Warnings; blood, violence, sex, ritual sacrifice, sad fluff, and heavy magick. (These rituals are NOT legit btw and are not at all a true reflection of any pagan/spiritual ritual, it's just how ''magick'' would work in this iteration of the hp universe. Love ur friendly Chaotic-Eclectic witch)
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The Weasley Tent. Somewhere. 2025
Harry's bones ached as he roused himself that Monday morning, and he stretched as he stood, the bones in his body cracking and popping as he did so. Harry bent down, grabbing his joggers and slinging them low across his hips, throwing on the first clean jumper he could find. Harry grabbed his wand and padded, bare-footed across the floor of the tent to the kitchen, opening the cupboards.
There was a rustle from the flap of the tent.
"We're going to have to find a shop, soon." Harry said, turning to see Hermione, already fully dressed and weighted down with a fur cape. She nodded, shrugging off her layers and walked over to the sink, washing her hands.
"I figured as much. I managed to get an elk, today. It's outside, I've already done most of the work. I just-"
Harry tugged his best friend closer, letting Hermione bury her face in his chest. They were both used to hunting by now; it was a necessity, but it still affected them both some days.
"I'll do the rest of it. I've only just woken up."
"I know," Hermione mumbled, pulling back slightly to give him a sheepish grin. "I slipped you some Dreamless last night before you went to bed."
"Hermione," Harry sighed, "I should've been hunting today, not you. This is what, the third time you've done so this month?"
"Don't look at me like that Harry!" Hermione said, her eyebrow raising and her hands going to her hips. "You were having nightmares the other day, and you looked like hell for the three days following that! I wouldn't let anything bad happen."
"I know! I know, alright? I just…I don't want you to get hurt." Harry looked away for a moment, but Hermione's hand on his cheek drew his eyes back to hers.
"Oh, Harry." Hermione whispered, stroking his jaw lightly. "That's very sweet of you. But you know full well I can handle myself."
"I know, I know." He responded. "You're a capable, brilliant, and utterly terrifying woman, you know that, right?" Harry grinned, seeing the corners of Hermione's mouth twitched up.
"'Brilliant but scary,' that's what Ron used to say." Hermione responded, her smile dimming lightly as Harry tugged her closer. His own smile got smaller, before growing again.
"Yeah. He had about the measure of it. I swear you made him piss himself once."
"Which time?" They chuckled together, wrapped up in each other's warmth, lost but for a moment. The moment was over too soon, and Hermione pulled away slowly, letting Harry press a lingering kiss upon her forehead before moving out of the safety of his arms.
"Can you go prepare that elk? I have some more calculations to do first, I had some ideas whilst I was hunting."
"Sure, Hermione. I'll sort it. I'll join you later?" Harry asked as Hermione pulled the trunk down from its shelf, setting it in the middle of the room.
"Please. I want some more salves whipping up, too." Harry nodded, sitting on his bed and pulling on his socks and boots, tying them up as Hermione opened the trunk and slipped inside. Harry stared at the space she left for a long moment, the warmth from their hug now faded. Harry let out a deep, soul-aching sigh, stepping out of the tent and into the cold sunshine.
/
The whistling of the kettle broke through the silence just as Harry had finished cleaning up; Elk meat under stasis, knife washed and their clothes neatly folded, Harry prepared tea for the pair, levitating it behind him and he stepped down into the trunk, coming onto the winding stairs.
"I've brought tea," Harry called as he walked down and turned down the right corridor, entering Hermione's study.
The walls were stuffed with books, magically reinforced shelves that would've collapsed under the weight otherwise; a large wooden desk with meticulously organised papers (that Harry knew would be in a state by the end of the week.) In one corner there were two faded Gryffindor red armchairs and a coffee table, and Hermione had charmed the ceiling to be rather like the Great Hall, except instead of the sky, there would be an ambient glow that could be brightened and dimmed.
She was sat on the floor, surrounded by various books and scrolls and rolls of parchment in various piles, muttering to herself, having not realised Harry was there at all. He coughed slightly, smirking as she jumped.
