Harry felt like he might drop from exhaustion as they trekked up the long and weaving drive that cut through the hill and ascended to the castle at the top. The rain had only continued to come down with greater force; the drops were nearly painful as they were being driven into the weary boys. Their clothes were so drenched that they felt heavy, and each step was becoming an increasing struggle.
Harry was worn, but Ron was making no effort to hide his blatant exhaustion. He was panting heavily, his breath turning to long streams of white vapor in the cold, damp atmosphere. In between his obnoxious, ragged breaths he would find the energy to grumble an indistinct chain of complaints. Harry would have wacked him if he'd had the energy.
As they finally made their way to the summit they were presented with the further challenge of a magnificent set of stairs leading up to an impossibly huge set of front doors. When they reached the doors they stood there hesitant, dripping large puddles to the ground.
"Do we knock?" Ron asked, his teeth clattering from the windy chill.
Harry didn't respond, merely inspected the door. It was carved with ornate depictions of dragons swirling around as small, horrified men and women seemed to be reaching out as though trying to escape. It was hardly welcoming, but the black wood in which the carving was done looked sturdy, and more so, expensive. This castle was clearly very old and illustrious, and he wondered if Hermione had ever read about it. He would bet his Firebolt that she had.
He located a large door knocker that looked like a clawed fist, and he lifted it heavily, allowing it to fall against the door with a resounding THUD. Almost instantly, the massive doors swung open, making both boys take a quick step backwards. They were greeted on the other side by a very translucent butler.
"Mr. Potter I presume?" the ghost nodded with a haughty tone. He had impeccable posture as he stood sizing up the drenched boys hovering in the doorway.
"Yes" Harry responded, with a faint tone of surprise.
"Please enter."
"How do you know who we are?" Ron asked in a suspicious tone as they both stepped cautiously over the threshold and into the dark entry way of the castle.
"I have no idea who YOU are" the ghost drawled with a less than subtle indication of disgust. "I recognized Mr. Potter as you walked up our drive. I asked Senorita Morales if I should release the hyppogriffs on you, but she said to refrain. She is interested to speak with you."
"See that Ron" Harry said with a faint grin. "I really am famous. Even ghosts recognize me."
Ron rolled his eyes at this as the ghost led them deeper into the castle. The architecture was awe-inspiring, a castle to shame even Hogwarts with its high vaulted ceilings, intricate stain glass windows and elaborate tapestries and statues. Despite the impressive display of artwork, Harry could not help but notice a morbid theme to much of it, and he kept his wand very close as he sensed that this castle had probably been pure blood owned for many centuries, and that there was a good chance of association with the dark arts.
The ghost waved his arm before one of the doors and it swung open, revealing the first well lit room they had been in since entering the castle. There was a massive, crackling fire roaring in the hearth that pushed comforting rolls of heat in the boys' direction, alleviating the bitter cold sinking into their bones. In a plush arm chair sat a woman that was incredibly beautiful. Her black hair fell across her shoulders, and her skin was a glowing sun kissed shade. Her eyes were most enchanting; a pale blue, and her lips were plush, a seductive red. She studied them without revealing any emotion except perhaps for a faint look of sly curiosity.
"Harry Potter and friend" the ghost butler said with a deep bow to his mistress.
"I have a name yah know" Ron grumbled, but the haughty ghost seemed unconcerned, merely floating silently through the wall and disappearing. Ron stuck his tongue out at him as he left, but then turned bright red as he moved his attention back to the startling woman who was still quietly studying them. The intensity of her gaze was not lost upon the tall red head, who suddenly dropped his eyes to his shoelaces. Harry would have sworn the woman was a veela were it not for her dark complexion.
"What is your name?" she asked, her tone icy but not without a certain amount of subtle kindness. She had a rich Spanish accent, the sort that made her voice smooth, almost like purr.
"R-Ron" he stuttered, "Ronald Bilius Weasley".
"Ah yes, your exploits are quite famous Mr. Weasley" she said, her perfect lips slowly parting to reveal even, white teeth. "Although, lately all has been quiet for you both yes? No more Dark Lord to fuss over."
