It was nearly dawn when he remembered Luna, alone in a cell in Azkaban,

Surrounded by dementors, and he suddenly felt ashamed of himself. He had forgotten all

About her in his feverish contemplation of the Hallows. If only they could rescue her, but

Dementors in those numbers would be virtually unassailable. Now he came to think about

it, he had not tried casting a Patronus with the blackthorn wand…He must try that in the

morning…

If only there was a way of getting a better wand…

And desire for the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, unbeatable, invincible, swallowed

him once more…

They packed up the tent next morning and moved on through a dreary shower of

Rain. The downpour pursued them to the coast, where they pitched the tent that night, and

Persisted through the whole week, through sodden landscapes that Harry found bleak and

Depressing. He could think only of the Deathly Hallows. It was as though a flame had

been lit inside him that nothing, not Hermione’s flat disbelief nor Ron’s persistent doubts,

Could extinguish. And yet the fiercer the longing for the Hallows burned inside him, the

less joyful it made him. He blamed Ron and Hermione: Their determined indifference

Was as bad as the relentless rain for dampening his spirits, but neither could erode his

certainty, which remained absolute. Harry’s belief in and longing for the Hallows

Consumed him so much that he felt isolated from the other two and their obsession with

The Horcruxes.

“Obsession?” said Hermione in a low fierce voice, when Harry was careless

Enough to use the word one evening, after Hermione had told him off for his lack of

interest in locating more Horcruxes. “We’re not the one with an obsession, Harry! We’re

the ones trying to do what Dumbledore wanted us to do!”

But he was impervious to the veiled criticism. Dumbledore had left the sign of the

Hallows for Hermione to decipher, and he had also, Harry remained convinced of it, left

The Resurrection Stone hidden in the golden Snitch. Neither can live while the other

survives…master of Death…Why didn’t Ron and Hermione understand?

“’The last enemy shall be destroyed is death,’” Harry quoted calmly.

“I thought it was You-Know-Who we were supposed to be fighting?” Hermione

Retorted, and Harry gave up on her.

Even the mystery of the silver doe, which the other two insisted on discussing,

Seemed less important to Harry now, a vaguely interesting sideshow. The only other thing

That mattered to him was that his scar had begun to prickle again, although he did all he

Could to hide this fact from the other two. He sought solitude whenever it happened, but

Was disappointed by what he saw. The visions he and Voldemort were sharing had

Changed in quality; they had become blurred, shifting as though they were moving in and

Out of focus. Harry was just able to make out the indistinct features of an object that

Looked like a skull, and something like a mountain that was more shadow than substance.

Used to images sharp as reality, Harry was disconcerted by the change. He was worried

That the connection between himself and Voldemort had been damaged, a connection that

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 738