A/N, I want to thank my beautiful sister across the pond. This last year has been the toughest I've ever been through. She has been my rock and my biggest cheerleader. Go check out her stories, DutchScorRosefan. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. I love every follow and fav and every comment. This last year I spent caring for my terminally ill father and he recently passed away after a long fight with a brain tumor. So, I'm back and apologize for the long wait.
Whisky Tango
Chapter Eight
We were young, we were lost
But we traveled not knowing the cost
Nothing behind us, just road ahead
Unashamed of the things that we did
Out in the Rain By Cory Marks
Ensconced in the darkness, Antonin sat quietly in his favorite chair, staring at the window. The dying light from the fire cast an orange glow, illuminating the panes of glass lashed by rain. He would have preferred another whisky, but a little witch who currently occupied his shower had polished off the bottle. So, he sipped at the tea, eye twitching as the tattoo on his left arm moved.
It wasn't the branding iron burn of the Dark Lord, more of an irritation but still there… reminding him of what might be slithering around out in the storm. He had known when Hermione was close, he felt the darkness she carried with her. What he hadn't counted on was just how strong it was growing. He had set stronger wards just before she graced his doorstep. Pulling her inside as he caught a glimpse of the entity sliding into the alley.
Her confession gave him clues as to why. Now he needed to pinpoint just what was following her. Antonin had an intimate working knowledge of Dark Magic. Yet he had never come across anything this sinister.
Running water from the shower ceased, and Antonin listened as her soft footsteps entered the bedroom. Minutes ticked by before the creaking of the bedsprings signaled her crawling into his bed. He had fixed her another toast and cheese, freshened her tea all held in a stasis charm, and set out a pair of checkered flannel trousers and his favorite Stones t-shirt. With the sober-up potions and a full belly, he hoped she would sleep. The bedroom light shone brightly beneath the bedroom door as Antonin patiently waited for her to settle in. He didn't want interruptions.
Antonin grumbled, his curiosity getting the better of him. It never failed. He should have sent her home with a pat on the bum and gone about his life. But then that wasn't like him at all. He felt himself getting restless, craving that pulse-pounding rush of dark magic. There was a mystery around Ms. Granger drawing him in. Antonin felt the snake on his arm begin to roll as the entity moved along the perimeter of the wards.
The light under the door clicked off, and after another ten minutes, Antonin stood, moving toward the window. He leaned against the ledge staring out into the storm. It was close, but his wards were solid, and he hadn't gotten this old by being a knobhead. He cast a shield charm before he opened the window. Slowly he pushed the sleeve on his left arm up.. The skull and snake glared back, writhing as he stuck his arm out into the storm.
From the darkest edge of the building, it crept forward, cautious in its movements. Slithering, just a whisper of smoke as it caressed the edge of his wards, tapping at the shield charm.
"You'd like to come in, wouldn't you… you bloody bastard," He hissed through his teeth, "You're supposed to be dead."
Black tendrils swirled, twisting into itself before it morphed into the rough shape of Ronald Weasley's face. The pale skin stretched tight against the misshapen skull. Bloodred orbs glared back at Antonin before disappearing into the storm.
Antonin growled in frustration and lit a cigarette. Something beyond dark magic had attached itself to Ronald Weasley. He paced, angry that he hadn't detected it earlier. Or put the pieces together. The Dark Mark on his arm quieted down with the entities retreat, and Antonin sat back in his favorite chair. With the extra wards, there would be no breach.
Antonin's mind raced. Was the entity using Weasley's shape to shock, or was it a poltergeist? What he witnessed in the boy's mind was truly dark, the violence and the abuse. But it was something else, something tinged in primordial evil. Ronald wasn't just the run-of-the-mill drunken bastard. Nor was this just a piece of dark magic running amuck. He would need some help with this one.
