𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦 ; 𝒹.𝒽

thirty-eight

The four spent the next weeks traveling on foot. Weeks of dead ends. Weeks of listening to the radio keeping up with who's missing, and who's dead. 

They set up camp at bay under a bridge by the shore. Hermione and Ron sitting just outside the tent while Harry and Zoya stood far away from them. 

"How are you?" Zoya asked. 

"I feel like I should be asking you that."

Zoya looked out at the ocean, holding her compass, "Everything seems so uncertain right now." She said before looking down at the compass, watching it point towards Harry, "At least I'm with you guys."

"Can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"When we first met on the platform during our first year, why did you stick up for Ron and I when that 3rd year Slytherin was taunting us?" 

She shrugged, "I don't know... I guess I knew what it was like to be belittled and laughed at. I swore to myself that I wouldn't let that happen to whoever I made friends with at Hogwarts."

Harry took her hand in his, "We're all grateful for you, Zoya."

"You don't need to–"

"I mean it. Thanks for always being there for us."

She smiled softly as she shook her head, "I know you'd do it for me. At least, I hope so."

He gave her hand a squeeze, "I would."

She took a deep breath and released his hand, "I'm going to lie down, I've got a bit of a headache."

"I can take the locket if you want."

She waved her hand, "No. We take turns."

Zoya made her way back to the tent, lying down on her cot. 

The next day they resumed their travels. Days later as everyone was gathered in the tent, Hermione cutting Harry's hair, and Zoya staring at her compass while Ron laid down in another part of the tent. The silence was drowned out suddenly by Hermione gasping. 

"Oh, my God!"

Zoya looked up at Hermione as she walked to the table, "What?" Harry asked, rubbing the back of his hair where Hermione was cutting. 

"I'll tell you in a minute."

"Maybe you could tell us now?" Zoya asked. Hermione flipped through a book on the table that Zoya was sitting at. Harry stood up and stood behind her as Zoya peered at the book, "The Sword of Gryffindor... it's Goblin-made!" Zoya exclaimed, catching onto Hermione's drift. 

"Brilliant." Harry said, holding up two thumbs awkwardly. 

Hermione smiled, "No, you don't understand. Dirt and rust have no effect on the blade. It only takes in that which makes it stronger." She said, turning the book to him.

"Okay...?"

Zoya sighed, "Harry, you've already destroyed one Horcrux, right?" She asked whilst standing up, "Tom Riddle's Diary in the Chamber of Secrets."

"With a Basilisk Fang. If you two tell me you've got one of those in that bloody beaded bag of yours..."

"Don't you see?" Hermione asked, "In the Chamber of Secrets, you stabbed the Basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor. Its blade is impregnated with the Basilisk venom."

"It only takes in that which makes it stronger..." Harry trailed off. 

Hermione and Zoya sat down, "Exactly, which is why..."