AHHHHH!
Okay.
So I'm finally updating.
EVERYBODY REJOICE!
P.S. Yes, I know it's short. But I wanted to get it out so you can see that yes, I DO KNOW WHERE THIS PLOT IS GOING.
Chapter Eighteen: The Destruction of the Horcrux
The spy of Voldemort watched two giggling Hufflepuffs with the sort of fascinated disdain that spiders have for fruit flies.
She gently clicked her fingers on the desktop, feeling the sound vibrate through her fingertips up her hand. She extended the pale hand flat, pressing her palm into the tabletop, noticing the contrast between the black of the table and the creamy china tone of her skin.
She placed the other hand, palm up, on the table. These fingers were curled up slightly, and nestled in her palm was the necklace.
The gold locket was almost vibrating with energy. It looked safe enough, lying on the curled, delicate chain, with her initials carved. But she could feel the power through her hand.
She'd only worn it once since the moment Draco had put it on her neck – she'd returned to her dorm and taken it off immediately. They'd had a rendezvous a few nights later, and she knew that he wanted to see the gold gleaming against her skin. If she hadn't, there would have been consequences.
It wasn't exactly that he abused her. Hardly. Voldemort's spy was made of something far stronger than an average woman. She would never tolerate abuse.
But he liked certain things – when she wore pearl earrings, or the necklace, and when she found a spot that was secluded, but still near enough to people that it added a hint of excitement.
And when he didn't get them, he would make it hurt a little.
But Voldemort's spy was very good at controlling Draco. He could ignore her, pouting like a child, but when he came back to her, she could make him pay. Sometimes in pearls, sometimes in other little expensive trinkets.
Unwittingly, the spy allowed a small, almost predatory smile cross her lips.
"Why are you smiling?" asked Snape, then almost hissing her name. "Would you like to try this complicated potion?"
Another small smile flitted across her face, but she repressed mercilessly. "I'm sorry sir; I didn't know I was smiling."
He didn't look like he believed her, and settled for taking twenty points from her house. She forced herself to look angry and disappointed. He really thought that twenty points mattered? That house points mattered at all?
The thought made her laugh. She knew all about his double spy persona. She'd never ratted him out to Voldemort. For one thing, it was an incredibly childish thing to do. And for another – why should she, when she had amusement galore right here in front of her? How could she mock him if he were dead?
"Two weeks until Christmas break," sighed Ron happily.
"Two weeks of torture, and then we have . . . freedom," replied Harry.
"Free time," chimed in Ron.
"Quidditch time," added Harry.
They both grinned.
The Trio was sitting in the back of the Transfiguration classroom, beginning the research for their Animagi papers. Well . . . Hermione was beginning her research. Harry and Ron were flicking little balls of parchment at each other that flashed the colors of the rainbow. As she shook her head and bent over her paper, Harry positioned the ball between his thumb and forefinger and flicked it at the small circle Ron had formed with his own hands.
"You two are pathetic," she muttered.
The female Bengal tiger is considered one of the largest feline creatures on the Earth, including the
"Come on, Hermione," Ron said, grabbing the parchment from under her nose. "We have plenty of time to finish it. This is our last year at Hogwarts . . . you can relax, you know."
"And what is it that you consider 'relaxing'?" inquired Hermione, try to snatch her parchment back. "Slacking off?"
"No," replied Ron, pulling it out of her reach and smiling in what he supposed to be a rakish way. "Maybe . . . not being anal?"
"I'm not anal!" insisted Hermione indignantly. "I'm just concerned!"
"Is that what they're calling it these days?" asked Ron dryly.
"Not. Anal."
"I completely agree, Miss Potter." Hermione grabbed her parchment from Ron's lifeless fingers as he froze. "How is your essay coming, Mr. Weasley?" asked McGonagall, plucking Ron's parchment. "'Ron Weasley'. However stunning your prose is, I hope you realize that this essay should be fifty centimeters."
"I'm . . . researching," Ron mumbled, stuttering. "I haven't found much yet."