Ron nodded stupidly, grinning like a fool with pleasure at the fact that she had heard of him. "You are Anna Alvarez...um... Morales?"
Her eyes suddenly narrowed as if she'd been slapped and within a moment her wand was removed from her pocket and pointed dangerously at Ron, whom had instantly gone from furiously blushing to deathly pale. Harry was just as quick however, his wand evenly pointed back at her.
"How do you know me by that name?" she hissed. "What business do you have here?"
"You translated the ancient tablet, the tale of Agapios" Harry responded, speaking for the first time. "You are the only one to write about Les Maudites... at least the only one who lived."
"And what Harry Potter, you come here now to kill me for it?" Her wand was still pointing at Ron, but her eyes had shifted to look at Harry. He saw malice there, but something else that surprised him, something he wasn't used to. Fear.
"I'm not here to kill you" he said, lowering his wand. "I need to talk to you about Les Maudites."
Slowly she removed her own defensive stance, and Ron let out an audible sigh of relief. "I wrote everything I know in that silly report. It was a great risk to even write of such things I have been told."
"I have heard much the same" Harry agreed. "It was brave of you to do so."
"Brave?" she laughed. "Bravery hardly has anything to do with it. It's just plain old pride that is my downfall. As it always has been with the Morales family. A long tradition of prideful errors. I am the only person alive who can translate those runes, and it seemed a waste not to show that off."
"Have you been threatened? Who told you it was dangerous?"
"A have been informed, in various ways" she said, sounding suspicious and keeping her response cryptic. She sighed. "When you are very wealthy there is nothing to do with your time but be decadent and study useless things like ancient runes."
"The runes weren't worthless, you unveiled a very ancient mystery."
"Yes, and why are they of interest to you Mr. Potter? I must wonder. Are you power hungry? Defeating the Dark Lord just couldn't get you off?"
"Why do you call him the Dark Lord?" Ron growled, still apparently frazzled by her threat. "Are you a Death Eater?"
She walked towards him slowly, with a seductive saunter of a woman with ample confidence. Harry realized she wasn't much older than them, but he had never seen a girl their age move with such perfect grace and poise. Ron looked tense at first, like he might reach for his wand, but as she came within closer proximity he seemed to smell the luxurious fragrance of her perfume and a different expression came over him entirely.
She held her wrists up to him. "No Dark Mark" she said with a slight wink, and Ron looked like he might swoon. She smiled at her little game and walked away, once more retiring to her seat and gesturing that they sit as well. "Your Lord Voldemort was mostly a story of interest here in Spain. It never really reached our grounds, but we have had our own Lords and Ladies of Darkness. My ancestors are said to have been amongst them, but that is long passed. I am the only living descendant of House of Morales, and you have nothing to fear from me."
"You live alone in this castle?" Ron gaped.
She shrugged. "Me, the ghosts, the House Eleves, the pets."
When she said pets Harry instantly thought of the hypogriffs previously mentioned and realized with slight humor that Anna and Hagrid might have something in common. "I need to know about the underworld" Harry said, abruptly changing the topic.
"There is really nothing I can tell you. It is exactly as I wrote in the report; fuzzy details, useless allusions. What is you plan Mr. Potter?"
"Best if you don't know" he replied sternly, and again he saw it. The flicker of fear in her eyes.
"There is truly only one thing I did not mention in the report because I could not determine its significance" she admitted. "I am now sure it will help you any, but I will show you from the pictures I took. Wait here a moment, warm yourselves by the fire."
She left the room and both of the boys quickly scurried to the roaring flames. "She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen" Ron sighed.
Harry shrugged. There was only one woman he was concerned with right now, and she could be ever closer to excruciating pain as they spoke. He felt a jolt of anger with himself that it was all taking so long. But then, his rational mind reminded him that they had very little to work with, and were fortunate to have gotten as far as they had without Hermione's assistance.
There was the soft sound of agile footsteps and Anna returned with a thick notebook in hand. She dumped it on a desk, flipping through the pages. She opened to a black and white photograph of a stone tablet with illegible markings. She pointed a well-manicured finger to a particular symbol in the book.
