“Where are we?” asked Harry as he looked around to discover their group had Apparated into the middle of a forest, next to a meandering river. The trees were so tall that the dying sun’s last rays reached the moss-covered ground with difficulty. It reminded him of his Occlumency barrier, and he found himself looking for Quidditch hoops along the river bank. He didn’t find any.

“The Forest of Dean,” replied Hermione in a quiet voice. “I camped here once with my mom and dad.”

“So did we,” said Luna. “Do you remember Daddy, the anglerfish in the lake?”

Her father distractedly mm-hmmed in agreement as he moved to sit on a nearby flat stone. Xenophilius Lovegood looked tired beyond measure, and his fingers shook around his thin, long wand. Apparating away from what was left of their home had zapped the last of his strength.

Harry fleetingly wondered what had happened to the Rookery, and if that cursed fire was still devouring everything in sight. Hermione had said it was Fiendfyre; enchanted flames that were somehow alive—sentient. It was the product of advanced Dark Magic, and they were all lucky to have survived it unscathed.

He was glad the three of them had gotten to the Lovegoods when they did, or this day would have ended on a much darker note. And Harry wasn’t sure he had it in him to survive another close friend’s death.

“Are we safe here?” Ron asked in a slightly trembling voice. His eyes danced from one bush to the next as if expecting to find giant spiders or werewolves.

“The moon’s nowhere near full,” Harry told him. “And I think the Forbidden Forest’s the only one in Great Britain with a family of Acromantula.”

“Don’t worry,” said Luna, coming to stand closer to him. “The Bowtruckle will protect us.” Though she was dressed in a pair of striped blue pyjama pants and shirt, the Ravenclaw blonde looked very sure of herself and completely at ease in this foreign environment.

The ginger-haired Gryffindor turned to her with a bewildered expression. “Thanks,” Ron said, tone dripping with contempt, “I feel so much better already.”

Luna seemed to miss the sarcasm completely, and she turned her dreamy silver eyes to his, a kind smile warming up her porcelain-white face. “You’re welcome.”

“We should be safe here for a little while,” Hermione said as she knelt to the floor. She put her handbag down and started rummaging in its folds. When she reached in with both hands, her arms disappeared inside all the way up to her elbows. “I know I have it in there,” she muttered as she searched further up inside her small pouch.

“Aha!” Hermione exclaimed at last before pulling back with an armload of cloth that she tossed to one side. Standing up, she reached for her wand, and a few “Leviosa” and one “Erecto” later, she had assembled a full-sized wizarding tent in a small open space near one of the river’s bends. It was dark-brown with mended parts in lighter and darker hues. Clearly, it was second-hand.

“You thought to pack that up while we waited for Harry?” asked Ron incredulously.

“Don’t be daft,” she said, pushing the curtain that hid the entrance to one side. “I’ve had it ready for months now.” Ron’s eyes widened at her words. “I had the idea when we went to the Quidditch World Cup.”

“But that was at the beginning of our fourth year,” Ron said as he followed her inside. “You can’t have been carrying that with you all this time? That’s mental!”

“Never mind that, Ron,” Harry said, following suit. “I’m glad you did, Hermione.”

The inside of the tent looked a lot like the ones Harry had seen two years ago. The bushy-haired witch had pulled out some shrunken furniture from her bag before returning it to its proper size. It was sparse and simple, but it had a cosy vibe to it, and it wasn’t the worst place Harry had ever stayed.

Ron was as bewildered with it all as Harry was, but the Lovegoods seemed to take it in stride. When Hermione produced a worn-looking loveseat, Xenophilius Lovegood was all too happy to slump down in its folds.

Hermione sat down on a chair, busy searching within her charmed bag again. Minutes later, she pulled out a few phials that seemed to contain medicinal potions. She handed two to Luna, who went to sit next to her father so that she could help him tend to his wounds.

“What do we do now?” asked Ron as he sat down cross-legged near Hermione’s chair.

Harry thought about that long and hard. His first instinct was to take everyone back to Cove Cottage, but with the Fidelius Charm still active, all his friends would see was a bare plot of land. 12 Grimmauld Place was equally protected and, without Dumbledore’s intervention, would only let Ron and Hermione inside. While they could have gone back to the Burrow or Hogwarts, Harry was hesitant to endanger more of the people he cared about before he fully understood their situation.

What would Sun Tzu do? he wondered, before answering his own question. Think things through. Gather information and plan a strategy.

Ever since leaving the cottage, Harry hadn’t had a minute to think, rushing into one situation after the next. The instant he’d arrived at the Burrow, he’d been swept into a whirlwind of urgency that had started with Hermione informing him that Luna was in danger and that they had to get to her fast. He hadn’t had time to say much more than, “Let’s go!” before Hermione reached for his arm and Ron’s, and she Apparated them both away to the battleground.

“How long have you been able to Apparate?” Harry asked her as the thought caught up with him.

“I’ve been reading about it for months now,” she said, and that didn’t surprise Harry in the slightest. “Of course it’s illegal to attempt it if you’re underage.”

Sensing there was more to the story, Harry said, “But…”

Hermione blushed a little as she said, “I’ve been doing calculations, and well—I have used that Time-Turner quite a lot, it would seem.”

