AN: As I write this, there's only been one new review, courtesy of my beta MariusDarkwolf. It's the usual sort of thing, so I thank him for the compliments and will privately remain convinced that they're undeserved and that I'm a complete hack… and I've just said this out loud. Oh well.
This chapter soundtracked by an English singer called Frank Turner, whom I've recently really gotten into. Check him out, so long as you don't have right-wing views or are a hipster dick.
DISCLAIMER: I own bugger-all to do with Harry Potter except the books and an electronic wand toy, which I have to say was only purchased because of the convenient shape for, shall we say… playtime… oh come on, you can by vibrators shaped like renowned misogynist Edward Cullen, how's this any weirder?
The ten children huddled like penguin spies on a chilly night underneath Harry Potter's Invisibility Cloak. Halfway to the corridor Kara had been distracted by something (possibly a shiny object or a thought passing unmolested through her mind, Hermione thought, perhaps unkindly) and the resulting pileup had deposited them on the floor in front of Neville Longbottom.
"You're going after the third floor corridor, aren't you?"
"Well… yeah. We reckon-"
"I don't care what you blimmin' well reckon, Hermione Granger! I'm sick of this! You lot make trouble for everybody else here, that's why we're last on House Points for the eighth year in a row, in case you were wondering. Do you know what Snape does in his lessons now that you dragged a third of his class out of lessons? Ask Dean and Seamus why they always look so tired, go on, ask them! You made life better for you and worse for everyone else and I'm not having it! I won't let you pass! Any of you!"
Ron stepped forward. "Listen, Neville, mate, don't you think you're overreacting?"
"No! No I do not, mate." Hermione hadn't been aware that an eleven-year-old's voice could drip with bitterness to that extent. "I'm sorry that I have to be the one to burst your happy little bubble of denial, but, well… I have to be. I'll fight you if I have to!"
Hermione decided it was her go at about the point Neville put up his hands in some approximation of a boxer's stance. "Neville, I'm really sorry about this…" She raised her wand.
"Expelliarmus!"
Hermione's wand skittered across the flagstones of the corridor.
"Been practicing that one, I have, ever since Malfoy realised he could chuck curses at a Gryffindor within a hundred yards of Snape. Now what are you going to do, Hermione?"
"Well, since you ask…" Hermione dropped low to avoid the boy's stunned guard, slipped a hand through the gap in it, and drove the heel of her left palm into his right shoulder just as her right thumb pressed into the part opposite it. Neville made an odd little noise like a broken accordion with a nasal infection and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.
"I didn't want to do that, for what it's worth. I really didn't."
They huddled back under the cloak and set off again, leaving Neville on the flagstones shaking slightly and going "wibble".
(Wow, short amount of time before this screen break.)
The ten of them shrugged off the invisibility cloak as they opened the door. A soft "Alohomora" from Jessie was all they needed to push open the gently squeaking door into the room. A harp was set up in the corner, plinking gently away at itself, but that wasn't what they were looking at, goodness no.
That honour went to the Cerberus.
To be honest, this wasn't surprising. A giant three-headed dog will tend to draw the immediate attention of those around it, even if it is having the chasing the rabbit dream. Especially if it's having the chasing the rabbit dream. The harp played, and the dog shook, and Parvati had to dodge a haphazardly swung leg.
"Right, gang, there's a trapdoor here. Duro." She tore off a little of her sleeve, turned it to stone, and dropped it down the hole, counting slowly. There was silence.
"So, do we jump down? I haven't found a Feather Fall charm in any of my books-"
"I think we should jump, Hermione."
"Ron, be realistic, we could be leaping to our deaths! At least let's conjure a rope, lower one of us down-"
"The harp's stopped playing, Hermione."
"Yes, well, I'm sure we can arrange you some light musical accompaniment. Now, the charm's a variant of Incarcerous-"
"The dog's waking up, Hermione."
There was a snarl. It wasn't loud. It didn't have to be loud. It was the growl of something that is shortly to become a tooth-tipped ballistic missile pointed at you.
"EVERYONE GET DOWN THE HOLE!"
