cw: gore below.

Songs – Yellow Flicker Beat by Lorde, My Hero by Foo Fighters, and Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin

Chapter 28: The Voice in His Head

Something woke him. He wasn't sure what, but he could have sworn someone had been whispering in his ear. Hermione perhaps, talking in her sleep again. It was bloody adorable when she did that.

Draco rolled over on to his side, reaching over to wrap his arms around his wife – his beautiful, stubborn as fuck wife – but frowned when his arm landed heavily the bed, her body not where he expected it to be.

Strange, he thought, opening his eyes. She told me I could take the first feeding.

He stared at the unoccupied space next to him for a moment before sitting up, stretching his limbs as he glanced over at the bassinet, which was, as he expected, also empty.

Bloody difficult that woman. Insists on doing everything herself.

A laugh suddenly penetrated the silence, and he froze, for a moment unsure if he had actually heard what he thought he'd heard. He was tired; he could have just imagined it, but the prickling of raised hairs on the back of his neck indicated otherwise.

No, he wasn't hearing things; it had definitely been real.

Slowly, he reached under his pillow, his fingers closing around his wand, and he waited, breathing heavily as his eyes darted nervously around the room.

Another chuckle.

Draco leapt out of bed, extending his wand in front of him as he spun around on trying to locate the source of the sound.

If you don't mind, I'd prefer it if you'd put that horrid thing down, a voice told him.

The blood drained from Draco's face, and two things became utterly apparent to him at the same time. First, someone, and he had no idea fucking who, was rummaging around in his head, greedily devouring some of his memories as if they were its first meal after a long and lengthy fast. And second, although he didn't wait around for confirmation that the voice was a threat to anyone but himself, was that he needed to tell Hermione to run.

Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you…

But Draco didn't care what the voice had to say. He threw open the bedroom door and raced down the hallway toward the kitchen where he figured she'd be, hastily throwing up a cage around where the intruder had made itself comfortable among some of his more benign childhood memories.

Or, you know, do, the voice added sarcastically, rattling against its cage. I'll be right here when your little tantrum is over.

Words – a hurried warning – were perched on the edge of his tongue, and Draco realized too late that he should have shouted them as soon as he threw open the bedroom door. He nearly slammed into the corner of the wall as he turned the corner, but when he skidded to halt in the middle of kitchen with nothing but his briefs and his wand, his fear was replaced with confusion.

"Mother?" he asked, his eyes falling on the figure seated at the kitchen table.

Narcissa jumped. "Oh, Draco darling," she began, turning to face him, her eyes narrowing in concern at his state of distress, "you startled me."

Draco's eyes dropped to his mother's lap, and it was then that he noticed she was holding something in her arms. Scorpius.

Oh, this is going to be good, the voice mused, settling itself against the back of its prison.

"Someone got past my defenses," Draco said quickly, cringing as laughter once again echoed out in his head. "Hermione – where is she? I need to get her out of here!"

Narcissa frowned, her eyes immediately searching the dark hallway behind her son. "Hermione is gone," she said quietly, tightening her hold on the infant in her arms. "Are the others–?"

"What do you mean gone?" he croaked, for the briefest of moments forgetting about the voice sitting behind a set of makeshift bars in his head. "Where the fuck did she go?"

Do try not to pass out when she gives you the news.

"Shut up," Draco growled angrily, immediately conjuring a pile of bricks to further encase the voice within.

"Draco?" Narcissa asked, her voice trembling as she watched her son's eyes glaze over and his head twitch as he struggled with something she couldn't see.

He didn't answer right away; all of his attention was now focused on trapping the intruder behind his mental brick and mortar. One brick at a time, he began to construct a wall in front of the cage, creating a simple but effective pattern. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face as he concentrated, pausing the construction every so often to check that the structure was still stable. It wasn't as sophisticated as the walls he'd once built to keep Voldemort from accessing memories that would have gotten both him and his family killed – those took significantly more time than he currently had at his disposal – but he hoped it would be enough until he could attempt something more permanent.

When he felt the last brick slip into place, cutting off the soft snickers that had been mocking him since he had started, he finally pointed to his head, and Narcissa, being well versed in the mental warfare her husband and son had been subjected to in the past, nodded quickly in understanding. But it was only after he threw the entire weight of his consciousness at the hastily constructed wall, testing its strength one final time, that he met his mother's worried gaze and motioned that it was safe for them to talk.

