A/N: Much love to raven_maiden and SaintDionysus. Also, the three of us have a Podcast where we recap The Auction chapters: Austen, Bronte, and Hugo Walk Into a Bar. If you're interested in behind the scenes stuff, or just listening to us get drunk and roast each other, check it out!
We are coming closer and closer to the end! :( Estimated at 40 chapters still. Thank you in advance for being with me to the end.
This chapter is dedicated to Shelbie-Ann on Discord. Our thoughts are with you, dear.
CONTENT WARNING: Horror, violence.
The Portkey spun them like a top, pressing in on them tighter and tighter before flinging them to the ground. Hermione stumbled to her knees, and when her eyes focused, she found Draco's hand outstretched in front of her. She took it, and let him help her to her feet.
The air was brisk, sending chills down her bare legs. Hermione rubbed her arms as she glanced around. They were at the edge of a small town — the streets made of cobblestone, the buildings narrow and closely set. Several Muggle cars were parked to their right, and a pub's lights were on just down the road. Its sign was etched in Romanian.
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. They'd made it. The International Portkey had worked.
Draco stepped next to her, and she turned to face him just as he offered his hand.
"Ready?" he asked.
She gazed down at it, then up at him. His expression was firm, but his eyes were tired — as if a lifetime had passed since the moment he stared at his aunt's body.
Her throat felt dry, and she licked her lips. "Are you? We can take a moment—"
"I'm ready," he said, and then he took her arm and Apparated them away.
The world slammed into her in a jolt. Draco gripped her tightly as she steadied herself, the ground uneven beneath her feet. She blinked to clear her vision and found them standing in the exact same spot Lucius and the Dark Lord had appeared in Lucius's memory.
Hermione tugged her arm free, craning her neck up at the enormous range before them. The mountains were shrouded in fog, their cragged outlines barely visible through the purples and greys. But before her stood the same peak she'd seen in Lucius's memory. The same one she'd seen in a book on Romanian geography a week ago, and nearly spilled her coffee over in excitement.
"We were right," she said breathlessly. "The hideout is in Moldoveanu Peak—"
"'We?' You did the research, Granger." Draco glanced at her once, then turned and began walking. After a few heartbeats, Hermione followed him up the winding path illuminated by moonlight.
She walked a pace behind him, her fingers clutching Daphne's wand. There was still a dull ache behind her temples, but each step seemed to push it farther away. She cleared her mind, focusing on the magic and adrenaline thrumming through her veins.
They could do this. For Harry.
The path grew steeper, and Hermione nearly lost her footing on an uneven step. She frowned down at her flats, and Draco paused to wait for her as she transfigured them into thick-soled boots. Her scalp ached from Pansy's pins, so she vanished them with a wave of her wand.
Standing tall again, she pushed her loose hair over her shoulder and tested her boots. Her necklace weighed heavily on her neck, but a transfiguration spell might damage any charms that had been placed on it.
Her heart beat quicker when she met Draco's eyes. "Remind me what you found in your family archives again."
Draco lifted a brow and led them on. "No record of an estate in Romania. The closest property is a cottage in the Balkan Mountains, about 80 miles south of the Bulgarian border. Only two mentions of a visit to Romania in personal journals. Once in 1940, and once two hundred years ago."
She knew it by memory, of course. But she needed to hear it aloud, in the same way she needed to rattle off facts before an exam.
They walked on until they arrived at the stone in the path from Lucius's memory. Her breath grew shallow as they turned a sharp right around it, details clicking into place. Draco let her lead them up the trail to the mountain entrance, his footsteps light behind hers. Every time she turned around to check on him, she found his eyes roving the terrain or glancing at the trail behind them.
"Have you given any more thought as to what kind of object we're looking for?" he finally asked.
"I've already told you everything I know." Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek, realizing that he needed to hear it again, too. "We'll be looking for something relatively small. His earlier Horcruxes had personal significance to him — his grandfather's ring, his school diary — whereas his later ones were items of great magical significance."
Draco was silent behind her.
"It might escape our notice at first." Her spine tingled from a long-buried memory of cleaning dusty old rooms and tossing aside broken lockets. She reached out to her shelves on instinct, and was surprised to find she could shut the book without much pain behind her brow. "But this time we're looking for it. It can...sense danger. So I suspect we'll know when we get close."
And with that, they arrived at the rock face. It was a smooth stone — the same one she'd seen weeks ago in Lucius Malfoy's memory. Draco tapped his wand against the stone just like his father had done, and with a tremble of magic, the door shook free. It slid to the side, revealing the black cavern inside.
They stood for a moment, staring into its depths. Hermione forced her lungs to drag in air.
Draco turned to her, and sliced his palm with his wand. His eye twitched when he watched her do the same with hers. He tore his gaze to the blood dripping down his wrist, and sent it spiraling upward with a flick of his wand.
"My blood will start to fade from your system after an hour." Another flick, and the droplets arced toward her hand.
She watched the red beads seep through the cut in her palm, weaving beneath her skin. Her blood felt warmer as she imagined it intertwining with his, slipping through her veins and curling around her heart.
The wound closed. Hermione blinked at her smooth skin as Draco took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the spot.
"So if something happens to me in there, don't dawdle."
She jerked her head up. "Don't say that."
His brows drew together. "I've read up on barriers like these. A simple blood share lasts eighty minutes at best. The magic requires the blood of a living Malfoy—"
She ripped her hand from his. "Stop talking like you're going to die."
He stared at her as though she were the stubborn one. "I'm just being practical."
"Well, stop it," she snapped.
