Songs – Massacre by Kim Petras, Adeline by alt-J, and Castle by Halsey

memoirs_of_a_slytherin (AO3) has been kind enough to compile all of my (vastly varied) song choices for this story into a playlist on Spotify. The link is in my bio, so check it out!

Chapter 27: The Voices in Her Head

"I don't care what the letter says," Draco said angrily, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "She's not going anywhere near him."

Hermione sighed quietly and shifted Scorpius to her other shoulder, bouncing lightly on her feet as she glanced over at her husband.

Well, this is going splendidly, she told herself, careful to keep the thought away from the bridge at the back of her mind.

"I don't like it any more than you do," Harry began, his hand resting on Ginny's shoulder as he stood behind where she was sitting at the kitchen table. "But she's not as fragile as you're making her out to be."

Draco grunted, his eyes flickering over to Hermione.

Not fragile, just worth more alive than I am, he projected through their bond as he held her gaze.

"Oh for fuck's sake," she muttered under her breath.

Language, Granger, he chided, rolling his eyes as he moved next to her and placed a large hand over his son's head. He can hear you.

And what will he think when I tell him how I let you and Harry fly off to your deaths, hmm?

Draco didn't answer.

And he didn't really need to. His worry and fear were leaking into her mind even despite the ease at which he seemed to be able to keep everyone else out. She knew he just wanted to protect her, that he'd sacrifice anything to keep her safe, but she wasn't a damsel in distress – she never had been – and she wasn't going to let other people fight for her, especially not when she had something they didn't. Power.

Draco kissed the top of Scorpius' head before shifting back against the counter behind him and crossing his arms over his chest.

He needs you more than he needs me, he told her.

Don't be absurd, she replied without turning around. He needs us both.

Then tell me what happens when neither of us comes home, Draco countered, intentionally letting some of the gruesome images from his nightmares spill into her head. Are you really willing to risk him losing both of his parents?

Stop that, Hermione snapped, trying to shove the images out of her mind. Those aren't real.

They might be if you–

Just because we have an audience doesn't mean I'll refrain from hexing you, she warned, cutting him off. You're not being fair.

Draco exhaled slowly. Maybe I would be if you actually took a moment and listened to me.

I am listening, I just happen to not agree with anything you've said.

The group was still getting used to their private conversations, but no one dared interrupt what was going on between them at the moment. The way Draco was clenching his jaw, his eyes cast upward toward nothing in particular, and the way Hermione was chewing at the inside of her cheek, her face flushed, was indication enough that they were arguing about something important – and it was clear it wasn't going particularly well.

He's just a man now, Draco asserted like he had done at least a dozen times before. Harry and I can take care of him ourselves. You don't have to go near him. You don't have to play the hero.

I am not– how dare you accuse me of that? Hermione wasn't just mad; she was fuming. You read the letter. You know that he's still dangerous. It's my responsibility to end this.

It shouldn't be.

Well, it is.

You could die.

So could you.

They weren't getting anywhere, not that they had been with the others before they had retreated into their bond, and it was clear that Hermione needed to switch tactics if she was ever going to get him to see her point of view.

"Draco seems to think that I'm not capable of keeping myself alive," she said suddenly to the group, turning her head to glare at her husband. She didn't care that it was petty; he needed to come to his senses.

Really? he asked her, shaking his head. That was a bit childish.

You're being childish, she retorted, narrowing her eyes at him.

Draco groaned audibly. "She's impossible," he said, looking to his father for help. "Can someone please talk some sense into her."

"We could bring her as a distraction," Lucius offered, the light streaming through the kitchen window highlighting the dark purple bruises under his eyes. "Keep her far enough away that she'd be less likely to be hurt."

Ginny opened her mouth as if to protest, but Hermione caught her eyes and quickly shook her head. She wanted to see how this was going to play out.

"A distraction might work," Harry acknowledged, looking over at Draco cautiously. "This Aescling certainly doesn't seem like the kind of person who'd be able to resist an opportunity to get to her even if he had to risk his life to do it."

