Happy Friday lovelies!
This chapter is very long, and I meant to have it out like two weeks ago, but things just didn't work out. It's funny cause I had the next few chapters already pre-written, but I couldn't finish this one for the life of me.
OH, and there are a bunch of canon lines in here, that I worked and re-worked to fit into this chapter. So all of those are in italics, but not *all* the italics are canon lines. Confusing I know, but it's mainly in the middle section of the chapter. The canon lines are partially why it took me so long to finish this chapter.
Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
As always for Sable and Lais
Tuesday, August 21st, 1979
Potter Manor
"We should have destroyed it before now…but so many things happened, and—" Hermione cuts herself off with an exasperated groan, her hands diving into her curls so that she has something to grab onto.
"I still think I should come with you," Remus says, arms folded over his chest. The wizard is leaning against her desk—scrolls, parchment and tomes litter the desk in some form of organised chaos that no one aside from Hermione can decipher.
The witch has spent the past few days with ink smudged fingers, and her werewolf boyfriend a few feet away as he assists her when necessary as she completes complex Arithmancy calculations and does extensive research. Remus has also ensured that his witch actually ate, showered and slept, because she oft became so immersed in her work that such things slipped her mind.
"We talked about this. It's already excessive that three of us are going," Hermione quips, her hands falling to her sides, and she strides purposefully over to her reading chair where her satchel awaits her.
The witch's back is turned to him as she rifles through it, checking—again—to ensure that she has everything she needs with her, namely a couple basilisk fangs, some dittany, a silver dagger laced in basilisk venom that Dorea had gifted her with, and a couple other odds and ends.
"Exactly. I don't get why you're even going. Harry needs to go since he's been there before and he knows what has to be done, and Charlus is going because he is the most proficient at using fiendfyre," Remus pushes up off of her desk, mouth set in a grim line as he strolls over to her. He stops a couple feet away before continuing, "they don't need you this time, Hermione."
Hermione bristles as she whirls around, coppery flames burning brightly in her eyes. She takes a large step towards him, and with her satchel firmly grasped in one hand, she harshly pokes his chest with the index finger on her other. "This is not a discussion; I'm going because they do need me."
"Why?" Remus ducks his head so that their faces are inches apart, staring right into the inferno and not flinching. "It seems to me like this time you are putting yourself in unnecessary danger, Hermione."
"I beg your pardon?" Hermione's jaw drops, she stares up into his hazel eyes, and it irks her that he is so bloody calm.
"You can't relinquish control, and it almost seems like you crave danger, Hermione," Remus frowns, and Hermione recoils at his blunt statement.
"What did you just say to me?" Hermione snarls, irritably slipping her satchel's strap over her head so it diagonally crosses her body.
"I'm your mate, Hermione. It's my job to keep you safe," Remus says, his tone is clearly harsher than he'd intended since he winces as soon as the words leave his lips.
Hermione is about to hotly retort that she didn't need anyone to keep her safe, but instead she bites her tongue; she realises that she is being a bit petulant. A lot of her irritation is stemming from the fact that she is unaccustomed to relying on others; with the exception of Harry and Ron that is.
Hermione knows Remus is just worried about her because he loves her. Any rational person would try to keep their loved ones away from danger if it's in their power to do so.
"I'm still going," Hermione says quietly, a stubbornness contorting her features. Remus sighs heavily through his nostrils and the hot hair blows across her face.
Remus straightens out to his full height, and before she registers what's happening, his hands are gruffly grabbing her hips and she's pulled flush against him. Gold trickles into his irises as he says, "fine…if I can't convince you otherwise, then promise me you'll be careful, Hermione."
Hermione swallows, and for a moment it is as if there is a gooey, sticky substance lodged in her throat. Remus quirks a brow and awaits her response. Hermione clears her throat.
"I promise, I'll be careful," Hermione swears. Remus lets out a resigned sigh, and leans down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. He pulls back to look at her for a long moment. Then, they both surge forward at the same time, and their lips smash against each other's. They pour their frustration into the rough kiss, and it's not long before Remus hikes Hermione's leg up onto his waist.
The floorboards by the door creak, the pair abruptly breaks their kiss, and their heads sharply turn towards the source of the noise; Charlus Potter.
Charlus rubs the back of his neck, quietly regarding the young couple, "sorry for interrupting. I just came to let you know Harry and I are downstairs waiting whenever you're ready."
