Title: Butterfly Bound
Chapter 10: First Test
Rating: T
Words: 4,369
Summary: 6th year AU. Theodore/Hermione. When Harry lies dying from an unbreakable curse, Hermione is desperate to find a cure. After a summer of hell, Theodore wants nothing to do with the war. A Nott family heirloom provides the answer to both their prayers, but only if they can work together to survive the heirloom's demands. And even if they succeed, there's still a war to win...
Notes: Written for the 2012 Finish-a-Thon and edellin's fic request.
Warnings: Torture—physical/emotional, psychological mindfuckery, kidnapping, gore, disturbing imagery, cannibalism, and death.
Hermione took a deep breath, resisted the urge to glower at Nott, and stuffed her trunk into her pocket. "Now what do we have to do?" she asked.
He looked up from the book—it still looked like a Herbology guide to her—and smiled faintly in a way that sent a tickle of foreboding down her spine.
"We'll need blood, of course." The knife that appeared out of nowhere, at those words, as if Summoned was short and gleamed black in the early morning sunlight; it made Hermione shiver just to look at it.
"That's Dark magic," she accused.
He looked at her flatly. "I'm a Dark wizard."
Hermione let her breath out in a huff. He was right. And if it would help Harry…
Well, she'd tolerate more than a bit of blood magic.
"Do you need my blood as well? Or is just yours sufficient?"
Nott used the black knife to cut into his palm, spilling the resulting blood onto the book. Hermione stared, aghast, as the book wriggled like it was waking up from a deep sleep. The cover flipped open and the pages crackled against one another, with the sound of breaking glass.
He murmured something under his breath and the cut healed, leaving his palm bloody but uninjured. The blood didn't seem to bother him as he picked up the letter that held his goal and laid it on the quivering book.
The book snapped shut on the letter with a sudden violence that made her jump. Then, just as abruptly, it fell open again.
"Hold your hand out over the book," he said. "Place Potter's hair on the table, within easy reach."
Knowing what was coming didn't make it any easier to bear when Nott sliced into her hand. She watched, feeling nauseous, as her blood splattered onto the pages.
The book began glowing.
Nott healed her hand with another muttered spell and she didn't need his direction to pick up Harry's hair and set it on the bloody pages.
Please, Hermione thought desperately, let me find a way to cure Harry.
The sound of the book snapping shut was just as shocking the second time around. Hermione jumped, Nott gave her a disdainful glance, and then they both fixed their gaze on the book.
Hermione watched, huge-eyed as the book shivered and shook, sending up purple-black sparks and steaming. She hoped the water condensation would disappear from the table quickly.
Madam Pince would murder them otherwise, if she ever figured out that it was them. (Madam Pince had never forgiven her for ripping a library book back in 2nd year. Hermione still had not found out how Madam Pince had known.)
Nott seemed to be holding his breath. Hermione made sure to breathe just to one up him. He didn't notice which left her feeling wrong-footed.
Just when she was about to open her mouth to ask a question the book collapsed back on the table and lay there, still. The cover no longer read anything to do with Herbology.
Butterfly Bound the cover read and the letters glowed with an unearthly light that left her feeling cold and trembling inside.
"Is it... is it... alright?" Hermione asked uncertainly. Her palm was still bloody. She wished she could wipe it off but Nott hadn't and he struck her as fastidious enough that he would, if he was done with the blood.
"It's calibrating the chaos it needs," Nott said, his eyes never leaving the book. "Some requests take more time than others and we submitted two different ones. It needs to make sure that they're compatible."
Hermione bit her lip, mind racing. She couldn't think of a reason why curing Harry wouldn't be compatible with getting Nott out of the thick of the war. If they cured Harry, they could win the war and Nott wouldn't have to be involved.
The book, it seemed, was taking more time to come to the same conclusion. Though she supposed that made sense: the book didn't know Harry.
Abruptly the book opened to a page maybe a third of the way through and began growing. The book grew and grew like someone had stuck and engorgement charm on it and it didn't stop until it covered the entire table.
A sound came from the entrance of the library.
Nott looked up sharply, swore once, and held his bloody hand out to her. "We need to get in the book. Now. That'll be Madam Pince."
