25) The Sword and the Audience
The weather was turning foul in earnest. The first snowfall, and it was heavy, wet flakes accompanied by high winds that cut through multiple layers of even the warmest clothing. Hermione and Harry were jealous of Dorugamon's fur coat, as the cold didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. A good time to be moving on, as the three disapparated.
"Where are we?", Harry asked. It was still nastily cold, the ground frozen, but, so far, the snow had not yet penetrated through the trees; they were protected from the bitter winds.
"Forest of Dean", Hermione explained. "We, my Mum, Dad, and I, came here once on holiday and camped. Of course, that was during summer vacation".
"Maybe not such a good idea", Dorugamon said. "If they know your history, they might suspect you'd come here".
"It wasn't like we came here every year. It was just the one time, and we haven't gone camping since. I don't think they'll know. It's dangerous no matter where we stay", Hermione explained as she began to cast the charms to form a security perimeter.
They explained their situation to Dorugamon, that he was in danger as Voldemort had seen him, knew he had interfered, and that Godic's Hollow was no longer safe for him. He agreed to accept their protection; despite that neither Harry nor Hermione had a digivice and so couldn't digivolve him. They agreed that, with Ron no longer there, they could use the extra help. Being that Dorugamon was a flighted digimon, he could patrol the skies, scout ahead for possible threats.
They spent most of the rest of the day in the warmth of the tent, courtesy of the blue fire that Hermione was adept at producing, and which had an extra useful property: it could be stored in a bottle, burning with neither oxygen nor fuel. Harry felt as though he'd just gotten over a serious illness, the illusion furthered by Hermione's solicitous treatment. That afternoon, snowflakes fine enough to filter through the branches began to give the ground around them a dusting of powdery snow.
Harry slept poorly the next two nights. The escape from Godric's Hollow had been close. Much too close for comfort, and Voldemort seemed to be closer than ever, and more threatening than before. It didn't help that Harry thought he heard things, saw things: someone watching close. He seemed to hear someone moving about, just outside his ability to see past the darkness. He tried telling himself that it was just imagination, nocturnal animals looking for food, scratching in the frozen dirt for left over seeds and nuts. Tricks of the light played by shadows cast from moonlight. Still, he couldn't quite convince himself.
"I'll be alright", Harry told Hermione. "You grab some shut-eye", he said as he came to relieve her. That's how tonight's rotation worked: first Hermione, then Harry, and then Dorugamon. Right now, the digimon was curled up on the floor.
"I kept thinking I could hear someone out there", she said, offhand. "I thought I saw someone once or twice...", she saw the look as she unwittingly confirmed Harry's worst suspicions. "I'm sure it was just my imagination", she tried reassuring in vain. "Snow in the dark, it can play tricks with the eyes".
"I suppose", he replied unconvinced, as he dragged a cushion to the doorway of the tent to settle in for the watch. The forest was certain to be filled with animals and night sounds. He wished that the innocent wood land critters could be quiet so their sounds wouldn't mask those that were coming from sources not so innocent. Yet their security enchantments had worked flawlessly so far. They also had Dorugamon with his sensitive digimon hearing and sensitive digimon nose and the devastating Power Metal attack. Still every movement, every sound, seemed magnified in the darkness of the forest.
Something else weighted on his mind: the revelation that Dumbledore came from Godric's Hollow where, in his youth, he had flirted with the darkest of Dark Arts. What made Grindelwald so different from Voldemort? Didn't they both want the same thing: the total subjugation and enslavement of the muggle population? Harry remembered the statue that replaced Fudge's "Fountain of Magical Brethren": "Magic is Might". If Fudge's gift to the ministry was offensive, it was only because it was unrealistic. Voldemort's depicted a male and female magician seated on a throne borne up by hordes of muggles, all looking stupid and animalistic, crushed under the weight of their burden while the magi on the throne looked on without the slightest bit of concern.
Albus Dumbledore was the exact equivalent of a Death Eater! Even worse, he was poised to become Grindelwald's second-in-command. He'd even probably had a hand in the death of his own younger sister. All of Dumbledore's protestations on the behalf of the muggle-born, half-bloods, and magical beings began to ring hollow and hypocritical.
