Are you referring to the sign of the Deathly Hallows?" We all exchange a look.

"The Deathly Hallows?" I ask.

"That's right," Xenophilius says, "You haven't heard of them? I'm not surprised. Very, very few wizards believe. Witness that knuckle-headed young man at your brother's wedding," he nods at Ron, "who attacked me for sporting the symbol of a well-known Dark wizard! Such ignorance. There is nothing Dark about the Hallows—at least, not in that crude sense. One simply uses the symbol to reveal oneself to other believers, in the hope that they might help one with the Quest." He stirs several lumps of sugar into his Gurdyroot infusion and drinks some.

"I'm sorry," Harry says. "I still don't really understand."

"Well, you see, believers seek the Deathly Hallows," says Xenophilius, smacking his lips in apparent appreciation of the Gurdyroot infusion.

"But what are the Deathly Hallows?" asks Hermione.

Xenophilius sets aside his empty teacup.

"I assume that you are all familiar with "The Tale of the Three Brothers'?"

Harry says, "No," but the rest of us say "yes." Xenophilius nods gravely.

"Well, well, Mr. Potter, the whole thing starts with 'The Tale of the Three Brothers'...I have a copy somewhere..."

"I've got a copy, Mr. Lovegood, I've got it right here," Hermione says pulling her book out.

"The original?" inquires Xenophilius sharply, and when she nods, he says, "Well then, why don't you read it aloud? Much the best way to make sure we all understand."

"Er... all right," Hermione says nervously. She opens the book and I nod encouragingly to her.
"'There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight—'"

"Midnight, our mum always told us," Ron says.

"Zip it Weasley," I say.

"Sorry, I just think it's a bit spookier if it's midnight!" Ron says.

"Yeah, because we really need a bit more fear in our lives," Harry says before he could stop himself. Xenophilius did not seem to be paying much attention, but was staring out of the window at the sky. "Go on, Hermione."

"'In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure. And Death spoke to them—'"

"Sorry," interjects Harry, "but Death spoke to them?"

"It's a fairy tale, Harry," I say to him.

"Right, sorry. Go on."

"'And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him. So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother. Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead. And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility.'"

"Death's got an Invisibility Cloak?" Harry interrupts again and I shrug.

"So he can sneak up on people," Ron says, "Sometimes he gets bored of running at them, flapping his arms and shrieking... sorry, Hermione."

"'Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts. In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination. The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible. That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat. And so Death took the first brother for his own. Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him. Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her. And so Death took the second brother for his own. But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.'"

Hermione closes the book. It was a moment or two before Xenophilius seems to realize that she had stopped reading, then he withdraws his gaze from the window and says, "Well, there you are."

"Sorry?" says Hermione, sounding confused.

"Those are the Deathly Hallows," says Xenophilius suspiciously. He grabs a quill and a book and turns it to us.  "The Elder Wand," he says, and he draws a straight vertical line upon the parchment. "The Resurrection Stone," he says, and he adds a circle on top of the line. "The Cloak of Invisibility," he finishes, enclosing both line and circle in a triangle, to make the symbol that so intrigues Hermione. "Together," he says, "the Deathly Hallows."

"But there's no mention of the words 'Deathly Hallows' in the story," says Hermione.

"Well, of course not," says Xenophilius, maddeningly smug. "That is a children's tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognize that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death." A short pause falls over the room as my eyes trail to the darkening sky.

"Luna ought to have enough Plimpies soon," he says quietly.

"When you say 'master of Death'—" Ron says.

"Master,"  Xenophilius says  waving an airy hand. "Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer."

"But then... do you mean..." Hermione says slowly, you could tell that she was trying to keep any trace of skepticism out of her voice, "that you believe these objects—these Hallows—actually exist?"

"Well, of course."

"But," Hermione says, I could hear her restraint starting to crack, "Mr. Lovegood, how can you possibly believe—?"

"Luna has told me all about you, young lady,"  Xenophilius says, "You are, I gather, not unintelligent, but painfully limited. Narrow. Close-minded."

"Perhaps you ought to try on the hat, Hermione," says Ron, nodding toward the ludicrous headdress.

"Mr. Lovegood," Hermione begins again. "We all know that there are such things as Invisibility Cloaks. They are rare, but they exist. But—"

"Ah, but the Third Hallow is a true Cloak of Invisibility, Miss Granger! I mean to say, it is not a traveling cloak imbued with a Disillusionment Charm, or carrying a Bedazzling Hex, or else woven from Demiguise hair, which will hide one initially but fade with the years until it turns opaque. We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?" Hermione opens her mouth to answer, then closed it again, looking more confused than ever. We all look to each other thinking the same thing. It so happened that a cloak exactly like the one Xenophilius had just described was in the room with them at that very moment.

