Chapter Text
Prologue
December 12th, 1994
Almost two weeks had passed since Professor McGonagall announced the Yule Ball. Harry was supposed to open the dance with his partner, in front of not just the whole school, but three international schools as well. He was certain he'd make a complete fool of himself; between growing up with the Dursleys and battling a megalomaniac Dark Lord, opportunities to learn how to dance had been conspicuously absent. Worse, the thought of asking a girl to such a high-profile event—or any date, really—filled him with a familiar dread.
"It's not that hard, you know. You should start by actually asking someone," said Hermione as they entered the Gryffindor common room.
"I know!" Ron grumbled, flopping onto a sofa. "And I've already tried that."
"Are you talking about how you shouted at Fleur and then ran away?" Ginny chimed in, a smirk on her face.
"That was truly inspiring," Harry said, cracking a grin.
"Oh, don't you lot start again on that," snapped Ron.
"Well, besides Fleur, who else did you ask?" Hermione pointed out, sitting down next to Harry.
"I'll have you know it's not that simple," Ron said grumpily. "Girls always move in packs. Walking right into that wasn't such a great idea."
"Again, that was Fleur, Ron. What did you expect?" Ginny said flatly.
Fred and George, who had overheard the discussion from a nearby corner, were whispering with mischief in their eyes. They approached, smug expressions firmly in place.
"Sounds like our little brother needs some help!" George declared, hauling a protesting Ron out of his seat.
"Hey, what are you doing!" yelped Ron.
"Oi, Parvati!" Fred shouted, dragging Ron towards the Patil twin. "Do you have a date for the ball? Ron here is dying to ask!"
"I need to watch this!" Ginny exclaimed, quickly following them.
Harry and Hermione remained seated, watching the ensuing spectacle as a mortified Parvati and an equally scarlet Ron were practically shoved together by the twins. Hermione shook her head, turning back to Harry.
"So, what about you, Harry? It shouldn't be that difficult for the 'Boy Who Lived' to find a date to the ball."
"If the 'Boy Who Lived' was going, he wouldn't have trouble. He'd have a queue," Harry muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. "But it's only me, Harry, who's going. I don't want to end up with some fangirl who just wants to stare at my scar. A sixth year asked me yesterday—she was a foot taller than me and I don't even know her name."
"Well, you're famous, Harry. But the same thing I told Ron also applies to you, Harry: how many girls have you actually asked?" Hermione said matter-of-factly.
Harry shifted in his seat, looking at the fire. "It’s not just the asking. It's the... everything else. I'm going to be terrible at dancing. I don't want to go with a girl like Cho just because she's pretty; I’d be too nervous to speak. I want to go with someone I can actually talk to. Someone I can have a laugh with when I inevitably trip over my own feet."
Hermione looked thoughtful. That all made sense, of course, but Harry wasn't close to many girls. Ginny, maybe?
Harry looked at her. Really looked at her. The firelight was catching in her hair, and for the first time, the solution seemed incredibly obvious.
“Um, Hermione, wanngoballwime?"
Hermione blinked. "Pardon?"
Harry took a breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Will you go to the ball with me?"
Hermione stared at him. The common room noise seemed to drop away. "Me? You... you're asking me?"
"Well, yeah," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck, terrified he'd made a mistake. "You're my best friend. We've been through everything together. You're brilliant, and honestly... I’d rather go with you than anyone else. I wouldn't have to pretend with you. We could actually have fun." He offered a crooked, nervous smile. "Unless... you're waiting for someone else to ask?"
Hermione was speechless for a heartbeat. A flush rose from her neck to her cheeks. She had spent the last week annoyed at every girl who fluttered her eyelashes at Harry, not quite understanding why. Now, looking at his hopeful, anxious expression, she understood perfectly.
"No," she said softy. Then, beaming, "I mean—yes! I'd love to go with you, Harry."
She leaned over and hugged him, and Harry felt a massive weight lift off his shoulders. He hugged her back, realizing she fit perfectly in his arms.
Across the room, Ron collapsed back onto the opposite sofa, looking dazed but relieved.
"I've got a date!" he announced, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Parvati said yes. Or, well, she stopped laughing and nodded, which counts."
"Now, now, Harrikins, I think it's your turn!" Fred grinned, advancing on Harry.
"Too late," Harry said, leaning back comfortably. "I've already got a date."