He didn't have many options. What he should do is contact the Auror's department. That would mean Potter, "Fuck this," He couldn't go to Potter without revealing the truth about Weasley's death. There was one person Antonin could count on and one person that might know how to handle Hermione's dark friend. He scooped a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the flames. He knew who would be awake and would be precisely where Antonin knew he would be at four in the morning.
Corbin Yaxley stood in his modest kitchen, staring out the window and into the storm. Daylight still a few hours away, hail pelted the window and left him wishing he could crawl back into bed. As luck would have it, he was expected at work. Not that he wasn't thankful because he was. Two years free of probation and his old job with the Ministry. Corbin slipped quickly back into his old life. Free of Azkaban and free of the hold the Dark Lord had over him. Corbin was one of the first inmates in the new program. Instituted by the new Ministry, they hadn't reinstated him to his former post, but with a little hard work, he was confident he would make Chief D.I. in a few years.
He poured himself a cuppa, watching the rain. Storms brought back the nightmares of Azkaban with its unrelenting rain and cold that chilled to the bone. His workload for today would bring a pleasant distraction with a pile of cases sitting on his desk. Interviews that he needed to conduct …
Lost in thought, Corbin jumped as the fireplace crackled to life.
"Pour one for me, mate?" Antonin stepped through the brick mantel, dusting off his robes. He grinned at the tall blond. Corbin was more a brother than a friend, and they had grown up together pre-Hogwarts. Galloping their ponies across the countryside, terrorizing the sheep, and being a general menace to the local muggles.
"Good morning," Corbin grabbed another mug for the only wizard that could walk through his wards, "What do I owe the pleasure of such an early morning visit?"
"Thanks, mate," Antonin took the offered cup, leaning against the tile counter, "Can't I just drop by for a cuppa?" Antonin was known to drop by for a whisky but not tea.
"At four the morning? No… What's up?" Corbin grinned, "Is it that spicy little Healer you hang out with? What's her name? Padma? She's hot."
"Padma is a colleague, nothing more. I need your opinion on something. A patient of mine, well, he was a patient anyway."
Corbin's smile widened, "Well then can I have her?"
"No, she's not a crup, I can't just give her to you…Besides, the lovely Miss. Patil is my friend, and I would never do that to her."
"Lier… I know you've had a wank thinking of those lips of hers. That's not fair, you work with a bunch of beautiful witches, and I'm stuck looking at a bunch of fat bastards." Not that Corbin had ever had any trouble with witches. He was tall, blond, and blue-eyed—the polar opposite of his best mate.
"This have anything to do with the Weasley kid?" Corbin sat at the table. His friend wouldn't have asked for an opinion without a good reason, "Or, would that be going against patient confidentiality?"
"Not at this point. It's all over the Daily and public knowledge… Anyway, yes, it is about Weasley," Antonin took a deep breath and pulled out a chair at the table, "Before I show you… just so you're not shocked. Granger is at my place."
Corbin kept his expression blank, "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me. Nor does it shock me that you are completely entwined in some epically fucked up situation." A smile grew, "What would shock me, mate, is if you weren't involved."
"Right?" Antonin had to laugh at himself. He did have a penchant for finding trouble, or was it trouble finding him.
"So, a damsel in distress and a dead husband… tell me more." Corbin leaned back to listen to one of his oldest friends tell him how he managed to get mixed up in another shit show.
"Enlighten me as to how the illustrious Mrs. Weasley ended up in your flat."
"Granger," Antonin corrected him. He couldn't bring himself to think of her as a Weasley.
"She might be widowed, but she's still a Weasley mate." Corbin smirked, "Hey, isn't that the little bird that managed to curse you twice?"
"Yeah … something like that," Antonin chuckled and lay his head against the cool wood of the table, "Thanks to her, I still get headaches. Why do I do this to myself?" He groaned and sat back up. Prepared to regale the entire incident. Including what he found in the Weasley boy's head. Knowing Corbin would listen before weighing in on the situation. "Two days ago, Ronald Weasley rolled into my A and E. Heavily intoxicated, he had stumbled in front of a double-decker coming out of a pub …"
True to form, Corbin stayed silent until he was sure Antonin was done.