His throat bobbed. Then he stepped into her, and her heart stopped when he lifted his hand to brush his fingers across her necklace. He paused on an emerald below her left collarbone.
"I replaced this stone."
Hermione glanced down as Draco tugged at the gem, holding it up in the moonlight. There was the faintest of shimmers around it — a glamour.
He set it back, and his eyes flickered to hers. "The tattoo antidote is inside. A simple Severing Charm will suffice."
"That won't be necessary. We'll be leaving together." She turned away from him, stepping up to the threshold before he could see the wetness in her eyes.
She cast a number of curse detection spells at the entry, her focus returning with each wave of Daphne's wand. All were negative. Taking a sharp breath, Hermione cast a Lumos and stepped forward into the inky darkness.
Her vision adjusted quickly to the wandlight. Just four steps ahead of her, she could make out a descending staircase carved crudely into the rock. She glanced over her shoulder and found Draco just behind her, his mouth hard and his eyes fixed ahead. He lit his wand as she turned back to face the stairs and followed them down.
The glow from their wands extended deep into the darkness, but there was no end in sight. The further down they stepped, the colder and thicker the atmosphere. There was a metallic tang in the air, and a dripping sound echoed from down below. After several dozen steps, there was a landing of about six feet before the stairs continued down.
There was only the sound of Draco's cloak sliding down the stairs as they descended endlessly — stairs, landing, stairs. Hermione's legs started to protest and she paused, looking up at Draco. Moonlight shone through the entrance behind him, all those steps above.
"Do you think maybe we missed something when we came in? On the walls?"
"I didn't see anything." He paused, letting her catch her breath. "It's probably just a very long ways down."
She frowned as she turned back to the stairs leading down, down, down. It would be terribly difficult to leave — unless one could fly, of course. Perhaps that was the point.
Draco squeezed her arm and stepped around her, taking the lead. It was much easier to follow his blond head instead of the end of her wandlight, but even still, once they'd reached the sixth landing followed by more steps, Hermione's frustration began boiling over.
Something was nagging at her, like an itch between her shoulders she couldn't reach. She spun around to look at the top of the steps again, and her feet faltered.
The moonlight was casting the same shadows she'd seen four landings ago, as if the distance hadn't grown at all. Her ears strained to listen to the dripping water — the volume just as faint as before. She heard Draco halt ahead of her.
"What is it?"
"We're not moving."
Her heart pounded in her chest as he hurried back to her. She took in his pale face for a moment before she began scurrying around the landing, her fingers skimming for a hidden doorway as she searched the wall for runes. She cast her wandlight upward, and only found a damp stone ceiling. Draco cursed and jogged up the stairs to the previous landing. She watched him vanish with her heart in her throat, listening to his boots slap against the steps—
A sound behind her. A shadow stepped up to her.
Hermione gasped and slammed herself against the wall, her wand shooting out to point at—
Draco.
His feet stumbled as he jerked backward, yanking his wand down.
Hermione gaped at him, and he gaped back. She whipped around to look up the stairs Draco had jogged up a minute ago. Empty. When she looked behind her again, she found Draco staring anxiously down the steps he'd just come from — somehow from behind her.
"It's a loop," he said, glancing up at her.
A thought slithered through her mind, and fresh terror seized her. Her wand flew up, pointing between his eyes.
"Granger, what—"
"Alastor Moody turned you into an animal in our fourth year. Which animal?"
"You can't be serious—"
"Which animal?" She brandished her wand.
He stared down at her, and with an expression that could have convinced her of his identity all by itself, he said, "A white ferret."
Hermione lowered her arm slowly, her pulse still racing. "Right. Sorry. It's just— we can't be too safe."
His reply was an unintelligible grumble, but Hermione was too busy stepping next to him, peering down into the void below. After a few moments, she flicked her wrist and whispered, "Avis."
A flock of small birds zoomed from the tip of her wand, bright yellow in the darkness, and zipped down the stairway, disappearing until they were flecks in the distance—
A flap of wings behind them, and Draco tugged her against the wall just as her flock came up from behind them, weaving through them and onward, down, down, until flitting behind them again.
Caught in the loop.
Hermione vanished the birds on their next round. She staggered into the middle of the landing, staring up at the moon shining through the open doorway. They were lost in a maze with no exit — and now, no entry. They'd tumbled into a rabbit hole, and it had swallowed them whole.
"There has to be a way in." Hermione turned to see Draco studying the walls, running his hands over the wet stone.
Squaring her shoulders, she crouched down to the stairs. She searched the seams and dips in the stone for anything useful while Draco tried all sorts of unlocking and spell detection charms on the walls and ceiling.
The minutes stretched on, and still they found nothing. Hermione's chest began to tighten as she contemplated never getting out, and never getting in. Dying here inside this mountain, inside these stairs.
She crawled down step after step, running her shaking fingers over each stair as she sank lower and lower into the dark underworld. Her skin grew colder. She was on the forty-ninth stair when she realized she'd lost sight of Draco. She shot to her feet, and suddenly he was next to her. They were on the landing together — she'd reached the end of the loop.
He ran his hands over her arms once, and turned back to the walls.
She watched him, listening to his breath grow harsher as he paced across the stones. She tried crawling upwards, looking for signs on the other side of the steps, ascending each stair toward the moonlight until she finally reached the next landing and looked back for Draco—
Who appeared next to her.
Hermione collapsed on the closest step, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.
She focused her mind, forcing herself to breathe. When her lungs could expand fully again, she refocused, forcing herself to think. The stairs had no end in sight. But there was a bottom to them. There had to be.
His greatest weapon is fear.
