Disclaimer: Harry Potter ain't no creation o' mine ya hear?
Notice: I don't bash. I don't do bashing. Characters will be portrayed to the best of my ability as canon to start with. A warning. I will probably dramatically diverge them as the story goes on.
Forward: I'd like to note that while this story is Horcrux compliant there will be no mention of Hallows in my work. Harry will have a power the Dark Lord knows not. Which in canon turns out to simply be a better piece of wood. Lame. Shit he could fucking MAKE an elder wand. Elder Tree. Thestral right outside. Boom.
Not fond of DH if you didn't catch that.
Hmm. Haven't really gotten any good criticism yet. Just a long string of people telling me I'm doing it right. Which does feel relatively wonderful. Bother though. I don't want just right. I want MIND-BLOWINGLY RIGHT. Ahh well. Hopefully what you all say is correct because if this fic starts to fall into the shithole you'll only have yourselves... eh.. well... you'll actually have every right to castrate me and burn me at the stake, while tossing my fic into the waste basket.
Whateves. I write like a boss. I can take it.
Still, ten years I've been writing and over a million words and I KNOW I'm only still mediocre. Feel free to do everything in your power to make me a better writer. I do try not to disappoint.
While this fic has been upbeat thus far, and I intended it to stay relatively so for a little while, I have no intention of leaving it as just a romance. As the story progresses, soon the only light remaining will be the pre-story quotes as darkness and war will begin to overshadow everything. Warning. It gets pretty dark, but I've left you some good ole' fluff at the end to make up for it.
So bring your Light of Eärendil. Deploy your biotics. Carry with you Eilonwy's Bauble or perhaps the Orb of Aldur. Latch on to Saidin or Saidar with all your might. Follow me into the shadow, where worlds are but fireflies, only a mere winter away from desolation...
Error of Soul
"This story is hogwash! Everyone knows Hermione burn proofs every book she touches. Though he did get her excitable-ness right. With the way she acts in bed, sometimes I wish she'd burn proof my–!"
–Ron Weasley
Luna sank deeper into the catacombs that rested below the dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Few had ever ventured here. Few even knew the existence of the place, though Luna was certain that Dumbledore knew. Voldemort likely did too, and she couldn't imagine Professor Snape was unaware that his dungeon classroom was not even close to the deepest point within Hogwarts.
Down she went, her footsteps echoing in stone halls that had not been visited in a long time. A layer of dust coated everything and she almost sneezed at the thought. Luckily she held it in. She didn't know what had led her here. A feeling. An inspiration? Perhaps a bloody nargle. She growled. They were everywhere this year, infesting minds that would otherwise be clear. It wasn't too much of a stretch to think that she too had fallen to their deceptive touch.
And yet...
Before her eyes a light appeared in the dim room. It looked like a regular Lumos yet no wand was casting the spell and nothing seemed to hold the light in place. It danced around, flitting like a fairy, and Luna giggled as once again, her father was proven right.
She had wandered in here from the third floor corridor where the giant three headed dog had guarded the Philosopher's Stone in Harry Potter's first year. It had been splashed across the newspapers and the Quibbler had written an article on the likelihood that Harry had managed to corrupt the area of Hogwarts with "Will-o-the-Wisps." She'd clearly been right.
"Hello there, little fellow," Luna twittered happily. "Are you to be my guide?"
The bauble lit with a pink hue for a moment and then settled down upon the girl's shoulder, lovingly nuzzling her neck like a friendly cat.
"Alright then. Take care not to fall," the blond girl fretted.
Chapter Three
The Arm of the Grave
Spiderwebs clung to the ceilings, blotting out the stone above her almost entirely. Luckily relatively few blotted her path. Someone had probably been here before, or perhaps the Will-0-the-Wisp kept the stairway clear, just in case a visitor like Luna ever decided to wander down.
The chamber which still held the Mirror of Erised shined in the light given off by the wisp. Idly, she glanced into its crystalline pane and saw a wondrous image of herself splayed out naked on a bed, with a mischievous Neville Longbottom grinning down at her. Both of them looked older and despite the clarity of the image, the glinting rings on both of their hands somehow featured more prominently than even their readily apparent lack of clothing.
"Hmm," murmured the girl, light disappointment clouding her features. "That's my greatest desire? Always thought I was a bit more original than that."
She lingered for a moment. Only a moment, as she knew that desire was a powerful thing, but she simply couldn't resist peeping on Neville's naughty bits. Turning away she wondered if the Mirror's depiction was accurate. Then she scoffed, hiding a small blush.
Paying the image no mind, and promptly deciding she would tease Neville extra hard at the next DA meeting to hide her own embarrassment, she continued in the way that her vague notion was still leading her. Without even a glance or care, she stepped through the illusion of a wall at the back of the room as easily as one might step onto Platform 9¾ and found herself in another long hallway that stretched forward into the darkness.
Two more steps and torches lit on either side of her, illuminating the next couple of feet. She continued and found that as she walked, the torches lining the hallway would light for her, while the ones she left behind darkened after her passing.
Further and further she plunged into the darkness beneath Hogwarts. Whispers echoed of dead ghosts, far less cheerful than those who lurked above. Demons and the damned dwelt here in this corrupted place. Luna, who often prided herself on her ability to be unfazed by the happenings of the world, began to feel nervous.
"Why am I being led down here?" she asked. "Hogwarts... her walls groan here."