"… and that my friend is how the notorious Ms. Granger ended up in my bed." Antonin refilled his mug. Looking up at Corbin, "Well? What do you think it is? Have you ever come across anything like this?"
"No, I'd like to get a feel for it. Is Mrs. Weasley still in your bed?" Corbin pushed his chair back and stood, "I want to meet her. Let's go."
"Ms. Granger… When you call her Mrs. Weasley, I think of Molly," Antonin glared and added, "Don't you have work, D.S. Yaxley?"
"What's wrong with Molly? She has great tits." Corbin punched Antonin in the arm as he passed him, "Right, I do have work, but this needs my attention. So, hold on. I need to floo call my partner."
Antonin stood up and followed his friend back to the floo, waiting patiently for him to speak with his partner. Corbin came from a long line of law enforcement officers, following in his father's footsteps just as he had done. Antonin always felt he had drawn his friend down the path to darkness, and he wouldn't have blamed Corbin in the least if he never spoke to him again. Especially after the stint in Azkaban. But that wasn't the kind of friend Corbin was.
Finished with his call, Corbin got to his feet, "Shall we? I'm anxious to see this creature that's following the lovely Ms. Granger."
Antonin grabbed a handful of floo powder, and they both stepped through and into Antonin's living room. The fire had died down to glowing embers. Leaving the room cold and dark. Little hairs on the back of Antonin's neck prickled, and his dark mark twitched. Curtains billowed around the opened window. The one Antonin had shut.
Corbin breathed inward slowly, a smile crept to his face, "By the pricking of my thumb's… Something wicked this way comes," With a mischievous glint in his eye, he turned to Antonin, "What do we have here? You were right. You need some back-up," Corbin moved toward the window, "Do you mind…"
"No, but I suggest a shield charm." Antonin circled the room, wand out.
"Looks like it's been trying to breach your wards?" Corbin looked impressed.
Antonin nodded, "Yeah, I think it's getting stronger… Not strong enough to come all the way in, though, but strong enough to piss me off."
Corbin set up his shield charm, approaching the window, repeating precisely what Antonin had done. His Dark Mark behaving in the same way, snarling and twisting, burning in response to the entity. He shut the window, dropping the shield charm, "Well mate, I hate to tell you this, but I've never come across anything like that… this can't be from using a few Unforgivables. This is darker."
A chill had fallen over the room, their breath rising in a white mist. Corbin was the first to speak, "Now this I've seen. This is a nasty poltergeist. Are you sure this isn't that little wanker of a dead husband?"
"From what I witnessed in his head, it might be. What do you know about blood magic?" Antonin pulled out his wand and began to reset the wards, "I need to evict this little cunt before he wakes Hermione."
"Oh, it's Hermione now … What happened to Ms. Granger?" Corbin waggled his eyebrows, never one to miss the opportunity to take the piss out of Antonin, "Fine… Seriously though. Did she use blood magic?" If she did, Corbin was impressed. A member of the Order using blood magic was unheard of.
"I think inadvertently. I don't know her well, but I'm fairly certain it's not something she would do. Not even out of desperation." Antonin collapsed into his chair, flicking his fingers toward the fireplace to stoke the flames, "I think something has attached itself to Ronald."
"Do you have coffee?" Corbin headed to the kitchen, making himself at home, "I need coffee."
Hermione woke to voices, panic rising in her throat. Thoughts of the Auror's bursting through Antonin's door to drag them both off to Azkaban. She couldn't live with herself if that were to happen. Her host didn't deserve that. She lay there quietly listening, unable to make out what was said. She could only hear two voices, one being Antonin's, both calm with a friendly tone. Her heartbeat slowed its frantic attempt to burst from her chest, and Hermione snuggled deeper into the feather comforter. Her eyes closing once more. Drifting off, only to open at the sound of her name being mentioned.
