Hello friends! I hope you're all doing well. I must admit, I'm thrilled for this update.
This is what I've been building to since 2015. This is the story in my head. This is the final mystery.
I hope you all enjoy it, and find it as fascinating as I do.
Couple housekeeping things:
I just posted a new oneshot "What we always do". It's a Dramione angst-filled story, not a happy ever after. If you're interested, it would mean a lot if you checked that out!
I'm also cross-posting this story on Ao3, but I'm doing full edits of it as I go. Not any plot changes or anything, just grammar fixes, maybe adding some more adjectives, stuff like that. As I post chapter on Ao3, I update the originals over here. Again, it's more for me and being a perfectionist, it alters nothing of the story.
Finally, expect less than 5 chapters after this. After 6 years together, we're all almost there.
And now: the secrets revealed. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Two and a Half Weeks Earlier
He drummed his fingers on the table slowly, meticulously, as each reverberation stretched the silence from a millennium past infinitesimally longer.
Hermione crossed her arms, cocking her head to appraise the man in front of her. Her cousin. Her family. Her kin. A boy she had never known who had turned into the man sitting across from her, holding all her secrets in the palm of his hand.
Her chest constricted. She could not take it.
"Theo," she burst out, after the silence had grown too unbearably long. "I… I need you to tell me what you know."
His hazel eyes were hard to read; Hemione could almost imagine how easy they would be to explore before the war. Theo gave her the impression that he was a man who wore everything on his sleeve – his loves, his hatreds, his mistakes. Gods, he had had no qualms making his thoughts clear about the situation just mere moments ago.
But now, radio silence.
He pursed his lips. "What do you know, Hermione?"
She sighed, aggravated. "I know what I've already told you: I'm the last descendant of Morganna Le Fay, I've assumed the role of the Protector of the family line, I've chosen Draco as my Other, and the line is in danger. That's it."
"So, nothing."
"Theo," she hissed, frustration taking over as she felt sparks flare out of her fingertips. He flinched. "Where would I have gotten all this information? I had never even heard of this whole thing until a few months ago. I was perfectly content, or as content as one can be in a war, until this entire situation erupted my reality."
"Vesuvius destroyed you," Theo muttered, running a hand through his hair, nervously, twitching, exhibiting a tell that Hermione could catalogue away in her brain.
Everyone had a tell.
He was scared. Whatever knowledge he held scared him. Or perhaps she did. Or perhaps it was the combination of the two. Regardless, she needed him.
Honey over vinegar.
"Vesuvius did not destroy me," she said, forcing her tone to remain smooth. Neutral. "Sure, the volcano demolished my version of myself from before, but not me. I became a new city – built on the ruins of Pompeii."
His hazel eyes flicked up to meet hers. She took a deep breath.
"But the stones that are holding me up – you know what they are, where they came from. And I do not. Besides the fact that I think that is mightily unfair, I have a gut feeling. This sapphire, this legacy – it is important to the Dark Lord, which means I can use it against him. And I need you to help. I need you to help me, Theo. Please."
He stared at her for a moment before speaking.
"What I have for you, it's conjecture," he stared, before hesitating. Hermione could see him calling retreat in his head; concerned about the consequences of rushing headfirst into battle.
But that was where Theo was mistaken.
They were already in the battle.
And he was the only one holding battle plans.
"Conjecture is more than enough," she continued, hoping her voice was encouraging. Charming. Prompting. All characteristics she had never possessed en masse. But she was relying on them now.
Theo pursed his lips. "That's the thing, Hermione. You did not grow up in this world. But you should have."
"Blaise said that to me once," she said, recalling Blaise's explanation to her of her heritage. "When he told me that I was a Le Fay."
Theo nodded. "Blaise would understand. He always danced on the edges of this world. He's pureblood, but his family's foreign, so he was always in the in between."
"I feel like I'm in between," Hermione admitted quietly. "Like I'm in a canyon, jumping from one cliff to the other. It's too late to turn back to who I once was, but I don't know what I need to land safely."
"And that's what I want to give you," Theo replied. "But, what I mean is – if you had grown up in our society, as my cousin, there would be things you would understand."
"I'm not sure if that's true," she said. "Draco grew up in this society, and he knows nothing about the sapphire."
"I'm not even talking about the sapphire," he said, frustration seeping through his voice. "I'm talking about secrets."