He recalled how, just after Sirius was killed, Dumbledore made excuses as to why he hadn't informed Harry about the true nature of his psychic connection to the Dark Lord. At first, it was because the eleven year old was too young to carry such a heavy burden. Then, as Harry grew older, it hadn't come up. His excuse that sometimes older doesn't mean wiser sounded more and more like bullshit. Had Dumbledore bought into Grindelwald's philosophy: "For the Greater Good"? Did he still believe that, in other words, "The end justifies the means"? Could Harry, himself, be but Dumbledore's "means", and for what "end"? Why hadn't Dumbledore ever done a damn thing about that psychic connection? Why didn't he at least try to have that bit of Voldemort trapped inside him removed? He had to have known, even when he was but a babe in Hagrid's arms, he had to have known.
Rita Skeeter, of all people, should prove to be the cause of Harry's first doubts about the man he looked up to, not as just a great wizard, not as just a caring Headmaster, a mentor, but even a surrogate father second only to James if he'd lived, was the definition of irony. Yet, there was no denial: Skeeter's book had proved itself a good deal more factual than he expected. He even saw the advance copy, with the note of appreciation, addressed to Ms. Bagshot, whom she interviewed. It was still prominently displayed in Bathilda's sitting room when Harry helped light the candles.
There was the matter of the Deathly Hallows. Hermione didn't believe in them, but Harry had to wonder. Why else would he leave that symbol in the book which described them? Skeeter's book claimed that Grindelwald was as obsessed with the Deathly Hallows as Xenophilius Lovegood, and countless others before and since. It was why Grindelwald took that symbol as his own, and very early on, why he'd carved it into the walls of Durmstrang when he was a student there. What was the connection between Dumbledore and the Deathly Hallows? Had he ever given up his desire to see them reunited? How did that figure in with Voldemort? Was Dumbledore trying to tell them that Voldemort might be seeking the Hallows, as had Grindelwald? Yet, how could he know? Did he have an idea that Skeeter would write about him? Just trust that Harry would travel to Godric's Hollow? Just happen to see the marker on the grave of Ignotus Peverell? It all seemed all too fantastic, all too much reliance on serendipity, and that wasn't ever Dumbledore's style.
The Digital World: Suszakumon
They waited. Finally, the ground shook as the doors rolled back. This was obviously Zhuqiaomon's audience chamber. It was oval, with a vaulted ceiling. Vacant save for a large gas jet protruding from the floor in the very center of the chamber. A fire roared from it, the flames nearly reaching the ceiling. They could feel the radiated heat from this inferno that improbably burned without consuming the oxygen in a closed room, without even a trace of smoke or noxious fumes, not even a hint of soot on the high ceiling, not even directly above the flames.
A brass railing surrounded the fire, each support leg terminating in digitigrade feet. As they looked on, the fire seemed to be taking a definite shape. Wings, then a head, formed. Even before the transformation was complete:
"I am Zhuqiaomon. I protect the Digimons' world, as one of the Holy Beasts", Zhuqiaomon acted as his own herald.
The last of the flames disappeared, replaced by the figure of an enormous phoenix with two pairs of wings, two pairs of piercing red eyes, Red spheres surrounded his neck and the tip of a decidedly reptilian tail: his multiple digicores. The jaws long, thin, and studded with sharp teeth. Zhuqiaomon looked like an amalgamation of bird and pterosaur. His body surrounded with tenuous, red flames that seemed to emanate from his very substance.
"Who is it that approaches?"
Impmon dropped to one knee, and bowed his head. Jadin, Remus and Tonks did likewise.
"My Lord, it is I, Impmon, I have brought..."
"Are the realms of the Holy Beasts a place for Outworlders? How dare you!"
"My partner, Jadin Weston, and his friends, Remus Lupin and his wife, Nymphadora Lupin, bring news of the Material World..."
"SILENCE! Of what possible concern are the affairs of the Material World to us?"
"Your Majesty, if I may", Remus began. "One of our kind, one calling himself Lord Voldemort, has taken over our world. He is exceedingly greedy for power, and he will not be satisfied with just the Material World..."
"Remuslupin and Nymphadoralupin, you are the Outworlders who defeated Kuwagamon?"
"Yes, your Majesty. We are magi. You may not be aware, but we do exist. If you don't know, it's because most of us avoid the use of technology, and you wouldn't have had any contact..."
"I still fail to see how this problem of yours should concern me".
