"I'm thirsty."
Hermione glanced at Draco and nodded, before rising from her position beside his mattress. "I'll see if there is anything suitable to drink."
Watching her leave, he struggled to sit upright, but the blade moved a tad deeper when he shifted his right arm. "Stupid bint." The curse was meant for the unknown tart who'd impaled him.
Reaching for his sack with his left hand, he stopped suddenly when he saw that his Pensieve and phials lay in shambles on the stone floor. "No!" he whispered in horror. "I need those!"
"No, you don't," Hermione answered listlessly from the doorway, holding a beaker filled with a questionable fluid.
"What have you done?" He wanted to rage at her, but her haunted look and his gaping wound made it unlikely that he'd be able to finish ranting without slumping over.
Handing him the jar, she sat on the end of the mattress, far away from him. "What I needed to do."
He sniffed the contents and gulped it to the back of his throat, hoping to avoid the bitter taste. It didn't work. Gagging and coughing, he panted for air. "What… did you… need to do?"
Turning to gaze at him, she reached over the distance between them to cup his cheek and brush her thumb over his bottom lip. "Don't worry yourself over it."
"You're starting to worry me, and that's saying a lot."
She gave him a teary smile. "Don't disappoint me."
Gripping her wrist as tight as he could, he pulled her close. "What have you done?"
Carefully, she laid her forehead against his. "It'll be all right, in the end. I promise."
Damn it, what had she done? He needed to see those memories! He gathered the situation was dire if she looked both determined and defeated at once. But why? "Hermione," he rasped, "tell me what you've done. Please? I don't want to be left in the dark."
"You won't be," she assured him. "When this is over, you will always be in the light."
"You promised to stay safe." The challenge was uttered hoarsely. He was not going to cry! The more he fought it, though, the more it threatened to overtake him completely.
"We can't always keep our promises." She kissed him on the cheek, nuzzling him.
Threading the fingers of his left hand through her tresses, he closed his lips over hers, seeking entrance to her sweet mouth, pouring everything that he was into a soul-deep kiss that refused to end. "I won't let you break your promise," he breathed against her skin.
Peace descended upon Hermione in that tender moment, as she pulled back and stared into his gray depths. "You don't have a choice."
"Look, I don't mean to be arrogant, or anything," Harry told the approaching phantom, "but you're not the first otherworldly dictator to want my soul." He shrugged nonchalantly. "You see I still have it."
"Insolent whelp!" it said in a hiss, now brandishing a scythe it produced out of thin air. "You forfeit your soul for your impertinence!"
"Impertinence?" he scoffed. "Who says that these days?"
"Harry," Luna warned, tugging on his sleeve. "What are you doing?"
"Getting him to make a mistake," he muttered out of the side of his mouth. "People always make mistakes when they're angry."
"But he's dead people," she observed. "Doesn't that make a difference?"
"Erm, not sure." He watched the being swing the scythe towards them and just above their heads. "Let's make a run for it, just in case."
They shot off in the direction of the gothic building over the hill, ran full tilt and never looked back, only coming to a stop when they reached bolted doors. "What… now?" Luna wheezed.
"See if there are any—" The deadly scythe was suddenly embedded in the door between them.
"That'll work." Harry grabbed the handle of the lethal tool and began hacking at the wooden door that barred them from entering The Ridges.
"No! You cannot enter!" the wraith yelled, flying at them in a rage.
In a moment of clarity, Harry abruptly turned suddenly and buried the scythe straight in what would've been the spirit's face, effectively halting the ghoul's advance. He watched as it screamed horribly, trying to pry the tip from its hood and failing miserably.
Harry glanced at Luna. "Kill them with their own sword."
"Oh! Like you did with Voldemort," she surmised, nodding her head.
"Exactly."
The spirit, unable to remove the weapon, dissolved into nothingness before their eyes. Once it was gone, Harry picked up the scythe that was mysteriously still tangible, and continued hacking at the door. "Why didn't we do this before?"
"Well, I mistakenly advised against coming up here in the beginning," she answered sheepishly. "Please forgive me?"
"But why did you advise against it?" He took another whack at the wood, splintering it enough that he could reach inside.
"Because," she said in a small voice, "if someone was to die a horrible death, I didn't want it to be you."
Standing in the doorway to 'The Ballroom', Hermione tried desperately not to lose what little hold she had on her mind. They were all there, every member of the Dark Zodiac, except for the one missing. Her.
She hadn't know the time frame of her departure, so she'd waited until Draco had dozed off again. Earlier, she'd dug around in her pocket, withdrawn the scrap of paper she'd ripped in half before, and reread the quote written upon it. Clutching it in her hand, she'd held Draco in her arms, and murmured nonsensical things while she'd come to grips with her decision, knowing it was the right thing to do. Finally, she'd cradled him close one last time, kissed his brow, and left.