"Secrets, in general?"
"Yes," he nodded emphatically. "And how we learn them. And how we share them."
Hermione frowned. "Purebloods, you mean?"
"Absolutely," he continued. "We're a society built on secrets – they are as foundational to our culture as blood purity. And they are passed on from one generation to the next. By access. But so is the knowledge of how to acquire them."
Hermione observed him. "This is what you mean by conjecture."
"Conjecture is just another word for rumours," Theo said. "But this conjecture – this is not about rumours. This is about secrets. Secrets that have been held for over a millennium, passed off as rumours as to avoid credibility."
Hermione pursed her lips but continued to listen to Theo.
"Rumours imply the possibility of fiction. Secrets are hidden truths."
He was picking up speed now.
"Rumours are spread by hushed voices at those stupid parties that Draco's mum always held. Secrets are passed on by eavesdropping when you are a child – when no one suspects that you could remember. That you could one day pass it on. That you understand the gravity of the words they are whispering."
"You Slytherins and your dramatics," Hermione muttered, as Theo allowed himself to chuckle.
"Maybe so, maybe not. But you are a part of us now. These are your dramatics as well."
"I'm no Slytherin," she hissed, her Gryffindor sensibilities offended.
Theo shrugged. "I know. You're more. You're more than all of us."
He sighed.
"You're a Le Fay."
This was the moment. She knew it as she knew herself – implicitly.
"And what does that mean, Theo?"
His hazel eyes flashed to hers.
"It means that you are the last remaining descendant of Morganna Le Fay, the original witch," Theo started, sitting up straight, his eyes boring into hers. "You come from a bloodline that precedes the founders by a half millennium. You have elemental power in your veins; you have a control of the universe that a wizard like the Dark Lord could only dream of.
"You are the latest in a long line of witches to stand before you. Your mother. And her mother. And her mother and beyond. They have stood in the role you now possess. Of Protector."
"Protector of the family line," Hermione said, leaning forward. Her blood was pounding in her ears.
Theo appraised her for a moment, and slowly, methodically, but with such purpose that it could not be mistaken, he shook his head.
"Not of the family line," Theo said. He was speaking so quietly that Hermione was shocked she could hear him. She was hanging on to every word.
"That was a rumour. That is what else rumours are. Distraction. Implied fiction. But they are not the truth."
"So, what is?" Hermione asked, her question approaching pleading. He shot her a look.
It was almost pitiful.
"Hermione, come on now. You must know."
And she did. Not from access to these circles, or the acquisition of secrets as Theo had so eloquently put it.
But from within. From a certainty that came from her birthright, from her essence. Sent to her from the core of the earth.
"The sapphire," she said. "I'm the Protector of the sapphire."
And Theo nodded.
"So, what is it?" Hermione demanded, breathless. "If my entire purpose is to protect it, should I not know what it is?"
Theo shifted slightly in his seat and Hermione knew they were approaching the source, the root of it all. The original secret from which her willow tree had sprung.
"Do you know what the elements are, Hermione?" Theo asked quietly. Hushed.
"The elements?" Hermione replied, confused. "Like hydrogen, oxygen…"
Theo waved his hand, dismissing her. "No, not those. That's boring muggle science. I mean earth, water, air, and fire."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I've heard of those concepts before."
Theo pursed his lips. "You know, Hermione, if we were meeting under different circumstances, I truly think we would be best mates."
"We won't ever get the chance if you continue to stall on this damn explanation."
His lips tilted upwards, approaching a smile without achieving it, but he continued. "Have you ever considered what would happen if all those elements were combined?"
Hermione shook her head. "It's not possible. They neutralize each other. Or a combination would cause an explosion. Air and fire."
"Anything's possible, dearest Hermione," Theo mused, clenching his hands together. His knuckles were white. "If only one has the power to surpass preordained limits."
"So, the sapphire…" she continued, prompting a return to the point.
"Is a jewel that belonged to Morganna Le Fay," Theo continued. "That she created. And within in, she put the combined pure essence of the four elements. That's the power that the sapphire holds."
Hermione stared at Theo, waiting for the punchline. He regarded in her return, never shifting his expression.
"You're… you're serious."
"I am."
"But that's not possible!" Hermione exclaimed. "The elements all make up the world, but they still remain separate. They cannot be combined, let alone into a purity."