Her legs pushed her to standing, and she stared down the edge of the staircase. Voldemort didn't want anyone finding what was at the bottom. He'd planted a loop to sew doubt in their minds, and along with it, fear. But Hermione knew what he'd hidden down below.
She turned around, and her eyes caught on the moonlight on the walls. Maybe she had to believe. And believing meant looking forward — not looking back.
"Draco." Her voice was a firm command. "Walk behind me."
He stopped his searching and glanced up at her, his eyes wild. "What?"
"Walk with me, and whatever you do, don't turn back to look at the exit."
Something in her face must have convinced him, because his eyes seemed to clear. He nodded, and Hermione stepped off the landing, her wand held aloft. She paused a few steps down, waiting for Draco to join her.
"Draco?"
"Hermione," he said.
She started their journey downwards again. The steps were circuitous, spiraling into a never-ending abyss. Whenever panic gripped her, she focused on the sound of his breaths. The rhythm of his footsteps, light but steady behind hers.
After seven flights of steps, their footsteps synchronized. She sped up, then slowed, but only one pair of feet echoed off the stones.
"Stay with me," she said. No reply.
She stopped cold, her ears straining for the sound of Draco's breath, but there was nothing — not even the sound of dripping water. But she had to trust that he was there. She couldn't doubt it. She couldn't look back.
A thicker smell reached her nostrils, and she resumed her pace. Her limbs grew heavy, but her mind was clear.
There was only the beam of light from her wand in front of her. There was only her breath. There was only the warmth in her blood, whispering that she wasn't alone.
Ten flights of steps. Doubt crept in, quick and biting, like ice in her veins. Still, she continued, her eyes wide and her fingers tight on her wand.
Another landing, and she felt her lungs constrict. The doubt rushed in faster, creeping up her legs and inching towards her ribs. And just when she was about to spin around in terror, a door materialized at the bottom.
Her heart began hammering in her chest. She still couldn't hear Draco, but she said, "Don't stop. Don't look back."
With seizing muscles, she took the final flight of steps down, pausing only to pull the door open and step through. And when she was fully inside, she whipped around to find Draco stepping through after her, his pupils blown black. She threw her arms around him, gasping.
"I thought you were gone. I thought something had taken you—" Her voice shook as she dug her fingers in his robes, needing proof that he was there. That she wasn't imagining him. He stooped to bury his face in her neck, holding her close.
"I responded to you every time," he said, and the rumble of his chest unraveled the knot in hers.
He was real. She remembered this feeling.
"You didn't hear me?"
"No." She pulled back and took his face in her hands. "But I trusted you were there."
Searching her face, he nodded. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before turning to the room.
There was an empty lamp over Draco's shoulder, and Hermione waved her wand to light it. The flame sprang to life, and two others followed.
They were in a sitting room — a dim parlor with a solitary sofa and two wingback chairs. The walls were lined with blocky paintings in the Art Deco style, and the cabinets seemed to be from a similar time.
Hermione stepped forward, examining the thick layer of dust on the credenza to her right — when something glimmered in the corner of her eye.
Across the room, a cloud of pale vapor was hovering over the coffee table, growing steadily larger. She raised her wand the same moment Draco did. They stared up in horror as it shifted and morphed, stretching taller and taller.
Draco angled himself in front of her, shooting one nonverbal spell after another. All vanished inside it, like lightning in a cloud.
The vapor sprouted arms, then legs, and Hermione gasped as a tall, long-haired specter with Lucius Malfoy's eyes and a slightly rounder chin materialized, floating to the ground. It blinked its empty eyes open.
Hermione's heart lurched. She stumbled to the left, joining the stream of spells with a Skurge Charm, an Everte Statum. They disappeared inside the wraith's chest, rumbling like thunder. It tilted its head.
Draco pushed her backward as it crept closer — almost solid now. "Reducto—!"
Sparks flew from his wand, but then the creature let out a ghastly snarl and shot its arms out, plunging into both of their chests. Hermione's eyes rolled back, screaming as icy fingers slithered up her heart like vines. She heard Draco's strangled cry mixing with her own — and then silence as the arm hurtled from her chest to her throat.
Her senses erupted — a metallic taste on her tongue, a slickness rolling through her skin as she stood frozen, paralyzed. It felt like the vapor was ripping through her body, squeezing every bone and sluicing through every vein.
And just as quickly as the attack came on, it ceased. Hermione collapsed as the vapor pulled its arms back, its icy fingers retracting. Her eyes flew open just as it imploded in a spray of mist.
Spots bloomed in her vision, and she heaved, dragging in lungfuls of air. She curled to her side, coughing, and then Draco was on all fours next to her. He pushed her on her back again, his face white as he ran his fingers over her chest.
"I'm fine," she wheezed.
He pulled her to sitting, his legs on either side of her and his arms around her back. "You're sure?"
"Yes." Her forehead dropped to his shoulder, inhaling his scent. "What was it looking for?"
"It's another test for Malfoy blood. I've seen one before, but this one was different. He must have done something to it."
Draco's hand reached for hers, and his wand cut a thin slice in her palm before she could flinch. Another slice to his left wrist, and he flicked his wand to direct his blood to flow into her.
Hermione looked up at him to tell him that it hadn't been an hour, that there was no need — but his pinched expression told her to keep quiet.
"I want to be sure it lasts."
Her skin felt warm again, and she squeezed his thigh to make him stop. This time, Hermione stood first, helping him to his feet and plucking up her wand to close their cuts. She nodded at him once before turning back to the sitting room, bracing herself for what came next.
