The Locket and the Radio
*Pass me that lovely little gun. My dear, my darling one. The cleaners are coming one by one. You don’t even want to have them start.*
Despite having the emotional range of a teaspoon, Harry could see that Hermione was suffering, and it was a particularly bad night for her. He glanced at her across the tent while wishing he had a wand so that he could make a small fire in the little rusty lantern she had salvaged from Grimuald Place, he assumed. The Weasleys wouldn’t own a lantern marked with gold flecks on the side; it had once belonged to a family that could afford such things; the Blacks. Studying it caused a pang in Harry’s heart, missing Sirius once again. If he were still alive, surely he’d be able to tell them what direction to go next. What to *do* next. He was completely lost in the dark, and for once in her life, so was Hermione.
They had spent the past four weeks traveling the British countryside, eating miserable soup that rivaled the pea soup at the Leaky Cauldron, smashed by Tom the Innkeeper’s hands himself. At the very least, thought Harry, Hermione would have the sense to use much more sanitary measures. The blue flames in the light from Hermione’s last spell cast went out after flickering for a moment, then- as if someone had blown them out very suddenly, disappeared. The warmth in the tent was gone, leaving only the snow billowing in through the tent flap, no matter how many times they had tried to shut it with magic, or even with muggle supplies like a good old fashioned hammer and nail. Harry and Hermione had lived with muggles long enough to know even the basics of non magic, but this time didn’t crack it- and so it was that Harry was shivering as he fumbled with a pair of matches.
Hermione was always best at catching the match at *just the right* moment to light the fire, but something odd about her look told Harry she didn’t particularly want to be bothered right this minute. He sat to work, reading ‘The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore’ by the infamous Rita Skeeter and her poisoned pen. This wasn’t his copy, as he would never buy something so sacrilegious of someone he looked up to, a headmaster, a guidance, and ultimately, a friend. At least, he thought so, but he never knew half of Dumbledore’s life besides that which he cared to show them. ‘It isn’t particularly well known that Dumbledore’s father went to Azkaban for torturing and then killing three muggle children, his wand and magic in plain sight, a solid excuse for the Ministry of Magic to send him to Azkaban. It is rumored that these boys did something to his younger sister, Ariana Dumbledore, as she soon passed away not long after.’ A note soon fell out of the pages, and Harry scrambled to find some other clue to the man he thought he knew.
‘Dearest Batty,’ it read, and Harry wanted to throw up. ‘You won’t remember all that you’ve told me, but thank you dearly for a new best-seller on everyone’s favorite Hogwarts Headmaster’s dark secrets. Yours sincerely, Rita.’
Harry clenched his hand as he snapped the book shut, breathing heavily. He had wondered how she got her information. But now it was obvious, torturing an old woman that Dumbledore knew with the oblivious charm so even she wouldn’t remember what she had done. It was sickening, and Harry’s stomach churned in his chest. The radio was turned up slightly by Hermione as it fizzed out. When it did this, sometimes they could hear the names of wizards who were ‘missing’ or dead. Sometimes it ended up being the same thing.
“Thought it was too good to be true,” Hermione said, hardly speaking.
“What?” Harry asked.
“You, reading a book,” she smirked,
“Hey- that’s not fair, I’ve read several,” Harry sniffed jokingly.
“Right,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Tell me *one thing* you’ve learned that you still remember.”
“Expelliarmus?” Harry pondered.
“Pathetic,” Hermione laughed, a little too high pitched for Harry’s liking. And then it came to him, of *course.* The locket. “And you didn’t learn that in a book, Snape taught you that.”
“Well, more a less,” Harry thought about it. Snape *did* in a roundabout way, teach him the spell. It had been the first he’d seen it, anyway. “Locket. Now.”
“No, I’m fine,” Hermione said, the voice undeniably cold and distant. “I’ve got it tonight, Don’t worry about it.”