"It's always about purity, isn't it," Theo muttered. "But that's the thing: you're right. The elements all make up the world, but Morganna combined them. What she did was create a tangible power that held together the tension between the elements, combining the four of them into a pure form. Hermione, Morganna created the essence of everything – of reality, of the beyond, the before, the galaxy, the fucking cosmos."
She stared at Theo with disbelief in her veins until he eventually sighed and revealed all.
"Hermione, don't you see… she created magic."
It was as if the floor had opened beneath her feet, and she was tumbling into the abyss. Into a separate plane of existence where north and south were reversed, and the chaos was calming, and this was not her fate.
Because this could not be true. Because this was insanity. In a world of dragons and mermaids and death and destruction – this could not be the answer. She could not be holding this truth in her soul, in her being.
"Theo," she breathed, disbelieving. Unable to comprehend. But her cousin was looking at her with stars in his eyes and she realized why.
"There's a reason she's called the original witch, Hermione," he said, his voice stronger than before. "We've all heard that. Have you ever considered why?"
"Because of her power, her fame," she stuttered. "Besides, Merlin also possessed magic. He was a sorcerer."
"And where, dear Hermione," Theo asked, his eyes meeting hers with a burning intensity. "Do you think he got it?"
Ice broke through her veins, stalactites shattering her reality, as she sunk beneath the surface.
"Morganna loved Merlin," she whispered, the pain of a thousand years of heartbreak in her bones. "And he stole her magic."
"And together they gave birth to the whole wizarding race," Theo replied.
Hermione was thunderstruck. "Do you mean to say… Morganna and Merlin… I'm his descendant as well?"
"I suppose," Theo said. "But Merlin was a real piece of work. Morganna was the powerhouse. But the times, you must remember. I'm sure you know who King Arthur put his money on – and why."
Hermione closed her eyes, waves of understanding washing over her – threatening to drown her in knowledge. It was too much. It was all too much.
"How could you possibly know this?" she whispered. "How could you have learned all this and none of us have ever heard of it?"
Theo sighed.
"Easy, Hermione. It's all about access."
"Theo," she breathed. "This… this is a fable. This cannot be true."
"Why not?" he challenged. "What explanation have you ever heard for the creation of magic?"
Hermione opened her mouth, ready to throw facts at her learned in History of Magic. But silence greeted the air.
And that's when she realized. She had no answer.
They had never covered it.
It was an accepted truth; the sky was blue. They never questioned it.
There was magic. Anything before that was unimportant.
Theo nodded, pity on his face as he watched her grapple with the impossible.
"I know it's a lot, Hermione," he said softly. "But I know that you recognize something in my words – something you can't explain."
He was right. Of course, he was. She felt a resonance in his tale – and Hermione knew it to be true in the same why she knew how to breathe.
Naturally.
"So, Merlin stole her magic," Hermione murmured, still struggling. "And… what then?"
Theo sighed. "And Morganna learned, as most witches who came after her did, that men are the worst and that she had to protect herself. And her power. And power itself.
"So, she created the sapphire."
Hermione didn't even need the explanation anymore. She knew the story.
Theo nodded. "The sapphire holds within its core original magic – the essential purity of fire, water, air, and earth. The sapphire is magic itself.
"And because of Merlin's betrayal, Morganna knew it was no longer safe to allow magic in its purest form to remain loose. So, she contained it in a jewel stone. And she hid it away."
"Hid it?" Hermione asked. "How you can you hide magic? It just… it doesn't make sense, Theo. If Morganna created magic, and had a child with Merlin to pass it on, then hid it away, how do I exist? How do you? How do muggleborns?"
"Morganna didn't hide magic," Theo frowned. "Once a power like that was unleashed, of course it spread, it could not be destroyed. Pandora's box. But it's diluted by the simplicity of time. My magic is. So is Draco's. The Dark Lord's. But not Morganna's. And not yours.
"What Morganna put into the sapphire was magic incarnate. So that it could not be stolen by another evil man and used against her and her kin."
"Is that what the Dark Lord wants, then?" Hermione asked, fear trickling down her spine. "To gain access to magic in its pure form?"
Surprising her, Theo shook his head. "Do you honestly think that diluted magic could ever top magic incarnate? No one can access that power. No one could break open the sapphire. That's exactly the point.