"I'll be there in a moment," Hermione smiles, and her cheeks are radiating heat as her face is burning a violent, tomato red.
Charlus shoots them both an amused smile and nods, "okay."
The Potter Patriarch turns on his heel, and strides away, but he's whistling a cheery tune as he goes.
Hermione turns her attention back to her mate once more, "I will be careful. I'll be back before you know it."
"You better, cause then I can reward you for a job well done," Remus says coyly, his glowing eyes flicker, and he bites his lower lip.
Hermione's eyes widen, but there's an elated look on her face, and she grasps his face, "I'm holding you to that, Mister."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Remus grins arrogantly, kissing her quickly. The werewolf plucks her off of the ground, wrapping his arms around her, and Hermione hugs him with everything she has.
"I love you, Hermione," Remus breathes.
"I love you too," she replies.
There's a sharp pain in her chest when he places her back on the ground and releases her, and her hands linger on his chest for a precious but fleeting moment. Hermione reluctantly removes herself from him, and begins to head for the door. With every step she takes, an anxious bubble grows around her; she truly hopes that she's doing the right thing.
Hermione can smell salt and hear rushing waves; a light, chilly breeze ruffles her hair as she looks out at moonlit sea and star-strewn sky. She is standing upon a high outcrop of dark rock, water foaming and churning below her. She glances over her shoulder. A towering cliff stands behind them, a sheer drop, black and faceless. A few large chunks of rock, such as the one upon which the group of wix are standing, look as though they had broken away from the cliff face at some point in the past. It is a bleak, harsh view, the sea and the rock unrelieved by a tree or sweep of grass or sand.
"Well this is a grim sight," Charlus remarks.
"A miserable place for a despicable misuse of magic, it seems almost fitting doesn't," Hermione comments, adjusting her footing since the rock underneath her feet feels unstable. She doesn't wish to take a headfirst dive into the jagged rocks in between her and the dark, angry waves.
Harry shivers beside her, and Hermione turns to look at him, only for her hair to whip her in the face. With a scowl, she brushes it back, but it refuses to be tamed, curling and swirling around her head at the whims and fancies of the wind. Hermione catches glimpses of Harry's haunted expression through her hair—that keeps passing in front of her line of sight, even if she is trying to hold it back.
"We still have a ways to go," Harry deadpans, and without another word he carefully makes his way to the very edge of the rock where a series of jagged niches made footholds leading down to boulders that lay half-submerged in water and closer to the cliff.
Hermione and Charlus slowly follow his lead. It is a treacherous descent. The lower rocks are slippery with seawater.
Hermione can feel flecks of cold spray hitting her face.
"Lumos," Harry says as he reaches the bolder closest to the cliff face. A thousand flecks of golden light sparkle upon the dark surface of the water a few feet below him, and Harry crouches down so that he is closer to the water's surface; the black wall wall of rock beside him is illuminated too.
In a robotic fashion, Harry holds his wand a little higher, almost as if he is mimicking someone else, and he is so worried about mucking it up that it comes off as an awkward re-enactment.
Hermione rips her gaze from Harry, and sees a fissure in the cliff into which dark water is swirling.
"I hope you guys don't mind getting a little wet," Harry says quietly.
Then without another word, Harry agilely slides down from the boulder, lands in the sea with a muted splash as a wave swallows him whole. Within moments he breaks the surface and begins to swim.
Hermione gapes at Harry, who has not checked to see if they are following him. His lit wand is held in his teeth, as he heads towards the dark slit in the rock face.
Hermione and Charlus share a look, and then with a shrug Charlus follows after Harry. Hermione takes a moment longer, ensuring that her satchel is secured across her body and that its flap won't open if the sea decides to toy with it.
Hermione inhales deeply, and then follows after the two Potters. The water is icy; Hermione's waterlogged clothes billow around her and weigh her down. Taking deep breaths that fill her nostrils with the tang of salt and seaweed, she strikes out for the shimmering, shrinking light now moving deeper into the cliff.
The fissure soon opens into a dark tunnel that Hermione can tell would be filled with water at high tide.
Thank goodness it isn't high tide, Hermione thinks, trying her best not to get any saltwater in her mouth.