They leapt, the dog's paws scraping for purchase on the smooth flagstones as it bounded towards them. It let out a bark like a sonic weapon and lunged for Parvati, who threw herself out of the way and rolled over to the corner of the room. The dog swiped at her again, but she was able to duck underneath it and, acting purely on instinct, cast a Repulsion Charm at the floor beneath her. Parvati flew like a bullet at Ron, who caught her and fell down into… whatever it was that lay beneath them. Hermione breathed an inward sigh of relief, grabbed Harry and leapt down, the whoosh of a paw passing over her head as she fell.
About twenty feet later, she landed with a splat.
"Okay, okay, not dead. Good thing. Everyone else OK?"
"I… I don't know," said Ron through another sandwich. He ate when nervous. "But there's something weird about this thing, like it's… like it's holding onto us."
"Holding… oh no. Lumos!"
The rest of the FMA cast the Lighting charm and saw what had happened. They were waist-deep in green vines that looked somehow malevolent. Padma, who had paid attention in Herbology, started screaming and thrashing around like a mad thing. Hermione, who had really paid attention, did not. The important thing to do when confronted by Devil's Snare, so she'd read, was to keep still and start casting light spells at it until it went away. Therefore, she told everyone that under no circumstances was anyone to panic.
Hermione knew a lot of things, but people weren't any of them.
Our protagonist here is now in quite a bit of pain, from three different areas – well, not counting the gigantic evil plant life squishing the bejeezus out of her, because really we can take that as read. Her mind's on fire, trying desperately to think of a suitably powerful sunlight-based spell. Her ears are subjected to eight people screaming at once, that peculiar shrill tone even Ron was making through a sandwich. And her eyes, they'd alighted on Harry. He was sinking slowly into the plant, an oddly chirpy little smile on his skinny, razor-cheekboned face. They widened as the boy, almost as if he'd read her mind, gave her a nod.
He wants this, she thought. He's in so much pain that he wants this.
Bugger THAT.
"LUMOS HOLEM!"
And now it was the turn of Harry's eyes to widen as Hermione shot a bolt of pure sunlight into the air, which was probably a mistake, all things considered. The plant – whilst it didn't actually have eyes to widen or burn – outright screamed, reacting to it in the same manner as a vampiric computer nerd on a Media Studies course. Its long creepers shot back into limpness like a pool attendant hearing an early husband and the kids fell further, landing on the stone below, wizard hardiness keeping them from breaking anything in spite of everything that D&D had taught mankind. Hermione strode over to Harry and bundled him into a bone-cracking hug. Ron, in one of his fleeting moments of sandwich-powered perception, saw his first friend's shoulders tremble slightly and said nothing.
"You… you saved my life, Hermione…" said Harry, once his lungs were back in a roughly human condition. Subconsciously, he patted his ribs down to make sure they were intact.
"Of course I did."
"Why?"
Hermione recoiled as if the Boy Who Lived had just sucker-punched her, which in fairness was what it felt like. "Because… Harry, because you're my friend, and because you deserve a real, proper life, and because nobody dies today! NOBODY!" She seemed to sag after the outburst, but it was momentary. "Let's keep moving. Every moment we spend here gives Snape more time to figure out the challenges ahead."
There was a chorused "Honour and glory!" from the shaken girls of the FMA. Ron made a brave attempt, but it just out as "hurfl um murfl" and a small mist of grated cheese. Hermione looked into Harry's eyes.
"Honour and glory," he said, and meant it.
(This. Is. SCREEN BREAK!)
The third room was bare, cold dark-grey Aberdeenshire granite covering the place with a flickering torch over the door. It was clearly locked, and Jessie's charm didn't work this time. Nor did Lavender's Left Cross Hex, and nor did Kara's surprisingly powerful Blasting Curse, though that did leave some slight charring. Not on the door, though; Parvati had just happened to be standing a bit close and received an impromptu gamin bob, and voiced loudly her conjecture that some nights karma just plain hated you.
They looked at the lock. Hermione snapped her fingers.
"Well, obviously we just need to find the key, don't we? Now then, what're the wand movements for a Summoning Charm…" Hermione trailed off into muttered musings on fourth-year Charms work. Ron raised a hand. "… short, sharp upward flick on saying the name of the object summoned – yes, Ronald, what is it?"
"Um, Hermione, I hate to come over all Cassandra on you again but I really don't think this is a good idea-"
"Oh please. Ron, you're just being ridiculous. It's a fetch puzzle, you've just got to find the key and put it in the lock, it's obvious. Look, I'll prove it. Accio key!"
