Written for the International Wizarding School Championship Season Two.
Round : Round 6—Knock-Knock-Knockturn Alley
School : Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Year : Year 5 - Deputy
Theme : Borgin and Burkes' : Characters who need Dark Magic to survive or as their occupation.
Prompts : 13. (AU) Dark!Hermione [Main]
9. (Setting) Your Theme Setting—Borgin and Burkes' [Additional]
11. (Spell) Imperio [Additional]
Word Count : 3280 (10% leeway used)
Warnings : Non graphic animal death, implied minor character death, non graphic flesh burning.
A/N : This is a Dark!Harmony AU. Also entirely non-compliant to canon from Chamber of Secrets. Diary!Tom resides with Hermione.
Single quote dialogues is a thought-conversation between various characters. Double quotes are normal dialogue. Italicised single quote dialogue is exclusively Tom's thoughts from inside his host's head.
In Your Search For Power (Don't Stumble Too Far)
'It's a blood curse,' Tom mutters in her head, 'it's fatal.'
She can't feel her arm properly, nor can she move it. All that is left is an uncomfortable, stinging cold.
Hermione will go all lengths to remove the curse. Nothing can stop her from harnessing the power of the Diadem, not even death herself.
The pull of the Diadem is strong. It is stronger than any attraction Hermione has ever felt in her life. The power that radiates from it, the knowledge that flows from it, what would ever stand in their way once Hermione possesses the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw? She steps gingerly around the rubble in the storage room that the room of requirement has become and approaches the Diadem. This is her—their—path to eternal power. She extends a single finger to trace the beautiful relic. Such beauty, such power—
She doesn't think she will ever be able to forget the mind-numbing cold that shoots up her arm. For a moment there is pain. Agonizing, soul-crushing pain. So much pain that even Tom is startled in her head. It doesn't even occur to her to scream. Instead, she collapses in a heap clutching her arm, the cold sensation ascending every minute.
'It's a blood curse. It's fatal,' Tom mutters in her head, trying to take over the control of her body. Unlike any other time, Hermione doesn't resist.
The pain is a bit dilute once she retreats to the back of her head and lets Tom take control, but it is there—as if it were an old wound that had reopened, but a thousand times worse. The pain hits Tom anew, however, sharp and stabbing, and he curses as he tries to get her body to let go of her hurting limb and reach instead for her wand.
'You need to cooperate with me here. I can't fully control your body. Take hold of your wand.'
She grimaces in her head and tries moving the hand which is still functioning, and finds that she has been clutching at her arm so tightly that her knuckles have turned white. With an effort she manages to take hold of her wand, gripping it so tightly that she's afraid that it would break. But Tom does not give her much time to ponder, making her do complex wand movements over her cursed arm—which is now beginning to turn blue—and reciting spells she had only ever read about in ancient and forbidden books from the restricted section.
Slowly the pain in her hand subsides, but it takes with it all her control on it. She can't feel her arm properly, nor can she move it. All that is left is an uncomfortable, stinging cold.
"Tom," she whispers. Her voice, laced with horror, sounds alien to her ears. She is vaguely aware of a slight shift taking place in her head and she retakes the control of her body, the exhaustion that hits her on doing so almost knocking her out.
"Tom. Say something."
'I've stopped the progress of the spell. It shall hold for a while. A fortnight. Maybe a day more or less.'
"And my arm … can it … can it be fixed?" She is acutely aware of the vulnerability in her voice right then. She is also aware of the deafening silence preceding Tom's reply.
'I don't know. Perhaps.'
'Turn right, through here.'
'What's over there?'
'You'll see.'
Hermione hurries along the cobblestone pathway of Diagon Alley as fast as she can without seeming too suspicious. She is, after all, supposed to be at Hogwarts this time of the year. It wouldn't do her well to be noticed out here all alone, especially at this time of the night. Her cursed hand is glamoured to look normal. It has been a week since the incident. The shift from Diagon Alley to Knockturn Alley is almost too sudden. She can tell exactly when she leaves the 'normal' Wizarding World behind and steps into its less welcoming parts. The air here is buzzing with strong magic—dark magic—and the hum is almost intoxicating. As per Tom's direction, she steps into the shadows of a deserted corner of the alley and stops, watching suspicious figures go about their business. Unlike Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley thrives during the night. A few heads turn in her direction even as she moves in the shadows, prompting her to disillusion herself.