She recognized the voice but couldn't place it. Ronald's name was tossed around with the aroma of coffee and cooking bacon. Hermione's stomach growled, making the decision easy for her. They were talking about her. Besides, she needed to get her arse up and moving anyway. No matter how comfortable the bed was. Groaning as her feet hit the floor, eyes still blurry from sleep, she stumbled to the loo. Pulling her hair into a messy bun before splashing cold water on her face. The toothbrush from the night before sat on the edge of the sink. Working hard to avert her eyes from the mirror. Giving in to face the hollow reflection staring back at her.
Not bad, she surmised with four hours of sleep in the last two days. She did feel better. Maybe Antonin would let her stay another night, she thought. Padding back into the bedroom, she rubbed at the goosebumps on her arms. She couldn't meet company with her nipples poking out behind the thin cotton t-shirt. She helped herself to Antonin's closet, picking out a muggle jumper. Dark blue, Shetland wool warmed her quickly. Now for a pair of socks. She rifled through his dresser until she found what she was looking for. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed to put the socks on when it hit her.
The oddity of the situation, of who's room she had taken over, she chuckled as she looked at her feet. Not only had she helped herself to the man's closet, but memories of him rubbing her pink painted toes last night came flooding back. An intimacy she hadn't experienced in an awfully long time. If ever. If she were to be honest with herself. He could have taken advantage, but he didn't. As much as she had wanted him to kiss her, she knew it wasn't right… not yet. Ronald wasn't even in the ground. That was the plan for the day. Organizing the putting of Ronald to rest. Dealing with the Weasleys would require a certain level of caffeine, and in order for that to happen, she needed to get off the bed and go meet the new guest.
Both men turned as the door to Antonin's room opened. Antonin's first thought was that she was too damned cute wearing his jumper. Then chided himself for even thinking it, "Good morning Hermione. I'm sorry if we woke you… you can sleep longer if you like," He couldn't help but smile at her, "Tea or coffee?"
"Coffee, please," She looked sheepishly at the blue jumper, "I got cold. I hope you don't mind. I borrowed a few things." The sight of Corbin Yaxley was a huge relief. A familiar face and one she remembered. He was one of the first in her probation reform to be paroled and was often seen at the Ministry. Corban Yaxley was her first success story.
"Not at all, Luv," Antonin handed her a mug, "Have a seat. This…," He motioned toward Corbin, "Is Corbin Yaxley, a close friend, someone I trust and someone who is willing to help with your little friend."
Hermione took the mug from Antonin in both hands, inhaling the rich aroma of the coffee and taking a sip before she greeted Corbin, "We've met on more than one occasion. Good morning Mr. Yaxley. It's nice to see you again. I hope Antonin didn't wake you." She pulled out the chair nearest Corbin.
"No, I was up," Corbin slid a plate of toast her way, "It's no bother. I'm intrigued by this entity. It's quite fascinating… like Antonin. I don't think I've come across anything like it."
Corbin couldn't blame his friend for being so smitten. Ms. Granger had indeed grown into an impressive young woman. He remembered her, of course, from the Ministry. The fierce little curly-haired witch in her fifth year. To the wanted posters in what should have been her seventh. He remembered the look in her eyes when she cursed Antonin. That fire that had burned so brightly now diminished. This bothered Corbin more than it should have. He was old and jaded like Antonin. They had seen it all. He understood now why Antonin had gotten involved. He recognized that look of defeat, the same one he had seen in himself while in prison. Ms. Hermione Granger was why he no longer resided on that frozen rock in the middle of the North Sea. It was her research that had set them free, and Corbin would do everything in his power to help her.
Hermione buttered her toast and reached for the bacon, "Did you have an opinion on it?"