The small wisp flitted about in the air, leaving her shoulder once more to fly up. Luna was shocked at just how tall the hallway was, but then her attention left the room's vast architecture entirely. The wisp's light illuminated a horrifying and massive painting of a man dressed head to toe in rich armor, holding a wand. In his left hand lay a human skull. His eyes glowed with a holy light, and despite his imposing figure, Luna actually felt a sense of comfort from him. It was what was depicted around him that made the image horrifying.
Fires burned in dark chasms that leapt out from dark pits as if to attack. Gremlins and demonic entities littered every inch of the painting, surrounding the holy wizard. A horde, an entire army of them. Their presence only elevated the importance of the countless human corpses that littered the floor in grotesque piles. Lingering in the background was a dark shadow with red flames where its eyes should be. Distant, but any could tell that being had been the source of the devastation. The Terror.
Quickly though, Luna regained her composure. A painting, even one as vivid as this, was still just a painting. Her study returned to the holy Wizard and she found herself curious.
'So brave. Who was he? Why have we never heard of this?" asked Luna sadly, unquestioning of the truth of this mural.
The wisp seemed to shrug before it flitted back down to her and landed on her shoulder once more. Luna was thankful. She shivered. That image would be in her mind for some time. The dark being in the background... somehow he was more terrifying than any of the demons had been.
More terrifying than Voldemort.
"Lead on," she directed, and the wisp flitted as she continued, torches lighting up around her.
Another staircase took her further down, and another hallway similar to the one above was sufficient to steal the girl's sense of direction entirely. Three more staircases and hallways, had Luna thanking the stars that there was only one pathway. She was cold, and it felt wet and dank here in these dark depths. Much like visiting Gringotts except older. More vast despite the closed walls around her. She asked no questions of the wisp. She could feel the paintings on the walls and she wished to see none of them.
Yet another spiral staircase down, led her to yet another hallway. This one was different. Somehow she knew she had reached the last stretch of her summoning.
At the end of the hallway a red light pulsed, undulating in a way that light should not, and casting no shadow. No shadow could be darker than what resided before her.
For the first time, Luna hesitated. "M-must I?" she asked.
The light curled up to her neck again, its color changing to a comforting green. Warmth gave her a bit of hope in this dark place. Hogwarts wouldn't be the same knowing this chamber –no this prison– resided beneath it. Whispers echoed and a sort of mist seemed to clutter her view. Things were twisted down here. Stones were twisted. The torch lights that lit for her as she walked now glowed a deep red red instead of the normal amber yellow.
'Just like the fires in the painting,' thought the now truly fearful girl.
After a moment's hesitation though, she continued onward.
Finally after what seemed an eternity, she came to the end of the hallway and found herself in another vast chamber. Circular, the room held four pillars stretching from floor to ceiling. At the center point between those pillars lay the source of the red glow.
Whispers flooded her ears. Unintelligible. She could make out none but they terrified her.
The red glow came from a gem, hewn in roughly the shape of a spike. It was driven through the skull of a human skeleton, which was only barely visible in the dim glow. She spotted it from a side view. She could not see past the thing's ribcage in the dank chamber but she suspected the entire body hung there.
The wisp left her once more, flying over to the skeleton. She'd been right. The back arched and the being's jaw was held wide open in a rictus of pain as if the human who had died what must have been an eternity ago, wished to to show that she was still in agony. Luna didn't know how she knew, but she could tell that the bones had once belonged to a woman. The light showed her that shackles bound the bones around the wrists, ankles and waist, each with chains attached to the four pillars surrounding her.
Even so, she knew the gem was the most important thing. Blood red. She felt like screaming just looking at it. Luna never wanted to come down here again. She was cold, and she felt like Dementors were toying with her soul. She thought she could hear her mother's voice in the whispers. Her mother wasn't malicious though.
Where was she? A torture chamber? No. No, this place was binding something. Hogwarts herself felt pain from this place. Anguish. Terror. More knowledge that Luna knew, but didn't know how. Terror. That was important.
Tentatively walking further in she spotted runes, carved into every spare centimeter of the walls, and pillars. Bindings. She took a moment to scan them, in awe. Hundred and hundreds of binding runes.
"I don't like it here," she stuttered, coldly. She could see her breath in the dim glow. "Can I go back up now...?"
She turned to view the wisp once more, and then jerked in shock. Startled, she slid away like a frightened cat, and pressed her back flat against the stone wall eyes transfixed on the skeleton before her.
The skull... had turned to stare at her.
Her nerve broke. Luna fled, full on running to get away, away, away! She ran in a dead sprint all the way up the many flights of stairs she had descended. Past the mirror, through the inactive chessboard, up the trap door and straight down the hallway. She didn't stop until she reached Ravenclaw's dormitory, and she dove into her four post bed and hid under the covers, panting, and bawling to her roommates' shock.
Later, when she'd regained a bit of her senses, she realized what it was she had needed to see.
The blood red gemstone... there had been a crack.
Albus Dumbledore paced his office with the casual air of a man long accustomed to worrying his socks off. Something was happening. He knew that something was wrong in the castle but he simply couldn't define what. Hogwarts... the castle had a way of intensifying when trouble was brewing and Dumbledore didn't think he'd felt this tense since the Third Task last year.
None of his alarms were tripping though, and he had no idea where in the castle his problem might arise.
But he knew... Somewhere in his castle he would be needed this night. Somewhere. Of course this inkling, this vague feeling of dread had only risen after he had allowed Madam Pomfrey her few days of leave. The woman had seemed terribly distraught over something so he'd seen fit to allow her an absence.