"This symbol, it always appears whenever mention is made of the underworld. It is not a letter as far as I can tell, but perhaps some sort of insignia that relates to the location of where the entrance to the underworld exists... or perhaps it is left like a calling card."
"A calling card?" Harry asked, furrowing his brow. He leaned closer over the book, looking at the symbol which looked something like a simply sketching of a rose. When he looked back up Anna was studying him was a strange expression that made him vaguely uncomfortable.
She turned quickly, her long black hair floating out from behind her as she did so. She waved her hand over a long dining table and suddenly food appeared. Ron gasped with excitement and she nodded, as if enticing him to dig in. Ron didn't need to be told twice, greedily stuffing his face. Harry lingered however, waiting for his answer.
"Yes, a calling card" she repeated demurely. "I am the world's greatest expert in ancient runes and symbols, but I have seen nothing exactly like this. I have scoured the library trying to find a reference to it, but still nothing. And then it occurred to me... perhaps this symbol is meant to represent something very secretive. Not a place, but a group of people."
Harry frowned at this, but she continued. "When you think of the term underworld, you typically think of one of two things. There is the mythical underworld, a place where the dead were said to be sent. Call it Hades, or whatever you like. Basically, the underworld is often culturally synonymous with hell. But then there is another way we use this term. A criminal underworld or underground society.; people who operate away from the view of the public. A secret society."
"So... you think that in the story of Agapios was about an ancient wizard... who went to the criminal underworld to become immortal?"
There was a spark of excitement in her hypnotizing blue eyes. "Listen" she began, opening to a page of her report, "'after receiving the third mark of death, the wizard Agapios is said to have made contact with the underworld. There he gave his right to die in exchange for magnificent powers and immortality.' That is exactly how it was phrased in the tablet; he made CONTACT. It says nothing about descent, nothing about hell or the dead. It merely says that he traveled to the underworld, made contact, and made a deal with them."
Harry took a step back, mulling this over. "But it mentions Gods" he argued.
She rolled her eyes. "Are you a polytheist Mr. Potter? Do you really believe in a God of War and God of Sun and all that nonsense? Or is more likely, that these were very powerful magical beings, people so strong that they were GOD-LIKE?"
Harry's eyes widened. Of course it made more sense. The logic had alluded him at first, something Hermione may have laughed at him for. But now it dawned on him with perfect clarity. He wasn't looking for the opening to some ancient cave that would bring him to a fiery brimstone prison of the dead. He was looking for a very ancient order of wizards and witches, a hidden order that probably had some practical value for a commodity as rare as his will to die.
And with this realization he growled in frustration, causing the lovely Anna to take a step away from him. "This is just as impossible as when I started. How am I supposed to find a group of people that don't want to be found? Why couldn't the old man just have told me where they are?"
"I don't know who the old man is" she responded in a flat tone. "But maybe he doesn't know himself."
"Damnit, you're right!" Harry nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all. The Underworld was so secretive that even a 2,000 year old Damned One knew not of their whereabouts. That's why he had given Harry little to no information. He had thrown Harry to the wolves with the blind hope that in his panic to save Hermione he would figure it out on his own.
And with this realization Harry fell to his knees on the floor. He would never find them in time.
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Hermione woke for what was only the second time since Harry had left, and a sense of dark dread filled her as she stared up at the vaulted ceilings and wondered if this would be the last thing she would ever see. She could immediately sense that he had not come back yet, and she would have cried but found no energy for tears. She wanted to see his face, wanted him near her. He had always been the best at making her feel better, and even if there was no cure his presence would make is less difficult.
The stiffness in her joints had begun to increase to a throbbing pain, and while it was just bearable she knew she was running short on time until it escalated to something far worse. As it was she could barely move her hands, and her own weakness scared her greatly. She needed him there to comfort her but she also needed to see his face to know he was okay.
There was the sound of someone approaching her bed and she managed to crane her neck just far enough to see Ginny Weasley pass through the sheer white curtains that Madam Pomfrey had constructed to give Hermione some privacy. Ginny's eyes widened at seeing that Hermione was awake, and then she greeted her with a sad, small smile.
"I've been here most of the time, but you've been sleeping" Ginny said softly, sitting at Hermione's bed side.