McGonagall, far too jaded a teacher to believe this, simply raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure that we could arrange for some detention time for you to . . . 'research'." Her tone told Ron that she wasn't falling for it.
"That's not necessary," he said quickly, picking up his quill. McGonagall turned to Harry, but he was writing diligently, turning the pages of his text and being careful not to look at her. She turned on her heel to badger a Hufflepuff whispering excitedly to her friends.
Hermione bent farther over her parchment, scribbling faster. She'd pushed the kisses to the back of her mind, a part that was gathering cobwebs from disuse. There, like a new book in a secluded corner of a library, she hoped that it would gather dust and vanish.
Because Hermione was beginning to fear that she was falling in love with the someone that had kissed her. And anything that was that ridiculous needed to be put aside. Immediately.
Without even realizing it, Hermione had begun writing I am not in love. She hurriedly tapped the parchment with her wand to erase the sentiment, and returned to her research.
"Shit!" Hermione looked up to see Ron's elbow smack into his ink pot. As if in slow motion she watched if spill over her parchment.
"Ron!" she shrieked, then calmed herself enough to tap a spell. She pushed her wand over her parchment, and the ink was sucked up inside.
Harry, Ron and Hermione skipped lunch, instead traversing up to Dumbledore's office. He had returned for a night a few times, but they had always found out too late; by the time they got to his office, he would be gone. This time, they'd seen him enter the castle during Transfiguration, and were sure to catch him.
"Twizzlers," whispered Harry to the gargoyle, and they climbed the staircase to the headmaster's office. At this knock, a faint reply came, and they entered.
Professor Dumbledore sat at his desk, the cup of Hufflepuff before him on his desk. "Ah," he said. "Hello everyone. I suppose you've come about the cup."
They nodded.
"I think this will take a while. Would anyone care for a cup of tea?" All three accepted, and Dumbledore was about to stand when Hermione remembered his withered hand. "I'll get it, Professor."
She rummaged through his tea things, pouring with her hand while her wand twitched and cream and sugar poured. She was back in a few minutes.
"Ron, cream and sugar," she gestured with her wand and the teacup went sailing off to him. "Harry, just cream," and off went his. "Professor, sugar and lemon," and the first of the last two cups bobbled across the desk, pausing at Hufflepuff's cup, not quite sure which direction to take. Hermione prodded it to the left, and she settled down with her own cup with just lemon.
"Now," began Dumbledore, after taking a sip, and nodding at Hermione. "I suppose you all want to know how to get rid of this."
"Yes," said Harry, spokesperson for the Trio.
"I have no idea," replied Dumbledore, settling into his high-backed chair. "I only managed the ring with significant bodily harm to myself."
Hermione had anticipated this, but it was clear from Ron and Harry's expressions that they had not. "I suppose we'll just brainstorm then?" she asked. Dumbledore didn't reply, but the twinkle in his eyes encouraged her.
There was silence, and with a sigh Hermione realized that she was going to have to start it all. "All right. Harry, you destroyed Riddle's diary with a Basilisk's fang. Unfortunately, we don't have one handy."
"Was it the fang, or the poison?" asked Ron in a remarkable moment of intelligence. "If it was just the poison, Snape's got a whole collection of them down in the dungeon."
"I think it was a combination," mused Harry. "If it was the fang, then any ceremonial knife would do. And if it was the poison, then just any old poison would do as well. And the basilisk has ties to Voldemort. He can destroy the horcruxes himself, and the basilisk is just an extension of himself."
"And so are you, Harry," pointed out Hermione. "The scar ties you to him. If we could find a spell or a fang, it would be you who should do it. Dumbledore's hand was hurt because he doesn't have a smidge of Voldemort in him." The three students had completely forgotten the presence of the Headmaster, who stirred his tea thoughtfully.
"So we need something of Voldemort's to destroy the horcrux," summed up Ron slowly. "But other than a basilisk fang, what could be used that is Voldemort's?"