Hermione stared at his bloody hand. "I-"
"Blood to blood makes the bond," he snapped. "Quickly and don't let go."
She desperately wanted to know what would happen if she did but he was right-this wasn't the time. Hermione gritted her teeth, hoped that Ron and Ginny would cover for her the best they could, and took Nott's hand with her bloody one. White light flared between their clasped hands and resonated through her body.
It hurt.
Somehow she hadn't expected that. Breathing heavily, she clambered up onto the book until she and Nott were standing side-by-side and hands clasped tightly on top of it.
Nott murmured a quick phrase that she didn't catch; too busy keeping an eye on where Madam Pince would have to come if she was hurrying to see what was going on in her domain.
The pages began sinking under their feet and down and down and down they went.
Just as the book swallowed them whole, Hermione wondered what the book would do while they were inside it. Then they were gone.
Madam Pince bustled around the corner of her library and scowled. She'd felt magic being used.
But the only evidence that anyone had been there was two chairs pulled out from a table and a Herbology guide, carelessly left. She frowned at it-that wasn't one of hers, was it-before blinking.
Of course it was. Why, she knew just the place it went.
Madam Pince straightened the chairs muttering about careless students all the while and then carried the guide to the shelf it belonged on-there, just like she'd suspected, the empty spot where it was supposed to be-and put it back.
That done, she continued her rounds.
Theodore drifted, as if held by a thousand tiny pillows carried by a thousand tiny people. The oddness of this eventually stirred him from his contented stupor and he found himself staring up into darkness made not of black or dark blue hues but of the deepest purples and sprinkled with carelessly strew stars that illuminated hardly anything at all
He sat up, realizing as he did so that no one was carrying him despite the fact that he still felt that many someones were. Next to him lay Granger, her hand clasped in his, holding tightly enough that he thought his fingers would never be the same.
She breathed slowly, in and out, like she was in a deep sleep and, feeling uncomfortable, he looked away. It seemed wrong to watch someone while they were sleeping. They were defenseless and they were not friends.
The darkness contracted around him at that thought.
Not friends? it seemed to ask, despite not having a voice. Not friends, not friends, not friends?
Butterflies, dark and inky as the sky was supposed to be, landed around him, fluttering their wings in unison. He swallowed hard. Each butterfly had a spiral on one of its wings. The spirals were all different sizes and never in the same spot.
Chaos Butterflies.
Not friends? each beat of their wings asked.
He knew deep in his heart that they weren't going to stop until he answered them. He knew, too, why Granger hadn't woken up.
"No," he said, because lying was useless when even his thoughts were bared. "Not friends."
The wings swept up and then down three times over as this was digested and considered.
What?
"It's complicated," Theodore said. "We've come to an agreement though. A business arrangement."
That involved getting, for all intents and purposes, married. But that wasn't so unusual even now, in the Wizarding world.
"We're in agreement."
He watched as the wings moved and one of the butterflies came closer, making its way to him with an awkward gait. After a few seconds, Theodore steeled himself and reached for the butterfly, laying his hand flat on the ground in front of it so, if it wanted, it could clamber on.
It did and he carefully, so as not to disturb it, moved his hand to his lap. The butterfly's feet (he had no idea what they were really called) were icy cold and just by having it so close to him he felt numb and restless all at once, power surging around him.
Tricks?
"Yes," he said simply, because there was a trick to it. "However, the bonding agreement is real enough."
Pure truth.
The butterfly on his hand shifted, wings brushing his skin and making goosebumps rise on this arms. The hair on the back of his neck lifted. Was he going to die this way? Like this? Before ever getting fully into the book?
What would happen to Granger if they killed him now?
Theodore supposed he ought to be grateful that she was asleep or else she'd be the one to kill him for this awful, dreadful uncertainty.
Tricks.
"Always," he said, hoping he was guessing right. "A little bit of chaos to the deal."
They had to approve of that, right?
The darkness and butterflies pressed close to him, he had butterflies huddled up next to his feet and his legs now and they were cold, so cold that it burned and Theodore amended that thought.
Chaos didn't have to approve of anything-not even more chaos.
Some of the pressure in his chest eased up at that thought and Theodore took a careful breath. It was getting painfully cold. His fingers tightened around Granger's.