"Harry!" She huffed, pouting. Harry laughed and set the teacups on her desk. He strode over to the witch and pulled Hermione onto her feet, steadying her at the waist.
"Sorry, but I did call you! And I made tea." He said, eyes wide and beseeching. She looked at him for a long moment before rolling her eyes.
"Oh, honestly. But thank you, Harry." She smiled, reaching up to kiss his cheek before handing him a cup.
They sat in the armchairs and drank in relative silence for a moment; Hermione thinking, and Harry watching her.
He did that a rather lot, lately, he knew.
Her hair was forever braided, these days; she was insistent on keeping it long, but her trademark busy hair was too identifiable. So, braids it was; sometimes she'd have one long braid, going from the crown of her head to her hips. Sometimes there were two braids and other days they were braided differently, though Harry didn't know the names. Harry suspected Hermione braided to remain occupied; to retain some form of femininity in a world that had all but forgotten it. Today Hermione's hair was in one long braid, and she had weaved ribbons and beads into it.
There was a sort of gentle, unassuming grace to Hermione, Harry observed. One that came partially with age, and partially with wisdom. Each movement she made, from the crinkling of her nose to lifting her teacup to her lips, seemed to be part of a dance that only Hermione knew, deep down.
Hermione turned to Harry and smiled warmly, in a way that only slightly reached the eyes.
She always knew when Harry was staring.
"What's in that head of yours?" She asked, her cup now empty. She placed her cup on its saucer and onto the coffee table, and Harry did the same as Hermione crossed the minimal space betwixt the two. Hermione settled herself in Harry's lap and he wrapped his arms tight around her and Harry took a second to breathe her in and relish in Hermione's warmth.
"Galleon for your thoughts?"
"I don't think my thoughts are worth all that much, these days." Harry said.
"Oh, Harry." Hermione sighed, twisting her body towards him and threading a hand through his hair. "Your thoughts are priceless, to me."
The pair shared a soft smile, and a familiar warmth spread through Harry's chest.
"Hermione." He whispered, trying to work around his suddenly-dry throat, "I…That is to say, I-"
"I know," She smiled. Harry could see the expression on his own face mirrored in Hermione's, and the words that hung heavy in the air suddenly felt light, and comforting. Hermione always knew.
"Oh. Good." Harry muttered, grinning when Hermione let out a soft, bright laughter. "Can I-?"
"Yes."
Harry nodded, and closed the gap between them. Hermione's lips were familiar to him-they'd done a lot of stuff before-but this was different. They weren't just best friends, filling each other's needs because they had nobody else.
This was Harry, kissing Hermione, and for the first time knowing that he was home.
..
They were like that for quite a while. Soft kisses and touches, warm and tender and all encompassing, but Harry knew they couldn't stay like that forever, and when he pulled back, he saw the tears in Hermione's eyes, and he knew.
"Harry…" Hermione breathed, and the breaking in her voice and the tremble of her lips caused Harry's heartstrings to break.
"You found a way, didn't you?"
"Yes."
If Harry wasn't listening so intently, he might not have heard it; and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to have done.
"Is it-?"
"It would work. But, Harry…"
Hermione only gave Harry that look once before.
Before he walked to meet Voldemort.
When she knew that Harry would have to die.
"What do we have to do?"
"Harry, I can think of something else, please!" A sob tore from Hermione's throat and she kissed him again, desperately. "Please." She whispered, a holy prayer to some Higher Power.
"Hermione, I think-I know - that this is the best chance we've got. How long did it take for us to find this one?" Harry said, and they gazed at each other intensely, locked in silent war.
Time seemed to inch along, every second stretched out into hours, before Hermione tore her eyes away, conceding. Harry wrapped her in another embrace as she sobbed into him, and he bit back his own sobs.
It was always going to end this way, Harry said to himself. He just took the longer way around.
"I hate it when you're right, Harry Potter. I really do." Hermione sniffed, moving off of his lap and to the scattered books and parchment, picking up several scrolls.
"This is everything I've worked out. We can't do it now, I want to be as prepared as possible, plus we've got to wait a while."
"Why's that?"
