Chapter Image (made by Iriki of The Dark Arts!): Three
Chapter Three
"War is not the answer, because only love can conquer hate." - Marvin Gaye
Harry sat at the kitchen table at the Burrow, moving his fork around his plate distractedly. A dull ache had been bothering his scar for the last while, but it wasn't so severe that it made him sit up and take action. He felt out of place and off kilter. He assumed it was because he'd be leaving the Weasleys behind in just a little while. Ron was faring well, he was eating his usual share of food and chatting with Charlie about something. Mrs. Weasley was talking with Gabrielle, the young Delacour sister seemed to enjoy spending her time with the Weasleys instead of with her family at their Hotel. Ginny kept shooting him penetrating looks that Harry dutifully ignored, finding himself irritated on the inside. He could barely hear what anybody was saying, just listening to the collection of voices rising and forming together to make one loud voice ringing in his head.
He wondered what Hermione was doing. If she was anxious to get out of her house and meet them at Godric's Hollow. Maybe she was already there. He forgot to ask her when her parents usually ate dinner. Was he late? It wasn't even dark out yet. She probably wouldn't be upset. In fact, she knew what time the Weasleys ate, so she likely wouldn't have left until she was sure that they were at Godric's Hollow, too. He couldn't get the feeling of loss out of his mind from when she left earlier. He knew he'd be seeing her in just a few short hours, so why had he felt like he'd just sent her off never to be seen again? He'd been distracted the whole time they played Quidditch, so Charlie won the second game. Ron called for a tie breaker and Harry forced his head back in the game. He won the third and final game, shaking his head when Charlie wanted another rematch. He and Ron ended up playing Wizard's Chess, his wandering mind didn't matter much then since Ron always pulverized him at the game. He did enjoy watching Fred and George jointly win against Ron though, it was a rare thing to see Ron lose. It was close though, and Harry wasn't sure until the very last couple moves that Fred and George were going to win.
Remus and Tonks had dropped in to pick up the leftovers Mrs. Weasley told them they had to take. They didn't stick around long, Tonks was needed back at the Ministry and Harry had the funny feeling that Remus had been talking to MacGonagall a lot lately. He had nothing against the Transfiguration professor and new Headmistress, but he knew that she wouldn't really approve of his Horcrux hunt or the way he was going about doing it. She wanted them to return to school in the Fall, not that it was certain the school would even be open by then. Remus and Mr. Weasley had gone off to talk privately though and Harry was worried that they might have figured out that they were planning to sneak away. He hoped they wouldn't interrupt their escape routine, which really wasn't that complicated. While everybody was busy inside, Ron and Harry would sneak out to the apparition wards and leave. They considered waiting for nightfall, but Harry didn't want Hermione waiting too long for them and he didn't want to risk falling asleep or anything. They had their trunks packed and Harry had moved Hermione's into Ron's room earlier so they'd be ready and wouldn't run into Ginny when leaving. They'd just use a concealing charm on the trunks so nobody would see them and then slip out into the yard, looking like a couple of friends just hanging out, waiting for Hermione to return. And then they'd be gone, with nothing but a note to explain their disappearance. The Weasleys would have to understand. That was all there was to it.
Dumbledore wanted him to do this. He wouldn't have told Harry unless he believed he could help. He may be only sixteen, nearly seventeen, but he was capable enough. With Hermione and Ron with him they'd find the Horcruxes and they'd destroy them. Then the war would be raging and he'd fight his hardest. He was destined for this, even if he didn't want to be. Somebody, somewhere, decided that he was the one who was supposed to destroy Voldemort. In fact, thinking back to Dumbledore, it was Voldemort who decided he was the one who would finally defeat him. He made him the Boy-Who-Lived, so it was Voldemort's fault that all of it was happening. He gave him the power and means to defeat him and Harry was tired of hiding behind adults who kept too much hidden from him. He had the information he needed and he knew what had to be done. He had support, cunning, and strength in Hermione and Ron, who would stand by him no matter what the situation. So he was ready. He could do this. He had to.
Harry's forehead began to sting strongly and his stomach rolled at the pain. He hissed, closing his eyes tightly and wondering why Voldemort was so... gleeful. It was disturbing and worrisome. And suddenly he felt bile rising in his throat. What if...? What if that feeling he'd had all morning, when he was saying goodbye to Hermione had something to do with this? What if she was...?