"Exactly," says Xenophilius, as if he had defeated us all in reasoned argument. "None of you have ever seen such a thing. The possessor would be immeasurably rich, would He not?"

"I've heard about the deathly hallows before," I say as the memories resurface in my brain, I take a deep breath, "we can't write it off."

"All right," Hermione says disconcerted. "Say the Cloak existed... what about the stone, Mr. Lovegood? The thing you call the Resurrection Stone?"

"What of it?"

"Well, how can that be real?"

"Prove that it is not," says Xenophilius.

Hermione looks outraged at his lack of argument.

"But that's—I'm sorry, but that's completely ridiculous! How can I possibly prove it doesn't exist? Do you expect me to get hold of—of all the pebbles in the world and test them? I mean, you could claim that anything's real if the only basis for believing in it is that nobody's proved it doesn't exist!"

"Yes, you could," Xenophilius says. "I am glad to see that you are opening your mind a little."

"So the Elder Wand," Harry says quickly, before Hermione could retort, "you think that exists too?"

"Oh, well, in that case there is endless evidence," says Xenophilius. "The Elder Wand is the Hallow that is most easily traced, because of the way in which it passes from hand to hand."

"Which is what?" asksHarry.

"Which is that the possessor of the wand must capture it from its previous owner, if he is to be truly master of it," Xenophilius says, "Surely you have heard of the way the wand came to Egbert the Egregious, after his slaughter of Emeric the Evil? Of how Godelot died in his own cellar after his son, Hereward, took the wand from him? Of the dreadful Loxias, who took the wand from Barnabas Deverill, whom he had killed? The bloody trail of the Elder Wand is splattered across the pages of Wizarding history."

"So where do you think the Elder Wand is now?" asks Ron.

"Alas, who knows?" says Xenophilius, as he gazes out of the window. "Who knows where the Elder Wand lies hidden? The trail goes cold with Arcus and Livius. Who can say which of them really defeated Loxias, and which took the wand? And who can say who may have defeated them? History, alas, does not tell us."

There was a pause. Finally Hermione asks stiffly, "Mr. Lovegood, does the Peverell family have anything to do with the Deathly Hallows?"

"But you have been misleading me, young woman!" says Xenophilius, now sitting up much straighter in his chair and goggling at Hermione. "I thought you were new to the Hallows Quest! Many of us Questers believe that the Peverells have everything—everything!—to do with the Hallows!"

"Who are the Peverells?" Ron asks.

"That was the name on the grave with the marked with the symbol," I inform him, "in Godric's Hollow.... Ignotus Peverell."

"Exactly!" Xenophilius says, his forefinger raised pedantically. "The sign of the Deathly Hallows on Ignotus's grave is conclusive proof!"

"Of what?" asks Ron.

"Why, that the three brothers in the story were actually the three Peverell brothers, Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus! That they were the original owners of the Hallows!"

With another glance at the window he got to his feet, picks up the tray, and headed for the spiral staircase.

"You will stay for dinner?" he calls, as he vanishes downstairs again. "Everybody always requests our recipe for Freshwater Plimpy soup."

"Probably to show the Poisoning Department at St. Mungo's," Ron says under his breath.

"I hope it's not that bad," I sigh.

"What do you think?" Harry asks Hermione and I.

"Oh, Harry," she says wearily, "it's a pile of utter rubbish. This can't be what the sign really means. This must just be his weird take on it. What a waste of time."

"I s'pose this is the man who brought us Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," saysRon.

"You don't believe it either?" Harry asks him.

"Nah, that story's just one of those things you tell kids to teach them lessons, isn't it? 'Don't go looking for trouble, don't pick fights, don't go messing around with stuff that's best left alone! Just keep your head down, mind your own business, and you'll be okay' Come to think of it," Ron adds, "maybe that story's why elder wands are supposed to be unlucky."

"What are you talking about?"

"One of those superstitions, isn't it?" Ron says.

"May-born witches will marry Muggles," I add.

"'Jinx by twilight, undone by midnight.' 'Wand of elder, never prosper.' You must've heard them. My mum's full of them."

"Harry and I were raised by Muggles," Hermione reminds us, "We were taught different superstitions."  Harry looks to me.

"What about you?" He asks.

"My maid told us stories about them. I grew up with the story. It makes sense. Your cloak matches, and the elder wand resurfaces every few years," I say, "so my opinion. I'm open to it."

"Great so we're split," Harry huffs.

"It's just a morality tale, it's obvious which gift is best, which one you'd choose—" Hermione says

"The cloak"

"The wand"

"The stone."

In true fashion they begin to bicker. While the darkening sky pulls my attention to it again. Blocking out the useless discussion. What was Xenphilius looking at out here? He kept staring out the window. What was he looking for? Or looking at rather? Suddenly I realise the emptiness and worn look of Mr. Lovegood.

