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𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐌

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Born in destruction it follows you

everywhere you go.

Raised in destruction, it is the only friend

you know.

(Maybe peace is not meant for all of us.)

-A.H-

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .

"𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓, 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏," 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 Elara, arm flying out to prevent Hermione from advancing further.

"What's wrong?" replied Hermione, her hand flying to her wand

Elara, Harry, and Hermione had only just reached the gate in the graveyard.

"Someone's watching us. I can feel it. There, over by the bushes."

The trio stood quite still, holding on to each other, gazing at the dense black boundary of the graveyard.

"Are you sure?" asked Harry.

"Who's the Seer here?"

Elara broke from him to free her wand arm and to grasp the familiar dagger that had been strapped to her thigh behind her back.

"We look like Muggles," Harry pointed out.

"Muggles who've just been laying flowers on your parents' grave! Harry, I'm with Elara, there's someone over there!"

But then Elara heard a rustle and saw a little eddy of dislodged snow in the bush to which she had pointed.

"It's a cat," said Harry, after a second or two, "or a bird. If it was a Death Eater we'd be dead by now. But let's get out of here, and we can put the Cloak back on."

"Death Eaters can't kill me," muttered Elara, annoyed.

They glanced back repeatedly as they made their way out of the graveyard. Elara, who did not feel as safe as Harry was pretending to be, was glad to reach the gate and the slippery pavement. They pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves. The pub was fuller than before: Many voices inside it were now singing the carol that they had heard as they approached the church.

For a moment Elara considered suggesting they take refuge inside it, but before she could say anything Hermione murmured, "Let's go this way," and pulled she and Harry down the dark street leading out of the village in the opposite direction from which they had entered.

Elara could make out the point where the cottages ended and the lane turned into open country again. They walked as quickly as they dared, past more windows sparkling with multicolored lights, the outlines of Christmas trees dark through the curtains.

"How are we going to find Bathilda's house?" asked Elara, shivering and glancing back over her shoulder.

In the next second, Elara, along with Hermione, was being dragged towards the end of the lane, slipping on the ice.

"What — "

"Harry —"

"Look. . . . Look at it. . . ."

"I don't . . . oh!"

"Have you lost — "

Elara could see it; the Fidelius Charm must have died with James and Lily. The hedge had grown wild in the sixteen years since Hagrid had taken Harry from the rubble that lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy and snow, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart; that, Elara was sure, was where the curse had backfired.

She, Harry, and Hermione stood at the gate, gazing up at the wreck of what must once have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.

"I wonder why nobody's ever rebuilt it?" whispered Hermione.

"Maybe you can't rebuild it?" replied Elara. "Maybe it's like the injuries from Dark Magic and you can't repair the damage?"

Harry slipped a hand from beneath the Cloak and grasped the snowy and thickly rusted gate, not wishing to open it, but simply to hold some part of the house.

"You're not going to go inside? "inquired Hermione. "It looks unsafe, it might — oh, wait, look!"

Harry's touch on the gate seemed to have done it. A sign had risen out of the ground in front of them, up through the tangles of nettles and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:

𝕺𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖙, 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝕺𝖈𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 ,

𝕷𝖎𝖑𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕵𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕻𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗 𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖘.

𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗 𝖘𝖔𝖓, 𝕳𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖞, 𝖗𝖊𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖜𝖎𝖟𝖆𝖗𝖉

𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕮𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊.

𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖊, 𝖎𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖘𝖎𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝕸𝖚𝖌𝖌𝖑𝖊𝖘, 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖑𝖊𝖋𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖎𝖙𝖘 𝖗𝖚𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖊

𝖆𝖘 𝖆 𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖚𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉

𝖆𝖘 𝖆 𝖗𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗 𝖋𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖞.

And all around these neatly lettered words, scribbles had been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood, still others had left messages.

The most recent of these, shining brightly over sixteen years' worth of magical graffiti, all said similar things.

ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʟᴜᴄᴋ, ʜᴀʀʀʏ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ.

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐰𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮!

𝓛𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓟𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻.