The back door sprung open and Remus came running through. Realization struck Harry so painfully he wanted to vomit where he sat. Shaking his head, he pushed up from his chair violently, his legs throwing it back. The Weasley family suddenly stopped talking and were looking back and forth from Remus to Harry in confusion. Harry's shoulders stiffened and his eyes stung. "No," he said hoarsely. It wasn't her. She was just there. Just that afternoon. She'd kissed his cheek. He'd danced with her last night. She laughed, she told him all about Defense books, she fell asleep beside him on the couch. He could still hear her steady breathing if he focused hard enough.
"I'm so sorry Harry," Remus whispered, lifting his hands as if to somehow hold him from halfway across the kitchen. Tonks stood behind him, her eyes watery and her shoulders slumped. Defeat.
"NO!" Harry shouted at him, stumbling back. He'd just lost Dumbledore. Only three weeks had passed and now she too was... No! No, she wasn't gone. He knew she wasn't gone. He could feel it. It would hurt more, wouldn't it? If she was really gone, the ache in his heart would be more severe. This was loss, but not from death. She wasn't gone. She couldn't be. He needed her. "I'm always gonna be here, Harry. I'm always going to help you. You'll never be alone." She promised! Just last night. His chest started heaving and his vision was swarming in front of his eyes.
"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley was calling worriedly. "I don't... I don't understand. Remus, what's happened?" she wondered, confused.
"There was an attack--" Tonks began, swallowing audibly. Her eyes bounced from Mrs. Weasley to Harry, looking concerned and sympathetic.
"Shut up, shut up," Harry told her, lifting his hand to his face. "Everyone is going to be fine. We're gonna win. Tomorrow, we will plan our victory," her voice echoed in his head, soft and determined. She was fine. She promised she'd be there to help. She wouldn't lie to him. She wouldn't...
"We got there as soon as we could but it all happened so fast," Remus continued, his voice shaking. His eyes going from the distraught Harry to the other Weasleys. He stepped closer and Harry wanted to push him back, to tell him he was wrong. "Harry, I know how hard--"
"Shut up, she's fine," Harry told him, leaning back against the wall to keep from falling. But he felt trapped, like he couldn't get away from what they were saying and what was happening. He wanted to run, to hide, to pretend it wasn't happening. His eyes burned and the tears spilled over. He shouldn't have let her go. He should have at least gone with her. He never trusted his gut. His scar was burning, he felt the need to stay with her. Why didn't he trust himself? She'd be fine right now. She would be there with him. They'd go to Godric's Hollow and she would draft a plan and read her books. She'd breathe. In, out, in, out. Harry was dizzy. His heart was beating out of his chest and his eyes weren't focusing on anything.
"Harry," someone called, their voice was distant and groggy in his ears. "Who was attacked, Remus?"
Harry shook his head. Don't say her name. Don't say her name! He couldn't hear it. He couldn't stand it. It was all his fault. She was gone. She was dead and he was the cause of it. NO! He shook his head vigorously. He wouldn't believe it. Hermione wouldn't let herself go down without a fight. Remus said it all happened fast. Maybe she escaped. Maybe she was hiding somewhere, waiting for him. She could be at Godric's Hollow right then. He felt a hand on his shoulder and reared away from it, he didn't want sympathy. Hermione was alive. She was fine. "She's fine, she's fine, she's fine," he muttered under his breath.
"No, Harry," Remus' voice told him from his side. "The house was burned to the ground. Her father was found in the front yard and her mother was..." he cleared his throat, "she was found in the street." He remembered the Grangers. They looked like regular, loving parents. Clean cut, friendly people who cared for their daughter dearly. "It looked like they were trying to escape, Harry. She probably told them to run, tried to keep them safe. The Aurors think she may have died trying to keep them from harm, Harry. She died fighting," he said, as if somehow that would make it hurt less. Hermione's a heroine, Harry! He already knew that. He already knew what she was capable of. He knew her. He knew she couldn't be dead. She couldn't. It wasn't right.
"SHE'S NOT DEAD!" he screamed in Remus' face, not surprised when Remus didn't stumble away, but merely closed his eyes in sorrow.