"Where's Luna?" I ask softly. Suddenly I step away from the others and move towards the stair case going up. Hoping to disprove my thought.

"Y/n what are you doing?!" Hermione exclaims. As I reach the room I see painting of Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Harry, Neville, and I. The sweetness not settling in me as the panic rushes over my senses. Just as I feared. The room was dusty and untouched. Just as the others catch up I rush back downstairs.

"Y/n?" Harry asks.

"Where's Luna?" I ask them turning back once we reach the living room, "it's awful dark to be fishing. And her room is awfully neat and dusty for her to be out for just the day." I turn back away as realisation hits them and I rush down to the kitchen.

"Mr. Lovegood, Where's Luna?" I asks impatiently.

"Excuse me?" He asks.

"Where's Luna?" Harry asks again. Xenophilius stops in his tracks.

"I—I've already told you. She is down at Bottom Bridge, fishing for Plimpies."

"So why have you only laid that tray for four?" I ask watching him carefully.  Xenophilius tried to speak, but no sound came out. The only noise was the continued chugging of the printing press, and a slight rattle from the tray as Xenophilius's hands shook.

"I don't think Luna's been here for weeks," Harry says, "Her clothes are gone, her bed hasn't been slept in. Where is she? And why do you keep looking out of the window?" Xenophilius drops the tray. A huge bang echos and numerous quibblers slide across the floor. In big letters under a picture of Harry it reads. 'Undesirable Number One'

"We have to go," I say in panic.

"Harry look at this," Hermione says showing him the source of my panic.

The Quibbler's going for a new angle, then?" Harry asks coldly, his mind working very fast. "Is that what you were doing when you went into the garden, Mr. Lovegood? Sending an owl to the Ministry?"

"They took my Luna," he whispers Luna. Suddenly a wave of pity falls over me. But I maintain my alert exterior. "Because of what I've been writing. They took my Luna and I don't know where she is, what they've done to her. But they might give her back to me if I—if I—"

"Hand over Harry?" Hermione finishes for him.

"No deal," says Ron flatly. "Get out of the way, we're leaving."

"They will be here at any moment. I must save Luna. I cannot lose Luna. You must not leave." Xenophilius stands before us blocking the exits

"Don't make us hurt you," Harry says, "Get out of the way, Mr. Lovegood."

"HARRY!" Hermione screams. We turn to see figures circling on broomsticks past the windows.  Xenophilius draws his wand. Harry realized their mistake just in time. I pull Hermione down to the ground and Harry grabs Ron. There was a colossal explosion. The sound of it seemed to blow the room apart: Fragments of wood and paper and rubble flew in all directions, along with an impenetrable cloud of thick white dust. We fly through the air separating then land. I hold my arm from the wonky landing. A sharp pain radiating from it.

"The place looks like it's about to fall in, Selwyn," someone says, echoing up the mangled staircase. "The stairs are completely blocked. Could try clearing it? Might bring the place down."

"You lying piece of filth," shouts the wizard named Selwyn. "You've never seen Potter in your life, have you? Thought you'd lure us here to kill us, did you? And you think you'll get your girl back like this?"

"I swear... I swear... Potter's upstairs!"

"Homenum revelio," says the voice at the foot of the stairs. Hermione gasps.

There's someone up there all right, Selwyn," says the second man sharply.

"It's Potter, I tell you, it's Potter!" sobs Xenophilius. "Please... please... give me Luna, just let me have Luna..."

"You can have your little girl, Lovegood," says Selwyn, "if you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plot, if it's a trick, if you've got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we'll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury."

"Come on," Harry whispers, "we've got to get out of here." He moves over and helps me off the ground. While Hermione frees Ron.

"All right," breaths Hermione, as the broken printing press blocking the top of the stairs began to tremble; Xenophilius was feet away from them. She was still white with dust. "Do you trust me, Harry?"

"Okay then," Hermione whispers give me the Invisibility Cloak. Ron, Y/n you're both going to put it on."

"Us? But Harry—"

"Please, Ron! Harry, hold on tight to my hand, Ron, grab my shoulder." We move quickly. As Xenophilius reaches us Hermione raises her wand.

"Obliviate!" cries Hermione, pointing her wand first into his face, then at the floor beneath them. "Deprimo!"we hold onto each other for dear life. Before landing onto soft grass. I keep my tight hold on my hand as Harry looks around at our get away. Hermione was already casting protection spells.

"Harry get the bag" I groan, "get me a pain potion. Now." He nods moving quickly before tossing me a bottle.

"Protego Totalum... Salvio Hexia..." Hermione says as I chug the small bottle.

"That treacherous old bleeder!" Ron pants, emerging from beneath the Invisibility Cloak, " "Hermione, you're a genius, a total genius, I can't believe we got out of that!"

