Chapter Ten
As Hermione crept from the stairwell and out onto the chateau's first floor, she halted, her senses alert and her entire body feeling on edge. She turned to advise her companion to wait, but Lady Wolf had already frozen in place beside her. She smelled it, too.
Well, of course, she did, Hermione thought with a rueful shake of her head. After all, the natural wolf would have keener senses than the hybrid creature artificially forced into being.
This scent was odd, unsettling . . . it kicked off strangely mixed ripples of anxiety and agitation in the pit of her stomach. Death, but new death. How could she smell that? Fresher than Fenrir's body, and certainly fresher than the new Dark Lord's slow, creeping decay. But not just fresh death, an odd static tickled her nostrils when she inhaled.
Energy. Magic.
Bloody hell, she could smell magic, now?! No, no, it wasn't only that this was magic, she realized, it was due to the potency of the magic used. Strong, strong enough that she worried for a moment that she'd be no match for it after all with her borrowed wand.
Giving her head another shake, she pushed her doubts aside. She knew for certain now that he was burning himself out. She didn't have to defeat him, she only had to press him until the output was too much for his body to handle. Until he crippled himself.
Then her Lady Wolf could take it from there.
Closing her eyes, she focused on what she could hear. On what she could sense. If that scent of fresh death was coming from her wizards . . . .
Angry, heavy pacing. Muffled voices—she thought she could just make out Antonin cursing in Russian, and Thorfinn's faint Norwegian accent, the one that was barely detectable unless the listener was paying attention for it, as he grumbled about something or other. And heartbeats. Her hearing wasn't quite sharp enough to count how many, or determine precisely how far they were upstairs, but it was more than one. The voices might be her own wishful thinking, a brief moment of hope-induced auditory pareidolia, but those heartbeats were all the encouragement she needed to believe the thing that was once Harry had not killed them, yet.
Swallowing hard, she nodded to the wolf. They both crept forward on silent footfalls, peering into the rooms on the first floor as they went. The first few were empty, but then . . . .
Again, she halted, only this time it was entirely involuntary. "Oh, God," she whispered, not sure if she was more confused or sickened by the sight of the bodies sprawled across the floor.
She could barely make sense the sort of damage she was seeing to the corpses. Was it some explosion of magical energy? She'd not heard any noises that would indicate such a thing, and she and Lady Wolf both certainly would have heard something like this. Had he found some way to vent his excess power that had caused so much chaos without making a sound?
Had the deaths before her been accidental or deliberate?
The words tumbled from her lips, barely a thread of sound as she stared wide eyed at the carnage, "How the hell did he do this?"
Lady Wolf uttered a low, rumbling yelp.
Turning her head, Hermione met the wolf's gaze at the sound. "Right, right. Just more reasons he has to die."
It was a grim reality, that she had to end the creature who wore her best friend's face, but, she reminded herself as they crept along to the main staircase, her best friend was already dead. He had been since the moment Voldemort's body had fallen, and she'd known it all along.
But now, as she started up the steps—toward that stomping and those heartbeats and the maybe-voices—reminding herself that Harry was dead, that he'd been dead all this time, forced tears from her eyes. Her chin and her lower lip trembled and she tightened her grip on her wand as she moved, silent, up the staircase. She'd probably cried more just today than she had during the entire War and her prior weeks of captivity.
At the second floor landing, she turned her head, glancing down both wings. The acoustics of the old, grand house made determining just which direction the sounds were coming from difficult to pin down. Frowning, she looked to her companion, but the distortion seemed to confuse the wolf, as well. Bloody hell!
But she could certainly hear his voice now. Piddle. She let herself have a quick, quiet snicker at that. Pity she never got a chance to share that little gem with Fenrir, he'd have gotten a good laugh out of it.
After a moment to steel her nerves—no matter how enraged and justified and ready to fight she was, she was still aware there was a chance none of them made it out of this mess alive—she started off down the corridor through the eastern wing. There might be nothing but more carnage through here, but she needed to be certain any Death Eaters left alive wouldn't interfere and try to save their horrible leader.
