Chapter 34 - Reversed Four of Cups
They spent the next two days planning.
Though Hermione argued that it would be a fool's errand, Draco insisted that they would have to return to Hogwarts. Much to Hermione's chagrin, Luna agreed.
For the first time since they'd left the camp, Hermione was filled with a sense of urgency and determination that buoyed her waning spirit. Coupled with the growing urge to unleash the magic boiling beneath her skin and the turmoil of her emotions, sitting within the walls of the cabin was enough to make her scream.
And when Malfoy continued to make small advances on her, she couldn't help retreating into herself, if only out of self-preservation.
Part of her wondered if it had been a mistake to kiss him like that so soon after getting her memories back and with doubt still rioting in her head.
Another part of her begged to do it again. But she couldn't shake the stranglehold of trepidation she felt. At a loss for what to do, she settled back onto her cot, twirling the Elder Wand between her fingertips.
The cabin was stifling. So many of them in such a small area reminded her of the beginning, of the days when she, Ron, and Harry had gone on the run. Before they'd found the others and before they'd lost it all.
Before she'd lost it all.
Being stuck here with Theo, Luna, and Draco held a different kind of hope than she'd felt previously. Before, it had been blind stumbling, hoping to find answers in the little bit of information Dumbledore had left them. Now, they knew what the horcruxes were—or at least had a good idea of what they were—and they had a place to start.
Or they would if they could agree on anything.
"Our best option is to start at Hogwarts." Theo pointed at the crude map they'd traced into the worn floor with their wands. One X was burned into the floor for the diadem, another alongside the castle for the locket with Ron. "We need to start at the location with the most horcruxes first, then work out. Like a fan."
Luna nodded alongside him, her big blue eyes gazing down at the floor. "Theo's right. Hogwarts is familiar territory; once we know those are destroyed, we can determine where others might be."
Silence fell between them as she scrutinised the map. One X over Malfoy Manor, burned deeper in the floor than the others—Draco's anger had gotten the best of him. Draco was sure the snake was one of the horcruxes given how closely Voldemort watched over it. The remaining X was etched just outside the outlines they'd drawn, the location of the final horcrux uncertain.
The memories were a start, and knowing that she'd asked for it herself was small consolation for the doubt that had begun to creep in at every opportunity.
If she couldn't trust herself, who could she trust?
A floorboard creaked behind Hermione, and each of them whirled and pointed their wands toward the open, empty doorway. Theo shoved Luna behind him; she was defenseless without a wand.
With a ripple of the landscape and another creak of the floorboards, the figure appeared, illuminated by sunlight glinting off the remaining snow outside. Hermione couldn't contain her gasp at the sight, unconcerned by the intruder. Her gaze was trained on the nondescript cloak discarded on the cabin floor.
The invisibility cloak. Harry's invisibility cloak.
Beside her, Malfoy loosened a strangled gasp, his wand clattering to his feet. Another sharp huff of breath left him, and he tore across the room, colliding with the figure in a bruising embrace.
Luna and Theo exchanged glances out of the corner of Hermione's eyes, though neither of them shifted from their defensive crouch. Hermione could tell who the woman was by the way she gathered up Draco in her arms, the complete abandon with which he'd thrown himself at her.
Confirming her suspicions, Draco released the newcomer, and Narcissa Malfoy strode through the doorway, dress robes tattered and a bruise blossoming on her face. Her lip was split, but she spoke with the same strong but distant tone Hermione had come to respect. "I do hope you haven't been waiting terribly long for me." With a grimace, she withdrew her hand from her robes, a glint of gold flashing as she tipped it forward, the metal slipping from her fingers and clattering to the ground.
Hermione was sure she was imagining the glimmer of gold, the scripted H set in the fine gold plating of the ancient chalice. The cup of Helga Hufflepuff. Another horcrux. Leaning down, she picked it up and an eerily familiar voice lashed out at her, haunting words echoing within the confines of her mind.
The discarded Mudblood. A last resort weapon, picked up only when she's halfway useful to someone else. They'll use you and leave you, filth.
Gasping, Hermione dropped the cup. The words replayed like a mantra in her head as it crashed against the floor.
They'll leave you.