There was an archway in the stone that seemed to lead to a dining room, and two closed doors to the left that could possibly lead to bedrooms. She moved towards the dining area, her wand extended as she peeked around the corner. There was nothing but a small pantry. Draco moved behind her, and they stepped over the threshold.
Hermione's fingers brushed the wooden dining chair closest to her. They came away covered in dust. "You said your grandfather last came in 1940?"
"Mid-September, to be exact."
Frowning, Hermione's eyes swiveled to look at the ceiling, studying the smooth rock of the mountain above. "And once two hundred years ago as well?" An ancient memory swirled up, and then it hit her. "Draco, this could be a bunker."
"A what?"
She spun to face him. "Your grandfather came here just after London was first attacked by the Germans. I think they used this hideaway in preparation for Muggle wars."
"Doubtful." He shrugged tightly. "I'm aware of the airstrikes. The Manor's wards could have easily deflected them—"
"No magic can stop an atomic bomb. They tried in Japan."
Draco scratched his jaw. "Fascinating as this is, is this really the moment for a history lesson?" he said drily.
She shook her head, swallowing her curiosity. "You're right, sorry. But it is helpful to know that the Malfoys most likely warded this place against cave-ins. The mountain won't come tumbling down around us if they prepared it for nuclear fallout. There might be other fortifications—"
"I will give you every Malfoy journal in existence to review if we ever get back to the Manor, Granger." He placed his hand on one of the closed doors and said, "Shall we?"
She followed him through the doorway and into another drawing room, a bit smaller than the first. There was a corridor to the left, and Hermione wondered just how large the residence was as they threw the doors open, finding four separate bedrooms.
Draco stared through the open door he was facing, then back at her in the corridor.
Hermione bit her lip. "We can't rule it out until we look."
They checked closets, rifled through drawers, and tossed back sheets. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. They checked each room twice before finally coming back to the drawing room.
Hermione was ready to begin peeling back the wallpaper when she heard a loud sigh from the first sitting room. She found Draco relaxing on the sofa, his head lolled back.
Her lips pressed together. They should have brought some Pepper-Up for him as well.
"We'll find it, Draco. I know it's here." She waited for him to look at her. Instead, his eyes fluttered closed.
Her spine tingled, and she quickly crossed into the sitting room to stand over him. "Are you alright?"
He nodded and breathed deeply, as if he were inhaling fresh air. "It's lovely here, isn't it?"
Fear bubbled in her gut, whipping her insides — but then a cool tranquility settled over her, like a perfect summer breeze.
Her legs were tired, her mind weary. She could stay awhile and rest.
Perching on the arm of the sofa next to him, she took in the little room. The colors shined, and the wood sparkled. "It is," she agreed.
"And look at the view." Draco gestured to the wall across from him, and Hermione followed his hand to a window she hadn't seen before.
A sandy beach looked back at them, the turquoise water glittering. Sunlight flooded the room the longer she looked. A smile broke over her face, and she slid down onto the couch. He took her hand in his.
"I don't know why we'd ever leave," said Draco, his voice full of wistful longing.
Her lips trembled at the thought. "We don't have to," she whispered, squeezing his fingers. "We shouldn't. We're together, aren't we?"
He turned his face to hers and kissed her temple — as gentle as if she were blown glass. With a contented sigh, Hermione relaxed back into the cushions. On the ceiling, she found a stunning fresco of a woman in gauzy white, lying at the edge of a river. The waters were placid.
Draco's arm snaked around her shoulders, and as she tilted her head up, her eyes fell on the window again. The steady back and forth of water soothed her, lulling her to sleep. She snuggled into Draco's side and tucked her legs beneath her on the cushion. His arm wrapped around her as they lay on the sofa, watching the ocean together.
The tide came in. The tide went out. Her breath grew thin and light, like it, too, was drifting out to sea. Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids. As her vision grew hazy and her heartbeat slowed, a mountain range appeared in her mind's eye. She gazed at the water there, cool and uninterrupted.
Still waters.
She blinked, and the window was gone — a thick rock wall in its place. She blinked again, and saw sparkling turquoise and golden sunlight.
Her head felt light as she tilted her head up to the fresco—
The woman at the river was gone. Only a low rock ceiling.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. Books — there were books that had fallen open. One with grey eyes and soft lips and warm hands. She focused on closing them again, tucking them away.
Hermione's legs twitched. When had Draco stopped rubbing patterns on her shoulder? She craned her neck to look at him, and found him sleeping. His face was peaceful, and pale — almost blue.
She scrambled to face him. His arm fell limply over her shoulder.
"Draco." She ran her fingers over his cool cheeks. "Draco!"
Her lungs began seizing as she shook his robes, calling his name. Nothing. His head lolled, and her fingertips scrambled for a pulse — and when she felt a faint fluttering, she almost wept in relief.
He was alive, just barely.
A dark shadow prodded at her consciousness, and she steadied her shelves. The room wanted her to forget. It wanted him to forget, too.
Cupping his face to hers, she kissed him softly, breathing life into him.
"Draco," she whispered. "Be with me."
His eyes fluttered open, and she had to blink back her tears. "Hm?"
She brushed her fingers across his cheeks. "Can you Occlude with me, please?"
"Occlude?" He frowned, his gaze more alert. "What for?"
"Just for a moment. Please."
She stared at him, hardly daring to breathe as his eyes shuttered and blinked open. And again. This time, they were a clear grey. She stumbled off the couch as he jerked to his feet, drawing his wand. "What happened? Are you alright?"
Nodding, she pressed the heel of her palms to her eyes and swallowed her emotions.