"Hermione isn't here," she told him, her voice quiet. "She left a couple of hours ago."

The words took a moment to sink in, but when they did, Draco saw red.

"SHE DID WHAT!?" he shouted, his voice ringing out across the cottage.

Oh wow. Remind me to help you sort through these anger issues when this is all over, the voice said as the newly constructed wall came crumbling down.

But Draco didn't hear a single one of those words. He didn't hear the collapse of the wall. He didn't hear the sounds of doors flying open in the hallway. He didn't hear Harry come running into the kitchen, shouting for Ginny and Andromeda to stay back, or the hurried shuffle of his father's feet. He didn't hear the sudden cries of his son. The only thing he heard was a furious buzzing that accompanied the rushing of blood to his head.

You might want to say something, the voice began, shouting over the static in Draco's ears. The whole 'I may or may not have just had a stroke' thing is really not a good look for you.

Overall, it wasn't actually terrible advice, and Draco, despite every bone in his body telling him not to trust whoever was speaking to him, closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

See, that wasn't so hard.

Draco ignored the retort. He wasn't calm, but he was calm enough to remember the bridge in the back of his mind and rushed to it, desperately hoping that Hermione hadn't already built something to keep him out. Holding his breath, he pushed through the barrier, ready to call her name, ready to beg her to come back, and then he saw it. A maze. She had built a fucking maze.

And knowing Hermione, that wasn't the only thing she had constructed to keep him out.

Oh, dear, the voice said as Draco retreated back across the bridge, the smidgen of calm he had been able to muster evaporating away.

"Where is Hermione, mother?" Draco asked again, quickly opening his eyes and angrily shoving the voice to the side.

He wanted to punch something. He wanted to set something – a few somethings – on fire. He wanted to flip the table and scream until the windows around him shattered. But the tiny face peeking out of his mother's arms stopped him, and instead, he settled for imagining the havoc, his entire body tense from the restraint.

Narcissa opened her mouth, then shut it, her eyes flickering to her husband who was studying her oddly from his position in the doorway, his hand shaking slightly as he braced himself against his cane.

"She went to find him – the Aescling," she said finally, looking back at her son, her eyes lingering over the obvious tightness in his neck.

Draco stopped breathing for a moment. Some part of him had known that's what Hermione had done, he'd been terrified that she would leave without him since he had read the blasted letter, but he hadn't wanted to believe it. Hearing his mother confirm it, seeing the pained look in her eyes as she told him the truth was more than he had been prepared for, and a sharp pain erupted in his chest.

He clutched the spot above his heart, struggling to inhale a full breath, and he realized that he wasn't sure what was worse: his anger with her for leaving or his guilt for being the one who had pushed her to do it.

"Why would–" Draco managed finally, but paused, something finally clicking in his brain. "You helped her, didn't you? You let her go?!"

I did try to warn you.

I'll fucking deal with you in a second, Draco told the voice, conjuring another brick and chucking it toward the dark corner it was still lurking in.

Well, that was a bit immature. But fine, I'll wait.

"Mother?" Draco prompted, his hands shaking at his sides. "Answer me."

He could barely focus on anything other than the news that Hermione had left in the middle of the night to go fight a deranged wizard on her own, and his mother's part in her ploy, but he was also acutely aware the voice had willingly retreated, waiting politely for him to deal with the emotions that he was currently drowning in. And even though he wasn't naïve enough to drop his guard entirely or stupid enough to pretend that the intruder wasn't still a threat, it was the only goddamn comforting thing about the entire situation.

Draco glared at his mother, watching as she lifted her chin defiantly in the air.

"Of course, I helped her," she said, meeting his icy glare with one of her own. "You were never going to let her go."

"I was trying to protect her," he said, his voice nearly a shout. "How could you just let her go after him alone?!"

He didn't try to fight the sudden uptick in his heartbeat. Angry didn't even begin to describe how he felt. No word in the English language could, and there was really no sense in attempting to control it.

Narcissa pursed her lips together, visible torn between defending her actions with Hermione and supporting her son.

"Draco," Harry said, taking a step into the room and placing a hand on his friend's shoulders. But Draco shrugged it away, his hands balled into fists so tight that his arms were shaking under the strain.

"How could you do this to me?" he demanded, ignoring the troubled frown on Harry's face as he backed away. "How could you just sit here–" he paused, sucking in a breath "–and let her walk out the door?"

