TWENTY-FIVE: The Rite of the Serpent

"Jul. 23, 1961•Albus Dumbledore:

There is a festival that happens on the shores of Loch Tummel each year that is based on an old Scottish myth that dates back to the twelfth century. The story goes that the daughters of Iain Avall, a peasant farmer who lived by Loch Tummel, who was also a wizard, died mysteriously on the night of the full moon, when the sisters decided to go for a midnight bathe starkers to enjoy the full moon. Kathleen Avall, the elder Avall girl lived just long enough to mention that she saw an unearthly large snake approach and whisk her and her sister away to a dark castle where they were quickly poisoned. Her sister had died immediately, but Kathleen had somehow (though the details were not known) managed to escape back to the mainland and tell her horrific tale. The festival mourns the loss of these fine girls who had been set up with potentially promising careers in the Ministry of Magic, and were promised to the sons of Fudge, of Strathglass."—from Albus and Aberfourth Dumbledore's Horcrux journal, p. 912

Harry lay awake in the hotel they had set themselves up in. He read and reread the entry from the journal, trying to see how the entry by Professor Dumbledore would help them out, but his thoughts were on Lupin.

Lupin's abrupt departure had taken the group by surprise. While everyone in the group had been determined and resourceful, trying to find, and destroy the Horcruxes, Lupin had been perhaps the most so, showing an innate understanding of the protection that Voldemort had placed on his Horcruxes, and seemed to be fairly ready with a theory to destroy the soul fragments. He had also been the one who could often be the most effective person to communicate with contacts and other people who might have been able to give them a lead, displaying a perfect balance of what to reveal and what to keep secret.

Sure, Harry knew perfectly well that he, Ron and Hermione could manage on their own, and though Harry had initially thought it best to do this whole crusade on his own, it had been a very good thing that he had ended up letting his friends, and the Order of the Phoenix help him out. With their assistance, Harry and the others had been pretty timely in finding the Horcruxes, and he'd been amazed at the strength that they provided as a group, and despite all this, the group was being slowly torn apart. First Ginny had been hit by the curse, and now Lupin was forced to abandon his work because it was the full moon.

Harry sighed, closing the journal, and picking up a map of Scotland that he had wisely bought from the hotel staff when he saw them available for the tourists. As he looked over at Hermione, who was sharing her bed with Ron, Harry also realized that he missed, and needed Ginny. When he had her by his side, her presence was enough to calm him and help him concentrate on the task, and he had been able to keep his head well above water. Without her, watching his two other best friends sleeping with such careless innocence, their dreams seemingly untouched by the current state of the war, the jealousy Harry had harbored for them after Ginny had been taken ill flared up, more pronounced then ever.

He had to keep calm. Ron and Hermione were there because ever since they had met him, they had been by his side, and Ron, displaying his less apparent mature side after Dumbledore's funeral service, had sworn that he, and Hermione who had also pledged her loyalty, would continue to be by his side through the war. With a jolt, Harry realized that his jealousy for his friends was because they embodied the life Harry was so longing to have. He smiled to himself, his resolution to hunt down Voldemort had returned.

But it wouldn't be easy. If he was honest with himself, he had no idea how to find the snake, and had even less of an idea as to how to defeat Voldemort himself. Harry took one last look at his mates, and then switched off his light, turned over onto his side and closed his eyes, imagining sleeping in this same position cuddled up to Ginny once this was all over. He made a silent promise to Ginny and himself that night that he would marry her as soon as he got back to the Burrow.

The following morning saw Harry, Ron and Hermione back on the train, this time for a four day trip back up to Scotland. Harry, having exchanged enough wizarding money to pounds that the group had a small fortune befitting a successful, but not star, film actor, was able to purchase tickets for a sleeper car, for which he and the others had been grateful, not forgetting their profound exhaustion—and stiff necks—after their last trip from Scotland to Wales.

Upon their arrival, four days later, in Edinburgh, they got off the train happy to be there. Ron had complained very loudly of the food served on the train, driving Hermione just about over the brink. Harry, however, had rather enjoyed their bickering. At least it was familiar, and seemed to bring him closer to a time when he was happier. As Harry took his, Ron and Hermione's luggage from the train conductor, he noticed that their backpacks were followed off the train by numerous, more modern backpacks that looked like they might belong to some hikers. Harry hoped that the hikers to whom the other backpacks clearly belonged would be headed towards the area he and the others needed to go. It seemed likely, as there were good hiking spots in Loch Tummel. He pointed the group out to Ron and Hermione in a whisper.