"Absolutely not," Draco nearly shouted as he pushed himself off the counter, his face flushed with color. "We are not going to use her as bait."

Well, so much for that, Hermione thought as she rubbed Scorpius' back, ignoring the small dribble of drool collecting on her shoulder. Thank Merlin this child sleeps like the dead.

"I wouldn't call it that…" Harry muttered, deciding halfway through his sentence that a stronger rebuttal wouldn't be worth the wrath of the blond breathing heavily on the other side of the room.

"That's exactly what you're both implying," Draco seethed, his eyes moving between Harry and his father.

Lucius exhaled deeply, moving a finger in circles over the top of his cane. "Draco, we're just trying to help. She wants to be there."

"Help," Draco scoffed. "How will her being there do anything but risk her life?"

"She's stronger than you," Ginny cut in, apparently having reached the end of her patience. There was a hint of a smirk at the corner of her lips, and Hermione hoped, for all of their sakes, that Draco couldn't see it. "She's stronger than him too," Ginny continued, raising an eyebrow as Draco frowned at her. "And let's not forget about the whole lightning thing," she added, waving her hand in the air. "She's practically Thor."

Hermione shot Ginny a warning look. Not helping, she mouthed.

Her friend shrugged and leaned back in her chair. I'm right, she mouthed back.

"She doesn't know how to control her power yet," Draco replied, his voice softer than Hermione expected it to be. "I won't risk it."

But I will, Hermione thought, realizing it was far past time for her to assert herself.

"Listen, I appreciate everyone's concern. I really do," Hermione began, looking around the room, her eyes finding Draco last, "but I'm not going to sit on the sidelines this time."

She could feel the tremble radiating through Draco's body through their connection, and while she wanted to comfort him, she knew she couldn't give him what he wanted. This was her decision to make, and he was just going to have to live with it.

"I'm going to fight," she announced, her eyes still locked on Draco.

A flash of pain crossed his eyes. Hermione, please don't do this. His words cut through her thoughts like a sharpened blade. Please, he begged.

I'm going to fight, she repeated just for him, trying to project calm back through their bond.

But he shrank away from her, pulling his thoughts back into his own head.

Hermione tried to call him back, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he might concede, but when he refused to meet her gaze, she turned back around to face the rest of the group and sighed.

"Well?" she prompted.

"I say if she wants to fight then we let her fight," Andromeda declared from her position on the couch. She had remained oddly quiet since Hermione had told everyone about Dumbledore's letter and throughout the ensuing discussion, but it was obvious now that she had simply been waiting for the right moment to back Hermione up. "Like Ginny said, she's more powerful than any of us anyways," she added, winking at Hermione as she placed her teacup on the end table beside her. "We can't exactly stop her if she chooses to go."

Narcissa, who was seated next to her sister, nodded in agreement. "I'm sorry, Draco," she said softly, offering him an apologetic smile. "You can't stop a mother from protecting her family," she added, looking away from her son acknowledge her daughter-in-law.

"Draco," Harry began, shuffling uncomfortably on his feet.

"Don't say it," Draco said, his hands once again balled into fists at his sides. "Don't you dare say it."

"We can't force her–"

But Draco didn't wait for Harry to finish. He quickly turned his back on the group, yanking open the back door and slamming it behind him as he stormed outside.

Draco? Hermione tried calling through their bond.

Just don't, came his angry reply.

Don't do this, she told him. Don't make this harder than it needs to be. Come back and talk to me.

But he didn't reply.

And right on cue, almost as if he could sense the tension in the air, Scorpius began to cry.

After storming out of the cottage, Draco wandered to the edge of the cliff, fixing his gaze on the distant horizon as he attempted to calm his furiously beating heart. He knew she had every right to fight, and he knew she was more than capable, but the protective dragon inside of him wouldn't stop roaring, and that had been a bit too difficult to ignore.

She was his wife, the mother of their son, and if he lost her, if she died trying to protect everyone, he wasn't sure he would ever recover.