"Your Majesty, didn't you just tell us you protect the digimons' world?", Lupin asked. "I can't guarantee Voldemort will ever find out about your world. However, Lord Voldemort has made himself immortal. He murdered at least six people to accomplish this. He has murdered countless others. He may not find out about the Digital World next year, or next decade, or maybe not for 500 years. If - when - he does, he will have grown that much more powerful, and he will seek the subjugation of your world. Of that I am in no doubt whatsoever".
"I am what's called among our people an 'auror'", Tonks explained. "We aurors protect the Wizarding World. We fought Lord Voldemort once before, sixteen years ago. There was life lost, both among the magical community, and the non-magical humans. Even though his physical body was destroyed, he did not die. His most dedicated followers never stopped searching for their Lord, until they found the means to bring him back in physical form, back into his former level of power, which he has increased in the time since his return.
"I apologize for our negligence. We allowed Voldemort to grow in power because we didn't want to accept that he had returned. We didn't want to believe it. It's a hard thing for those who still bear painful memories of friends and family lost during his last rampage of conquest to accept that it is beginning all over again. He failed once before, but he is now ready to conquer again. This time, he knows about digimon, and it's just a matter of time until he discovers your world.
"Through fear, uncertainty, doubt, and murder he has taken over the Ministry of Magic: our government. His followers have been given free reign to murder innocent, non-magical humans as their reward. He holds humans in utter contempt, and would hold non-human digimon in even greater contempt. He will seek your destruction. Don't allow this to happen. You have already seen: our magic works here as it does in our world. We used it here to protect innocent life; Voldemort will use it to destroy innocent life. Life holds little value for Lord Voldemort".
"What makes you think that we could not keep him out of our world?"
"Your Majesty, we have a saying back home: better to fight the evil when your victory is assured and cheap than wait until you have no choice but to fight though you know victory is impossible because the alternative is even more horrible", Jadin explained. "Isn't it better to fight Voldemort in the Material World now, than fight him in the Digital World later?
"The Material World is under the threat of a Cherubimon, a Lucemon; we need your help. We came in humility and with respect to ask if you will help us, and by helping us, help yourselves".
Forest of Dean
Several times, he jerked awake, having dozed off. He hoped no one noticed he'd been falling asleep on watch. Maybe he should have accepted Hermione's offer of extra shut-eye? The night had thickened into a velvety blackness so thorough it was like being caught in mid-apparition. He held his hand before his face to see if he could make out his fingers. That's when it happened: a bright silvery light appeared right before him, not too far off, moving among the trees whose trunks stood out in stark relief. For whatever reason, he didn't make any attempt to alert the others to intrusion. Whatever the source, it moved without making a sound.
He jumped to his feet, Hermione's wand at the ready. He had to squint his eyes at the brightness as the thing approached. It stepped into view from the tree line beyond the clearing: a silvery doe, bright as a full moon on a clear night. She picked her way along the ground, leaving behind no footprints in the powdery snow. She was coming forward, her beautiful head held high, wide eyes with long lashes. He continued staring, not because of its unfamiliarity, but just the opposite. He felt that he'd been waiting for this very moment, but had somehow forgotten that he'd arranged this meeting. His initial impulse to call for Hermione and Dorugamon now completely gone. He felt as though she were meant for him, and him alone. They looked at each other, studying one another, for long moments, before she turned and walked away.
"No", he called out, but not loud enough to disturb the others. "Come back". She paid no attention, but continued back to the tree line, her shimmering figure now striped by the trees. He hesitated, for a moment common sense told him this could be a trap. Wouldn't this be a good way to lure him into a Death Eater ambush? Instinct countered instinct, and he became convinced this was not dark magic at work. He followed.
Unmarked snow crunched, but the doe, being nothing more substantial than light, made no sound, left no mark upon the snow. He followed deeper into the surrounding forest, against his judgment that he was going so far away as to become lost until morning at least. Yet he was convinced that, when they'd arrived at whatever destination, she would allow him to make a proper introduction. Then she and he could talk freely, no chance of being overheard, and he would have his answers.
Finally, she stopped, and Harry broke into a trot to catch up. Before he could make a sound, she vanished, leaving no trace but for the after image. Disappointed, he took out Hermione's wand: "Lumos", and the wand tip lit up. He listened, but nothing more than normal night sounds reached him. No sound of human footsteps, no bursts of green from an assassin hiding in the woods. He looked around, seeing nothing, but couldn't shake the feeling that someone was out there, watching, from beyond the circle of light from the wand. He held the wand higher, and looked around. Still no sign of a hidden watcher. He wondered what was the point? Why had he been brought all the way out here?
