Ron exhaled. “That’s twice this week.”
In Godric’s Hollow, on Christmas Eve, they found graves instead of glory. Harry knelt before his parents’ headstones. Snow fell, silent as memory. An old woman—Bathilda Bagshot—led them inside, but the house held a serpent, not answers. They barely escaped with their lives, losing Harry’s wand to Hermione’s desperate Blasting Curse. ---Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows- Part 1 -...
Hermione, stitching a tear in Harry’s jacket, said quietly, “Hiding is sometimes the bravest thing. It means you’re still alive to fight another day.” Ron exhaled
That night, a Snatcher patrol passed within fifty feet. The trio silenced their breathing, wands drawn, hearts hammering. A dog barked. A flashlight beam swept the barn door. Harry’s scar prickled—not with Voldemort’s rage, but with cold fear. on Christmas Eve