"The sapphire is indestructible. It cannot be destroyed, ever. It is the creator of all magic that came after it. Diluted magic, diluted by centuries and generations, could never crack it. Therefore, the sapphire reverses all magic against its perpetrator. What could the Dark Lord want with an indestructible magical object?"
Hermione opened her mouth to answer, when a shadow crossed over her mind, dousing her in ice cold water as the realization became startling clear.
Of course. It was so obvious, so predictable.
What could Voldemort want with an indestructible magical object? With the physical form of magic itself?
He wanted the sapphire to be his final Horcrux.
Hermione couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe. The pressure of her station was beating down upon her, as she finally realized the enormity of her situation.
If Voldemort managed to turn the sapphire into a Horcrux, it was over. It was over forever.
They would lose.
He would never die. They would never beat him. It did not matter. No power on heaven or earth could destroy magic itself – the supreme element, the combination of all the others.
They would all be murdered, brutally. She would watch her friends die, Harry, Ron… Draco. They would all die before her. She would be last, and her final thought before leaving this earth would be the knowledge of her failure.
That she had failed as Protector.
Her father had given up his life for her to have this chance.
So had her mother, in a different way.
And here she was, the final obstacle between Voldemort and utter domination.
The bloodline must survive.
Because if it did not, evil would win.
She understood that now, as she thought of Morganna and Merlin so many years before. He was a man she had loved, trusted, cherished. And he had abused the place she had offered him.
What had she thought, months ago with Draco in her arms? That first time, on top of the table in the Grimmauld Place library?
Was this sin? Was this how Eve had felt as she took a bite of the apple, condemning humanity to the lowlands? Because if it was, Hermione understood.
Draco Malfoy was her original sin.
Morganna had been tricked; the serpent in the grass was the lover in her arms. And she had taken a bite of the apple, condemning mankind to the never-ending battle between evil and good, because she had given the other side power in the first place.
She had not known she had fallen in love with the devil.
And when she thought of Draco in her mind, of his skin on hers, his lips on her neck, his body entwined with her own as if heaven and hell could not separate them – she understood.
She understood Morganna.
And she knew she would have condemned humanity as well.
"Hermione?" Theo asked, breaking her out of her trance. His face was tight. "You know, don't you? You know why the Dark Lord wants the sapphire, besides the obvious? There's something more, isn't there?"
"Where is it?" she replied, ignoring the question. The word Horcrux was bouncing around her head. "The sapphire? Where did Morganna hide it?"
"No one knows," Theo answered, his face inquisitive to her deflection, be he did not push. "It's a mystery lost to time. The only thing that the legend says is that only a Le Fay could find it."
Another puzzle piece. "That's why the Dark Lord needed me. He needed me to get him the sapphire because I was the only one who could find it."
Theo nodded. "Probably. I doubt he enjoys your personality."
Hermione closed her eyes; her thoughts were racing. Flashes of her life were raining across her eyes. Where could it be? Where could it possibly be?
Her mind drifted steadily through the torrential currents, and suddenly, as she stumbled upon a wreck on her course, she found herself aground.
Aground in memory.
"What type of tree is it mama?" Hermione had asked, looking into her mother's large green eyes.
"It's a willow tree, my darling," her mother responded softly. "Do you see how the leaves hang down from the top?"
The little girl nodded, looking at the pretty tree. She frowned. "It looks like it is crying."
Her mother nodded. "That's because it is, my little one."
"Why is the tree sad?" Hermione asked, her voice confused. She had never seen sadness in something inhuman.
Her mother sighed. "It's sad because the world is a difficult place to live in. Life isn't always easy. But the willow stands tall, do you see it? It may be crying, but it's still standing. That's important. The winds may push that tree around, trying to control it and order it around, but it stays standing."
"The willow tree never breaks, Hermione. It bends, at most. It knows the world is hard, so it cries, but at the end of the day, it survives."
Willow trees survive.
And she knew. She knew with the certainty of fifteen hundred years supporting her.
She knew where Morganna Le Fay had hidden the sapphire.
She glanced down at the mark seared into her wrist; the catalyst that had started it all. The trunk of the tree, rooting her in a tradition that she had never known, but was now the only remaining convert.
"And the mark?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
Theo flinched as his eyes landed on the willow tree. "It's… think of it as a mini sapphire. It's the spot on your body where the Le Fay magic is centralized. It's where your body holds its original magic."