"It was some kind of charm, for tranquility or forgetfulness. Whatever it was tried to kill us." She drew a shuddering breath and let her hands fall to her sides. Draco was gaping at her, color returning to his cheeks. "We need to keep our minds sharp."
He looked coldly over the room. "There might be something in here, then. Perhaps I came too close to something, and it tried to distract me from it."
Hermione nodded, and after another minute of Occluding, they began turning the room upside down. There were quills on the desk that seemed expensive, but not important. A paperweight — charmed like the ceiling at Hogwarts to show the Romanian sky — sat next to a stamp encrusted with the Malfoy seal. Draco pulled out every book on the shelves while she moved to the cushions, pulling them out and tipping the sofa and chairs on their sides.
And still nothing. Hermione tugged at the roots of her hair while Draco cursed. They were running out of time.
"Let me check the kitchen again," he finally said. "There's elf quarters that I could go through again."
Hermione shook her head. "Voldemort wouldn't associate his Horcrux with house-elves."
Placing her hands on her hips, she stared at the doorway leading to the drawing room and bedrooms, debating — and then spun back around with a huff.
Whatever they were looking for was here. The room's protections were stronger to keep them from finding it. Her eyes scanned the desk, the archway to the kitchen, and the door leading to the rest of the residence.
Her brows furrowed. Something was wrong.
She closed her eyes and tried to envision what she'd seen when they entered. A sitting room. A path to the kitchen. And—
"Wasn't there another door?" Draco said.
Her eyes shot open, and she spun to him. He was staring at the place where the window to the ocean had been charmed. There was just a painting there.
Draco ran a hand through his hair. "No. No, sorry, I guess—"
"You're right. There was." She pointed her wand at the wall. "Revelio!"
Like a fog clearing, a door materialized in the stone wall. Draco staggered backward as Hermione's heart pounded in her throat. She rushed forward, casting a few hex-detection charms on the brass handle. All negative. Draco dipped his chin in a nod, and she pulled the door open, both of their wands at the ready.
More stairs leading downward — this tunnel blacker than the one before. Hermione steeled herself and started to descend, not daring to glance back at Draco.
The air was thick and humid, like they were walking into hell itself. The walls were wet, and in the silence between their footsteps, she thought she could hear something else in the darkness. Something whispering.
The spiraling slowed, and Hermione's eyes locked on a large cavern waiting to swallow them at the end of the stairs. She held her breath and didn't blink until she stepped off the final step and into the darkness. Her Lumos Maxima had barely left her wand when she turned to find Draco stepping next to her. His eyes widened and darted about as the light bloomed, and she turned to follow his gaze.
Gold and silver and books and paintings stacked up at least thirty feet high. Expensive furnishings and cabinets with china. It was like stepping into a corner of the Room of Hidden Things, only the clutter wasn't broken or discarded — it was treasure.
Her feet carried her forward as she scanned the rugs and tapestries. An open chest full of jewelry. There was a Horcrux in this room. Somewhere. Buried beneath the piles of necklaces and rings? Tucked between the Degas and the Rembrandt?
"We shouldn't touch anything," she said. "There was a Gemini Curse in the vault where—" Bellatrix's vault, she realized a moment too late—"where we found the cup."
Turning around, she found Draco just behind her. His face was unreadable as he dug into his robes and produced the basilisk fang. He extended it to her.
She jerked her head. "It should be you. I've already done one."
It had to be him. If Voldemort fell, killing a Horcrux might be the thing that saved him. And his parents.
He looked ready to argue with her, but he kept it as he moved to a wardrobe. He opened the doors of it with a wave of his wand, and billowing skirts tumbled out — dresses from hundreds of years ago. He crept closer, opening the pockets of coats with the tip of his wand.
Hermione gravitated toward a chest of jewels and floated them out one by one to examine. She checked the frame of every painting, unrolled every rug, turned over every chalice.
Taking a deep breath, she checked on Draco. He was still working through the clothes, turning them inside out to inspect the pockets and linings. Above his head on top of the wardrobe, a series of brightly-colored hats caught her attention. She scanned the feathers and wide brims, the pointed wizarding hats, and the Muggle top hats. And there at the top, lording over them all—
The Sorting Hat.
Hermione gasped, and the necklace she'd been floating clattered to the ground. Draco spun to her as it splintered, diamonds rolling across the stone floor.
"That's it." Her eyes flicked to him, then back up to the wardrobe. "That's the Horcrux."
Draco stepped backward to stare up at it. Surprise crossed his face when he recognized it.
The cave seemed to shiver in the silence.
"Are you sure?"
There was a certainty in her blood that Harry had always told her about — the faintest of whispers in her ears, like a chant only she could hear. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
"Positive." She walked over to him like she was treading thin ice, her eyes never leaving the Hat. Draco's muscles tensed in the periphery of her vision. "The Sorting Hat was Godric Gryffindor's," she said softly, when she was standing just beside him. "We should—"
"Right you are, Miss Granger," a thick voice croaked from the wardrobe, and her stomach lurched.
Hermione and Draco's wands shot up, aiming at the Sorting Hat as it chuckled — oily and darker than it had back in school. It quivered, as if waking up from a long sleep. The tear along its brim turned up into an eerie grin.
It was like staring at a familiar painting that had been defaced. There was something she recognized, but also something tainted.
Perhaps some of the Hat was still in there.
Hermione cast a sideways glance at Draco, and found him looking at her. Waiting to follow her lead.
"Sorting Hat," she said, her voice stronger than she felt. "Tell me the last thing you remember. Before you woke up here."
"The death of the first Gregory Goyle," it hummed. "Slytherin. Sorted 1964."