Now that they could effectively blend in, Harry and the others proceeded to try and figure out what the hiking group was doing, hoping that they might be able to play along with the group so that they could get a free pass to Loch Tummel.

"Bartlett-Benson wedding party, please?" A man called. He was dressed in a very stereotypical kilt, and his Scots brogue was very thick, and Harry, Ron and Hermione could tell he was exaggerating it. An obvious tour guide. The other backpackers, who on closer inspection, looked more like wealthy Californian/Hollywood stock than the rugged mountaineers that their backpacks suggested, followed the man's voice, Harry and the others following, trying to remain inconspicuous.

"Right," the tour guide said, "my name is Joseph, and I would like to welcome you all to Scotland. I just want to tell you a few things before er go outside to the bus, which will then take us to your preplanned location of Portree…" Harry tried hard not to let his disappointment show. They were going to Portree! He and Hermione and Ron needed to get to Perthshire, where Loch Tummel was! It had seemed the perfect plan to join the hiking group from America, play along and simply disappear when they were in the right area. Harry looked over at the others. Ron seemed frankly bewildered. Hermione, on the other hand, had a determined, yet unhappy look on her face.

"You know what this means, don't you?" She said quietly to the others, "we hitchhike." Harry's face immediately mirrored Hermione's own, but Ron looked even more bewildered.

"We what?" he asked.

"We hitchhike, Ron," Harry said, "it means we walk towards our destination, trying to stop cars who might be friendly enough to give us a lift in the general direction we're traveling in." Now Ron looked rather horrified himself.

"Well, come on," Hermione said, sighing, "we can't spend all day at the station, let's go find a cab. It's a start, at least."

The cab couldn't take them all the way to Pitlochry, but the driver obligingly took them in the right direction as far out of the city limits of Edinburgh as he was allowed. Humanely, he dropped them at a small inn and tavern, for which the three, eager for lunch, were very thankful, and stepped into the tavern for a bite. They were easily the youngest patrons of the tavern, but since the atmosphere was very welcoming and cheerful, this didn't bother them as much, and the barkeep was very helpful in pointing them in the general direction of Pitlochry.

After lunch, the group immediately began to hitchhike down the road that the barkeep had said would be the best route to get to Pitlochry. At first, car after car went by, ignoring Hermione's persistent attempts to flag them down. Finally, a car stopped.

"Excuse me, sir," Hermione said politely to the driver, "are you headed in the direction of Pitlochry? We need to go there." The driver seemed to think better of it, and muttered something about them being too young to be hitchhikers, but a combination of Hermione alternately pleading and flattering the man, who couldn't have been more than two or three years older than she, Ron and Harry, and a rain shower, the young man consented.

He did not take them all the way to Pitlochry, though, but he did assure them that he lived not too far away from the town, and had brought them over half way. Hermione thanked him, and she and the others got out, though reluctantly, for the rain had started to fall in earnest now, yet the three persistently trudged down the road, getting colder and wetter by the minute. More miles walked, more complaints of sore feet, more drivers refusing to acknowledge the desperate signals Harry, Ron and Hermione were making at their cars. The pattern went on and on. The group tried to not think of how the storm, and the dramatic scenery of Highland Scotland, echoed their fears of what this last, taxing trek meant. The noise of a car coming up behind them evoked a very meek, doubting flutter of hope in Harry's stomach.

"There's another one," Ron said dispiritedly, "should we try again?"

"Don't bother," Hermione answered, bitterly, "they don't care." But apparently, the driver did care. He stopped without the signal, the car's tires squealing. It was a cozy Fiat with musical bumper stickers adorning the back.

"My word!" The driver spluttered, "what're you kids doing out here in this storm?! Where're you going? Hurry up and get in, you must be half hypothermic by now!" It did not take the group much to be persuaded. They got in, shivering against each other, and stuttering their thanks.

"Don't mention it." The driver said gruffly, "you lot going to Pitlochry?"

"Yes—achoo!—that's where we're going—achoo!" Hermione said. The driver looked at her concerned, then turned on his car's hazard flashers, popped the boot, and took out an old, slightly moldy blanket and threw it onto Hermione's lap.

"There. Kip under that while we're driving," the man said, "or I daresay you'll become sick there, young lady."

