Sleep wasn't a luxury Diana possessed that night.

The events after they had overheard Ted Tonks last night replayed in her mind over and over, the bittersweet mixture making her head throb.

After the goblins, Ted, Dirk, and Dean left, Hermione pulled the portrait of Phineas Nigellus from her bag. She blindfolded his portrait-self and he grumbled and complained just as usual, but he had told them something invaluable.

"Can you remember the last time the sword was taken out of its case?" Hermione had asked him.

"I daresay it was when Professor Dumbledore used it to break open a ring."

They hadn't had a lead like this. Dumbledore had left Harry the sword---and now, they knew why.

What happened next, though, wasn't something that was ever supposed to happen.

Ron.

He had been wearing the necklace too long. He had grown angry, throwing biting comments and scowling at every word one of them said. The necklace had infected him with something that caused him to be so angry, so cruel. 

He left. They had had a huge row---Hermione and Ron and Harry. There was nothing Diana could've done. There was just so much yelling, so much hatred in each word they spat---she hadn't experienced such violence between friends.

There was nothing she could've done. He stormed out of the tent, throwing the Horcrux at their feet, and by the time Diana chased after him, he had Disapparated. Now, it was just the three of them and a biting silence where Ron had once been.

The morning after Ron left, they ate breakfast in silence. Hermione's eyes were red and puffy, and Diana watched her with pity. Every once in a while, one of them would turn to look out of the tent opening half expecting to see a mop of red hair.

They never saw one.

Just as she expected Harry was doing as well, her mind replayed the same words over and over, something Ron had said just before he left.

We thought you knew what you were doing!

And it was true. She, as well as Harry, hadn't an inkling of an idea. Diana had only been told what she needed to do, not how to do it. This was as much of a guessing game for her as it was for everyone else---she was Voldemort's daughter, she was powerful, but she had been thrust this journey with no means to finish it. By now, all her life had become was the everlasting fear of reaching a dead end.

They packed the tent and their things, and Hermione tried to delay as long as possible, but soon, they grasped hands and landed in a knew forest on another side of the country. They landed on a windswept hillside.

Hermione sat on a large rock, covering her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook, though she tried to muffle each sob with her sleeve.

There was nothing Diana could've done.

They did not speak of Ron for the next few days.

They kept to the tent, and Diana would watch Harry pull out the Marauder's Map each day and she'd watch as Hermione would busy herself with a task that didn't need finishing, just so she didn't have to think. It was painful, watching them so pained and tired. She had learned to live with such burdens; they had not.

By day, they would circle the subject endlessly: where was the sword of Gryffindor? Each day they'd run through it, the same words each time, the same debates and the same questions. They desperately hoped one would have dreamt some magical new idea, but each morning was the same conversation with nothing new to add.

She often thought of Dumbledore when they exhausted the topic of the sword each day. She thought of how he had been preparing her relentlessly for two years, reviewing her parents' history and Voldemort's mind and how to do this, but all of it seemed so useless. Nothing they had ever talked about prepared her for this endless feeling of failure and hopelessness, the endless loop of questions forever unanswered. She wished he'd prepared her for this. She wished he was still there.

We thought you knew what you were doing!

It pained her, but she knew it was true. She could not hide from the bitter reality. She had to find her mother at the same time as finding each Horcrux, and she thought how this journey might never end.

Nights were often silent. Every few days, they'd take Phineas Nigellus's portrait from the beaded bag and after blindfolding him, he'd often come into the frame and begin gossiping. He apparently couldn't resist; he relished when he told them all of the latest Hogwarts new, like how especially cruel the Carrows had been that week. After two weeks of this, she began to nearly enjoy his presence: it was one more voice to fill the void they perpetually lived in.

They did get some snippets of helpful information: Ginny had apparently been banned from going into Hogsmeade. Snape reinstated Umbridge's old decree forbidding clubs or gatherings. From the sound of it, Diana suspected Ginny, Neville, and Luna had tried their best to continue Dumbledore's Army. Diana felt such gratitude for them; they were so strong, so brave; the school's outcasts had become the school's bravest students, fighting even when the consequences were so cruel.