He deeply regretted that now.
"Fawkes?" he asked his fiery phoenix. The bird turned a curious eye to him and flew from his regal perch down to land upon Dumbledore's shoulder.
"Please be ready, my friend. I ask that you take me to wherever it is I will be needed this evening. I fear dalliance might prove unwise."
The bird seemed to nod.
Professor Umbridge sat in her study, nervously biting her fingernails. Shadows danced about the room, flickering and she had trouble not jumping at each one. Her eyes frantically crossed the pages of a well worn tome that she had discreetly checked out from the Ministry. The room was as brightly lit as she could make it, every candle burning at full flame and the wax fully restored. Despite the light though, the room was cold and felt of darkness and shadows. The kittens in the pictures didn't dance or meow as they normally would. Instead they huddled together, all in the smallest frame in the far corner of the room, terrified.
Candle fire danced to an unholy wind that shouldn't have been able to penetrate the closed room. It did anyway. The much larger fire in the hearth seemed to sizzle, rather than crackle as a fire should.
"...conclude that the most probable cause for hearing voices is Rowena's Syndro–Bollocks!" the woman hissed, slamming the book closed, in an echo that pierced the rolling whistle of wind which now uselessly pounded at the windows for freedom.
Hide the locket; keep it secret; keep it safe. Hide it... hide it! Take it away from this place, or I shall do it for you...
The words had been the first true words she could remember the voice saying. Before it had only been the whispering. Ceaseless whispering in her ear. But only yesterday had the whispers actually coalesced into an understandable voice. She'd heard them the moment Harry Potter had left her office the last night. The moment she started to believe that maybe he wasn't lying after all.
The book in her wrinkled fingers was titled, "Disorders of the Mind: A Case Study." Hatefully she tossed it onto the desk with more anger than it deserved. It fell atop a pile of no less than ten others all subtly bought or in some cases outright stolen.
Sweat trailed down her brow in a steady flow and she let her head sink into her hand, rubbing uselessly at her forehead. A splitting headache pulsed in her mind, biting away at her ability to think, like a lion gnawing on a gazelle.
You are losing...
Delores, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, froze hearing that hideous voice in her mind once more.
She'd been hearing the voice, mere whispers in her mind for months now. At first she'd thought they were just figments of her imagination. Wicked whispers, telling her to do things. Suggesting... but the suggestions might as well have been orders at times. They'd been manageable annoyances. Until yesterday. Until her blasted conversation with Potter. After that the whispers became a full blown voice that simply wouldn't shut up. Delores would never admit it to another living soul... but she was frightened.
"What are you!?" she hissed, knowing that the voice wouldn't answer. Her eyes watered. Suppressing the painful need to obey that had been plaguing her for what seemed an eternity, she tore her mind away from the soul crushing fear of losing. She didn't even know what would happen to her if she ever did lose. She didn't want to know. The harsh baritone of sickening male laughter was the answer she received and she shuddered. Then, she snarled. Her will found the dominance that it had always held and crushed the unusual pressure that had been forcing itself against her mind ever since she had entered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As it had done many times. As it would do many times more until she found a cure.
She hoped...
"Dumbledore... his bloody mind games. It must be. The old bastard probably cursed me with some form of Dementia." She hissed aloud. "I won't be beaten by some senile old man's curse. Twisted... bastard."
The insane voice in her head began to howl, as if she'd just told the best joke in the world. It unnerved her. She found herself teetering on the edge of the precarious position of dominance she had gained in her own mind. How long? How long must she listen to this madman, barking orders in her mind?
Yes... Dumbledore's curse. That's what I am. Dumbledore. Your control slips more by the minute. You won't betray my secrets, Toad. Now 'bow!'
To Delores, the word felt like the beat of a thousand drums melded into one. It echoed in her ears and she shook with wobbly legs, even seated in the chair as she was. The wind rushed, filling the office with its angry howl. The candles all abruptly snuffed leaving the only the crackling of the now entirely green fire in the hearth. In the corner, the kittens mewled.
Delores was not intimidated. Darkness. What a pitiful tactic.
"I won't bend so easily..." the old woman hissed. She thrust her hand forward in anger, feeling magic rush forward and out of her fingertips. Wandless, her own ability would've utterly shocked her only three short months ago. Not any longer. As abruptly as they had been snuffed, the same candles burst into life, each one burning even brighter than before. "I will figure out what you are, and I will rid myself of you."
A creaking noise filled the room with the sound of twisting copper like the gears of a rusted windup clock. Delores listened to the strange sound and followed it to its source which was... around her neck?
'Could it be?' she thought, incredulously.
Reaching into her shirt she touched the inlaid silver locket that she had bought from a despicable bag of flesh in Bitterthorn Alley. She'd been amazed when she'd found the piece. Being sold by a complete idiot for a measly two hundred pounds. He had no idea what he'd been selling, and she'd been happy to talk him down to a hundred thirty five for the locket that had belonged to the Salazar Slytherin himself.
She was a Ravenclaw of course, through and through, but she knew an item of value and power when she saw it. And the sorting hat had so wanted her in Slytherin. A purveyor of antiques in her spare time, the ancient locket of Slytherin had been in many priceless antique books she'd pursued over the years. Seeing it on the coat of Mundungus Fletcher had almost made her retch out her lunch when she'd happened across him a few weeks before her term at Hogwarts began.
