"It wasn't meant to happen this way," he told him quietly.
For a moment, it seemed as if he were going to rest a hand on Hydrus' shoulder. Then, his arm jerked back.
Hydrus said nothing in response. His hands were shaking, trembling, twitching, as they cradled her head. Pink skin, mottled and burned, like jagged strikes of lightning crept all along her lips, her eyes, her nose. They seemed starker than before.
"The traps surrounding the stone were almost pitiful," Professor Quirrell continued in the same tone as before. "Easily swept away by more advanced magic. Juvenile things, a live chessboard, floating keys, a troll… I do believe the Headmaster truly intended for you to search for the stone..."
There were scars on Hermione's hand; thin, rough lines that crisscrossed through her palm, twining on her fingers. They had been treated, Hydrus could see. As he watched, the edges of her skin seemed to knit themselves together. Slowly, but surely.
There would still be scars. Perhaps not physical.
"All of the traps were easy, too easy. I always knew the Headmaster was a bumbling fool, but never one of such calibre. Until the last one."
Hydrus looked up, despite himself.
"It was a mirror," Professor Quirrell said. "A mirror you've found once, yourself."
"The mirror of Erised," Hydrus said flatly. The carpet underneath him was soft as a pretty lie, and never in his life had he ever wanted more to drape himself with it.
"There was no way to retrieve the stone without a foreign mind, another mind who did not want the stone for any selfish reason. A particular enchantment, I'm sure the Headmaster was extraordinarily proud of finding. Useless, of course, when a third party is involved."
"It could have been anyone," Hydrus roared. "Any student and they would have done the deed."
"That is true," Professor Quirrell admitted, "but I needed to see you, and what better way, than to hold your friend hostage?"
"I'm here," he said tonelessly.
"You are," Professor Quirrell agreed. "And we have much to speak about."
Hydrus squeezed his eyes shut. "I can still feel it," he whispered.
His hands shook. For a moment, he could almost see the blood once more. He had scrubbed his hands raw, once in that bathroom, and a second time in the Room of Requirement. And yet, there was a sort of sick, iron-like, bloody smell to his hands. The more he tried to not think of it, the more he thought it smelt of Belvina and her fine pureblood perfumes.
"Well, go on, Hydrus. Tell me all that happened."
Hydrus looked at the metal welded into his skin. With one hand resting on Hermione's bushy hair, and the other fingering the cursed piece of metal welded into his skin, Hydrus told him all that happened.
His voice was hoarse and brittle, and as he went on, his strength seemed to leave him.
For a long time, Professor Quirrell did not speak. "All is not lost," he said at last.
If it was meant to be consoling, Hydrus could not tell.
"Belvina will be dead by sunrise." There was no uncertainty in his voice. "Albus Dumbledore knows as much. In a couple of days, perhaps less, you'll be summoned to Gringotts. Until then, you must dispel any of the Headmaster's worries. Grieve for Belvina, do not hesitate to shake and tremble for the rest of tomorrow. The Headmaster will be watching you carefully - he cast an Impulsion Charm on your food, did you know? That alone might have thwarted all our plans."
"You knew it was going to happen," Hydrus said.
"Well." He shrugged. "The Headmaster had his suspicions, and he's not very confrontational, as you may have noticed."
Hermione's head lay limp and slack in his arms. Her chest rose with every breath. Hydrus looked to Professor Quirrell. "When will she wake?"
"Half an hour now, perhaps less." He looked at Hydrus. "You will be gone by then, better, I assure you, if you aren't there when she wakes."
"No," Hydrus said. He had a sudden horrible, sick feeling. He could almost sense it. "What - what did you do to her?"
"When you become Lord of House Black, you'll need to put aside your worries." His hand reached out, and almost lovingly, he caressed his cheek. "Lift your chin, Hydrus Malfoy. In a week, the dawn of a new era shall commence."
_(O.O)_
She looked proud and proper, even in death. Her pale, bony hands were wrapped around a silver-and-gold chalice, studded with purple amethysts so dark they were almost black. Someone had brushed her dark hair, knotting them into a careful twist. Violets, in the prime of their bloom, were weaved into the threads of her braid, and yet, nothing could hide the strange, papery listlessness of her locks. They hung limp and dead, almost grey. No amount of flowers, jewels or refinery could ever hide age.
Her dress was black-and-purple Acromantula silk, studded with clear diamonds and dark sapphires. She glittered in the yellow light, almost alive with golden blue tongues of fire.
The purebloods came one by one, holding batches of daffodils and lavender, rhododendrons and white lilies. Pale pink orchids and bright purple aster, deep orange calendula and other flowers - flowers of all colours, all shapes and all sizes.
One by one, they set them around her wooden coffin, wiping away fake tears, nodding to Hydrus, shaking his hand, mumbling pointless words of condolence…
Many he didn't know by face, even less he knew by name. Still, they acted as if they were close friends. Nothing had ever felt so hollow to him in his life.
The purebloods were all vying for his favour; for the favour of the new Lord Black.
Hydrus thanked them one-by-one, with a tired smile on his face.
His thoughts were a wreck, a barrage of curses and tears. He did not want to be here - to be in the midst of these gawking people, crooned upon by everyone.