"A mother will do anything to protect her family," Narcissa said quietly, repeating her words from the previous day.

"And I wouldn't?" Draco countered, clenching his jaw.

"She didn't want to risk losing you," she told him. "She didn't want to risk losing any of you," she added as he glanced over her son's shoulder toward Harry and Lucius.

But I can't lose her, he wanted to scream.

Draco's vision blurred, and he closed his eyes to fight back the tears threatening to escape down the sides of his face. "Please, tell me where she went," he begged, his voice heavy with fear. "If she dies and I didn't even try to protect her…" he dropped his head to his hands. "Fuck," he choked out.

Narcissa studied him for a moment, tears now filling her own eyes. "Take your son, Draco," she said softly, standing up from her position at the table. "He's the one who needs protection now."

Draco opened his eyes slowly and calmed as his eyes fell on the bundle in his mother's arms. Scorpius. He wanted to hold him, he wanted to take him back to his room and ward it so heavily that no one could enter or leave, but he couldn't. Not now. His son wouldn't be safe with him so long as there was still a voice in his head, and so he resisted the urge to grab Scorpius and run, instead shaking his head and pointing at his temple.

"Keep everyone away from me until I deal with this," he instructed, realizing that he had risked too much already by letting the voice linger freely as long as it had. He turned to face his father. "Be ready to leave," he added solemnly, his words purposely vague. His didn't need to translate; his father would know what he really meant. If this goes poorly, you need to get them all out of here.

"What–?" Harry began, but Lucius pulled him back into that hallway and nodded at his son, Draco's gesture telling him all he needed to know.

"Narcissa," he called, motioning for her to follow them out of the room.

Well, I think now might be as good a time as any to tell you that I'm not here to hurt anyone, the voice disclosed as Draco watched his mother hurry about the room, Scorpius buried tightly in her arms. Congratulations, by the way. He really is the spitting image of you.

And why should I listen to someone who broke into my fucking head? Draco snapped in response, immediately initiating an attack.

He probed the source of the voice with the sharp edges of his own consciousness, gritting his teeth together under the strain. Occlumency was a sophisticated kind of warfare, one he was well-versed in, but it had been years since he had needed to go on the defensive in his own mind, and he could already feel the familiar rush of exhaustion that came with trying to do too much too fast.

Firstly, that really isn't necessary, the voice said as it slipped easily – a little too easily – out of Draco's grasp. Secondly, I didn't break into anything. I merely followed the maze. The name's Frode by the way. If you care.

I'm a little busy right now, Draco growled, trying to attack the voice from another angle, beads of sweat building on his forehead as he conjured a series of sharp objects and sent them flying toward its new position. So, if you could just fuck off and save me all this trouble, that'd be great.

Fine, Frode replied, swooping toward the bridge at the back of Draco's mind. I'll just go back to the others and help your wife.

Draco choked and paused his attack, letting the shards of mental glass fall to the floor. What did you just say?

I thought you wanted me to – what did you call it – fuck off?

No, what do you mean 'help my wife'?

Oh, yes. Your wife, Frode began, moving away from the bridge. The others will be with her now – or they should. I didn't actually wait around to make sure they made contact.

What others? Draco asked, his body shaking again, this time with an overwhelming sense of fear. The fuck is going on? he thought, too confused to care if the voice had heard that too.

Her ancestors of course, Frode explained as if Draco should know what he was talking about. Wait no, that's not entirely accurate. Her forebearers? Ugh, that just doesn't sound as cool. Incredibly ancient ones? Oh, Halvor would love that. Too bad he's not here. Oh, I know – her guardian angels! Bollocks, that's not right either. Well, we'll just have to work on that. Anyway, they're with her.

Alright, you're starting to piss me off. Either tell me where Hermione is or I'll–

Frode laughed, reading Draco's thoughts before he could articulate them. I'd like to see you try.

Draco threw his head back, rubbing his brow as if to fight off an impending headache. He was annoyed, tremendously, but even so, it was becoming abundantly clear that Frode's intentions were not what he would have expected from someone who had managed to infiltrate his heavily guarded mind without him noticing.

Are you this difficult with everyone whose mind you invade? he asked finally.

You're my first, Frode admitted happily. The others have always found me a bit too over eager for these kinds of things, but they needed a fourth, so here I am!

Draco groaned, dropping his head to his hand. Wonderful. I'm dealing with a fucking amateur.

They're going to help her, Frode told him, ignoring the snippy comment.