"Yes, but mostly a guess. I do have some questions. If you don't mind, we can go over a few now." Corbin helped himself to the bacon. He was trying his best not to sound like the detective that he was.
"Not at all. My first thought was that it was Ronald," Hermione sighed, "But I have a strange feeling it's a bit more."
"It is, and I need to ask this so, please don't take offense. But did you use any blood magic?"
Hermione turned to watch Antonin, "No, no, maybe… I don't know. I'm not sure. There was a lot of blood, but I cleaned it up. I didn't do it on purpose…could that happen?"
"I don't know just yet. After we eat, we can go over what you remember."
Hermione looked nervously between the two men. Still not sure she could trust Corbin.
Antonin tried to reassure her, "I wouldn't have brought him here or gotten him involved if I thought for a second he would have you arrested."
"I'm not here to arrest you. I'm here to help you, Hermione."
Tapping at the window drew Antonin's attention. His owl stood on the ledge, soaked from the rain. Picking up a strip of bacon to bribe the bird. He opened the window. The little owl swooped in, grabbing the meat before dropping the Daily Prophet on the table. The headlines boldly splashed across the front page…
Memorial Service's to be held this afternoon at one o clock for Ronald Bilious Weasley, beloved Member of the Golden Trio
Hermione scanned the page, dropping her toast, rage boiling up inside, "That fuuuucking cuuuunt…He was my husband… how dare she … this is the last … this is the… I can't, I just can't," She was seething, "She can't do this …. She did this," Hermione looked toward Antonin, "I'm going to kill her Antonin, I don't care if I spend the rest of my life in Azkaban; I will murder that bitch!"
"Let me see," Antonin reached for the paper, "You can't go to this." He pulled up the chair next to hers, reading more of the details.
"I have to go… I don't have a choice." She whispered, defeat in her eyes, anxiety rearing its ugly head. Damn the Weasley's, she thought, damn them all. Especially Molly.
"Hermione, we don't know what this thing is that's following you. You can't go." Antonin recognized the panic flickering behind her eyes.
"If I don't go, it will be scandalous. These people think I murdered my husband, Antonin. If I don't make an appearance, they will start digging… we both know what will happen if they dig."
"What happens if they dig Hermione?" Corbin asked. He had kept quiet, watching the interaction.
"Did you tell him my sordid tale?" she questioned Antonin.
"Yes, he knows everything." How many more would know her sins by day's end, she wondered?
Corbin spoke up, "I meant to say, is there anything else besides what you told Antonin?"
"No, I told him everything…" Hermione's hands trembled. She was all too aware of Corbin's rise in law enforcement. Merlin's hairy bollocks, she thought, he was the equivalent to a muggle homicide detective. And he was questioning her. She took a shaky breath. Looking Corbin in the eye, "I murdered him. I was responsible for Ron's death."
"Hermione, you didn't murder your husband… and I speak from experience here, so please believe me when I tell you this. Now you can be charged with manslaughter, maybe. Unless, of course, you pushed him in front of that bus… Did you?"
Hermione glared back at Corbin, "No… I didn't push him but… but I was the reason…"
"Stop," Corbin held up his hand, "You are not responsible… that's not how the Imperious works. Did you tell him to drink? Yes. Did you tell him to leave the house? No, you did not. That was all Ronald. So, stop saying that you're responsible." He felt sorry for the girl. She had no idea how the Unspeakables worked.
"I have to go to Ronald's funeral. That bitch went behind my back and organized my husband's funeral," Her anger began to quell, sipping at her coffee, she looked back up at Antonin, "I won't kill her. I promise I can control myself." She reached out, laying her hand on top of his, "Help me?"
.
Six steps would lead Hermione to the entrance of Bagnell's funeral home. She stood at the bottom of those steps, her heart in her throat. She knew they would all be there, and they would all stare. She wanted nothing more than to retreat to the safety of Antonin's bedroom. Just six steps to the door, she took a deep breath and took the first step.