"Rubbish," Ron scoffed, finding his confidence now that his ordeal was over. "You haven't moved from that spot. Who did you ask, the sofa cushion?"
"He asked me," Hermione said, her smile unable to leave her face. "And I said yes."
"He did what?" Ginny froze.
"You're joking," Ron stared, dumbfounded. "You're going with Hermione? But... she's a girl!"
"Well spotted, Ron," Harry said dryly. "And she's the only girl I actually want to go with."
The twins exchanged a look of pure glee.
"Harry and Hermione!" Fred bellowed to the room at large. "The ship has sailed! All winners, please collect your earnings! We are now opening bids on the wedding date!"
"WHAT!" Hermione shrieked, her face turning crimson. "You were betting on us? That is—that is completely inappropriate! And probably against school rules!"
"Relax, Granger," George chuckled. "Even McGonagall had a wager in the pool. Though I think she bet on 'before Easter', so she just lost two Galleons."
Hermione's mouth fell open, oscillating between outrage and a strange, flustered sense of flattery. Before she could start lecturing them about gambling regulations, she caught Harry’s eye. He was grinning at her, ignoring the chaos. Hermione decided that for once, the rules didn't matter.
December 25th, 1994
Harry stood at the bottom of the girls' staircase, tugging nervously at the collar of his dress robes. He was convinced this was a terrible mistake. What if he’d misread everything? What if he ruined their friendship over one stupid dance? He couldn't imagine his life without her. Literally. From the Philosopher’s Stone to the basilisk to the Dementors, she had saved his life more times than he could count. Losing her was a more terrifying prospect than facing Voldemort.
A low whistle from Fred cut through his spiral of anxiety. Harry looked up.
And his brain simply stopped working.
Hermione stood on the landing. The word 'beautiful' didn't cover it. It felt inadequate, flimsy. Her usually untamable hair was swept up in an elegant, intricate knot, with a few stray curls framing her face that made her look soft and approachable. Her robes were the color of twilight, a floaty periwinkle-blue that seemed to shimmer with every breath she took. But it was her smile that undid him. It wasn't the proud smile she wore when she answered a difficult question, or her fond, exasperated smile she gave Ron. This one was just for him—a little shy, a little nervous, and utterly breathtaking. In that moment, every doubt he’d had evaporated, replaced by a profound, dizzying sense of rightness.
"You look… wow, Hermione," he managed, his voice hoarse.
A soft blush colored her cheeks. "Thank you, Harry. You clean up rather well yourself."
He offered his arm, his hand slightly trembling. "Ready?"
"With you? Always," she said, taking his arm. Her touch sent a jolt through him, warm and grounding.
The first dance was as terrifying as he'd imagined, but Hermione was his anchor. As the waltz began, she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just look at me," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the swelling music. "Nobody else matters."
And he did. His entire world narrowed to her—the warm brown of her eyes, the faint, pleasant scent of her perfume, the steadying pressure of her hand on his shoulder. He stumbled once, nearly tripping over his own feet, but she guided him back into the rhythm with an effortless grace, a small, encouraging smile never leaving her lips. He wasn't the Boy Who Lived performing for an audience; he was just Harry, dancing with Hermione. By the end of the song, he was breathless, not from exertion, but from the sheer, unexpected joy of it.
They danced two more times before the sheer volume of noise and people in the Great Hall began to feel oppressive. During a break in the music, Harry leaned closer to her. "Do you want to get some air? It’s boiling in here."
Hermione nodded gratefully. "Please."
They slipped out a side door and into the hushed quiet of the winter rose garden. The music from the Great Hall was a distant, muted pulse beneath the blanket of silence. Moonlight turned the snow-covered grounds into a landscape of silver and shadow. The air was cold and crisp, a welcome shock after the stuffy ballroom.
"Much better," Hermione said, taking a deep breath and wrapping her arms around herself.
"Here," Harry said, shrugging out of his dress robes and draping them over her shoulders. "I don't need them."
"Harry, you'll freeze!" she protested, though she pulled the dark fabric tighter.
"I'll be fine," he insisted, his voice soft. "It's worth it."
She smiled, a genuine, unguarded expression that made his stomach do a little flip. They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, just watching the gentle fall of snowflakes.
"Hold still," Harry said suddenly, his voice low. "There’s something in your hair."
