TW: this chapter contains a moment of dubious consent.
Chapter 21: Watch It Burn Down
Every time Pansy closed her eyes, she saw the shape of Harry's back as it dissolved into darkness. She heard not his voice in her ears, but the sound of the hooves that fell heavily on the ground for miles, carrying him away from her. She felt not his touch, but the sensation of him being ripped away; the tactility of the distance between them as he went. It seemed that every time she tried to think of something else - of anything else - the moment only haunted her more. The tighter Daphne held her, too, the worse it seemed to feel; the more pronounced Harry's absence became.
"You know it was for the best," Daphne told her, with a gentleness that felt vaguely like apprehension. "I know it hurts to see him go, Pansy, but he's right, you would only be in danger if you went with him - "
"Everyone is in danger," Pansy returned bluntly. "Do you really believe that if he fails, we'll be safe here? Once he sees Theo and Draco beside Harry, Tom will come for us. He'll kill us both." She grimaced. "We're not safe here."
"Harry won't fail," Daphne said tentatively. "You can't know that."
"No, I can't, but aren't we the ones who have to think of this?" Pansy insisted, rising to her feet and pacing the floor of Daphne's chambers. "When have men gone to fight a war where everyone's come back alive? They're not prepared for failure, Daphne," Pansy pronounced abruptly, turning to face her. "They have not prepared for what could happen if they lose, and Tom won't take prisoners this time; he won't allow survivors. Can you live with knowing that your son is here, your daughter, and you are all vulnerable? Tom will kill them too, Daphne," she said through gritted teeth. "You know he will."
"Stop," Daphne said, shuddering. "Stop, Pansy, please - "
"We can't stay here," Pansy said again, growing more and more certain of at least that much. "And this is not just about Harry. I want him to succeed, Daphne, you know I do, but we can't be the fools who sit as targets for a mad King's rage."
"We can find sanctuary, then," Daphne suggested, fidgeting. "A church. An abbey."
"And sit cloistered there, where Tom can surround us? Starve us, keep us isolated, and wait to drive us out? No," Pansy snapped. "No. And that's assuming he would even keep to the principles of sanctuary, which you and I both know he may not." She paused, shaking her head. "No. We can't hide. It won't work, and I'm tired of doing it. We have to do something else."
"Like what?" Daphne pressed, joining Pansy where she stood. "Where else could we go, Pansy? And be reasonable," she urged warningly. "We cannot suddenly aim to fight our husbands' battles for them. We're hardly soldiers ourselves."
At that, Pansy frowned, staring out into nothing.
"You're right," she permitted. "We can't fight this for them."
"Well, I'm glad you see th-"
"We can't fight it," Pansy continued, "but perhaps we don't need to."
Daphne blinked, startled. "What?"
"This isn't a war," Pansy said again, turning to face her. "Well, it is, but not for us. Daphne, this is not a battle, it's not a game; it's a dance," she determined. "And who has ever been able to do that better than us?"
"Pansy, I don't - "
"These men," Pansy said, her mouth tightening. "They'll kill each other. They only know how to break things; how to destroy things in their wake. If Harry takes on Tom at Hogwarts, he will be seen as the aggressor; the traitor," she said bitterly, thinking again of what Ron had said about the nobles rallying around Harry while he remained the personification of honor. "If Harry kills Tom, the older Loyalists will challenge him, and war will drag on. And if Tom - " she paused, clearing her throat. "If Tom wins," she postured slowly, aching even to think of it, "then more of the same. And Draco and Theo will suffer, too. Better to think of it as a dance, then," she urged, "and find a way to win the audience, too. The nobles. To be the better performer."
"Fine, so what if it's a dance, then," Daphne said, bemused. "What difference does it make?"
"All the difference in the world!" Pansy protested. "There must be a way to make this seem palatable to the nobles who will have to accept the rule of one man or the other. There must be a way to swing their favor to Harry's side before he comes crashing in after months of bitter slander, and countless lies -"
"The nobles are a lost cause," Daphne said slowly, shaking her head. "Those who side with either the Peverells or Gaunts have been born and bred to hate one another for centuries."
"The noblemen, yes," Pansy agreed. "But again, it is a war for them. For us, it has always been a dance."
"The women?" Daphne asked, and Pansy nodded.
"Think of the others involved, Daphne, whom you know have not crossed Harry's mind, or Draco's, or even Tom's. How will Fleur Delacour fare after this? Or Hannah and Lavender, who are daughters of Loyalists and will be cast aside by one side or the other, or possibly even both?"
"The lucky ones will be redistributed to the winning side," Daphne remarked darkly. "The unlucky ones will die for their husbands' allegiances, or for the ambition of their fathers -"
"Yes," Pansy agreed. "Which is why we have always stepped so lightly; because we know better than anyone that our fate is not ours to decide. We have to follow the tides, follow the men, as they make war between each other."
"But what can we do?" Daphne pressed. "We are hardly armed for combat, Pansy. Even with the best of intentions - even with a plan," she clarified, "what can we really do?"
Some, Pansy heard Harry say in the back of her mind, require a more visibly impressive weapon in order to create the illusion of danger -
"Perhaps we do have a weapon," Pansy murmured, frowning in thought.
- but I say you can cause more damage with the element of surprise.
"What do you m-"
"Hermione," Pansy said abruptly, pressing her lips together at the once-oppressive name. "I promised her when I left that she would not be happy with Tom, and if Draco is to be believed, then surely she's come to know what I meant. I told you I couldn't hate her, Daphne, and it's not because I'm any admirable saint; it's because I knew what she brought upon herself. Because I knew one day she would sit on my throne and wear my crown," Pansy confessed bitterly, "and thus, she would inevitably be subjected to my pain. Because no woman has ever been fulfilled by being the wife of an arrogant, ambitious King - and whatever else Hermione is, she is a woman first. She is still a woman, and she is learning a woman's lesson: that whatever power she thinks she gains in this life," Pansy exhaled, "her survival still depends on a man who may put her aside."