Even now she had doubts as to whether it was the original or just an incredible duplicate but she had worn the locket almost constantly since the start of the year. Only now did she make a connection between that and the voices. She'd been so sure, –so utterly certain!– that Dumbledore had been behind her maddening evenings and her terrifying dreams that she hadn't even considered that it could be the mysterious locket she had picked up.
'Cursed?' the ugly woman trembled. Fear at the thought that she'd been wearing a cursed item for months warred with utter indignation that someone would curse Salazar Slytherin's prized locket! Who would do such a thing to a marvelous antique like this? A priceless artefact ruined.
She hissed and yanked the thing up to pull it out from around her neck. Pain surged through her chest and the locket sizzled as if it were welding itself to her skin. Shocked she fell out of her chair and onto the floor. The laughter sounded in her mind again.
"I... will not be the puppet of some cursed jewelry," the woman's will was like a physical being. She grasped the precious silver in her hand and braced herself for the pain. She began to pull.
Fire coursed through her veins, but she persevered. She'd blackmailed, and wrenched throats. She'd crawled up from the depths of her station in one of the most minor of pureblood houses to become second in command in all of Great Britain.
She grit her teeth, thinking of all the trials of her long life. A friend since first year, abandoned for her her ambition. Family, forgotten on the quest for power. She had crawled through mires more powerful than this. After all her accomplishments, could she possibly fall here? No. Not her. Not Delores Jane Umbridge.
The amulet budged. She screamed, her back arching in a rictus of pain. Her eyes watered relentlessly and she growled. This was nothing. She could handle this and more.
Memories flashed of a run in with Aurors during the war. Corrupted Aurors she'd been assured, rotting in the grave now, but they were memories of her first time casting the killing curse. She remembered the hideous pain of the cruciatus curse... The even sharper pain of watching as her lover was killed in front of her.
Lifting her wand despite the pain of such a dreadful curse had been the worst moment of her life. Next to that, this bauble welded to her chest with magic that tore at her flesh was still much like a pinprick. Casting the Killing curse. Ending her own pain to her captor's surprise. At the time, the feeling of liberation had felt wondrous. In rage she killed and in rage she killed again, until all four of the shocked aurors that had come to kill her and her death eater husband lay dead at her feet.
Never mind that he had been forced to take the mark. Never mind that he had betrayed the Dark Lord! He'd always been brave, her Aaron.
It was why she had joined the ministry in the first place. Why she had become so hard. Corruption would not be tolerated. She wouldn't have Aurors that forsook their duties and she had done well in that regard, placing herself in the Operational Investigation section, weeding out the dirty Aurors in the ministry. Then she'd been promoted. And told a horrible secret.
Albus Dumbledore was raising an army of children! It was disgusting. Worse even than corruption among the aurors. An anarchist seeking to bring down the ministry all this time. And if he succeeded all her achievements would come to ruin. Corrupt aurors was one thing, but Albus Dumbledore had planned to corrupt an entire generation!
Well, that wouldn't do. For years now she'd worked to subdue the dissent Dumbledore was sowing with the ministry. Dedicating her life to the preservation of law and justice. She never remarried. Fifteen years later most people didn't think she'd ever been married. Hell, sometimes she herself forgot. But the resolve that had burned so strongly within her then, still shined. She wouldn't falter.
But last night had changed that... just a little. She remembered being a young girl. Remembered Dumbledore's kind eyes as he taught her Transfiguration. And she felt that shred of doubt in Fudge's belief... Harry Potter. The boy seemed so heartbroken over Cedric Diggory's death. The sheer honesty, so rare in her line of work, shined like a beacon that Umbridge had trouble ignoring.
'Voldemort is dead,' she seethed in her mind, drawing strength from her conviction. 'Harry Potter is a zealot and Dumbledore is a mad fool to believe him!'
Again the locket budged. Again agony sheared through her. She felt as if she were pulling out out her own eye.
"A strong will... Strong. Pureblood. I have heavily underestimated you," the words were far more calm then they had been before. What was happening?
A sickening flow began to spread into her. It seeped from her chest outward mimicking a full body bind with the added sensation of slime. She pulled harder and the locket budged another inch a whole side popping up from her skin. Relief flooded her so strongly that she nearly dropped the bloody necklace right back down. Still it was a victory She was doing it! She would break this wretched curse and be done with it!
But the poison beneath her skin flowed up her shoulder and down her arm. Under the deep sweater she couldn't see what was happening there and she couldn't spare the effort to look. She had to concentrate. Again the locket budged! She was winning!
I am Lord Voldemort...
Delores's heart skipped a beat and she almost lost her desperate hold on Salazar's cursed locket. That voice had felt much more personal than before. Closer, almost like it was someone hovering behind her, whispering in her ear.
And I find you worthy. You are mine.
The poisonous flow that had seeped into her arm suddenly turned into a sharp jabbing knife. Cold, it felt like some sort of outline, carving out a section of her skin in a heinous pattern. Sharp. Her hard earned control slipped. Still shocked at hearing the male voice in her head claim it was the dark lord. Sweaty fingers slid desperately but failed to hold as the locket snapped back onto her chest and poison flowed anew.
She sunk onto her desk, slouching over it, drained. Her chair squeaked with the move.
'My forearm...?' the thought pierced more sharply than even the now faded pain. She trembled. Her pink sweater was no comfort, and she realized suddenly that she was boiling within it. That didn't matter. Her arm.
Tentatively she pulled the sleeve up her arm.
"Oh god..." the old woman shook, seeing her own doom as each tug at the pink sleeve revealed a clearer picture of what was drawn beneath.