"Thank-you" Hermione said softly.
Ginny tucked a piece of hair behind her ear nervously, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she studied her deathly ill friend. "Harry wrote me a note before he left Hogwarts letting me know that you had been cursed. He didn't tell me much else except that he needed to go fix it."
"It's probably best you know as little as possible" Hermione responded, her own voice so weary that it shocked her. She vaguely noticed the hurt in Ginny's eyes at these words, so she clarified. "I just mean that it's very dangerous what's going on, as you can see. I don't want anyone else getting hurt."
"Do you think Harry can cure you?"
"I don't know" Hermione sighed. "I don't want him to. The cost will be very great if he does."
"Well, what other option is there?" Ginny asked desperately. She wished she could be of more help. She considered Hermione to be a dear friend, but even more so she respected Hermione greatly. She had always been so poised, logical and intelligent. She conducted herself with a certain calm, intellectual confidence that Ginny envied. She had never known anyone like Hermione Granger, and seeing her reduced to such a frail state was painful and difficult.
Hermione took her time answering Ginny's question because she knew she would have to phrase what she was about to explain very carefully. "Ginny, there is no way to reverse this curse. Harry thinks he has a plan... but it may not work. It many ways, I pray it will not work. The curse is only barely being held off by these charms, but when they fade the pain I experience will be terrible. It will not kill me, but put me in a constant state of torment. This is why I need to ask something of you, something I would not ask if I did not absolutely have to. If the pain becomes too great, and Harry is not back, I need to help me die."
Ginny stood up from her chair in horror of what the brown haired girl had just said to her. This was Hermione Granger, the head strong girl who never gave up fighting and had tremendous courage in the face of any battle. How could she make such a request?
"I- I can't, I couldn't" Ginny stuttered, her eyes pleading with Hermione to take it back.
Hermione knew her words were causing Ginny great distress, but there was nobody else to turn to. She knew Ron was probably with Harry now, and even if he had been there he would never have been able to do it. But Ginny was different. She had a certain strength and dignity that perhaps she had taken from her mother, or perhaps from surviving the horrors of Tom Riddle's diary. Either way, Ginny could muster certain things that many could not.
"Ginny, if you don't I will be subjected to horrible things, and I know you would not want that for me. I know what I'm asking you is a terrible thing, but you must promise me."
Ginny wanted to just run away from the whole issue, but she knew that would not solve the conflict at hand. She could not idly sit by and watch her friend be tortured. Tears suddenly flowed freely down her face, and she carefully took Hermione's hand in hers. "I promise that if it comes to that, I will help you with what needs to be done. But it won't come to that. Harry will sort this out, he always does. Like when he saved me from the Chamber of Secrets; he always comes through in the end. And Hermione, he loves you so much. He has always admired you greatly, I don't think any other girl could compare to the pride he felt in knowing you. I always thought it was a brotherly love and affection, but the way he looked at you at the Yule Ball... it's a sort of passion that could make other people jealous. So I know he'll save you. I just know it."
By the time Ginny finished Hermione had already lapsed back into sleep, but she sat there still, hoping that she was right.
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Harry and Ron had been invited as guests of the castle to spend the night, which was good because they were weary and without direction. While Harry felt wrong to be sleeping when time was so short, he was also feeling a very new sensation. Hopelessness.
He had taken a hot shower that seemed to restore some feeling to his tired limbs, and a house elf had brought along a change of clothes. It wasn't a style Harry was quite used to, very high end designing he would guess from his limited knowledge. He dressed in a black button up that had an almost silky fine quality, and the black pants the elf had brought fit him impeccably well with a silver belt buckle. When all was done he thought he looked a bit like a Slytherin, but it beat the soaking clothes he had hung by the fire of the bedroom he was staying. He hadn't been able to eat earlier, so the house elf had also brought him a platter of food which he now found his way to picking at as he sat moodily staring into the flames.
He heard the door to his chambers creep open and he turned to see Anna enter. She was wearing a white night gown that was very figure flattering and had he been in a more distractible mood it may have been hard to turn away, but he moved his eyes back to the fire, tearing a piece of meat from his plate in a vacant gesture.