He wanted to be at Hogwarts, with Draco and Daphne and Hermione, sitting by the Great Lake under a glowing sun.
But that will never happen, will it?
For the first time, in a very long time, a tear fell from his eye.
It ran down his left cheek and splattered onto his shoe.
This is bad, he told himself, as he shook the hand of a wizard. I should have cried in the privacy at home, to dispel any wonderings about my involvement with Belvina's strange death. Not here, not where everyone wants a strong future lord to work with.
He blinked the last of his sadness away.
For the rest of the day, Hydrus Malfoy did not cry.
_(O.O)_
They set the circlet on his head, as a hundred hungry, greedy wolves watched, each with a face as blank as yellow parchment.
In the front row sat close family and friends to the deceased: Narcissa, Lucius, Draco, Andromeda, Ted, Nymphadora and nameless, faceless purebloods.
Daphne wasn't there in the crowd, and neither were any of the Greengrasses.
The room was high and elegant as befit the rights of a lord. Marble and gold, ever-present, swirled through the room - on the chairs, on the floor, on the ceiling, the candles… almost the same gold as the knife, the shining, oiled knife...
Hydrus stood quiet and still, on a raised platform above everyone else, with his eyes watching a point off in the far distance, above all the spectator's heads.
"As the old fade, the young shall take its place… Today, on the fateful day of the eleventh of April, of the year one thousand nine hundred and ninety-two, in the name of Merlin and all that is just, I hereby name Hydrus Malfoy, scion of House Malfoy, heir to House Black and child of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy as Lord Black."
The goblin's voice was deep and steady, his hands steadier as they placed the circlet on his head.
A rush of applause burst into the room.
The metal was cool on his forehead, and for a moment, it helped with his ever-present headache.
He knew how foolish he must have looked, a tiny, scrawny boy despite all his exercises, draped in a glorified silk bath towel, with a ring of silver and bronze twining around his head, as prickly as the Black House. The very front was a hunk of large, almost black amethyst, carved to resemble a fearsome crow, much like the corvus. Hydrus suspected it looked more like a newly hatched chick on him.
Slowly, when the applause died down, he stepped down from the raised platform.
His footsteps were slow, careful, and practiced. For a moment, he could almost hear Professor Quirrell's voice.
"Lift your chin, Hydrus Malfoy. In a week, the dawn of a new era shall commence."
He lifted his chin.
Hours later, days later, Hydrus could not remember how he did it.
He could not remember how he stood for so long, beside Belvina's coffin, beside the flowers, beside all of it - the lies, the schemes…
He could not remember how he stood so strong, wearing a circlet that he did not deserve.
It seemed to think the same way, almost cursing the new Lord Black as it grew heavier and heavier by the passing hour.
His neck burned with fearsome pain, and never had Hydrus Malfoy wanted to rip something off and throw it to the floor.
Yet still he stood, until they - the savage, hungry wolves - were all gone from the room, and it was Lucius and Narcissa and Draco and Andromeda by his side.
"Here," Narcissa said quietly. Her hands made to take the circlet from his head.
"No," Lord Black told her.
She looked at him almost sadly. "You have been very brave today, Hydrus. Set the crown down, my son."
It's a circlet, not a crown, Hydrus wanted to say. The last Black Kings were alive a thousand years past. Let me wear it please, Narcissa if only to feel the pain, and make me pay for what I've done.
He wore it through dinner, past sunset, as the clouds turned pink and purple.
He wore it as his neck burned with agony, as his shoulders were stiff as unyielding stones.
Until finally, the sky turned black and he took it off.
He set it down on his desk, on a cushion of fine red velvet embroidered with golden lace.
That night, Hydrus did not sleep.
He rolled in bed and cried silent tears. Tears of horror, tears of shame, tears of sadness, tears that wished for a better world.
For the days after, as Lord Black attended events and meetings, he wore the circlet on his forehead, bearing the ever-present pain with a raised chin.
The purple, fearsome, new-born chick cawed its silent curse.
When he was alone, Hydrus wore the circlet too, never sitting, always standing, with his arms at his sides, and a proper, calm look upon his face… until the feeling would be too much, and all of it overwhelmed him and…
He would race to the bathroom, with his hands clamped over his mouth.
During those moments, as he ran, the purple chick would slip down his forehead, for the intricate twines of silver and bronze were made for a bigger head than his.
He would hold the purple chick in his right hand, to stop it from falling into the dirtied waters. It seemed to resent him for it, as if it would rather die than be worn by a kinslayer. The purple chick cursed his fingers with silent pricks here and there, for the circlet was goblin-made, and those fine, sharp edges that were his beak would never dull with time. His palm would be covered in all sorts of bright red lines by the time he was done.
Afterwards, flushing the toilet and drying the last of his tears, Lord Black would walk back to his room, his chin held high, his shoulders pushed down.
He practiced wearing it during every moment that he was awake, bearing his aching neck and throbbing shoulders with a quiet, painful grace.
One day, two days later, and the ache started to lessen.
On the third day, Hydrus went to the family library, the ring of silver and bronze ever-present on his forehead.