She froze, tilting her head slightly as she turned towards him. Harry stepped closer, the snow crunching softly under his shoes. The world seemed to shrink again, this time to the few inches between them. He could see the individual snowflakes caught in her eyelashes. Carefully, his fingers brushed against the elegant knot of her hair, and he gently plucked a large beetle from where it had been clinging. It was oddly heavy, with strange, acid-green markings on its back.
He held it on his palm for her to see. "Look at this one. Bit of a show-off, isn't he?"
Hermione leaned in, her shoulder brushing against his arm as she inspected it. "Show-off is one word for it. It's rather… garish. And look at its antennae, they seem disproportionately large." She peered closer, a faint line appearing between her brows. "It’s giving me a funny feeling."
Harry chuckled softly, amused by her clinical assessment. "You're right." He felt the insect's tiny legs tickle his palm. "Well, whatever it is, you're better off without it."
He opened his hand to let it go. The beetle clumsily took to the air, its wings making a low, irritating hum as it began to fly away into the darkness.
It didn't get far.
From the shadows of the castle eaves, a dark shape detached itself. A bat swooped down in a blur of leathery wings, snatched the beetle out of the air with a distinct crunch, and vanished back into the night. It happened in a split second.
Hermione gasped, jumping back. "Oh!"
"Blimey," Harry blinked, staring at the empty space. "Nature is... brutal."
"I... suppose so," she whispered, her hand on her chest. The sudden violence of it had startled them closer together.
The silence returned, but now it was electric. They were standing inches apart. Harry could see the snowflakes caught in her eyelashes, could feel the warmth radiating from her. The shock of the moment faded, replaced by something much more terrifying and wonderful. He looked at her lips, then at her eyes, and saw the same question reflected there.
He didn't think. He just leaned in.
Harry pressed his lips to hers. It was tentative at first, an experiment. Her lips were cold from the air, but soft. She made a small sound and leaned into him, her hand coming up to rest over his heart. It wasn't like the stories; it was better. It felt safe. It felt like coming home.
When they broke apart, they didn't move away. They rested their foreheads together, breathing white clouds into the darkness.
"Harry," she whispered. It wasn't a question. It was a realization.
He slid his hand up to cup her cheek. "Yeah," he breathed. "I know."
December 25th, 1997
Three years had passed since Harry and Hermione danced together at the Yule Ball, but now, things were not looking good. That was an understatement; things were looking utterly desperate. Their world had crumbled since that magical night: Voldemort had returned, Cedric had died, Sirius had been murdered by Bellatrix, and Dumbledore was gone. The Ministry had fallen to Voldemort, and they were fugitives, desperately hunting for Horcruxes that could be hidden anywhere. The one they’d found, they couldn't destroy, and its malevolent influence was slowly driving them mad. Ron, broken by the strain, had snapped and left. Now it was just Harry and Hermione, clinging to each other for survival. But today was the worst yet – they'd been ambushed at Godric's Hollow.
As chaos erupted around them, Hermione screamed, and Harry yanked her through a window. Glass shattered and wood splintered as they plummeted, and then everything went dark. When Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, she was lying atop Harry, her body aching all over. As the fog of unconsciousness lifted, she frantically searched for her wand, grabbed Harry's hand, and Apparated them away to what she prayed was safety.
"Harry! Harry, can you hear me?" Hermione cried, stumbling to the ground beside him. "My love, please answer me! Wake up!" Tears streamed down her face as she begged for a response.
Fighting to regain control of her racing thoughts, Hermione managed to get Harry into his enchanted trunk and began tending to his wounds. She cast a few diagnostic spells, her hands trembling as she assessed the severity of the snake bites. She knew all too well that Nagini's venom could be deadly. St. Mungo's was out of the question, and she lacked the advanced healing skills to counteract such potent dark magic herself. Desperation clawed at her as Harry thrashed and moaned incoherently inside the trunk.
"No..."
“Harry! Harry, can you hear me?” she pleaded, dabbing his face with a damp sponge.
“No… No... Vold… com...”
“Harry! Harry! It’s alright, we got away. Can you hear me?”
"Hermione?" he muttered, his voice weak and raspy.
"Oh, Harry!" Tears of relief flooded her eyes. "Oh, thank God. I thought I'd lost you. How are you feeling?"
"I...where are we? What happened?"
"We're in the tent. Nagini attacked you at Bathilda's house. We had to jump out the window to escape. I Apparated us away as soon as I could. Harry, how are you feeling? The snake bit you, and it's been hours. I don't know what to do about the poison. We have nowhere to go, and I don't know enough healing spells to deal with it. I..." Her voice broke.