"We've got to wait for one of the traditional fire festivals. The closest one is Lughnasadh, or Lammas. It's one of the fire festivals that have been adopted by new-age faiths, but its history is long and there's some roots between the modern celebrations and with wizarding culture. It honours the Irish god, Lugh, whom is associated with the Sun, agricultural fertility, and-"
"Hermione."
"Sorry. Essentially, we would be able to do this on any of the fire festivals as it's a time of magickal significance, but it's the closest one we have. We just missed Midsummer, so we have just over a month. It's on the third of August." Hermione finished, and Harry just nodded, mulling everything he'd just learnt over in his head for a moment.
"So, we have a month."
"Thereabouts, yes."
Harry looked at Hermione as he crossed the room.
"A month with you is better than living the rest of our lives like we have done." Harry whispered, drawing Hermione into another kiss.
All other plans were forgotten for the rest of the day.
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The Weasley Tent. By the Standing Stones of Callanish. First of August 2025.
The last month had been a whirlwind of action making. Harry and Hermione had gone over the details of the ritual hundreds of times, walking through the setup of the ritual space and practicing the wand movements with sticks to make sure they knew each step off by heart. They'd also been making potion upon potion, from healing salves to Polyjuice variants that they'd developed over the past twenty years.
They'd gotten pretty good at inventing, Harry thought to himself. They also spent the month travelling back to the United Kingdom, collecting anything and everything of possible use, and sneaking into Scotland.
Even so, they found themselves at the standing stones earlier than expected-Hermione was pleased with the opportunity to prepare and run through the ritual they had planned, even if they had to find a different set of standing stones after finding Stonehenge turned to dust.
And in the past month, they'd made love. A lot. Whether it was making up for lost time, or clinging to each other before the universe got upended, Harry wasn't sure. Whenever there was a spare moment-an hour here, fifteen minutes there, whatever-they were together, and now Harry knew Hermione's body better than he knew how to breathe.
That information was somewhat useless, now.
But Harry wouldn't have changed a second of it.
And so, here they were. Hermione was soaking in the bathtub, entrenched in a bath of various flowers and herbs, the bathroom covered in crystals. Harry didn't know the importance of any of those pieces, and Hermione's detailed explanation went right over his head, but he would be doing the same after she'd done with a different combination of herbs and crystals.
He wasn't too convinced on the flowers, but Hermione insisted it was important, and Hermione was usually right about these things.
Harry sat in the door-frame as Hermione bathed, the glow of a frankly ridiculous number of candles casting golden light everywhere as wax dripped and candles pooled into glowing globules.
She'd been bathing for several hours now, the bathwater remaining heated with a long-lasting warming charm, before Hermione opened her eyes.
"I'm finished with my bath, now. I'll set everything up again and then it will be your turn, Harry." She said, stepping up in the tub, extinguishing the candles and flicking on the lanterns with a wave of her hand. Harry nodded as Hermione wandlessly vanished the candles and bathwater. The sodden herbs and flowers flew into a cauldron and the crystals into a silken sack before she stepped out of the tub and Harry grabbed the towel that he had beside him, moving towards the witch and drying her tenderly, peppering the soft movements with kisses.
Harry moved to dry Hermione's hair as she slipped on a white silk robe, threading through damp curls with his fingers to separate them, weaving some magic between the strands to keep it from frizzing up. He wound Hermione's hair into a loose bun, sticking it in place with a silent charm, before pressing a tender kiss to her neck. Hermione twisted in Harry's arms to capture his lips in a kiss, his large hands almost able to completely wrap around her waist.
"Your turn," Hermione said, and Harry nodded, stealing another kiss from Hermione's lips before she started preparing his bath.
He would take this bath alone (he had trouble focusing his mind enough alone, let alone with anybody (even Hermione) looking at him.) and then join Hermione in bed; the next day would be filled with preparation, and Hermione was adamant that they get a good night's sleep.
He stripped down and handed Hermione his clothes, stepping into steaming water. Hermione meticulously placed the flowers and herbs into the water, and placed crystals and candles in various positions in the bathroom, placing Harry's wand close enough to accio when he would need it, and lit the candles with a wave before she left.
Harry was left in silence.