That's when he noticed it: a glint from the pond besides which he stood. He approached carefully. It was a small pool that had been formed by a brook dammed by a deadfall that had caught normal detritus of the forest: fallen leaves, branches and twigs, gravel piled up by fast moving water from summer storms. Now, the surface was covered with a sheet of ice as clear as glass. This being the middle of winter, the water was likewise clear enough to see all the way to the bottom. He held the wand higher, and at first saw nothing other than his reflection and that of the glowing wand tip. Then he noticed: there was something else reflecting back the light. He moved closer, and felt his heart in his mouth. There, on the bottom, was what looked like a silver crucifix. Moving the wand but slightly brought a gleam of ruby red.
Not a crucifix, but the hilt of a sword inset with rubies: the sword of Godric Gryffindor lay at the bottom of this remote forest pool. As he looked on at the fabulous sight, he wondered how this was even possible. Nothing Dumbledore ever told him hinted at the Forest of Dean. Did he even know Hermione had once visited? Even if he did, what were the chances they'd ever come within a mile of this particular pool? If it had been there since before Dumbledore's death it would have been so overgrown with algae, so buried in water borne sediment that he'd never stand a chance of seeing it even if he knew where to look. Had some unknown magic been in effect, drawing Hermione to this specific place without her being aware of it? That seemed none too likely: Hermione was a better magician than that. No, he decided, the sword had been delivered here after their arrival precisely because they'd landed here. That, in turn, brought up disturbing possibilities: who was tracking them, and how were they being tracked? If friendlies could do this, despite all their precautions against being tracked, could hostiles do likewise?
"Accio sword", Harry tried to cast the spell, even though he knew it wouldn't work. Had it been that easy, the sword could just as easily been left for him, laying on the ground, or leaning against a tree. He dreaded the idea, but knew what he had to do. He looked again: it was as he feared - the sword was too deep to reach, maybe six feet underwater, an easy dive in any other season. Another look around to convince himself that there was nobody lurking, waiting for this moment to strike. "Diffindo", he called out to crack the ice.
Harry pulled off one sweater after another, growing colder by the second. By the time he was down to his skivvies and bare feet, his teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Delaying wouldn't make that water the least bit warmer. He took a breathe and jumped in. He almost gasped as the cold attacked him, paradoxically, like fire. He felt around with his feet as he didn't want to make more than one dive, stay in that water one second longer than necessary. He felt the blade barely beneath a foot fast going totally numb. He took another breathe and went under. His fingers closed around the hilt, and he began to life the sword. Then he felt something close around his neck. It wasn't a strand of underwater weed. The chain of Slytherin's Locket was doing its best to strangle him.
He kicked strongly, trying to break the surface, but succeeded in propelling himself into the side of the pool. His frozen fingers failed to pry the chain from his neck. Lights began popping behind his eyes. He was drowning, and there was nothing he could do about it now. How stupid to have forgotten he was still wearing the horcrux. The arms he felt closing around his chest could only be the embrace of Death...
Harry found himself face down in the snow, choking and retching, gasping in the frigid air, soaking wet and colder than he ever remembered ever feeling, hoping he'd avoided frostbite. Somewhere nearby, someone else was gasping, coughing, and staggering around. At first he thought Hermione...
"Are you mental?!", came an accusation. That voice... little else could have moved Harry to get up off the ground. There before him was Ron. He had the sword in one hand, and the horcrux dangling from its broken chain in the other.
"What the fuck?", panted Ron, the horcrux swinging on its chain. "You didn't take the damn thing off before you jumped in there?"
Harry had no answer for him as he began to pull on his clothes from the pile he'd made. The silvery doe was nothing as compared to Ron's unexpected appearance, and at just the right time. He couldn't think of it right at the moment, but half expected that it was a mirage of some sort, that Ron would disappear as soon as he lost sight of him.
"So it was you?", Harry asked.
"Well, yeah", he replied, somewhat confused. There was no one else who could have pulled Harry from the water.
"You cast the doe?", Harry asked.
"Me? No... I thought you cast it..."
"My patronus is a stag", Harry told him.
"Oh yeah, I thought it looked different. No antlers".
Finally fully dressed again, Harry turned to Ron; he could think again. He recalled. He wondered why it had taken this long.
"Snape...", Harry said.