"Cave Inimicum... Didn't I say it was an Erumpent horn, didn't I tell him? And now his house has been blown apart!"

"Serves him right," Ron says examining his torn jeans and the cuts to his legs. "What d'you reckon they'll do to him?"

"Oh, I hope they don't kill him!" groans Hermione. "That's why I wanted the Death Eaters to get a glimpse of Harry before we left, so they knew Xenophilius hadn't been lying!"

"Why hide me, though?" asks Ron, "Or Y/n?"

"Y/n's supposed to be in America at Ilvermory. And You're supposed to be in bed with spattergroit, Ron! They've kidnapped Luna because her father supported Harry! What would happen to your family if they knew you're with him?"

"But what about your mum and dad?"

"They're in Australia," Hermione says. "They should be all right. They don't know anything."

"You're a genius," Ron repeats, looking awed.

"Yeah, you are, Hermione," agrees Harry fervently. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

"Nothing," I say to them, "we would have died in first year." She beams but became solemn at once.

"What about Luna?"

"Well, if they're telling the truth and she's still alive—" begins Ron.

"Don't say that, don't say it!" squeals Hermione. "She must be alive, she must!"

"We need to find her," I say letting my arm go as the potion kicks in.

"We can't," Harry says.

"Then she'll be in Azkaban, I expect," says Ron. "Whether she survives the place, though... Loads don't..."

"She will," says Harry. He could not bear to contemplate the alternative. "She's tough, Luna, much tougher than you'd think. She's probably teaching all the inmates about Wrackspurts and Nargles."

"I hope you're right," Hermione says She passes a hand over her eyes. "I'd feel so sorry for Xenophilius if—"

"—if he hadn't just tried to sell us to the Death Eaters, yeah," Ron says. I sigh looking over the soft grass field.

"Are we setting up camp here?" I ask Hermione and she nods.

"Perfect," I say as Harry and Ron move to set the tent up. Slowly we get the camp together. I pull my wand from my pocket and look to Hermione. "I'll go on watch."

*****

As I get back to the tent Hermione, Ron,  and Harry were deep into a conversation.  "Well, I don't suppose it matters," sighs Hermione as I sit beside her. "Even if he was being honest, I never heard such a lot of nonsense in all my life."

"Hang on, though," Ron says. "The Chamber of Secrets was supposed to be a myth, wasn't it?"

"But the Deathly Hallows can't exist, Ron!"

"You keep saying that, but one of them can," Ron says, "Harry's Invisibility Cloak—"

"'The Tale of the Three Brothers' is a story," Hermione says firmly. "A story about how humans are frightened of death. If surviving was as simple as hiding under the Invisibility Cloak, we'd have everything we need already!"

"I don't know. We could do with an unbeatable wand," Harry says, turning the blackthorn wand he so disliked over in his fingers.

"We can't write it off," I tell Hermione.

"There's no such thing!"

"You said there have been loads of wands—the Deathstick and whatever they were called—"

"All right, even if you want to kid yourself the Elder Wand's real, what about the Resurrection Stone?" Her fingers sketch quotation marks around the name, and her tone drips sarcasm. "No magic can raise the dead, and that's that!"

"When my wand connected with You-Know-Who's, it made my mum and dad appear... and Cedric..."

"But they weren't really back from the dead, were they?" Hermione says, "Those kinds of—of pale imitations aren't the same as truly bringing someone back to life."

"But she, the girl in the tale, didn't really come back, did she? The story says that once people are dead, they belong with the dead. But the second brother still got to see her and talk to her, didn't he? He even lived with her for a while..." We all share an awkward look.

"So that Peverell bloke who's buried in Godric's Hollow," he says hastily, trying to sound robustly sane, "you don't know anything about him, then?"

"No," she replies, looking relieved at the change of subject. "I looked him up after I saw the mark on his grave; if he'd been anyone famous or done anything important, I'm sure he'd be in one of our books. The only place I've managed to find the name 'Peverell' is Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. I borrowed it from Kreacher."

"They were one of the first to go extinct in the Male line," I tell them, "Cultven will be next though."

"'Extinct in the Male line?'" Ron asks.

"It means the name's died out," Hermione says, "centuries ago, in the case of the Peverells. They could still have descendants, though, they'd just be called something different."

"So Cultven will die out soon since I'm the last living Cultven. But I'm a female so the name stops with me," I explain.

"Marvolo Gaunt!" Harry yells.

"Sorry?" Ron, Hermione, and I ask together.

"Marvolo Gaunt! You-Know-Who's grandfather! In the Pensieve! With Dumbledore! Marvolo Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells! The ring, the ring that became the Horcrux, Marvolo Gaunt said it had the Peverell coat of arms on it! I saw him waving it in the bloke from the Ministry's face, he nearly shoved it up his nose!"