“You mean you’re seventeen already?” Ron asked. “Blimey!”

Harry had no time to feel impressed by his best friend’s prowess; his mind was ablaze with questions. “How did you guys know about the attack?”

“Luna told us—or rather, her hare Patronus did,” Hermione replied.

Bewildered, Harry looked at Luna, who sat next to her father. She was dabbing what looked like Dittany on his temple. “They’re always happy to assist,” she said over her shoulder. “You only need to ask them.”

“Who were they, Luna?” Harry asked. “Do you know why they attacked you?”

It was her father who answered him. “My work, perhaps,” he replied dazedly. “I have been quite insistent about relaying the truth.”

Harry nodded in understanding. For a while now, his newspaper, The Quibbler, had been printing all the stuff the Daily Prophet kept ignoring. Between conspiracy theories and discussions of imaginary creatures, Xenophilius Lovegood had made it quite clear which side he stood on—and it wasn’t Lord Voldemort’s.

“I’m glad you came to help us, Harry, Ron, Hermione,” he continued, fixing them each, in turn, with his cross-eyed silver gaze. “Thanks for saving our lives.”

“Of course, sir,” replied Harry.

“We should stay here for the night,” Hermione suggested, before going back to her bag. “I’ve got some biscuits in there, and I can make tea for everyone. It’s not safe to move tonight. But tomorrow, we can try and reach out to Order members to ask for their help.”

“Do you have any chocolate chip cookies?” Ron asked her eagerly. And it looked as if the mere promise of food made him forget everything about the dangers lurking about the forest they were in.

***

Harry dreamed again.

He couldn’t have said where he was, but he immediately wanted to leave. There was a tangible sense of wrongness to the darkly lit room he found himself in. It was a cavernous space so massive that he couldn’t see its walls. The floor beneath his feet was made of dark-grey uneven stone and was wet as if it had rained recently.

Moving forward, despite his better judgement, Harry shuddered as flaming torchlights revealed a pile of pale, off-white bones. Several skeletons had been laid to rest atop each other, and they’d lain there ever since to gather dust in a jumble of femurs, tibias, and ribs.

Something moved in the distance, diverting his attention from the pile of bones. Harry couldn’t see what it was, but instincts told him he wasn’t alone. Something or someone was here with him, barely out of sight, shrouded in the darkness. Palms sticky with sweat, the young man moved forward, wand in hand.

Voices drifted to him and, against his better judgement, he aimed for the place he thought they came from.

“We need their help, Fenrir,” a sibilant voice that Harry recognised at once said.

“Yes, my Lord,” a dark, gruff voice responded. “In exchange for a better life for us all.”

“Yes, of course,” Lord Voldemort said, and Harry could start to see the pale contour of the mad wizard’s distorted face. The man standing next to him was no man at all. He was the opposite of the Dark Lord. Whereas Tom Riddle was thin, hairless with a gaunt and ashen face, the stranger was muscular to the point of appearing burly. He had long, matted grey hair and whiskers that covered half of his face, giving him a bestial appearance. Coming closer, Harry noted that his Death Eater robes looked uncomfortably tight.

“Talk to them again,” the Dark Lord ordered. “We—”

Turning on his heel with the fluidity of a snake ready to pounce, Voldemort narrowed his scarlet eyes at the spot where Harry stood.

The young boy froze; this had never happened before. But he’d never had so much range of motion either. Harry fleetingly wondered if it had to do with his Occlumency lessons; had the connection somehow become stronger because he’d become better at it? Or perhaps was it simply that the cave Voldemort stood in today was less protected than the strongholds he’d occupied before.

Pale, purplish thin lips stretched in a parody of a smile as the Dark Lord said, “I believe we are not alone, Greyback.” Then, taking a step forward, he seethed through clenched teeth, “Where are you hiding, little boy?”

Harry stepped back in alarm.

“Ah, I see,” Voldemort said, and red eyes locked onto Harry’s. “I’m coming for you, little boy. I’m coming.”

An intense burst of pain shot through the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead, and Harry could feel the Dark Lord invading his mind. It wasn’t the gentle prodding of Saturnine’s magic, and it put Professor Snape’s worst attacks to shame. Harry fought with all his might to tear away from that dark place, but there was no way he could invoke his beloved forest with its obstacle course of Quidditch hoops.

Instead, Harry thought of everything he held dear—his school friends, Remus Lupin, who was his last link to his departed parents. He thought of Saturnine, who’d shown him nothing but kindness all summer long, and Luna and her father, so different but the least judgemental people he knew. And Ron’s sister, whom he desperately wanted to see again.

His mind was filled to the brim with memories of fun times spent in Gryffindor’s common room, of learning spells with Remus and working on his essays with Saturnine. Thinking of Ginny’s smiles and Luna’s corky necklaces, Harry screamed as he tore himself away from the Dark Lord’s mental grasp. Holding onto the light with all his might, he ripped the darkness apart, and the dream bubble exploded. Reality returned, along with four pairs of curious eyes.

“They’re coming,” Harry said between two quick breaths.

An instant later, he was on his feet in the middle of Hermione’s tent, his wand in hand.