He shook his head, repeating again, "I'm sorry--"
"Stop saying that," Harry told him miserably, shaking his head. "Hermione's fine. She's fine! She escaped! I know she did. She had to! She's going to be fine. She's... She's..." He didn't know what to say, couldn't explain it. But he couldn't believe him, he couldn't believe that she was gone. She wouldn't leave him. She promise she wouldn't so she just... wouldn't.
"'Mione," Ron choked out, rising from his seat, his eyes wide. Harry turned to him, seeing his face pale dramatically. Some part of him wanted to reach out to Ron and tell him Hermione was fine, but he couldn't say anything, couldn't move. He looked shocked, lost, scared. Harry felt it, but he knew that Ron was thinking they were telling the truth and Harry couldn't accept that.
"Oh no," Mrs. Weasley said, reaching out for her son and looking over at Harry, appearing lost. She enveloped Ron in a hug and stared at Harry, as if beckoning him over too. Harry ignored it. Fred and George had paled, their usually humorous expressions lost amongst the shock and sadness. Their shoulders slumped and they leaned heavily on the table, looking at Harry and then Ron, as if not sure how they were going to survive. "Some people just belong together. I don't think one could survive without the other," Hermione told him about the twins. And he had thought about how he couldn't survive without her. How ironic that it should be tested now. He already knew the answer. He felt himself crumbling inside, his entirety giving up without her. The wall was his leverage, though Remus seemed to be holding him up now too.
"When?" Mr. Weasley asked, his tone quiet.
"Just now," Remus replied, staring into Harry's eyes. "Some of the Death Eater's were just apparating away when we arrived," he admitted, his eyes falling sadly.
"Did you find her?" Harry choked out, his chin quivering. If there wasn't a body, there was chance. If she wasn't there, if there was no proof that she was actually dead, then.... Then... She was alive! A spark of hope.
"Harry--" he began, already shaking his head.
"DID YOU FIND HER, REMUS?" he shouted, his anger barely restrained. He could feel his magic getting away from him, but didn't care enough to pull it back. He wouldn't give up on her. She would never give up on him!
"The fire hasn't been put out in the house," he said quietly. "We couldn't get inside."
"Oh my," Mrs. Weasley whimpered, her eyes tearing.
"She's not in there," Harry told him, his nose flaring as he clenched his jaw and shook his head at Remus.
Remus sighed, lifting a shaky hand and reaching out to put it on Harry's shoulder. "I know this is hard, Harry, but you have to understand--"
"She's not in there," he repeated. "I'm telling you, she's not dead. I would know if she was gone and she's not." He shook his head. He pushed away from the wall, passing by Remus to get to the door. He shook off Tonks' hand as she laid it on his shoulder and slammed open the door as he exited the Burrow. His legs felt strained, like weights beneath him, but he moved anyway. He had to find her, had to get to her. She wasn't gone. She wasn't.
"Harry, where are you--" Mrs. Weasley called out.
He ignored her, walking quickly toward the apparition wards, his face twisted in pain. She was fine. He'd find her and everything would be fine.
"Harry," Remus called out. "Harry, don't go to the Grangers. You don't want to see it. It'll only hurt you more," he shouted, running after him. Harry heard his approaching footsteps and picked up his pace. "Harry, please," Remus pleaded, his voice sorrowful.
"She's not dead," Harry told him, stopping when he stood far enough away to leave the Burrow. "You don't know her like I do," he told Remus, who had stopped to stare at him. "I know Hermione. She wouldn't go down easily. She's the brightest witch of her age. If she's not there, then they have her. But she's not dead, Remus. I know she's not." Maybe he was hysterical, maybe he was just blind to the truth.
"How, Harry?" Remus asked, his voice sounding defeated. "She's your best friend, I understand that. But there's no magical connection in that, Harry. You can't feel her life or death. You can't know--"
"I KNOW!" Harry told him, his voice loud and echoing through the empty field around them. "I've known her since I was eleven years old! You don't think I know her better than you? Than any of you," he said, motioning to the whole of the Burrow, the Weasleys having come out of their house to try and calm him down. "She wouldn't leave me," he told him, his voice firm but his fear shook him physically.
"She didn't leave you, Harry. She was killed. There's a huge difference," Remus tried to explain gently.
"She's not dead, Remus," he said stiffly, before crossing his arms and disappearing from the Burrow.