The Dark Mark.
His laughter echoed in her mind. Many would've blubbered in denial. Many would've screamed in terror. Not Madam Umbridge. Umbridge snarled. Even in her rage, she'd always been a practical woman. She did what needed to be done. The room flashed with the light of a spell. A soft thump was followed by a squelching plop, and a pain filled scream. Blood mixed with the candle wax.
Inexplicably, she was standing. Her chair was pushed back against the wall. The kittens in the pictures meowed relentlessly, hissing and braying in a rage that was not natural to them.
"Claim me now, monster," Umbridge taunted, grimacing with effort. She knew her enemy now. Knew him to her bones. The man who had written his signature on her husband's soul. The cause of her anguish and all her loneliness for these long years.
Blood dribbled freely from the bony flesh that ended in an unnaturally perfect stub just below her elbow. On the floor, her severed forearm was soaked in it.
Umbridge was pale, and the adrenaline that had led her instantaneous decision was fading. Her arm burned, but even now it was distant compared to the knowledge that she had won a slight victory. Temporary. Small. But she was not a death eater. The poison was gone.
Black flecks fluttered across her vision.
Fool! You would die?
'I will never be yours,' she replied, firmly but the words were tempered by her fleeing conscious. She was a small woman. She didn't have much blood to begin with. 'It was the easiest choice in the world.'
She slumped forward, falling down and trying to catch herself on the desk. Her hand, no longer present, failed to catch her and she tumbled to the stone floor atop her own severed limb.
The locket will not fall into Dumbledore's hands... if you won't serve in life, then with your death I shall be revived. Your conviction, however idiotic, is admirable. You will be remembered. Toad.
Her last thought before conscious fled her was guilt and regret. Harry... he'd been so very right.
If only she'd believed him.
"Harry!" Hermione screamed, feeling the cut on her shoulder begin to ease. It was a very light cut, but surprising when unexpected. Still, she knew that something was wrong.
"H-Hermione?"
"Ron, we've got to go. Harry's in trouble!" Hermione exclaimed, ignoring the starts of surprise from everyone else littering the common room.
"H-How d'you know?" Ron seemed doubtful, but he was already releasing her and walking towards the portrait hole.
"No time to explain! Come on! I... I'm really worried," the girl replied. What was this feeling? God her shoulder stung, but she could tell the cut she felt, and the pain from it were minimal compared to Harry feeling the true effects. What was Umbridge doing to him?
"I'll kill her," thought the usually level-headed Gryffindor. "If she's hurt Harry I swear I'll murder that woman."
She and Ron took off down the hallways, oblivious to the startled looks they had left behind. The Golden Trio had another adventure to get to.
As they raced through the halls, barrelling down anyone in their way without so much as a second thought, Hermione felt hard touches all over her body. Harry was rolling? Maybe–!
Searing pain blazed through her leg, and she tumbled to the ground with a scream, catching herself but bruising her palms harshly on the stone floor. The christmas carols of the knights of armor echoed distantly in the background.
"Oh god, my leg!" She screamed, scrambling to get a look at what had stabbed her.
Blood, once more fell down her her calf just below her knee.
"Bloody Hell Hermione! Wh-what's happening to you?" Ron exclaimed worriedly, staring down at her bloody sweater's sleeve, and then back to her now soaked socks and denim pant leg.
"Its... I think its something to do with Harry. I don't... understand it myself yet," she murmured, mentally pushing the pain away. It wasn't so bad. God it felt like her whole leg had been lobbed off but...
"H-Help me up. He's in real trouble Ron... Please, we have to hurry."
Ron, brave boy that he was, didn't hesitate. His hand went behind Hermione's back, allowing her to throw an arm over his shoulder, and the girl was up, hobbling on her good leg in moments. In a few steps, the girl was practically running right along with him.
"Dammit Harry," Ron voiced, his tone worried, yet unwilling to be cowed. "You promised that I'd get to kill Umbridge..."
Through the pain, Hermione laughed.
They hurried on.
Harry was aware that something was amiss upon entering the room. No one particular thing gave him this information but rather an amalgam of small facts that subconsciously registered in his mind. The way the kittens all had their ears laid low. Hissing. The candles, every one of them burning unnaturally bright. The soft scent of blood in the air.
"Professor Umbridge?" he called, feeling the chill of wind that seemed out of place.
The intense feeling of hatred was his only warning as he dived to the left.
'Avada Kedavra!'
The spell came from a decidedly male voice, emanating from one of the back rooms. Sinister, and low, yet recognizable to Harry. A voice he'd heard before years ago.
His wand whipped out mid dive as he slammed into the wall on his right, carving his shoulder against one of the cat's picture frames to avoid the oncoming killing curse. This time he knew what he was fighting. What danger he was in. A figure, stepped out from the room. Older, perhaps nineteen, rather than the young boy he had been when Harry first met him, Tom Marvolo Riddle carried with him an air of command that would make generals weeps in envy.
"Harry Potter," the man hissed. Powerful yet still not possessing the horrifying baritone of his current embodiment.
Harry glared. Potent rage brewed in his eyes, but for once he wasn't afraid. Last year he had fought Voldemort himself and found himself with the upper hand. That was a fully powered Voldemort. This man, boy only four or five years his senior, was no Voldemort. He held an inferior wand, Umbridge's which very well might not even work for him. His eyes didn't glow red. His hair, slicked back and fiendishly styled reminded Harry more of Malfoy than it did of the Dark Lord this man had become.