The slimy walls are barely three feet apart and glimmer like wet tar in the passing light of Harry's wand. A little way in, the passageway curves to the left, and Hermione sees that it extends far into the cliff.
Hermione continues to swim in Harry's wake, the tips of her benumbed fingers brushing the rough, wet rock.
Then Harry is rising out of the water ahead, his long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans clinging to his lithe frame. A few moments later, Charlus gets up after him, running his hands backwards through his wet, raven hair as he strolls along after Harry.
When Hermione reaches the spot she finds steps that lead into a large cave. She clambers up them, water streaming from her soaking clothes, and emerges, shivering uncontrollably, into the still and freezing air.
Harry is standing in the middle of the cave, his wand held high as he turns slowly on the spot, examining the walls and ceiling. There is an odd look on his face, as if he's seeing someone or something from his past, and he isn't quite sure how he feels about it.
"Harry?"
"I'm looking for the spot..."
"Something feels…wrong," Charlus says, stepping closer to Harry as his hazel eyes rake over the rock, trying to discern what Harry is looking for.
"Dumbledore says it was the known magic or something like that," Harry mutters.
Hermione cannot tell whether the shivers she is experiencing are due to her spine-deep coldness or to the same awareness of enchantments.
Hermione and Charlus watch silently as Harry traces steps of a man he used to admire, a man that in their dimension is now dead. Harry walks around the cave, touching as much as the rough rocks as he can, occasionally pausing, running his fingers backward and forward over a particular spot, until he finally stops, his hands pressed flat against the wall.
"I found it," Harry says, as if in awe of the act itself. "We—we go through here. The entrance is concealed."
Hermione can't bear the chill anymore. She supposes the reason she hasn't used drying charms yet is because she was so enthralled watching Harry move about. It seems Charlus is of a like mind, as he's taken out his wand and had just dried himself off; he turns towards her and griously dries her off with a hot blast of air—she feels warm and cozy like she's curled up in the middle of furnace. Hermione thanks him with a grateful smile, and when she turns her attention back to Harry, he's smearing blood across the rock with his hand.
"Harry! What are you doing?" Hermione exclaims, hastily crossing over to Harry so that she's right beside him.
There is a short silver dagger in his hand that has crimson lining the edge, and pang of fear strikes her heart before she realises that it is not one of the ones laced with basilisk venom.
"Payment is required to enter—more specifically, blood," Harry says, his tone void of any emotion, as if a wraith is feeding off of his energy. Hermione frowns as a blazing silver outline of an arch appears in the wall: the blood-smeared rock within it simply vanishes, leaving an opening into what seemed total darkness.
Hermione grabs a hold of Harry's hand around the edges, careful to avoid the angry slice on his palm that still has crimson bubbling out of it. Harry doesn't say anything as she takes out her wand and waves it over his hand, and the wound closes. The only indication that it had ever been there is the sticky, crimson that has gathered on his hand.
"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry smiles weakly, but it almost looks like he's experiencing severe pain. Hermione squeezes his hand before she lets it go.
"I'll go first," Harry says, and walks through the archway with Hermione and Charlus hot on his heels, lighting their own wands hastily as they go.
An eerie sight meets their eyes: They are standing on the edge of a great black lake, so vast that Hermionecannot make out the distant banks, in a cavern so high that the ceiling too is out of sight.
A misty greenish light shines far away in what looks like the middle of the lake; it is reflected in the completely still water below.
The greenish glow and the light from the three wands are the only things that break the otherwise velvety darkness, though their rays do not penetrate as far as Hermione would expect them to. The darkness is somehow denser than normal darkness.
"Be careful not to step in the water, stay close and follow me," Harry instructs them in a firm voice. Hermione swear she seems something flash in his bright green eyes, but it is gone so fast that she tells herself that it must have been a trick of the light.
As they set off around the edge of the lake, their footsteps make echoing, slapping sounds on the narrow rim of rock that surrounds the water.
They walk for some time, without a word passing between them, and the boundless expanse of smooth, glassy blackness is beside them the whole time, and in the very middle of which is that mysterious greenish glow.
Hermione finds the place and the silence oppressive, unnerving.
Harry halts suddenly, and Charlus almost crashes into him, but stops himself just in time, "what? What's wrong?"
"Nothing...I think I found it," Harry says, more to himself than either of his companions.
"You're being really cryptic, Harry," Hermione says quietly, a shiver prickling across her spine, an icy hand stabs through her chest and grips her heart.