Harry opened his eyes to find himself standing in the backyard of the Grangers. He'd been there only once before. Hermione wanted him to have access if it was ever needed. He still wasn't technically able to apparate, not having his license yet. His birthday was coming up soon, but until then he would move illegally. He stared up at the monstrous structure of charred wood and ash. Fire still raged inside, flames flying high and dark smoke marring the sky. He could see marks in the grass from where spells had landed, or chunks of the house that had exploded off and smashed into the ground. His feet were heavy beneath him as he moved to walk through the neighbor's yard to keep from being burned or hurt from the volatile house. When he reached the front, Muggle ambulances and fire trucks were parked on the street. Men in red and yellow garb were using long hoses to try and put out the fire. A couple of men dressed in orange and white were moving the limp Mr. Granger into a black body bag, one of them saying it was a heart attack or smoke inhalation that took him.
Harry's knees nearly gave way beneath him as he looked down at Mr. Granger's face. His brown eyes, usually so much like Hermione's, were dead and lifeless as the men zipped up the bag. Harry stumbled toward the street, seeing a few more paramedics moving short Mrs. Granger into a similar bag. He see the puddle of blood on the street, still red and glistening, still liquid. It was probably still warm. How long ago had it all happened? He had been eating dinner while his friend was being attacked! Harry's stomach twisted and rolled and his knees finally gave way. He landed on the grass with a thud and stared up at the burning house sadly. She couldn't be in there. She couldn't. She was fine! She had escaped. She had to have.
"Young man," somebody called out. "Young man, it's dangerous to be so close to the house." Harry ignored him, warm tears slipped down his cheeks. A hand clamped down on his shoulder and the same man said, "Did you know them?"
Harry nodded jerkily, his throat tight. "Their daughter, Hermione," he managed, wanting to ask if they found her, but scared of what they might say.
"I'm so sorry," he said sympathetically.
Harry felt his chest lurch and shook his head. "Have... Have they..." His mouth shook too much to continue.
The man sighed, "They haven't been able to get inside yet. Neighbors said their daughter was coming home for dinner before she left for vacation with a couple friends. We won't know if she was inside until the fire's put out." He shook his head, frowning, "Odd smoke pattern though, isn't it?"
Harry glanced up, seeing the Dark Mark hovering inside the thick rolling black clouds coming off Hermione's home. "Yeah," he choked out, feeling his hatred burn up in his chest.
The man pat his shoulder, "I know this is hard, but we're going to have to get you away from here. The house, it's... it's falling apart. It's too dangerous for you to be this close."
Harry nodded, but his legs wouldn't work to get him out of the way. He told them to move, tried to get up, but it
just wasn't working. He stared at the house, his eyes filled with tears and his body wracked with deep sobs.
"I should have been here," he murmured, more to himself.
"There was nothing you could do," the man told him, squeezing his shoulder.
"Harry! Harry!" somebody was calling out, but Harry didn't turn to see.
"Oh Harry, please, come away from there. It's not safe. Oh my..." Mrs. Weasley's voice could be heard calling to him. "Harry, dear, please, you could get hurt."
Harry shook his head, the smoke reaching him and making him cough a little. He wondered if there was a spell he could use to cover himself if he ran through the flames. He searched his mind, trying to remember all the spells his professors and Hermione had taught him. He finally lifted up from the ground, his legs still shaky. He had to know! She couldn't be in there. He couldn't wait. The waiting would be too long, too painful. He had to know now!
"Come on Harry, we'll get you home. You can rest," Mrs. Weasley said softly, her voice shaking with her own tears.
Harry shook his head. "She's not in there," he told them, turning around to stare at them. "I'm sorry," he whispered, before turning and running towards the house. The grass felt hard beneath his feet, like he was stomping toward the truth. He could hear people coming after him; firefighters, the Weasleys, Remus, but he ran faster. He threw up the fire retardant spell to cover himself and burst through the front entrance. The heat smashed into him like a blast of fierce boiling air, nearly throwing him back with its temperature.
"HARRY! OH MY... HARRY!" Mrs. Weasley screamed after him hysterically. Some part of him felt bad. He was scaring her, terrifying her really. In her mind Hermione was gone and now she was probably going to lose him, too. Maybe he was doing something stupid, reckless. Hermione would tell him to go back. She'd chase after him though, follow him through the whole house if he refused to leave. She'd watch his back and keep him safe. She'd know spells to keep the fire back, to stop the heat from bothering them. He had to make sure she wasn't inside, wasn't choking on smoke or laying trapped beneath the rubble of her house. He needed her.