The weather grew colder, and the days grew shorter. They hopped from forest to forest, each time cloaking their tent with spells and enchantments to keep others away. They meandered up and down the country, their solitude disheartening.

Her mind kept wandering to Ambrosius. She was torn between visiting Bathilda and staying to care for Harry and Hermione; she knew Harry had been wanting to go to Godric's Hollow, but with each passing week she grew more and more restless.

One day, Hermione beckoned them over to her perch on the couch.

"Could you guys help me with something?"

Harry and Diana took a seat on either side of her. She held the book Dumbledore had left her, for she had taken to scanning it every day. She held out The Tales of Beetle the Bard for them to see.

"Look at that symbol," she said, pointing to the top corner of one of the pages. Drawn in ink, there was a small symbol of a triangle with a circular eye inside of it, bisected by a straight line.

"I didn't take Ancient Runes," said Harry.

"I know that, but it isn't a rune," she said. "All along I thought it was a picture of an eye, but I don't know it is! It's been inked in, look, somebody's drawn it there, it isn't really part of the book. Think, have you ever seen it before?"

As she looked at it, Diana couldn't help but feel her nerves vibrate slightly. It was like the symbol sent off some sort of current in her brain that she didn't understand. She hadn't ever seen it before, but at the same time, it was like she knew it. She looked at it and got the same feeling one would get while seeing an old childhood friend on the street.

Harry leaned closer to the book. "Isn't that the same symbol Luna's dad was wearing round his neck?"

"Well, that's what I thought too!"

"Grindelwald." 

She hadn't meant to say it. She didn't even know that until it came right out of her mouth, like she was merely a puppet.

"Yeah, that's what Krum told me at the wedding," said Harry slowly. "He said it was the mark of Grindelwald."

"Grindelwald's mark?"

She looked back and forth between Harry and Diana. "I never knew Grindelwald had a mark. There's no mention of it in anything I've ever read about him."

"Well, like I said, Krum reckoned that symbol was carved on a wall at Durmstrang, and Grindelwald put it there."

Diana couldn't tear her eyes from the mark. The inked symbol taunted her, like she should know what it meant.

"That's very odd. If it's a symbol of Dark Magic, what's it doing in a book of children's stories?"

"Yeah, it is weird," said Harry. "And you'd think Scrimgeour would have recognized it. He was Minister, he ought to have been expert on Dark stuff."

"I don't think it's Dark," said Diana slowly. "Scrimgeour was the Head of the Auror Office. He would've recognized it."

She couldn't shake the odd familiarity of it, and it was silent as they all pondered it.

"Hermione?" said Harry.

"Hmm."

"I've been thinking. I-I want to go to Godric's Hollow."

She looked up at him.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I've been wondering that too. I really think we'll have to."

Harry was stunned, but Diana was relieved.

"And I think we should go soon," she said. "It's the only lead I have on my mother and it's the only thing I can think of that could help us with the Horcruxes."

Hermione nodded. "I agree. I think we should go. It'll be dangerous, but the more I think about it, the more likely it seems it's there."

"Er---what's there?"

Diana and Hermione looked at him with bewilderment.

"The sword, Harry!" huffed Hermione. "Dumbledore must have known you'd want to go back there, and I mean, Godric's Hollow is Godric Gryffindor's birthplace---"

"Really? Gryffindor came from Godric's Hollow?"

Diana couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. "It's Godric's Hollow, idiot, what the hell did you expect?"

He shrugged in defense.

"Have you ever read A History of Magic?" said Hermione.

It fell silent, and Diana took a moment to choose the right words.

"Bathilda Bagshot lives there," she commented casually. "She knew my mum."

Hermione gaped. "How do you know?"