The ancestors?

Yes, the ancestors, Frode said, clearly exacerbated. Who else would I be talking about?

And who might I have the pleasure of being stuck with? Draco inquired, deciding to throw any bit of diplomacy out of the window. He wasn't exactly in the right mental state for niceties.

Frode. Honestly, my boy, are you quite alright? We've been over this.

I know what your names is, Draco assured the voice somewhat angrily. I meant what the fuck are you?

The one who was sent to collect you.

You say that like it actually answers my question, Draco replied, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. And collect me? I'm not a fucking porcelain doll.

Well, it's the only answer that matters, Frode affirmed, projecting a set of moving images behind Draco's eyes. I'm here to collect you… for the battle.

The images moved quickly, and Draco couldn't quite make out what was happening as each one flew by, but there was no mistaking the identity of the man who was center stage in all of them.

HIM, Draco growled, his fury returning like a freight train.

Oh, good. You two are already acquainted, Frode observed, pausing the dizzying shuffle of images. Saves us some time.

I'm going to rip that motherfucker's heart out, Draco seethed.

That's the spirit! Frode exclaimed excitedly, trying (and failing miserably) to mirror Draco's mood. Now, if you don't mind, put some damn pants on. Can't have your bits falling out in the middle of a well-deserved murder!

Frode, Draco began as he sprinted to his room, shouting Harry's name in between ragged breaths, I really hope you have a better battle cry.

Oh, I think you'll be quite surprised.

Hermione landed more roughly than she anticipated, stumbling slightly as she tried to adjust to sudden end of the near vomit-inducing transport from the Norse temple.

Sorry dear, Thyra apologized, sensing her disorientation. Forgot to mention that it would probably be a tad bumpy on the descent. It's always tricky borrowing someone else's magic, and I needed to use some of yours so we could slip past his alarms undetected.

Oh, that's alright, Hermione replied, wiping the sweat from her forehead as she straightened herself out. You'll have to teach me how to do that one day, she added, smiling weakly.

Of course, Thyra promised. That and so much more.

Finally recovered, Hermione took a moment to take in her new surroundings. She was standing at the edge of another dense forest, her cloaked form blending conveniently with the shadows of the surrounding trees. It was almost silent, but a quiet rustling drew her eyes to the small meadow which extended outward in front of her. The sun hadn't risen yet, but the beginnings of a new day were peeking out of the horizon, illuminating the sky with a dull, orange glow through which she could just make out the outline of a small house on the other side of the field.

This is really where he's been hiding? she asked, surprised at the un-grandness of it all. It's almost…

Calming? Halvor offered, chuckling. I'm sure he thought he was being clever by coming to a place like this.

Clever he most certainly is not, Runa snorted. He couldn't even handle a few dead ancestors. We sent him running from the temple with his tail between his legs years ago.

It was really one of your better hauntings, elskan mín, Halvor noted as he nestled himself next to Runa. You were in rare form.

Thank you, Runa replied, and Hermione swore she could feel the spirit blushing.

The things I would do–

Oh for goodness sake, Thyra exclaimed, cutting Halvor off before he could elaborate. Now is not the time for lustful declarations. She paused, mumbling something that Hermione couldn't quite make out. Hermione, darling, she continued after a moment, are you ready?

Hermione nodded quickly, but she couldn't hide the small tremble in her hands. How will I know what to do?

Your power grants you quite a bit of freedom in how you choose conjure things, Thyra explained, trying to reassure her. Of course, we will be here to help, but if, for example, you want to conjure fire, you need only to ask for it.

And other spells – the ones I already know? Hermione asked as she chewed nervously on her lip. Will they still react the same way?

Impressively so. They'll be quite amplified, Halvor told her.

What about Norse spells? she continued. I don't know anything about them.

Those we can dictate to you as needed, Thyra replied.

But don't worry about confining your attacks to things bound to specific words, even Norse ones, Runa instructed. Those kinds of spells will always be more predictable, and they'll be easier for Eirick to fight off.

And don't worry too much about the physicality of things, Halvor continued, answering her next question before she could ask it. Trust your instincts.

Instincts, Hermione repeated, a little unsure. Right.

I know this is a lot, Thyra said apologetically. But just remember, you were chosen for a reason.

Hermione swallowed heavily.