Harry reached out his hand and stood in front of her, She still refused, this time turning away from him.
*It started out as a little fun. Took these before we ran away. The keys to the duvet. Oh, children- lift up your voice. Lift up your voice. Rejoice, Rejoice.*
Harry reached for her neck, where the back of the locket was chained. She tried to push him away, but he was stronger than her. They had a silent fight over who would take it in their sleep, but ultimately, Harry won, and took the locket off her neck. He instantly felt her shoulders relax as he placed his hands on them to steady her. He knew all too well what a night with the locket felt like, miserable, alone, starved with your darkest demons taking over your mind, He would never wish that on Hermione, no matter how much she would hate him for depriving her of the opportunity to look after the locket. He threw it over on the cot she used instead, the old song playing through the crackling radio. It wasn’t exactly cheerful, but for some reason, it gave him hope.
“Sorry,” Hermione muttered, Harry giving a simple nod in response, all that was needed.
*Here comes Frank and poor old Jill. They gather round with all my friends. We’re older now, the light is dim. And you were only just beginning.*
She stood, not entirely sure what to do with herself, which was a new feeling for Hermione. She didn’t exactly like it, but she wasn’t sure what she could do to be useful. Harry seemed to be OK with that, and seemed to know that she needed a break from everything. From the war, from Ron leaving, from worry about her parents, from even *more* worry that she would hear either of their names on the ‘missing or dead’ section on the radio. The song continued, and Harry had a sudden idea. They were alone. There was no Ron to make fun of their friendship, at least, he *thought* it was just friendship, but sometimes it seemed *more* than that, more than just simple friends.
*We have the answer to all your fears. It’s short, it’s crystal clear. And you were only just beginning.*
“Harry…” Hermione whispered as he took her hands and pulled her to her feet.
“Hermione,” he replied. “Trust me.”
Her expression was nothing but misery as she rose to her feet gently, the traces of the locket and the radio still visible in her eyes. It was also clear in her eyes that she was waiting for Ron to come back, and shouldn’t he be worried about Ginny? Shouldn’t they both be worried about the Weasleys in hiding and potentially in worse danger than they were? But suddenly, it was as if both those dangers slipped from their minds. Harry started an on purpose slow and awkward dance, moving her arms first, to show that he was the same as her. And they could cast their worries aside for a single moment. Slowly, Hermione started to dance too. And they matched each others awkwardness and beginner moves, mostly learned from The Yule Ball from Professor McGonagall.
*He hosed you down, you’re good as new. And they’re lining up to inspect you. Poor old Jim’s white as a ghost. He’s found the answer we all sought. We’re weeping now, weeping because. There’s nothing we can do to protect you.*
He twirled her around, not particularly graceful but at the same time, a move of friends, but a move of something more as well. They both laughed together as *she* spun *him* around, that wasn’t supposed to happen in traditional dancing! But since when had Harry and Hermione been traditional in the first place? She moved in time to the tune on the radio, and soon he caught up to her, the pair smiling at each other in a rare moment of connection and trust. And they both needed it, now more than ever.
*Hey little train, don’t be long. The train that goes the kingdom. We’re happy, ma, we’re having fun. The train ain’t even left the station. Hey little train, wait for me. Was held in chains, but now I’m free. We’re hanging in there, don’t you see? Beyond my wildest expectations.*
All too soon, Hermione’s expression dropped, to something that looked like hopelessness, and a blank slate of utter sadness. She returned on her spot on the little stairs, and hugged her knees close to her chest, guarded and silent once again. Worrying about Ron and his family while Harry worried about Ginny, but even more…her. He wondered if he would ever see her smile again.
For now, they had to fight the war. And destroy Voldemort from a distance. For now, they *couldn’t* see the light ahead of them, but they knew it was there.
And their little dance jut now had proved it.
More than *just friends* could win the war.
Together.
*We’re happy ma, we’re having fun. The train ain’t even left the station.*
…….