"They shouldn't have written on the sign!" said Hermione, indignant.

But Harry beamed.

"It's brilliant. I'm glad they did. I . . ."

He broke off.

Elara turned towards the direction he was staring. A heavily muffled figure was hobbling up the lane toward them, silhouetted by the bright lights in the distant square. Elara thought, though it was hard to judge, that the figure was a woman.

She was moving slowly, possibly frightened of slipping on the snowy ground. Her stoop, her stoutness, her shuffling gait all gave an impression of extreme age. They watched in silence as she drew nearer.

Elara was waiting to see whether she would turn into any of the cottages she was passing, but she knew instinctively that the woman would not.

Feeling not at all safe, Elara redrew her dagger and held it behind her back. Now that she wasn't distracted, she could feel the tainted air swirling around the lane. Whether it was from Halloween night all those years ago or from another recent event, she didn't know.

Run.

It was a powerful instinct.

However, she also sensed that Harry and Hermione would not be on board. Despite her body and mind screaming at her to get the hell out of there, she stood rooted to the spot, staring the woman down.

At last she came to a halt a few yards from them and simply stood there in the middle of the frozen road, facing them. There was next to no chance that this woman was a Muggle: She was standing there gazing at a house that ought to have been completely invisible to her, if she was not a witch.

Even assuming that she was a witch, however, it was odd behavior to come out on a night this cold, simply to look at an old ruin. By all the rules of normal magic, meanwhile, she ought not to be able to see Elara, Harry, and Hermione at all.

Nevertheless, Elara had the strangest feeling that the woman knew that they were there, and also who they were.

Just as Elara had reached this uneasy conclusion, she raised a gloved hand and beckoned. Hermione moved closer to Elara and Harry under the Cloak.

"How does she know?"

"I don't know," muttered Elara, "But something isn't right."

The woman beckoned again, more vigorously. Elara could think of many reasons not to obey the summons, and yet her suspicions about her identity were growing stronger every moment that they stood facing each other in the deserted street.

Unwilling to break the silence, to give the old woman (who definitely wasn't human) all the power.

Finally Harry spoke, causing Hermione jump and Elara to groan internally.

"Are you Bathilda?"

The muffled figure nodded and beckoned again. Beneath the Cloak, Elara, Harry, and Hermione looked at each other. Harry raised his eyebrows; Elara frowned; Hermione gave a tiny, nervous nod.

They stepped toward the woman and, at once, she turned and hobbled off back the way they had come. Leading them past several houses, she turned in at a gate. They followed her up the front path through a garden nearly as overgrown as the one they had just left. She fumbled for a moment with a key at the front door, then opened it and stepped back to let them pass.

She smelled awful, or perhaps it was her house: Elara wrinkled her nose as they sidled past her and pulled off the Cloak. Now that she was beside her, he realized how tiny she was; bowed down with age, she came barely level with her chest.

Elara shuddered. Something had happened in Bathilda's house. She could see the shadows dance in the corners, writhing with hunger.

She closed the door behind them, her knuckles blue and mottled against the peeling paint, then turned and peered into Elara's face. Her eyes were thick with cataracts and sunken into folds of transparent skin, and her whole face was dotted with broken veins and liver spots.

Forcing down a scream when she saw a humanoid shadow directly behind Bathilda, Elara felt uneasy. The shadow seemed to be directly attached to Bathilda. Even worse, it looked as if it was leeching off of whatever life she had left.

Promising herself she would set the place on fire if something remotely suspicious happened, Elara turned away and pointedly began focusing on the decorations of the place. The odor of old age, of dust, of unwashed clothes and stale food intensified as she unwound a moth-eaten black shawl, revealing a head of scant white hair through which the scalp showed clearly.

"Bathilda?" Harry repeated.

She nodded again.

Bathilda shuffled past them, pushing Hermione aside as though she had not seen her, and vanished into what seemed to be a sitting room.

"I'm not sure about this," breathed Hermione.

"Look at the size of her; I think we could overpower her if we had to," said Harry.