"HARRY JAMES POTTER," Remus shouted in shock and fear. "GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT THIS..."
Harry ignored them, leaping over charred wood and broken furniture. He searched the lower half of the house, finding a wilted salad turned over on the floor in the dining area and a roast dinner smashed with chunks of the ceiling covering it. Harry turned around after searching through the living room, kitchen, dining room, and den-like office. He checked in closets and underneath parts of the ceiling that had fallen, but she was nowhere. His feet stepped on burning debris, crushing plates, pictures, ornaments. Memorabilia of a family, memories of a child. School pictures, family photos, framed accomplishments all laid broken on the floor. Harry thought for a brief moment that Hermione would be hurt when she found none of her home left to take and remember. Had he the time, he would have taken something, anything, to let her know that her parents and her life were not so insignificant. That there was something to remember, something to hold and look at. Like his pictures of his parents, just one thing, something to remember them by, to see their faces in. But everything was burning, it seemed nothing was salvageable.
Glass, wood, and plaster lay across the ground beneath him as his feet hurried around. The linoleum in the kitchen was rolling up against the fire and heat, thinning and melting, curling in some places. His feet caught on things, but he pressed on, only one thing on his mind. Making sure she was not there. He shouted her name, if she was there then she had to be alive. He hoped she could hear it over the ruckus in the house, although every time his voice rang out a part of him hoped that hers would never return. She'd likely be in agony, whether from magical means or the fiery mess around her. She couldn't survive this, could she? The sirens from the ambulance and the fire trucks were still ringing loudly. The sound of the water beating at the fire could be heard pounding. The house seemed to have its own language, squealing out in protest of the fire or the water, or maybe both. The smoke was thick around him and he used a charm on his glass that Hermione taught him to keep them free of soot. He couldn't clear the smoke though, he couldn't remember the vacuuming spell to suck it all up.
Cursing his hazy mind, he ran up the stairs to the second floor, ignoring the squeal of fire burning away at his surroundings and the ruckus of the house falling apart. Despite the fire retardant spell, he was still inhaling a lot of smoke and the heat was overwhelming enough to make him sweat profusely. He could feel the heated beads running down his spine and wetting his shirt. His hand was slippery on the banister as he trudged up the stairs, his feet felt uneven in his shoes, and his clothes were sticking all over. His body was sluggish and slowing him down. He felt like his clothes were somehow holding him back, like they were weighing him down. It being summer, he was only wearing a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, but he felt like he was dressed for winter, everything was so stifling. His chest was burning and his face felt grimy and stiff. His tears were still coming, though now they were partly due to the fact that the smoke was burning them. His hopes were rising with each step. If the second floor was empty, then she wasn't there. She wasn't dead, just lost. He could find her. He would find her. Just one more floor to go and he'd know. He know if she was really gone.
Harry finally reached the top floor but found the stairs had collapsed behind him when his weight was taken off of them. He rushed down the hallway, able to see out the large hole in the roof at the cloud of black smoke above. Water rushed above him from the hoses and smashed inside the house, battling the fire away. Harry screamed her name, calling out for her hysterically. He smashed his shoulder into doors, pushing them open to find if the rooms were empty. He searched her parents room, under the bed and in the closet. Then he moved onto the guest room to repeat the same. Moving down the hallway, he looked in a linen closet and then searched the bathroom, before veering into her bedroom. He checked under the bed and in the closet to no avail. A chunk of the roof fell and smashed into her bookshelf and the only thought Harry had was that she'd be angry her books were tarnished. Her bed was on fire, blankets and pillows blackened and disintegrating. Little memorabilia of a girl through the years disappearing before his eyes. No more teddy bears or photos of a toothless little girl waving at a camera. No more terrycloth bathrobe or fuzzy slippers. Her spelling bee ribbons were burning away and falling from the charred wall to never be seen again. A soccer ball off in the corner burst from the heat and fire around it, letting off a loud pop and then melting away.