"Come again?"
"Snape's patronus is a doe. He must've put the sword...".
From behind two oaks that grew so close that their trunks were separated by no more than an inch stepped a figure whose pallid skin seemed to glow with its own light. Greasy shoulder length black hair, a black winter traveling cloak. The last person Ron expected to meet.
"Pot-ter", he barely kept his rage under control. "You weren't supposed to know! You have endangered my life, the lives of every member of the Order, and who knows how many others. You are so pathetic at occlumency..."
"I've been practicing. I've improved since the last time, Professor..."
Snape whipped out his wand without warning: "Legilimens!"
It was a third person point of view: Snape was looking on. He realized that this wasn't what he'd attempted to see. He tried to leave, but could not.
Around a table in a typical suburban kitchen sat a young, black haired boy. Next to him, a somewhat taller, slightly chunky boy maybe a year older. There was a man about late twenties, early thirties. They were singing.
Happy birthday to you...
A woman arrived with a chocolate cake with four lit candles. "Happy Fourth, Harry" was written in white icing.
Happy birthday, dear Harrrr-rrrry. Happy birthday toooooo youuuuuu!
Harry found himself on hands and knees. Snape was helping him to his feet.
"Redirecting to harmless memories is a useful tactic. Very good", Snape told him. "I see you have been doing the work... for once. A pleasant surprise", Snape almost congratulated. "Just don't get too cocky, Pot-ter", he admonished. Harry wasn't expecting compliments, as he'd never gotten any before.
"I won't", he replied. "Just how long were you going to wait?", he asked.
"How did you recognize my patronus?"
"That night, when Umbridge summoned you to her office..."
"I shall never forget that night, as much as I'd like to. Go on Pot-ter".
"You sent word to the Order. Impmon was there, he saw it. Later, he told me..."
"Impmon! How could he, he isn't even..."
"No he isn't, but he sees patronuses. He sees a lot of things you don't think he can: thestrals, past Fidelius Charms, muggle repelling charms, curses. He senses their data..."
"What else does the little purple blabber-mouth know?"
"Everything. Professor Dumbledore sent his patronus, told him everything a few days before he died. That's why he let you and Draco go... that night". Snape realized that Potter must be telling the truth, as he never referred to it as a murder, nor did he blame him in any way. He never understood, until now, why that silver fox ordered him to take Draco and leave.
"Who else did he tell?"
"Professor McGonagall, Remus and his wife, Arthur Weasley and his wife, I think, Madam Pomfrey - I think that's it".
"And I suppose the muggle boy?"
"Yeah, he told Jadin, he's Impmon's partner and they don't keep secrets from each other, but you don't have to worry about him".
"And why not, Pot-ter?"
"Jadin, Remus, Tonks and Kreacher went to the Digital World to arrange an alliance..."
"Enough Pot-ter, I see that you still have a tendency to say too much..."
"Just how long were you going to wait, or were you just gonna let me drown?"
"I was just getting up when I saw Mr. Weasley coming to your rescue. That was a foolish thing you did Pot-ter. Forgetting little details like that can get you killed, or, perhaps, others as well".
"I'll remember that, Professor. I'll remember that".
"See that you do, Pot-ter. Good night, Mr. Weasley". Snape returned to the woods to disapparate.
"Bloody hell!", Ron finally found his voice. "What's on with him?! I thought he... C'mon, let's get you back before you freeze to death." Harry retraced his footsteps back to the camp.
"I'm sorry", Ron said. "I'm sorry I left. I know I was a... a... a real..."
"Don't worry about it. Not your fault. If we hadn't decided to wear that locket... You came back, and that's all that matters. The rest, water over the dam. I'm sure Hermione will be happy to see you and that you're OK. She worried about you. We both did".
The return trip didn't take as long as Harry had expected. It just seemed that farther away, after following Snape's patronus.
"Hermione!", Ron called out as they entered the tent. She and Dorugamon were up instantly. "Help me get Harry into some dry clothes before he freezes".
At first, Hermione's intent was to give Ron hell for deserting them, leaving them to the mercies of Nagini and Voldemort. However, that could wait.
"Bloody hell!", Ron exclaimed at the sight of his replacement.
"This is Dorugamon, we'll explain later", Hermione told him.
By the time they'd gotten Harry warmed up, most of Hermione's initial anger had subsided.