Eventually, he began to pace back and forth along the edge of the cliff, mumbling quietly to himself as he tried to figure out a way out of the corner he had backed himself into. He shouldn't have yelled. He shouldn't have slammed the door and stormed off. But he couldn't just let her run off into battle as if she was some sort of unbeatable weapon. And when after nearly an hour of mindless pacing he still hadn't found a solution for his predicament, he dropped to the ground, slumping forward with his legs hanging precariously over the side of the cliff.

He sat for even longer, ignoring the crick in his neck from staying hunched over for so long. Every once in a while, he would feel Hermione's consciousness brush against his own, and each time he pushed her away, trying to ignore the pain in his chest when she would retreat away from him, her thoughts as troubled as his own. He was angry, yes, but not with her; he was angry at the situation, at Dumbledore for never telling her, at himself for not being strong enough to protect her – for ever thinking that power and control could bring anything other than pain and destruction. But mostly he was angry because he knew she was right.

The Aescling needed to be killed, and she was the only one who had the power to do it.

Are you coming to bed? a voice called suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

Draco lifted his head and sighed. Yes, he replied after a moment, finally pushing himself off the ground. He had been away from her long enough.

He walked back to the cottage slowly, his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders slumped forward in defeat. It was dark, the sun having set nearly an hour ago, but he could still make out a small figure hovering near the door.

I'm sorry, he told her, not needing any sort of confirmation that it was her; he knew it was.

I know, she replied, and Draco had to take a deep breath to keep himself from shuddering as her relief came barreling through their bond. I'm sorry too, she told him.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said, stopping a few paces away from her. "I shouldn't have let myself get so angry."

"If the roles were reversed, I'm not sure I would have reacted any differently," she admitted, smiling weakly as her eyes moved over his face. "Scorp's inside with your father," she added, taking a step toward him. "So unless you want our son growing up with a deranged fondness for peacocks, you better get inside and save him."

Draco chuckled, closing the remaining distance between them. "Oh, the horror," he mused, reaching out to cup the side of her face.

Her eyes fluttered close at his touch, and he moved the pad of his thumb to her lips, tracing small circles over them until she parted her mouth in response.

"Careful, Granger," he warned, smirking as she opened her eyes and looked at him with surprise.

He pulled her into him then, relaxing as she buried her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

"Can you forgive me?" he murmured into her curls.

"There's nothing to forgive," she replied, lifting her head to look up at him. "You just want to protect me. I can't fault you for that."

"Just say it," he said, his voice uncharacteristically meek, "please."

"I forgive you," Hermione told him, wrapping her hands around the back of his head, her fingers teasing the nape of his neck. "Now can we go inside?"

"Not yet." And then he was kissing her, his tongue tracing along her lips before eagerly parting them and clashing his tongue with her own.

He could sense everything she was feeling – her love for him, her overwhelming lust for him, her own fear and worry – and when she pushed her body closer, her hands now clinging to him for dear life, he nearly keeled over, dizzy with need for her.

"Hermione," he whispered, pulling away. They were both breathing heavily, and he rested his forehead against hers to give them a chance to recover.

"Fuck, I know," she said quietly, moving her hands to his chest. "Still healing," she muttered, somewhat annoyed.

Draco laughed. "Well, there is that," he told her, his eyes twinkling with amusement, "but I was simply going to point out that we should probably go be responsible parents and save Scorp from my father."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're the worst."

"I know," he replied, kissing her one last time before letting her lead him inside.

Lucius looked up when they walked into the living room, nodding quickly at Draco before returning his attention to the infant in his arms. It was still strange seeing his father being so loving and gentle with his son, but then again, stranger things had happened to him recently, and he was just happy that he was able to witness the moment at all.

He held Hermione from behind for a few minutes, laughing with the others as his father began to describe in detail how Scorpius should go about selecting the best peacocks for breeding. The whole thing almost felt normal, being surrounded by family both chosen and not bonding over the ridiculousness that was Lucius Malfoy as a grandfather, but he couldn't shake the darkness that was lurking at the back of his mind. The happiness in the room was balanced precariously on a razor sharp knife's edge, teetering dangerously, and one wrong move, one mistake, would topple the entire thing over.