Hermione bit her lip, and dropped her eyes to her lap, where her cooling teacup lay nestled in her hands, her wand on her lap. Her wand.
"Wand," said Hermione at the same time as Harry. Ron looked confused.
"Harry's wand," said Hermione as Harry explained, "My wand."
He still looked confused, and Hermione took the reins. "Harry has the same wand as Voldemort. And after the duel in fourth year, their wands have an even deeper tie." Her mouth opened to an 'O'. "Oh! And I believe that I read somewhere that when twin wands have a duel, and they connect, like Harry and Voldemort's did, and souls are forced out, the wands exchange certain spells. Because the souls of Cedric and Harry's . . . my . . . our parents, were forced into the open, it's as if they are also partially in Harry's wand."
"So, what you're saying is that some of the spells that Voldemort did, to kill people, now exist in Harry's wand?" repeated Ron.
"Yes," replied Hermione, excited. "If Harry uses his wand to destroy the horcrux, then that should be enough of Voldemort for it to work successfully, with minimum harm."
Finally, Dumbledore decided to intervene. "And what spell shall you do, Harry?"
The mood plummeted as if he'd stuck a pin into it. "I hadn't thought about that," said Harry.
"Dammit," muttered Ron, and Hermione reached across Harry sitting in the middle to slap him on the arm. Dumbledore grinned into his tea despite himself.
"What spell did you use, Professor?" asked Hermione when she'd settled back into her seat.
"A combination of many, only a little of which I can remember."
Harry and Ron sighed, sadly. But Hermione was biting her lip again. She was thinking back to her years of science in school before Hogwarts.
"Shit!" Hermione looked up to see Ron's elbow smack into his ink pot. As if in slow motion she watched if spill over her parchment. "Ron!" she shrieked, then calmed herself enough to tap a spell. She pushed her wand over her parchment, and the ink was sucked up inside.
"Sir, what's Hufflepuff's cup made out of?"
"Silver, I believe," replied Dumbledore. "And lead." He raised an eyebrow. "May I enquire as to why you wish to know this?"
"I have an idea," said Hermione slowly.
That night, after dinner, a pass clutched in Hermione's hand, the three traveled out of the school, across the grounds, and out to the large rock stuck out into the lake hidden by the curve of the Forbidden Forest. There, Dumbledore stood, his robes dyed black by the inky darkness, gently swished by a sparse wind.
"Ah," he said, without turning. "There you are."
Hufflepuff's cup was sitting on the rock beside him, almost glowing. Dumbledore stepped off the rock, and gazed at the Trio. Hermione held her and Ron's wands and the pass, while Ron held a large pile of firewood, and matches, and Harry simply had himself and his wand.
Having already been directed in what he should do, Ron set the firewood in a circle, stacking the rectangular logs as if creating a circular tower. Once he was done, he and Hermione exchanged the matches and the wands. Dumbledore set the cup inside the circle, the top hidden under the tall tower and Hermione stepped forward to strike the matches.
The kindling ignited, and Hermione moved around the circle, striking matches, placing them on the tower then moving on. Once she was done, she stepped back and took her wand from Ron. Quietly, she placed a shield around it that kept the fire, smoke and heat in, while letting oxygen in as well.
Then they waited, watching the fire grow hotter and hotter, until the logs were gone, and the cup remained as a silvery puddle of intensely hot liquid. Hermione, tired, let the shield go, and there was a blast of heat. Quickly, Harry stepped forward, breathing into the sleeve of his shirt, and set his wand near the liquid. In his mind, he thought of the spell that Hermione used to mop up Ron's stray ink whenever he spilled it on his essays.
Like a vacuum cleaner, the hot liquid was sucked up into his wand. Once it was done, his wand began to buck and twist and heat in his hand, and he dropped it on the rock. He stepped back, between Ron and Hermione, watching as his wand expanded and shrunk and grew red from heat.
Hermione slipped her hand into his and squeezed. At the end they had to hide their faces from the heat.
When it cooled, they turned. The obscuring smoke was cleared by a small, swirling breeze, and lying on the rock in a circular lump of ash with a few dying embers was his wand, back to its originally smooth, pale wood.
