Magnanimous Chapter 11 – Burning

Disclaimer: I don't own them, JKR does.

Thanks for 220 reviews goes to: willowfairy, Lyra Silvertongue2, aliveforever83, Forever Blessed, mutsumi, jules37, Vfoxy713, Cuppy, Paganicewand, foxglove, Tired!Georgina, Hermione182 (x2), willowwiccantara, Jade-Jaganashi, Kersten Chayne, Saotoshi, Gothic Spyder, Oz1, Wormmon ABC, Hp1fan, Rebecca 15, Chiiyonami-Chan, Sam8 (x2)

A/N: I found this chapter very difficult; not sure why, as the work I did on a very long one-shot straight afterwards which I simply couldn't stop myself on (for a challenge, and yes it is D/Hr, and it'll be up before the 24th, because that's the deadline.) But hey; its probably the muses being cranky.

One of the things I like about this chapter is the contrasts within it. Some were intentional, but I keep spotting new ones that were either so obvious I overlooked them or very subtle…

Cookies for spotting that 'Seca!' was used before in Chapter 8 go to: alive forever83, Vfoxy713, Flexi Lexi. Hp1fan also gets a cookie for spotting that it was used in one of my one-shots, Cadens, and Kersten Cheyne gets extra big cookies for spotting both.

With huggles to my betas Sophie and Orchid, and Simrun who isn't really supposed to be a beta but enjoys stealing the chapter and scribbling notes all over it.

~*~

He'd slept for an hour, maybe more, maybe less, before awakening to find much the same situation as he'd been in earlier. Lying on the floor with Hermione in his arms, watching her sleeping form with too many questions whirling through his mind…

Although the questions didn't seem to be plaguing him so much now. He was aware of how many there were, of what a tangled mess of answers they would provide, but somehow they didn't matter any more. Instead of the clamouring need for answers, they had dulled to an indistinct hum where all the questions merged into an insignificant mess.

All that mattered, for now at least, was… this. Just this endless, infinite moment as she slumbered peacefully, her head resting on his shoulder, one arm curled closely across his chest, her fingers snagging on the top of his robes. Even the room had a different look to it, Draco mused, a wry smile curving his lips with the corniness of it.  But he couldn't deny, the harsh white had changed to a softly glowing pearl as the sunlight spilled gold across the floor…  Voldemort and his plans seemed so far away, meaningless as a dream and real as a fairytale.

It felt as though those kisses had split the world into two parts. The real world, and then this part, where all that existed was himself and herself, Draco and Hermione. The real world was so much more complicated, so much more difficult. She was a Mudblood, he reminded himself with a peculiar frown. No, a Muggle-born, Draco corrected himself. Hermione hated being called a Mudblood. But she was one, no matter what term he used. Her parents were Muggles. Low, filthy, inferior beings…

Except that in this world, this shard of strange and twisted reality, that didn't matter. She was just Hermione, herself and nothing else. He tried to snap himself back to reality: he was a Malfoy, a pureblood; she was just some bushy-haired Mudblood, Potter's friend, a bookish brat, an annoyance and a pest…

But all that was as real as a dream and didn't matter.

What mattered was Hermione, and that was all.

It was a strange concept to Draco, who after all was both a Slytherin and a Malfoy, brought up to know all the answers, to hate all the Muggle-borns, to whom the only things that were supposed to matter were power and blood and money. What did Hermione have of those three? She was intelligent, and a powerful witch, but what of connections and social circles and knowing the right people? He had no idea about money – presumably she was neither poverty-stricken nor rich. And as for blood…

But still, it was true. Here, in this world, in this moment, she was all that mattered.

Draco stopped fighting against that simple fact, stopped questioning, and simply let himself sink into it. So wrong, against everything he'd ever thought, but so right. The warmth of her body, the gentle rhythm of her breathing, and if he listened very closely, the sound of her heart beating. An endless moment; infinite, eternal.

A heartbeat or an hour later – he didn't know and honestly didn't care – Hermione began to stir. Draco watched as she shifted her head, half consciously, to a more comfortable position on his shoulder, and tucked her arm closer across his side. Wondering if she was awake or asleep, he softly spoke her name.

'Hermione?'

She gave a little muffled grunt, turning her head against his shoulder and utterly refusing to wake up. Draco couldn't help but laugh a little; she reminded him so much of a little child who didn't want to get out of bed and go to school. Although he suspected Hermione had never in her life held such a sentiment.