She could do this. Her hands stuffed in her pockets, her fingers wrapping tightly around the little tube of lip balm. Antonin had created just for her, a portkey. Her escape pod, if everything went tits up, and she was sure it would. Another step, she paused, turning away, ducking her head as co-workers and friends passed her. Silently cursing Molly Weasley for putting her in this situation. She felt a hand on the small of her back, and a voice whispered in her ear…
"Hermione, it's all right. Take my arm." Corbin guided her to the landing. Having kept his distance until he witnessed her faltering, recognizing the anxiety beginning to build as she froze on the steps. Antonin was right to send him. She needed moral support above protection from the entity.
Hermione let herself be guided by Corbin. Through the doors to face Molly and the rest of the Weasleys.
Molly, of course, had gone over the top. And Hermione was immediately hit with the syrupy, sweet stench of thousands of white lilies. They were everywhere. A spotlight shown on Ronald set center stage in a white casket, trimmed in gold. The whole thing reminded her of a Disney Prince, of which Ronald was most certainly not. All that was missing, she thought, were the bloody fucking forest creatures.
She would have laughed out loud if it weren't for Corbin. The perfect gentleman. Shielding her as they entered the room. He escorted her to a row of chairs closer to the wall. To think she almost protested to his being here. Now she was thankful for his presence. Without him, Molly would have gotten the show she was pushing for.
Anger began to rise again at the audacity of her mother-in-law. Hermione wasn't sure what kind of funeral she would have put together for Ron, but this wasn't it. It was definitely something Ron would have wanted. Garish is what came to mind for her. This was a three-ring circus, in her opinion. There were entirely too many people as Molly had invited the entire population of Wizarding Britain.
"Take your time, Little Bird. I'll wait right here." Corbin's whispered in her ear, calm and steady.
The room around her echoed with loud voices. The dulcet tones of Celestina Warbeck all blend before fading into the background. Her vision blurred, tunneling, and at the end of that tunnel lay Ronald in his gaudy white and gold casket, surrounded by the entire Weasley clan. Including Harry, his arm wrapped possessively around Ginny. To Hermione, Ginny looked positively deranged. She steadied herself, although thankful for Corbin. She would have preferred Antonin be with her, but as he pointed out, that would be adding fuel to the fire. Antonin had been right. Ginny was looking for a fight.
Hermione could sit in the corner or face her head-on. The Weasleys had planted themselves next to Ron and didn't look like they planned on going anywhere anytime soon. She stood up, straightened her cloak, and walked toward that gleaming white casket. Her breath catching, hands trembling as she fought to keep it together. She would not give Molly Weasley the satisfaction. She refused to let that old witch know that she had gotten under her skin.
Hermione was correct. Ginny rounded on her as she approached Ron. The crowd that had gathered stepped back, forming a half-circle. Molly now had her audience.
"Why are you even here, Hermione?" Ginny glared. "You never loved my brother. You never supported him… he was suffering just like your beloved Death Eaters… Had you ever thought of that Hermione … NO! You didn't! You let him drink. You let him lose his job, and you never once tried to stop him…" Ginny stood mere inches from Hermione. Breathing heavy, from the tirade, "After figuring out the toxic side effects of Voldemort's Horcruxes. You were quick to forgive his followers, but did it occur to you that Ronald may have been suffering the same? Did it, Hermione? You knew about it with Harry, but did you ever consider the same may have happened to Ronald," Ginny seethed with anger, "You forgave all those Death Eaters. Convinced the Wizengamot to pardon them, gave them jobs!" Tears streamed down her face as she continued to scream, turning her furious gaze toward Corbin. "I have to walk down halls at the Ministry. And see them just walking around free as can be … Never mind that my uncles' murderer is now a healer … A Healer Hermione! How can I trust that he didn't murder Ronald! How can you even trust that he didn't murder your unborn baby?" Harry swooped in to wrap his arms around Ginny, dragging her to a row of chairs, "Ginny now is not the place or the time for this conversation." Mouthing the words, I'm sorry to Hermione.