Draco moved quickly, gripping the fang in one hand and stretching for the Hat with his other—
A crackle of energy sliced through the air, and with a great gust of wind, Draco was flung across the room. Hermione screamed as he slammed into a gold chest, and thumped down onto the cavern floor. The wind swept through the room, swirling her hair around her face and pulling lighter items into a twister. The light from her Lumos Maxima flickered, and they were plunged into darkness.
The Sorting Hat cackled, its voice suddenly thin and high like Voldemort.
Hermione conjured a ball of light in the middle of the ceiling, then whipped back to aim her wand at the Sorting Hat just as it soared through the air, landing at the far end of the room. The wind died out. She stumbled after it, freezing when she saw Draco on his feet — clutching the fang in one hand, and his wand in the other. He strode toward the corner, his eyes determined, and Hermione followed.
"Accio." Draco spat. "Wingardium Leviosa."
The Hat remained perfectly still as they approached. It sat right-side-up on the stone floor, waiting for them. Draco glanced at her before taking another step forward—
And the wind erupted, sweeping up gold coins and jewelry to pelt against their face and arms. Hermione lifted a hand to shield herself, her wand raised as Draco pushed forward, holding the fang high.
"Miss Granger," it sang, "not wearing your house colors today, I see?"
The wind froze for half a heartbeat, items suspended in the air. The moment Hermione's fingers fell to her emerald necklace, the gems pressed in on her windpipe and the air began howling again. Objects beat against her legs and stomach as she gasped, scratching at her throat. A towering cabinet nearly collapsed onto Draco as the necklace squeezed tighter. Her wand fell to the floor, and she jerked her foot out to stop it from rolling away.
She tried to scream, but her vocal cords were clamped. Draco pushed to standing and turned to her just as the wind intensified, lifting the large gilded picture frames and hurling them in his direction. He deflected one after another until he was sidestruck, grunting as he doubled over. Another sharp constriction, and Hermione dropped to her knees, digging her thumbs under the collar. She saw Daphne's wand roll away as black spots popped in her vision, catching inside a heavy rug at least six yards away.
The sound of Voldemort's laughter was high in Hermione's ears as the room battered them, debris spiraling up to the ceiling. She limped towards the rug, fingers scratching at her throat, and looked up to see Draco running towards her. A low rumble, and Hermione watched in horror as a chest of drawers flew at him, pinning him to a nearby shelf.
Her head grew light, her lungs seizing for oxygen as the room howled. She focused the last of her energy on the dying warmth in her fingertips.
Accio, she thought — a whisper, a prayer — and then her magic crackled, and Daphne's wand was hurtling through the air. Her arm shot up and she caught it by the fingertips, pointing the wand to wordlessly blast open the jewels. They scattered, and she collapsed on her back, wheezing and gasping for air. The emeralds lifted above her, caught by the wind.
An explosion to her right. She rolled on her stomach to see Draco stumbling to his feet — the chest of drawers obliterated, the wood shards joining the tornado. Their eyes locked as she pushed herself to standing, and then there was a groan so loud the floor shook beneath their feet.
Hermione rasped out a Protection Spell as more objects jerked upward, keeping them behind an invisible wall. It held for five seconds before she needed to cast again. Draco started towards her, and she waved him back, screaming, "Kill it! I'll hold off the room!"
She aimed at the twister, and the wand shivered under her instruction.
Draco raced to the Hat, then skid to a halt as it levitated. Its brim opened as he gaped up at it.
"And you Mr. Malfoy. Quite a Gryffindor you've become. Perhaps we need another Sorting Ceremony."
And then the Hat flew forward, swirling once around Draco before launching at his head. Hermione cried out—
Draco stumbled back, wrestling with the Hat before its opening finally attached itself onto his face. The basilisk fang clattered to the ground as Draco fought it, blindly casting spells as it shivered around him, as though it were sucking in his soul.
Hermione's stomach lurched, and she released the Protection Spell, sprinting to him. The objects in the room flew at her, a painting slamming into her shoulder, but she hardly felt the blows.
"I can see your heart, Draco Malfoy." The voice came from every corner, sensuous and booming.
Dropping to his side, Hermione ripped at the Hat, her heart in her throat and her fingers burning as she tried to tear it from his skin. She could hear him screaming from inside, but suddenly, the Hat released him.
Hermione whipped her head to watch it bounce to the side just as something rocketed at her from the left. A hiss from Draco, and a boom in her eardrums — the shard of wood deflected just in time. Dust rained over them as Draco tugged her to her feet, her ears still ringing from the blast.
"Find the fang!" she croaked. He nodded, pale as a sheet, and she caught sight of a ring burned into his face before he spun to the debris. A chair flew at her from the left, and she flung up another Protection Spell.
A hollow wind rose behind her, and Hermione turned over her shoulder and saw the Hat. It lay on its side, the opening facing them. A darkness twisted inside of it, and Hermione's stomach rolled as it widened, growing taller and taller. Terror gripped her ribs. She spun around for Draco, and found him crouched a few feet away, his eyes on the opening, his wand pointed down the chasm. His other hand empty.
A small object flew at her, knocking her shoulder back. Her feet stumbled as she recast her Protection Spell, and she stared back at the tunnel. It was almost the height of the room now, and her heart stopped as she made out a pale wisp of something, growing larger and larger.
A figure.
Cold sweat broke across her skin as the person grew taller, walking closer until it stepped out of the abyss. A person she recognized.
Jet-black hair. Slender and handsome. Only when he turned his brown eyes on her did Hermione know it wasn't Harry — it was Tom Riddle.