Dumbledore had called it destiny, and perhaps it was; she just wasn't quite sure that was the right way to describe it. Because maybe it was nothing more than a cosmic accident, an explosive collision of two magical souls resulting from the cumulative unpredictability of others. If she had been born in any other hospital, on any other day, the power's lineage wouldn't have passed to her. If the Aescling hadn't been corrupted, if he had walked even a slightly different path, there wouldn't have been a need for any of this. But all of those things had happened, and ultimately it didn't really matter whether, in this very moment, she believed in destiny or not; the circumstances were the same. She was still standing at the edge of a forest, talking to the voices in her head.

So, wards first, and Eirick second? Hermione asked, forcing herself to smile.

Yes, Runa replied. But it won't take you very long to take down the wards. They're quite… rudimentary.

Curious to see for herself, Hermione closed her eyes, reaching out with her mind like she did at the temple until she felt resistance in the air. The edge of the wards were only a few paces in front of her, and as she zoomed in on the detail of the barrier, the buzzing of the magic became louder and louder, until it was all she could hear. She could feel the weakness, see where the magic that was now flowing in her veins would have woven in to create an impenetrable wall, and quite suddenly, she wasn't so afraid anymore.

She could do this. First the wards, then him. It really was that easy.

Patience, Thyra warned as Hermione's fingers began to spark in anticipation. We need to wait for the signal.

Hermione's focus snapped inward, and her eyes flew open. What do you mean? What signal?

We're waiting on someone, Thyra explained, moving toward the wall that Hermione had constructed in the back of her mind, perching herself near the top.

Someone? Hermione repeated, confused. The voices hadn't mentioned anything about someone joining them at the temple.

You don't need to worry, Thyra assured her, reading the shift in Hermione's thoughts. It's someone you know.

Someone I–

But a deep, melodic sound interrupted her.

Ahh, I did wonder if Frode would remember the horn, Halvor said excitedly.

Frode?

The sound repeated, this time louder, its ring rattling Hermione's bones, and Thyra swooped off the wall.

He's going to be insufferable for eternity now, Runa groaned, but even she could hide her excitement.

What is going–

The third time was louder still, the force of the noise toppling over the maze and wall at the back of Hermione's mind.

Now, Hermione! Thyra shouted, not waiting for the ringing to stop. Take the wards down now!

Hermione didn't hesitate. She raised a hand in the air, her fingers already tingling with her magic, and conjured a bolt of lightning so bright that she had to shield her eyes as it came barreling down toward the wards. When it made contact, a spectacular explosion lit up the meadow, and she quickly threw up a shield to protect herself from the sparks raining down around her.

Beautiful, Halvor noted. He'll be flying out that door in 3, 2…

And right on cue, the Aescling appeared, his eyes fixed on the location of the explosion across the field.

Hermione studied him from the shadows for a moment, catching a flash of terror and worry on his face, before walking forward into the meadow and dropping her hood.

"Hello, Eirick," she said, her voice steady and calm.

"Well, well," he called back, immediately locking his beady gaze on her. "Look who finally came out to play."

"It's over," she told him, her hands twitching as sparks danced between her fingertips.

"Is that what they told you?" he replied, his smirk evident even from afar. "They've always been fantastic liars."

He's toying with you, Halvor said quietly. Don't let him get under your skin. Stay focused.

"The power is mine," she said, raising a hand and pushing the sparks outward for a bit of show and tell. "You can't control it anymore."

Eirick laughed. "And if I kill you?" he said, taking a few steps toward her, a wand suddenly appearing in his hand. "What do you think happens to it then?"

It doesn't matter what happens then, Runa assured her. You're stronger than him. This is a fight that he can't win.

"The point is a bit moot, don't you think?" Hermione retorted, moving slightly to her left. "You won't be able to kill me."

"We'll see about that," Eirick taunted.

A silent curse came flying at her, and she blocked with ease, quickly redirecting it into the forest behind her. She conjured a small flame in the palm of her hand, preparing to throw it at him in response, but faltered as a flash of platinum hair came into view between the trees that were situated closest to the house.

Draco?

Send it now! a familiar voice commanded, and she did, smiling as the flame shot across the field.

It didn't matter that the Aescling managed to block the fire, and it didn't matter that he retaliated with a spell of his own – one which she avoided with little effort – because the someone Thyra had told her they were waiting for was her fucking husband. And she hadn't realized how much she needed him with her through his until she heard his voice in her head.