"Perhaps, but do you really think she would help you?" Daphne asked dubiously. "She may have learned her lesson about the King, but still, she's not without her own ambition. She wears that crown with as much pride as you did, and it will not be easily taken from her."
"She is not the weapon. Her misery is the weapon," Pansy corrected. "Her unhappiness is what we can use to bring her to our side, and her cunning is what can help us keep our husbands out of trouble, out of the dungeons, out of the stocks. I am positive that by now Tom has disappointed her," she added, shuddering slightly at her own memories of being put aside. "And Hermione is too smart not to see, as I have, that Harry's attack on Hogwarts will have repercussions; that she stands to lose as much as we do, especially if Harry wins."
"But how would we reach her?" Daphne asked, and then, seeing the way Pansy turned slowly towards her, she took a few steps back. "Oh, no. No, Pansy, no - "
"Draco and Harry agreed they would need at least a day to muster their armies," Pansy reminded her. "Whereas if we rode straight to Hogwarts, we would easily beat them there."
"Pansy, you're with child!" Daphne protested. "You can't - that ride would take - "
"All night, at least," Pansy agreed, nodding. "But if I can keep my husband alive, then so be it. If I can make an alliance that saves his life," she determined fiercely, "then I will."
"But what about me?" Daphne insisted. "What about my children?"
"You have servants you trust?" Pansy asked, and Daphne nodded slowly. "Then hide them. It's better that way, anyway. Leaving them here in this house is dangerous. Even having them with you means they are at risk."
"But - "
"You don't have to come with me," Pansy assured her, stepping forward to brush her thumb against Daphne's cheek. "You've stood by me long enough, Daphne, and I will not ask you for anything more. But still, you should hide yourself, and your children, if you're going to stay behind. We cannot wait for the men to make our fates for us," she added firmly, swallowing hard. "We must make them for ourselves."
Daphne paused, looking conflicted.
"You are not afraid anymore," she noted, and Pansy shook her head.
"No," Pansy agreed. "Because this is what I was born for. I made a promise to my husband that I would protect his legacy, and I will. But he made a promise to me that I would see my enemy fall, and I will see to that promise, too. In fact, I will make it happen. Because I am strong and brave," she thought, hearing Harry's voice in her head, "and I am cunning and careful, and I am quick and clever. And if some men are born to make war, then I am born to end them, because I have a tactician's brain, an executioner's will, and a demon's speed, and I have a woman's intuition on top of that. And I will end this," she said firmly. "I will end this before it costs me any further damage, and I will do it in spite of those who believed I could only be bought and sold. I am a woman born of a noble and loved by a prince, and the heart in my chest beats truer than that of any Gaunt tyrant, or any false Queen. I will end this," she said again, certain of it this time. "I will not wait. I cannot wait."
Another breath, and then - "I will end it," Pansy promised, reaching out to rest her hands on Daphne's shoulders. "And if I stand alone," she exhaled slowly, "then I will fail alone, but at least I will have finally stood for something."
Daphne faltered for a moment, her breath suspended; and then, before Pansy knew what was happening, Daphne had dropped to one knee, her head bent low.
"Your Majesty," Daphne said, and Pansy blinked, surprised. "My Queen," Daphne declared firmly, and Pansy stared down at her, uncertain, before recognizing the offering; before accepting the fealty that had been sworn.
When Pansy raised Daphne to her feet, it was without tears or hesitation; without fear or grief.
It was only a dance, as it had always been.
Drawing forth, rising up; relevé.
Hermione looked up from her reflection to watch Fleur diligently taming her curls, pinning them in place with the unerring touch of a craftsman, or an artist.
For a moment, Hermione wanted to take one of the pins and stab her.
But she found she was without the energy for revenge.
"You should be careful," Hermione said quietly, and Fleur looked up.
"Majesty?" she asked, frowning slightly, and Hermione cleared her throat, raising her voice just slightly.
"You should be careful," Hermione said again. "With the King, I mean. There's no use in us pretending he doesn't pursue you, but it is a dangerous thing to give in to his advances. I would not advise it."
"Majesty," Fleur began tentatively, and Hermione shook her head.
"I realize I may sound like I'm - " she paused. "I realize I have an agenda of my own in advising you away from him, but I hope you will listen to me. He is powerful, he is handsome. He is difficult to resist. But the only thing more damaging than refusing the King, Lady Delacour," Hermione said solemnly, "is giving him what he wants."
She felt a little hitch from Fleur, as if the woman had flinched.
"I know a little bit about requiring a man's attention for my survival," Fleur said eventually. "This, what you say about the King, is true for most men that I have known, and I wish it were not the case. But this is not the first time I have been used, and I know it will not be the last."
"You don't trust me," Hermione noted, and Fleur looked up, meeting her eye's reflection.
"I wish you no harm," Fleur said carefully. "But between my life and yours, I choose my own."
"I know the feeling," Hermione said, and then paused. "Were you warned against me? To see me as an enemy, I mean," she clarified.
"Yes," Fleur said, without hesitation. "They call you a witch. At Beauxbatons, they say there has never been a sharper-eyed woman than you. They speak of you as if you are a monster."
"And do you think I am?" Hermione asked. "Either a witch or a monster."
"No," Fleur replied bluntly. "I think you are a clever woman. But every clever woman is a monster of some kind," she added, her lips pursing slightly. "To every man, such a thing is highly unnatural."