"The Peverell coat of arms?" says Hermione sharply. "Could you see what it looked like?"

"Not really," says Harry, trying to remember. "There was nothing fancy on there, as far as I could see; maybe a few scratches. I only ever saw it really close up after it had been cracked open."

"Blimey... You reckon it was this sign again? The sign of the Hallows?"

"Why not?" Harry says excitedly. "Marvolo Gaunt was an ignorant old git who lived like a pig, all he cared about was his ancestry. If that ring had been passed down through the centuries, he might not have known what it really was. There were no books in that house, and trust me, he wasn't the type to read fairy tales to his kids. He'd have loved to think the scratches on the stone were a coat of arms, because as far as he was concerned, having pure blood made you practically royal."

"Yes... and that's all very interesting," Hermione says cautiously, "but Harry, if you're thinking what I think you're think—"

"Well, why not? Why not?" Harry says abandoning caution. "It was a stone, wasn't it?" He looks to us for support. "What if it was the Resurrection Stone?"

"It's slim but it's a possibility," I say to them.

"Blimey—but would it still work if Dumbledore broke—?"

"Work? Work? Ron, it never worked! There's no such thing as a Resurrection Stone!" Hermione leaps to her feet, looking exasperated and angry. "Harry, you're trying to fit everything into the Hallows story—"

"Fit everything in?" he repeats. "Hermione, it fits of its own accord! I know the sign of the Deathly Hallows was on that stone! Gaunt said he was descended from the Peverells!"

"A minute ago you told us you never saw the mark on the stone properly!"

"Where d'you reckon the ring is now?" Ron asks Harry. "What did Dumbledore do with it after he broke it open?"

"Dumbledore had my Cloak the night my parents died! My mum told Sirius that Dumbledore borrowed the Cloak! This is why! He wanted to examine it, because he thought it was the third Hallow! Ignotus Peverell is buried in Godric's Hollow..." Harry says, "He's my ancestor! I'm descended from the third brother! It all makes sense!"

"Harry," Hermione says again, but he was busy undoing the pouch around his neck, his fingers shaking hard.

"Breath Harry," I say to him, "breath."

"Read it," he tells us, pushing his mother's letter into Hermione's hand. "Read it! Dumbledore had the Cloak, Hermione! Why else would he want it? He didn't need a Cloak, he could perform a Disillusionment Charm so powerful that he made himself completely invisible without one!" He reaches down to the ground and picks up the snitch. "IT'S IN HERE! He left me the ring—it's in the Snitch!"

"You—you reckon?"

"Harry I need you to breath. You sound mad," I say to him. "Like a complete nutter."

"I'm not mad! That's what he's after. You-Know-Who's after the Elder Wand."

"That actually... That actually makes sense," I say to him, "that's why he has wand makers. He's hoping one of them got it along the way."

"This explains everything. The Deathly Hallows are real, and I've got one—maybe two—"

He holds up the Snitch.

"—and You-Know-Who's chasing the third, but he doesn't realize... he just thinks it's a powerful wand—"

"Harry," says Hermione, moving across to him and handing him back Lily's letter, "I'm sorry, but I think you've got this wrong, all wrong."

"But don't you see? It all fits—"

"No, it doesn't," she says, "It doesn't, Harry, you're just getting carried away. Please," she said as he started to speak, "please just answer me this: If the Deathly Hallows really existed, and Dumbledore knew about them, knew that the person who possessed all three of them would be master of Death—Harry, why wouldn't he have told you? Why?"

"He didn't want it to get this far," I say to Hermione. She looks taken back. "It all fits together. The Deathly Hallows, The prophecy."

"'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death,'" Harry quotes calmly.

"I thought it was You-Know-Who we were supposed to be fighting?" Hermione retorts.

"Three Horcruxes left," he kept saying. "We need a plan of action, come on! Where haven't we looked? Let's go through it again. The orphanage..."

Which lead us to a goose chase. All around searching these places again and again. With these searchings we got face to face with the snatchers.

"Some of them are supposed to be as bad as Death Eaters," says Ron. "The lot that got me were a bit pathetic, but Bill reckons some of them are really dangerous. They said on Potterwatch—"

"On what?" Harry says.

"Potterwatch, didn't I tell you that's what it was called? The program I keep trying to get on the radio, the only one that tells the truth about what's going on! Nearly all the programs are following You-Know-Who's line, all except Potterwatch. I really want you to hear it, but it's tricky tuning in..." as Ron explains I stare down at the radio while we sit in the tent.

"They're normally something to do with the Order," he tells them. "Bill had a real knack for guessing them. I'm bound to get one in the end..." but not until March did the boy actually succeed at getting it.

"I've got it, I've got it! Password was 'Albus'! Get in here!" Ron yells. I get up from the chairs and move to his side with Harry.

