CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE—Underground

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Hermione sprinted to Gryffindor Tower before breakfast. The boys were none too excited to go back into the bowels of the school—but it was a small, smelly price to pay for finally destroying Voldemort.

When she told them the fangs had already destroyed one Horcrux, they each reacted much the same way Hermione had. Ron slapped a hand to his forehead.

Harry exclaimed, "Of course!"

Hermione peered around the room until she found a Zonko's paper bag stuffed under Ron's bed. She yanked it out from the pile of jumpers and trainers.

"So you get as many fangs as you can carry," Hermione said. She transfigured the bag into something sturdier. "And bring them to the Room of Requirement. I'll get the crown."

"And we'll smash it," Ron said.

"Brilliant, Hermione. Really." Harry took the bag. "We'll have to go tomorrow night, though—we both won't fit under the Cloak anymore."

Ron bounced on his feet. "Argh, fine," he groaned. "Tomorrow after dinner we'll go down."

They couldn't stop smiling at each other. Hermione wanted to shout and jump and laugh. This was doable. They could stop Voldemort.

Then Ron went and got detention for punching Blaise Zabini in the face in the Prefect's bathroom that night.

Thankfully Professor Sprout had been the nearest professor. She assigned Ron to two hours of shoveling compost.

Hermione and Harry pushed on with the plan—Ron was too tall anyway. Hermione and Harry had to crouch but remained fully covered as long as they walked slowly down the bathroom corridor. Myrtle's toilet was empty, as usual.

Myrtle reared up from the loo, fit to rage at whoever had used a spell to push open her restroom door—until Harry whipped away the Cloak.

"Oh. Hello, Harry."

"Hello, Myrtle." He turned to Hermione. She opened the glittery blue purse she had charmed to hold all the stuff they might need in a survival situation, should they have to leave the school. Harry shoved the Invisibility Cloak into the bag.

"I miss when you guys would come in here," she whined. The loo was a mess, standing water in puddles every which way.

Hermione was surprised. "You know, there are many toilets for you to visit, maybe—"

"I changed my mind," Myrtle snipped.

Oh, okay, so she only misses Harry, Hermione realized, a bit sour.

"We'll be back soon, Myrtle," Harry assured the ghost.

"Are you going under the school again?"

"Yes," Hermione said.

Harry focused on the little snake behind the taps.

Myrtle floated to Harry's side. Hermione crouched on his other side to watch.

He hissed something. Hermione sprang back as the floor tiles began to shift.

"Okay, we, er, gotta jump," Harry told her.

Hermione bit her bottom lip. The boys had told her about all this, of course, but hearing about it and jumping down the chute were two very different experiences.

"I'll go first."

"Good luck, Harry," Myrtle said, batting her eyelashes. "You too," she said to Hermione as an afterthought.

Harry sat on the rim of the new entrance. After a deep breath, he began his trek under the castle.

Hermione dithered at the edge. Her head felt swimmy. It technically wasn't high up, right?

"Okay, Mione!" Harry called up.

Myrtle swooped in front of Hermione, floating above the chasm. "You alright?"

Hermione nodded, throat clenched shut with fear.

Myrtle giggled and swooshed away.

Hermione sat on the floor, legs dangling over the edge. The cold of the tiled floor crept through her jeans and to the backs of her thighs.

"Mione?" Harry asked.

"C-coming!"

Little black dots crept over her vision. She pushed off the edge—and zoomed straight down. She was too scared to even scream.

She flew out of the end of the tunnel—and landed on a puff of air before she hit her bum on the stone floor.

Harry was covered in filth, wand raised to soften her landing.

Hermione stood up, knees vibrating she shook so hard.

"This way." Harry lit his wand. This reminded her of their first trek beneath the school together—combating Devil's Snare and flying keys and riddles. They were a bit older now, and a bit more prepared for danger. At least, she hoped they were more prepared than the first time they foiled Voldemort together.

Tiny skeletons of rats and other vermin lined the walls.

"Oh dear. I don't think I can fit through there," Hermione said when they reached the cave-in site. They were more prepared and Hermione was more, to put it nicely, womanly than the twelve-year-old twig she used to be.

Harry got up close to the hole. He shoved his wand in his back pocket. "Okay, wait here."

She really hated how thin her male friends were. And Fred and George, too! And Severus!

Hermione bounced on her feet as Harry struggled to pull himself through the opening.

"Okay, er—maybe give me a bit of a shove?" Harry said, voice obstructed by the rock.

Harry locked his knees. Hermione put her hands on his feet and pushed. Harry tumbled away.

"Harry!" Hermione scrambled up the rock wall to look through the hole.