'Stupid mudblood,' Tom calls snidely from inside her head, 'I'd told you to wear proper clothes. In this part of the Wizarding World, you can't walk around looking like scum.'
Hermione ignores him until she reaches the mouth of the alley he has directed her to, then says, 'You call me mudblood as if your blood was the most pure, Tom.'
He bristles and she ignores him again.
'Now what?' she asks him, and feels his reply whispered in her mind.
'Look for this sign along this side alley.' A symbol flashes in her mind.
'Is that the logo of Borgin and Burkes'?'
'Yes. And that is where we're going.'
Hermione sweeps her eyes over the street once again to make sure she isn't being watched, then disappears further into the small lane between shops.
"Lumos," she whispers, shining her wand over the walls and numerous doors with her good hand, all peppered with various symbols. She thinks she's found the secret entrance to Borgin and Burkes' when the barking starts. Hermione freezes, barely daring to breathe as she braves a glance towards the voice.
"Ollie!" a voice calls from further down the lane, "what is it, you stupid Crup?"
'Slow your breathing. And move further into the shadows.'
Quietly, Hermione moves until her back is pressed to the wall. She gnaws at her lip as the barking grows louder and bites it hard enough to draw blood when the door opens. The silhouette of a man looks around the lane for a few seconds, then calls out, clearly intoxicated, "Hello?"
Hermione grips her wand tighter, a curse at the tip of her tongue. If the wizard were unfortunate enough to come out and investigate, he would be dead before he knew it. However, the wizard only swears loudly and lets the Crup out of the small building, slamming the door after it. The lights under the door go out and the Crup looks at the door for a few seconds, then bounds towards Hermione at full speed. The curse leaves her lips before she can as much as blink and the Crup falls in the middle of the street, blood pooling around it steadily, its bark hanging dead in the air.
'Charming, Hermione, couldn't possibly go with something less messy, could you?'
"Shut up," she mutters out loud, quickly shining the light on the wall she had been looking at before the creature had interrupted her. The mark is faded, but it still stands out on the stone wall.
'Now what?' she thinks at Tom, and he takes his time replying, his tone almost petulant in her head.
'You'll have to tap a certain portion of the wall … It'd be so much faster if you would let me take control—'
'No,' she thinks firmly. 'Which portion?'
She taps the brick Tom directs her to and wordlessly descends the steps that appear when the wall opens. The basement she finds herself in is dark, and the exhilarating hum of dark magic is stronger than ever. On lighting her wand she finds that the sources of the hum are numerous articles around her—books, jewellery, dusty figurines, and orbs. She holds her wand hand higher to shine the light on the rest of the room. The entire room is filled with dusty artefacts on ancient shelves, some of them piled haphazardly—all of them undoubtedly illegal. There seems to be only one trapdoor out of the room—the stairs she had entered from have now disappeared.
'All of these had once belonged to the most powerful of the Wizarding Families,' Tom says in her head, a bitter tint to his voice.
'And they gave it all away to Borgin and Burkes'?'
'Not willingly. Some of them had no time to store them anywhere safe before the Ministry raided their houses. Others had to sell them.' There is an unmistakable mirth in his voice when he says, 'Yet more were taken by force … there are many articles here that have a very bloody history. The one that we are looking for is one of them.'
'And you're certain it is here?'
'Of course. The book was last in Abraxas Malfoy's possession, and he had had to dispose of it in a hurry when the Ministry had raided his Manor.'
She casts her eyes over the mounds of artefacts and narrows her eyes, exhaling slowly, and takes a quick look at her wristwatch which she has now taken to wearing in her good hand.
'Where do you think it might be in here? The basement is huge; we can't go through all of this in six hours.'
'Then we'll have to come back,' Tom sneers in her head. 'Try starting from the bookshelves.'
Hermione sighs and begins making her way over to the bookshelf closest to her, being careful not to touch anything—the artefacts in here are powerful and ancient, they'll be protected by curses just as strong. She can't risk losing another limb.
