~*~ Two ~*~
It took a week for her to work up the courage to bring the locket out of the box inside her room, buried deep within a chest. Harry had wanted to bring it with them, but Hermione had talked him out of it. It was one thing to look for Horcruxes; it was quite another to tote one around as a garish accessory. The locket gave her the willies just looking at it. When Draco had given it to her at Spinner's End she'd thought nothing of touching the cursed object, but now she knew better. The visions it had shown her of Draco dying in a million horrendous ways, of him leaving her, calling her Mudblood scum until tears cascaded down her face had been more than enough to convince her of it's nefarious status. She hadn't let her flesh so much as brush it since that first nightmare ridden experience.
Hermione took a deep breath as she pulled the box from the trunk. She was alone in the house tonight, Remus and Tonks away at an Order Meeting far above her need to know level. The ministry had fallen, the use of magic by Muggleborns tracked, their names added to lists. It was ghastly, but Hermione tried not to think about it. After all, it was her task to end the monster, to find the scattered remnants of the bastard's soul and end the horror once and for all. Harry might be fated to take Voldemort's life, but she was damned if she wasn't going to take her fair share of his blood.
One soul shard at a time. Her lips twisted into a venomous smile at she stared down at the locket, exposed atop an old shirt she'd used as wrapping. "This is just the beginning, Tom."
The basilisk fang trembled in her hand a long moment until her resolve overpowered her nerves. With a savage shriek she slammed the fang into the locket. An answering wail resounded through the room as a ghostly figure emerged from the shattered casing. The air coalesced around him until he stood before her, nearly as solid as flesh and blood. So this was Tom Riddle. He was more handsome than she'd imagined, boyish good looks matching the neat black curls that kissed his alabaster skin. She'd always imagined he'd always been ugly, the stain of his soul apparent even in childhood.
"Hermione Granger," the apparition tsked, his eyes following her as she jumped at his words. "You think you've won, don't you? That Draco will be safe now that you've managed to destroy this piece of me?"
Her mouth was dry, fear freezing her in place. The visions she could understand, but Voldemort himself, devastatingly aware of each move she made? That was something else entirely. He smiled indulgently down at her, his handsome features compelling. She could see how he'd bewitched Slughorn; he was the picture of innocence, not even his dark eyes exposing the demon inside.
"I don't care what you think, Tom." He sneered at his given name, giving her confidence. "I know I will destroy you. I will take you apart piece by piece and then you will be nothing more than flesh and blood. Utterly human, Tom. No better than any other halfblood that walked this Earth."
He lunged for her, but his hand was merely a chill to her bones, no more substantial than a cloud. "Struck a nerve, have I?"
The apparition hovered just in front of her, close enough his breath would have shifted her hair if he'd had any true life to him. "I may not be able to hurt you now, but I will end you Hermione Granger. I promise you that."
The utter violence in his eyes finally belied the handsome visage. "I dare you, Tom Riddle. Give it your best. You will fail."
It looked as if he would speak again, but the wail returned and suddenly there were only pieces of the locket, burnt and scattered at her feet. An acidic tang coated her tongue. She tentatively reached for one of the pieces. When it had no effect, she gathered the others, dumping the remains into the wooden box.
One down, four more to go. Would every destruction put her face to face with Riddle? Did the soul fragment she'd talked with have any ability to communicate with his corporeal counterpart? She shivered, the chill of his hand reverberating though her. If Voldemort knew what she was doing, what Harry was doing, it would all be in vain. But he didn't seem to know that the diary or the ring had been destroyed. Hermione distinctly remembered Harry telling her about his conversation with Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, but when Voldemort returned their 4th year, he hadn't possessed any knowledge of the events. She would have faith then, that her mission wasn't futile and that Tom Riddle was severely mistaken.
The weeks after the destruction of the Horcrux saw the persecution of Muggleborns reach an all time high. Lupin told her most still attending Hogwarts had escaped when they could, the Order helping them and their families flee the country. Hermione felt an unwelcome kinship to Anne Frank and all the other holocaust victims that had been sequestered away, knowing it was only a matter of time until the horrors arrived on their doorsteps. But she was different; she had the power to fight back, the power to utterly decimate the maniac leading these atrocities.
She checked in incessantly with Lupin and Tonks to see if either of them had heard from Harry or Ron. It was more urgent than ever that she talk with them. She'd destroyed the locket and had a stash of basilisk fangs just waiting to unleash hell on the final souls fragments.
Their plan was going to work, if only she could tell the boys. Owls were too risky and neither Harry nor Ron had been seen at a safe house in months. So she was left to wait, to trust the Order members to secure a meeting with the boys. And even if a meeting was arranged, Hermione took a risk apparating now that she was firmly on the books as a Muggleborn. She hadn't allowed herself to be dragged into the ministry and she'd been of age for over a year, but the Snatchers were persistent, if not intelligent. She'd taken to disillusioning herself and walking or even taking Muggle transportation instead of risking apparation.
In the fourth week, just shy of a month since she'd doomed one seventh of Tom Riddle to the great abyss, Tonks came flying into the library, her hair a shocking electric green.
She paused, gasping, before the words tumbled out. "They're in the in the Hoia Baciu Forest, at the edge of Cluj-Napoca, Romania. You can apparate there once you're out of Britain."
Hermione was on her feet, racing up the stairs to her room before Tonks had finished the first sentence. She grabbed the emergency bag she kept ready, necessarily much larger on the inside than the out. She left the basilisk fangs stowed in the trunk. As much as she wanted to bring them, Draco had taken a substantial risk getting them and she could not ask him again. They were better off in 12 Grimmauld Place, kept safe behind the strongest magic of wizards and witches far more cunning than Hermione.
She took the train out of London, passing through the tunnel to France. Once there, she pulled the map from her sack, studying the location of Cluj-Napoca. She'd brought a photo guide to Romania, procured at a shop near King's Cross, to help her determine the best apparation destination. The Hoia Baciu Forest was just at the edge of the small town and rumored to be haunted, at least according to the guide. Hermione doubted the validity of the haunting, but it ensured the site would be free of unwanted Muggles. And even if they were there, they'd write off whatever they saw as magic. The irony was not lost on her.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she pictured a small shop at the edge of the village she'd seen in the guide. The swirl of apparition tossed her about and then she was on solid ground again, her pulse a drumbeat against her temples. It was early evening, fresh snow blanketing the landscape. The sky was crystal clear, a host of stars winking down upon her.
Hermione turned in a slow circle, scanning for movement, but the town was still, as frozen as the icicles clinging to the eaves. She took a steadying breath as she turned away from the warm lights of the village. The snow crunched under her feet, dreadfully loud in the silent night. She walked through the shadowy skeletons of the trees until the village disappeared beyond the horizon. Only then did she cast her Patronus, the otter sailing into the twilight.
Then she waited, frost gathering on her eyelashes, only the creatures of the forest for company. An owl screeched in the distance, a hare bounded past, its coat white as snow. The stars spun slowly on their gyroscope, heavenly eyes watching her every move. She tried not to think, to only listen, to ignore the chill seeping down her spine that had nothing to do with the frigid night.