He both feared and, whatever he had told Hermione, prized. Somehow Harry connected

These unsatisfying, vague images with the destruction of his wand, as if it was the

blackthorn wand’s fault that he could no longer see into Voldemort’s mind as well as

Before.

As the weeks crept on, Harry could not help but notice, even through his new selfabsorption,

That Ron seemed to be taking charge. Perhaps because he was determined to

make up for having walked out on them, perhaps because Harry’s descent into

Listlessness galvanized his dormant leadership qualities, Ron was the one now

Encouraging and exhorting the other two into action.

“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…”

Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, the Riddle House, Borgin and Burkes, Albania, every

Place that they knew Tom Riddle had ever lived or worked, visited or murdered, Ron and

Hermione raked over them again, Harry joining in only to stop Hermione pestering him.

He would have been happy to sit alone in silence, trying to read Voldemort’s thoughts, to

Find out more about the Elder Wand, but Ron insisted on journeying to ever more

Unlikely places simply, Harry was aware, to keep them moving.

“You never know,” was Ron’s constant refrain. “Upper Flagley is a Wizarding

village, he might’ve wanted to live there. Let’s go and have a poke around.”

These frequent forays into Wizarding territory brought them within occasional

Sight of Snatchers.

“Some of them are supposed to be as bad as Death Eaters,” said Ron. “The lot that

Got me were a bit pathetic, but Bill recons some of them are really dangerous. They said

on Potterwatch ---“

“On what?” said Harry.

“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 of 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…”

Ron spent evening after evening using his wand to beat out various rhythms on

Top of the wireless while the dials whirled. Occasionally they would catch snatches of

advice on how to treat dragonpox, and once a few bars of “A Cauldron Full of Hot,

Strong Love.” While he taped, Ron continued to try to hit on the correct password,

Muttering strings of random words under his breath.

“They’re normally something to do with the Order,” he told them. “Bill had a real

knack for guessing them. I’m bound to get one in the end…”

“But not until March did luck favor Ron at last. Harry was sitting in the tent

Entrance, on guard duty, staring idly at a clump of grape hyacinths that had forced their

Way through the chilly ground, when Ron shouted excitedly from inside the tent.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it! Password was ‘Albus’! Get in here, Harry.”

Roused for the first time in days from his contemplation of the Deathly Hallows,

Harry hurried back inside the tent to find Ron and Hermione kneeling on the floor beside

The little radio. Hermione, who had been polishing the sword of Gryffindor just for

Something to do, was sitting open-mouthed, staring at the tiny speaker, from which a

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 610