It was an old place, filled with the smell of old leather and papery scrolls. The great windows, shaped as diamonds showed a black sky. The books were bound in all sorts of materials, teeming with dark spells so brutal they could…
Hydrus could not stomach the thought, not after all he had done.
His hands were shaking as they swept over the spines of each tome. He had seen the ones Professor Quirrell needed, seen where they were - only Dobby had been dusting the shelves and would have seen him. No one could know about this.
There were many books in the Hogwarts library, some as old as its name, yet none that contained any information on how to brew the Elixir of Life.
The Malfoy library, however, was filled with ponderous tomes on dark spells and curses, rituals and histories that might have otherwise been outlawed by a more sensible Ministry.
There were three books in all, thick and filled with yellowed pages. His arms were burning - burning and shaking as Hydrus made his way out of the library.
The Cloak was draped over his head, the silvery material flowing around him like water. There were two ways to leave the manor: the normal, non-magical way, or by Floo.
If he hadn't been carrying three heavy books in his arms, Hydrus might have been able to scale down the building from his bedroom window. But there were wards - there always were - and Lucius would be on him before he made it past the gates.
The Floo was easier.
There were records kept, but his parents had never truly cared for checking those things.
Hydrus made his way down the hallway, the books in hand, his heart beating erratically.
The fireplace was a large thing, made of marble and studded with precious gems, elegant in a way only rich purebloods would approve of.
He grabbed a pinch of Floor Powder.
The flames turned the colour of lime, and the world seemed to hold its breath as Hydrus whispered, "The Three Broomsticks."
He stepped in.
There was no heat, but the ashes and smoke made him gag. For the hundredth time that week, Hydrus almost retched the remains of his last meal.
He emerged in a quiet pub, where a fire was always kept lit.
For a moment, it lit the room with a greenish glow, and a tomcat, turned the colour of a rotting lime, hissed and scampered across the place.
The night was cool, filled with the distant sounds of hooting owls and orange torches that lit the main walkways of Hogsmeade.
Professor Quirrell waited for him in the Shrieking Shack, a ragged structure, made of crumbling bricks and rotting wood. It was situated in a far corner of Hogsmeade, separated from the rest by a series of grassy hills. The older students of Hogwarts sometimes spoke of the legendary howls that could be heard on stormy nights.
If there was one thing that couldn't hurt Hydrus, it was ghosts.
He pushed open the creaking door and made his way into the living room. The walls were scratched with deep gouges, the floor covered in scratches. A couch had once sat facing a window, but it had been torn to bits and pieces by a monstrous creature.
He should have been afraid, and yet, in his hands were the power to incinerate any beast.
Professor Quirrell stepped from the shadows, his purple turban glowing silver in the moonlight. "How have you been?"
Hydrus didn't know what to say. Yesterday, with his circlet still around his forehead, he had spent most of his time in the bathroom, trying desperately to clamp his mouth shut and force down the bile rushing up his throat.
The day before… he could not feel a thing.
His neck had burned, but Hydrus could not bring himself to feel the pain.
"I'm alright."
He took off the Cloak.
Professor Quirrell studied him with his pale eyes. They met his face, and then studied the creased black robes Hydrus wore. They travelled back up, and then to the gleaming purple chick.
In his eyes was something strange - an odd sort of understanding, when he saw the circlet.
No one had looked at him in that particular way when Hydrus had insisted on wearing the band of bronze and silver. Not Narcissa, not Lucius and not even Draco.
But Professor Quirrell did.
He understood, in his own strange, twisted way.
"Hold your chin high, Hydrus Malfoy," Professor Quirrell said. And then, from the inner pockets of his robes, he drew a box. His hands were strangely reverent as they placed it in Hydrus' own.
When he opened it, he saw a collection of vials.
It was impossible to tell the colour in such harsh lighting, and yet, Hydrus knew what they were. He shouldn't be taking them. Addictions were easy to develop with potions like this.
But if it meant sleep...
_(O.O)_
A week later, Hydrus went back to Hogwarts.
A letter had come for him that morning, delivered by a brown school owl with a purple tag around its left talon. The words were curt and impassioned, written by a most average hand-writing.
On it was written three words: come to me.
Hydrus desperately wanted to see Hermione, for he hadn't seen her bushy brown hair and bright smile in so very long, but his feet were walking, walking to Professor Quirrell in his office.
In silence, they made their way to the Room of Requirement.
The place was waiting for them: the long table filled with scrolls and quills, the tall glass windows that streamed with golden light, and the chandeliers that were never lit.
Hydrus took a long moment to study Professor Quirrell. The last time he had seen him… he could not explain the queer emotions bubbling in his stomach.
Today, his bronze-and-silver circlet was gone from his forehead, returned to Gringotts. No matter how much he begged Narcissa and Andromeda, they would not allow him to wear the twined circlet.
Nevertheless, it left its mark, a reddish impression that hugged his forehead, a myriad of fading scars from all the times it had cut his skin.
"You're holding yourself with greater confidence, now than before," Professor Quirrell told him. There was a pause. "How fares Andromeda?"
She had cried much, though admittedly less than Hydrus expected. She would sometimes show up to the meetings with Gringotts with a pale complexion and reddish eyes.