"...apologize for our temporary absence from the airwaves, which was due to a number of house calls in our area by those charming Death Eaters."

"But that's Lee Jordan!" Hermione says.

"I know!" beamed Ron. "Cool, eh?"

"...now found ourselves another secure location," Lee was saying, "and I'm pleased to tell you that two of our regular contributors have joined me here this evening. Evening, boys!"

"Hi."

"Evening, River."

"'River,' that's Lee," Ron explains. "They've all got code names, but you can usually tell—"

"Shh!" says Hermione.

"But before we hear from Royal and Romulus," Lee goes on, "let's take a moment to report those deaths that the Wizarding Wireless Network News and Daily Prophet don't think important enough to mention. It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murders of Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell. A goblin by the name of Gornuk was also killed. It is believed that Muggle-born Dean Thomas and a second goblin, both believed to have been traveling with Tonks, Cresswell, and Gornuk, may have escaped. If Dean is listening, or if anyone has any knowledge of his whereabouts, his parents and sisters are desperate for news.

"Meanwhile, in Gaddley, a Muggle family of five has been found dead in their home. Muggle authorities are attributing the deaths to a gas leak, but members of the Order of the Phoenix inform me that it was the Killing Curse—more evidence, as if it were needed, of the fact that Muggle slaughter is becoming little more than a recreational sport under the new regime.

"Finally, we regret to inform our listeners that the remains of Bathilda Bagshot have been discovered in Godric's Hollow. The evidence is that she died several months ago. The Order of the Phoenix informs us that her body showed unmistakable signs of injuries inflicted by Dark Magic.

"Listeners, I'd like to invite you now to join us in a minute's silence in memory of Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell, Bathilda Bagshot, Gornuk, and the unnamed, but no less regretted, Muggles murdered by the Death Eaters." Silence falls over us. I mean my head over onto Hermione's shoulder. This is the life we have now.

Thank you," says Lee's voice. "And now we turn to regular contributor Royal, for an update on how the new Wizarding order is affecting the Muggle world."

"Thanks, River," says an unmistakable voice, deep, measured, reassuring.

"Kingsley!" bursts out Ron.

"We know!" Hermione say shushing him.

"Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering as they continue to sustain heavy casualties," Kingsley says. "However, we continue to hear truly inspirational stories of wizards and witches risking their own safety to protect Muggle friends and neighbors, often without the Muggles' knowledge. I'd like to appeal to all our listeners to emulate their example, perhaps by casting a protective charm over any Muggle dwellings in your street. Many lives could be saved if such simple measures are taken."

"And what would you say, Royal, to those listeners who reply that in these dangerous times, it should be 'Wizards first'?" asks Lee.

"I'd say that it's one short step from 'Wizards first' to 'Purebloods first,' and then to 'Death Eaters,'" replies Kingsley. "We're all human, aren't we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving."

"Excellently put, Royal, and you've got my vote for Minister of Magic if ever we get out of this mess," says Lee. "And now, over to Romulus for our popular feature 'Pals of Potter.'"

"Thanks, River," says another very familiar voice.

"We know it's Lupin!"

"Romulus, do you maintain, as you have every time you've appeared on our program, that Harry Potter is still alive?"

"I do," Lupin says firmly. "There is no doubt at all in my mind that his death would be proclaimed as widely as possible by the Death Eaters if it had happened, because it would strike a deadly blow at the morale of those resisting the new regime. 'The Boy Who Lived' remains a symbol of everything for which we are fighting: the triumph of good, the power of innocence, the need to keep resisting."

"And what would you say to Harry if you knew he was listening, Romulus?"

"I'd tell him we're all with him in spirit," says Lupin, then hesitated slightly. "And I'd tell him to follow his instincts, which are good and nearly always right."

"Nearly always right," she repeats.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" says Ron in surprise. "Bill told me Lupin's living with Tonks again! And apparently she's getting pretty big too..."

"...and our usual update on those friends of Harry Potter's who are suffering for their allegiance?" Lee was saying. "Well, as regular listeners will know, several of the more outspoken supporters of Harry Potter have now been imprisoned, including Xenophilius Lovegood, erstwhile editor of The Quibbler," said Lupin.

"At least he's still alive!" mutters Ron.

"We have also heard within the last few hours that Rubeus Hagrid"—all three of them gasped, and so nearly missed the rest of the sentence—"well-known gamekeeper at Hogwarts School, has narrowly escaped arrest within the grounds of Hogwarts, where he is rumored to have hosted a 'Support Harry Potter' party in his house. However, Hagrid was not taken into custody, and is, we believe, on the run."

"I suppose it helps, when escaping from Death Eaters, if you've got a sixteen-foot-high half brother?" asks Lee.