"Because neither of you is going to like this," Harry says, but then pauses, "I actually don't know if this is going to work, but...Grandpa?"
"Yes, Harry?"
Harry almost looks like a child when he peers over his shoulder at Charlus, "do you think you can set the lake on fire, the inferi don't like fire. I would like to get them out of the way sooner rather than later this time."
"The inferi?" Hermione squeaks out, and Harry shrugs.
"I was going to cross the lake by myself, drink the potion so I could get the locket, and then get Grandpa to torch it, but I think we probably all need to cross the lake at once...and in order to do that we can't go via the boat. The boat will only take one person as there are enchantments in place to measure magical power. Since we are all of age, and at the risk of sounding arrogant, I think we all have quite a bit of power...I doubt we'll get very far before the Inferi try to drag us down into lake's depths."
Harry gulps in a large breath of air, and continues, "and we can't summon the locket."
"How big is this boat?" Charlus asks.
Hermione has other concerns, "why didn't you tell us this before?"
"Truthfully? I don't know," Harry admits, and with the assistance of the light from his wand she can see his features crumple with shame. Harry then answers Charlus's question, "the boat can fit one person comfortably, two is tight but possible…three would be nigh impossible without sinking it."
"So we need to cross the lake, but we can't do it with the boat, and the only other option is to swim, but we can't do that because of the Inferi just hanging out below the surface?" Hermione groans. Suddenly feeling like perhaps Remus was right, Harry and Charlus didn't need her here. Maybe she did need to have control over everything.
Just as her doubts begin to mount, Charlus mutters a curse under his breath, "fuck it."
Charlus moves his wand in a lasso type of motion, and then flings his hand forward and a whip of flames flies from his wand, soars through the darkness—cutting through it—before it swings straight into the water. The depths of the water are illuminated by the ever burning flames, and Hermione's eyes widen as she sees them.
She can't move, and she forgets how to breathe.
Skin like marble, hair and robes swirling around them like smoke. Bodies, so many bodies; men, women, children, all with sightless, soulless eyes. The Inferi flail about, and a piercing noise careens through the air, and Hermione's hands fly to cover her ears. She can feel the vibrations pounding against her eardrums, and in horror she catches sight of pale hands jumping out of the water and clawing at the bank.
"Grandpa," Harry says, grabbing a hold of Hermione's elbow and pulling her back a step with him.
"Don't worry, I see them," Charlus grunts, and his fingers on his free hand dance through the air, weaving a web of fiendfyre that floats in front of him, and when it gets big enough to possible capture a handful of the Inferi, he tosses it forward. The flames hiss upon impact with the water before the net sinks and catch some of the Inferi in its' grasp.
Charlus jerks back his wand, and the whip ferociously slices through some of the Inferi on its way back to its Master. The shrieking is still slicing and dicing its way through the air, but Hermione cannot help but be in utter awe of Charlus's mastery of fiendfyre.
The whip is an extension of Charlus as he rakes it through the lake, hitting more and more Inferi. A few try to clamber out of the water and get to them, but Harry uses Incendio after Incendio to battle them back. Hermione feels useless, but her pain lessens as Charlus dispatches of more and more of the Inferi.
Crimson, gold, orange and yellow dance around the cave, as Charlus's flames twirl like ballerinas around the Inferi, encircling them, trapping them, incinerating them and leaving them burnt blackened husks. It could be equated to watching a ballet, a horrific ballet, but a ballet none the less; for every clumsy, fumbling move the Inferi make as they blindly swim into each other whilst trying to escape the fire, Charlus counters it with a graceful flick or twist of his whip.
Eventually, Charlus succeeds in 'killing' all of the Inferi (if one could use that word to describe the now permanently lifeless creatures), but now he is left magically drained, and with a heavy sigh he collapses on the ground, holding his side. One of the Potter Patriarch's eyes is closed, and his fiendfyre whip fades away.
"Lumos," Charlus whispers, and his wand tip begins to glow again.
Hermione removes her hands from her ears, "are they...are they all dead?"
"Only one way to find out," Harry says with a puckered brow.
"Do we have to swim now?"
"No, I think the enchantment only matters once the Inferi are still a threat, now...now I think we should both be able to cross without—actually, I won't say anything, before I put my mouth on it," Harry says with a shake of his head. Squaring his shoulders, Harry steps forward until his trainers are on the utmost edge of the rock rim.