Hermione would later proudly remember the day she was picked up hitchhiking by Sir Charles Mackerras, her late father's favorite musician, who had grudgingly agreed to perform for the Avall festival.

Mackerras had brought the group to the Pitlochry inn, a very homey little family operation that was experiencing a boom, due to the popularity of the Avall festival. Harry had drunk in Sir Charles' description of the festival, mentally taking notes of what the Muggle festival represented, and where it differed from the description offered by Dumbledore's entry in his journal.

Sir Charles had tried desperately to get Harry to let him pay for their room, but Harry—amidst sneezes—had politely, but firmly, denied him, instead giving him £12 for his services. The landlord of the inn was far less eager to accommodate Harry, Ron and Hermione, due to the fact that they were so young, and without adult supervision. Sir Charles intervened, by suggesting that the inn should not only accommodate them, but provide a doctor—on the house. The landlord took one look at the quite obviously hypothermic and feverish Hermione, cuddled by a scarcely better-off Ron, and agreed, saying that both the doctor and the room were on the house.

The landlord showed them to their room, and left them, assuring them he would bring them a pot of steaming tea directly, and recommended that they change into dry clothes with haste. The moment he departed, Harry, Ron and Hermione did indeed strip down, not bothering to hide their bodies from each other, though Hermione did blush fiercely when Harry's eyes raked her naked body and an expression of longing crossed his face, and she shuffled off to the bathroom and returned wearing a very plush bathrobe and offered two more to Ron and Harry. Using nonverbal magic, so as to not arouse the suspicions of the inn's Muggle tenants, Harry charmed the group dry. Ron and Hermione thanked him. Still looking rather feverish, Hermione lay down on her bed, and crawled under the sheets, joined by Ron, and both quickly fell asleep.

Left to his own thoughts, as he waited for the doctor and the tea, Harry sat on his bed, pondering the things Sir Charles had told him about the festival. The Muggles did not celebrate the Avall girls' deaths in the way that wizards would, for Sir Charles had said that the girls were foreigners who rarely appeared outside of their father's homestead, but when they did, were excellent community members, especially when they turned eighteen—a year before they died—and could do just about whatever they wanted as long as their father approved, as they were considered adults by then. What the Muggles celebrated, however, was a lawsuit brought against Iain Avall, saying he had robbed the house where a famous Archbishop was staying, and the Avall girls did an admirable job in ensuring justice, though Sir Charles, much to Harry's displeasure, had not remembered what they had done. He had said that apparently, the Avall girls were considered models for the ancient Greek notion of Sirens, and apparently, the Muggle writer Homer had used them as models for the Sirens in his book, The Odyssey. The celebrations, according to Sir Charles, ran from nine at night until midnight. Glancing at his watch, Harry noticed it was 7:37.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door, and the landlord, followed by the town doctor, came in. The landlord set down a tray of tea and biscuits on the coffee table. The doctor gave Harry a brief lecture on the dangers of too much exposure to cold water and hypothermia, took Harry's pulse and temperature, did a quick physical examination of Harry, and recommended that he make a start on the tea while it was hot, and commended Ron and Hermione on keeping as warm as possible, and on the landlord for making them such hot, strong herbal tea in such a efficient manner.

After about an hour and a half, Hermione awoke from her nap, already seeming better, or at the very least, had a little more pink to her cheeks than before. Catching Harry's eyes, she put her finger to her lips, so that Harry would remain quiet and not wake Ron, whose snores made it obvious that he wasn't likely to get up any time soon. Harry had to hold back a laugh. He was not planning on being noisy, but he was certainly enjoying Hermione needlessly standing up for her lover, as so many lovers do.

"Can I have that?" Hermione asked in a whisper, indicating the Dumbledore brothers' journal, which Harry had unpacked and was laying at the foot of his bed. Harry passed it over.

"Thanks," Hermione said, smiling, "and can I have a cup of tea?" Obediently, Harry poured her a mug of the still steaming tea and gave it to her. Harry lay down on his bed and watched Hermione read the chapter of the journal dedicated to the snake.

"Hermione, I'm sorry for how I looked at you earlier when we were…you know, starkers." Harry said suddenly.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione smiled, "but you don't need to apologize." Harry, however, thought different.

"It's just, I felt like…I mean…I mean, you don't turn me on, Hermione—don't get me wrong, you're a beautiful girl, and Ron has good tastes in women—I mean, you're like my sister, but even so, I don't know, Ginny's the one—"

"And therein lies your problem, right Harry?" Hermione said, cutting him off. "Please don't worry, Harry. There's nothing wrong with the way you felt."