Hermione was, even by the standards of an eleven-year-old with an inherited love of caffeine that stretched into physical need during exam season, very, very fast. As such, she only got a couple of light scratches on her back as a forest of keys slammed into the door behind her, some careening off the stonework and flittering back up into the air like noisy, annoyed-sounding metal wasps.
"Somehow, Hermione," said Ron after they'd made sure the girl was alright, "I told you so just… just isn't enough."
"Okay… fine. Well done, Nosferontu." She looked around, hoping for laughter and finding puzzled silence. "Nobody's gonna come with me on that one, then? Oh well. Ron, as your reward, you can get the key. Show the rest of us how it's done."
"WHAT? Hermione, you've seen my magic in class, you know I'll balls it up-"
"You're better than me in Flying."
"Well, yeah, but so are most bricks, Hermione-"
"You're better than anyone else here in Flying."
"Um, mate, I'm really not sure I like where this is going-"
"Your broom. Is over there." She pointed with her finger – a racing broom was in the corner, a Nimbus 2000 to be precise. Ron dribbled slightly and swallowed another mouthful of cheesy anti-panic sandwich.
"After this challenge I am keeping that broom and she will be my bestest-ever friend and I will love her forever and ever. So you know."
"Whatever," Hermione huffed, "just get on the thing, would you? We can't have long."
Ron shook a shoulder-length crop of ginger hair from his shoulders, in a way that had almost certainly been stolen from his brother Charlie, on whom it actually worked. "Try and stop me." He stepped over to the broom and kicked off.
"Now, it should be the big one with the broken wing. Can you see it?"
"Yep… hold on, if you can see it, why can't you just Summon it?"
"Because, Ronald, I was almost made into a dartboard last time."
"Fair enough. Going in on an attack run now."
"Besides, it's your turn."
"Wait, what – GYAAAAAARGH!"
The show went on for about ten minutes, the FMA watching a display of aeronautic excellence unparalleled in the history of blind, terrified improvisation. He buzzed the girls and Harry, dropping the key into Hermione's outstretched hand, and she opened the door. Ron was the last one through, ashen of face and white of knuckle. The girls pulled the door shut behind him as he left the room, and the dull thump of flying keys into the thick wood was unmistakeable. He got off the broom.
"Ron, you're bleeding. From… oh dear… that's quite a lot of places."
"Am I?" The boy looked down. "Oh. Yeah. Well, er, whoops…"
Harry strode forward, gaze two cold slivers of jade glinting behind silver circles. "Episkey," he said, and repeated the spell until Ron's multifarious cuts were healed. He then turned to Hermione. "Don't do that again."
His voice was quiet and monotone, the delivery saltpan-flat. Like the old Harry had – or, as Hermione now realised in a sudden flash of inspiration, the real one. The one he'd obviously kept hidden to help others stop worrying about him. It was what he considered he was worth, always less than others, but tinged with dull acceptance rather than the will to make things otherwise.
Except – and if you hadn't been around Harry for an entire year then you just plain wouldn't pick it up – that wasn't quite true any more. The quiet, studious boy, who barely spoke except in Madam Pomfrey's Potions sessions, had had his stoicism rub off on the FMA, and in turn Hermione's inner fire and sheer force of personality had begun to rub off on him. There was a spark in there. Not much, admittedly, but indisputably there.
"Nobody dies today," she repeated. It went around the room, Ron touching Harry gently on his back as he said it. He didn't flinch, which was a good sign. "Come on," Hermione continued, "let's go to the next room."
In here was a gigantic chess set. In fact, using gigantic made me miss a perfect opportunity, dear reader, to use the word leviathan in normal conversation. The pieces towered above the first-years – at least, those that remained did. On the white side of the field half the pieces were gone, and on the black side, there were even fewer, though the queen was still on the board. A smile came to the lips of both Ron Weasley and Kara St James, who nobody had ever seen play chess or even spell it correctly.
"Simple," said Ron. "We play our way across the board, win the game, and move on to the next-"
"REDUCTO!"
Kara did, as has already been mentioned, have quite the Blasting Curse on her, and at least knew that the king had to be eliminated to win the game. The piece's torso was blown clean off and the sword blade hovered delicately in front of the half-king.