"Here goes nothing," Harry says, hope brimming in his voice. Harry's back is as rigid as if a steel pole had been inserted along his spine. Harry's non-wand hand is clenched in midair, and with a forced rigidity he taps his fist with the tip of his wand. Immediately a thick coppery green chair appears out of thin air, extending from the depths of the water into Harry's clenched hand. There is an air of disbelief about Harry as he stares at the chain, but then he taps the chain, which begins to slide through his fist like a snake, coiling itself on the ground with a clinking sound that echoes noisily off the rocky walls, pulling something from the depths of the black water.
Hermione watches, mesmerised, as the ghostly prow of a tiny boat breaks the surface, glowing as green as the chain, and floats, with barely a ripple, towards the place on the back where the wixare.
Harry stands aside, and gestures for Hermione to climb into the boat. She does; carefully, with one hand outstretched to help her maintain her balance whilst the other holds onto the edge of the boat, which is surprisingly dry.
Harry steps in too, coiling the chain onto the floor. They are crammed together; Hermione could not comfortable sit, so instead she crouches, her knees jutting over the edge of the boat, which begins to move at once.
There is no sound other than the silken rustle of the boat's prow cleaving the water; it moves without their help, as though an invisible rope is pulling it onward toward the light in the center. Soon they can no longer see the walls of the cavern (Charlus's wandlight is shining on his face, and from over here it looks like he is a floating, disembodied head); they might have been at sea except that there are no waves.
Hermione avoids looking down into the water if she can, as the Inferi's remains are bobbing just below the surface in differing levels of dismemberment. In order to keep her wits about her, she fixes her gaze towards the greenish glow which the boat is still inexorably sailing.
Harry gently touches her elbow, and then softly says, "we're nearly there."
Sure enough, the greenish light seems to be growing larger at last, and within moments, the boat comes to a halt, bumping gently into something that Hermione could not see at first, but when she raises her illuminated wand she sees that they have reached a small island of smooth rock in the center of the lake.
Harry climbs out of the boat, careful not to touch the lake water—the Inferi might be not be a problem anymore, but it would be irresponsible to act recklessly now, so he opts to stay on the safe side. He holds out a hand and helps Hermione out, and she clings to it even after her feet find solid ground.
The island is an expanse of flat dark stone on which stands nothing but the source of that greenish light, which looks much bright when viewed close to.
Hermionesquints at it; at first, she thinks it may be a lamp of some kind, but then she sees that the light is coming from a stone basin rather like a Pensieve, which is set on top of a pedestal.
Harry approaches the basin, pulling Hermione along after him. When they reach it, side by side, they look down into it. The basin is full of an emerald liquid emitting that phosphorescent glow.
"Dumbledore drank that?" Hermione asks, if there is one detail Harry had shared prior to this venture, it was that there is a potion that needs to be drunk before one can reach the locket.
"Every last drop," Harry says gravely, and the greenish light is flickering across his features, making his face look oddly gaunt and ghoulish. She recognises the look on his face; Harry is about to do something stupid, something brave and stupid. "Now I'm going to do the same."
"You cannot be serious," Hermione gapes, her free hand that is clutching her wand moves up to grasp his cheek—the golden light from the tip of her wand blends with the greenish light, and the mixture glitters across Harry's skin.
"I have to, Hermione. It's the only way, we've come too far to turn back now," Harry says stubbornly, his hand coming to rest on hers, and he leans into her touch. "I'll be okay, I have you here to look after me, don't I?"
Hermione hesitates, but after a deep exhale, she nods. As much as she doesn't like this, he's right. Of course he is. She wants to protest, she wants to whisk him as far away from here as possible, but he's right.
Harry steps back from her, and with a wave of his wand and a muttered incantation he conjures a crystal goblet.
"This—this is not going to be pleasant, Hermione. You have to promise me that you'll make sure I keep drinking it, even if you have to pour it into my mouth."
"Harry," Hermione says weakly, hugging her arms to herself.
"Promise me, Hermione."
"Harry, I don't know if—"
"Hermione."
"Okay," Hermione says with a heavy finality, and she can't help her hands from shaking. There are painful knots being tied in her stomach, that are then subsequently threaded together until there is this vast mass just sitting in the pit of her stomach. The mass threatens to swell—any moment now—to an enormous, unbearable size that pushes at the inner lining of her stomach.