"I've been waiting for the chance to–!"
Harry didn't give one shit what this phantom had to say.
"Aqua Eructo!"
Three jets of water sprang to life spouting from Harry's wand each flowing in different directions with enough pressure to sear skin from flesh. Tom's eyes widened as the jets of water splashed through him. Harry grimaced as the water bore a hole through the desk behind his opponent but that didn't stop him. Spells from books half read suddenly came to his instantly alert mind. He couldn't hit the phantom. It was just like the chamber in second year, which meant he had to find the object. Unfortunately the wizard could cast spells at him, so he needed cover.
"Insolent boy! Avada Kedavra!"
"Caliga Nox!" Harry responded with a spell he had never cast before. Barely recalled from the corner of a page in one of the many defense books he had scoured in order to better teach the DA, he cast the spell hoping he was doing it right. Magic flowed through him and from the tip of his wand a dark, yet shiny mass seemed to bloat. Like a rememberall that contained a thundercloud, a glass bubble expanded to obscure him from view. Harry dived out of the way of the death spell, rolling towards the corner of the room as the cloud of darkness enveloped his body entirely.
"Limbuscindo!"
Despite the covering, Tom's aim was true. Harry felt a cut slice his leg and blinding pain seared through him. He spasmed, and fell to the ground. The blazing sound of three more spells hitting the wall behind him kept him alert but his body screamed. What kind of curse was that!?
He rose to his good right foot and part hobbled, part rolled away from the next string of curses to flow from Tom's wand. The Caliga Nox spell covering him surely the only thing keeping him alive, but he had to keep moving!
'Avada Ke–!'
The boy stopped mid cast as a flash of flames burst on the other side of the room.
"TOM!" Dumbledore's booming anger, and Harry couldn't help the sigh of relief that flooded through him. He and Dumbledore may have been on the outs this year but Harry had never been more thankful to hear the old man's voice.
'Dumbledore! Ha! You're too late... the old witch is on the brink of death, and soon I shall live, while her body perishes. And what can you do old man?" the boy gloated, eerily reminiscent of this sixteen year old self in the chamber of secrets.
Dumbledore laid one eye on Harry, apparently able to see through his darkness spell and meeting his eyes. For but a sparse moment, the professor's eyes held pure anguish. Then eyes suddenly turned dark. Harry jumped, momentarily forgetting the scalding pain in his leg as the change came over the headmaster. Dumbledore's eyes went like thunderclouds. His posture suddenly screamed like an enraged bear. His hand gripped his wand tight and a snarl curled his features into something ugly and painful. Something foreign.
"How dare you...!"The headmaster hissed, rage stealing away his normal eloquence.
'Come on Harry. Can't just lay here,' the boy thought. 'He's killing Umbridge. You've got to stop him! What is it? What's the item?' Come on!'
Fearfully, he raised himself, feeling the obscuring thundercloud move to accommodate his rise. He spared a short glance at his leg and shuddered. The bone was severed. He balanced on one foot, his left leg attached at only half the shin, much like Nearly Headless Nick. Blood poured onto the floor.
'He's taken my leg!' the boy panicked, unable to stop the wave of fear that flooded through him. 'Nearly Legless Potter!'
Dumbledore didn't remain idle. His eyes, hard in a way that Harry had never before known, could've lit bonfires. The man raised his wand and aimed it, to Harry's surprise, towards the ground.
"DOL," said a voice of power that Harry could scarcely recognize as the Headmaster. Upon the stone floor a rune appeared. Harry had never seen the shape before, but to him it had the shape a star that someone painted and then disfigured by running a hand across the page before it was allowed to dry.
"UM," Dumbledore continued without pause, this time aiming for one of the walls on the far side of the rune. A jet of blue light flashed to impact the stone wall and the sound of burning iron came in tandem with Tom Riddle's scream.
"You would try to bind me?" the shade of Voldemort hissed in anger. "You think I am a demon? Obscuro!" His spell erased the DOL rune that had appeared at Dumbledore's feet. The new symbol on the wall to Harry's left though, shone like a glowing ember, two wavy horizontal lines intersected by a third vertical one.
"It seems to be working." Dumbledore replied in kind. "DOL. BER."
The words had power which Harry had never before felt. DOL enchanted the ground at Dumbledore's feet once more while the new rune, BER flew through the fade of Voldemort to impact upon the other side of the wall.
Tom snarled, and raised his stolen wand. 'Obscuros' filled the air.
As Dumbledore and Riddle fought, one laying runes, and the other obscuring them faster than they could do any good, Harry felt himself falling in and out of consciousness. He'd already lost too much blood. Dazedly, he rolled onto his back and lifted the leg onto a chair next to one of the desks. The nearly severed leg flopped grotesquely but the pain was minimal. He couldn't feel it very strongly anymore, which worried him more than he cared to admit. He felt cold, and knew that his face had grown pale. His grip on his wand was growing lax. He had to 'do' something but for the life of him he couldn't think of what.
From the floor he saw Madam Umbridge sprawled out on the underside of her desk. Her skin was a pasty white, that made him feel downright colorful by comparison. He scanned her for signs of life but found that she was only barely moving. Older. Far more disgusting, but still she was just like Ginny had been in the chamber. No. Ginny hadn't been laying in a pool of blood. By god, how had her arm been cut off?! The woman had a healed stub of an arm cut just below her elbow.