Her palms were growing sweaty and she swore she could hear the beat of her own heart in her ears, hammering at her brain and mixing with the sounds around her. She knew that her own footfalls were quiet, barely-audible, but to her new senses, and her currently overactive perception, every step felt like it was thundering across the floorboards.
Empty rooms. Empty rooms. The damn bathroom where Thorfinn and Antonin had thrown her into ice water to save her life.
She winced, giving her head a shake as she walked past that doorway. She would never forget how concerned they both looked that day. She should've suspected they genuinely cared for her then, but it all seemed far too preposterous at the time.
Nodding to herself, she decided she would make it up to both of them somehow, when they were all free of this madness.
Lady Wolf let out a low woof and trotted on ahead. Pausing before the final door at the end of the east wing, she turned her head to look at Hermione. The creature repeated the sound and then disappeared into the room.
Frowning, Hermione followed, her movements cautious and her wand steady before her. Rounding the entryway, she found another slew of fallen bodies, but at least most of these seemed like they were still breathing. One was even struggling to sit up, though her eyes were closed and she appeared as though she was too exhausted to even utter a groan.
"Alecto Carrow?"
The Death Eater jumped at the sound of her own name. Opening bleary grey-green eyes, she looked across the room at Hermione before her gaze fell to the wolf.
Alecto let out an lifeless chuckle as she shrugged. She nodded at her wand, dropped some distance from where she sat, now, making it clear she had no way to fight them off.
"Well," the Dark witch said, a sad half-smile on her face, "if you want to kill me, might as well do it now, before Lord Potter comes back and finishes the job."
Shaking her head—though she did spare a minute to kick the weapon further out of reach—Hermione hurried through the room to the other woman. "I'm not going to kill you. Feels rather pointless right now, actually." She lowered herself carefully beside Alecto. "He's killed the others; there are bodies all over the place downstairs. Appears you lot up here are lucky to still be breathing."
Alecto snorted a vaguely mad-sounding giggle at that.
"Why is he killing his own followers?"
"He's . . . ." She let her voice trail off, licking her parched lips.
Hermione held up a hand, silencing her a moment. Looking about, she spotted a discarded wine bottle. Shoulders drooping, she shot to her feet and rushed across the floor, snatching it up by the neck. "Aguamenti," she murmured as she tapped her wand against the bottle.
Returning to Alecto's side, she lifted it, helping the other witch take some much needed sips of water. After a moment, Alecto nodded, and Hermione set the bottle aside.
"Th—thank you."
Hermione shook her head. "You can thank me by telling me what happened and not giving me a reason to kill you."
The wolf rumbled at that.
"No." Turning to look over her shoulder at Lady Wolf, Hermione went on in a gentle tone. "It's obvious she's not going to stop us from ending him. She doesn't need to die."
Alecto, for all her pain and excruciating exhaustion, looked confused. "You and that wolf understand each other?"
"It's a long story, and one that I suppose means he didn't let anyone in on what he was hoping to accomplish with his little experiment?"
The other witch shook her head. "All we knew was that he kept on about some special kind of werewolf he was trying to create. I'm guessing by the color of your eyes he's succeeded."
Hermione remembered then that it was as Piddle had held her gaze, so close she could see the wild sparks in his mad green eyes, that he'd realized his experiment had worked. Her brown eyes . . . . They must've lightened to a more wolfish shade, like Fenrir's amber ones.
"Alecto, focus. Why did he do this to all of you?"
Alecto blinked hard, giving her head a shake only to wince at the action. "He wasn't trying to kill us. He was trying to . . . to work off some of his magic, he said. Before any of us knew it, we were in . . . torment is the only term for it."
Refusing to let the word send a shiver down her spine, Hermione helped Alecto get another sip of water before she had to ask, "Torment? What'd you mean by that?"
For a moment, the Dark witch's features pinched in an expression that made Hermione think she just might burst into frightened tears at the memory. "It was like . . . the Unforgivables all rolled into one . . . . The pain was blinding, it hurt too much to scream. He made it so we didn't want to fight back, we all threw down our wands like it was our own idea. The weaker ones . . . they fell. I thought I was going to die, too. But then, he j—he just stopped."