Their eyes meet over the basin, each pale face lit with that strange, green light. Harry does not speak, hesimply lowers the crystal goblet into the potion.
Hermione reluctantly watches as Harry fills the glass to the brim, and with an unreadable expression Harry lifts it to his mouth.
"To taking this Tom Riddle down," Harry says, and then he knocks his head and the goblet back, draining it of its contents.
"Harry, Harry are you alright, how do you feel?"
"That definitely isn't pleasant," Harry gags, wrinkling his nose and closing his eyes. Before Hermione can say anything further, Harry plunges the glass blindly back into the basin, refills it, and drinks once more.
"Hermione…when it's all done, if you want water, you're going to have to get it from the lake. Otherwise it won't work," Harry says suddenly, his eyes flying open as if recalling something traumatic.
"O-Okay, why can't you…?"
"I love you, Hermione. You've been my best mate since we were eleven…just, promise me you'll make sure I drink all," Harry requests, a wan smile on his face. Hermione doesn't like the fact that he didn't answer her question.
"I love you too, Harry…I promise."
In silence, Harry drinks three gobletsful of the potion. Then, halfway through the fourth goblet, he staggers and falls forward against the basin. Harry's eyes flutter shut, and his breathing is heavier now, more laboured.
"Harry?" Hermione asks, sounding very small.
"Are you two okay?" Charlus yells from across the way, standing as he'd regained some of his strength.
"Fine!" Erupts out of Harry without any warning, but then he's panting and in a tiny voice he says, "don't make me…not anymore, I don't want it…"
"You have to keep drinking, Harry, remember?" Hermione says soothingly, walking around the edge of the basin until she is right beside harry. Bile burns the back of her throat when Harry shakes his head, "no, please…"
"C'mon, Harry, it's not that much farther, you just have a bit more," Hermione lies, and she forces the goblet back towards Harry's mouth and tips it, so that he drinks the remainder of the potion inside. Repulsion at her own actions surge through her veins. This is Harry. One of the people she would die for, and she is knowingly causing him pain.
Harry falls to the ground, and blankly looks up at her, "no more…"
It is horrific. Screaming, begging, pleading spills from Harry, and tears are streaming down her face as she forces him to keep drinking. As she tricks him to keep drinking. It feels like she's killing him.
Hermione scoops up the tenth gobletful of potion and feels the crystal scrape the bottom of the basin.
Hermione's smile is strained as she says, "nearly there, Harry. Almost. Drink it…drink…"
She supports Harry so he is sitting upright, even though he is slumped forward and his head is bowed towards the ground. Harry lifts it just enough to drain the goblet once more. Then he whirls on her with no warning, clutching at the fabric of her shirt around her chest and pulling her close, bright green eyes on fire, and an anguished scream rips from his lips. "Killme. I want to die. KILL ME!"
Hermione shrinks back as far as she can in shock, but then Harry releases her and jumps to his feet, pacing back and forth and fisting his hands in his messy raven hair.
Hermione repeats the process one more time, and Harry squats down, rocking back and forth and blubbering nonsensically.
She returns to the basin only to find it empty, but now nestled there is a glinting golden locket; Salazar Slytherin's locket. She stares at the affronting object, recalling the twisted whispers that had filled her head on the run. She recalls starving, she recalls pain, she recalls all the death.
Hermione's hand trembles as she scoops it out of the basin, and she swears the hissing sounds are spitting from it, but then she hastily stows it in her satchel.
Hermione turns back towards Harry, and sees that he's passed out on the ground, no.
"Harry? No, no, no," Hermione chokes out, rushing to Harry's side. "You said you would be okay. Fuck. Harry Potter, I swear."
Hermione shakes his motionless body with one hand, the goblet and her wand grasped in the other. She drops the goblet on the ground beside them, and points her wand directly at Harry's chest, "Rennervate!"
There is a flash of red light, but nothing. Hermione cries, "Rennervate!" once again, and Harry moans lightly, his body shifting as he rouses. "Water," Harry croaks.
"Shite, right," Hermione says, clambering for the goblet and hurrying to the water's edge. She flings herself over to the edge of the rock and plunges the goblet into the lake, bringing it up full to the brim of icy water. She ignores the pale, slightly charred hand peeking out of the dark water several feet below the lake's surface.