"Still," whispered Elara, "Something. . . . not entirely human is here. We — "

"Come!" called Bathilda from the next room.

Hermione jumped and clutched Elara's arm.

"It's okay," said Harry reassuringly, and he led the way into the sitting room.

Elara and Hermione shared a look of distrust. Bathilda was tottering around the place lighting candles, but it was still very dark, not to mention extremely dirty. Thick dust crunched beneath their feet, and Harry's nose detected,underneath the dank and mildewed smell, something worse, like meat gone bad.

Under the guise of almost complete darkness, Elara pressed the hilt of her dagger into Hermione's shaking palm.

Bathilda seemed to have forgotten that she could do magic, too, for she lit the candles clumsily by hand, her trailing lace cuff in constant danger of catching fire.

"Let me do that," offered Elara.

Bathilda stood watching Elara as she snapped her fingers, lighting the candle stubs that stood on saucers around the room, perched precariously on stacks of books and on side tables crammed with cracked and moldy cups.

The last surface on which Elara spotted a candle was a bow-fronted chest of drawers on which there stood a large number of photographs. When the flame danced into life, its reflection wavered on their dusty glass and silver.

Bathilda began to fumble with logs for the fire, to which Elara took over, placing them carefully in the hearth, then waved her hand. The beautiful flames she had come to love so dearly roared to life.

"Mrs. — Miss — Bagshot?" said Harry, and his voice shook slightly. "Who is this?"

Bathilda was standing in the middle of the room watching Elara light the fire for her.

"Miss Bagshot?" repeated Harry.

Elara turned to see Bathilda looked up at Harry.

"Who is this person?" Harry asked her, pushing the picture forward.

She peered at it solemnly, then up at Harry.

"Do you know who this is?" he repeated in a much slower and louder voice than usual. "This man? Do you know him? What's he called?"

Bathilda merely looked vague.

"Who is this man?" he repeated loudly.

"What the hell are you doing?" asked Elara.

"This picture, Lara, it's the thief, the thief who stole from Gregorovitch! Please!" he said to Bathilda. "Who is this?"

But she only stared at him. Elara joined Harry's side, uneasy.

"Why did you ask us to come with you, Mrs. — Miss — Bagshot?" asked Elara, raising her own voice. "Was there something you wanted to tell us?"

Bathilda now shuffled a few steps closer to the pair. With a little jerk of her head she looked back into the hall.

"You want us to leave?" asked Harry.

She repeated the gesture, this time pointing firstly at Harry, then at Elara, then at herself, then at the ceiling.

"Oh, right . . . Hermione, I think she wants Lara and me to go upstairs with her."

"All right," said Hermione, "let's go."

But when Hermione moved, Bathilda shook her head with surprising vigor, once more pointing first at Harry, then at Elara, then to herself.

"I. . . . I think she wants only us to go with her, alone."

"Why?" asked Hermione, and her voice rang out sharp and clear in the candlelit room; the old lady shook her head a little at the loud noise.

"Maybe Dumbledore told her to give the sword to Lara and me, and only to us?"

"Do you really think she knows who you two are?"

"Yes," said Elara, looking down into the milky eyes fixed upon her own, "I think she does."

However, Elara knew this wasn't Bathilda. The humanoid shadow leeching off the woman whirred with excitement, the swirling darkness around it growing faster. Although she was uneasy, Elara wasn't about to let Harry be alone with something that wasn't of this world.

"Well, okay then, but be quick, you two, please."

"Lead the way," Harry told Bathilda.

She seemed to understand, because she shuffled around the pair toward the door. As they walked out of the room, a heavy cold laid over Elara. She shivered.

The stairs were steep and narrow. Slowly, wheezing a little, Bathilda climbed to the upper landing, turned immediately right, and led Elara and Harry into a low-ceilinged bedroom. It was pitch-black and smelled horrible: Elara had just made out a chamber pot protruding from under the bed before Bathilda closed the door and even that was swallowed by the darkness.

"Lumos," said Harry, and his wand ignited.