Diana hadn't meant to not tell them. Each passing day was just so dreary after Ron left, and even before, she didn't want them to become antsy about the mission that was never intended for them. This was hers, and she didn't want to burden them with something they needn't worry about.

"Ambrosius, from the Temple," she said. "He told me."

"I think we should go, then," said Hermione at once, her face determined. "In the morning. We'll find Bathilda Bagshot. She might know about the sword and Vera."

And so they did. The next day they packed all of their things, Diana securing her bag around her shoulder and Hermione zipping hers into the inside pocket of her coat. Each were clothed in all warm items they had brought except for Diana who was without a scarf.

"Where's your scarf?" Hermione asked her that morning.

Diana thought of Wendy, the pregnant girl she had given it to.

"I gave it to someone who needed it more than I did."

Diana tucked her long hair into her black cap until none of it peaked out. She pulled her cap down just enough to shadow her eyes, and Harry and Hermione swung the Invisibility Cloak around the two of them.

"Are you sure you don't want to get under the Cloak?" Harry asked.

"There isn't enough room," she said. "It's okay. It'll be dark outside, no one will notice me."

They Disapparated from their clearing in the latest forest. She landed and opened her eyes: they were at the end of a snowy lane beneath dim streetlamps illuminating the snow under them. It reminded her of Main Street at Broceliande, but it was deserted and quiet. Ahead of them, she saw the streetlights get denser and denser, and she thought that they were probably close to the center of the village.

"All this snow!" cried Hermione from somewhere beside her. "Why didn't we think of snow? After all our precautions, we'll leave prints! We'll just have to get rid of them, you go in front, I'll do it---"

"Let's just take off the cloak," murmured Harry. After a moment, he said, "Oh, come on, there's no one around!"

They appeared beside Diana and he stuffed the Cloak into his jacket. Just like Broceliande, the began their walk passing quaint cottages lining the road. They were all decorated with varying Christmas colors and themes, some more eccentric than others. She watched Harry scan each house, most likely looking for his own.

After a little while, they finally entered the town square. The square glowed over the many Christmas lights along the various pubs and shops around them, and a large Christmas tree glimmered in front of the town church. At the center, there was something like a large war memorial.

Unlike the deserted neighborhoods they had passed, the square was bustling with late-night villagers moving to and fro. She heard a snatch of laughter and small snippets of conversation as people passed them without a second look. Inside the church, they heard a throng of voices begin singing a carol.

"I think it's Christmas Eve!" said Hermione.

"Is it?" asked Harry.

The three of them had forgotten the date long ago. Time just didn't seem important other than the constant terror about the passing of it.

"I'm sure it is," she said. Hermione's eyes landed on the church. "They'll. . . they'll be in there, won't they? Your mum and dad? I can see a graveyard behind it."

Harry looked troubled, though he nodded his head. Diana nudged Harry along across the square toward the church, but all of a sudden Hermione stopped.

"Harry, look!"

She was pointing to the war memorial. As they passed it, it transformed. Instead of an obelisk covered in names, there was a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, and woman with long hair and a pretty face, and a baby boy in his mother's arms.

They drew closer.

"Harry," breathed Diana. She ran her fingers over the pedestal. "This is you. You, your mum, and your dad."

But Harry did not appear to hear her. He was staring at his parents' faces, suddenly unaware of the commotion behind him. She drew herself up next to him and their shoulders brushed.

"I don't have a scar," he murmured to her. She grabbed his hand gently. "Come on," he said after a moment, and he slowly pulled her to the church without another backward look.

The three of them drew nearer to the church, the singing growing louder and louder as they approached. It seemed so joyous, something so incredibly mundane that Diana couldn't help but appreciate the simplicity. It reminded her of the Christmases at the Weasley's, how she always felt so at home. She hadn't thought of that in awhile, and she almost wished she wasn't forced to think of it now.

Hermione pushed open the gate to the cemetery. They edged through it, treading upon untouched snow until they reached graves that were crumbling and old. It reminded her of the cemetery at Broceliande, and the grave of the small child with his mother.