Sensing his growing discomfort, Hermione announced that she was tired and stole Scorpius back from Lucius, motioning for Draco to follow her back to their room. He excused himself, pausing on his way out of the room to apologize to Harry, who quickly waved him away.

"I would have reacted the same way," he told him, but Draco thanked him again anyways.

When he made it to the bedroom, Hermione was talking quietly to Scorpius as she placed him in the bassinet, her voice quiet and soothing. He watched her from the doorway for a moment, a warmth spreading across his chest as she told their son how much she loved him and how he better not grow up to be as stubborn as his father.

"That might be an entirely futile exercise," he told her, chuckling softly. "Or have you forgotten how incredibly stubborn you can be?"

Hermione turned to face him and smiled. "You're right, he's doomed."

"Terribly," Draco replied, smirking.

He moved next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder as he leaned forward to place a kiss on the top of his son's head.

"I could watch him forever," she said quietly.

"Me too," he agreed. "But we should really get some sleep while we can."

Hermione nodded and shifted onto her feet, turning so that her chest was against Draco's. A shiver ran down his spine as she pressed herself against him, and he swallowed heavily, trying to keep his breathing under control.

"I love you," she said softly, placing a hand on his cheek.

"I love you too," he told her before dropping backwards onto the bed, pulling her with him. "Fucking more than you know." And he kissed her so passionately that he wasn't sure whose gasp it was the filled the air around them.

The guilt almost did her in. She almost didn't sneak out of bed and scoop Scorpius out of the bassinet, casting a silencing charm around her in case he made a fuss. She almost didn't open the door and walk out into the dark hallway, cradling the baby in her arms as if he was the only thing keeping her rooted to the ground. She almost didn't turn the corner into the kitchen. She almost didn't accept the cloak Narcissa was holding out for her in her arms.

But she did. She had to.

It was the only way she knew how to keep them all safe.

And after only a moment's hesitation, Hermione handed a still soundly sleeping Scorpius to Narcissa before walking quietly out the back door. It wasn't an exit the others would be particularly pleased with when they woke and found her missing, but at least no one could hurt them here. Draco had already been tortured, Lucius was still struggling to walk, and both Harry and Ginny had their own children to worry about. So, leaving in the middle of the night, with Narcissa as her only ally, was her way of forcing their hands.

No one else dies, she whispered, pulling the hood of her dark black cloak over her head. No one else gets hurt.

The moon was partially obstructed by the clouds in the sky, but enough of its glow was still peeking through for her to maneuver away from the small cottage without needing to illuminate her path. She moved quickly through the rocky terrain knowing that if anyone happened to wake up and look out the window there was little she could do to keep them from running after her. But the edge of the wards wasn't far now, and once she was outside of them, she'd be gone.

She felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck as she finally passed through the wards, and she paused for a moment, turning to glance back toward that cottage she could no longer see, toward the man sleeping soundly inside who had no idea what she had planned.

After Draco had fallen asleep, she hastily began to fortify her thoughts knowing that their bond would allow him to locate her if she didn't keep him out. She constructed an elaborate maze near the bridge between their minds, closing it with a wall so massive that it tickled the very edge of her consciousness, and by the time it was finished it had been time for to leave.

I'm so sorry Draco, she whispered.

He couldn't hear her, but she said it anyway because it was the truth. She was sorry. She had done exactly what he feared she'd do; she had seen it in his thoughts when he had finally come back inside. She was sorry she had left him behind. She was sorry she had gone behind his back, scheming with his mother while his tantrum ran its course outside. She was sorrier than she'd ever been about anything, but it was still the right thing to do.

And it was finally time to go.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and focused on the location she had memorized from the map now folded up neatly in her pocket. She felt her new power surge forward from somewhere deep within, and without needing to remove her wand from her pocket, without uttering a single word, she transported herself away.