"I wanted to come back the moment I left. I walked right into a gang of Snatchers, Hermione, and I couldn't go anywhere".
"A gang of what?", Harry asked.
"Snatchers", Ron explained, "they're everywhere. They collect bounties from the Ministry for turning in unregistered muggle-borns and blood traitors. I look like I'm underage, and since I'm not in school, they thought I might have been a prospect for a truancy reward if nothing else. I told 'em I was Stan Shunpike - first name that occurred to me when they asked..."
This was the first they'd heard about what was going on in the world. Harry and Hermione exchanged looks of horror. Neither had anticipated how bad things actually had become. Neighbor turning on neighbor. Free lance police spies. The witch hunts for the muggle born.
"And they believed that?", Hermione asked, incredulous.
"They weren't exactly the sharpest tools in the shed. One was definitely part troll, based on the smell. Anyway, they had quite a row over whether to believe me or not. Really quite pathetic, but still there were five of them and only one of me, and they took my wand. While they were trying to decide whether to turn me in, I hit the one holding me, grabbed his wand, then disarmed the bloke who had my wand. I disapparated and got the hell out of there. I originally returned to the river bank. I knew I wouldn't be able to see, so I waited, hoping I'd see one of you, or hear something. After a couple of days, I figured you'd moved on..."
"How would you hope to find us?", Hermione asked to get Ron back on topic.
"This", he replied. He was holding Dumbledore's Putter Outter. "It turns out it doesn't just put out lights. I don't know how it works or why. It just happened. I was in a pub, listening to the radio, having a butterbeer, when I heard you..."
"Me? I was on the radio?"
"No, it was your voice, and it was coming from this. I wanted to come back, more than ever..."
"What was I saying?", she asked.
"'Ron', just my name and something about a wand, I didn't get all of it. So I went back to the room I let, and clicked the button. The lights went out, of course, but another light appeared right outside the window. A bluish ball of light, and I knew this was it. I packed my stuff, and went outside and followed this ball of light. That's when it went right inside me..."
"It did what?", they asked.
"Passed right through me. Felt all warm, even though it was snowing. I knew somehow that it would lead me to you. I disapparated and landed on a hillside. Snow everywhere, wind that blew right through you"
"We were there", Harry said. "We left early, the weather was so lousy, and looked for a more sheltered place to hole up".
"I figured as much. That night, I clicked the deluminator, just hoping. That blue fireball appeared again, and led me here. I still didn't know how to find you guys, and was wondering what to do when I saw Snape's patronus, and Harry following after it".
"You saw what!", Hermione asked.
At first, she was wondering if Ron wasn't making this up. However, she doubted even Ronald Weasley could make up a story this wild to excuse his behaviour, his desertion. The rest of the story came out: the sword in the frozen pond. How the horcrux attempted to prevent Harry from recovering the sword, nearly strangling him, drowning him, or death by hypothermia all at once. How Ron happened to come along at just the right time. The last second rescue of Harry from drowning or strangulation. Being confronted by a very upset Professor Snape.
"You say you took a wand from one of the Snatchers?", Harry asked.
"Oh yeah, I figure a back-up might come in handy", Ron said as he opened his rucksack and extracted a short, dark wand.
"Hand it over: mine broke", Harry said.
"You're kidding?", Ron replied. Hermione simply climbed into bed. There would be no further conversation tonight.
"Oh well, could've been worse", Harry said quietly, but not quietly enough.
"Yeah, could've been worse", Ron agreed. "Remember those birds she sicced on me?"
"I still haven't ruled that out", Hermione threatened.
Early the next morning, they gathered outside, by a flat rock. Harry took out the locket, and set it on the rock, its emerald 'S' looking like a miniature serpent sunning itself.
"I think you should be the one to do it", Harry said, as he held out the sword.
"I'd really rather not", Ron objected. "You do it".
"I really think it has to be you. After all, you were the one to rescue the sword from that pond. You know the legends? The one who wields the sword of Gryffindor needs to prove his worthiness to do so. You did that last night".
"But that's just a legend".
"I'm not so sure about that", Harry countered. "I just have a feeling. It needs to be you".
"But that thing and I don't get along. It affected me worse than you two, made me think bad thoughts. Sure, they were mine, but not to that extent. I'd take it off and I couldn't believe some of the things I was casually thinking. What if it attacks me again? Remember Ginny and that diary? How it possessed her? Maybe we're more susceptible? What if it makes me harm..."