Hermione clumsily jumps up, almost tripping over her feet—her legs tingle and are shaking like jelly—and she hurries over to Harry's side. With somehow steady hands she holds Harry's head up and tips the goblet to his lips. Soon the goblet is empty, and tiredly, Harry says, "we need to go...let's...go."
Hermione nods and helps Harry to his feet, and the Boy Who Lived leans on his female companion as they make their way back over to the boat.
"Did…you get the locket?"
"Yes."
"Good, let's burn it."
Hermione helps Harry get into the boat, and follows suit; she settles them into place so that Harry is half lying across her with his eyes closed. Once they are both safely jammed inside again, the boat begins to move back across the black water, away from the rock.
Neither of them says anything as they journey back across the black water; Hermione is too focused on Harry's shallow breathing and his pallor, he has also broken out into a cold sweat. Hermione is deathly afraid that she may have just killed her best friend. They have no idea what the long term affects are of the potion, Dumbledore didn't live long enough for them to find out.
The trip back seems to go by much faster than it was going, and they reach the bank with a little bump. Hermione is startled as she didn't expect them to arrive in such a short space of time, and before she knows what's happening, Charlus is lifting Harry out of the boat, and Harry mutters something to the man before shooting him a strained smile.
Hermione looks around the boat's floor and realises Harry had dropped his wand, so she quickly grabs hold of it, and then she climbs out of the boat.
"You got it?" Charlus asks, fully supporting Harry's weight, and his grandson's arms are loosely wrapped around his neck, and his head is resting on Charlus's chest.
"I did," Hermione nods, reaching into her satchel and she retrieves the golden locket—now she knows she isn't imagining things as there is most certainly a low hissing coming from it.
Hermione bends down and places it on the ground in front of them, and then with a shaking hand she reaches into her satchel—into the separate section where she'd placed her silver dagger laced with basilisk venom and she pulls it out.
As soon as she takes the sheathed dagger out, it's as if the horcrux can sense her intentions.
Everything happens before she can register it: Harry lowly begins to hiss something in Parseltongue, Hermione unsheathes her dagger, and a ferocious pulse of magic emits from the locket and send them all flying backwards.
Crack! Hermione's head snaps against the rock, and blinding pain radiates from the impact. Her vision is blurry, and everything is darker somehow. It feels like a stranger's fingers are touching the back of her head, yet as soon as she feels the sticky liquid, she knows they belong to her.
"What just happened?" Charlus groans, the wind knocked out of him as he'd landed on his back whilst cradling Harry to his front.
"The horcrux is fighting back," Hermione answers, tightening her grip on her dagger's hilt as she slowly sits up.
This cave truly is a place of horrors: tendrils of smoke have swirled out of the horcrux, engulfing them in a hazy fog, and a wispy figure is hovering over her with a Cheshire grin.
"Pretty little Hermione Granger. I can see your heart, your true desires…you think because he fucked you he loves you?"
Hermione recoils, blinking rapidly as she tries to focus on the figure before her, but there is a thick opaque screen in front of her eyes barring her from seeing properly.
"Regardless, you never cared for such things, what you want, what you truly want is power."
"Shut up," Hermione says, but her words sound miniscule, there is no weight or force behind them. No, I am better than this. I am stronger than this, Hermione thinks.
Her head is throbbing. Her arm feels funny. Her eyes are burning. In spite of it all, she stands.
"Kitty got claws? Too bad that it won't do you any good. Especially since you won't actually go through with it. You know you need me. I can help you…you know it's true."
"All I know is that you talk too much," Hermione snarls, and lunges forward, stabbing straight into the shadowy figure. A caterwaul that spills from it rings in Hermione's ears, and she flinches, but that doesn't stop her from stabbing it again, and again.
The figure disintegrates with its maw open wide and its hands passing right through her. There is a sticky cold in her bones that refuses to be shaken off, even when she takes several steps back.
Then there's a golden light that pierces through the darkness, and tongues of flame lash out and clear away all of the smoke, only to reveal the horcrux.
A misshapen figure is bubbling out of the horcrux, trying desperately to crawl towards them—its arms are spindly and its fingers are hooked, sharp claws. Grey bubbles foam at the corner of its open mouth and it lets out a piercing scream.