"It would tend to give you an edge," agreed Lupin. "May I just add that while we here at Potterwatch applaud Hagrid's spirit, we would urge even the most devoted of Harry's supporters against following Hagrid's lead. 'Support Harry Potter' parties are unwise in the present climate."

"Indeed they are, Romulus," says Lee, "so we suggest that you continue to show your devotion to the man with the lightning scar by listening to Potterwatch! And now let's move to news concerning the wizard who is proving just as elusive as Harry Potter. We like to refer to him as the Chief Death Eater, and here to give his views on some of the more insane rumors circulating about him, I'd like to introduce a new correspondent: Rodent."

"'Rodent'?" says yet another familiar voice.

"Fred!"

"Really?" I ask desperately gripping the radio. After what felt like years I could finally hear the soft familiar voice of my boyfriend filling the air.

"No—is it George?"

"It's Fred," I say happily.

"I'm not being 'Rodent,' no way, I told you I wanted to be 'Rapier'!"

"Oh, all right then. 'Rapier,' could you please give us your take on the various stories we've been hearing about the Chief Death Eater?"

"Yes, River, I can," Fred says. "As our listeners will know, unless they've taken refuge at the bottom of a garden pond or somewhere similar, You-Know-Who's strategy of remaining in the shadows is creating a nice little climate of panic. Mind you, if all the alleged sightings of him are genuine, we must have a good nineteen You-Know-Whos running around the place."

"Which suits him, of course," says Kingsley. "The air of mystery is creating more terror than actually showing himself."

"Agreed," says Fred. "So, people, let's try and calm down a bit. Things are bad enough without inventing stuff as well. For instance, this new idea that You-Know-Who can kill with a single glance from his eyes. That's a basilisk, listeners. One simple test: Check whether the thing that's glaring at you has got legs. If it has, it's safe to look into its eyes, although if it really is You-Know-Who, that's still likely to be the last thing you ever do."

"And the rumors that he keeps being sighted abroad?" asks Lee.

Well, who wouldn't want a nice little holiday after all the hard work he's been putting in?" asks Fred. "Point is, people, don't get lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he's out of the country. Maybe he is, maybe he isn't, but the fact remains he can move faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo when he wants to, so don't count on him being a long way away if you're planning on taking any risks. I never thought I'd hear myself say it, but safety first!"

"Thank you very much for those wise words, Rapier," Lee says, "Listeners, that brings us to the end of another Potterwatch. We don't know when it will be possible to broadcast again, but you can be sure we shall be back. Keep twiddling those dials: The next password will be 'Mad-Eye.' Keep each other safe: Keep faith. Good night."

"Wow," I say wiping my eyes, "they all are still okay. Perfect."

"Good, eh?" Ron says happily.

"Brilliant," says Harry.

"It's so brave of them," sighs Hermione admiringly. "If they were found..."

"Well, they keep on the move, don't they?" Ron says, "Like us."

"But did you hear what Fred said?" asks Harry excitedly, "He's abroad! He's still looking for the Wand, I knew it!"

"Harry—"

"Come on, Hermione, why are you so determined not to admit it? Vol—"

"HARRY, NO!"

"—demort's after the Elder Wand!"

"The name's Taboo!" Ron bellows, leaping to his feet as a loud crack sounded outside the tent. "I told you, Harry, I told you, we can't say it anymore—we've got to put the protection back around us—quickly—it's how they find—" I rush over to Harry and slap my hand over his mouth. Tussling outside the tent echos as I attempt to warp our appearances. I change enough of Mine and Harry's before the loud voice yells.

"Come out of there with your hands up!" Says a rasping voice through the darkness. "We know you're in there! You've got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don't care who we curse!" Hermione acts quickly and shoots a curse at Harry's face. He falls to the ground as they swarm inside dragging us out. I kick my feet as they seize my arms pulling me away.

"Get—off—her!" Ron shouts. I couldn't see them just the snatcher pulling me along with him.

"No! Leave him alone, leave him alone!"

"Your boyfriend's going to have worse than that done to him if he's on my list," says the horribly familiar voice of Greyback. "Delicious girl... What a treat... I do enjoy the softness of the skin..."

"Search the tent!" With the order I get tossed down beside the others.

"Now, let's see who we've got," says Greyback's gloating voice from overhead.

"I'll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?"

Harry did not answer immediately.

"I said," repeats Greyback, and Harry receives a blow to the diaphragm causing me to flinch it that made him double over in pain, "what happened to you?"

"Stung," Harry mutters. "Been stung."

"Yeah, looks like it," says a second voice.

"What's your name?" snarls Greyback to Harry.

"Dudley," says Harry.

"And your first name?"

"I—Vernon. Vernon Dudley."

"Check the list, Scabior," says Greyback. Then Greyback moves to Ron.

And what about you, ginger?"