Sorry, he thought at her, I think I might have gotten us killed before we even got started properly.
She didn't stir. She hadn't heard him, though he hadn't really expected her to.
"Alright," Theodore said to the butterflies, staring down at the one on his free hand. Its wings moved in fluttering shifts that were nearly hypnotic. He shook his head. "Do with me what you will."
He'd gambled and lost. He braced himself to die, partly relieved because even this-even this was better than the war-and partly regretful. He hadn't wanted to die and that had been one of the things that had motivated him to do this.
He wondered what would happen to the butterflies if he died. He was the last, free Nott. Would they remain bound because his father was still alive? Would they be set free?
What would they do once free?
Theodore hoped that they'd take out the Dark Lord.
There was silence for a long moment. Painful, aching silence that reverberated through his body like he was nothing more than a hollow tin that someone had tapped.
Up and down went the wings. He kept his eyes fixed in their direction, though he closed them, which didn't seem to matter as he could still see the wings in his mind's eye going up and down and deciding his fate. Still, he didn't want to have his eyes open as he anticipated his death. He breathed carefully, so that he wouldn't lose what little cool he had remaining to him, and waited. Just waited for them to move.
Not so.
Theodore's eyes snapped open and he stared blindly at the butterflies. "What?"
Their spirals were moving now and he realized that half of them had, somehow, moved instantaneously to cover Granger. They rose and fell with each breath she took.
The other half remained around him. He could feel their feet on his back. A few of them fluttered up to land on his arms and shoulders and head. He throttled the urge to panic.
Approved. The word was sighed through the darkness and the stars began to spin. Approved, approved, approved.
His heart leapt in his throat.
Then, abruptly, they the butterflies began sinking into him and Granger. Granger screamed in her sleep, a long wailing sound that Theodore would never forget for as long as he lived even as he writhed and shouted himself.
It was fire, it was ice, it was pain worse than the Cruciatus, it was unending and he wanted to die just to make it stop, make it stop-
And then nothing.
He lay there, panting in the darkness.
Approved, came the sibilant whisper, this time from inside his mind. Welcome to chaos. May you find what you desire even if what you think you desire may not be what you find.
With that uncomfortable welcome, he tumbled through and through the darkness, still holding fast to Granger.
Hermione came awake abruptly and then realized that she shouldn't have, couldn't have, been sleeping. She stared up at the sky-which was a pale, new grass green-and then slowly looked around at the trees whose branches crisscrossed the sky. The trees were twisted, strange, and beautiful. All shades of blues and purples and pinks with what looked like real metal winding its way through and around the branches and trunks and leaves alike. Silver, gold, copper.
She sat up slowly, her hand still holding fast to Nott's. She glanced at him, saw he was still breathing, and kept holding his hand.
He would have to wake up soon.
She hoped so anyway.
The grass they were laying on was springy and coiled. A dark, midnight blue in hue, it felt thicker and warmer than normal grass. Almost like blood was pumping through it.
Hermione swallowed hard and hoped that the ground would, at least, remain ground-like. She wasn't sure she'd be able to handle it if started to breathe or something.
"Stop that," Nott said without opening his eyes. His voice was an almost painful rasp. "You're thinking too loud. The chaos will hear and get ideas."
Hermione stared at him as his slowly pushed himself up. "The chaos will hear and react," she said flatly.
Nott looked around the area, his expression more considering than surprised, and nodded. "Chaos feeds off what we think and believe," he said, "and then it transforms it past what we can imagine. That's what chaos is."
"So no thinking of-bloodthirsty monsters?"
He winced. "None at all. Please."
"Fine," she said, because she didn't want to have to face monsters either. "How long do we have to hold hands?"
He still hadn't let go over it.
"At least twelve hours," he said, checking his watch. "We were out for just over one. So eleven hours more at the minimum."
"And the maximum?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Nott shrugged. "As long as we can. The longer we hold on, the stronger the bond will be and the easier it will be to reach our goal-so say family stories anyway."
"But you don't actually know?"
He shook his head impatiently. "Think, Granger. I've never been in here before. How could I possibly know?"