She landed near a crumbling building buried deep in an old forest and shivered, her body reacting to her new surroundings before her head could catch up. At first glance, the scene in front of her wasn't all that strange. The building, which was obscured by layers of tangled foliage and debris, could have been something built by anyone slowly succumbing to the effects of neglect and time. There was nothing grand about the piles of rubble that littered the forest floor, and yet there was no mistaking the source of the heaviness in the air. The place, derelict or not, was so riddled with magic that her fingers were already tingling in anticipation.

The magic called to her, beckoning her to move forward, and she complied, not entirely sure why she suddenly felt so at ease. It was a strange sensation, convinced that she was safe with absolutely no evidence to prove that it was true, but something about the place just felt like home, and so she kept walking.

It was darker here than the cliffside she had left behind, and she moved slowly, carefully maneuvering around the chaotic collection of leaves, wood, and stone at her feet. There was no worn path, not even a track in the mud to indicate that anyone had been here recently, but she knew that meant very little. He could be here, he could be watching her from somewhere in the darkness, and she needed to be careful.

When she was finally close enough to the building to touch it with her hand, she paused, reaching out with her mind to check if anyone was inside. She wasn't sure what had prompted her to do it, but she also wasn't the least bit surprised when her new instincts guided her to tug at the buzzing in her head. In response, a tendril of magic moved outside of her mind, slithering outward as if it knew what to do without being told. The whole thing was so unexpected, and yet she didn't dwell on the discovery.

She pushed at the edges of the magical extension, urging it onward. But instead of moving forward as a single entity, the tendril split into a million tiny threads, each one a single, tiny thread of her own senses. They floated in front of her, hovering as if awaiting instruction, and she hesitated for only a moment before waving a hand to send them toward the building.

And what happened next was so overwhelming (and fascinating) that she had to close her eyes to deal with the torrent of new sensations flooding into her brain.

She felt the sharp edges of shattered rock near the back of the building, she smelled the damp soil on the ground, and she heard the heartbeats of the small animals lurking in the shadows. She saw the gaping hole in the roof, and she tasted the staleness in the air. All of these things and more she sensed, but the only thing she held any sort of attention for was the emptiness that surrounded her. She was alone.

Sighing in disappointment, she opened her eyes, quickly retracting the tiny treads back into her body.

Where are you hiding Eirick?

Dropping her hood, she ducked under a large rotting piece of wood to enter, what she could only assume, was a room once dedicated to ceremony. But even as broken and dilapidated as it was, something about it was still as awe inspiring as it undoubtedly had once been. She could make out a series of ornate carvings in a few pillars of stone standing upright around the side of the room. Some appeared to be small pieces of artwork, others appeared to be runes, but none of them held any sort of immediate meaning for her.

She took a few steps toward the nearest stone, crouching down to study the carvings more closely, but when she placed her hand against the surface, a small spark ignited under her fingertips causing her to jump back in surprise. A tingle began creeping its way up her arm, but for some reason, she wasn't afraid. She simply lifted her hand in front of her face and studied it as if it now held the answers she was looking for.

Strange, she observed silently. It almost feels like...

But before she had a chance to finish the thought, a swirl of wind surrounded her, dancing through her curls and lifting the edge of her robes into the air. The whoosh of rapidly moving air filled her ears, bringing with it the echoes of the forest outside and something that took her a few moments to identify as a symphony of whispers.

Human whispers.

She froze, her heart threatening to jump out of her chest as her eyes frantically searched the darkest corners of the room for any sign of life. The wind was still moving around her, but she barely noticed. The voices were getting louder; they were surrounding her, close enough that she thought she was going mad.

"Hello?" she called before she could stop herself.

The word had barely left her mouth when she felt a cold gust of wind move through her, sucking the air right out of her lungs.

You came, a feminine voice replied happily from somewhere in her head, and she blanched.

We weren't sure you'd be able to find us, another added, this one deeper and more masculine.

"Us?" Hermione asked out loud, shivering slightly as she felt a third consciousness dancing around in her head. "Who are you?"