With a slightly evil look dancing in his eyes – he was, after all, a Slytherin, he reached out one elegant finger, trailed it lightly and slowly around the outside of her ear, down onto her jaw line. She shivered, and opened her eyes rather crossly.

'You did that on purpose. I was trying to sleep.' She rebuked him, frowning. Draco gave her no reply but a wicked grin, and she rolled her eyes.

There was a moment's pause, in which he saw Hermione's face cloud over again, and her forehead creased. 'Draco,' she asked at length, 'what exactly happened…'

'This morning?' She nodded her agreement, and Draco paused for thought. He himself wasn't sure, which annoyed him slightly; he was used to knowing precisely what he had done and why he had done it, plus all the pros and cons that had led him to do whatever it was he did. In the normal world, at least. In this world things didn't happen logically, they happened because… Because they did.

'We kissed.' He said at last. It wasn't an answer but an evasion, avoiding her question.

'I'd realised that…' she said, her cheeks tingeing slightly red, which caused Draco to smile. 'I meant… well, I guess I meant… why?'

'I don't know why.' He replied simply with a tiny rise of his shoulders. 'I don't think there was a reason.'

'But everything has a reason.' She protested. 'There has to be one, there has to be something…'

'Probably. But I don't know it.' Draco found, to his surprise, that he didn't really care why. Idly, he began to play with a lock of Hermione's hair, twisting it between his fingers.

'Don't do that, it distracts my concentration.' She told him irritably, swatting at his hand.

'Then don't concentrate.'

She gave him a rather confused look, then decided to let it pass. 'I still don't understand. What happened, why did it happen, what do I…' She broke off, still frowning.

'I've been thinking about much the same things all morning.' He told her. 'It doesn't make sense; it's pointless thinking about it. That's the only thing I've figured out.'

She sighed. 'I know, but…' She bit her lip as she tried to think of what to say. 'Draco, you have to have a reason. I have to have a reason. But I just can't… I mean, it doesn't make sense! Things like… like this don't happen in real life, not in this short a time, it just doesn't happen!'

Draco found that Hermione was suddenly looking straight into his eyes. He didn't know what she could see in them, but in her eyes he saw a kind of fear, a fear that this might not be real, a fear that this wasn't what she thought it was. And alongside the fear, hope. Hope that he'd tell her it wasn't just a dream or a delusion.

'Of course things like that happen.' He pointed out. 'It just happened to us, didn't it?'

For a moment, a fraction of a heartbeat, she was silent. Then, 'Yes…' she replied softly.  'Yes. It did. It did happen.'

She relaxed now, resting her head back on his shoulder, and Draco could tell that she, too, had given up questioning that which couldn't be understood. He gave her a few minutes of lying peacefully in his arms, then did what he'd wanted to do ever since he'd woken up and bent down to Hermione's lips for a long, passionate kiss.

She seemed quite pleased to kiss him back.

~*~

They were within sight of the tower.

A tall and impressive structure, it was pure white, and rose straight upwards into the air with no ornamentation whatsoever. Far above the ground, the top tapered to a narrow point, and from this came the thin beam of light that Harry and Ron had been following. Thin dark slits were visible – presumably windows – but no door.

It was the sight Harry had been hoping to see since they set out; the end of their journey, the completion of their task, the rescue of the school. But he could not care anymore; couldn't feel anything but a vague sense of dread about what might happen inside. There might be more Death Eaters, he might have to fight, and he might get angry…

No, he pleaded with himself, no. He didn't want anything like that to happen again, ever again; he could barely even believe that it had happened anyway. It all felt so wrong, so distant, like a dream. Like it wasn't really him that had done it, except that it had been.

He felt somehow dirty, unclean, as though the evilness of those spells had clung to his hands, to his skin. As though his very self was blackened and marred by what he'd done. And how could it fail to be? The Cruciatius, and tormenting his own friend, forcing him to see his own worst fears… How could he not be changed by that?

Harry shuddered, grateful for the numb shock that was still hanging over him. He didn't want to think about that, not in detail, not now. Later he'd have to face it and try not to hate himself for it, but now… Now the tower was ahead and the Aculux curse must be disabled.