"That's enough of you," Charlus pants out, and a tornado of fiendfyre heads right for the creature and the horcrux. Hermione watches its demise with her honey brown curls partially in her face, with copper swirling in her eyes.
"NO!" It shrieks, and with a sizzling noise the fiendfyre swallows the horcrux. There is a gooey blackness that leaps upwards, but gets caught in the flames and burns away into nothingness.
Charlus grunts in effort as he maintains the fiendfyre whilst keeping it under his control. He is sweating profusely, and clutching his side. Harry is laying, passed out on his back on the ground.
Then with a loud gasp, Charlus ceases the spell and the flames disappear, leaving behind a smoking and scorched locket.
"Aguamenti," Hermione murmurs, and water spills from her wand and douses out the residual heat emitting from the locket; it is hissing and steaming, but thankfully not like it was before.
It's a miracle she didn't lose her wand in all the commotion. Hermione strides over to the locket, pausing only pick up her dagger's sheath from the ground.
She halts in front of the horcrux and re-sheathes her dagger. She bends down to scoop up the horcrux, and then tiredly she tucks both of them back into her satchel.
"I think it's time we leave this accursed place," Charlus wheezes, hands on his hips, gulping in air and trying to catch his breath.
Hermione hurriedly rushes over to the Potter men, squats down beside Harry, and she almost cries in relief when she notices that his chest is rising and falling.
"We need to get Harry back to the Manor," Hermione says, jumping to her feet and searching for the exit.
"Where, where is it?" Hermione frowns, as if only now realising that the archway had disappeared. Hermione reaches behind her and winces as she touches her wound and blood covers her fingers. She can see a lot better now—she'd shifted her eyes to her animagus ones (another thing she wished she'd thought of earlier)—and she blindly swipes her hand across the rock, hoping that she's in the right spot.
The blazing silver outline of an arch is back, and then it melts away into an opening once more. Hermione looks around, and sees that Charlus had Harry across his back in a fireman carry and is right behind her.
With weak nods, they both exit the cave; leaving behind the terrible things within. Without anything further said between them, they walk until the water lapping around their legs get deep enough, and they vault themselves off of the rock and into the frigid seawater.
With shaking limbs they find their way back onto the other rock, panting, and soaked to the bone by the icy water.
"Hold on," Charlus heaves out. Hermione nods to show she heard him, and then the two of them place their hands on Harry. Then somehow, somehow, Charlus and Hermione muster up enough of their magic and energy, and apparate away.
"The amount of work you give me, Charlus…I swear you people have a death wish, or a complete disregard from staying away from danger," Alfred Pennyweather says curtly, pale blue light gently shining from his hands onto Harry's body; Harry is currently laid out across his bed.
They hadn't stopped to let anyone know they were home before they flooed Alfred—who'd arrived in record timing, with the War and all he had been extremely busy as of late, so he was already to leave at a moment's notice—and carried Harry straight to his room.
Alfred had glanced at Charlus and said, "magically drained, a few nicks and bruises but you'll be fine. Some rest is what you need—although I highly doubt you are going to heed my words. Do try to at least get a good night's rest tonight."
Alfred had then turned his dark eyes on Hermione, quickly scrutinising her, and there was odd feeling that washed over her, "you have a concussion, and a nasty cut, but a few potions and some rest should fix that." Alfred rifled in his bag for a few moments, and pulled out a couple phials, "drink those."
Hermione accepted them, and in a daze expressed her gratitude and thanks whilst Alfred shifted his attention to Harry, "now, I think I best look at…Mister Potter."
Alfred shot Charlus a razor sharp look when he realised that Harry was not James like he'd originally thought, the lightning shaped scar on his forehead was a dead giveway, not to mention the subtle differences between the two Potter's faces. It was Alfred's job to be observant after all. Charlus shrugged with an exhausted but cheerful smile. Alfred snorted and got to work.
Presently, Hermione is watching Alfred tend to Harry, and she comes to the conclusion that she isn't needed here; Harry is in good hands and she hates sitting here feeling useless. So quietly she gathers her things and leaves the room. Her head is still pounding, but her wound isn't bleeding anymore, and the potions seem to be kicking in.
Briefly she considers heading to her room, or to go looking for Remus, but then another thought strikes her. I have to go see, Dorea, Hermione thinks. So she does.