"True," Hermione said, and paused. "Lady Delacour," she began, and stopped again, catching something in the reflection and turning sharply. "Lady Nott?" she asked, disbelieving, as Daphne stepped into the room. "And - "
She paused, feeling the blood drain from her face as Pansy stepped in through the frame. Beside her, Fleur dropped into a curtsy, but Hermione froze, halfway to defensively rising to her feet when Pansy held up a hand, shaking her head slightly.
"How about this," Pansy suggested drily. "I won't make you pretend I am a Queen if you don't make me pretend you are one."
Hermione swallowed, nodding once.
"Agreed," she said; and then, "Hello, Pansy."
The other woman's mouth twitched slightly. It was obvious that she had ridden all night, but even with her hair askew and layers of exhaustion evident in the pallor of her skin, her dark gaze was as sharp as ever.
"Hello, Hermione," Pansy replied.
"Leave us," Pansy said, and Daphne and Fleur nodded, slipping quietly from her former chambers as she faced Hermione, neither of them moving.
"So," Hermione began.
"So," Pansy agreed.
"I told you I would kill Harry if you ever came back," Hermione said, though it felt like less a threat than a reminder. "You must have a very good reason for being here."
"I do," Pansy agreed, taking a few steps to close some of the distance between them. "I have to tell you, Hermione, you do not look well."
Hermione glanced up, setting her jaw. "Helpful," she muttered under her breath.
"I hear it told you have a new rival," Pansy added, and permitted a wry smirk. "And here I thought I was special."
"Well, there is no rivalry like ours," Hermione agreed drily, taking a step to bring them face to face. "I take it you are the one who got to Lady Delacour first, then?"
"No point denying it now," Pansy said, shrugging. "I thought her a valuable asset."
"You were right," Hermione permitted. "Tom cannot look away from her."
She looked down as she said it, and Pansy stepped forward unwillingly.
"I didn't mean for it to be like that," she said quickly, knowing it was a sparse offering at best, and Hermione made a face.
"You knew it would be."
"Well, it was a risk I deemed worthy of taking."
"On whose behalf? Yours?"
"My husband's," Pansy said. "Harry's."
Hermione blinked.
"So it's true, then," she said. "You've married the runaway Peverell." She paused. "You have his child too, don't you?"
Pansy blinked. "How did you - "
"Doesn't matter," Hermione said dully. "You are all of Tom's worst fears realized, and all because I didn't kill you when I could have." Another pause. "When I should have," she amended.
"I realize I never thanked you for that," Pansy commented, and Hermione wearily met her eye.
"You should have shown your gratitude by staying gone."
"I had to warn you," Pansy said. "Harry is coming for his throne."
"I know," Hermione said listlessly, and Pansy faltered.
"What do you mean you kn-"
"Draco told me," Hermione supplied without comment, and though Pansy didn't know quite what to make of that remark, she said nothing. "I haven't told Tom," Hermione admitted eventually, as Pansy might have guessed.
Pansy let a few moments pass in uncertainty as neither of them moved.
"Why didn't y-"
"I don't know," Hermione said bluntly. "I don't know. For once, I don't know what to do. I have no idea what steps to take, or even which would be more dangerous. It always seemed so clear before; it was always so stark, right and wrong. You were my enemy," she added, looking up at Pansy. "You are my enemy, and yet - "
"I could protect you," Pansy offered quickly. "I would protect you," she amended. "Harry is coming with a lot of men, Hermione. With nobles from both sides. I could make sure you get out of this safe; that you are not lost for Tom's mistakes."
"Why?" Hermione scoffed.
"For the same reason you didn't kill me when you should have," Pansy reminded her. "Because I don't wish you dead."
Hermione paused, letting the implications of that remark settle between them.
"Still. It seems inevitable that you'll be the death of me," Hermione noted darkly.
Pansy nodded. "Yes. As you will almost certainly be the death of me."
"Then we are not so different from these Gaunts and Peverells, are we?" Hermione asked, looking irritated. "Hardly different at all."
"We are different so long as we make different choices," Pansy reminded her. "You didn't kill me, and I wish to return the favor. However dangerous you are to me, I will help you escape with your life."
"And if I don't want your help?" Hermione prompted.
"I still want yours," Pansy replied. "I want this castle emptied. I want innocent lives spared. I want Tom to have Harry and Harry to have Tom if that's what they want, but I want the rest of you - Fleur and Daphne and Hannah and Lavender and whoever else does not wish to crumble between generations of bloodshed - to be gone from here." She paused. "And," she exhaled, wondering if the other woman would agree, "I want your help to do it."
"A lofty goal," Hermione permitted, and paused. "It will be Harry who dies," she remarked, and Pansy tried not to flinch.
"Even if you're right, the nobles will come for Tom again," Pansy reminded her - don't bend, she thought, don't break. "And they will be more persuasive than ever with a dead Peverell heir to rally behind. A living man is a traitor, but a dead one is a martyr," she challenged. "Can Tom withstand the attacks from inside if they keep coming?"
"No," Hermione replied honestly, to Pansy's immense surprise. "Diagon is nearly bankrupt. He cannot afford an attack on Hogwarts, much less the fallout that would occur." She paused, thinking. "And I suspect you are right," she added slowly, bringing her fingers to her mouth in muted calculation. "We must minimize the damage of a civil war, or else Diagon will be ripe for the taking. Even by a weakened Durmstrang, or by the nobles of Beauxbatons -"
"I was thinking more about keeping my husband alive," Pansy commented, "but yes, Diagon too."
Hermione looked up, moderately annoyed at the reminder of Harry.
"He was stupid to come back," she remarked flippantly. "He's a reckless, careless man."
