Dawn Rivera

The Silver Doe

It is snowing by the time Hermione and I take over the watch at midnight.

Harry and Danny get up in the darkness and join Hermione and I, huddled in the entrance to the tent reading A History of Magic by the light of Hermione's wand and my hands. The snow is still falling thickly and we greet with relief their suggestion of packing up early and moving on.

"We'll go somewhere more sheltered," Hermione agrees, shivering as she pulls on a sweatshirt over her pyjamas. "I kept thinking I could hear people moving outside. We thought we even saw somebody once or twice."

Harry and Danny pause in the act of pulling on jumpers and glance at the silent, motionless Sneakoscope on the table.

"I'm sure we imagined it," I say, feeling nervous, "the snow in the dark, it plays tricks on your eyes...but perhaps we ought to Disapparate under the Invisibility Cliak, just in case?"

Half an hour later, with the tent packed, Harry wearing the Horcrux and Hermione and I clutching the beaded bags, we Disapparate.  The usual tightness engulfs us; my feet part company with the snowy ground then slam hard on to what feels like frozen earth covered with leaves.

"Where are we?" Harry asks, peering around at a fresh made of trees as Hermione and I open the beaded bags sad begin tugging out tent poles.

"The Forest of Dean," Hermione says. "I came camping here once, with my mum and dad."

Here, too, snow lies on the trees all around and it is bitterly cold, but we are at least protected from the wind. We spend most of the day inside the tent, huddled for warmth round the useful bright blue flames that Hermione and I are so adept at producing, and which can be scooped up and carried around in a jar. Harry and Danny look as though they are recuperating from some brief but severe illness, an impression reinforced by Hermione and I's solicitousness. That afternoon fresh flakes drift down upon us, so that even our sheltered clearing has a fresh dusting of powdery snow.

After two nights of little sleep, my senses seem more alert than usual. Our escape from Godric's Hollow was so narrow that Voldemort seems somehow closer than before, more threatening. As darkness draws in again, Harry and Danny refuse Hermione and I's offer to keep watch as tell us to go to bed.

Harry and Danny move old cushions to the tent mouth and sit down, wearing all the sweaters they own but, even so, still shivery.

*

"Hermione! Dawn!" comes Danny's voice.

We stir, then sit up quickly, pushing our hair out of our faces.

"What's wrong, Danny? Harry? Are you all right?" I say.

"It's OK, everything's fine," says Harry. "More than fine. We're great. There's someone here."

"What do you mean?" Hermione says. "Who - ?"

I see Ron, who stands there Ho,ding the sword and dripping on the threadbare carpet. Harry and Danny back into a shadowy corner, slip off Ron's rucksack and attempt to blend in with the canvas.

Hermione and I slide out of our bunks and move like sleepwalkers towards Ron, our eyes upon his pale face. We stop right in front of him, our lips slightly parted, our eyes wide. Ron gives a weak, hopeful smile and half raises his arms.

Hermione and I launch ourselves forwards and start punching every inch of him that we can reach.

"Ouch - ow - gerroff! What the - ? Hermione - Dawn - OW!"

"You - complete - arse - Ronald - Weasley!" I say.

I punctuate every word with a blow: Ron backs away, shielding his head as Hermione and I advance.