There were a few Death Eaters around the base of the tower, but they were inattentive – it was almost the end of the allotted time frame, Harry realised, after which the curse would be permanent. They weren't expecting anything so late on. Without looking at each other, he and Ron took out their wands – Harry's hand shook when he held it, as if remembering what it had done the last time – and Stunned the Death Eaters quickly and without any fuss.

Walking past the fallen bodies – too much like corpses for Harry's liking – they reached the base of the tower. It was made of what appeared to be stone, but pure white and icy to the touch.

'There's no door.' Ron mumbled after a few seconds, and Harry cringed. Ron was looking away, speaking quietly and plainly as possible, from fear or hate Harry couldn't tell. He wanted, more than ever, for Ron to be his friend again, but he couldn't, because there was nothing he could say that would be anywhere near an adequate apology.

Instead, Harry's gaze fell upon the wall, and he saw a small and simple carving in the stone of the tower. He ran his fingertips across the harsh, regular shapes. Words.

'Here.' He managed to say, his voice whisper-soft. Ron turned – Harry felt the flicker of his gaze across the back of his neck – and read the words.

The Enemy of Reason and the King of every Fool,

It lays no laws, no orders; full of Anarchy its rule.

It clouds the Mind and blinds Man to every common sense he's known,

Yet every fool will tell you 'tis the dearest thing they own.

A riddle, then. Harry read through it once or twice, trying to ignore the horrible void feeling that was spreading like ice through his veins, and tried to think of an answer. It would have been set by Voldemort, or some Dark wizard; what would they hold in as much disregard as the answer to this riddle?

'I dunno.' Ron's voice split the silence, making Harry start as though he'd been stabbed. And in a sudden, sickening rush of realisation, he realised the answer to the riddle.

'Love.' He said softly, and sure enough, the section of wall with the riddle inscribed split in two, curved away, leaving an archway for them to pass through. On the other side, a plain white stairway led downwards.

They stood in silence for a moment. How bitterly ironic, Harry thought. Love, caring for other people, friendships… the very things he'd betrayed when he cast those spells.

'Sounded more like hate to me.' Ron said impassively, stepping down onto the first step. His comment was like a slap in the face to Harry, Ron reminding him – on purpose, and they both knew it – of what he'd done, first to Sirius' murderer, then to his own best friend.

Harry, the Boy Who Lived, always the hero, the defeater of Voldemort, the Golden Boy. He was meant to be perfect, to care for people, to be, in short a Good Person. But Good People didn't torture anyone, didn't cast dark spells. This was the part the history books would gloss over, when they recounted the life and deeds of Harry Potter – they'd talk about his fights with Voldemort, the Chamber of Secrets, the Triwizard Tournament. But they wouldn't talk about this, the time when the great hero grinned evilly as he tortured first a Death Eater and then his friend.

He followed Ron down the staircase. There was no lighting anywhere, at least no visible lighting, and when Harry glanced backwards he saw that the door they had entered through had closed itself. Even without any light source, the staircase was perfectly lit. It was entirely white, and the lack of any shadows produced a disorientating effect – near impossible to see the individual steps, or to tell how far there was to go. It felt surreal, like a dream. Or a nightmare.

Eventually, Harry realised that they were nearing the bottom of the stairs. Anxiously, his hand strayed once more to his wand – he didn't want to use it again, for fear that he might do something else he'd regret, but if there were Death Eaters here…

There weren't, thankfully. The staircase ended in an oval-shaped room, still perfectly blank and white and empty, with six completely identical doors ranged around the edge. Glancing upwards, they could see that the ceiling arching high above them. At the very top thin slits in the walls let sunlight spill in. They were unnecessary, for the tower was filled with the same omnipresent light as before.

But it was the scene directly in front of them that caused them both to stare in amazement. A huge archway dominated the room, and beyond it another room was plainly visible. A wide, impressive dais dominated the space, standing about six feet off the floor level, and in the middle of this dais rested one thing.

Floating in mid air was the orb, the orb Malfoy had spoken of, the one that was the power source of the Aculux curse. The small round globe was filled with dancing golden sparks, and streaming towards the ceiling was a double helix of golden light that filled the air with crackling electricity.

Harry and Ron approached it in silence, crossing the cold room with no more noise than the sound of their footsteps thumping on the floor. Harry's heart had begun to thud painfully in his chest as he remembered fully the danger they were both in. Trying to turn this spell off had killed people in the past. Could kill them now. They didn't know anything about it…. It was madness, insanity, but if they didn't do this then most people in the school would die. How could they do anything else but attempt it?