"He's a reckless, careless rogue, actually," Pansy countered. "And he fights honorably for the throne that should have belonged to his father."
"Honorably, by gathering nobles in secret?"
"Fine," Pansy muttered, shrugging. "So it's not the most honorable thing. But who has Harry killed in cold blood, and what does Tom have on his hands? Whatever you have against Harry," she said firmly, "surely you know he is the better man."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak - to argue, Pansy guessed - but Pansy cut her off.
"Has he started it yet?" she asked Hermione, dropping her voice. "Tom. Has he?"
"Started what?"
"Taking without asking," Pansy supplied, still moderately surprised that after all this time, it still ached to recall. "Thinking of you as a possession. Speaking of you as a belonging. Threatening to take back the crown he so generously gave you," she added bitterly, "because you started to demand things of your own?"
Hermione blinked.
Blinked again.
"You and I are different," Hermione said - conspicuously not an answer, Pansy thought, though she could see the point had registered clearly enough.
"Oh, I know," Pansy permitted with a nod. "Tom never loved me, never valued me; not like you. But isn't it so much worse, then," she prompted, stepping closer, "that for the way he looks at you, and the way he claims to revere you, he still treats us both the same?"
Hermione blinked again.
"I - "
"Pansy," Daphne interrupted, her face appearing in the frame. "Hermione, we're running out of time. What do you want to do?"
Pansy turned to Hermione, arching a brow.
"Well?"
It was not like Hermione to be without a plan, and she didn't care for the feeling.
"Have Hannah or Lavender get Severus," she said, glancing at Daphne. "Immediately. And covertly," she added, and Daphne nodded, sparing Pansy a questioning glance and then turning quickly at Pansy's subsequent nod.
"Why Severus?" Pansy asked coolly, but Hermione only stood in silence, trying to force her mind to halt its incessant buzzing.
"An attack on Hogwarts will be expensive. Too expensive." She paced the floor. "Tom or Harry must die this time. Each are the last of their line."
Pansy frowned, one hand floating to her stomach. "But - "
"He doesn't know that," Hermione snapped, glaring at her. "He doesn't know, and you must do everything possible to keep that to yourself."
Pansy scoffed. "Your sage advice is much appreciated, Hermione, but I'm hardly going to announce my pregnancy to the man who wishes me dead - "
"What do you wish for him, then?" Hermione interrupted brusquely. "He will kill you if he finds you. What will you do if you find him first?"
Pansy opened her mouth, pausing, and hesitated.
"What would you do if you were me?" Pansy asked eventually.
"Kill him," Hermione said without hesitation.
Pansy blinked.
"Well, right on the first guess," she admitted, just as Severus appeared in the frame.
"Your Majest-" he broke off, glancing at Pansy. "What is this?" he demanded, taking a few gruff steps forward. "Does His Majesty know she is - "
"I need you to get out, Severus," Hermione said flatly. "I need you to round up the nobles and leave. Say whatever you need to say to them to make it happen, but do it. Get the servants out, the staff - "
"On whose orders?" Severus asked, his dark brow furrowing.
"Mine," Hermione snapped. "And I need you to act without delay."
Severus stared at her. "But - Your Majesty, I cannot - "
"Severus, I'm quite pressed for time," Hermione informed him irritably. "If you wish to oppose me, then oppose me, but I do not have time for dumb-stricken silence. Do you wish to stay here and die for this King, or do you wish to follow my instructions and leave?"
Severus took the question like a blow, reeling slightly.
"And the King?" he asked her, and beside her, Hermione could feel Pansy stiffen in disbelief.
"These are my orders," Hermione reminded him. "If the King accuses you of wrongdoing, remind him that he was the one who gave me sovereignty to make demands."
Severus hesitated. "And will he?" he asked. "Accuse me," he clarified, and Hermione shook her head.
"Not when I'm done with him," she said, and Severus nodded slowly.
"Best of luck, Your Majesty," he said, sparing Pansy a brief, furtive nod of his head, and then he pivoted over his shoulder, disappearing into the corridor.
At once, Pansy rounded on Hermione. "How did you know he would do that?"
Hermione shrugged. "All men have egos; even the ones who have been stomped down over time. Tom crossed him," she pointed out, recalling each time that Tom had pushed Severus away or berated him for his failure to produce Harry. "He's been ignoring Severus for months, and now there are cracks in his loyalty. All it takes is one rupture for the entire foundation to fall."
Pansy looked impressed in spite of herself.
"Pansy," Daphne said, reappearing. "What do you want us to do now?"
Pansy glanced at Hermione, who shrugged, gesturing for her to decide.
"Where are Hannah and Lavender? And Fleur," Pansy amended, and the other women appeared beside Daphne. "Help get everyone out," Pansy suggested, and Hermione nodded her agreement. "Empty this castle as discreetly as possible. Tom will notice, surely," she added, glancing back at Hermione, "but get as many people out as you can before he does."
"How?" Lavender asked, and to Hermione's surprise, it was Fleur who scoffed.
"Let me teach you something," Fleur said in her airy French accent, "about getting a man to follow your every move without question."
"Oh," Lavender said, looking stunned. "Okay, well - "
"Now what?" Pansy asked as Daphne came into the room, letting the others process out behind her.
Hermione shrugged. "Now we get to work."
They agreed that Harry should face Tom alone.
"Once Severus has the castle emptied," Hermione posed aloud, feverishly pacing back and forth, "you can let Harry in. Let it be the two of them, as it should have been, rather than a revolt by the nobles; such a thing cannot be unseen." She glanced up, pursing her lips. "Better they not get ideas about rebelling against their next King. Better, too, that we not look weak to Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, or they'll be next at our doors."