"Just when I was finally getting through to her," thought the dark haired boy, gaining a bit of strength as his resolve to win, to live, grew. He lifted his wand slowly so as not to draw attention. He'd seen Dumbledore's wand movements. Perhaps he could...
"DOL." Copying the professor's wand movements he spoke softly but the word boomed through the room anyway, adding an extra rune to those Tom was desperately striving to obscure. His was a bit uglier than Dumbledore's. A bit weaker, but it worked.
Dumbledore's eyes flashed to him for a moment, and the ghost of a smile crossed his face.
"IST," Dumbledore thundered in tandem with Harry's "UM." The symbol looked the easiest to picture, and Harry's looked almost as potent as Dumbledore's.
Tom's eyes were wide as he finished erasing Dumbledore's "DOL" rune but was too late to destroy Harry's as well. The runeset completed, and the four words of power seemed to grow so bright that the rest of the room darkened.
"Chains of Honor! Come forth and bind that which darkens this place..." Dumbledore intoned. A ritual?
Chains slid from the runes, as if sliding out of the stone itself, writhing like Incarcerous bonds but these were thick. Each metal linked chain was almost twice the size of Harry's arm in width, and they rattled ominously, the sound of metal rattlesnakes. One at a time they sprung for the wraith of Voldemort who found himself unable to dodge or even move. The first chain came from behind him and draped itself over his shoulder, bearing down upon him, then digging itself into the stone floor at its feet. Tom braced himself against the weight with a grunt, but hissed in pain as the second fell across his other shoulder, the two chains alone bearing him down.
'Sectumsempra!' 'Avada Kedavra' 'Avada Kedavra!' The curses sailed towards Dumbledore in links of light, but Dumbledore evaded them with ease. The old man was grinning.
"Damn you, Potter!" the man screamed as the third chain coiled itself around his waist before it too sunk into the floor. Tom fell to his knees struggling against the oppressive weight of Dumbledore's rune magic.
"If I'm to be destroyed... then I'll take the chosen one with me..." He hissed as the final chain began to coil around his legs.
Dumbledore's eyes widened, and he turned. "Look out, Harry!"
Tom's wand was so fast. Harry rolled, but his scarcely attached limb sent a spray of mind numbing pain through him, that immobilized him. The green light of the killing curse that would claim his life erupted from Umbridge's wand. He had just enough time to shield his eyes...
"Harry!" came a girl's voice, which drew his eyes to the door that had slammed open, unnoticed by the three occupants until now. Horror crossed Harry's features as a bushy haired girl hobbled at a gallop between Voldemort's shade and himself. Her outline was darkened by green light that illuminated her form, but Harry knew her immediately. "Hermione, No–!"
By my soul, You'll not kill him. I'll die before I let you kill him!
A neon green nova of light that mixed with a translucent blue mana that seemed to spawn from nowhere filled the room with nearly blinding, stinging winds.
Harry wailed.
Pain fled, its place filled by rage. Heedless of his nearly missing limb, the area between himself and his friend seemed to vanish. Harry hovered slightly off the ground, his barely attached leg hanging like a rotten apple that hadn't yet left the tree. He made eye contact with the man who would become Lord Voldemort and he sneered. Time itself seemed to slow as the boy rounded Hermione. The girl's arms were spread wide to shield Harry from the killing curse, and as he saw her face, he knew that he would never be able to love her enough. Friendship strong enough to split the world in twain.
Something was, different. Odd. He felt a strong tugging upon his heart, as if something were impacting him like a bludgeoner. Blue light seeped from his body and outlined that of Hermione, and as he stepped around her Harry saw why. The Avada Kedavra curse seemed to be stuck, as if afraid of Harry's advance, lodged within the lower side of Hermione's neck, and held back by a thin barrier of blue. It looked to him like a 'Protego' that had been stretched flush against Hermione's skin.
Anything to keep it from her. If my death is needed, then that is that.
Harry didn't hesitate. He grabbed the pulsing beam of death.
As if in worry, the blue light protecting Hermione's fragile neck leapt off the girl and circled his hand, confining the green spell like a baseball in a mitt. Harry wasted no time as he rounded upon the young dark lord, eyes sparkling with electric power.
Tom's eyes widened. "H-How!?"
Harry gave him no time to ponder. Confined by the chains, and unable to lift the stolen wand or defend himself, the fade had just a moment to let loose a howl of despair as Harry reared back and physically hurled the killing curse back at him.
His aim was true. It took but a moment from the time the green curse impacted upon Tom's horror stricken face for his false body to evaporate. He burst into green flames, writhing like a agony as his skin melted into the air in moments. A skeletal black projection was left behind, it too writhing in the unbearable green flames that stole its life, before it burned away just as quickly as the flesh had. All that remained was a tiny locket with a blazing silver S, hovering in midair. It pulsed once, another burst of light shimmering about the room. Harry didn't flinch, but Dumbledore shielded his eyes. Hermione remained frozen in death.
Then, the locket exploded like a muggle grenade, scorching the desk to cinders. The chains that had immobilized Tom blasted apart, links shattering one at a time to rain esper and ether across the floor like four metal fuses.
The candles in the room winked out.
Harry had just enough sense to turn around and catch the paralyzed body of his dear friend as her wide eyes closed.
They both fell...
Dumbledore only vaguely noted a leatherbound book on the floor, scorched beyond any hope of recovery. His eyes remained riveted on the pair of Gryffindor's and the slack-jawed Ron Weasley at the doorway. More than anything he could not stop staring at the lightning bolt cut on Hermione Granger's neck.