Her vision went hazy, eyes locked on the floor, seeing nothing as rage and shock roiled within her.
And then Draco was before her, cupping her elbows as she stared down at the innocuous trinket in shock. "Granger, what's wrong?"
She didn't realise her hands were shaking until her gaze focused, and then she noticed the thin layer of ice that covered her hands, curling along her forearms. The cup, too, was covered in frost, a thick, white layer obscuring the filigree. When Malfoy shook her slightly, she flicked her gaze up to his, her voice stronger than she'd thought it would be. "It's the cup."
Confusion settled in his eyes, but when he looked down, his sharp intake of breath indicated his understanding. He swung his gaze to his mother, a single word escaping on his exhalation. "How?"
Tilting her nose upward, Narcissa sniffed. "I'll explain after I'm offered a seat."
As one, Hermione and Theo moved backward, Draco striding forward to offer Narcissa his arm, and he escorted her to the cot Hermione had been using. The woman settled onto it, wincing as she jostled the wound she concealed within her robes.
Draco hurried to her side, crouching beside her. Hermione watched the way they interacted, the clear worry in his expression as he prodded Narcissa until the woman sighed and carefully pulled her arm from her side, revealing the injury that made her wince.
From her ribcage to her hip, Narcissa's robes had been scalded, and angry mottled skin peeked out from the charred edges. Five centimetre-wide boils had sprung up along the burnt skin, their edges weeping with dark pus. The swaths of fabric that had been covering the wound peeled away the dried edges, reopening the flesh; sickly brown blood quickly seeped to the surface.
Exhaling sharply, Hermione directed the others in the room before she was even aware she was moving. "Theo, I need snow. Luna, what else did you manage to bring with you?"
Her friend's carefree expression pinched into a contemplative frown, and she reached for her bag. From within, Luna extracted a tiny vial, labeled with a careful script: burn paste. Luna peered up at her, expression contrite. "This is all I have."
Heart dropping as she eyed the extent to the damage, Hermione reached for it. "It's not enough." Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Luna's shoulders drop, and she turned to her friend. "It's okay; we'll figure it out." The reassurance was enough for Luna, who spun on her heel and followed Theo out of the cabin.
Turning, Hermione approached Narcissa, interrupting the quiet hum of conversation between the woman and her son. She crouched before the elder witch, gaze roving over the wound. The majority of it appeared to be healed already, but large areas still worried her. Before she could apply the paste, though, Narcissa reached out, staying her hand.
"Let me." There was no mistaking Narcissa's command, and Hermione silently passed her the paste, sympathy heavy on her shoulders at the renewed wince.
A thousand questions raced through Hermione's mind as Narcissa methodically opened the paste and set it aside, patiently waiting for Theo and Luna to return so she could clean the wound, but Draco broke the silence. "What happened?"
Narcissa delicately lifted her shoulder, her colour paling at the movement. "I received Theodore's message through Luna." The floor creaked as the aforementioned witch and wizard re-entered the cabin, treading quickly over the barren floor and smearing the map they'd created. "But the Dark Lord warded the manor."
Nodding to herself, Hermione dipped her rag into the cool water, ringing it loose before she brought it up to brush over Narcissa's side. To her relief, the majority of that lacerations proved shallow, and only two of them were actively oozing. Flicking her eyes upward as she worked, Hermione prompted, "And what caused this?"
A pained laugh tinkled out of Narcissa. "The burns or the cuts?" Hermione's hand stilled and she looked up at the woman, brow furrowed. "Two different incidents, my dear." Naricissa's opposite hand came up, gently moving Hermione away as she cast a quiet Scourgify over her robes. Deeming it clean enough with a sharp nod, she covered the wound. "That'll do."
Beside her, Draco reached out, clasping Narcissa's hands. "But Mother, there's still—"
The woman leveled a sharp look at her son, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat, dread roaring through her as the woman smiled sadly. "There's nothing for it, I'm afraid."
Draco froze, face rippling through several emotions—fear, anger, dread, then back to fear—before he schooled his expression carefully blank. "What do you mean?"