"Ron", Harry protested. "You won't let that happen. We, Hermione, Dorugamon, and I trust you. You would never hurt any of us".
Ron turned away, sword dragging behind. He felt a return of his resolve. "OK, what do I do?"
"I'm gonna open it..."
"How? None of us could open it"
"I'm going to ask politely", Harry explained, "in Parseltongue". How he knew this would work, he did not know. He just knew. Maybe it was that psychic connection, or their latest encounter with Nagini. "When it opens, stab it with the sword. Break it. Ready?"
Ron raised the point of the sword. The inside of the locket rattled as though a large cockroach were struggling to get out.
"On the count of three: one... two... three... Open!" The last word coming with a hiss and a snarl. The locket's two doors popped open with a slight click.
Inside was a dark eye, looking like one of Tom Riddle's handsome eyes before he turned them all red and reptilian. The eye spun around, looking up at the point of the sword poised to strike it.
"Ronald Weasley", it said with Voldemort's voice, "I know your heart, and it already belongs to me".
"Don't listen to it! Stab it!"
"I know your deepest desires, and I know your worst fears. Both are possible, neither inevitable..."
"Ron! What're you waiting for?!", real Harry called out.
"Poor Ronald Weasley: a disappointment to his mother's heart by not being the sister she wanted for Ginny. Always last and least in love. Always second best, nothing more than a minor sidekick to the Boy Who Lived".
An image swirled up from the locket: Harry and Hermione, both naked, both weirdly distorted. This image of Hermione looking at once more sinister, and yet more lovely, than the real Hermione.
"You actually thought I wanted you back?", faux Harry laughed. "I was glad to see you go. You were nothing but a bother, always whining, and I laughed at your stupidity and your cowardice..."
"Ron, smash that damn thing!", real Harry pleaded.
"Kill that process this instant!", Dorugamon called out.
"...How presumptuous!"
"Presumptuous!", faux Hermione echoed with a laugh, as her head turned to Ron. Faux Hermione now looked even more lovely, and yet more terrible, than the real Hermione. "You thought I would prefer you? You think any self respecting woman would want you for anything more than a pity fuck? It was your best friend I wanted all along. You never suspected, you silly little boy! Who would ever choose you as a friend other than Harry Potter? No one else would bother to take pity on you. What are you compared to the Chosen One? What have you ever done that could come close?"
"Your mother confessed", faux Harry taunted, "she would prefer me as a son. She would gladly make the exchange. She said so".
"Ron! Smash it! Smash it!", Hermione called out.
The images of Harry and Hermione intertwined, serpent-like, their lips met.
"Do it Ron!", Hermione called out again.
Harry thought he saw a glimmer of red in Ron's eyes. "Ron?"
With renewed determination, the sword point flashed. There was the sound of metal striking metal. A ghostly scream rang out, long, drawn out, fading into the background slowly.
The image was gone, the locket's glass broken out. One small door hung by a single hinge, bent, and sticking out at an oblique angle. Some emeralds had popped out of their settings. The dark blue silk liner smoked slightly. Harry looked back. Ron stood before the smashed locket, his eyes their normal blue.
He looked up: "Git: didn't even know Hermione's Jadin's girlfriend now". He walked back to the tent. Hermione collected the broken locket and gathered up as many stray emeralds as she could find. These she deposited in the beaded handbag.
"What sort of technology is that?", Dorugamon asked. "A holographic projection, yet where are the electronics? It looks like just an empty, small box, not nearly large enough to even contain the power supply? How?"
"What can I say?", Harry began, "it's..."
"...Magic. That's always your explanation, like the force field and the teleportation..."
"A very dark and evil magic, Dorugamon. Just be glad you don't have anything like it in the Digital World".
Digital World: Suszakumon
"Impmon, Nymphadoralupin, Remuslupin, Jadinweston - you may rise", Zhuqiaomon said. After they'd regained their feet. "Nymphadoralupin?"
"Yes, Your Majesty".
"You have a parasitic infestation. I shall remove it".
Tonks thought over this for a moment, not realizing what he was talking about at first.
"No! Wait! Your Majesty. It's not a parasite, it's a baby: I'm pregnant".
"Material World reproduction, a messy and inefficient process".
"Also a joyous occasion for us".
"Remuslupin, you seem different from the other Outworlders. Step closer". He did. He wondered what this was about.
"Show me your true form!"