Narcissa had taken her aside many times, Hydrus knew, to speak of her lacking composure.
Spending those years living in the muggle world with her muggle-born husband had made her soft to pureblood tradition, even if it had been five years past.
"They whisper behind your back, sister," she had said quietly to Andromeda. Hydrus heard her nonetheless. "Marrying a mudblood, and now to rule House Black? They would not have protested with Belvina as head of the House. Now, I cannot say. Dry your tears, sister, or cry if you'd like, and watch as they whisper and laugh of a blood-traitor ruling an Ancient and Noble House. But know this: my son does not deserve to have his legacy ripped to pieces before he even comes of age."
Andromeda had made an effort to hide her tears after that.
Still, it was Hydrus who worked twice as hard to stand with his chin tilted up and hold his circlet with ease and grace.
Nothing Aldebaran Rowle had ever taught him could compare to standing in front of a group of wolves, watching as they all judged a new pup.
It was a mistake to stay at Hogwarts for the Winter Break, Lord Black had thought to himself, and not for the first time. I should have gone home, even if to attend the stuffy Yule Ball.
"She's doing alright," Hydrus told him, which wasn't entirely a lie.
"Excellent to hear," Professor Quirrell said, looking as if nothing in the world were so boring. His hand fetched something from his pocket, before setting it in front of Hydrus. It was a red stone, that looked somewhat akin to a ruby - red as fresh, dripping blood, cut into a jagged, yet smooth shape.
The Philosopher's Stone.
"Sir," Hydrus said slowly, "have you… ?"
"Not here, no," Professor Quirrell said. There was a glint in his eye. "The Headmaster listens in on all we say. Later. After you go see Hermione, come to the third classroom from the entrance to your common room."
"Have… have you managed to do it, sir?"
The red stone, as jagged as the bronze-and-silver circlet, disappeared under his fist. "Go see Hermione, Hydrus."
_(O.O)_
She jumped into his arms when he found her, sitting in the library in their usual corner with a great pile of books.
"You're back," she said happily.
"I am," he agreed.
Hydrus looked over her carefully. That last time he had seen her, Hermione had been lying down on a carpet, in the Room of Requirement.
A part of him thought some traumas couldn't be completely erased and a part of him, a part that grew greater with every passing day, worried for her mind.
Her eyes were brown, bright with excitement. But there was something…
"How are you?" Hydrus asked.
She seemed to hesitate. "Well. I've been so lonely without you… but you - how are you, Hydrus?"
Was it possible that Professor Quirrell - for all that he had ever done - was it possible that he had tortured her? Broken her mind through and patched it together with magic? He had been too scared to ask all those days ago, but now…
"I've been alright, I suppose. D'you want to go outside?"
The sun was high in the sky, and the lake glimmered golden yellow.
He watched as Hermione collected her belongings. She gathered her quills, packed away her textbooks, and when it came time to roll up her essay, Hydrus noticed something.
"Your writing is messier than it usually is."
Her letters, too, had been written in a subpar penmanship Hydrus knew she would never have settled for. Some part of him suspected… he had read about the curse, but Professor Quirrell, he would never use it on a student… would he?
Hermione flushed. "I was… I didn't want to tell you," she mumbled. "I've been having trouble writing - my hand has been shaking, I don't understand why, but I can't write any of my essays anymore. It's…" Hermione looked away. "It's embarrassing, really. I've had to ask for an extension on all of my assignments I -"
Hydrus tried to steele his nerves. "Have you asked Madame Pomfrey to take a look at them?"
"No," Hermione admitted. She looked down. "I think I'm just tired."
He looked underneath her eyes. Purple-ish bags were beginning to form, but that could have meant anything…
Some traumas can't be erased, he thought to himself. It's entirely possible to come back through dreams...
"Treat yourself," Hydrus told her. "You'll pass your exams, I'm sure. Listen, the house-elves can whip up an incredible batch of ice cream, and I'm sure we can find a place outside to eat it."
True to his words, the house-elves managed to ready a large boat, filled with all sorts of coloured scoops of ice cream.
"We'll never be able to eat all of this!" Hermione cried.
They found a large cedar, and after Hydrus spread his robes onto the grass, they shared the bowl.
"I think you should see Pomfrey," Hydrus told her.
He watched as she scooped every bite.
Her hand was shaking.
Hermione shook her head resolutely. "You're right," she said. "I'm stressed about the exams."
He looked into her eyes.
She didn't believe it.
Not one bit.
"Perhaps you should go to bed," Hydrus tried tentatively, even though he knew - some part of him was so sure, so certain -
Hermione set down the spoon. "I can't sleep at night."
There it comes. "Do you want… to talk about it, perhaps, or -?"
Hermione looked far away, to the golden lake and the mountains beyond. "There's a man in my dreams… he keeps… he keeps asking me to look into this thing… this mirror. I keep telling him I can't - I can't see a thing because it's all dark, except for him, and he's pale, this grotesque face with red eyes and -"
She was shaking now, her body trembling like a leaf blown by harsh winds.
"I think you should see Pomfrey," Hydrus told her slowly, and pray to Merlin that she can do something about the curse.