No one said anything, but they were all thinking it.
We did it. We destroyed a horcrux.
The next morning, tired and still a little stained with soot, the Trio appeared at breakfast. They were all quiet, but there was an air of excitement underneath their emotions. Once they had all caught up on sleep, there would be a celebration with some butterbeer Dobby had stashed in the kitchen and chocolate cake.
Hermione spread jelly on her eggs and poured salt on her toast before realizing what she was doing. Grimacing, she switched her plate with the empty one next to her, and started over. This time, she buttered her sausage and ladled gravy on her bagel. She bit into her bagel, and then gagged.
With a cry of frustration, she pushed aside her second plate, and settled for tea.
Harry and Ron weren't faring much better – Ron had put ketchup on his bacon and was eating it mournfully without noticing the taste; Harry's oatmeal was sporting a small square of cheese in the center which he had yet to become aware of.
It would have been hilarious if they weren't so tired.
When the post arrived, Hermione was about to set aside her Daily Prophet for later reading when she saw the cover. In disbelief, she opened the spread.
DIGGORY BROTHERS KILLED IN DEATH EATER ATTACK
Hermione scanned the article as murmurs spread across the Great Hall.
Gregory and Charles Diggory, both 45, were killed late last night when Death Eaters attacked their home. Charles Diggory's wife, Amanda, was also killed, and Gregory's wife, Harriet, has yet to be found.
Both men are well-known for their Ministry work on the relations with giants. They were preparing for a speech, meant for next Monday, which would encourage the Minister and his counselors to consider repairing human and giant relations.
"They were so dedicated," said a source inside the Ministry which declined to be named. "It's so hard to believe that they're dead. Why would the Death Eater's attack them?"
The brothers, still raw from the death of their nephew, Cedric Diggory, who died three years ago at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry during the Triwizard Tournament by the hand of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, had vowed to fight alongside the Ministry.
Quite a few investigators are making connections between the Diggorys and the Abbot family, killed earlier this year.
As far as anyone knows, the attack happened at midnight last night, while the neighborhood was mostly asleep. The brothers' houses are directly across the street from each other, and so far there has been no sign of anyone else being attacked. However, there is a slight chance see Brothers pg. Q7
Hermione handed the paper to Harry, who, after reading the headline, showed it to Ron. "They're right on one thing though," Harry said. "Why would Voldemort be after the Diggory brothers?"
"Well, they're both in the Order, along with their wives," replied Hermione, who took a bracing sip of tea. "Harriet, the one who's missing, always came dressed in purple, remember? She's the one who smashed a Pumpkin Pasty into Mrs. Black's face."
They remembered the hilarious incident. "But how can he know about the Order members? First the Abbots, then the Diggorys?"
"Well," said Hermione, "Would Voldemort really want us improving relations with the giants? Not if he could get them first."
"That doesn't explain the Abbots though," pointed out Ron. "If he was killing off Ministry members, how likely is it that the only ones are also in the Order?"
"Do you think Snape's feeding him the names?" asked Harry. Ron began to heartily agree, but Hermione interrupted.
"It couldn't have been. Snape's one of the top levels of the Order – he would know that Amos Diggory is in it too. And Amos lives directly next door to his brother Charles. If someone's feeding the names to Voldemort, they have to be so low that they don't know about Amos Diggory."
"So now the question is," finished Harry. "Who's the spy?"
BUM-BUM-BUM-BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
So.
I killed a horcrux.
And if this doesn't make sense, let me explain. They melted the cup at intense temperatures, keeping the heat in with Hermione's shield. Then Harry let his wand soak it up, like Hermione does when Ron spills ink on his essays. Harry's wand fought the liquid, but because it had strains of Voldemort in it, the wand won.
Right.
So you can review now.
EVEN IF IT'S TO TELL ME I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING, SCIENTIFICALLY.
And I'm so sorry that I killed off almost all of the Diggory family. It had to be done.