Laughter echoed out in her head.

She should have been scared, at a bare minimum she should have been off-put by their sudden intrusion into her head, but other than a bit of hesitation she felt from the consciousness that still hadn't spoken, she couldn't sense any sort of malice emanating from any of them, and so she wasn't.

We certainly picked the right one, the first voice announced, its strange form moving seamlessly through Hermione's memories, fast-forwarding through every moment in her life so quickly that she had to reach out a hand to steady herself.

Of course we picked the right one, the second voice asserted as it settled itself on top of the wall Hermione had built to keep Draco out of her head. There hasn't been a wielder like her in nearly two centuries.

And who's fault is that? the third voice finally chimed in, this one distinctly less friendly than the first two. It certainly didn't need to be attached to a physical form for Hermione to sense the eye roll that would have come with the statement. I warned you what would happen if we didn't do something about him.

They didn't need to specify who they were talking about.

Hmph, came the reply from the voice on the wall.

Honestly, the first voice began, shuffling Hermione's memories back into place, we don't have time for this. She's the one we've been waiting for. Her bloodline will carry the gift into the future.

If she can survive long enough...

"I can hear you," Hermione grumbled, deciding that if they were there to hurt her, they would have already done so. "And I'm not scared of him," she added, straightening herself upright.

You should be.

The fear behind the statement was obvious, and she trembled slightly as she honed in on the new emotions swirling around in her head. They were all afraid… for her.

I'm terribly sorry, darling, the first voice said, realizing what her host had discovered and speaking before she had a chance to dig any further. I do apologize. We haven't had anyone to talk to in quite a long time.

"How long exactly?" Hermione queried, running her fingers along the stone she had been inspecting before she had been interrupted. There were a million other questions running through her head, but this one seemed just as relevant as the rest.

Another laugh. That depends entirely on what you would classify as conversation, the second voice replied, his chuckles vibrating against Hermione's skull. The last few centuries have been unbearably bleak.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked again, hoping this time one of them would give her an answer. She moved along the edge of one of the walls, her eyes cast upward toward what remained of the roof. "And what is this place?"

Oh my, where are my manners? the first voice began. My name is Thyra and this Halvor – she directed Hermione's attention to the consciousness still perched on the wall at the back of her mind – and Runa – to the consciousness that had finally settled next to the first. We're all former wielders of the power you now hold, and we're here to help guide you. Thrya paused, giving Hermione a chance to digest the new information. As for this place, well, this is home. she continued, projecting the familiar image of a young girl running through the woods. It's where this all began.

"So, you're all Norse mages then?"

Another laugh.

Technically speaking, the Norse came after our time, Halvor told her. A pity really. I think I would have enjoyed sailing to unknown lands across the sea.

We lived during a time when our people weren't referred to in that way, Thyra clarified. But our bloodlines gave birth to them, so I suppose in a sense, we are.

"How old are you?" Hermione knew it was a bit crass to ask, but her curiosity got the better of her.

A few thousand years old, Halvor answered. Plus a few thousand more, he added, a smirk of sorts buried within his words.

Hermione inhaled sharply.

I think I broke her, Halvor observed as her shock reverberated around them in her head, clearly amused that he had succeeded in unnerving her.

Well that's what happens when we let you speak, Runa retorted, her voice curt. Why did we even bring him? She needs guidance not… whatever it is he's doing.

Hey–

Be quiet, both of you, or I will make you leave, Thyra snapped. Hermione darling, are you alright? she asked, her voice now laden with concern.

"Yes," Hermione answered, closing her eyes. "I knew this magic was old, but I guess I just wasn't expecting it to be quite that old."

Age is just a number, dóttir, Halvor assured her, clearly incapable of staying quiet even when threatened with expulsion from his new host's mind. But even you must realize that we've been dead a long time. No one lives forever.

Yes, yes, and death is just the next big adventure, Runa cut in. Like Halvor, she was clearly unable to help herself. These are all things she already knows, Halvor. You're wasting time.