"I keep telling it I can't see this… this stone - but - but…" Hermione seemed not to hear him. "It did something to me. Pain, pain like…"
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Tears leaked through, dripping down her cheeks and onto her robes.
For a long time, they sat there together, as the sky turned blood red, and as Hermione wiped the last of her tears.
The ice cream was a puddle of red and blue and brown, swirled into a mess of colours.
Hydrus held it in one hand as he guided her to the Infirmary.
Madame Pomfrey flew on them as they walked in, her arms full with blankets. "Why, what happened to her?" She set them aside hurriedly and approached Hermione. "Oh, Miss Granger… come… come…"
She led them to a nearby cot, where they carried her onto the mattress.
"I'm alright," Hermione insisted, her voice hoarse from crying, "I'm fine, really, Madame, I swear it -"
Hydrus stood off to the side as Madame Pomfrey began waving her wand, swishing it here and there… lights flashing…
She stopped suddenly.
Even Hermione stopped her rambling to look up. "Madame?"
Madame Pomfrey blinked and then shook herself. "Nothing, only… chronic sleep-deprivation. Here, Miss Granger -" she brought a clear vial from her pockets, filled with a dark purple liquid… "Dreamless Sleep Potion, Miss Granger," she said, when Hermione inched away, "nothing more -"
"I won't dream?"
"No, Miss Granger. No dreams."
Her head was shaking as she swallowed.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and for once, a look of peacefulness descended across her strained features.
In silence, Madame Pomfrey took off Hermione's shoes and robes, before pulling a blanket over her.
Then, she turned to Hydrus.
"What happened to her?"
The words were at the tip of his tongue, for he knew, he knew, he knew from the second he saw her trembling fingers, saw her pale visage.
"I - I -"
"Were you experimenting on her?"
"No!"
"Then I don't understand, Mister Malfoy, how something of this sort could ever happen to Miss Granger."
"It's…" A lie would not come to his mind. There was nothing, nothing in the world to possibly explain how it might have happened. "She got cursed, by some… Slytherins…"
The lie was a feeble, scrawny thing, but Madame Pomfrey ate it up quickly.
Her face went pale like curdled milk. "No," she whispered. She turned to Hydrus. "I must talk to the Headmaster. You - you must excuse me, Mister Malfoy -"
"It's the Cruciatus Curse, isn't it?"
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
Madame Pomfrey stopped suddenly. "Yes."
"Can't you do something for her? A spell? A potion? A salve? Or -"
"I truly am sorry. You - you must excuse me, Hydrus. The Headmaster must be informed."
Madame Pomfrey ran from the room.
For a long time after she left, Hydrus did not leave Hermione's side.
The room was lit by candles and braziers, giving a warm, hearty glow to the large room. Some part of him, a distant, faraway part of his mind remembered the red eyes, and how they burned him alive in his dreams.
Pain was a horrible thing.
He squeezed Hermione's hand.
There were footsteps outside, loud and urgent, thundering down the hallway.
Hydrus looked up, just as the doors banged open.
Professor Dumbledore strode into the room, Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall marching in his wake.
"Are you absolutely certain, Poppy?" he was saying, his robes swirling with each purposeful step. "My wards would have informed me of any such occurrence -"
"Yes, I'm sure, Albus! This isn't the first time I've treated victims of the Cruciatus Curse and…"
They stopped in front of Hermione's cot. Professor McGonagall looked at Hydrus with a strange sort of sympathy in her eyes. "Mister Malfoy, I understand that this has been quite a tumultuous week, but I must ask that you leave as we conduct a thorough investigation into the matter."
A sudden thought came to him.
Was this why he had chosen Hermione?
It couldn't be. The thought was absurd… no… but that might work…
"Hydrus," Madame Pomfrey tried, "Hermione is in safe hands. You need not worry."
A part of him knew, knew that ought to get going… Professor Quirrell was waiting for him…
What are you thinking? He's the one that cursed Hermione…
A sudden sick feeling was worming through him, one that made him want to retch, to collapse in a fit of cramps…
You are so naive, so stupid, Hydrus thought furiously. Tears were making their slow, laborious way down his face, but he never would have felt it. He never was going to leave Hermione alone, not Draco, not Daphne… I shouldn't go tonight, I never should have gone I -
And yet, he was moving from the chair he'd pulled up beside Hermione's cot, walking out the Infirmary.
Defiance today, and uncertainty tomorrow… that will not do.
He did not know where those thoughts came from.
Perhaps the child; the selfish, wandering, uncertain child had died inside of him as Belvina had.
He was carrying more than his own interests.
Hydrus carried the legacy of House Black upon his meagre shoulders.
Andromeda may be my regent, but the purebloods will never look at her with the same respect as they may grudgingly owe me. Hermione, Draco, Daphne - they may all die by his hand for all I know, and yet, they will for sure if I defy this monster.
He was running now, running into the Slytherin common room, to his room, where he found his dormmates - his dormmates that he had not spoken to in weeks - readying for bed.
Lord Black found his Cloak at the bottom of his trunk. He looked around the dorm room that he spent so little time inside.
