"You don't have to do this." It wasn't the first time Anthony had said it. It wasn't even the tenth.
Padma turned to him, eyes boring into his. "Yes, I do. We do."
His face, normally full of light and thinly veiled mischief, was uncharacteristically stoic. It had been for the last two months or so. "Yeah," he murmured. "We do." Tired hazel eyes set into a boyish face. Looking at Anthony reminded her of how young they really were. Seventeen wasn't old enough to be dealing with any of this.
She busied herself checking to make sure they had all their supplies even though she had checked an hour ago, two hours ago, yesterday, a week ago. "I think we have everything." She ran her fingertips feather-light over the weathered book in front of her. Lore Rituum. This would be worth it. It had to be worth it.
Anthony laid a hand over hers and she tore her gaze back up to his. "We're ready." The corners of his mouth curled into a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Point of no return."
"If we do this," she agreed, "there's no going back. Once I start, there's no stopping it."
He squeezed her hand tightly. "If we do this, Hogwarts will be safer for everyone." He spoke firmly, reassuring both of them.
It was supposed to be a very draining ritual used essentially to annoy one's enemies. Libertatem servitutis, the book called it, though the casting had no words in any language. She wouldn't even be using a wand; magic this old was based purely on intent. The lack of words and wood directing one's power meant that one could accomplish more than a normal spell that channeled magic through resistance, but it also meant that magic erupted like an ocean wave crashing on a shore instead of the fine tea-kettle spout of modern casting.
They'd agreed that Padma would be the one to cast the ritual while Anthony would keep watch and try to ensure her safety. "You have more raw power than me, I think," he had said without shame.
Just as Padma thought nervously about how cold she would get, the Room of Requirement transformed the room around them into a cozily small space with a roaring fireplace. After all their studying, she and Anthony had decided the room was probably a vestige of old magic. It responded to intent and desire, and Hogwarts was old enough that the art wouldn't have fallen out of fashion yet.
Anthony poured her a single glass of wine and shooed her to the center of the chalk-drawn diagram on the ground. "That's gonna taste like shit," he warned, as though she hadn't been fully aware and dreading this since she smelled it for the first time a few days ago. It was 'authentic to the period,' they agreed, and yes. It was going to taste like shit.
Padma grimaced as she settled herself cross-legged, but began the ritual by thinking of the house-elves and shooting the glass in one go. She held back a gag, not sure if any deviation from the process would mean starting over. Warmth filled her chest for now. The house-elves.
The irony of slicing the knife across her left – 'sinister' – palm for Pomky was not lost on her.
They shouldn't have to aid in the torture of students. That was the crux of the issue, the reason they were doing this ritual. A tiny shaking wide-eyed elf scrubbed the floor of Padma's own blood after a grueling session with (the female) Carrow. It was the first time she'd drawn blood, and although Padma refused to cry, the little house-elf had tears streaming down his face. Back in the Ravenclaw common room she called out timidly for the elf who had cleaned up after her, intending to tell him that she didn't blame him. His name was Pomky, and he was very sorry, but he had to follow Carrow's orders as long as she was a professor of the school.
She had never heard an elf yearn for freedom, but Pomky told her he would rather that than 'obey the horrible Carrowses.'
So she thought of Pomky and every other elf she and Anthony interviewed who was stuck following orders from evil. A bone-deep chill in her grew like she knew it would. The raw emotion - sadness, she was too tired to summon anger - drained her of all warmth. She shivered once violently, and she dimly recognized the ever-louder roar of the fire. It didn't help.
Poor Kop, made to starve students who resisted the Carrows. Luna Lovegood had always been waifish, but you could almost see sinew and bone now.
The sweet, elderly Worten. She closely guarded Madam Pomfrey, preventing her from administering burn salves and other healing mixtures. She left the doors unlocked after official hospital wing hours, but that still meant that students had to break curfew and risk further harm to access potions.
The elves swirled in her mind and she began to shake as goosebumps rose. Anger or hatred would have turned the glass almost molten, but instead it sat impossibly cold in her hands, ice that refused to melt.
She'd already shut her eyes without realizing, and she let her head loll back. Her heart fought valiantly against the deepening freeze and with every beat she felt a pulse of power escape her. She could've sat like that for seconds or days, it was like time stopped around her. Her ears rang and light flashed painfully behind her closed lids but she couldn't interrupt the ritual, this was too important too necessary too
She wasn't in control of herself but that didn't matter it was part of
Her gasps felt like silent screams her lungs burned her hands burned cold her face
Pomky Kop Worten Kop Worten Pomky free strong
Ice like fire ringing
Padma came to in Anthony's arms, the both of them shaking. He sat behind her whispering nothings into her hair. Eyes like slits, she could see a soft blanket wrapped around her and thick cozy socks on her feet. The nearby fire soothed her skin but didn't yet permeate below. Could the crackling warm a mind?
She burrowed deeper into his chest and heard him whisper "Thank Merlin" before squeezing her tighter against him. They shuddered against one another in waves.
"Pomky." The word came out as a hoarse creak instead. Her throat felt like she'd been screaming for hours. Maybe she had, the book didn't go into much detail beyond wine and a diagram. For now, it didn't matter. "Pomky," she tried again. It was quiet, but quiet was audible.
He appeared mercifully silently in front of her. Like so many times before, his eyes were pink above puffy skin. Her heart plummeted into her stomach.
"Miss Padma has been freeing us," he said through a similarly hoarse throat. Padma let out a sob of relief and Anthony's breath was a hot burst against the crown of her head. "It has been hurting Pomky and the other elves but we is feeling better now and when nasty Carrowses call we have not been goings to see them!" The words poured out of him and he was clearly very proud of himself and the other elves -
"Us? We?" Anthony asked just as she had the thought. He sounded tentative, like he was fighting hope, and she couldn't blame him. "It's not just you, then, it worked for everyone?"
"Every one," Pomky said excitedly. "All of the elves of Hogwarts are free from the professors, we don't even have to go to Miss McNoganall!" He leaned forward, then, like he was telling a closely guarded secret. "We is still listening to her, though. She is a good professor."
Padma laughed and couldn't stop despite the pain. Pomky was freed and he was so delightful and laughter just bubbled through her chest leaving warmth in its wake. Anthony leaned his head forward to put one cheek against hers and she felt him shaking again.
"You did it, Miss Padma," he said with some amount of wonder, of awe. He pressed a kiss against the corner of her mouth, surprising but not unwelcome.
"We did it," she corrected. And then exhaustion overtook her and she collapsed into him once again.