"I know," Harry said with a sigh, "I just miss her. I've seen her starkers, and well, I guess I miss, you know, being intimate with her. I mean, not only do I love her so much, but her body is…"

"Merlin, Harry, I was hoping to wake up to you saying something else than a rhapsody on my sister's better physical features! Maybe you could have said that we were about to have dinner, or something." Ron said sleepily, badly concealing his amusement beneath the anger façade.

"Actually," Hermione said, "dinner would probably be a good idea. There's a nice pub in the inn, but let's make it quick, I think I have some theories on how to find the snake." Harry agreed, and Ron's stomach loudly pledged its support of the decision. Giggling, Hermione led the group down to the pub.

After dinner, they had returned to their room, slightly tipsy due to the three shots each of Irish coffee (Hermione had hinted that they needed to stay awake and needed the buzz, and Ron, having a fair amount of stubble on his chin was able to smoothly lie for the group, saying they were all eighteen, and the waiter did not question them) they sat down on Harry's bed and faced Hermione.

"So? What do we have to do to attract the snake?" Ron asked without preamble.

"I think," Hermione responded with a little shudder, "that we have to go swimming tonight at midnight naked like the Avall sisters."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"I was reading in Professor Dumbledore's journal, and there is precious little known about Basilisks, or any other type of magical snake, nor is there much known about Voldemort's pet snake, and yet, ever since the times of Slytherin—the time of the Avall girls—there were many disappearances that occurred at the full moon. Though not always the case, people who swam late at night often were the ones to mysteriously disappear. One of the more recent entries that Hagrid mentioned when we visited Hogwarts to pick up the journal, was by Madame Maxime, who has a friend who is a French magical historian, and is in employ of the French magical government said that the ownership and training of Basilisks or similar animals was a teaching passed down from father to son starting with Slytherin himself. Voldemort was obviously not taught this by his dad, but I am certain he would have eagerly taught himself when he learned of that particular tradition of his lineage. Apparently, a good 90 of Muggle disappearances took place right here, on this Loch. It must have been so easy for a Death Eater to Imperius a random Muggle, or a tour guide to get massive amounts of Muggles to go swimming in the Loch."

Harry was dumbfounded. Of course, everything Hermione had said made sense. It would be very easy to lure an unsuspecting Muggle to bathe in the waters of Loch Tummel, as the area was very scenic, and would be more than welcome on a hot summer day, and of course the Muggles would put down the deaths of all the victims to drowning or some other form of water-based accident.

"So now we wait." Hermione said, picking up a biscuit from the tray the inn's landlord had brought up earlier.

"Can't…can't we just do it now?" Ron asked.

"No silly," Hermione said, "honestly, weren't you listening? For this to work, we need to actually swim at midnight, and besides there's the festival. I'm sure there're numerous blokes out there who'll be completely pissed, and would do me in an instant if I were to head out to the lake completely starkers. And," she added, grinning naughtily to Harry and Ron, "I'm sure there're pissed women out there too, so I doubt you two would be much safer than me." Harry chuckled dryly. The noise from the festival was more on the plane of a carnival more than a mere festival, so it made sense that there would be much alcohol consumption.

Looking out the window, Harry realized with a jolt that he could not see where the festivities were actually taking place.

"I can't see the festival," he said uneasily.

"When does it end?" Hermione asked.

"Midnight," Harry responded.

"Harry," Ron said, "did you pack your invisibility cloak?" Suddenly, Harry had the urge to laugh, it was so absurd. Of course he had the cloak. In dark times like these, the cloak had become more than a treasured hand-me-down from his late father, or a companion to mischief making, and was more like a trusted, very helpful and useful friend. It was so simple, too, that he and the others need merely slip under the cloak at midnight as the festivities drew to a close.

Much later, Mad-Eye Moody might have been able to see the three young wizards huddled naked under Harry's invisibility cloak behind some bushes, waiting. The air seemed thick to breath as Harry, Ron and Hermione crouched there. They were tense, anxious, panicky and more than terrified. They were so close to the ultimate goal…and yet so far…feeling how tense Hermione was beside him, Ron pulled her in closer, wanting to comfort her, and receive some comfort in return. Hermione visibly relaxed, pushing herself as close to him as possible, cherishing the warmth in his embrace. Harry, too, moved in closer. Bosom to bosom, the friends waited their bonds of love and trust at their thickest, most magical as they waited for the last Muggle celebrator to leave.