How did you get here? Hermione asked as she sent a few more flames careening toward the man. She didn't dare take her eyes off her target lest she give away Draco's position, but her heart swelled knowing that her husband was there.

A talkative little fucker – mind your left (she did, spinning gracefully on her feet) – named Frode, Draco told her. Harry's with me.

Lifting both of her hands in the air, Hermione pushed a powerful gust of wind across the meadow, watching as it raced toward the man.

Heads up, she warned Draco before it hit the house, swearing under her breath when she saw that Eirick had managed to escape it. Tell, Harry I say hello, she added a bit too cheerfully.

Tell him – Merlin, Hermione. This is not a telephone call.

Well, are you just going to hide there or are you going to help? she asked him as she blocked another spell, her shield glowing blue as it absorbed the energy that had been sent to incapacitate her.

They have another task. The voice was Thyra's this time. Try bardargi.

Hermione complied, raising a finger to release the spell with a low whisper while brushing a curl from her eyes with the other hand.

You're going for Theo, she said as the bright red light of her spell spun toward Eirick, colliding roughly with his hastily drawn shield and knocking him onto a knee.

Yes, Draco confirmed quickly. If he's here. If he's alive.

Hermione could sense Draco's impatience and worry through their bond. And he couldn't hide the fact that, even though he was supposed to be finding a way into the house to search for Theo, he was struggling with the idea of leaving her to battle the Aescling on her own. So, she decided to force his hand.

I'll cover you, she replied, conjuring a small ball of electricity. I'll draw him into the field and create a distraction so you and Harry can slip inside without him noticing.

Hermione–

I'll be fine, she assured him, cutting him off before he could protest while she blocked another of Eirick's spells. Just wait for the pretty, big bright bang.

I like her, a new voice announced. I can see why you chose to impregnate her.

For fuck's sake, Frode! Draco exclaimed. Now is not the time!

Hermione quickly pulled away from their conversation, holding back a giggle, and refocused her attention on the man on the other side of the field. "Is this really the best you've got?" she shouted, tilting her head threateningly.

Purposely provoking anyone into a fit of anger was entirely out of character for her, but she felt a strange sort of enjoyment in manipulating someone to react the way that she wanted – especially this man. No wonder Draco loved goading Harry so much at Hogwarts; it was exhilarating.

Instead of replying, Eirick wiped the side of his face and took another step toward her – another step away from Draco and Harry – and twirled his wand in his hands.

Good, keep coming you fucker, she thought, smirking as the ball rotated above her hand, growing in size.

And to think, she didn't believe she had it in her, Halvor remarked, chuckling.

Shut up and let her focus, Runa quickly chided.

"How does it feel to know that you've failed?" Hermione continued, resisting the urge to shake her head at the voices, the ball now the size of a Quaffle. "That the ancestors chose me, a muggle-born baby who hadn't even grown into her magic yet, over you?"

The Aescling's lips twitched, and she smiled, watching as he took another step toward her. She'd hit the right nerve.

"You're not special," she told him, gaining confidence as she spoke. "And now look at you. You're nobody."

A growl escaped the man's throat and he spun, slashing his wand angrily in the air, and in the same breath, Hermione finally released the ball.

Go! she told Draco.

The ball collided with the spell seconds later, triggering a large eruption of white-hot sparks that rained out over the meadow. It wasn't a particularly effective attack, although a few of the sparks did manage to land directly on Eirick's face, but it was definitely the perfect diversion, and Hermione held her breath as she watched Draco and Harry run inside the house, exhaling only when they were safely inside.

You're doing beautifully, Thyra told her. Frode will help keep them safe.

"I have to admit," Hermione began when Eirick glared at her again, the skin around his eyes red and irritated from the sparks that had hit him. "I really expected a lot more from you."

"Oh, you want more?" he replied, raising his wand in the air.

Hermione, shield! Runa yelled.

But she was too slow. She had missed the small movement in Eirick's other hand, and a curse slammed into her chest before she could finish conjuring her shield, knocking the wind out of her. She blinked, stumbling slightly on her feet, and realized that her sudden loss of breath was the least of her worries.

The blood trickling down her chest was tad bit more worrisome than a few lost breaths.

Oh, fuck this arsehole, she growled, pausing only to heal herself with a spell Thyra had called out before launching another attack.

"Do you see anything?" Draco asked as he ran his fingers along the wall, frantically searching for evidence of a hidden room or door.