"I think it'll be okay, love," Harry interrupted, his voice surprisingly steady as he took her hand in his. "The snake was inside Bathilda. She must have been dead for a long time. The poison... I don't think it was meant to kill me, just incapacitate me so You-Know-Who could come and deal with me himself."
At this, Hermione collapsed onto him, hugging him tightly. A moment later, she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "I really thought I was losing you. I don't know what I would have done without you."
"I'm sorry," Harry murmured against her hair. "It's all my fault. We shouldn't have gone there. It was too dangerous. I've been so stupid."
They lay there in each other's arms for a long moment, drawing comfort from the fragile reality of their survival. Finally, Harry spoke up. "Love, where is my wand?"
December 27th, 1997
Late that night, a cold wind whipped through the forest, carrying flurries of snowflakes that began to blanket the skeletal trees in white. Harry, sore and drowsy from his encounter with Nagini the previous day, kept watch. Hermione had insisted he sleep, but he'd already slept through most of the day, and she needed rest just as badly.
As his gaze swept the dark, snow-dusted woods, Harry's eyes caught a flicker of familiar silvery mist between the trees. At first, he thought he was dreaming, his mind playing tricks on him in the dim light. But as he adjusted his glasses, focusing, the mist coalesced. There was no mistaking it—it was a Patronus. Harry sprang to his feet, craning his neck for a better view as the ethereal creature moved swiftly through the trees.
"Hermione! Wake up!" Harry yelled, already breaking into a run as he pursued the Patronus.
The Patronus moved quickly, seeming to gain distance with each passing second. Harry ran as fast as his aching body would allow, but the dense forest and the fresh snow made his progress difficult. As he skirted a large spruce tree, a flash of red appeared directly in front of him.
"Watch out—" Harry shouted, but it was too late. He collided hard with the figure, and they both crashed to the ground in a heap of displaced snow.
"Harry! Harry!" Hermione's voice, tinged with alarm, called out from deeper in the forest.
Harry scrambled to his feet, hastily brushing snow from his glasses, his wand already in hand and pointed at the person sprawled in the snow. "Ron?" Harry asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
"Oi, Harry! What are you doing, running like a bloody madman through the forest? I think you broke my nose," the figure groaned, clutching his now-bloody nose. It was, unmistakably, Ron.
"Harry!" Hermione yelled again as she caught up to them, panting. "What's happening—" She froze, her eyes widening at the sight of the soaked and bloodied Ron. "Ronald Weasley! What on earth are you doing here? And why are you soaking wet and covered in blood? Not that you don't deserve it, and more, for leaving us!"
"I couldn't find you!" Ron blurted out, struggling to sit up. "I tried! As soon as I left, but once I was outside the wards, I couldn't find the camp again! I searched the forest for days. I'm sorry... I never meant to leave. The locket… it corrupted my thoughts, and then it was too late."
Harry exchanged a quick, uncertain glance with Hermione, his wand still trained on Ron. "How can we be sure it's him, Hermione? It could be an impostor. Or he could be under the Imperius Curse or something."
"No, no, it's me!" Ron insisted, fumbling in his pocket. "Look! The Deluminator Dumbledore gave me! That's how I found you! That's why Dumbledore left it to me; it showed me the way back to the camp. And… on the way here, I walked onto a frozen pond hidden by the snow and fell through the ice. That's why I'm soaked." He mumbled the last part, his face turning a familiar shade of red.
"Really, Ron? Magic? Have you ever heard of it?" Hermione said dryly, taking Harry's wand from his slightly lowered hand and casting a drying spell on their errant friend.
"Oh yeah, right. I did cast a warming charm. I'm not completely daft, you know," Ron retorted, a bit of his old spirit returning. "I was just so excited I wanted to find you as soon as possible! Look! Look what I found in the pond!" He scrambled to his feet, holding out the Sword of Gryffindor triumphantly.
"You've got to be kidding me," Harry deadpanned, staring at the iconic weapon. "You walk into a frozen pond, and you just find the Sword of Gryffindor? What have we been doing, Hermione? Apparently, all we needed was to take a dip in a random pond..."
"That's just awfully suspicious," Hermione stated, her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Ron.