Never presume, elskan mín, Halvor said sweetly.

Hermione heard Thyra sigh, and for a moment she thought Thyra might actually make good on her threat, but she returned her attention to Hermione. Your magic – and yes, it is yours – is indeed very old, she said, her voice less irritated than it had been a minute ago. In any other circumstance, you would have had years to prepare before coming into your power, years to learn about our history, about where we come from and who we are, but since you aren't a member of our bloodline, we weren't able to contact you until you found your way here.

"And when you said my bloodline will carry the gift into the future…"

A new age of wielders will be born from you, Thyra explained. From your blood.

Blood. Why did it always come back to blood?

"My son – so, the gift really will be his one day?" Hermione asked despite already knowing the answer.

Yes, Runa told her. And as the first wielder of your line, any child you have will likely be gifted with the power as well.

Wonderful, Hermione groaned, forgetting they could hear her thoughts.

"All I wanted was a normal life," she muttered under her breath. "Just a normal fucking life."

Halvor laughed. Well, therein lies your problem, he managed after a moment. You're anything but normal.

"How reassuring," Hermione replied somewhat angrily.

The voices were quiet for a moment, giving Hermione the mental space that she needed to process the things they had told her.

"Why me?" she asked, finally uttering the words that had been bothering her the most. "Why did you pick me?"

If you really have to ask, Halvor began softly, then I'm afraid we've already failed.

"I'm not– I didn't ask for power. I don't need it," Hermione mumbled.

Which is precisely why it is now yours to wield, Thyra assured her. I didn't want it either when it came to me. It took me years to accept that it was even real. And unlike the others, I didn't have anyone to explain it to me.

"Wait," Hermione began as realization set in. "But that means… you're the girl I saw in the visions?"

Halvar laughed again, this time leaping off the wall and settling himself next to the others. Oh look, she's starstruck.

Hush, Halvar, Thyra admonished before returning her attention to Hermione. Yes, dear. That was me.

"I have so many questions."

I know you do, Thyra replied. And when this is all over, I will have the time to answer them all.

"Eirick," Hermione whispered, suddenly remembering why she was there.

The three voices in her head hissed in unison, the sound ringing uncomfortably in her ears.

A disgrace, Thyra said.

An abomination, Halvor agreed.

A plague, Runa added angrily.

"I know what he did," Hermione began, her voice trembling with anger that wasn't just her own, "I know who he killed to become who he is."

To stay who he is, Runa corrected, her voice harsh.

"Why did no one stop him?" Hermione asked, trying to ignore the venom in Runa's voice. "Why was he allowed to live?"

The voices were quiet for a moment.

Our bloodline were corrupted long before he was born, Thyra replied finally. He is simply a product of generations that had become too obsessed with power and greed. By the time we realized what was happening, it was already too late.

"I don't understand."

Ahh, but I think you do, Halvor noted. You've encountered evil before. You know how misplaced ideologies can infect those that have been taught nothing else.

"So you're saying it didn't start with him? That he wasn't the first to try to keep his power?"

Of course not, Runa insisted. But he will be the last.

"I need to find him," Hermione told them. "I need to stop him before he hurts anyone else."

That's why we're here, Thrya said. We know where he is.

"Show me," Hermione demanded, her voice calmer than she actually felt.

We can do you one better, Halvor told her. We can take you.

a/n: Cheers to my very first midnight posting! I hope you enjoyed reading the bit with the ancestors as much as I enjoyed writing it. I have multiple bottles of bubbly and obscenely large supply of Doritos to get me through a serious writing marathon this week, so hopefully you won't have to wait too terribly long for the next update.

So many wonderful reviews have come in over the past couple weeks – y'all seriously are going to make me cry before this is all over. Kudos to SnakePrincess101, GoodGirlsBadBoys00, Neekah, and Jasmineprnc for succeeding in making me blush uncontrollably after reading your kind words.

Translations:

dóttir (old norse, Icelandic) = daughter

elskan mín (old norse) ~ my love