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The Weasley Tent Bathroom. By the Standing Stones of Callanish. The Second of August 2025.
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"Fuck."
"Hermione, love, you sure this is needed? It seems a bit much." Harry winced as Hermione shot him a murderous glare.
"I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't absolutely fucking necessary, Harry James Potter." Hermione hissed. "Just get it over and done with and be bloody glad you only have to have your set painted on."
Harry swallowed deeply, and Hermione turned her back again as Harry raised the enchanted blade. He brought the dagger to Hermione's left shoulder-blade, carving one of the many symbols he'd had practiced countless times.
The cut would leave a scar, but it matched the hundreds of other symbols that covered every inch of the space below Hermione's neck; some cuts had already scabbed over, but a puddle of blood had collected in the bottom of the stoppered bathtub; Harry held back a shudder at the sight of it, his stomach roiling against him for each cut he made on Hermione's skin. He was thankful that this would be the last one.
Harry finished swiftly, and stepped back, handing the wincing Hermione the dagger and a bottle of pain relief; she downed the potion first before standing shakily. Hermione stepped out of the tub, moving to the mirror.
She looked eerily pale from the blood-loss, and Harry bit back the acrid taste that was clawing its way up his throat.
"There…that wasn't so bad." Hermione murmured, observing her skin for any mistakes. Harry looked at her skin; the symbols seemed to lace together, hundreds of them, like some sort of macabre red lace. Silently, and seemingly satisfied by Harry's work, Hermione magically cleaned the blood off of her body and sealed her cuts, levitating the blood in the bathtub into the same cauldron the flowers and herbs from their respective baths had been placed in.
"We're almost done with the preparation. In two hours, once the flowers and herbs have soaked with the blood, I'll need you to move onto the next stage."
"That's the grinding isn't it?" Harry asked, coming up behind Hermione with the same robe she'd worn the night before, helping her slip it on.
"Yes. It needs to become a paste so I can paint the same pattern onto before the ritual starts; so whilst we're waiting, how about some lunch and then we can set up everything else outside?" Hermione said, a faraway look in her eye. It was a look Harry had seen often, one that came over Hermione's face whenever she was running through one of the many mental checklists she was keeping in her mind.
"I'll get on with lunch, then. Elk butties?"
"Please. I'll get some clothes on and then make some tea."
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The Standing Stones of Callanish. the Third of August, three am (The Witching Hour) 2025
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The ritual had taken six hours to get to this point. Hermione had done the more intricate parts of the ritual, whilst Harry meditated nude in the centre of the circle, heated only by the warmth of the thousands of candles that surrounded the area. They were placed according to Hermione's specific instructions amongst magickally placed runic sequences and alchemical symbols and crystals and a myriad of things Harry didn't quite know what to identify as.
So, there he was, meditating and trying not to focus on how bloody cold it was, pouring his magickal core into the pattern that had been painted on him by Hermione just after lunch.
Hermione was nude herself, and currently casting the last of the seven ritual circles required for the ritual; six small circles with a triangle in each one. The points of the triangles touched the edges, and each circle intersected another circle either side, encased in a larger circle and leaving a space where each small circle connected; Harry was inside this space, on a stone plinth of marble that Hermione had spent days carving into by both wand and hand.
In each small circle were thirteen skulls; raven, human, lion, snake, crow, and wolf. Each skull faced the centre of their circle and were surrounded by crystals and candles of a set colour system; purple, blue, white, black, red, and green. There were other objects in each circle, from flowers to fur and mirrors and other paraphernalia. As Hermione invoked each circle, she re-opened one of the symbols Harry had carved on her arm, dropping seven, three, then thirteen drops of blood onto the points of each triangle.
"You can stop meditating now, Harry." Hermione had said, and Harry watched Hermione walk clockwise from circle to circle as she reached the bisection. He should have felt drained from charging the pattern (which, he realised with a startle, was glowing a soft purple), but each breath he took seemed to charge him more, the air thick and electric with magick. He took one look up to the full moon above them, which seemed larger than Harry had ever seen it before.
He was, quite possibly, a little magick-drunk.