Draco was pulling on his pyjamas, his silver hair strung in odd directions. Theodore Nott was busy scribbling away on a piece of parchment. Neither looked up when Hydrus went to fetch his Cloak.
He ran to the third classroom, a dusty place filled with desks that were new when Hogwarts had been founded.
Professor Quirrell was waiting for him, standing so still Hydrus might have walked right by him.
"And so the Headmaster knows," he said, his voice quiet.
Disgust flowed through him, thick with something else. "He does."
"And now we must be going." Professor Quirrell strode to the door. "We have perhaps a quarter of an hour, a little more, before the Aurors come to arrest me. Come along now, Hydrus."
The Cloak was over him in a second, and in another, they were running down the hallway.
A voice was blaring throughout the hallways, the mighty, soft voice of Albus Dumbledore, commanding the students to return to the dormitories immediately, to stay there and await further instruction, commanding prefects to take charge, commanding a headcount to be done -
They arrived at the statue of the one-eyed witch as they had done a thousand times before.
"They'll see that I'm gone," Hydrus said, as they climbed through the trap door and into Honeydukes. The hour was late, and there were no more than a handful of wizards in the large store.
"They will," Professor Quirrell agreed.
And Lord Black knew that he was right.
He changed colour with the background, yet skirted the edges of the shop regardless. It was hard to see - impossible almost - yet Hydrus thought he saw his eyes sparkle with a sort of genius to his plan. The last time he had seen such a sparkle… had been a week before, as Hydrus had cradled Hermione's unconscious head. He felt his gut clench at the thought.
In the far distance, Hogwarts was a black fortress, lit by silver moonlight. There might be chaos in the castle, a group of thundering Aurors with brown robes barrelling down the hallway, and yet, it would be impossible to tell at such a distance.
The night was cool and calm, and they slowed down from their run.
"Lancashire Lane," the professor said. He must have cancelled the charm, for he came to view suddenly, his arm glowing a faint silver as it pointed to the south. His head swivelled around, and for a moment, seemed to narrow in on something in the distance.
"What is it?" Lord Black demanded.
"Aurors," the professor said. His voice carried in the quiet stillness. He tapped his wand onto his head and disappeared from view. "Quickly, quickly. Unless you'd like to test your non-existent magical skill."
It was a wordless sprint that they broke into, their feet pounding quietly on the stone road.
The professor had stopped suddenly. Hydrus hadn't even known until he heard his name being called from half a block away.
He came into view, glowing silver in the moonlight.
It was an empty lot that they looked at, with nothing but grass and a bit of mud -
"Fourth Lancashire Lane," the professor whispered, leaning so close to Hydrus, he almost gagged from the smell of garlic.
Something appeared before his eyes, what seemed to be a cottage with one floor and a tiled roof. In the moonlight, all of it had a silver, ethereal glow.
"Get in."
Steps were leading to the door, and beside it, in the dirt, were a collection of very feminine flowers.
It seemed almost inconceivable that the same man who had once cursed Hermione… could live surrounded by budding flowers.
The walls were the colour of creme, the wooden planks oiled and gleaming. The professor flicked his wand at the hearth, and it crackled to life. A warm golden glow filled the room.
Outside, there were voices, more and more voices that were growing louder with every word.
The professor waved his wand lazily.
Any noise ceased immediately.
"Come," he said.
There was a door to the right, and with a flick of the wand, it was open.
A stairway led into darkness.
A thought came into Hydrus' mind, of stories of kidnapped witches and wizards, held ransom for the blood status…
His hands came to life as they sparked a fire in his palms.
It chased away the darkness, but the shadows were resilient. As the flames twitched and danced on their descent, the obscurity pooled in the corners.
They came to a large room, with a scarred table, as grey as the cement walls.
There were vials and flasks and bottles and containers, cauldrons that were pewter, cauldrons that were silver, cauldrons that were gold…
They bubbled and fizzed, with all sorts of gases coming from their mouths. Some were brown like fresh mud, others were green as freshly cut grass. Some were a deep purple as newly-plucked blueberries, other the rich orange of pumpkin juice.
It seemed as if Hydrus' Potions class had come back to haunt him in this faraway basement.
"The books you gave me were quite interesting," the professor was saying, as he stirred the contents of a cauldron. It bubbled loudly, and a strange reddish mist seemed to unfurl with every circle the paddle made.
There were candles, tall, tallow candles that dripped with hot wax, placed every here and there, throughout the cell-like place. They filled some of the space with their rich golden glow, but where their light could not reach, Hydrus stood, cloaked in shadow, the flames from his palms extinguished.
He could not bring himself to speak to him, he could not bring himself to look into his eyes…
"The stone was forged with dragon blood," the professor continued, adding a strange, bloody thing to his potion. They seemed to be odd, bulbous, ropey vines, an alien mix of blue and purple. It took a moment before Hydrus realized that they were intestines. "Dragons are such mythical creatures, with so many diverse powers. The Headmaster is commonly credited with the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon blood, did you know? Of course, you do. And yet, many don't realize that Albus Dumbledore only discovered three of the twelve uses. Sometimes… it is necessary to reconsider… what we know."