Smiling sadly, Narcissa reached out, wrapping her hand around her son's. "There's nothing that can be done, my dragon." Taking a deep breath, she blinked several times, looking sightlessly at the floorboards. "The Dark Lord warded the manor with very dark magic, magic I've never seen used outside of hearsay from the first wizarding war." Pushing herself upright with a wince, Narcissa crossed to the cabin's window. "It's a curse, and not of the benevolent kind, if there's such a thing."
Luna tipped her head to the side, her lilting tone sober. "Missus Malfoy, I'm not sure now—"
Turning, the woman leveled them all with a severe look. "There is no time other than now. The war is here; the Dark Lord has risen. He has power like we've never seen before, and he will succeed if you do not listen to me." Her tone was glacial, far harsher than Hermione had ever heard from the woman's lips before.
A low, sick feeling roiled in her stomach, and Hermione forced it away as she stood, approaching Narcissa. "How much time?"
But Malfoy marched forward, grim determination in his eyes as he swept past Hermione. Once more, he gathered his mother's hands in his own and peered down at her pleadingly. His voice broke when he spoke. "Mother, we can figure something out." He drew in a shuddering breath. "Please."
She knew that tone, that utter desperation to find an answer that would prevent the inevitable. It was the same tattered plea when she'd found her parents, when she'd begged for Harry to just come back and for Ron to wake up. It was heart rending and painfully honest, and she watched as it tore at Narcissa.
Cradling his cheek, Narcissa's eyes darted back and forth between Draco's. "We can't, my son." Tears sprang to life in the woman's eyes. "There's no way to counteract it; I'm weak. It's stolen my strength— my magic." A deep sigh stuttered out of her. "I've always known. For as long as I've known Miss Granger was the last strand of hope we had in all of this, I've known that this was my end."
The air stilled, the revelation heavy on each of their shoulders, and Hermione stared back at Narcissa's calm grey gaze.
All of this time… she'd known it would come down to this.
The truth was in every serene line of the woman's face: why she'd not fought when Voldemort pushed her over the railing at the manor, why she had fought so hard to heal Hermione. She'd known, and she'd done it anyway.
Draco was trembling, whether with fear or anger Hermione couldn't tell, but he gripped his mother's hand tightly, his voice low. "I can't lose you."
A serene smile lifted his mother's lips. "Are those we love ever truly gone?" She lifted her chin defiantly, masking her pain with another brilliant smile. "If it stops the Dark Lord, then my purpose will have been served."
Draco stiffened, and Hermione could tell that he was forcing himself from fleeing, from running out of the cabin to deal with the grief that threatened to overtake him. Instead, he gripped Narcissa's hands tighter and guided the woman back to the cot she'd been sitting on, unable to meet her gaze.
Once Narcissa was settled, she breathed out a pained sigh. Hermione and Luna settled on the floor before her, and Theo stood just beside Draco, his hand resting on Draco's shoulder in silent support that sent a grateful flicker through her.
Regardless of all the unknown between them, she wanted to take away that pain from him. He'd suffered enough.
But war spared no one, and this was a storm they'd all weather together.
After a moment of fraught silence, Narcissa reached into the folds of her robe opposite her injury and produced a small bag, reminiscent of Hermione's own beaded bag. Carefully undoing the drawstring, she reached into its depths, her arm disappearing within the depths for a moment before it emerged, holding a thick, leather-bound book.
Draco sucked in a breath, spine going rigid before them. "Mother, is—"
"The Black family grimoire?" Narcissa finished, nodding. "It is." She eyed Theo and Luna carefully. "May I have a moment alone with Miss Granger and my son? Forgive me for being rude, but under the circumstances…"
With a final, discreet squeeze to Draco's shoulder, Theo turned, extending a hand to help Luna up, and the two exited the way they'd entered.
Alone with Narcissa and Draco, Hermione shifted, willing someone else to speak. Discomfort and nervous anticipation curled up her spine, wrapping itself around her in a suffocating embrace.
Narcissa peered at the cover of the grimoire, slim fingers tracing the leather before she spoke. "This grimoire has been in my family for centuries." She swallowed, eyes misting with memories. "It's not left the possession of the Black family in the time of its existence, but—" She turned, extending the tome to Hermione. "It seems there comes a time for everything."