"I…" Ron whispered hesitantly as the band began to noisily pack up, "it sounds silly, I know, but…er, I think we ought to pray. Erm, mum taught all of us this one for times like these." Harry and Hermione bowed their heads in assent. Ron took his friends' hands in his own, embracing them.

"'Dear Merlin,

Wondrous of all wizardkind,

Bearer of our bodies and blood,

Guardian of our gifts,

Give us now a light that will lead us.

Give us our love that our families may find us.

Give us our hope that our goals might be met.

Take our hearts and souls safely through the peril,

Grant us a place in your kingdom,

We are thine.'"

"Amen." Hermione whispered in a shaky voice.

"Sorry?" Ron said.

"Oh…er, when Muggles pray, they always say 'Amen' to er…seal the prayer."

"Oh."

"Everyone's left," Harry said softly, "let's go."

The water was like ice, for such a warm summer day as Harry put his toes in the water. He allowed himself to wade in deep enough that the water came up to his midriff. Ron and Hermione followed, waiting for something to happen. For about fifteen minutes, nothing did, and the three just stood there, shivering in the cold water and nerves.

Suddenly, just as Dumbledore's journal entry had said, the loch began to alter its shape, the shores twisting and turning, writhing and convulsing as though the land were eager to escape something. After a few minutes, there was no shoreline at all, and though Harry, Ron and Hermione had waded no deeper into the water, and their feet were still touching bottom, the effect was as though they had been abandoned in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Suddenly, dramatically, a cloud hid the moon from them. Harry could not see Ron or Hermione, and they could not see him. It was terror beyond anything possible. Then, suddenly, Harry heard it. Strains of a poem in Parseltongue. It sounded mocking, but still possessed an almost Siren-like, charming, seductive possessive tone.

'Adventurous three,

Look to find me and see,

A journey not defined,

A way through a passage not outlined.

Follow me, but be brave, young three

Bravery, you know well, I value thee

Look to find me and see

Your greatest fears

Your eternal company

Look to find me,

A dying Portkey.

Touch me,

Journeying three

Touch me here

And live for fear

Come and find me, young three,

Bravery I value thee

Come and find me, doomed three.'

Suddenly, Harry felt himself flung out of the water, landing hard on the shore that had just reappeared, and the cloud that had so unusually blocked the moon's light had lifted, and the moon reappeared to show the approach of none other than Voldemort's pet snake, Nagini.

He did not know how he knew, but as he watched Nagini approach, he somehow just knew that all he had to do was reach out and she would Portkey him to wherever Voldemort was waiting.

It seemed, however, that Nagini had other plans. Almost as though he were in a trance—and he probably was—Harry reached out to put a finger on Nagini's back, but in an amazingly graceful, fluid motion, she pulled away from him, causing her body to make contact with the bodies of Ron and Hermione.

What happened next rather defies description. The instant Nagini's body made contact with Hermione and Ron's, Nagini vanished, and rather than have been Portkeyed with the giant snake, Hermione and Ron remained exactly where they had been. Suddenly, there was a pop that usually accompanied someone apparating or disapparating. Harry looked over at his friends. Ron was at least two times paler than he had been when he had been hypothermic from the rain, and he was sweating and shaking, looking very feverish. Hermione was looking, if anything, worse. Her skin was clammy, cold, and a grey-green tint. She, too, was sweating, and it looked like she was in the throes of a very nasty illness that could easily take her life. If anyone asked Harry to draw a picture of eternal pain, he would have sketched Hermione and Ron in this moment.

"Ron! Are you…you…Hermione, are you two okay? Bloody hell!" For by means of an answer (which Ron could not give as he didn't seem to be able to talk) Hermione rolled over onto all fours and retched, vomiting up a rather large pool of blood, interspersed with some actual sick, but mostly blood. Harry paled, his heart doing a tattoo against his throat.

"Hermione!" Ron said croakily, and despite his fever, summoned his wand, which took him and Harry by surprise, as he had not mastered nonverbal magic.

"Accio rock!" He called. A medium sized pebble from the beach flew into his outstretched hand.

"Portus," Ron mumbled, then looked at Harry, "I'm s—sorry mate." Ron helped Hermione place a hand on the rock Portkey, and tapped it, transporting him to his final location, leaving Harry alone in the vices of his fate.