It was a good question. Hermione still wanted to object to it on the basis of fairness. She throttled that urge, took a deep breath, and said, "You tell me."
That came out a bit ruder than she'd meant it to. "I mean, you've at least got stories," Hermione clarified. "Is there anything we can expect?"
"The unexpected," Nott said promptly. "But more importantly-danger. Pain." He smiled faintly, mockingly. "All things that make for a good Gryffindor adventure."
"Oh ha ha," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "This was your idea, remember?"
Nott was silent for a moment. "Yeah," he said, "it was my idea. You're the one that wants to save the world though."
"Not the world," she said. "I want to save Harry."
"And then what?" Nott asked, getting to his feet which meant she had to as well.
The corkscrew grass clung to their robes which made it a bit more of a production than it should have been-compounded by the fact that they couldn't let go of each other. Hermione picked a bit of grass off her robe and dropped it when it began wriggling in her hand. She watched with fascinated eyes as it disappeared into the ground in a frantic spiral of movement. "What do you mean, then what?"
His hand in hers was oddly comfortable. Hermione wondered if that was the bond working to make it so or just that, in this strangely coloured world it was soothing to have a bit of human contact.
It was too bad he had to ruin it by talking.
"You save Potter. Then what-Potter's got to save the world? No wonder he wanted a rest if even his best mates are dropping that on him."
She sucked in her breath sharply. "That's not funny."
He gave her a quizzical look, dark eyes sharp and intelligent. "It wasn't meant to be funny. It sounds like the truth, from my perspective. What else should I think?"
"That he's my friend," Hermione snapped. "That I want him in my life and I want him awake because he'll die if he doesn't get up!"
Nott looked unimpressed. "Maybe you believe that," he said coolly, "but that's not what's going to happen and that's probably not what he's going to take out of it. You're going to wake him up, are you? Then toss him into a war that no one else can win-at least, if you swallow Dumbledore and the Dark Lord's propaganda. There's only so many ways that he can take that."
"That's not what I'm doing." He just shrugged, clearly not believing her, and Hermione, rather than shout at him when she couldn't stomp off, just looked away and repeated, "I'm not. You can't say I am. You don't know me."
"I don't." He sounded almost amused. "But that's going to change, Mrs. Nott."
Her eyes widened in disgust. "I'm keeping my last name!"
"That'll be interesting," Nott replied. "Let's find a source of water and figure out where to go from there."
She couldn't disagree with his plan of action but she could, and did, take exception to 'that'll be interesting'.
"What do you mean that'll be interesting?" she demanded.
Nott, damn him, laughed.
"Seriously, Nott. I'm keeping my last name."
Three hours later, when Granger had finally stopped harping on her name, Theodore was long past wishing for a headache potion and seriously considering if he could get his trunk out and get one before she decided to take it hostage until he fully agreed that her keeping her name was absolutely, entirely unfunny.
Lying, at this point, would be entirely unbelievable. Even if he conceded he doubted that she'd believe it. And the real problem was that, even with a massive headache, Theodore couldn't not think it was funny.
If nothing else, picturing the other purebloods reacting to such a scandalous declaration was guaranteed to send him into being deeply amused. Only a Muggleborn would even think of keeping their last name when marrying into an old, pure-blooded family.
And the social suicide it would be for him, for having bonded to her anyway!
Theodore held no illusions that she would give in and tie herself to tradition and actually change her name. Granger was well-known to be hugely resistant to altering her stance on something once it was settled.
He really couldn't help but think it was funny, all around. It was better than getting offended as she harped on and on and on about how unfair it was to expect girls to give up their names when they married.
"I could be wrong," he said, when she took a breath, "but since your name isn't hyphenated, didn't your mother take your father's last name? It's not just a pureblood thing. Unless both your parents were Grangers to begin with?"
Granger shut up and gave him a glare worthy of a gorgon and stomped off through the woods.
Because he was still holding her hand, though he was seriously doubting how long that would last at this rate, Theodore followed her despite it not being something he wanted to do.
Fortunately, she didn't stomp on for that long and they wound up walking through a brace of pale trees with white bark and sparkling jewels growing from their branches much like fruit would only this fruit was priceless and inedible. Flowers turned to follow them, waving their fronds or reaching for them, depending on their type, and Theodore swore he saw at least a few flowers with teeth.