She's spent perhaps an hour or two poring over the first bookshelf and is halfway through the second when she comes across the green leather-bound tome. She blows on its spine to uncover its title, written in the old language: 'Sanguinem Magiks: Via Insuperabilis Potentia.'
"Tom?" she says out loud, an excited urgency in her voice. "Is this it?"
She feels him smile inside her head, the bitter taste of it settling on her tongue unpleasantly. "Yes."
Hermione exhales sharply and turns towards the book that holds the cure—her only hope— lying on the floor of the basement. She has done much labour to get to this book—it must hold the cure. There is very little that Basilisk blood doesn't cure.
Carefully, she wraps the book up and places it in her satchel. She stands still for a few moments after she manages to get up, waiting for the world to steady around her due to the imbalance, then, upon making her way out of the shop's basement, apparates to the outskirts of Hogwarts.
She thinks she's fallen on the Basilisk when she slides into the Chamber, but the body beneath her is a lot softer and doesn't have scales.
"Hermione," Harry wheezes from under her, "you're crushing me."
"Sorry," she says and rolls off him, still slightly disoriented from the collision. She doesn't get up even when Harry charms the torches to light up and stands over her, looking at her curiously.
"Did you get it?"
She closes her eyes and tries to feel her arm again, the way she has been doing ever since she had gotten the curse last week, inhaling deeply when she fails. "Yes."
She opens her eyes to find Harry looking at her silently, contemplating something.
"Do you think it'll work?" Harry asks, taking her satchel from her and handing her the diary. Hermione only half watches as he gingerly removes the book from her bag and sets it down on the floor, focusing instead on channeling Tom back into his diary and passing it on to Harry. She is too weak to harbour a not-soul while doing rituals. Harry can do it instead.
She fully turns her attention to him as he begins stripping the book of any curses with Tom in his head. It is then that the Basilisk, Pendragon, finally emerges from Slytherin's mouth and makes straight for them, sensing them by their magic. It can't look, after all. They had sacrificed its eyes for the sake of strengthening their magic four years ago when they had first found it. It hisses and nudges Hermione's injured arm, prompting her to pat its head distractedly.
"It's an old curse," Harry says contemplatively a long while after he had opened the book, then quiets down for several moments.
"Well?" Hermione asks.
"According to this book all forms of blood curses are reversible." He glances up. "Yours is, too."
Hermione's eyes widen. "How?"
"See for yourself." He passes the book to her and she scans the page as fast as she can.
To undo blood curses of the Life Ebbing type :
While blood curses of this sort cannot be reversed, they can be removed from one person and transferred to another. This process involves spells for basic blood work and some easily found potions. The older the spell the easier the transfer would be …
"Who will you pass it to?" Harry asks, taking the book back from her and flipping over the section. "It says here that the person taking up the curse has to cast the spell. How would we do that?"
She contemplates for a moment, then narrows her eyes. "We'll find someone …" She grins an odd grin. "If we don't, we'll make someone do it."
They wait for a single day after they've gathered all the materials required and made the potions. They stay up until the dead of the night in their common room, waiting until there is only one other student left, and Harry quietly points his wand at him over the back of his chair.
"Imperio!"
The boy stands up and walks over to them, looking down at them expressionlessly.
"Has it worked?" Hermione asks him, staring at their would-be victim.
"I think so." He looks around the common room and then turns towards the boy. "Stick your hand in the fire and don't scream."
The boy turns almost mechanically towards the fireplace and puts his hand in the heart of the flames, flinching heavily but not making a sound.
"Stop. Pull your hand out." He turns to Hermione, who has wrinkled her nose, and grins. "It's worked."
It usually isn't too much work for them to make their way to the chamber, but with an extra, it is more difficult. They are almost caught about three times, all by different professors, but they finally do make it to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and into the chamber of secrets. This time Pendragon is waiting for them. Hermione taps its head once and the space next to where she settles down next. The huge reptile settles down beside her like an obedient dog.