"Right. We ready then?" Harry asked, and Hermione nodded softly,
"Harry…are you sure?" She said, her voice uncharacteristically small. Harry grabbed her hand and tugged her into his lap. They'd both gotten extremely comfortable with each other's body.
"Hermione. This is the only way. And if I back out now when I've been freezing my bollocks off for ages then honestly, I don't know if I'd still be able to be considered sane."
"Harry, love, you've never been sane." Hermione giggled gently. But the gentle banter has disappeared. Hermione steeled her nerves and nodded.
Their lips fell together in an easy familiarity, and Harry's stomach swirled as it turned from comfortable into lustful.
They took their time with each other; it could, after all, be the last time.
Harry laid Hermione's body down onto the marble plinth, chuckling as she let out a yelp at the sudden cold, swallowing the nose with his lips.
The heat climbed higher and higher (whether it was the lovemaking or the candles responding to their magick, Harry wasn't sure) and Harry buried his fingers into Hermione's hair as his lips trailed onto her neck, kissing and licking and nipping. Hermione's hands moved into his own hair in retaliation and tugged, and Harry growled at the sensation, moving down her body slowly.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione gasped as he blew cold air gently onto one of her stiffened nipples before taking it in-between his lips and suckling it, his hands moving down her body to grip hard at Hermione's waist.
Hermione mewled and begged under him as his lips slid even lower down her body, and he kissed his way from her calves to her thighs, teasing as much as he could.
"Harry I swear to Morgan-oh!"
Hermione's back arched taught like a bowstring as he began to lick at her very centre, her whole body aflame as her own runes started glowing the same purple as his.
She had never felt such intense arousal in her life, even all the other countless times they'd had sex; the feelings coursing through her bloodstream were more than anything she could ever imagine feeling.
Hermione pulled Harry away from her core as she felt herself cresting at the edge of the waves, instead kissing him deeply and rolling them over, straddling his hips. She felt Harry hard against her behind and as she kissed him, she leant one hand back to stroke him.
"Hermione…fuck…you might want to finish the ritual soon, I don't think-Sweet Merlin-"
Nodding, Hermione lifted herself slightly, positioning herself over him before she lowered, both of them groaning as he filled her; tight and hot and impossibly magickal.
They moved in sync, slow and deep, getting lost in each other's touch and scent and taste, their arousal climbing in time with each other, the patterns on their skin glowing brighter and brighter as they began to chant in unison.
Holy Maiden take our lust as a sign of our sacrifice.
The sound of distant drums began to rise around them like thunder, lightning without rain or clouds striking down around the standing stones.
Holy Mother take our passion as a sign of our sacrifice.
The sounds of howling and roaring and shrieking joined the growing din, wind racing around the circles, and the many crystals Hermione had placed were glowing blindingly bright.
Holy Crone take our love as a sign of our sacrifice.
They were both close to the tipping point now; if they had cared to look, the thousands of candles around them were now three-metre columns of flames. Hermione moved her hand to the side of the marble, picking up two objects; her beaded bag, which she shrunk into the size of a single rice grain and then placed inside her locket, and the same enchanted dagger Harry had used to carve into her. The sky began to bend above them.
Macha, Morrigu, Badb, we give everything for this sacrifice!
They came together, tears in their eyes, and as they cried in exaltation and loss Hermione slashed Harry's neck. Hermione screamed, every nerve in her body being torn and electrocuted at once as the drumming grew louder and louder, pounding inside her as Harry's blood drenched her body. Hermione let out an inhuman scream as the world filled with purple light and fire and all around her came the earth-shaking response;
We accept your sacrifice.
And thus the threads of the universe were undone.
/
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AN; Harry is NOT a central character to this story or even pops up all that much, I just found I preferred his POV for this first bit! This is a very dark fic and it will get more explicit so I will be putting warnings at the head of each chapter for things just cause I don't want anybody upset. I could probably do with a beta lmao but this is the first thing I've written in too long (yay the BigSad lmao) so I wanted to share it.
Oh also magic and ''magick'' are two different things which is why they're used at different points but that's gonna be explained.
Also I'm sick of the spell-check marking British spellings as being wrong, goddamnit!
Love you all, and see you on the flipside x