~*~ Twenty Four ~*~

The waves crashed against the craggy rocks jutting out of the violent sea, spraying Hermione with salt and frigid water. Every breath tasted of brine, her cloak already white with powder. They huddled together on the edge of a rugged outcrop, the sea foaming mere meters beneath them. The wind was artic as it tore at their cloaks, threatening to drag them into the frothing abyss.

She could barely hear Harry as he called across the short distance between them. "Ron and I used to come here between apparations, made sure the Snatchers and the Death Eaters couldn't follow us. Even if they'd gotten a trace on us, they were likely to fall into the sea if they tried to follow."

Hermione eyed the water below. Unlike the white cliffs below Draco's cottage, the ocean was angry here. One wrong step and she had no doubt it would swallow her whole. They were somewhere in the North Sea, atop an outcropping that hardly qualified as an isle. She imagined even the gentlest of storms would cover these weathered rocks and leave nothing but churning sea. It was an apt place to lay the Hallows to rest, for even the most daring and cunning would be ripped to pieces against those jutting rocks and roaring waves.

She gathered the Hallows from within her cape, ignoring the sorrowful pulse of the Elder wand, as if it knew the watery end it would soon meet. She wouldn't miss it, or the dark hunger it evoked within her. Perhaps the Resurrection stone would be the hardest to part with, despite its role in Riddle's return. It had given her precious extra moments with Luna, had eased the pain of her friend's violent death enough for Hermione to recall fonder days and better memories.

And the cloak. It had never particularly served her beyond that night in the Forbidden Forest, but it had been a part of Harry, of their childhood. Every titillating adventure they'd weathered had included that cloak. Hermione knew he would mourn its loss far more than she. It had been passed down through generations of Potters, a last relic of his father.

She rubbed an errant tear away with the back of her glove. Now was not the time for hesitation or sentimentality. Riddle likely already knew he'd been cut off from Hermione after the binding incantation; it was a matter of time until he realized their plan for the Hallows.

She willed strength into her trembling fingers as she placed the items in the leaded box Draco had brought, the box that would take the Hallows down into the fathomless depths of this angry sea until Riddle was trapped beneath the waves with them, unable to escape his watery purgatory. She closed the lid with a clang that rang out above the cacophony of roaring waves. The lock was equally heavy, leaded as well and as thick as her wrist. It snapped into place with a low groan that sent shivers across her chilled flesh.

It took a levitation spell to lift it. The box wavered in the wind, but she held steady until it hovered above the roiling water below. She took a deep breath of sea-crusted air as she prepared to release it to the deep.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Hermione Granger."

The box shook as she turned, all breath fleeing her lungs at the sight of Tom Riddle standing behind Draco, glinting blade digging into the pale flesh of his neck. The glint wavered in time with the tendril within her. The box crashed to the rock at her feet.

"Let him go." She had no idea how her tongue formed the words. She was utterly numb, adrenaline chasing away everything but acrid fear.

"Give me the Hallows." Riddle's smile grew into a grotesque grin. "That wasn't very kind of you, Hermione, supplanting the bond between us. But it's no matter really, I am nearly strong enough to exist with the Hallows alone."

"I won't." She couldn't. But the knife dug deeper into Draco's flesh and a small trickle of red marred his pale skin.

"Don't give in," Draco hissed, the knife cutting deeper still as he spoke.

But her resolution was wavering with each rivulet of blood. Could she truly sentence Draco to death to save the world from Tom Riddle? The consequences of giving the Hallows to Riddle were too dire to allow, but her soul was already in shambles. Allowing that knife to complete its trajectory would be letting go of everything still holding her together. Draco had sacrificed too much already and she couldn't be the one to doom him, not when he was the only strand of light left within her.

She could sense his panicked pulse through the bond as she lifted the lead box from the ground once more. Instead of casting it toward the angry waters she directed it slowly towards Riddle. Silver eyes flared, begging her to reconsider, but her decision had been made.

"The key to it all, Hermione Granger, is not to conquer Death, but to become him."

The words were smug, the burn of those dark eyes impossibly bright as they tracked the progress of the box. Draco was still now, quicksilver eyes overwhelmed with emotion as he stared only at her, the box forgotten. His lips moved silently, shaping the words I love you. Panic seized her a moment before he exploded into action, pushing back against Riddle with all his might. The pair teetered on the edge before tumbling backward into the raging abyss.

It took her a moment to realize there wasn't a banshee atop the tallest crag, that it was her blood-curdling scream ripping through the salty air, her wail that rose in an endless keen as raging water swallowed all traces of black or silver.

She hardly noticed Harry rip the box from the rock and hurl it into the foam behind them. She was on her knees, the rough gravel digging into her flesh, but everything was numb in a new and horrifying way.

Green eyes flashed in front of her. "Can you still feel him?"

She blinked in incomprehension and Harry shook her shoulders, no hint of gentleness in his touch. "Dammit, Hermione. Focus. Can you still feel him?"

He meant that tendril that snaked about her heart, that still pulsed with life, if only barely. She forced her head to nod. "Yes. But he's getting weaker."

"Stay here. If that pulse stops or I don't come back within ten minutes, leave." Harry's fingers clawed into her skin. "Can you do that?"

She wasn't sure she could do anything at all, but Hermione murmured, "Yes."

Then Harry was leaping off the precipice into the dark waters below, leaving her utterly alone. Her hands shook as she pressed them to the stone, her gloves doing little to protect her from the sharp edges and frigid temperature. Her whole body was shaking, screams still tearing from her lips, fueled by the cold vice of despair clamping down on her soul, crushing her with every breath she took.

She thought she'd known terror in that watery bathroom with blood on her hands and Draco's eyes slowly going out, or even in that meadow as Voldemort did his worst. But this was infinitely worse. She had no eyes to look into at all, no ability press him to her, no idea how to save him. She could feel him, growing weaker, his vine slowly untangling from her. Would she know when he was gone or would a piece of him linger within her still?

It was too much to think, too excruciating to imagine. Her hands dug into the sharpest stones, the pain a welcome distraction from the tsunami of terror coursing through her.

How had she not forgiven him? He'd loved her until the bitter end and she'd not been strong enough to forgive him before it was all too late. It seemed ridiculous now, that strand of betrayal nothing to the fresh wound ripping through her. So he'd lied to her to save the world, to save her from the pain of what had to be done. Had she not done the same to save him as he plotted to kill the headmaster? Had she not taken away his choices until salvation was his only option?

And now he'd given his life for her, for Harry, for the world. And she'd been too stubborn, too self-absorbed to see what had been in front of her. She'd given everything for him and it had changed him. He wasn't that lost boy at Hogwarts, a mark on his arm he could not hide from. He was a man that loved her. Loved her so bloody much he'd killed Harry Potter and thrown himself off a cliff. Andromeda was right. This wasn't the type of love that got a nice house in the suburbs and a dog. This was a love that launched a thousand ships and brought the world to the brink of disaster or back from it in equal measure.

When had he changed? When had she ceased to understand the gravity between them? Had it been in those torturous months before they'd met in Hyde Park, when Voldemort had tried to strip away his soul? Or perhaps as he'd watched Bellatrix turn her wand on Hermione over and over again, his eyes shattering as they remained locked with hers. She could not say for sure, only that the change was undeniable now.

But despite all that, he would die in the cold waters of a barren isle, unmarked by any grave. And she would never tell him she loved him again, never fall into those unbearable silver eyes that held her soul within their depths.

Her frantic screams faded to a desperate chant, the words tumbling from her lips in an anguished, eternal circle. "I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you…"