THE NEW HEAVEN AND EARTH | RON WEASLEY [BOOK FIVE]

12. SHE WAS A FOOL

Her peace hadn't lasted very long as she began to feel an overwhelming presence watching them. Her eyes narrowed, rubbing her eyes as she began to discreetly graze their surroundings; find a stooped figure, barely discernible in the drifting snow, standing in the shadows of the church. She couldn't quite tell if it was human or not.

"Someone's watching us, by the church." Gene said quietly, barely lifting her head.

Harry nodded, careful not to look too soon, before glancing up. Gene watched as she didn't move at first, almost as if she wanted them to see her, before turning away, in an attempt to lure them away. If it were up to Gene, it wouldn't have worked. But Harry was already on the move.

All light had left the sky now. The lane lined with modest cottages and small gardens were still with the night. They watched as the stooped figure hobbled along, past the pub where shadows played against the windows, muffled voices and laughter could still be heard. Gene noticed how Hermione eyed the woman ahead, glancing about their surroundings.

"I don't think this is a good idea." she muttered, trailing a little further behind.

"This is right. I know it." Harry returned, going ahead as the woman hobbled on, though Harry had pulled to a stop.

Gene turned, finding Harry standing several feet away, staring at a dark cottage, its garden overgrown with weeds, the roof was half-caved in, with ivy trailing up the walls.

"This is where they died." Harry said.

Gene followed his gaze to the home, wondering what it might have looked like seventeen years ago. Remembering the pictures of both of their parents together, here, in this very cottage. It wasn't where her mother died, but Gene didn't think she had the guts to walk further down the lane to see for herself.

She wondered how different their lives could have been. They might have been spending Christmas here, together, with their parents. Alive. She didn't say anything though, careful not to disturb the moment with words. Gene heard a tick, her head lowering to glance at the locket at her chest, trembling ever so slightly, to her confusion.

Gene's head shot up suddenly, finding the old woman standing mere steps away, staring intently at Gene and Harry's profile and she jumped, Hermione following suit, grasping at Gene's sleeve.

Now much closer than before, Gene could see her pale, almost grey skin, textured and leathered, worn with age. A fly buzzed around her head, though it didn't seem to bother her, as her face was almost fixed into a permanent expression of disdain.

"You're Bathilda, aren't you?" Harry said, though Gene and Hermione remained slightly confused.

Without a word, Bathilda led them across the lane, further into the town towards another cottage, similar to the Potter's. Gene's nose wrinkled as the door rattled open, the smell of damp and decay hitting her instantly.

"I'm not sure about this." Hermione whispered as they slowly followed her further into the house, finding her clumsily attempting to light a match.

"Hermione, she knew Dumbledore. He might have entrusted the sword to her." Harry argued, before going over to help the woman.

Gene stayed at Hermione's side for a moment, "Besides, she's barely knee-high to a house-elf. I think we can overpower her if it turns ugly." she shrugged, choosing to ignore the look of disappointment on Hermione's face at this.

"Miss Bagshot? Who is this man?" Harry held a match over one photo of a man in particular, coated in dust, his intense gaze made him look like a ghost behind a veil.

Bathilda stared at the photograph solemnly, then up at Harry. Harry stared back, unnerved, before she looked at Gene, then jerked her toward the stairs and made her way up them without a word. That must have been her sign to follow, and they felt as though they had to oblige. Her stomach jolted with joy at this, though she hadn't the faintest clue why.