"Actually," Harry interjected, "I was chasing a Patronus that appeared at the edge of the camp when I stumbled upon Ron. So maybe the Patronus was leading me to the pond to find the sword. Ron, where's that pond? Was the Patronus yours?"
"Oh, it's just behind those trees," Ron said, pointing in the opposite direction of their camp. "And no, it wasn't mine. I saw it too. I was watching it jump toward the pond when Harry smashed into me."
"Hmm, it sounds like the Patronus was sent by someone for us to find the sword," Harry mused. "But who could it be? And why hide the sword in a frozen pond instead of just handing it to us?"
"That still sounds highly suspicious to me... Expelliarmus!" Hermione cast decisively, Ron's wand flying into her hand. "Harry, take the sword. Can you tell if it's the real one? I don't think an impostor would bring the actual Sword of Gryffindor to help us dispose of the Horcruxes."
Harry took the ruby-encrusted sword, examining it closely in the dim, snowy light.
"It's difficult to say for sure, but it certainly feels like it. If it is, we'll finally be able to rid ourselves of this awful burden." He looked from the sword to Hermione, then to Ron. "Let's head back and see if we can destroy that locket. Ron, you go first."
As the weak sun began to climb, casting a pale light over the snow-covered forest, the trio made their way back to their makeshift camp. Harry retrieved the locket and carefully placed it on a fallen log. It began to vibrate almost imperceptibly, a faint thrumming that seemed to pulse with a dark awareness of its impending demise.
"It looks like it's going to try to fight back somehow," Harry realized aloud, his breath misting in the cold air. He raised the Sword of Gryffindor high above the locket and brought it down with all his might. A loud, metallic clang rang out as the sword skidded across the locket's surface, burying itself deep into the unyielding wood of the log.
"It looks like an Unbreakable Charm," Hermione observed, leaning in to examine the locket more closely. "Perhaps the Horcrux itself is inside the locket. We'll need to open it somehow."
"Who knows what will happen when we do," Harry said, wincing involuntarily at the memory of the Gaunt ring and its devastating effect on Dumbledore's hand. "We should proceed with extreme caution."
"Or perhaps the sword is a fake, and this is a trap to get us to open the locket," Hermione countered, her gaze flicking suspiciously towards Ron.
"You really sound like Moody, you know," Ron pleaded, his voice earnest. "And if it was a trap, You-Know-Who would already be here. Why wouldn't he strike at once?"
"Hmph. I suppose so," Hermione conceded, though a flicker of doubt remained in her eyes.
Upon closer inspection, Harry couldn't find any clasp or mechanism to pry open the locket. "I think it might need Parseltongue to open it," he said slowly. "Given that it's a Slytherin heirloom, that would make sense. Get ready." He placed the locket back on the log. "Ron, can you come and hold the sword just above it? This way, you can stab it the instant it opens. Prepare for anything—probably a mental assault. Don't hesitate."
"You know what?" Hermione added, her brow furrowed in thought. "You should start swinging the sword as powerfully as possible before Harry tells it to open. That way, the momentum will prevent you from hesitating, and it might not have enough time to fight back properly."
"Er, momentum? Right, I see what you mean," Ron said, gripping the sword hilt. "Sounds like a good plan. Let's do it." He positioned himself, raising the heavy sword above the locket.
"Okay, everyone ready?" Harry asked, meeting their determined eyes.
After they both nodded, Ron took a deep breath, adjusted his stance for stability, and then began swinging the sword with as much strength and speed as he could muster. As the blade whistled through the air, Harry hissed, "Open," in Parseltongue.
The locket sprang open, revealing an angry, malevolent red eye that seemed to glare at them, instantly sensing the danger. A palpable wave of dark energy emanated from it, and the air around them grew thick and oppressive, darkness swirling at the edges of their vision. The sword landed with a sickening thud, but something was terribly wrong. The oppressive darkness remained.
The sword had missed the locket by mere centimeters and was now embedded deep within the log. The force of the impact had sent the locket skittering off into the thick layer of snow.
Ron strained to pull the sword free, but as he did, he felt the Horcrux launch a brutal assault on his mind, its power blasting through his defenses, digging mercilessly to uncover his deepest fears. It felt like a tearing knife, slicing through his thoughts. And then, it found what it was looking for.