Shocked wasn't the right word to explain how Hermione felt. The synapses in her brain stopped functioning as the woman extended her hands, the heavy, worn book hanging between them. Hermione's gaze shot up, finding Narcissa with a kind smile and an expectant brow, once again offering the tome. Tentatively, she reached forward, fingers wrapping around the book.
Hermione wasn't sure what she expected to happen, but her heart sank a little when the book landed in her lap with no fanfare. No magical currents ran through her; she didn't experience an epiphany of any kind, and the earth didn't quake with a sudden monumental shift.
But Narcissa smiled all the same, tipping her head toward the grimoire. "That grimoire holds the secrets of every Black witch since 1420. It is our written history—as well as the coinciding wizarding world's—since the Blacks fancied themselves as collectors of magic, rare and common." Narcissa paused, worrying the hem of her cloak between her fingertips. "I've searched it front to back for the cure to the curse that Lord Voldemort placed on me to no avail. If there was one, it should be in that book."
Huffing out a humourless laugh, Draco crossed his arms. "If there's nothing of use in there, why are you giving it to Granger?"
Though she didn't echo him, Hermione wondered the same. It didn't appear to be immediately useful, and if they were to bring the war to Voldemort, they would need to travel lightly.
Narcissa continued without further prompting, her voice entirely too nonchalant for the bomb she dropped. "This book also contains the spellwork to undo what you may consider a curse on you, Miss Granger."
The words washed over Hermione, but she couldn't comprehend them for a moment, gaze rapidly shooting between the grimoire, Draco, and Narcissa. And then it dawned on her. The curse. The one that had landed her here, that allowed Malfoy to control her if he wished.
It hadn't happened since they'd fled the camp; he carefully avoided commands directed at her, and he'd given her the space that she desperately needed to figure out what this all meant.
She'd always been good at magic. Top of her class with a thirst to know more, to do better, and though she had to work at it, magic came naturally to her most of the time.
But this magic—the power this curse afforded her—had settled into the very bones and sinews of her body, changing the way she viewed magic and herself. When she didn't have the strength to survive anymore, it had wrapped her in its embrace and protected her. Through all of the trauma of the past months, this magic had been her constant. The more she learned it, the less of a burden it felt; now it was like something she'd never known was missing.
Was it even a curse anymore?
Narcissa coughed lightly, drawing Hermione's attention again. "Of course, you don't need to make any decisions now. I would advise against it. But given the situation…" The woman looked away, shifting uncomfortably. "It's in your hands now; should the curse that the Dark Lord used on me prove as rapidly moving as I anticipate, you will have access to it when, or if, you need it."
No matter how much she wanted to reassure the woman they would find a way to stop her demise, how badly she wanted to reach out and clasp Narcissa's hands, Hermione clutched the grimoire, weighing the implications that it brought for her and those hidden away with her.
She could stop it all. With this magic, she could bring Voldemort to his knees, and then she could disappear, using this magic to cloak herself from the rest of the world and exist alone.
"All I ask," Narcissa said, "is that you consider all possibilities before making a decision." Hermione swung her gaze to the woman and nodded once.
Beside her, Draco spoke, resolutely ignoring the book in her hands. "How did you get the horcrux?"
Hermione jolted, realising the forgotten cup still rested on the floor of the cabin, and she summoned it with a sharp wave of her hand. Unfocused as it was, the cup clattered over the floorboards, rolling to a stop between her and Malfoy.
Doubling over, Narcissa plucked the cup from the floor, studying its design. "Bella has never been one to keep her secrets," Narcissa mused, "and when she became secretive about the family vault, I investigated."
Draco frowned. "So you just took it?"
Another tinkling laugh left Narcissa, this one slightly pained, and Hermione had to cut her gaze away from the obvious discomfort. "It took some planning; there's a rather convincing duplicate in the vault, but she'll discover it eventually. All duplicates eventually rot."
A jolt of nervous magic shot to her fingertips, dancing between her fingers as she summoned her beaded bag and stowed the grimoire inside to be dealt with later. "Let's get started."
They stood in a curved line, each of them squinting in the sunlight as they stared at the horcrux. It looked innocent, sunlight glinting off its unassuming facets. But Hermione knew, could feel, the inky darkness roiling within, and her magic reared up inside of her, battering against the walls of her chest in a desperate bid to crush the bit of Voldemort trapped within the cup.