"That's why it reversed the killing curse," she said, breathing in realization. "It's original magic. Rookwood's spells were nothing against it."
Theo raised an eyebrow. "You reversed a killing curse? Rookwood tried to kill you?"
Hermione couldn't help the blush flaming across her cheeks. "He tried to kill Draco."
A pause.
"Ah," Theo replied awkwardly. "Well, that's… that's something indeed, isn't it?"
"Hmm," she agreed, letting her eyes land on the table in front of her.
"Hermione," Theo said, after a moment. Her eyes snapped up to meet his.
He hesitated. "If you… if you know where the sapphire is… if you could get it… it would end the war."
What had Blaise called it earlier? Nott telepathy. She had scoffed at his joke, but she understood what he saw now.
Because she was thinking the exact same thing.
"I need to get it. If our side had it for the final battle, we'd be unstoppable," she whispered.
Theo nodded. "Seems the natural progression of things."
"I need to get it alone," she continued.
"That's the thing, Hermione," he replied. "I only know all this because Celia trusted Tiberius, and Tiberius trusted my father. This is dangerous information. And if the Dark Lord got wind that you knew… that you understood the weapon you had… he would try to destroy you."
She couldn't help but scoff. "He wouldn't kill me. No chance of getting the sapphire then."
Theo shook his head, a heavy sadness descending on him. "I didn't say that he would kill you, Hermione. I said he would try and destroy you."
The weight of the sky fell on her shoulders.
Her mouth popped open.
"Draco."
"You can't tell him," Theo said hurriedly. "You can't tell anyone. Not unless you succeed. It's far too dangerous. For you. For him. For all of us. For the war effort."
He was right. She knew it.
"I don't know how to hide something like this," Hermione muttered. "I've always been an open book. Especially when it comes to those I love."
Theo gave her a look that was so full of contradictions it startled her: pity, reverence, anger, sadness.
Finally, he sighed.
"Have you ever given Occlumency a try, Hermione?"
She managed it. Against all odds, she kept her walls up with Draco, with Harry and Ron as she explained her idea. She knew they had to destroy the remaining Horcruxes. That they were approaching the end at a rapidly increasing rate.
But, with those silver eyes she loved so completely begging her for truth, she almost cracked. There were moments, and he held her, as he made love to her, that she felt her walls tumble.
And in those brief moments, she understood something essential. Not about her lineage, or the sapphire, or magic itself.
But about her.
Her Vesuvius had not been the willow tree burned into her skin, upending her life and conception of self, scattering the remains of Pompeii across the scorched earth.
No. Draco had done that.
He was the one who had erupted her life, bringing the fire and stone in which she reveled. But more than that; in destruction lies the possibility of rebirth. Draco Malfoy was her afterglow. In the future, in the aftermath of the war, he would settle like magma upon the ruins, and she would rest upon the smoldering earth, allowing it to fill her with heat before cooling into the potentiality of after.
At the end of this. And she would find him there.
But to get there, she had to first fight through the firestorm sent from the gods.
She left a note when she left in the morning, after allowing her eyes to trace his features, her gaze as soft as a lover's touch.
She had always thought of him as ice.
What was that old poem?
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
And that was the duality of Draco Malfoy. His icy gaze, his fingers cool on his skin. But his temper – his passion. The love she felt in his kiss, the chaos of their bodies forever entwined.
It was not destruction she sought in his arms, or even expected.
It was creation.
She left the note on her pillow before leaving his sleeping form. She crept down the stairs of Number 12 Grimmauld Place towards the entrance hall. With one final look at the place that had housed her for over three years, she walked out the door.
The next time she was there, it would no longer by Headquarters.
Standing on the stoop, she took one final deep breath, before disapparating away; towards her task, her quest, her birthright given destiny.
Because she knew where Morganna Le Fay had hidden the sapphire. She knew it beyond any shadow of a doubt.
Her feet landed on solid ground. As she looked up, she was welcomed by familiar woods.
The Forest of Dean. She had come here camping with her mum and dad once.
Nothing was a coincidence.
She had not believed that truism in a long time.
Because her mother had been a Protector. Her mother had known the secrets she had never had the chance to pass along to her daughter. But Celia Le Fay was an intelligent woman in all her forms – the wife of a Nott and Helen Granger.
She had left breadcrumbs for Hermione to find when she came of age. For her to find her path without her mother beside her.