He tried hard not to think about that. He hadn't been lying to Granger when he'd said that the chaos world drew inspiration from them.
The sound of burbling water drew his attention. "This way," he said, pointing with his free hand off the trail. "Can't you hear it?"
She looked rather desperately like she wanted to pretend she hadn't just to continue being disagreeable. (No doubt she would say the same of him, of course.)
But she huffed a little and squinted in the direction he pointed. "I hear it," Granger said. "Is it safe to go off the path?"
"Wands out and we'll be as safe as we can be until we have more time to figure out the so-called rules of this place," Theodore said. "It's not going to be easy."
"If we get attacked," she said, her voice steely, "you are not running away."
"I'm stuck holding your hand," he pointed out, bristling at the insult. "It would be rather hard to get away."
Though at this point he rather wished that he could.
"I'm going to point out that it was your idea to ask me to come into this book with you," Granger said coolly. "I want to save Harry and I daresay that my want is more than yours, but that doesn't change the fact that you asked me. So just stop complaining and deal with it."
"You're one to talk about complaining," Theodore said. "But I'll concede you point on the rest of it, Granger."
She nodded, looking mollified.
They walked for a while longer, the air getting chillier, and then, just as it was beginning to get dark, came upon a stream.
"The water is green," Granger said. "I'm not drinking that."
"You might have to," he replied, kneeling down to get a better look at it. "Light your wand, would you? I need mine to check the water's safe."
She muttered something under her breath. "Lumos." The light from her wand was pure and white and lit up the stream they were at.
"Thanks," he said, touching his wand to the decidedly green water and murmuring a spell.
The water shone steadily with a pearly blue light.
He nodded, tried another spell and then, just to be sure, tried a third. Then he looked at Granger. "It's safe to drink."
She gave it a dubious look.
Theodore didn't really blame her. He wasn't looking forward to drinking it either but it was safe.
"Since when are you an expert on water charms?" she asked carefully, taking care to make it not an accusation.
He appreciated the effort. "My mother was a magizoologist," he said, getting to his feet. "I used to go with her on some trips when I was very young. Mother taught me the charms so I could help her make sure the animals were living in healthy environments."
And he'd refreshed his memories by reading up on them when he'd first realized that going into the book was viable. Water was a necessity.
"You were underage."
"Obviously, Granger."
She frowned at him. "No, I mean, how did you not get in trouble for magic?"
"Due to the Trace?" Theodore waited until she nodded. "The Trace doesn't apply to purebloods. There's no way to keep track of the magic that's used in families where every member can use it. It's only the Muggleborn that really have to worry about it. Even the halfbloods can get away with a lot more."
No Ministry member was going to come swooping down on a house where a charm to heat water was used when they knew a magical adult lived there as well, for instance.
Granger's face went dark. "That's discrimination."
"It's a safety measure," he answered. "That's what it is. You think that eleven year olds would be able to resist showing off to their friends all the magic they can do and their Muggle friends can't?"
"It's not right," she insisted. "It's hard going home and not being able to show your parents anything you've learned over the year. They should have that option. Or for studying ahead-how can they keep up if they can't use magic?"
"You manage."
She bristled.
"Look," Theodore said, "I didn't make the rules. The fact that I benefit from them? Not my fault. I'm not going to be sorry for it either. But if you'd stop and think a moment you'd remember that all homework assigned over the summer is wandless and that's for a reason: so that the Muggleborn can keep up to where they're supposed to be with their year-mates."
"But they can't get ahead if they want to."
"Sure they can," Theodore said. "Make friends with a pureblood. Get invited to their place for the summer."
"That's not the point," Hermione all but growled at them. "They shouldn't have to jump through hoops to circumvent the law."
Theodore wondered what on earth she wanted him to say. "Maybe not," he said, though he didn't see what was so wrong with the law they were talking about. It was for the safety of the Wizarding world. "But how else are we supposed to be safe?"
It was deeply petty of him to enjoy the way Hermione's face went sour, like she'd bit into a lemon.
She didn't answer him.
They drank, filled canteens with more water, just in case, and walked on, hand-in-hand, in silence.