"Their next King," Pansy echoed. "Does that mean you support Harry's cause?"
Hermione's gaze cut coldly to hers.
"It means the King presently on this throne is not in his right mind," she said flatly. "Whoever's blood claim is stronger makes no difference to me. The man who has wronged me will pay for his wrongs, but however this turns out, I must survive." She stared fiercely at Pansy. "Do you understand? I must survive. I've had my sins, but at the very least I've earned my right to survival, and between your life and mine, I choose mine."
"I wouldn't ask you for anything more," Pansy agreed, and Hermione nodded, holding her hand to her mouth in thought and beginning to pace the floor once again.
"Be careful," Daphne whispered to Pansy, reaching out for her hand as they came closer to parting. "Are you sure you know what you're doing? Or that this will work?"
"No," Pansy admitted, glancing over her shoulder at Hermione. "But whatever this will be, I need you to get to Theo first. Make sure that whatever he and Harry have planned, it stops before it starts. Let this be between the Gaunt heir and the Peverell heir."
Daphne blinked. "But - "
Pansy drew her into a close embrace, turning to whisper in her ear. "Get Draco," she whispered, breathing it into Daphne's ear. "Be certain that Harry only looks like he's alone. I put my faith in your hands."
Daphne turned to brush her lips against Pansy's cheek. "You don't trust her?" she breathed against Pansy's skin.
"Just do it," Pansy exhaled firmly, giving her one final squeeze before nudging her out the door. "Go, and best of luck to you, Daphne," she said, taking a long look at her. "Be safe, Lady Nott, and be careful."
Daphne turned briefly to Hermione, who stared at her.
"Thank you," Hermione said, looking conflicted. "You have been more a friend to me than I deserved."
Daphne nodded, a tinge of regret in her softened gaze. "I wish you well, Hermione," Daphne told her honestly, looking between her and Pansy. "I wish to god we are all three standing here again by the end of this day, but if we are not - "
She hesitated, and Hermione stepped forward.
"Then it has been both a great pleasure to be your friend," Hermione assured her, "and a true privilege to have been your enemy."
Daphne nodded, fighting a hesitant smile.
And then, with a last look, she was gone.
"How will we keep Tom occupied?" Pansy had asked her. "Harry is at least a half hour's ride away - won't Tom notice that the castle is empty?"
But Hermione had known precisely where he would be, and had known that it wouldn't be a problem.
"Tom," she said as she entered his workspace, pulling open the familiar dungeon door. "I need something from you."
She watched the back of his neck as he tilted his head at her entry, glancing briefly over his shoulder.
"I told Severus I wasn't to be interrupted," Tom said impatiently. "Though - " he frowned, turning to face her. "Where is he? He should have been here by now with the things I requested."
"He'll be here soon, I'm sure," Hermione said, coming to stand beside him. "In the meantime I thought perhaps I could be with you." She waited, clearing her throat. "Alone with you," she clarified, and he turned, considering her with curiosity for what felt like several silent minutes, the both of them paused by months of suspicion.
The next few seconds, though, all happened in a rush.
It was easy enough to fall back into habit; to let his mouth fall on hers with his usual possessive direction, and to let him lay her back against the table where he'd first taught her about power; about passion, pain, and control.
As Tom's lips burned down her neck, Hermione closed her eyes.
I want a love that feels like rage.
"Have you missed this, Hermione?" Tom said gruffly in her ear, his hands burning along the cut of her dress, scathing marks into the boning that tore into her ribs. "Have you missed me? I knew that you would return," he said to her, his voice low. "I knew that you would change your mind. Because what are you without me?" His tongue slid against her neck, his teeth bearing down against her. "What are we when we're apart?"
I want a love without softness, with fury; a love that lashes out.
"I never left you," she said, swallowing. "I have only ever wanted you, Tom. You know this. You know this."
I want a love that I build from nothing, that I cobble together with my bare hands, that rips me apart while I bleed for it -
"I know this," he echoed, his nails digging into her thigh.
- while I tear the world apart for it -
"Has it been worth it?" he asked gruffly.
- while I claw towards it on my knees.
"Have you been satisfied without me?" he laughed, the sound of it burning at her throat. "I doubt it."
I want a love that feels like rage.
"I know more than you think, Hermione. I know what you have kept from me," Tom whispered in her ear, and she went rigid. "I know the secrets you think have been safe. I know that you've betrayed me, and look how forgiving I am," he growled, gracelessly tearing at her gown. "Look how merciful your King can be."
I want a love that has consequences.
"How," she began, and cleared her throat. "How have I betrayed you, Tom?"
I want a love that lives on its own -
"You think I don't know?" he asked, and then his hand was on the base of her stomach, singeing through the silk. "You really think I don't know?"
- that breathes and unfurls in your absence -
She held her breath.
- that breaks the bones and hearts and wills of everyone on earth -
"I asked you for an heir and you denied me one," he snarled, and his touch that had never been soft had no longer even the pretense of passion; he sank into her, forcefully, and she let out a cry of pain.
- before it is ever diminished.
"I didn't," she forced out, flinching. "I didn't, Tom, I would never - "
I want a love that festers like a sickness; like a curse.
"Don't lie to me, Hermione," he said, his hand bruising around her arms. "Do not lie to me; not when I have lies enough with these snakes at court. I have seen the most intimate parts of you, haven't I? I've seen the depths of you; the darkness in you, the fury, and it made me loyal to you. It made me put aside my better judgment for you. It made me sacrifice everything, put my own crown at risk, for you - and what have you done in return?"
I want a love that is bigger than me -
"You saw the depths of me," he raged quietly in her ear, "and turned away."
- and meaner, too.