They had reached the bottom of the dais, and paused for a moment, craning to look up at the orb above them. After a moment, Ron pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket – the instructions Malfoy had given them – and began walking up the steps to the dais.

'Stop.'

Harry's voice was clear and commanding; Ron stopped on the second step, and turned his head. Neither boy dared look at the other.

'We have to do this, Harry.' Ron said, his voice low and shaking slightly. Harry winced, taking it as a sign that Ron was afraid of him. 'I know you didn't want to come, but if we do nothing the entire school will die, we have to at least try…'

Harry cut him off mid ramble. 'I know all that. But you're not going to be the one to try it. I am.'

Ron was silent for a moment. 'But, Harry, you could get killed….'

'I know.' He said with amazing calmness, feeling suddenly resolute. He pulled the piece of parchment from his pocket, unfolding it carefully. 'Whichever one of us tries this is likely to die, and I'm the one who deserves to die more.'

He didn't even blink as he said this, but Ron gaped in amazement at him, tried to splutter something. Harry paid no heed. Instead, he pocketed his wand and stepped carefully up the stairs onto the dais.

Closer to the orb now, the air was full of static. He could feel the roots of his hair lifting, standing on end, electrified. Below him, Ron stepped back, stepped away, to watch fearfully what was about to unfold.

Carefully, Harry stepped up to the orb, the sparks inside it trembling at his presence. There were two faint handprints on the surface of the glass, handprints made by hands larger than Harry's with long, thin fingers. He moved round so that he could place his hands in the prints; now he was facing Ron, a pale, white and frightened face below. In contrast, Harry felt calm, composed. He didn't feel afraid that this could bring his death. He'd meant what he'd said to Ron; if he did die, it was nothing he hadn't deserved.

Harry looked upwards, and the sight amazed him; the golden spiral went on and on, higher and higher, all the way to the top of the tower, where it vanished into the sky. Looking up so high dizzied him, and he returned his gaze to the orb in front of him. Curious, he reached out one hand to touch the light, and instantly jerked it away. Looking at his finger, a nasty, deep gash had slashed through his flesh, and blood was oozing from the wound.

Wincing, Harry wiped the blood onto his robes, rested the piece of parchment on top of the orb and placed his hands inside the handprints. The glass was oddly warm to the touch, and the golden sparks began to dance even more frantically. Looking towards the parchment, he began to read the Latin script.

'Dico, et scelerati imperia huius orbis audire me imperio.' His heart began to race as the golden sparks inside the orb doubled in number, danced harder and faster, making the glass grow warmer and warmer. It stung slightly, but he kept going. Next line.

'Vos qui magicum ex animis magorum subduces, opus vester desinete -' Harry broke off with a gasp; the glass was growing hotter with every work he said, so hot he was sure it was burning his hands, burning the skin away. The sparks grew brighter, almost blindingly so, but he could still make out Ron's worried face, drawing back unbidden the memories of a swirling mist, Ron screaming, the nightmarish vision of Harry's own death…

No, no, concentrate! He forced the rest of the sentence from his mouth, '-ad tenebras regredimini et qui subduicsis reddite.' Now he couldn't help but let out a small soft gasp of pain, the orb really was burning now, and burning badly. The smell of smouldering flesh filled the air, and he heard Ron give a shout of horror. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to rip his hands from the glass, but he couldn't, he had to do this.

It would kill him.

 'Nolite vester lucis acutae elucere numquam postes sinete -' he gasped in one breath, the pain blinding now; he felt himself stagger but remained clinging onto the orb. He couldn't see the parchment now, knew it had probably burnt to ashes, but the last three words were on the tip of his tongue. From somewhere far away, he heard Ron scream. The light was so bright he could see nothing but gold, the pain in his hands so excruciating he could think of nothing else but the end of the sentence, he final three words. 

'-vos requiescere imperio!'

All the light that had been spilling from the orb collapsed, the curse shut off, but all the Darkness and power had to ground itself somehow, and it struck straight at Harry in one deadly instant. The pain seared through his skin; he screamed as the orb exploded into a million pieces, blowing him backwards to thud hard on the floor, unable to see anything, unable to think anything but this is it, this is the end…

The last thing he was aware of was Ron shouting, running towards him. And then everything, even the pain, faded away, replaced by an infinity of nothing…

~*~

A/N: I'll say nothing but: review.