"My way's simpler," she said, in a Somerset accent as broad as an apple orchard. Ron was tearing his hair out in frustration and had descended into incoherence. It was probably merciful on his blood pressure, therefore, that the sword blade tipped forward and caught him on the head. He went over like a Christmas tree and his vision blurred, greying at the edges like a badly-restored Buster Keaton film.
In this state, he thought he saw someone walking towards him. She – when she got closer it was rather obvious – was a sixth-year Gryffindor, since she had on one of the tighter uniforms that the weirder Slytherin girls liked to call Snape-baiters that were only issued after NEWTs. She was also wearing a Prefect's badge on the collar of her robes. Ron's eyes widened as she bent down to touch his brow. "It'll be alright," she said. "You'll have a lot worse than this later on… and there will be better days to come. You'll… you'll figure things out. It won't be easy, but it will be right, and at the end of the day that's what matters. You're going to be OK…"
"Who… who are you…" he said, and a few seconds later his vision came back properly.
"Er… hold on, gimme a moment, let me check…" Kara's accent thickened as she made a show of pulling out a handwritten identity card. "I'm Kara. Had a feelin' I might be. Anyway… you alright down there, lad? Only that looked as if it gave you a right ol' ding…" She prodded him in the nose with her wand. "Yaarp, you'd best stay here. I'm sure the rest'll understand. I'll get Madam Granger and the Headmaster. The rest of you lot, get a move on. Dunno how many rooms are left, but the air don't taste like there is. Best hurry."
After a couple of blank looks and the general concurrence that Kara's meanderings were probably best left to those who understood them, which didn't include anyone they knew (including, so opined the particularly uncharitable, Kara herself), the remainder of the FMA broke into a run, Hermione and Harry leading the charge through the great stone arch. Ron sat up and tried to stagger after them, but his head swam and once he'd stopped falling over, they had gone.
(Screen break. Screen breaks are what happen when scenes go off big time stylee…)
Eventually, having had their stride pattern knocked by the foul-smelling remains of an extremely deceased security troll, the FMA skidded to a halt in a room with a fireplace, black flames roaring in the grate. In front of it was a note attached to a shelf full of bottles with what looked to the Muggleborns in the party very much like a ninja star and to Hermione like something she'd got for Christmas a couple of years ago. Fumbling in a pocket for the little bronze cylinder her Dad had given her, she picked up the note and read it out.
"Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onwards neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight."
"… You know," said Lavender, "not to sound horrible or anything, but I'm really glad Kara stayed behind for this one."
"It's a logic puzzle. Most of magical Britain has brain cells that die alone, you've only got to look at the Slytherins to see that. Solve the riddle, solve the puzzle. It's obvious!"
"Okay then, O fearless leader, what's the answer then…"
"… Yeah, erm, you know the word obvious? Not the same thing as the word easy. Hold on… we only want the one to go forward, because I am not going anywhere near the troll room ever again ever… let's get some numbers written down…"
As Hermione worked, Harry sat on the floor looking at the fire. Black flames… black flames… if there's a potion to counteract it then that must be Wigluf's Flame! I read about it in a back issue of One Hundred And One Really Stupidly Dangerous Potions You Can Make In Your Back Garden But Shouldn't If You Like Having Eyebrows! Now, the potion, what's it called, Heorotendraft… pure white in colour, smells like pine resin, tastes like boiled socks, and so sour it'll take the roof off your mouth if you don't drink it within thirty seconds. Come on, boy, which one was like that…
Hermione was still deliberating when Harry leapt to his feet and swigged down about half of the bottle she'd carefully labeled number 3.
"What are you DOING ? That could be absolutely bloody anything, Harry, you might die-"
"Eurgh. Oh, that's boiled socks all right. Got it right. That black stuff's Wigluf's Flame, and the antidote's Heorotendraft."
"… Wha?" Hermione looked utterly defeated.
"Do you remember Dumbledore giving us when we got detention with Snape for incorrect use of the syllable 'un' in polite conversation? It was in a book I read then. Come on. There's another dose left, but drink it quick or you'll never want to drink anything else again. We can do this, Hermione!"