Dear God, Hermione actually felt sorry for her. She gave herself a sobering shake. "But that doesn't tell me why."
Forcing a gulp down her throat, Alecto darted her gaze about before returning her attention to Hermione. "You're really not going to kill me?"
"No, I'm really not. Under normal circumstances, I'd drag you back to Britain and face your crimes, but . . . . It's not as though they'd welcome me with open arms, since the War probably made werewolves more feared than they already were." Hermione exhaled through her nostrils and shook her head, reminding herself she had to get moving, but she needed as much information as she could get on what she was walking into. "I am going to kill Lord Potter, and if you're not going to try and stop me, then as far as I'm concerned, you and whoever else is still breathing are free to go."
"Okay," Alecto said, nodding. "He's trying not to kill Rowle and Dolohov, just yet. He wants to make them suffer. A lot. He's drawing it out."
Closing her eyes, Hermione swallowed down a lump forming in her throat. "He wants them to suffer to death. That's why he worked off his excess energy, so he doesn't accidentally kill them too fast."
Alecto fell silent as she looked at the others sprawled throughout the room.
"I can't believe he actually listened to me. I'm going to have my work cut out for me, trying to get him back to that boiling point," Hermione muttered thoughtlessly—she should've kept her bloody mouth shut about his body not being able to handle so much magical energy.
Snapping her attention back to Hermione, Alecto said, "Hand me my wand."
Her brows shooting up her forehead, the Muggle-born witch frowned. "That'd be a no."
Alecto huffed out a quick, exasperated breath. "I'm not in any condition to fight you. You mean to work him up so his head explodes, or melts or something, yeah? With a wand that's not yours, you won't last long enough against him to work him back to that point. If you disarm me . . . the magic in my wand will recognize you as its new owner. Hand me my wand, Granger."
Hermione's frame drooped a little. She knew Alecto was right, but she still knew it was stupid to blindly trust the other woman. Turning toward the fallen wand, she met Lady Wolf's gaze and gave a nod so subtle she knew Alecto wouldn't see it. Only if she tries anything, Hermione managed in a whisper so low, it could barely be considered speaking.
Grabbing Alecto's wand, she turned back and pressed it into the Death Eater's hand.
Though she braced for a sudden flurry of motion or a blast of magic, none came. She looked to Alecto's face and found nothing but that same quiet exhaustion. No aggression, not even a glimmer of fear. Simply the countenance of someone who wanted this over.
"G' on."
Hermione flicked her borrowed wand in the direction of Alecto's hand. "Expelliarmus."
Making good on her word, Alecto made no attempt to hold onto the weapon as it flew from her fingers. Hermione pinned her attention on the fallen wand for a heartbeat, the wand that was now hers.
Somehow, though, she didn't feel right leaving Alecto unguarded, if she and Lady Wolf failed to kill Piddle. "Here," Hermione said, handing over Antonin's wand. "Just in case. You can give it back to Dolohov if we all survive this."
Nodding, Alecto watched the wolf-witch climb to her feet and turn away. As the younger woman was nearly at the door, however, she called out to her. "Granger?"
Hermione glanced over her shoulder.
"Give 'im one from me."
Smirking, Hermione started on her way once more. "You don't have to ask me twice."
Back out in the corridor, she shook off the strange calm of the moment she'd shared with Alecto just now. Rather than wasting time trying to make sense of the sound distortion of the antiquated building, she went with logic and made a beeline down the corridor, back the way she came.
Past the staircase and through the western wing she went, Lady Wolf keeping pace beside her. With any luck, Piddle would be so caught up in what he was doing they'd be able to catch him off guard.
Even were that the case, she reminded herself, as they drew close enough to one of the last rooms that she could hear the vile creature's frustrated huffing, she could not cast anything that might kill him. She'd promised the wolf that pleasure.