"All good!" he said. He wiped his face. His hair stood on end. "Be right back."

Hermione gnawed on her bottom lip. She didn't want to be left here alone, even though she knew the basilisk was long dead. It was bloody creepy down here.

Water dripped somewhere in the distance.

Then it cascaded down when someone flushed a loo upstairs.

"Oh gross!"

A rat skittered to a stop, beady eyes focused on her.

"Go on! Shoo!"

"You good?" Harry called from deeper in the tunnels.

"Yes!" To the rat, she hissed, "Shoo!" again.

Harry finally jogged back to her, Zonko's bag packed to bursting with fangs. "Think this'll be enough?" he joked.

Hermione tossed her tiny blue bag through the opening.

Harry caught it in his free hand. "Good call. Don't think Filch will let us walk around with all this."

He carefully maneuvered the bottom of the Zonko's bag into the purse. He handed it back to her, now full of deadly fangs, before he tried to shove himself through the hole.

"Uh, Harry," she began. "How are we leaving?"

Harry stopped halfway through the opening to gape at her. He shrugged. "I'll Summon my broom."

"I'm sure that won't knock into anyone who can take off points," she muttered.

Harry did a Sloth Grip Roll to spin out of the hole and onto his shoulder. Hermione helped him up.

"Ginny taught me that one," he said.

"Who is Ginny?"

They spun around to find Myrtle at the end of the slide.

"Oh, uh…" Hermione figured Myrtle would remember the girl that dropped a book through her head. "Ron's sister."

Myrtle narrowed her eyes at them.

The silence was awkward. Harry raised his wand.

"Accio Firebolt!"

The three waited, once again silent.

A rat paused beneath Myrtle's form. Myrtle hissed at it.

"Myrtle, watch out!" Harry said.

She flung herself out of the way of his broomstick. It hovered at Harry's waist, ready to go.

"Sorry, Myrtle," Harry said.

"I forgive you, Harry," Myrtle said, voice syrupy again.

She scowled when Hermione sat behind Harry on the broom and clutched him around the waist.

"Your husband isn't going to murder me, is he?" Harry asked.

"Husband!" Myrtle exclaimed. She rushed to Hermione's eye-level. "You're married, Hermione?"

"Yes, in a way."

"What's that like?" she asked. It hurt Hermione how wistful she was. Her spectral hands were clasped before her chin.

"Well, it's—it's different. We're—still working at it."

Myrtle nodded as if that sounded wonderful. "Ooo, tell me more. Is he handsome?"

Harry's snort turned into a choke and a fake cough. Hermione kicked the back of his foot but didn't get any real momentum since she was clinging to him for dear life, as if the fall to the floor would kill her. "He's—well, it was an arranged thing," she stammered. "I didn't pick him, you know?" Thank God Harry was in no position to see the horrific blush spreading over her face.

"Oh, like in the movies!" Myrtle said.

"Yeah, like in the movies," Hermione murmured. She could feel Harry shaking in her arms.

"See you up there," Harry said, slowly floating away. At least someone was getting a kick out of her forced marriage.

"Shut up," she hissed.

"Like in the movies," he laughed. "The horror movies, maybe."

Myrtle zoomed ahead of them in a grey streak. Harry picked up the pace and soon they were in the relatively fresher air of Myrtle's loo.

Hermione ran to a toilet and dry-heaved.

"Sorry, Mione." Harry peered around the stall door.

"It's—fine," she panted. "Just—no more flying."

"Agreed." He chuffed her arm. "Let's get that crown thing."

They sprinted to the door. Hermione's stomach was still a bit bungled but she would get over it once a piece of the Voldemort was well and truly dead. Harry was all smiles beneath the patches of dirt on his face. Hermione smiled back at him. They were about to smash another piece of Voldemort, without him even knowing!

The two bounded into the corridor and rounded the corner—

And almost collided with Amycus Carrow.

"What's with the broom, Potter?" he demanded. His hand shot out to grab it.

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said, reflexes too fast for the Death Eater. "We were—"

"In the witch's loo?"

Hermione swallowed. "Sorry—I wanted to try a new wand polish formula I'd made—but then it spilled all over me so I had to run to the loo." She looked at her feet. "Sir."

"There's no cause to run about the halls—Summoning brooms," Amycus chided. "Detention. Both of you." He couldn't keep a straight face. "Potter, I think my sister will need help rearranging her classroom. Seven tomorrow."

"Yes. Sir," Harry bit out.

"You can help me," Amycus said to Hermione. His face was split by a vicious grin. "Seven o'clock."

"Yes, sir," she said through grit teeth.