"Thank you for letting us stay."
"It's the least I could do. I wish I could have been more helpful to you."
"You have been very helpful."
"Why is it so important to you that you find the Underworld?" she asked, and he sensed she had moved very close behind him.
"The life of someone I love depends on it" he answered simply.
"Ah. I did not think it was a matter of power. A matter of a girl then?"
"Yes."
"She must be very special for all this effort."
"She is."
Anna moved from the back of his chair, passing him so closely that her arm very faintly brushed his shoulder. She sat gracefully in the other arm chair, but he could feel her peculiar blue eyes still fixed intensely upon him. "When my butler saw you walking up our drive I hardly believed him. But he is never mistaken. So I was quite intrigued to meet you. The castle is very lonely and you are very handsome." She paused for a moment and he realized with faint alarm that she was possibly attempting to seduce him. But then she continued, "you are very different than I would have imagined."
"How so?"
"I thought maybe you would be more... conceited. You are always in the papers, even here in Spain. The Boy Who Lived, the youngest seeker in over a century at Hogwarts, a Triwizard Champion, destroyer of the Dark Lord. And it is said you were wealthy, although, I doubt as wealthy as myself." She smiled slightly, pausing. "But despite all that you have this quiet intensity, a humility that is peculiar to me."
"That's because almost none of the things they celebrate about me were enjoyable. My parents died so I could live, leaving me orphaned with my terrible Aunt and Uncle. So you might say being the Boy Who Lived is a bitter reminder of what was lost. And then I never chose to be a Triwizard Champion. I had to see Cedric Diggory be killed after all that. And killing Voldemort... it's not something I discuss often. It wasn't as joyous a moment as the papers might lead you to believe. Nearly everyone I have ever loved was dead before the final battle, and many of those left died during the battle."
"Then we are alike in some way then Harry Potter. But you carry the world on your shoulders and that is not something I envy you for. Still, I admire you now for having met you, and I wish you luck. Part of me wishes we could have met under different circumstances."
There was a slight longing in her eyes but Harry simply smiled kindly at her and she bid him goodnight. He went back to his brooding thoughts, and of a girl far away who had his heart. If he would have to become cold and relentless he would do so if it meant saving her. He decided with great resolve that tomorrow would lead him in the right direction, no matter what it took. And that resolve finally allowed him a fleeting moment of rest.
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He dreamed of the most ordinary moment in the world. He dreamed of being in the library with her, and watching her scold him for not doing his homework as he laughed about her motherly concern. He dreamed of the look on her face as she finally forgave him, allowing his laughter to infectiously reach her cinnamon brown eyes and he dreamed about the look of love there.
And then he dreamed of her sleeping beside him, the smooth feeling of her leg against his under the soft sheets, the calm, even motions of her breathing letting him know she was alive and healthy. He dreamed of the hot urgency of her kisses, of the tight grip of her embrace as though she would never let him go.
He woke suddenly to the strange surroundings of Castle Morales, the fire still warmly lighting up the room. The large bed he slept in was infinitely comfortable, with impossibly soft white sheets and plush pillows. But it was not the same without her there, and so he sat up in the shadowy room, watching the way the flickering flames danced upon the stone walls.
Harry Potter whispered a voice.
He sat up quickly, trying to determine where it was coming from. It had been so faint, almost impossible to hear. Harry Potterit whispered once more. He rose from his bed and walked to the window, pushing back the dark, heavy drapes and looking out onto a moonlit garden.
Harry Potter, why do you seek us?
He opened the window, a cold blast of air hitting his bare chest. He realized that the voice was not a single voice, but many being carried on the wind. Why do you seek the Underworld? What have you to say to the Gods?
He sucked in a deep breath, feeling the frigid air sink shockingly into his chest. "I have something for you." He paused for a moment, feeling uncertain of himself as he spoke boldly into the empty night. And then he thought of her again, and found his confidence. "I am willing to give you my right to die. I want to become a Damned One."
Good they whispered. Then come now.
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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: A slightly shorter chapter this time, but it seemed like a good spot to end. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for the reviews, they are one of the highlights of my day!