"You betrayed me," he said, teeth gritted, "and look how I still come to you. Look how much I give you, how richly I reward you, while you have been falser to me than any of my nobles, than any man who sits unworthily at my court. Is that not love, Hermione?" he asked with a wretched laugh. "Is that not what it is to love someone, to take them in your arms when you would rather diminish them to nothing for what they've done?"
I want a love that looks like you.
"Tom," Hermione said, but she heard in her voice that she was pleading. "Tom, please - "
Tom, please -
What have I done?
"This is what you made me, Hermione," Tom ranted down at her. "This is what you made me, didn't you? This is what you've done. You wanted a King you could not refuse," he snarled, "and now I am that."
This is what you made me, Hermione -
"I am a King," he hissed in her ear, "that no one can refuse."
- this is what you've done!
For a moment - in a chilling breath - Hermione glimpsed something in his eyes; a flash of futures and pasts, a blinding glimmer of chaos, of intertwining strands of light. A snake, she thought, and a lioness; passion and blood and bone. A brash darkness, a bright paleness, a flash of raven hair - a touch in the darkness, the sputtering of a candle flame, the hollow glow of a raised crown, a strike of steel against gold -
The air in her lungs wrenched to a muted gasp as he collapsed against her, finally falling still, but the flickers on the horizon, the fire that raged out of sight - the crimson sky, the scarlet shadow, the world engulfed in flames - failed to fade from the backs of her eyelids, searing against the channels of her mind.
Tom pulled out of her with a groan, shifting to fall onto his back beside her as he caught his breath, one hand falling to his forehead.
Hermione swallowed, trying to steady the racing of her heart and finding she could not, she couldn't, as the rest of her fought furiously to take control, to shut it out, to shut out everything she had seen and heard and would see, and would hear, and everything, everything, everything that was yet to come -
"I should kill Karkaroff," Tom remarked absently, staring up at the ceiling. "Just in case. There's certainly no love lost between us for what he's cost me, and you said yourself he was conniving, didn't you? You called him a bully, and he is. And not even a useful bully, which is the worst sin of all." He turned his head, looking at her. "Yes, I think I should be rid of him," he said, and Hermione shuddered at the way the words seemed to burn a hole through her, as if he were no different from the fiery visions in her head.
"I'm pleased you haven't been too childish about my attention to Fleur," Tom added, turning his musings back towards the ceiling as Hermione closed her eyes. "You've learned your lesson since your obsession with Draco. I should thank you for it."
"Do you love her?" Hermione asked, drawing moisture to her mouth, and Tom laughed.
"She is certainly beautiful," he permitted. "Valuable. Desirable. Were I free to, I'd marry her. Get some lands and some heirs off her. But I don't forget that you made me what I am," he said, turning his head to face her. "Nor do I forget that I can have her without the laborious task of putting a crown on her head."
"She - " Hermione began, and swallowed again. "She is not for your amusement, Tom."
"Isn't she?" he countered, and laughed, rising to his feet. "In any case, now that you've come to your senses, I don't see that I would need to. It's all so very simple, isn't it, Hermione?" he pressed, brushing his lips coolly against her cheek. "That you have always understood power, yours and mine, and you know there is no man on earth who will equal you but me. There is no higher aspiration you can have than to share mine."
Me and my power, you and your throne, we are not ourselves without them -
"Tom," she said, and numbly forced herself to sit up. "What will you do," she asked quietly, "when you have taken what you want from me?"
He turned over his shoulder, staring at her, and failed to soften.
"That's the beauty of us, Hermione," he told her, his gaze never falling from hers. "The beauty, and the truth, and the blessing and the curse of what we are. That we will never stop taking what is ours," he murmured. "Because we will never have enough."
You will never be happy with him, she heard Pansy say.
Hermione closed her eyes.
"We will never have enough," she agreed, turning to leave the room, and she felt him stare at her; felt him watch her go.
"Hermione," he said, growling it out as she went. "Hermione, where are you going?"
She let the door fall shut behind her.
She heard his footsteps, the shout of her name.
"HERMIONE!"
But she kept walking, even as his footfall landed heavily behind her, and she didn't stop.
"Pansy," Harry exhaled, shaking his head with bewilderment as he ran into the courtyard to meet her. "What's going on? Where's Tom's guard? Daphne said the nobles - what is -" He looked at her, blinking. "What on earth are you wearing?"
"Daphne and I borrowed her servants' clothes to get in the castle undetected," Pansy explained, resting her hands on his shoulders to steady him, to focus him, before glancing behind him. "Where is Draco?"
"Here," Draco announced, walking in behind Harry and frowning at the eerie silence of the castle courtyard. "And more men not far behind, if we need them - "
"It won't come to that," Pansy warned, shaking her head. "It can't come to that. It will be you and Tom alone, Harry."
Harry frowned. "Then why is Malfoy here?"
"Because I don't trust Hermione," Pansy said in a low voice. "Nor should she know you're here, either," she added to Draco. "Not unless it's absolutely necessary."
"Why me?" Draco insisted. "Why not Weasley, or one of the older Weasleys, or - "
Pansy glared at him. "You know why."
Draco scoffed in disbelief. "If you think I have any influence over Granger, you're wrong," he assured her, though Pansy noted he looked down at his feet, as if he'd already lent the matter some thought. "She's given me no indication that she sides with me," he said gruffly, "or even against Tom, for that matter."
"Yes, and Pansy, if you don't trust her," Harry began, but Pansy cut him off.