Had she known she would never have the chance to pass on her secrets?
A willow tree never breaks, only bends.
The mark on her arm was tingling, a magnetism present under her skin she had not felt before.
And she knew. Intuition passed on through generations.
So, she turned to the first willow tree and begun her search.
The Forest of Dean was large. It was a provenance of old-growth trees. But she did not feel discouragement. She never faltered. As she slept that first night, under the stars on the mossy ground, she felt perfectly at peace – at home.
Returning to a homestead she had never known she had.
The trees were her hearth.
The days morphed slowly into a week, then two weeks. She was walking through the woods, finding pieces of herself she had never known she had lost; in the way an owl hooted at her in recognition, in the way the trees bent to her will.
She was getting closer.
On the twenty-first day, she woke up at daybreak, the sun greeting her like an old friend. Her dreams had been pleasant, cushioning her entrance to reality. But as her eyes opened, and she watched streaks of pinks break through the midnight blue of the sky, a tranquility filled her soul.
Completion lay before her.
She stood up from the ground, and as if guided by celestial marks, she walked through the woods. An overbearing silence had smothered the forest, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath to watch her.
Ahead of her lay a break in the tree line. She frowned; these were dense woods, what clearings were there? Forward momentum pushed her, as her heartbeat increased.
Beyond the break in the trees lay a small meadow. It seemed carved out of the forest; unnatural, but essential in its being.
At its centre, leaving no room for doubt, stood a willow tree, its branches spreading across the clearing, shading it from the sun and wandering eyes.
The original witch was known for willow trees.
That's what Kingsley had said. Clues hidden throughout the centuries.
All leading to this moment. To her.
She stepped forward into the meadow, the grass soft beneath her feet. Walking forward, she reached the base of the tree. It was awe-inspiring, easily a millennium old.
At its base, indiscernible to any but those searching for it, was a small medal medallion, seared into the earth.
Hermione's mark prickled. She felt her adrenaline peak, as her blood rushed entirely to her head.
Pressed into the medal was the Mark of Morganna; a willow tree she recognized, both in herself, and in the tree before her.
She stared at it for nearly an hour, unsure of the next step.
As the sun reached higher in the sky, above her head, she heard a noise. Looking up curiously, she met the gaze of an owl, resting on a branch.
She frowned. It was far past sunrise now and owls were nocturnal. She stared at it a moment longer, its eyes focused on her as well.
Its large, green eyes.
There were no coincidences.
"Hello, Morganna," Hermione whispered.
The owl took off from its perch and soared down to her. She landed on Hermione's shoulder, letting her talons sink into her cloak.
"You've been waiting a long time for this, haven't you?" Hermione asked.
The owl gave a small hoot in response.
"Then we best get to it," she continued.
Kneeling before the medallion, she allowed herself a moment. Mistaking her respite for hesitation, the owl sunk its talons further into her shoulder, breaking skin.
"Ouch!" she cried out, reaching her hand up to grip at the torn cloak and skin. Pulling her fingers away, she saw blood.
She understood. This was not anger on the owl's part.
This was a message.
Invisible threads tied themselves together before her.
It's always about blood.
She lifted her wand and without allowing herself a moment to doubt, dug it into her palm. She created a thin line on her right hand, from the base of her thumb to her smallest finger. The skin split easily, as if it had been created for this purpose. She stumbled forward, her bleeding hand catching her before she fell into the earth.
The blood spread across the medallion, and the world exploded.
Her bleeding hand glowed violet against the disk in the ground. Suddenly, sparks flew outwards, circling her, the earth, and the assured owl resting upon her shoulder.
They were engulfed in the sparks. As they encircled the duo, the winds picked up. Dust from the ground flew into the small tornado. Hermione couldn't help but screech as the forest witnessed the cyclone of magic and nature.
As the winds encircled the duo, she suddenly felt flames burning her, patches of fire against her body from god knows where; white-hot imprints on her skin.
Her eyes snapped to the little bird on her shoulder. With her hair waving wildly behind her, she felt rooted to the ground. The owl twitched, its mannerisms almost human, as if it were offering her a small grin.
Its large green eyes glowed bright gold for a single second in eternity.
And then, it stopped.
She blinked again and the owl's eyes were green. However, it was no longer staring at her. Following its gaze, Hermione looked to the ground.