There had been no discussion about who would be the one to destroy it. Instead, each of them had taken a fang, sans Narcissa, and filed out the door. The cup was balanced on a fallen log, and now each of them stood on the precipice of this final step of the rebellion— the reckoning of Tom Riddle.
None of them spoke, the silence tense, and suddenly Draco was tearing across the clearing.
She couldn't articulate what drew her after him, but before she could stop herself, she was running, air forcing itself painfully past her lungs in panicked gasps.
"Draco!" She tried to stop him, tried to warn him what could happen, but he didn't stop until he skidded into the log, him momentum carrying him over as he thrust his arm forward, the basilisk fang crashing into the cold metal of the cup.
A horrible, high-pitched screeching echoed through the clearing, the roiling blackness Hermione had sensed within the cup billowing outward with a scream. It was a tidal wave, harsh and unforgiving, as it bloomed outward, colliding with the dome of charms protecting the cabin. Propelled forward by her fear, Hermione slipped on a patch of muddy ground, crashing to her knees and sliding forward until she collided into Draco.
But he didn't see her, eyes wide and fixed on the deep grey smoke that rolled out of the depths of the cup. Bile climbed up her throat as she saw what had transfixed him so.
Bodies. Each of them laid out neatly side by side, gaze blank and staring upward at the canopy of trees overhead. Their faces were ashy and waxen, lips parted in varying degrees of the screams they had uttered before their death. Theo. Luna. Narcissa. Hermione. Several others who looked vaguely familiar though she couldn't immediately place them.
His breath came out in shallow gasps, tears filling his eyes and spilling over as he lurched forward, reaching frantically for the bodies of those who he cared for.
And then a low, hissing voice spread through the haze. "All that fighting for naught." Rumbling laughter punctuated the statement, and the dead bodies animated, sitting upright to stare at Draco. Their mouths opened simultaneously, the words issuing from within. "Draco Malfoy, the blood traitor."
Draco was stock still beside her, his jaw trembling as he stared at their bodies, wand useless at his side.
"The Dark Lord will kill us all, and you will watch. And when we're dead, he will kill you, too."
The voices were so like those of their living counterparts that Hermione fought to ignore what they said, and she pushed herself upright onto her knees, tugging on Draco's arm as she positioned herself between him and the horcrux. "They're not real, Draco. It's not real," she cried, shaking him, but he wouldn't look away. Cool smoke brushed against her shoulder, and she knew that they'd advanced, incorporeal puppets standing behind her as she delivered Voldemort's poisonous words.
"You're a failure," the Theo look-alike spewed, vitriol colouring his words, but Hermione could hear the hiss of Voldemort's tone beneath it.
Draco shook, eyes pressing shut as he crumpled, and Hermione gripped his chin, forcing his face towards her. "I'm right here, Draco." Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and hopeful disbelief bloomed in them, his hand shooting upright to clasp hers. "Just look at me."
Behind her, she could hear the figures speaking, vile words meant to destroy Draco, but she talked through them. "It's not real. None of it is real."
His grip on her tightened, his lifeline in the smoke, and her heart clenched at the veritable whirlwind of emotion that clutched at her heart at the vulnerability in his eyes. Memories crashed over her. His gentle touch, their quiet moments together in the Room of Requirement, all of it more genuine than anything she'd felt before, and then she remembered Narcissa's words.
This is the kind of magic that knows no boundaries when accepted.
And the final wall within her broke as she threaded her fingers through Draco's and crushed her lips to his, throwing everything she could into the Elder Wand at the horcrux behind them.
A/N: Hey all! Thanks for reading tonight! I'm sorry this is a bit late; it was a long day and I wasn't able to get notes from my beta until just a bit ago. I hope you all enjoyed, and thank you again for all your lovely thoughts. I really appreciate everyone for reading along; you truly make my day with your love. Before I go, a plug for a friend: if you're not reading Nocturnus by In Dreams, stop now and read it! I have the privilege of betaing for her and it's INCREDIBLE. You don't want to miss it.
Alpha love to LadyKenz347 and beta love to tofadeawayagain.