"I trust her so far as our interests our mutual. I believe she knows what's best for this castle, for this kingdom, and I believe she's right to keep you both from war. But do I believe she can be relied upon to side with you? With us?" Pansy shook her head vigorously. "No, Harry, I don't - "
"Well then we should ride on the castle now," Harry protested, glancing at Draco. "It's emptied, we have the advantage, and - "
"SHH," Pansy hissed, shoving Draco out of sight as she heard footsteps behind her, Harry's hand falling instantly around the hilt of his sword. "Hermione - "
"Don't draw that," Hermione said firmly, and thrust a hand out.
Pansy froze as the sword that had been in Harry's now-vacant hands buried itself in the courtyard ground, leaving him to stare down at his empty scabbard.
"How did you do that?" Pansy gasped, helplessly reaching out for where the sword had been, but Hermione didn't answer.
"We made a deal, didn't we?" Hermione demanded, storming up to Harry and challenging him with a look. "I told you it would cost you your life if you challenged him - your life," she repeated, looking furious. "Did you somehow not think me worth listening to? Or did you perhaps mistake a death threat for some sort of idle game?"
"I thought some things were worth dying for," Harry countered, setting his jaw. "And if you really think I need a sword to do this, then - "
"HERMIONE!" Pansy heard Tom bellow, and Pansy turned, gaping at him.
"Harry," she said firmly, "Harry, you need to - "
But when she turned back over her shoulder, both Harry and Draco were blocked, somehow; Pansy pressed her hand out, speechless, but it was as if a cage of ice had grown up from the ground, settling in crackled frost beneath her feet as Harry pounded firmly against the glass-like wall, the sound of his voice muted behind it.
"Hermione," Pansy gasped, catching the white glow of the other woman's palms and realizing where the barricade had come from. "Hermione, what are you - how are you - "
"Ah, Pansy," she heard Tom remark coldly behind her, and she turned, staring at him with a heavy, uncomfortable swallow before he glanced over her shoulder, nodding to Hermione. "Now this is a very interesting thing you've done, my Queen," he said to Hermione in a low voice, eyeing her. "Did you empty the castle so that I would have them at my mercy?"
"Yes," Hermione said, her voice toneless.
Pansy stepped backwards, licking her dry lips and hoping it was a lie, a trap; that somehow, the other woman had not betrayed her quite so flagrantly as it appeared.
"Is that Draco?" Tom asked, glancing through the impenetrable glass that Hermione had somehow created. "Well. Perhaps you were right about him after all, my lioness."
"I told you I was," Hermione said stiffly. "I told you he couldn't be trusted."
Pansy swallowed hard, colliding with the wall behind her and shivering at the ice that chilled her through the fabric of her dress, one hand falling to her stomach as she registered that the blade of Harry's sword, too far away to reach, was now buried in layers of ice.
"Hermione," Pansy said quietly. "Hermione, please - "
"Ah yes, and as for you," Tom said, returning his attention to Pansy. "You've been away a long time, wife. I take it you missed me? Certainly it wasn't that you foolishly led your lover to his death for anything less," he added with a mocking laugh, gesturing behind her to where Harry raged from within his ice-built cage. "Oh, and what's this?"
He locked eyes with her, tilting his head slightly as Pansy shuddered, feeling a strange, discomfiting scraping of spindle-thin nails inside her mind.
"Oh, Pansy," Tom sighed, letting it evolve to a grim chuckle. "You came here carrying a Peverell heir and thought you could survive it?" Pansy flinched, finding herself helplessly trapped. "You thought that I would let you run again, and with a challenger to my throne? Oh, Pansy," he lamented again. "I thought you were at least cleverer than that."
Pansy blinked as Hermione shifted, rotating around them with her eyes fixed on Tom.
"You won't win," Pansy informed him, summoning every spare bit of strength she could find beneath sinking layers of fear. "You can't win forever, Tom. No man does. There are ascents and there are falls, and I promise you, your ruin is coming."
"Ah, but I'm hardly just a man," Tom reminded her. "Of course, I'm sure you wouldn't remember, having settled for less as of late," he added, gesturing lazily behind her to where Harry had been trapped as he took another step towards her. "But I could reassure you, if you like."
Pansy glanced over his shoulder at Hermione, watching the other woman's sharp-eyed gaze rest unflinchingly on Tom's back; finding no comfort there, she turned to stare back up at him.
"You'd better kill me this time, Tom," Pansy said flatly. "Because if you make the mistake of letting me live I won't stop coming after you. I won't stop until you're dead, and neither will Harry, and neither will all the men who turned on you. So kill me," she said, forcing a laugh. "I welcome it. Because I am only the start of it, Tom." She met his gaze defiantly, curling her nails into her palms. "Even if you kill me, I am still the beginning of your end."
Tom's cold blue gaze darkened. "Well, if that's what you wish, then - "
He reached out, but before Pansy could move away - before she could even think to flinch - Hermione's hand had shot out, forcefully wrenching Tom's arm behind his back without even touching him; without contact, and with little more than a blink.
"You will not hurt her, Tom," Hermione said quietly.
Pansy let out a breath, very nearly sinking to the floor as Tom whipped around in a rage, a howl of displeasure tearing from his lips.
"You will not hurt her," Hermione said again, drawing a bright white glow to her palms, "and I promise you, you will not hurt me."
Tom came towards her slowly, his entire body rigid with disbelief.
"What is this?" he asked, his voice laced with a low, dangerous fury. "Do you think you can turn on me, Hermione? I taught you," he snarled at her, grimacing. "There is nothing you are capable of that I didn't first plant in your head, or place in your hands - "
"I lived a life before you, Tom," Hermione spat back at him. "And I will live a long time after, too. And if you are not immortal, then it is only because you failed me, not because I failed you."