Stepping into the room, she slowly made her way to the group, remembering a poem she'd read about ghosts, as a child. "As I was walking up the stair, I met a man who wasn't there," she pondered aloud, nearly sick with all the malevolent energy gathered in that spot. "He wasn't there again, today. I wish—how I wish—he'd stay away."
"My dear, we've been expecting you." Nicodemus Floohart stood before her and bowed low with a flourish. "You look a little peaky."
"Wouldn't know why," she spat at him. She would go, but she wouldn't go without a fight.
"Ah, spirit. I like that in a woman," he mused, taking her hand to guide her further into the room. "Makes it that much more enjoyable when they break."
Eleven spirits stood riveted to the glowing corresponding symbol on the floor. She now saw each of the illustrations from the book Nicodemus had given Snape.
The First Born Son smiled at her and then laughed. She promptly gave him the two-fingered salute. He scowled in a grimace that meant possible retribution in the afterlife. Hermione could care less, but not by much.
Moans came from the head of The Torso off to her left, as it gyrated from side to side, its hands flailing out to find some kind of purchase. Again she felt pity well in her heart at the poor man dispatched in this manner.
The Bound Woman was no longer hanging from the rafters, but Hermione wished she was; her appearance was even more ghastly up close and on ground level. She hoped her own glyph wasn't anywhere near hers.
Having looked at the book further while Draco was sleeping, she now recognised the other spirits she'd not come into contact with that night. The Withered Lover held a striking resemblance to Lily Potter, Harry's mother, and she wondered if it was actually her spirit trapped in this awful place. Half of her body was blackened, which, if she was indeed Lily Potter, could most likely be the effects of the Killing Curse.
Tears welled in her eyes when she saw what must have been the woman who had attacked Draco with the knife. The Angry Princess, as she was called, was beautiful and disfigured, all in one. Who wouldn't be angry at having such perfection marred?
When her gaze landed on the giant in diapers and the small woman who held his hand, she knew she was lucky to have escaped their clutches earlier in the evening. The Great Child and his Dire Mother stood next to each other, the old hag sneering at her while the man-child pouted, still wanting his dolly.
Next to them, stood what could only be called The Pilgrimess. The poor woman, dressed in colonial-era clothing, was still bound in her stocks, unable to shake her possibly unwarranted burden. She looked at Hermione with great pleading in her eyes, but eventually turned away when the witch said nothing.
The last three were terrors in their own right, one of them Hermione personally associated with. The Jackal was considered the most violent, the cruellest, the most… disturbed of all the spirits assembled here. So insane was he in life that he'd been kept away from the other inmates in the asylum, caged for his own benefit and that of his guards. He now snapped at her, like a frothing, rabid dog, anxious to get his hands on her again.
Across from him stood The Hammer, an inmate who had been wrongly accused of raping another patient. When the guards had pronounced him guilty, they'd subjected him to torture by nailing railroad spikes into his body, going so far as to remove his hands and spear his bloody arms with mallets. He was a walking weapon.
On the other side was The Juggernaut—all seven feet of him. He'd been a simple man, committed when he was left parentless at the age of sixteen. The guards had taken great pleasure in taunting him for his size, until one day he'd managed to grab hold of one of his tormentors and snap him in two like a twig. His face and body were riddled with holes, and she to wonder if it was due to Muggles bullets.
That left one spot for her—The Torn Princess. When she made her way to the vacant mark, Hermione found that her feet were stuck to the floor. Frowning, she looked at Nicodemus.
"I thought I had to stand on the glyph?" Her eyes darted to the space, but widened when she saw Draco standing there, sans knife. "No!" she screamed, desperate to free her legs.
"Ah, dearest," Floohart purred, stroking her cheek. "I had a change of heart." He turned his gaze in the direction she was staring. "He's rather torn, wouldn't you say?"
"Bastard! You said I could take his place!" she ground out. "You promised!"
He looked back at her, expression placid. "I lied."
"Then the contract is null and void," she countered.
Floohart tapped his chin in contemplation. "Contract? I don't remember any contract." He smirked at her outrage.
"Hermione, let it go, love."
She returned her attention to Draco, who was looking at her with the same kind of pleading The Pilgrimess had, telling her with his eyes what he could not say aloud. Let me go.
Shaking her head vehemently, she said in a sob, "No, I have to save you!"
"Told you I would make you keep your promise," he said with his trademark smirk. "A Malfoy always gets what he wants." He had the audacity to wink at her.
"Oh, I like him." Floohart laughed. "Maybe I'll let him wreak a little havoc once I'm free."
"Draco," she said pleadingly once more, "don't do this."
He closed his eyes in agony, then opened them, staring at her hatefully. "Get the fuck out of here, Mudblood!"
"Seems he doesn't want you." Floohart tutted. "Shame. I'd love to be the one to initiate you into the seedier side of that particular vice." He ran his hands up and down his body. "Mmmh, I feel a sin coming on!"
Hermione's feet were suddenly free, but she rebounded from the barrier that encompassed the group of spirits several times as she tried to cross it, and was sent to land on her backside every one of them. Floohart stood in the middle with his hands upraised, chanting a repeating curse or spell in Latin, while those forming the circle floated around slowly, their power being drained before her eyes.