Illusory figures of Hermione and Harry shimmered into existence before him, looking down at him with expressions of utter contempt. "Does he really think he's a part of us?" the illusion of Hermione sneered haughtily. "Look at him, struggling to get his sword back from a simple log! He was just lucky to be there; we don't actually need a stupid Weasley around. And what a shame he's the most useless of the Weasleys on top of that." They laughed cruelly, a cold, echoing sound. A faint, insidious voice whispered in his mind: They despise you. They hinder you. You could be so much more without them. Kill them! Kill them NOW!
"Don't listen to them, Ron!" Harry shouted desperately, his hands scrabbling through the snow, searching for the locket. "Get the sword out and finish it!"
"I—I—I'm trying, but I can't... It's stuck... I can't..." Ron stammered, his mind fogged with confusion and the Horcrux's insidious lies.
Hermione, seeing his struggle, acted instantly. "Diffindo!" she cried. The Slicing Charm bit into the log, splitting it in two and freeing the sword, but the sudden release sent Ron tumbling heavily to the ground. As he struggled to his feet, dazed, the illusion of Harry taunted, "What a loser! Look at him stuttering!"
Only with ME will you be able to get power and fame! I can give you all of that and more, so much more! You don’t need THEM. They will betray you. KILL THEM! KILL THEM NOW! the voice screamed in Ron's head.
Hermione quickly vanished the snow around the severed log, and Harry immediately spotted the locket wedged between two jagged rocks. "Here it is! Ron, smash it!" he yelled, pointing.
"Should we tell him that we only kept him around as a running joke between us?" the illusion of Harry said with a cold smirk.
Ron's mind was a maelstrom of doubt, confusion, and rage. He raised the Sword of Gryffindor, not towards the locket, but towards Harry, his eyes wild, and began to swing.
"RON, NO!" Hermione screamed, her voice raw with terror.
With a monumental effort of will, Ron twisted at the last second, deflecting the deadly arc of the blade. The sword struck the Horcrux's blazing red eye with a sickening crunch. The oppressive darkness immediately recoiled, sucked back into the locket, and thick, dark blood began to spill out. A split second later, a violent wave of energy burst from the shattered locket, knocking them all off their feet and sending them tumbling to the ground as a deafening, soul-tearing screech ripped through the night.
Then, silence descended. It was over.
Hermione was the first to scramble to her feet, frantically calling out, "Harry? Harry? Ron? Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine," Harry responded, pulling himself up from the snowy ground, his ears ringing.
Turning her attention to Ron, Hermione asked, her voice trembling, "Ron? Ron? Can you hear me?" Ron was awake, but he was fighting back tears, his hand clutching the handle of the sword so tightly his knuckles were white.
"I—I almost killed you," Ron stammered, his body still shaking from the ordeal. "I'm the worst friend ever. I... I would completely understand if you want me to leave again."
"Ron, those were all lies," Hermione reassured him gently, kneeling beside him. "You're a vital part of our team. You're our best friend, and we've been through so much together. Don't let those poisonous lies get to you. We shouldn't have underestimated the power of that locket."
"You will always have your place with us," Harry added firmly, offering Ron a hand up.
"It's just that... since you and Hermione are a couple, I sometimes wonder if you wouldn't be better off without me..." Ron admitted, his voice barely a whisper.
"No. Definitely not," Harry replied, pulling Ron to his feet. "You and Hermione are all I have left. My friends, my family, everything. When you were away, it wasn't the same. We still had each other, at least, but we truly missed you."
"Ron, look at us," Hermione said, drawing his gaze to hers. "We've been through hell together, and we would do anything for you. You are an integral part of our team, and you have our love."
"Thank you," Ron said, a watery smile finally breaking through. "That really means a lot to me. And I'm sorry for doubting you, and for failing to aim properly at the locket." He seemed to pull himself together, straightening his shoulders.
Harry picked up the locket. It now felt inert, lifeless, just as any ordinary piece of jewelry should.
"We made a lot of mistakes there," he said, his voice heavy with the near-disaster. "First, it should have been obvious that we needed to vanish the snow. We should have secured the locket on a flat, stable surface, maybe with a Sticking Charm or something."
"Yes, and the idea of swinging the sword like that was foolish," Hermione added, shaking her head. “I should have known it would be incredibly difficult to aim properly, considering the weight and size of the sword. We need to go inside and analyze this in more detail to avoid such mistakes in the future.”
They headed back toward the tent, tired and bruised, but with a small, hard-won victory warming them against the chill. They had destroyed one Horcrux, after all, and the trio was finally back together.