"Draco, don't listen to a word he says—"
Tom Riddle raised his ghostly white hand, and her Protection Spell vanished. The wind shrieked at her face as the maelstrom came hurtling for her head.
A voice called her name as it swallowed her, flinging her backward. Her head cracked against the cavern floor, knocking her breath from her lungs. She forced her eyes open and her shaking legs to stand. She had to get up.
The room spun as she stood in the eye of the storm — at the center of swirling paintings and wooden splinters, gold and silver spinning around her in a blur. Her eyes locked on Draco's, still crouching low, untouched by the walls of the storm. Something passed over his face, and he tore his gaze to the floor.
She had to reach him.
Her fingers gripped Daphne's wand, and she summoned her energy to shoot spell after spell at the wind. But they were caught in the eyewall, the force of her magic crackling up the walls like lightning. A shadow shifted in front of her — Tom Riddle, watching her closely.
She thought of Harry as she stared at him. Of Fred and Luna, Remus and Cho. And her vision went white with rage. She paced, fingers trembling to strangle him as his face stretched in an amused leer. She shot her arm through, and a wooden chair quickly caught her in the stomach, crumpling her to the ground. She curled on her side as the pain blossomed, tasting blood in her mouth.
"Draco Malfoy." Tom Riddle's voice drifted to her like a purr in her ear. "Purest of blood, and heir to the great Malfoy line. Loyal servant to the great Lord Voldemort."
Hermione's chin lifted. Through the stars in her vision, she saw Riddle tilt his head, serpentine in his movements.
"And yet, you come to betray him."
Draco looked up from where he knelt, like a knight swearing fealty.
Tom Riddle looked over at her and smirked. "My mother was also tempted by the beauty of a Muggle," he said to Draco. "But I've seen inside of you now, Draco." With an elegant bend to his knees, Riddle dropped in front of him, meeting his eyes. "It's not her beauty that did you in."
Hermione's breath caught, and she pushed herself up by the elbows. "He's manipulating you!" A snap of Riddle's fingers, and the wind howled louder, silencing her.
She stumbled to her feet, ignoring the pain in her head as she watched Draco stare down the ghost of Tom Riddle. Apart from the muscle ticking in his jaw, he was perfectly still.
"I believe that was your Aunt Bellatrix's fatal mistake this evening." Riddle tutted, and Hermione shivered, the sound crawling beneath her skin. "She assumed you would be satisfied with a replica." He gestured in Hermione's direction. "But I've seen your heart. I've broken through your brick walls and cracked open your jewelry boxes."
Draco's eyes flickered to her, wide and terrified. Her heart rattled inside her ribs.
"No, no, Draco," Riddle said, and Draco's eyes darted back to him. "I want your loyalty. And as your aunt can attest, killing this girl won't get it." Riddle smiled, leaning into his ear. "I can give you what you want."
"I don't want anything—"
"Security. Protection. No more hiding in the shadows with her." Riddle studied him, and with the grace of a predator, he gripped Draco's shoulder. "You know how easily she could be cast aside. And you know who'll be waiting in the shadows to take her from you."
Hermione went still — her muscles frozen. Something shifted in the corner of her eye, and she gaped at the inky tunnel as another shape shifted inside. It split into two as it grew larger, and she watched a shadow of herself emerge from the black depths with Antonin Dolohov's arms wrapped around her middle, caging her. She was in black lace lingerie that barely covered her. Dolohov tangled his fingers in her hair, his palm sliding up her thigh.
Draco didn't move, his lips parted and his ribs expanding quickly.
"Leave this place at once, and she won't be a slave any longer." With a flick of Riddle's fingers, the shadow of Dolohov evaporated, leaving only her. Bare-faced and wild-haired, in denims and a jumper. "I'll let you keep her. Marry her. No longer a Mudblood traitor — Lady Malfoy."
Riddle's hand squeezed Draco's shoulder. Hermione's breath came in short pants as she watched Draco swallow. His fingers twitched.
Tom Riddle abruptly stood, towering over Draco. "Swear again your loyalty to me, Draco Malfoy, and Lord Voldemort will grant her clemency. Climb out of the cave, take her memories of this, and the Dark Lord will give you freedom. Both of you."
It was silent except for the swirl of the wind. Hermione felt like she was sinking to the bottom of icy waters as Draco rose to his feet, his jaw set and his eyes determined.
"Thank you, my Lord," he whispered. She could scarcely hear him over the tunnel surrounding her.
Tom Riddle smiled, his translucent head nodding in agreement. Her stomach roiled as Draco swept away from the Horcrux, moving toward her. Her legs swayed, unsteady beneath her.
She watched Draco take four steps closer and twitch his wrist. Something ivory flew up from the ground, and faster than a Snitch, Draco spun, casting it forward with his wand, hurtling towards Riddle and the Hat.
The basilisk fang shot through the middle of Tom Riddle's chest, flying past his shocked expression, and into the dark opening of the Hat.
An unearthly scream, like a thousand glasses shattering inside her mind. She covered her ears and watched Draco do the same. The walls of the cavern shook as Tom Riddle's apparition howled in agony, the Hat sucking him backward as it shriveled down to normal size.
The tunnel of broken furniture and gold coins halted, falling around them like hail. And the screaming stopped.
Hermione counted two heartbeats before she ran to him. He was staring at the spot Riddle had been, as if he couldn't trust he was really gone — the same way he'd stared at his aunt's body. She grabbed his elbow, and he jumped, spinning to her as she threw her arms around his neck.
"You did it. Draco, you—" Her voice shook. "You were amazing. For a moment, I thought you'd—"
She broke off as he removed her hands. They fell limply at her sides.