Both he and Elara gave a start: Bathilda had moved close to them in those few seconds of darkness, and neither had heard her approach.

Instead of words, Elara heard a strange hissing. Parseltongue.

Before entirely know what she was doing, Elara grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him instinctively behind her. Wand forgotten, roaring flames surrounded her hands, barely licking the rotting ceiling.

"Lara — "

"I knew something was wrong," said Elara, laughter mixing with her tone. "Reveal yourself before I do it for you," she added pointedly at Bathilda, who's eyes were now closed.

Horror paralyzed the pair as they saw the old body collapsing and the great snake pouring from the place where her neck had been. The snake struck as Elara raised her hand: The force of the bite to her forearm extracted a cry of pain.

Harry lunged to catch her, but a powerful blow from the tail to his midriff knocked the breath out of him: He fell backward onto the dressing table, into a mound of filthy clothing.

The snake turned it's sights back to Elara.

Thinking quickly, a great, flaming sword materialized in her hands. However, within seconds, the sword distinguished, and a tidal wave of exhaustion settled over her. The bite and the pain from Harry being hit overhwhelmed her. Forcing herself to stay awake, she rolled sideways, narrowly avoiding the snake's tail, which thrashed down upon the table where he had been a second earlier: Fragments of the glass surface rained upon her as she hit the floor.

From below she heard Hermione call, "Harry? Lara?"

Elara could not get enough breath into her lungs to call back.

"No!" gasped Harry.

Ignoring the searing pain that plagued her body, Elara pushed herself up to find the snake coiling around Harry, effectively holding him down. Her bitten arm gave out from underneath her. Her breath came quickly and shallowly as she tried to find the strength to fight.

With every passing second, she could feel the snake's venom running it's course through her bloodstream.

"Accio . . . Accio Wand . . ." groaned Harry.

But nothing happened. Elara watched in horror as it the snake began squeezing the air from him. As if it was happening to herself, Elara struggled to breathe. Consciousness threatened to leave her as she grasped at the ground.

No matter how many times you get knocked down, you always get back up.

Through her pain, Elara smiled.

It was maniacal, psychotic even. For no one smiled like that at Death.

Head throbbing, legs shaking, and covered in blood, Elara found the strength in herself to push her up slowly. Nagini, seemingly under the impression Elara was dead or dying, had all it's attention focused on Harry.

Instead of a sword, a bow materialized in her hand. Her shaking hands drew the string back and released it. The arrow struck Nagini, dematerializing as it made contact. The smell of burning skin filled the air as Nagini hissed in pain and released Harry.

Elara was ready to accept her fate as she stood, exhausted, while the snake raced towards her. Before Nagini could reach her, however, the door swung open and a terrified voice screamed, "REDUCTO!"

Nagini was thrown to the side, hitting the wall with a powerful thud.

A trickle of warmth leaked out of Elara's mouth. She raised her shaking had and wiped her face, to find that blood was flowing out of her mouth and nose. Shocked, Elara stumbled backwards and hit a rotting desk that crumbled quickly beneath her weight.

Nagini struck, and Hermione dived aside with a shriek; her deflected curse hit the curtained window, which shattered.

Frozen air filled the room as Elara ducked to avoid another shower of broken glass. The room was full of the snake, its tail thrashing; Hermione and Harry were nowhere to be seen and for a moment Elara thought the worst, but then there was a loud bang and a flash of red light, and the snake flew into the air, smacking Elara hard in the face as it went, coil after heavy coil rising up to the ceiling.

Elara raised her hand, but as she did so, her forehead seared more painfully, more powerfully than it had done in years.

"He's coming! He's coming!" shouted Harry as the snake fell, hissing wildly.

Everything was chaos: It smashed shelves from the wall, and splintered china flew everywhere as Harry jumped over the bed and seized Elara —She shrieked with pain as he pulled her back across the bed: The snake reared again, but Elara knew that worse than the snake was coming, was perhaps already at the gate, her head was going to split open with the pain from her forehead —