"In umbra Malorum Ligni."
In the shadow of the Tree of Sinners
"Iuxta arae Secundus Fili."
By the shrine of the Second son
Draco arched his back in agony, feeling his magic leeched from him with every word Floohart uttered.
"Ex sangvine Abietarii."
With the blood of the Carpenter
"Supra sigilii Gehennae."
Above the seals of Gehenna
"Ego, devotus verus, vos invoco:"
I, the true believer, invoke you
"Animae vexabilum Malorum."
Souls of sinners in pain
The words sent chills up her spine and she tried again to break the barrier that prevented her from releasing Draco. This time, she was thrown into the doors at the entrance to the room.
"Dotis meus vexabilis, furia et ululati tuus."
Lend me your suffering, your anger and screams
"Ut cunctus ambulabimus."
So we shall all walk proudly
"Trans terrae Edenis."
On the lands outside Eden.
"Hermione?"
She yelped in surprise; she couldn't help it, when Harry laid a hand on her shoulder. When she made to hug him in relief, she was taken aback by the massive weapon he carried. "What is that?"
"Erm, not sure, but I think… hey!"
She grabbed the weapon from him and took off running.
"Where are you going with that?" he called after her, but received no answer. Harry watched in disbelief while Hermione absconded with the deadly scythe, strode purposefully towards the ring of otherworldly—and one worldly—beings, and proceeded to challenge the person in the middle. It all happened so fast; there was no way to stop her.
"Floohart!" she yelled above the din his spell was creating. "Remember that little caveat I asked about? That one where this doesn't happen?" She indicated his menagerie with a sweep of her hand.
"Hermione, what are you doing?" Harry screamed from the doorway, unclear as to why his best friend was threatening someone who looked more powerful than anyone in the room.
Either Floohart didn't hear her or he chose to ignore her, which brassed her off even more, so Hermione took things into her own hands. "Kiss your arse good-bye."
Taking the handle, she brought it down across her knee, snapping the wood in two. She then took the sharp blade of the scythe and placed it over her heart. Knowing the boundary on the circle would press it deep into her chest, she ran with the tip poised where it could do the most damage. At that moment, Floohart turned his attention to her and his eyes widened in real fear.
"No!" he roared, unable to stop the motion of events, echoing Harry and Luna's combined shouts.
Draco watched with growing horror as she hit the shield keeping the spirits and himself bound to the circle. There was a blinding white light that filled the room and agonised shrieks could be heard everywhere.
Just as she'd predicted, the cool metal sliced through Hermione's flesh instantly, piercing the organ keeping her alive. She heard several screams, including her own, and she vaguely wondered if her plan had worked, not that there was much she could do now, if it hadn't.
Tumbling to the floor, she saw bright lights flash here and there, before her eyes drooped in exhaustion. The next sensation she felt was one of being lifted, though her limbs were heavy.
"Hermione? Love?" It was Draco's voice. "What have you done?"
Even though she couldn't see him anymore, she could still hear him, and she turned in the direction of his sweet tone. "You're free… yes?"
Draco glanced all around him. The entities were gone; all that remained of each was a pile of ash where the glyphs had been. In the middle of the circle there was a scorch mark that looked like it had been burnt into the wood via acid. "How did you do it?"
Harry and Luna rushed to Draco's side and knelt on the floor next to him. "Hermione?" Harry whispered, tears clogging his throat. "What have you done?"
"Thirteenth spirit," she murmured, her breathing shallow. "The Selfless Love," she said with a serene smile. "Negates… everything…"
"Love?" Draco pleaded, trying to stem the flow of blood from her chest. "Stay with me, please?"
Was it raining? It was so warm now, not like the cold darkness of before.
"Hermione!" Draco roared, shaking her limp body. "You can't leave me here!" He clutched her frame to his, rocking back and forth. "You can't do this!"
"Draco," Luna sobbed, gripping his shoulder. "She's gone."
"No!" he said with a snarl, smacking her hand away. "She promised me she would stay safe, and Hermione Granger always keeps her promises."
"Malfoy…" Harry sniffed, scrubbing at his own tears. "She's dead—"
"She's not dead!" Draco caressed her pale, cold cheeks and smoothed back the errant tresses away from her sightless eyes. "She's just sleeping." He kissed her brow. "She's so very tired."
Harry lost it at that point and began shouting his anger to the rafters. "Is this what you wanted? Huh?"
"Shhh, you'll wake her," Draco murmured, cradling the small witch against his chest. "She kept me safe all night and she needs to sleep."
"Draco," Luna said hesitantly. "She's not here anymore."
This caused the blond wizard to clutch Hermione even closer, growling at the others when either of them dared come near her. Instead of trying to convince him otherwise, Luna just sat next to him and ran her hand in soothing circles on his back, saying nothing while he held the woman that had saved them all, as Harry stared numbly in the distance.