The left side of the house was collapsing in on itself and Harry knew he had to get out soon or risk his own demise. Rushing back down the hall, Harry ran to the top of the stairs but slipped as the water had created a pool in some places. He smashed into another wall and found himself centimeters away from being impaled on a chunk of sharp wood. Backing away from it quickly, he felt the house begin to teeter one way and looked down over the broken stairs to the ground floor. He couldn't walk down, he'd have to jump. Backing up towards the wall, Harry took a three-step head start and leapt off the second floor to fall painfully on the clatter of wood on the ground. He felt slivers pierce his skin and a sharp pain in his shoulder as he landed on his knees but fell forward onto his stomach. He looked down to see a stake-like chunk of wood sticking out of his shoulder, but knew it was too high to have hit anything vital. Blood gushed out from around it and his fingers curled over the warm stake, the blood soaking his skin before he yanked it out and tossed it to the side. He hurried to his feet and darted to the side as the house began crumbling in on him.
"LET ME GO! SOMEBODY HAS TO GET HIM OUT! HE'S ONLY A BOY! LET ME--" Harry could hear Remus shouting and looked out the shattered window to see numerous firefighters holding him back.
Harry couldn't get out the front because of all the cluttered burning wood in front of it. He rushed toward the living room, jumping over a broken door and the licking flames around it. He spotted black garb and realized a Death Eater had been taken by the fire or the fight. Some part of him was rather justified by the fact that it wasn't only good people who died that day. Returning his attention to the problem at hand, Harry found his only way out was through the window above the charred couch. Picking up an end table next to the flaming arm chair, he whipped it at the window and shielded his face as it slammed through. The fire reacted to the air and began rolling up around the living room, so Harry was forced to hurry before it consumed everything. He could feel the fire retardant charm wear off and knew he was on his own. The smoke was making his eyes fuzzy and his throat sore from breathing, but he was so close already. He could hear the creak of the ceiling as it began cracking and fighting the fire and water
Running at the broken and fire rimmed window, Harry leapt through it, using the couch as leverage. The outside air felt cool and refreshing, almost too much so. The air was cleaner, making him cough as he rolled across the grass. He turned back as he lay on his back, only to watch through the shattered window as the ceiling fell through to crash into the ground. Standing up, he brushed off his legs and felt a small sense of victory as he walked towards the Weasley family as they stared at him in shock. Mr and Mrs Weasley stood on either side of Ron, both with wide faces of disbelief and relief at his rather stupid actions and shocking exit. To their side, Remus was looking half relieved and half enraged. He pushed away from the firefighters and ran at Harry, wrapping his arms around him and holding him so tight Harry could barely breathe.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" he asked, letting him go so he could shake him violently before pulling him back in and hugging him tightly. The pressure was making his shoulder ache but he didn't say anything for a moment. "You could have got yourself killed. D'you know that?" he raged, his voice shaking. "I've already lost one today, Harry, don't you... don't you go too," he choked out, his eyes glittering.
"No," Harry said, shaking his head and pushing Remus away. "She wasn't there," he told him, staring at him seriously. "I checked everywhere. She wasn't in that house," he told him defiantly.
"Harry," Remus began, looking uncertain.
"Don't," he told him warningly, before looking over at Mrs. Weasley who rushed forward to wrap her arms around him in a strong hug.
"Don't you ever," she began, but cut herself off sobbing.
Mr. Weasley came over, his own arms wrapping around the both of them. Harry could hear him whispering to Molly, "Shh, it's okay. He's all right, Molly dear."
Ron was staring at him with wide, red rimmed eyes. His mouth was shaking and his arms kept moving from being crossed to hanging limp with fisted hands. "I don't... I don't..."
"She wasn't there," Harry told him over Molly's shoulder, staring at Ron with a determined expression. "She wasn't in there, Ron. She's not dead."
Ron stared at him a moment before sharply nodding and stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"Let's... Let's go h-home," Mrs. Weasley managed, still not letting go of Harry and dragging him away from the house. Mr. Weasley broke off to wrap an arm around Ron's shoulders, seeming to hold his youngest son up as they began walking.
Harry looked back over his shoulder at the house, his chest leaping. If she wasn't in the house, then where was she? There were only two options; she had gotten away, or they had taken her. His face fell, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. If she got away there were only two places she'd go; back to the Burrow, or over to Godric's Hollow, looking for him and Ron. If she wasn't there, then he'd know... He'd know they had her.
