The picture paused.
That was the end of the backtracking.
Hermione put the wand away in her hand. She knew what was coming. Now she had to change her mood.
"Harry," Hermione whispered, "do you feel all right - all right?"
"All right."
He was obviously not telling the truth, Hermione could see that.
They were in the tent, and Harry was lying on a lower bunk, under a pile of blankets.
It was almost dawn, judging by the silence and the faint, cold light on the canvas canopy.
Harry was soaked with sweat. You could feel it on the sheets and blankets.
"We've got out."
"Yes," Hermione said. "I had to use a hovering charm to get you on the bed. I couldn't move you.
You were... well, you weren't big... "
There were purple shadows under her brown eyes, and Harry saw a small sponge in her hand: she had been wiping his face.
"You're ill," Hermione said at last. "Very ill."
"How long have we been out?"
"It's been a few hours. It's almost morning now."
"I've been... what, unconscious?"
"Not exactly," Hermione said uneasily.
Hermione said unnaturally, "You yell, you moan, and … and so on."
Harry felt uneasy at the tone of Hermione's voice. What had he done?
Chanting a spell like Voldemort?
Weep like a baby in a cradle?
"I couldn't get the Horcrux off you," Hermione said. He knew she was trying to change the subject. "It's stuck. It's stuck to your chest.
It left a mark on you. I'm sorry. I had to use a cutting charm to get it off.
You were bitten by a snake, too, but I've cleaned the wound and put some white essence on it... "
He pulled off his sweaty T-shirt and looked down.
There was a bright red oval over his heart, the mark of the locket.
He could see the half-healed hole in his forearm.
"Where did you put the Horcrux?"
"In my bag. I thought we'd put it away for a while."
He lay back on the pillows and looked at her haggard, grey face.
"We shouldn't have gone to Godric's Hollow. It was my fault, all my fault. Hermione, I'm sorry."
"It wasn't your fault. I wanted to go too. I really thought Dumbledore would leave the sword there for you to get."
"Yes, well... we were wrong, weren't we?"
"What happened, Harry?
What happened after she took you upstairs?
Was the snake hiding somewhere?
Did it jump out and kill her, and then attack you? "
"No," he said. "She was the snake... or the snake was her..."
"Wh-what?"
He closed his eyes, and the smell of him and of Basilda's house made the whole thing seem frighteningly real.
"Basilda must have been dead for some time. The snake is... is inside her.
The mysterious man left it in Godric's Hollow to wait.
You're right. He knew I'd come back. "
Even though Hermione already knew this fact, for Hermione, hearing Harry describe the situation with her own ears was still somewhat nerve-wracking.
She didn't really want Harry to be telling the truth. To her, the old lady had been a respectable predecessor of magic, but it was a pity that she should be treated this way after her death.
"The snake is inside her?"
Harry opened his eyes and looked at Hermione. He felt as if she was going to vomit.
"Lupin said there would be magic we couldn't imagine," Harry said. "Basilda didn't want to talk in front of you just now, because it was a snake's voice, all snake's voice. I didn't realize it.
Because I was in a more anxious situation, and I could understand what she was saying.
As soon as we got to the room upstairs, the snake told the mysterious man. I heard it in my head. I felt him get excited. He said he would keep me there... and then... "
Hermione was silent.
Because although she couldn't understand, she could tell that Basilda's voice was not human.
It was she, at Jon's behest, who had put Harry in danger.
Harry didn't know what Hermione was thinking. He remembered the snake jumping out of Basilda's neck, but he didn't think Hermione needed to know the details.
"... she changed, became the snake, and attacked."
He looked down at the hole in his arm.
"It won't kill me. It just wants to watch me and wait for the mysterious man to come."
If he could kill the snake, it would be worth it. Everything was not in vain... He was very upset. He sat up and lifted the blanket.
"Harry, no, you need to rest!"
"You need to go to sleep.
Don't be offended. You look terrible.
I'm all right. I'll keep watch for a while.
Where's my wand? "
She didn't answer, just looked at him.
"Where's my wand, Hermione?"
She bit her lip, tears in her eyes.
"Harry..."
"Where's my wand?"
She reached to the bed, picked it up and handed it to him.
The wand of holly and phoenix tail was almost broken in two.
A fragile phoenix feather held the two pieces together, and the wood was completely broken.
Harry held it in his hand as if he were holding a seriously wounded life.
He couldn't think, and his mind was full of panic and fear.
Then he handed the wand to Hermione.
"Fix it, I beg you."
"Harry, I don't think so, it's broken like this -"
"Please, Hermione, try!"
"Wha - put it right."
The half of the wand that was dangling dangerously was reconnected.
Harry held it up.
"Flicker!"
The wand glowed faintly, and went out.
Harry pointed it at Hermione.
"Remove your weapon!"
Hermione's wand tilted, but did not fall from her hand.
The feeble attempt was too much for Harry's wand to bear, and it broke in two again.
He looked at it and was stunned. He could not understand the scene in front of him … This wand that had been through hundreds of battles …
"Harry," Hermione said, so softly that he could scarcely hear her, "I'm very, very sorry. I think I did it.
You see, the snake was coming at us when we were running away, so I put an explosive spell on it, and it bounced all over the place. It must have - must have hit - "
"It was an accident," Harry said mechanically, feeling hollow and dazed. "We - we'll find a way to fix it."
"Harry, I don't think there's a way," Hermione said.
Hermione said, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Remember … remember Ron?
After his wand was broken in a car accident, it never recovered, so he had to buy another one. "
Harry thought of Ollivander, kidnapped by Voldemort, and of Grigovitch, dead.
How was he going to find a new wand?
"Well," he said, trying to sound casual. "Well, I'll borrow yours for a while, then. I'll keep watch."
Hermione, her face full of tears, held out her wand.
Harry left her sitting on the edge of the bed. He wanted nothing more than to get away from her.
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