Hermione stood in stunned silence, unable to respond to Ginny. All she could do is stare at Ronald's body lying so serene in the white casket. Of course, it was white, she thought. It could be nothing else for Molly's little angel boy. Yet, she began to wonder how much of what Ginny had said was true. Not the part that Antonin would do harm to her child. That was on her. It was the thought that she misinterpreted Ronald's behavior. That's what cut the deepest. Hermione reached for his hand, curling her warm fingers around the cold dead ones of her husband.
They were all watching her. Just like she knew they would with their whispers and their accusing looks. The tears, however, refused to come, no matter how hard she tried or how much she wanted them. Ginny was right about one thing, she didn't love Ron and never had. Maybe she was right about him being affected by the Horcruxes. Perhaps he wasn't, and it didn't matter anymore anyway. He was dead.
Hermione brushed a stray curl behind Ron's ear. Shivering as she touched his skin. Nausea washed over her, with memories of the recent beating. She wanted to feel bad, wanting those tears. Wishing for the love of Merlin to look the part of the grieving widow. She could be as fake as Ronald looked, and he looked fake, she thought, pale, ice-cold, held under a stasis charm as if he were cold cuts. What was once Ronald was no more, and she bit her lip to stifle the giggle building deep inside. He had made her life miserable and fuck him. Fuck the Weasleys. She was done. Let them investigate her. Like Corbin had said, she didn't push Ronald in front of that bus.
Molly's whimper tugged her back to reality. Hermione turned to face the portly matron. As they were center stage with all of wizarding Britain watching. She put on a look of concern. Grasping Molly's hands in hers, "Thank you, Mum, for putting all of this together," She leaned in, kissing Molly on the cheek. Feeling the woman squirm in front of her. Molly was livid but oddly wasn't making a scene. Instead, she hugged her back.
"You're welcome, dear… I try, you know … It's what my Ronnie would have wanted, "Hermione caught her, glancing at Corbin anxiously, "Forgive Ginny, dear, she's distraught."
"It's all so beautiful," Hermione sobbed, dabbing at fake tears to continue with the façade. She ducked her head and retreated from the Weasleys. Heading straight for Corbin. She took his hand and let him lower her to her seat. Let them talk, she thought. She leaned into Corbin, "Get me the fuck out of here." She'd had enough of the spotlight. She could find Harry later.
Corbin was all too eager to oblige. The lilies were making his nose itch, and there were entirely too many people. Besides, Molly was beginning to stare. He smirked and gave her a wink, making her even more uncomfortable. Molly had a dark secret that only a few of his fellow Death Eaters knew about, which made her extremely nervous. Little did Hermione know. Antonin gave Corbin permission to let that secret out if things did go tits up. Lucky for Molly, she chose to behave.
Corbin took Hermione by the arm, heading for the double doors and fresh air.
May 3, 1998
The morning after the final battle.
Ronald walked amongst the castle's ruin, the loss of his brother almost too much to bear. In an attempt to garner a little attention, he volunteered to look for a group of Slytherins, lost or trapped somewhere in the dungeons. He didn't expect to find any alive. Not that he cared one way or the other. What he did care about, and the only light that he clung to was Hermione. Their kiss had all but consumed him. She would be his… forever. The smoke from the dying Horcrux hadn't even settled when he pulled Hermione into his arms, pushing his tongue into her mouth. Maybe she kissed him back. Perhaps she hadn't. Ron didn't care at this point. He would marry her, shell shocked as she was. If he wanted to possess her, now was his chance. Lavender was dead. Of course, Lav had been his first choice, recently having rekindled their relationship and was approved by his mother as an acceptable match. Hermione would now replace her.