He wouldn't look at her as he took a step backward, glancing around the destruction. "You're alright?"
Hermione swallowed. "I think so. I may have a mild concussion, but…" She trailed off as he moved toward the Sorting Hat, watching it ooze. Her throat felt thick as she moved beside him. "I suppose it's gone now."
There was silence.
"We should go."
Hermione glanced up at him. His mouth was in a hard line. He still wouldn't look at her.
Just as she opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, he turned on his heel and wove them back through the destruction.
Something was wrong. That was all she could think about as Draco led them up the sweltering staircase, not bothering to look behind him.
They reached the top of the stairs. Draco's hand reached for the door to the residence, and as it swung open, Tom Riddle's voice floated in her ears.
I'll let you keep her. Marry her.
The door clicked closed, and Hermione's cheeks burned white hot. The warmth sunk inside her chest, sparking through her veins as Draco's books fluttered open on her shelves. She'd come to mean a great deal to him over the past year. The Horcrux had confirmed it.
Draco moved quickly through the sitting room, putting out the lamps and wrenching open the front door. He successfully didn't look back at her as they climbed the long staircases up toward the moonlight.
The warmth flickered as he led them out of the cave, and down the mountain. She wanted to beg him to look at her — but his gaze remained firmly ahead, as if they were still on the stone steps.
By the time they Apparated back to the edge of the Romanian town — Draco's hand dropping hers quickly — she felt cold again. And by the time he pulled out the Portkey, barely holding her forearm between his thumb and forefinger as they landed in a silent alley in Muggle London, Hermione was wondering if she'd miscalculated.
Lady Malfoy.
She wondered what he would say to her if she told him the truth: that she loved him. He cared for her enough to keep her from Dolohov — that much was certain. But did his feelings run as deep as hers?
Perhaps marrying her was the only way to keep her safe.
He paused at the edge of a dark alley, his palm outstretched. Hermione stared down at his hand, and took it.
Draco Disapparated them quickly to the hill outside the Manor, and trudged up the lane without waiting for her. Finally, at the base of the stairs, he paused. But he still wouldn't look at her.
"I need to… to check in with Blaise. Make sure they were able to…" He cleared his throat, and she felt her chest clench.
"Of course. Draco, I—"
Without a backward glance, he strode to the fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and disappeared with a whispered, "Grimmauld Place."
Hermione watched the flames take him before settling back to orange. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed on the stairs.
The Horcrux was gone. Once again, it was now only the snake that stood in the way. She should feel dizzy with the joy of it. Free. Instead all she could wonder was why she'd appeared in the deepest depths of Draco Malfoy's heart if he was only going to run from her, as if it were all a big mistake.
Her head began throbbing, and it felt like every inch of the pain she'd forgotten returned to her at once. Her legs shook when facing another set of stairs, and her head spun as she walked to Draco's room. She showered, healing her cuts and bruises with Daphne's wand. Then she dressed in her pajamas, and slipped between the sheets, ready to sit up and wait for him, but she was asleep before she could turn out the light.
She awoke to the smell of coffee on their breakfast trays. Stretching, she reached for Draco behind her on the bed — and found the sheets cold.
Hermione sat up, and her ribs clenched painfully as the ending of the evening returned to her. She pushed her hair out of her face and looked for any sign that Draco had come home. No clothes on the floor, no covers pulled back. Only one tray on the table, not two.
Just as her pulse started to race, there was a light rap on the door. She stumbled out of bed and ran to open it, wondering why Draco would knock—
Narcissa stood in the doorway, her hands folded in front of her. Hermione's disappointment turned to mortification, having been clearly caught in Draco's bedroom, in her pajamas—
"Good morning, Hermione."
"Hi. Er, Draco isn't here—"
"I wanted to speak to you," said Narcissa, with a tense smile.
Hermione let her in and sat with her near the fireplace, her face still hot. Narcissa declined a cup of tea, and Hermione clenched her hands to keep from fidgeting.
"I'll get right to the point." Narcissa's eyes had dark circles under them, and her lips trembled as she took a breath. "The True Order has attacked Italy. I heard from Lucius late last night."
Hermione waited for the words to sink into her. She blinked.
"I see," was all she could say.
"They attacked last night, during the Hogwarts celebration. The Dark Lord wants to keep it quiet, but I believe it's just the beginning. There are rumors of countries signing secret treaties with the True Order. Hungary, for instance."
Hermione felt her fingers twitch. She stared at Narcissa as blood rushed in her ears.
"And I need something from you, Hermione." Her warm blue eyes locked onto hers, and Hermione felt the platinum thread dancing just in front of her irises. "I know you need to stay. To be here for your friends. For the True Order."
Hermione's lips parted, unsure what Narcissa was asking.
"But Draco needs to go."
Her throat was dry. "I don't understand—"
"If the True Order takes back England — and I hope they do — the three of us won't survive it."
Narcissa swallowed, glancing down at her knuckles as they turned white. She leaned forward.
"We need to leave. Lucius will join us when he can, but I know Draco won't leave without you." Narcissa's eyes filled, her lips trembling. "Hermione, I need you to make sure Draco comes with me."
The room spun as her heart beat in her fingertips, the words wrapping around her ribs and sinking into her skin. A thousand useless words formed on her tongue, but she bit them back.
She had to stay. And they had to go.
Her eyelids burned, and her voice rasped when she said, "When?"
Narcissa took a deep breath. "Tomorrow. You both should appear at Edinburgh this evening. But we need to be gone before the dawn."
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A/N: Updates on Sunday evenings EST. (Next chapter October 4)