Professor Quirrell looked up, for the briefest of moments, and Hydrus tried to avoid his eyes, the ones that had looked upon Hermione as she twitched and screamed, yet, they met his regardless.
They were the pale colour of ocean spray, a mix of blue and grey, forever at war.
For a long moment, no one said a word.
The professor, the horrendous monster, the horrible thing, continued to stir, stirring the contents of the silver cauldrons, the golden one, the pewter one, until they all were misting a pale blue colour.
The candles cast their golden gleam upon the mist, and for a long time, it seemed as if they were one - tongues of fire that writhed and twitched as one. Other times, they seemed like ice and flame, fighting for dominance.
"I need your blood," the professor said.
"My blood," Hydrus whispered. His voice was hoarse and brittle, as if he had spent the last hour crying his throat raw.
"Your blood," the professor agreed. In his hand was a silver knife - the silver that Potions students used to shop their ingredients.
Hydrus backed away.
Some part of him knew that the wall was only so far away. His hands came to life with fire.
"We can do it the easy way, or the hard way," the professor said quietly.
Some part of him knew, that despite all he did, he wouldn't hurt her… he wouldn't. Somehow he knew.
The flames in his hands died away.
The professor came closer, but Hydrus' legs were moving, moving backwards, until they hit the cement wall.
"Our master requires your sacrifice."
"Who is he?"
The professor looked pained as he said, "When the time comes, Hydrus."
"And when will that be?"
"Soon."
He grit his teeth but did not dare let the pain show, as the knife dragged across the inside of his elbow. Blood spurted from the cut, and ran down his arm, into the flask the professor held.
There was pain; a dull spasm that persisted even after the professor sealed his wound with a flick of his wand.
It was nothing compared to the feeling of being burned alive.
He was quiet, as the professor took a cup of each solution and dumped them into a separate cauldron.
They made a sizzling sound. The mist that rose from the cauldron was dark blue, dark like a midnight sky.
Slowly, the professor poured the blood inside.
And then, from the inner pockets of his robes, he dropped the Philosopher's Stone inside.
An odd smell came into the room, something like freshly cut grass, like the smell of a forest right after rain.
The mist turned grey.
"Master," the professor said. His voice was deeper, grander. "Your time has come."
Hydrus felt his throat clench, felt his arms shiver with invisible goosebumps. All this time he suspected, he knew, somehow…
"Unrobe me, Quirinus."
The sound was muffled, and yet it sounded so familiar...
The professor straightened slowly, and his hands, his steady, able, hands that had once taught Hydrus to shoot a crossbow, went to his head.
They unravelled his turban, bit by bit, the purple scarf finishing by falling to the floor.
Something was stirring in his stomach, a horrible feeling of nausea… he should have known… oh no, it was obvious… too obvious…
It was a face, pale grey and pink, with lips that seemed to melt into one line and slits for eyes, that glowed with red pupils... A face like that… it couldn't be human, it couldn't be - no, not at all…
He had seen those eyes before. Oh yes, he had. So many times, before Professor Quirrell had chanted that spell.
"Hydrus Malfoy," it whispered.
The voice… Merlin, no…
He had grown up listening to it whisper inside of his ear, listening to it taunt him with every word…
It was the voice that tortured his every sleep, it was the voice that assembled, like fine ashes into his mind, assembling… assembling…
Into the red eyes.
"I - I've…"
Fear made his limbs stiff, fear made him cold, fear made him frozen.
"My dearest water snake," it whispered. "See what they have done to me - see what Albus Dumbledore has done to the great Dark Lord"
And then, it rose from the professor's head, like the wispy, grey smoke the Hydrus had seen so many times.
It solidified into a demonic, ghostly thing, that zipped through the air and plopped into the cauldron.
The professor's head was smooth and unshaven, the pale, peachy colour of human skin.
Hydrus' hand reached to his forehead.
The scar, the red, blood-red scar that had killed his biological parents - it stung and ached and burned. His palms were sticky, and something warm was running through his fingers.
It ran down his forehead and over his eyes, mixing with his tears until it turned a pale crimson.
The pain was horrible.
It raced through his head like claps thunder, in pulses that hurt more and more with every passing moment.
Nevertheless, his eyes stayed open. They were in a sort of trance, unwilling to close.
The cauldron was bubbling and boiling. The liquid - grey like a stormy sky, was sloshing, spilling over the sides of the cauldron.
Where it touched the floor, the liquid sizzled and turned to black mist.
The colour went darker and darker, until the smoke seemed to devour the golden light of the candles.
The bubbling intensified, guzzling faster and faster, until the fumes folded upon itself, and out came a four-limbed monster.
He was all grey; grey like dark slate, like the shiny silver in Hydrus' circlet. The smoke followed him out of the cauldron, pooling around his arms and legs, flowing off his shoulders like an ashy cloak.
There was something majestic and graceful about the terrible being, for he walked with delicate steps, and the air around him seemed to swirl, whispering their worship to this inhuman, monstrous creature.
For the first time, the red eyes were awake in his mind, yearning to reach for its kin - the great, beautiful abomination that made its way towards him.
His bowels, roiling and rumbling as they had been for the past two weeks... they would have run loose if Hydrus had not heard Professor Quirrell's voice whispering in his mind.