Where only a few moments ago had laid the medallion, there was now a small hole. At its base, waiting for her, waiting forever for only her, was a bronze chain.
At the bottom of the chain lay a large blue sapphire.
The owl hooted from her shoulder, before taking off. She stood up suddenly, shocked, wanting it to return. But as she watched, the bird flew towards the sun's rays, and disintegrated into the air.
But this was not death.
This was release.
"Thank you," she whispered to the witch who had begun it all. Who had made her who she was today. Who had given her the earth and the stars and her mother and father.
Who along the way, had given her the love of her life.
She turned back towards the tree and knelt back down. With trembling fingers, she reached into the hole and lifted out the sapphire.
The moment her fingers touched the jewel, she was overwhelmed with security.
The stone was her sanctuary.
Her arms shook as she lifted it above her head, allowing the chain to tumble down her hair until the sapphire rested on her chest. The second it lay across her, it began to emit a soft glow.
Was this magic, she wondered briefly, as her veins began to sing, and her head felt feather light. Was this the elements in unison, combining for the creation of the supernatural? Was this the occult, the mystical phenomena overtaking her?
Whatever it was at its core, she was a true believer.
She could not say how long she stood in that clearing, experiencing her spiritual revelation. It could have been another fifteen hundred years, and she would not be the wiser.
But reality always sets back in. Never with the peace of a babbling brook.
Only ever with the force of a wave crashing over the breakwater.
Harry's Patronus broke through the tree line, galloping towards her. She fell backwards onto the moss, as the familiar stag cantered to a halt in front of her. It opened its mouth, and Harry's voice rang through the meadow.
"It's the final battle. The time has come. All Order Members and allies to Hogwarts as soon as possible. We'll enter through the Hog's Head. Expect resistance in Hogsmeade. This order comes from Albus Dumbledore, by way of Harry Potter. It's time to finish what we started."
Hogwarts.
Like crystals in the snow, the clarity was absolute.
The final Horcrux was at Hogwarts.
They must have gotten into Gringotts, one way or another. All of those minds together, and she'd been gone for weeks now. Harry would only ever send out that order if he were absolutely certain.
It made sense in a way. Hogwarts was the beginning and middle of their story.
It was fitting that it would also be the end.
Hermione pulled herself to her feet as the stag disappeared into the air.
Perhaps he would meet Morganna there, wherever magic went when it finished.
She hoped the Original Witch found peace, as she passed on her final gift to her descendant.
The mark on her arm tingled.
She suddenly felt certain of it.
She appeared at the opposite end of the Black Lake, just as the sun was setting on Hogwarts in the distance. It had been years since she had seen the castle, but it matched her memories.
Only darker. This Hogwarts was shrouded in the war.
Hermione conjured a small boat and stepped into it. Flicking her wand, she began her journey across the lake to the glimmering castle as she had done so many years prior; eleven years old, buck-teethed and bushy-haired. Ready for anything.
But never prepared for what lay ahead.
As she reached the midpoint of the lake, a cold tremor wracked through her body. The sapphire glowed brighter on her chest. Looking up, she watched light streams of magic burst from the entrance courtyard up towards the sky.
As the streams reached each other, they began to create a protective bubble, slowly lowering itself around Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Hermione's heart nearly stopped. This was the moment. The war had begun.
And she was running out of time.
As if the boat sensed her anxiety, she felt it pick up speed, and it began to almost fly across the water.
She was in a race for time with the wards, descending around the castle.
They were the first line of defense. Their power must be magnanimous.
The sapphire on her chest glowed.
But hers was stronger.
She hit the wards moments before they reached the surface of the water, crashing through them. The boat did not slow its speed, nor did Hermione wince. Behind her, she heard the wards collide with the lake.
Hogwarts was safe and she was within the barrier.
She looked up towards the castle as she heard shouting. Rationally, she knew she was too far away still to hear voices.
But rationality had long since abandoned her. Ever since she had woken up with a willow tree on her arm, a heritage in her soul, and Draco Malfoy in her heart.
She looked up.
At the edge of the entrance courtyard, leaning over the stone walls, were familiar faces. She could see them even from the distance; Blaise, Harry, Ron, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Slughorn.
But she only cared for one.
Like the lighthouse welcoming her home, all she could see were two shining silver eyes.
And there, she was suddenly moored.
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