"Hold on," piped up Jessie Hoxton, "just you two? What about us? We all stick together"
"Well, now we just can't. Wigluf's Flame's made by burning dragon blood plasma with the venom of a cockatrice, and this bottle only had enough for two doses. I've had one… and Hermione can have the other."
"Why her? Why not us? She's done bugger all so far!"
"Put it this way, girls," said Harry, his tone hardening to widespread shock. "Either she goes, or I don't. Will you make Hermione face whatever's out there alone, without a meat shield? Without a friend? Are you people that cruel?"
There was a vague muttering and then Jessie spoke again. "Actually, no. We don't want that. But what about one of us going in her place?"
"Not going to happen."
"Why?"
"Because I already palmed Hermione the potion."
"… Oh," said Jessie, and this time it was her turn to look defeated.
"Misdirection, Jessie," Hermione smiled. "I love you all dearly… you've all been such good friends. But this is a place you can't go. Not now. I won't risk you dying. What honour or glory is there in breaking a promise?"
There was a brief silence, and Lavender stepped forward from the huddle of girls. "We'll go and check on the other two. Just… don't break your promise either. That goes for both of you. We trust you, Harry Potter."
"I'm a good boy," he said. It was… weird, to say the least, but then that was Harry Potter all over. Odd, damaged, or broken as a teacup in a bag of spanners depending on who you asked, but loyal and selfless and wholly, truly good, in that strange way only people who've been rescued from hell have a chance of being.
Hermione took him by the arm, and they stepped through the flames, and they were gone.
(Looks like Reader found a Scene Break!)
The two of them stepped out from the black flames and into a large stone chamber, this one the warm Bath stone of a handsome Georgian property. It was well-lit, and without traps, and almost entirely empty.
Standing in front of a tall, gaudily-decorated mirror was a skinny, worried looking man with a turban on. At the sound of their footsteps, he jumped and spun around to face them, letting off an Arm-Locker Curse and a barrage of lesser, more esoteric hexes. Hermione leapt out of the way and came up pointing her tiger-striped wand at him; Harry just dropped to the ground and wished he had a way of making his glasses less prone to falling off. It was him who noticed a flicker of dark movement near his skull, but no-one else. He assumed it was just a stray jinx and paid it no mind until the casting stopped.
"Professor Quirrell? But, but Snape-"
"W-w-w-what ab-bout Professor S-s-snape? H-have you seen h-him? Y-you should've gone t-to D-d-d-dumbledore st-st-straight away. I was d-doing the rounds wh-when I p-p-p-passed the corridor… I s-saw the d-d-d-door open and w-went to, to check the d-d-defences!"
Hermione sighed, and pointed her wand at the floor again. "I'm sorry Professor… we thought that since Snape's such an evil man, he'd be stealing-"
"Evil? N-n-n-n-not at all, Miss… G-g-granger, isn't it? A n-nasty man, int-t-timidating and, and very r-rude, b-b-but evil? No. He's n-no more evil th-than I am a gnhhhk."
Hermione was nonplussed. "What's a Gnurk?" she said, as Harry scrambled to his feet and pulled out his wand.
It was too late to heal Quirrell, and in any event the spell used to kill him wasn't healable. The Defence Professor pitched forward, the lights dying in his eyes before the green glow had even faded from his back. Hermione blanched and stepped back as the Boy-Who-Lived skittered to her side.
"Hermione… get behind me."
"Now, now, lad," said the thing from the Forest, hands still emitting that weird silvery-green glow. "Hermione needs to see my face too. You can't protect her from it, and besides, you shouldn't want her to. After all," and it removed the hood from its head, and the terrible familiarity returned, and tears began to stream down Hermione's face before she even knew what was happening…
"She's her daddy's girl."
AN #2: Dun, dun, DUUUUUUUUUUUUN!
For those of you WTFing, and I'd imagine there are gonna be a few of you, do not worry. All will become clear, when I get around to writing the next chapter. I think you'll like it.
Fanfic recs for the inevitable huge gap: Fumes43's work, An Aunt's Love by Emma Lipardi, The Last Casualties by muggledad, and something by Lomonaaeren. What by Lomonaaeren? Take your pick. There're thousands of them, so there's bound to be something you'll enjoy in there. I swear she's got a breeding program. If you can handle Drarry, I'd go for Changing Of The Guard.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed and favourited, and see you all next time!