"Hermione," Tom snapped, and she watched the power manifesting in the veins along the muscle of his hands and wrists and upwards, glowing from the vascular channels of his arms. "You think that Harry will save you? That he will be any better than I have been? He will kill you, you know. He will kill you - he will have to, and even if he somehow foolishly doesn't, then he will diminish you to nothing, and you and I know that would be worse. You and I both know that you will not stand to return to rubble," he snarled at her. "That you came from nothing, and that you would rather die than go back."
"I don't need Harry," Hermione said bluntly. "I don't need you. Ask me," she challenged with a step towards him, glaring up at him even as she felt the earth tremble beneath her feet, the sky itself tinged with red. "Ask me what a Queen is without a King, Tom." She leaned forward, placing an icy hand on his cheek, and placed her lips near his ear. "Ask," she commanded him, and he tore away from her with a flicker of rage.
"You cannot control me," he said through gritted teeth, power releasing from his fingers like a whip to slash against the ground beside her feet. "You cannot control me, Hermione, and you cannot win - "
"Can't I?" Hermione asked, ignoring the line of flames he conjured to circle the two of them, drawing them closer, impossibly close. "Haven't I seen the depths of you, Tom?"
You and your power, me and my throne, we are not ourselves without them -
He let out a punishing laugh, reaching out to let his hand sear against her skin.
"And I know the depths of you," he returned, "and you will never be satisfied, Hermione, as I am never satisfied. You will never be whole without me, Hermione, and you can never - you will never - be complete - "
You don't want softness, Hermione -
You want a love that feels like rage -
She saw two of him again, past and present; saw all the versions of him as he had been and as he would be, reflected in the image of the flames.
Take this, a past version of him said as she slid her blue-tinted fingers along the sharpened line of his jaw. Take what you feel, and use it -
Once upon a time he had taught her to reach for something she scarcely knew she possessed; he taught her to reach for control, for vastness, to give them space, to calm it, to find the stillness she could harness so that she could be of some use to him. Once, he had taught her to take the little corners of herself, to feel them echo inside her; to use the little bits of herself, to suppress them, to find instead what he had wanted from her.
Control.
Always control.
Is that all anything is?
You, and the things you can control?
"Hermione," Tom ground out, and she could see clearly now through swimming flashes of incoherence that the sky was more than red - that it was richer, darker, fuller, and so thick she could fall back and drown in it - and that this, finally, was the nightmare she had been waiting for; that this was the ending she had been promised each time she closed her eyes.
It had always been easy when they were touching, when they were close, for her to find the pieces of him; the elements of what he was that had been so helplessly drawn to hers. He had known it upon sight, and she had known it, too - that the moment her eyes fell on his, she had found another missing piece of what she was, and he had seen just as well that the moment they met they would not be parted except by force.
Except by terrible force; except by violence, except by death; except by the destruction of what had once belonged to them both.
So when you take a life, she heard herself ask, as Tom let out a howl of agony and she let a hiss of pain slide through her teeth, you do it with a piece of yours?
If I did not imbue something with a piece of myself, he challenged her in return, what power would I have over it?
"Hermione!" Tom shouted, his nails digging into her skin as she was certain the flames were real now, and not just of his creation, but of hers as well. "You wouldn't dare," he raged, thrashing against her touch. "You will be nothing without me, Hermione - you will be nothing!"
It had been hard to conjure vastness before; difficult, if not close to impossible, to find her stillness. She had tried and failed to be cool, to be cold, but this, the matching of herself to him, was easy. She closed her eyes, finding the piece of herself that was most like him; the sharpest edge of herself, filled with rage and hatred and the brains of a man, a pity - a gifted mind, wasted - a woman, do you think us fools? and I raised you up from nothing, nothing, nothing, and I can drag you down again - and used the heat of her anger to bind herself to him.
It was so hauntingly familiar; her resentment found his as easily as if they'd been born from the same font of fury.
My son, the King!
You want a love that feels like rage -
Is that not love, Hermione?
This is what you made me, Hermione -
This is what you've done!
She'd possessed parts of Draco before and marveled at him; she had held Rabastan Lestrange's very being in her hands and made it hers, and yet nothing she had ever done had been like trying to take hold of Tom. It was easy, easy enough to find the pieces of him that matched hers, but still, even with her anger, he was as difficult to manage as fire itself; as impossible to hold as if she'd tried to grasp blindly at the wind. The closer she bound them, the more it burned; the more it felt as though a malignant piece of herself were only growing stronger, growing wilder, and raging more violently out of control.
You and your power, me and my throne, we are not ourselves without them -
What have I done - what have I done -
Her vision was blurred from effort when she saw it; the sword, which she'd taken from Harry, that Pansy yanked free from the frozen ground. She watched the flash of loose raven hair as Pansy drove the blade into the side of Tom's neck, slicing through him; sending him, dizzied, to the side.
Tom let out a terrible yell - a scream of rage, of fury, of wrath that would not be extinguished - but even then, Hermione knew a mere blade wouldn't be enough.
So she took the piece of him - the shard of him - and brought it crashing down, driving it into them both like a knife, like a dagger, like a sliver of ice. She felt it tear at the depths of her; the last vestiges of a hunger, a curse, that swept through her like a current.
My son, the King!
This is what you made me, Hermione -
This is what you've done!
At once, the sky was dark, an ebony pitch of smoke - a brash darkness - and she could see somewhere behind Tom a face, a hand outstretched for hers - a bright paleness - and everything she had lived so many times, so many ways -
The hollow glow of a raised crown -
A strike of steel against gold -
Reach inside yourself and take it -
"What is a Queen without a King?" she asked again, looking Tom one last time in the eye to watch the blue in them start to extinguish.
He stared at her, wordless, and collapsed to his knees, the sky burning black around them.
"Unburdened," she promised him, before finally letting him fall.