He was going to be the hero in this story, not Harry. Harry was resting in the infirmary, Madame Pomphrey tending to the Chosen One. Fucking prat, he thought as he surveyed the damage to the staircase leading down to the Slytherin dorms. He knew it wasn't the Horcrux making him imagine things. Something was going on between Harry and Hermione. Ron would show her. He would prove he was the better man.
Ronald would be the one to find the children buried in the rubble. He picked his way down a pile of stones, clambering through the shattered walls, searching for survivors. Slipping on a damp rock, his arm slammed into a broken, wooden beam, driving the splintered end deep into his flesh. Ronald howled, jerking his arm from the spear of wood. Blood streaming, he ripped a piece of fabric from his shirt, tying it snug around the wound. Breathing heavy, he stood for a moment to catch his breath, listening in the darkness. Nothing showed beyond the bright blue from the tip of his wand. 'Hello,' he called out. Echoes of his voice and the drip of falling water answered. He would need to go deeper. This time he would go slower and focus on his task. Timidly he took the first steps deeper and deeper into the broken maw of the castle.
He thought of Hermione, waiting for him to return. The feel of her breasts when she had clung to him. He hadn't imagined it. She had even held his hand. Maybe she had kissed him back. He would kiss her again as soon as he was done. Just to make sure. His mind began to wander as he made his descent. Drifting to Hermione and how next time he would feel her tits. She was a slut. His mother knew it. She had even warned him that only a slut would be alone with two boys, and when Ronald left, Hermione should have gone with him. It wasn't proper, or at least that's what his mum thought. Oh yes, he thought. She was a slut. He would bet ten galleons that the little slag would let him play with her pussy… or suck his cock… Ronald stopped. A deep moan rumbled in his throat… rubbing at the bump at his crotch.
Ronald was no longer paying attention. Blood dripped from the wound and onto the rocks, where Ronald stopped to catch his breath again. Pooling beneath his shoe. His hand reached out, one foot lifted, he slid down into the darkness. Losing his wand to stop the plummet, his hands grabbing for anything and finding nothing to stop the fall. He landed in a heap on hard stone tiles, wand plunking down next to him. He found it in the darkness and whispered Lumos. His tumble had dropped him back into the Chamber of Secrets. Back to where she had kissed him, or he had kissed her, he couldn't remember. His head was bleeding now, and the bandage on his arm had come off. He needed to find a way out. No broom this time. He doubted he could climb, but there was no other way. He turned to leave when a glint of gold caught his eye. He tilted his head and squinted his eyes. It couldn't be what he thought it might be. He had watched Hermione destroy it. He had seen Voldemort's fractured soul turn to dust. But there, in the light of his wand, lay the curled handle of what looked like the cup.
He took a few tentative steps toward the glowing gold handle that twinkled in the cracks of jagged stone. On his knees now, he pried at the largest stone, fingers slick with blood. It lay just out of reach. Ronald pushed deeper into crag, his fingers curled around the handle, and he tugged. Pulling free the golden handle of what looked like Helga Hufflepuffs cup made Horcrux.
He held it up to the blue, glowing tip of his wand. It looked like the handle from Helga's cup. If it were, it would make a nice souvenir. He hesitated for a moment turning the object over in his fingers, squinting his eyes again at the shiny gold handle. Then without a second thought, Ronald stuffed the broken Horcrux in his trousers.
Ginny's voice echoed from above, cutting through the dark cavern. Ronald called back. He wouldn't have to climb out after all. Ginny swooped down on her broom, skidding to a halt.
Ronald hugged her, "Thank Merlin, I'm bleeding out."
"How the bloody hell did you get down here? What the fuck Ron? Everyone's been looking for you… Come on, Hermione is worried sick."
Ron smiled at the thought of Hermione. He was right about her. A smug grin plastered to his face as he swung a leg over the broom just behind his sister. His wounds were sure to catch some sympathy.
Deep in Ronald's back pocket, the golden handle gleamed, softly vibrating as the bloody fingerprints absorbed into the metal.