It troubled her a little that she could not hear Antonin or Thorfinn, but then Alecto's words floated back to her. The pain was blinding, it hurt too much to scream. The thought of her wizards in that sort of agony renewed her fury, but she forced herself to keep her emotions in check. If she rushed Piddle in a fit of rage, he might just kill her on the spot.
As they reached the doorway through which they heard breaths and heartbeats, witch and wolf both paused. Tipping their heads around the jamb, they peered in.
There stood the thing that called itself Lord Potter . . . . His back was to them! His back was to them as he held the Elder Wand on her wizards!
Hermione gritted her teeth, knowing better than to look at Thorfinn or Antonin's faces right now, not with the dreadful, multi-hued wash of energy pouring into them. Now was the time.
"Expelliarmus!"
The monster was quick to react, bellowing in anger as his weapon was forced from his hand. Spinning on his heel to face the doorway, he wore an expression of pure malice.
"You!"
"Me." Hermione wasted no time, either, hitting him with a stunning spell.
When he didn't fall, she tagged him again. The magic in his system must still be too potent, she realized. It was going to take more than that to really put him down for the wolf to finish him off.
He lowered himself to one knee to get his bearings, but kept his gaze trained on hers. Even as he shook his head, a dazed gleam in his eyes from her stunners. "I may need you, but it doesn't mean I can't hurt you. And I hardly need a wand for that."
She had to do it, she knew she had to. Swallowing hard, she took advantage of his momentary disorientation. It was awful, it was unforgivable . . . but the only way to do him any true damage might be to hurt him the way he was hurting everyone else.
He's not Harry, anymore.
Summoning up each horror of the War she'd witnessed, each pain she'd felt, each loss she'd endured, each tragic moment until now, she poured it all into her magic as she said in a trembling, but lethal whisper, "Crucio."
He let out an angry groan, shuddering at the pain wracking him. Gritting his teeth, he put every ounce of will he had into pulling himself to his feet. He would not end this way.
Hermione felt her entire body tensing as she watched him stand, as she responded by trying to force more pain into her curse. She felt a thrill of triumph as he backpedaled a step.
Lady Wolf growled, baring her teeth at him.
"No," Hermione said in a low voice. "Not yet, if you jump in now, you might get—"
Ignoring the witch, the wolf launched herself at Piddle from the doorway. Paralyzed by the torment of Hermione's Cruciatus, he had no defense for Lady Wolf's attack.
"No!" Hermione shouted, lowering her wand and breaking contact just in time to keep her companion from catching the brunt of her suffering.
The voice that strangled out of Piddle's throat while the wolf tore into him almost sounded like Harry's. Even in her fury, Hermione had to duck her head. She had to avert her watery gaze from the sight before her. The terrible noises he uttered—half-formed words she knew were probably attempts at wandless magic to fend of those gnashing teeth—the tear of flesh ripping and pulling . . . . Knowing that regardless of the truth, and of what she told herself, she still could not bear seeing Harry's face as the wolf mauled that vile thing.
She thought she must've blacked out when, after a moment of dizziness, she heard her wizards calling her name.
Blinking hard, she gave herself a shake. She was on her knees in the doorway, Lady Wolf nudging her literally bloody nose against Hermione's side, and the lifeless, rent and torn body of the new Dark Lord littered the center of the room.
A chill coursed through her as she realized . . . . "It's over." Her voice was barely audible, even in the quiet of the room. She blinked back tears as she forced herself to her feet and ran to unbind Antonin and Thorfinn.
"Well, yeah, thanks for remembering us," Thorfinn said with an exhausted chuckle.
"Oh, shut up, you." Antonin frowned as the larger man eased himself up to stand and began to take an inventory of his injuries. He could really do without the way a relieved Hermione pulled Thorfinn's mouth down on hers passionate kiss.
Rolling his eyes, Antonin couldn't help the impatience in his voice as he barked, "Forgetting something, are you?"
Hermione broke the kiss, laughing as she turned to face Antonin. Kneeling before him, she kissed him, as well, just as passionately—but he'd like to believe it went on a little bit longer than Rowle's kiss—before she set to unbinding him.