"Stan Shunpike," said Ron.

"Like 'ell you are," said the man called Scabior. "We know Stan Shunpike, 'e's put a bit of work our way."

There was another thud.

"I'b Bardy," said Ron, and Harry could tell that his mouth was full of blood. "Bardy Weadley."

"A Weasley?" rasps Greyback. "So you're related to blood traitors even if you're not a Mudblood. What about you? Huh you also a Weasley?"

"I'm April Halan," I say listing off a Hufflepuff Pureblood I knew, "Pureblood."

"Check the list," Greyback snarls. Then he looks to Hermione. "Finally you're pretty friend."

"Easy, Greyback," says Scabior over the jeering of the others.

Oh, I'm not going to bite just yet. We'll see if she's a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny. Who are you, girly?"

"Penelope Clearwater," says Hermione. She sounded terrified, but convincing.

"What's your blood status?"

"Half-blood," says Hermione.

"Easy enough to check," says Scabior. "But the 'ole lot of 'em look like they could still be 'ogwarts age—"

"We'b lebt," says Ron.

"Left, 'ave you, ginger?" Scabior says, "and you decided to go camping? And you thought, just for a laugh, you'd use the Dark Lord's name?"

"Nod a laugh," Ron says, "Aggiden."

"Accident?" There was more jeering laughter.

"You know who used to like using the Dark Lord's name, Weasley?" growls Greyback. "The Order of the Phoenix. Mean anything to you?"

"Doh."

"Well, they don't show the Dark Lord proper respect, so the name's been Tabooed. A few Order members have been tracked that way. We'll see. Bind them up with the other two prisoners!" I feel someone tug my hair back knocking me onto the ground then dragging me along. As we get to the other prisoners I hear the other boys talking.

"Anyone still got a wand?"

"No," says Ron and Hermione from either side of him.

"This is all my fault. I said the name, I'm sorry—"

"Harry?" We bear in Deans voice.

"Dean?"

"It is you! If they find out who they've got—! They're Snatchers, they're only looking for truants to sell for gold—"

"It's the end," I panic, "we're fucked."

"Not a bad little haul for one night," Greyback says, as a pair of hobnailed boots march close by Harry and they heard more crashes from inside the tent. "A Mudblood, a runaway goblin, and three truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?" he roars.

"Yeah. There's no Vernon Dudley on 'ere, Greyback."

"Interesting," says Greyback. "That's interesting." He crouched down beside Harry.
"So you aren't wanted, then, Vernon? Or are that list under a different name? What House were you in at Hogwarts?"

"Slytherin," says Harry automatically. And I roll my eyes. Oh course fucking Slytherin.

"Funny 'ow they all thinks we wants to 'ear that," jeers Scabior out of the shadows. "But none of 'em can tell us where the common room is."

"It's in the dungeons," says Harry clearly. "You enter through the wall. It's full of skulls and stuff and it's under the lake, so the light's all green."

"Well, well, looks like we really 'ave caught a little Slytherin," says Scabior. "Good for you, Vernon, 'cause there ain't a lot of Mudblood Slytherins. Who's your father?"

"He works at the Ministry," Harry lies.

Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"You know what, Greyback," said Scabior. "I think there is a Dudley in there."

"Well, well," says Greyback, "If you're telling the truth, ugly, you've got nothin to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father'll reward us just for picking you up."

"But," says Harry, his mouth bone dry, "if you just let us—"

"Hey!" came a shout from inside the tent. "Look at this, Greyback!" A dark figure comes bustling toward them, and Harry saw a glint of silver in the light of their wands. They had found Gryffindor's sword.

"Ve-e-ry nice," says Greyback appreciatively, taking it from his companion. "Oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?"

"It's my father's," Harry lies, hoping against hope that it was too dark for Greyback to see the name, "we borrowed it to cut firewood."

"Hang on a minute, Greyback! Look at this, in the Prophet!"

"'ermione Granger,'" Scabior was saying, "'the Mudblood who is known to be traveling with 'arry Potter.'"

"You know what, little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you."

"It isn't! It isn't me!"

"'... known to be traveling with Harry Potter,'" repeats Greyback quietly, "and little Y/n Cultven."

"Well, this changes things, doesn't it?" whispers Greyback. They step toward us and I quick my legs as much as I can. But a snatcher grabs them stopping me.

"What's that on your forehead, Vernon?" he asks softly.

"Don't touch it!" Harry yells.

"Don't touch him!" I scream loudly, "leave him alone."

"I thought you wore glasses, Potter?" breaths Greyback.

"I found glasses!" yelps one of the Snatchers skulking in the background. "There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait—" And seconds later Harry's glasses had been rammed back onto his face. The Snatchers were closing in now, peering at him.

"It is!" rasps Greyback. "We've caught Potter!"