Diana and Harry let go of each other's hands, and the three wordlessly separated to cover more cemetery ground.

She began in a far corner amongst some of the oldest graves. She watched Hermione and Harry begin looking before beginning to look herself.

She saw graves of old witches and wizards, all inscribed with some ridiculously old date. She saw ages between just a year old and nearly one hundred and fifty, all men and woman and children with funny names.

She stumbled at the next one she came across.

Kendra Dumbledore

Below were birth and death dates, though the next line made her heart ache.

Ariana Dumbledore

She called for the other two, and they each weaved their way though the maze of tombs and stopped on either side of her.

Just below Ariana's name, there was a short quote:

Where your treasure is, there will be your heart also.

Seeing the graves of his mother and sister made her truly think about his childhood and what it must have been like. His father, jailed for injuring two Muggle boys for bullying his daughter; his wife left to care for a brilliant boy, a delinquent, and an afflicted sister. Albus Dumbledore, young and so intelligent, babysitting his siblings while trying to learn all he can. Albus Dumbledore, young and so wise, blamed for the death of his sister and forever estranged from the brother he only ever cared for. She often didn't think about how terribly pained he must've been as a boy. So sad for the siblings he couldn't help, so sad for the father imprisoned for only ever trying to protect his children. This was no life of a successful scholar people often see Dumbledore as; this was the life of a man torn at each turn of his life, only to be stripped until all he had left was his power of knowledge.

Harry was the first to turn away, his face a slight mirror of resentment. He began trailing the stones again, as did Hermione as she eyed him worriedly.

Diana passed the grave finally, but not long afterward she heard Hermione call out to them.

"Look at this!"

Diana and Harry met her at the grave she was standing at. She rubbed the mossy stone so she could see the words better.

It was old a eroded, much older than most of the other graves in the entire cemetery. Diana could hardly make out the name.

"That's the mark in the book," Hermione stated gleefully, pointing toward the mark just visible below the faded names. Diana lit her wand so they could see it better.

"It says Ig--Ignotus, I think," said Hermione, squinting at the stone.

"I'm going to keep looking for my parents, all right?" said Harry with a slight edge to his voice. Hermione and Diana looked at each other when he set off.

"I'm worried about him," Hermione whispered.

"So am I."

They wandered a little longer, even after the church lights went out and after the carolers had all left. The silence and the darkness was suffocating.

Diana found them first.

"Harry, I've found them. . . they're right here."

Hermione and Harry came to her side. An odd sort of grief washed over her as she read his parents' names.

The tombstone was made of marble, like Dumbledore's had been, and it was much easier to read.

James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981
Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

She had never felt such grief before. Their names were such reminders that her father did this; she had the blood of their murderer running through her veins. He had done this, and she felt like their blood was just as much on her hands as they were on his.

"Isn't that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?" panicked Harry after reading the quote.

"It doesn't mean defeating death as in living forever," assured Diana quietly. "It means. . . living after death. It's saying that death does not end life. Life lives on through those who loved them."

Saying those words made her eyes burn. A tear rolled down her cheek, but she didn't wipe it away. She let it drip all the way down her skin, for she felt she owed them her tears. She understood those words more than she suspected Harry did. She had always known death was not an end of life. Life doesn't always have to be carried away with the host when they go. Seeing their names, Lily and James, and seeing their death dates just above the quote, she could feel her bones straining under the weight of all the lives she has to carry. There were too many, but she owed it to them. She will carry as many lives with her as she needs, for what else other than that could she do in sorrow?

Diana grabbed Harry's hand once again, tightly, like Vera used to do for Tom. He did not look at her, though he squeezed back, thanking her. Hermione took out her wand and drew a slow circle in the air, and a beautiful wreath appeared at the foot of the grave.

Harry put his arm around Diana's shoulders, and Diana put hers around Hermione's. The three of them, together, stepped through the cemetery and out of the gate onto the snowy square, leaving those they had lost to their own peace.

Diana owed it to them.