He knew Hermione could keep the Aescling distracted, but if Theo was still alive, there was no telling how long they had until the Aescling decided to bait Hermione into doing something reckless, and so they needed to move fast.

"I don't fucking see anything," Harry replied indignantly, the light at the end of his wand pointed at the floor.

Draco swore, racing over to the next interior wall, searching for anything – a crack that didn't belong, a wisp of air that didn't make sense, even a speck of paint that was out of place – that could lead them to a hidden room. But there was nothing.

He always had a thing for dungeons, Frode told Draco, which although a helpful bit of information was not exactly how Draco would have phrased it. There has to be an entrance to one in here somewhere.

We're fucking looking! Draco replied crossly.

Well, look fucking harder, Frode retorted which was followed almost immediately by deluge of mental bricks.

Next time it will be knives, Draco warned him.

"Draco!" Harry called, tearing the blond away from the stand-off in his head. "I think there's something here."

Draco raced over and found Harry with his face pressed to the ground, his eyes following an unnatural line in the wood. Following suit, Draco dropped to the floor, running his fingers over the worn floorboards until they brushed against a small, almost imperceptible seam in the wood. He followed it until he found a corner, and then another, and once he found all four, he didn't need any more convincing.

"I don't see a way to open it," Harry noted, sitting upright so he could sweep the light at the end of his wand over the area again.

It's likely sealed with a spell, Frode interjected. There are a few we could try to unlock it without causing any damage, but–

No time, Draco replied, lifting his wand to cast a quick silencing charm. "Harry, move!"

Harry caught the determined, almost manic look in Draco's eyes and jumped to his feet, conjuring a shield in front of the two of them as he backed toward the wall. The next step was obvious to both of them.

"Do it," Harry said, nodding quickly.

"Bombarda!" Draco shouted without a moment's hesitation.

The floor in front of them exploded, sending splinters of wood into the air, a few of which collided roughly with Harry's shield while the rest landed harmlessly around the room. Without waiting for the dust to settle, Draco took a step forward, impatiently squinting through the haze toward the hole in the ground before crouching down to peer into the darkness below. Harry moved next to him, his wand raised to illuminate their view, and then it hit them. A terrible, sickening smell.

There was blood down there. And there was a lot of it.

Before either of them could caution the other about the risks of doing something rash and stupid, they were both jumping into the hole.

The two men landed heavily on their feet, lucky that the drop hadn't been more than a few feet because neither of them in their hast had bothered to cast anything to cushion their fall. The room was dark, the only light coming from Harry's wand, and eerily quiet, but the scent of blood was now so overwhelming that both men could taste its metallic tang on their tongues.

Oh my, Frode said quietly, for once completely at a loss for words.

Swallowing heavily, Draco raised a shaky hand to illuminate the room.

And when he finally saw the scene that awaited him in the shadows, he regretted ever casting the spell.

The carnage was horrifying.

Theo's body sat crumpled and unmoving in a corner, one hand chained up against the wall while the other was folded awkwardly in front of him. His face and bare chest were covered in blood, as was the floor beneath him, and there were a series of deep, oozing wounds on his abdomen. His legs were curled underneath him, as if he had at some point tried to make himself as small as possible, but even partially obscured, Draco could see that the bones in them were twisted and broken.

Draco took a step forward, teetering dangerously on his feet, and it was then that he recognized why only one of Theo's arms were shackled to the wall. The hand on the other was missing.

The fucker had cut it off.

"Is he–?" But Harry couldn't finish the words; he doubled over and vomited on the floor.

Draco fought back the bile in his own throat as he fell to his knees in front of his friend. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't.

He had failed. Theo was gone.

"We're too late," he murmured, choking back a sob. "We're too fucking late."

No, Frode said suddenly. He's not dead. Not yet. But he will be if you don't do exactly as I say.

a/n: Went back and forth about adding the next bit of the battle in this chapter, but it would have just been far too long (plus, I'm tired, Dorito'd out, and really just wanted to post this). Anyways - two more chapters to go, and I can promise you a bit of resolution in the next one.

Can't thank everyone enough for all your support these past few months! Your reviews, follows, likes, etc. make this whole journey worth it.

Shoutouts to TheLadyPotter for intuiting that the ancestors would be able to talk to Draco, and to HarryPGinnyW4eva for the cream cheese tip (it was a wonderfully horrible idea and I'm now obsessed).

Translation: bardargi (old norse) ~ beating, trashing; fight, battle