They measure the potions first, Harry handing them both a few doses of potions that look like sewer water. Hermione strokes the Basilisk's head a few times and mutters a few spells under her breath. She reaches for the dagger that Harry has placed in front of her and plunges it into Pendragon's head ruthlessly, burying it to the hilt and removing it and stabbing the creature again before there is a slit wide enough for blood to flow through. The Basilisk shudders and quietens, going into a deep sleep due to the effects of her spell. Pendragon will recover. It is, after all, a Basilisk. She puts the two veils against the Basilisk's skin to collect the blood and mix it with the potions. The potion turns from a murky green to a river blue.
"We should probably call Tom now," Hermione says, and Harry hands her the diary. She puts her good hand to the front page the same way she had four years ago to let him in for the first time. Tom ascends into her mind. His ascent isn't all that different from the ascent of the curse, she thinks. Both leave cold trails over their host.
'Have you got all the supplies?' Tom asks, getting straight to business.
'Yes. We've prepared the potions too. We need you for the spell and its administration. If this goes wrong …'
'... you could die. I know. I won't let that happen, little mudblood, don't worry. Now drink your potions.'
Hermione drowns the nasty tasting liquid down her throat and watches as the fourth-year does too.
'Who's this?' Tom asks, diverting her gaze to the fourth-year.
'I'm not sure,' she thinks, 'some fourth-year who was unfortunate enough to be the last one down in the common room. Why does it matter?'
'It doesn't,' Tom replies, clearly amused. 'Just noting how the times have changed. Not too long ago the idea of killing someone horrified you … and here we are today. Not even batting an eye.'
"I was twelve back then," Hermione says out loud, "I was naive."
Harry looks up from the book. "What is he saying?"
"Nothing important. What now?"
"Join your cursed arm to his left one. And here, take this vial and drop your blood into it. Two drops."
Hermione does as Harry directs, eventually sitting cross-legged across from the unfortunate fourth-year as Harry lights magical blue flames to surround the two of them.
"Now recite this spell," he commands the fourth-year, whose eyes are glazed over.
"Minuo tuum maledictum in me."
Hermione feels a building warmth inside her, which fades as suddenly as it had come. The stinging, numbing cold has returned, however, and with triumph, she realises the cold is coming from her arm.
"Something's happened," she whispers quietly.
'The curse is beginning to ebb. I can feel it.' Tom's voice in her head is pleased. 'Do it again until you can feel warmth in your hand again.'
"Tell him to keep doing it," Hermione tells Harry, who passes the command onto the fourth-year.
"Minuo tuum maledictum in me." The fourth-year's voice is loud and booming, and the warmth Hermione had felt comes up again, this time stronger, spreading to all of her body except the cursed arm. It's trying to break through the curse, she realises.
"Minuo tuum maledictum in me." She feels the first tingle in her cursed arm, the warmth trying to push the curse out of her, and the fourth-year's hand jerks. The spell is beginning to have effect. Hermione holds on to his hand tighter.
"Minuo tuum maledictum in me." More feeling arises in her hand, and she can feel the fourth-year's hand beginning to turn cold. Only a little more to go. Harry sends a little push in him.
"Minuo tuum maledictum in me!" The fourth-year screams loud enough that his scream reverberates around the chamber. He spurts blood from his mouth and chokes, rasping to breathe. The warmth in Hermione explodes, reaching its zenith and making every part of her feel as if she were on fire. She can feel her fingertips now, warm and tingling, and the fourth-year's hand is ice cold.
'Quick, let go or the spell will reverse,' Tom cautions her, and she drops the fourth-year's arm as if it were a burning piece of metal.
She flexes the fingers of her now healed hand cautiously, turning to Harry as she extends the hand towards him. Harry grins, extinguishing the flames with a flick of his wand and gripping Hermione's hand in his own as he pulls her up towards him.
"It's worked!" Hermione grins joyously as she wraps her hand behind his neck and pulls him in towards her.
Harry smirks, leaning into her to let his lips meet hers. "Of course it did," he says when they part. "It had to."
It is only when the fourth-year recites the spell again that they remember he is still there, blood leaking from his nose, eyes still glazed.
"What do we do about him?" Hermione asks out loud.
'Nothing,' Tom says simply, 'he's mostly dead anyway. It's a matter of time before he dies fully. A day or two.'
"He'll be of use to Pendragon when she wakes up then," Hermione muses. "Come on," she says to Harry, "no use staying here anymore. We can begin researching on how to break the Diadem's curse now."