She was certainly going to have a lot of fun keeping these two from having a go at one another, she thought with a half-grin.
"I've got something." Hermione held out the book Piddle had used for his notes on his precious experiment. "He never fully explained what he'd thought would happen, I suppose in case anyone found this, but he does state that our Lady Wolf is the alpha of the largest pack in the European wilds."
Closing the book, she looked to the wolf. They all felt much better, now that they'd had time to clean themselves up and put some food in their stomachs. Alecto and those who'd survived were sleeping off their injuries, though they knew by the time they awoke, their rescuers would be long gone. And, after another staged disarming charm, Alecto Carrow's wand was back with its rightful owner.
Hermione shrugged. "It takes a lot of fortitude to lead a pack, let alone one of record size. But werewolves aren't typically pack animals. Between Fenrir's bite, and the plasma he extracted from her, I think he was trying to create an alpha female werewolf who could have the ability to cow other werewolves and form a pack. Make them follow. And if I were following him . . . you see where I'm going with this."
"He was going to return to England with an army of controlled werewolves?" Thorfinn said, wide-eyed at the terrifying prospect.
She let her eyes drift closed a moment. "Probably why he was so eager to have it done before his body completely diminished. If I were answering to him, he could have made me turn him, so he'd have the stronger form of a werewolf to more effectively contain his excess magical energy and yet not worry about me trying to cow him like the others."
Antonin shrugged and nodded. Given the information at hand and everything that he'd done, those were the only logical conclusions. "Bloody hell."
"It would've been a nightmare," Hermione tacked on, nodding, as well.
Sighing, Antonin crossed to his witch and plucked the book from her fingers. "With the way you've adapted and how quickly you responded to the experiment—your connection with the wolf and your bond with Fenrir—we have to assume that his plan very well could've succeeded. But enough worrying about what could've been. For now, we need to worry about what we do next."
Her shoulders slumping, she darted her gaze about the dilapidated kitchen. "I don't know. I don't want to stay here, not with the death we're leaving behind."
Lady Wolf uttered a series quiet, rumbling woofs.
The witch met the wolf's gaze, one eyebrow arched. "Thank you."
Antonin and Thorfinn shared a glance before they spoke in unison. "What'd she say?"
"She said we're welcome to go with her. To be part of her pack until we find our own way."
Antonin crinkled the bridge of his nose at that. "Like . . . living in the woods and in caves and such?"
Smirking, Thorfinn stood a bit straighter and propped his fists on his hips. "Sounds like an adventure, I'm in. You can always stay behind, Dolohov, if it's not to your liking."
"I never said I wasn't going. A person can lodge a complaint and still be willing, you know."
Hermione snickered, turning her attention to their companion, once more. "We would be honored to travel with you and yours, Lady Wolf."
The wolf once more let out a series of woofing sounds.
"So be it," the witch said in reply.
Her wizards exchanged another puzzled look before Thorfinn piped up. "Oy, you need to remember we can't understand her and translate before we have to ask."
Smiling brightly, Hermione nodded. "She says she wants us to call her Hecate."
"Isn't that the name of a goddess?" Antonin asked, his mouth tugging to one side in a curious expression.
"It is . . . one of the books I'd read to her and Fenrir had been about Greek mythology. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised she took a liking to Hecate."
Thorfinn inspected the majestic beast with his gaze as he spoke. "Why's that?"
Sighing—a sound of relief, triumph, and happiness, all rolled into one—Hermione answered, "Like all the deities of old, Hecate represented many things, including witchcraft and the moon."
It hadn't gone according to plan. So much had gone wrong, but they'd survived. And the Elder Wand was now hers. She was a unique werewolf, in rightful possession of the world's most powerful wand. All things considered, she supposed it wasn't so terrible that her endgame had gone slightly awry.
Still, she really would've liked it if Piddle's head had exploded.
Thank you for coming along with me on this journey. We're not through, just yet, there's still an epilogue to come, I do hope you'll join me for the final chapter that will bid this story farewell.