"Raise your chin high, Hydrus Malfoy."
And so, as the ashy and demonic thing walked towards him, Hydrus Malfoy stood tall. The pain - the horrible, thudding, never-ceasing pain - it threatened to blind him, threatened to make him screech and wail, and yet, he lowered his hands from his forehead and felt the blood rush down his fingertips.
There was something about him - about the monster cloaked in ashes - that seemed so very inhuman. His face was as disfigured and horrific as it had been on the professor's head; his eyes pale gashes with bright red pupils, his nose two slits and skin that seemed smooth, yet mottled, in a way only a thing beyond the grave could be.
"Your arm, Quirinus."
The professor was solemn and dutiful as he approached, the back of his head no longer wrapped by a purple turban. His pale grey eyes showed no fear when he stared at his master.
Hydrus was almost certain he knew what would happen next. He kept his chin raised and his back straight.
Lord Voldemort took the professor's left arm, below the wrist and pressed down with his thumb.
There was the smell of smoke, as black lines wound their way across his pale flesh.
Some part of Hydrus knew he ought not to look at the professor's face, to spare himself the torment and pain, yet his eyes flew upwards… and stared.
His lips were pursed, turned to a thin, pale line, that trembled and shook. His eyes were clamped shut and leaking with tears. They tracked their slow way down his cheeks. The professor's body twitched, the fingers on his left hand jerked in all directions.
His throat bobbed up and down, and Hydrus knew that there was a scream waiting to penetrate the world, knew that the sheer pain he must have felt could have torn his brain to shreds.
Let it loose, he thought. Let the world see you for the coward that you are.
Professor Quirrell jerked his head back and bellowed a horrific shriek. He fell to his knees and crumpled onto the carpet. His legs twitched underneath him.
Lord Voldemort spared him the barest of glances, walking towards Lord Black in smooth, water-like steps. He came so close that the smoke encircled them.
"Ten years ago, you and I met for the very first time. A baby, you were. An ant. I should have killed you. Yet here you are… and here I am… I was convinced… convinced you were the enemy… but no… I see that now. You're a gifted sorcerer, Harry Potter. Incredibly talented, even as a toddler… a baby…"
Lord Voldemort's breath misted into a white cloud, and his thin, grey fingers touched his forehead, brushing where Hydrus Malfoy's lightning scar would have lain.
Some part of him, the child inside - it quivered and shook in face of the monster. The pain from his forehead was horrible… he wanted to scratch the skin from his face, to rake his nails all the way to the bone...
Lord Black swallowed the scream that threatened to rattle his throat. "Hydrus Malfoy," he rasped.
"Hydrus Malfoy," the figure said, coming closer with each word. "The names we give to ourselves, often in an attempt to forget who we are. But alas, such efforts are futile. You were born with the name Harry Potter, son of James Potter and his mudblood wife.
"Do you know who I am, Harry Potter? Do you know what I have done? What I will do to the world?"
"The Dark Lord," Hydrus whispered. His voice was hoarse, with what, he could not say. The pieces were coming together, despite all the pain… the pain in his head. "You're the Dark Lord, He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, the greatest terror to wizarding Britain." He took a deep breath. "You're Lord Voldemort."
"I am."
And slowly, he wrapped his long fingers around Hydrus' head.
They felt cool, and yet, he could feel none of it over the pain.
Tears were beginning to leak from his eyes, despite all of his wills. A scream was bubbling at the tip of his tongue. If he dared open his mouth, the shriek would have shaken the room.
Something brushed against his scar, and then the pain was gone.
When Hydrus Malfoy looked up, he saw Lord Voldemort, staring down at him with crimson blood dripping from his lips.
End of Part 1
A/N:
Imagine if I had decided to go on a hiatus and left you guys on this cliff hanger...
Man that would've been evil.
I will say though, from here, the story takes a dark dive, and even though our protagonist is only eleven... well, it won't seem like it.
It's been actually quite difficult to write the chapters that come after this, because of how... dark and depressing and abstract everythings gets. Almost everything in this story past part 1 has never happened to me (and that's a very, very good thing), yet to write about it as if I have... yeah that's a bit hard.
I'm saying this as a heads up, because there may come a time where I won't be able to update every week on Wednesdays. I'll be trying my best, of course, but... I honestly don't think that my current writing skill or maturity is experienced enough to properly represent grief, depression or even try to portray a character as diabolical as Lord Voldemort.
That may change as I complete the next few chapters and I'm hoping it will, but if the responsibility of writing these ever becomes too much for me... I'll ask your patience as I try to complete them.
Special thanks to KingZeRopL for taking the time to review my story - I know how I want the fanfic to end, and... Hermione may or may not be alive at the end.
As for Hydrus Malfoy, he'll be alive (he's also the only perspective we have in the entire story so that can't be a spoiler), though I can't say how old he'll be.
Well that doesn't answer your question.
If I said anymore I'd spoil the story :)
There might be some confusion with this chapter, but I promise that I know, in general, what I'm doing (haha... if only).
As always, thanks to everyone who took the time to read my story, and I'll see you guys next week!
Cheers