Ronald Weasley sat in the infirmary in between the beds of his two best friends and did an admirable job of preventing tears from simply pouring down his face.
He failed, but his effort was admirable.
His chair was uncomfortable but he didn't care about that. It had been almost a day since he'd watched Hermione step in front of the killing curse and watched his life twist itself on end. The gut wrenching horror of watching Hermione nearly die had put a steel shard into his spine that he couldn't remove. Hermione... god how he loved to see her smile. Seeing her laying there, motionless but for the rise and fall of her chest reminded him painfully of second year, and even more painfully of the botched Yule ball last year.
The simple truth of it was that he was a complete idiot.
For months he'd been dancing with a newfound fondness for Hermione, that he hadn't really even been able to put a name to. They argued more than ever but those arguments stood out like a firestorm in a haze of dull rain that was their Fifth year. He loved arguing with Hermione. He loved watching her passion, and even when she was spewing Her SPEW nonsense he loved that heavy exasperation that came over him. She was Hermione. It was her way.
He'd taken for granted that she would always be there.
It was strange how simple it was to see it when she was lying in a bed having narrowly survived the killing curse –the bloody killing curse!– what he had been so very blind to before.
He loved her.
Ronald Weasley was damn near head over heels in love with Hermione Granger. And damn him if he wasn't going to take the second chance that she'd been given. It had been too close. Far too close. He wouldn't wait till their next brush with death to let the girl know how he felt.
"Get ready, old heart. Its time to leap. Come on Hermione... you've got to wake up. I might not be brave enough to do this tomorrow!"
She didn't. She slept soundly, her breaths coming in a smooth even rhythm, curiously synched with Harry's on Ron's other side.
Slowly, Ron bent down to Hermione's forehead and laid a gentle kiss there, before he turned his red eyes to Harry.
"Mate, you are a bloody badass, I reckon," he said, trying to lighten his own mood. "You both are... I don't even..."
Hermione crashing into the room, taking in the situation with but a blink of the eye. Harry on the ground bloody, his leg nearly severed. Hermione leaping forward, without hesitation or fear...
Harry, heedless of his wounded limb, moving so fast as if to apparate as the Avada Kedavra curse shot towards Hermione's form. The thin blue barrier that held the death curse in place, its tail catching up to leave it pinned against Hermione's neck. Only a sparse second. Harry, grabbing the death ball and tossing it back, eyes shining with lighting...
...Ron Weasley standing in the doorway. Slack jawed. Useless.
"Harry... How can I ever live up to you?"
Ron sat back down in the uncomfortable chair.
He waited, his eyes ever lingering on his best friends' lightning bolt scars. His stomach growled. He'd ignored it for a long time... over a day now. Much longer without food and he'd probably be sitting in bed with the two, and Umbridge across the room.
It didn't matter. He wasn't hungry.
She walked down a crystalline staircase, that she recognized easily. It had always been a stone staircase before, but the fact that it was suddenly crafted of shining diamond that glittered in beautiful sunlight did not seem odd or strange in this place. Each step made an echo as if she were inside a great hallway, but she wasn't. At the foot of the stairs was the Hogwarts grounds, grass blowing in a pleasant breeze. It too was made of flimsy white crystal.
She turned and looked up to see the castle, and was once again unsurprised by its ethereal demeanor. It shined like gold upon a sea of shimmering glass. Fairies flew, glowing as bright as the wondrous sunlight, and dancing with the birds that haunted the high towers. It was the midst of spring, when Hogwarts looked its most beautiful.
It was her favorite place, but despite the crystalline nature, she found that it was different from what it should be. The grounds, which normally should've contained the quidditch pitch, instead held something different. The Burrow lay before her. The steepled building leaned as if happily bearing the weight of the many generations of Weasleys that had lain beneath its hallowed roof.
She felt welcome. These were her favorite places.
'That's not right...' thought a mild voice in the back of her mind, but it went largely ignored.
Idly, she turned to her left and her eyes beheld a beautiful girl. Older than her but shorter, the girl was a fantasy. Naturally tan skin melded with a waterfall of midnight black hair, and dark eyes. She wore dark colored Ravenclaw robes and her entire form mingled with the crystal background in a dazzling display of memory and beauty.
"Cho, you look amazing!" she gushed and her words echoed as if sung aloud in a canyon.
The crystalline features of the world seemed to... shift. As if by magic the crystal was transformed into snow before her eyes. Again, nothing felt strange about this.
Cho blushed a crimson color that suited her rosey cheeks. "Hermione, I'm wearing school robes. No one looks amazing in those."
She circled the Ravenclaw stepping up and down the stone stairs to wander around her and look her over. "Have you checked your facts? I know at least one girl who does," she replied to the asian with a not so subtle leer.
The girl flushed and grinned. "Oh Hermione,"
"No, I'm serious! Hey, its cold out, want to come inside?" she asked.
Cho's perked up, and she nodded emphatically. "Sure!"
The scene shifted, though nothing seemed odd about this. One moment she was outside, examining the beautiful Ravenclaw seeker and the next they were inside the Burrow, both together inside the room she'd been given there ever since the Weasley's had adopted her as near enough one of their own.
'What? I'm not family of the Weasley's. Not that close anyway...' the words came from the back of her mind but were once again ignored.
There was a difference though. It was as if her room were connected to the living room, which was impossible, yet not at all strange. A fire crackled warmly in the sitting room, heat wafting into the dining area where they both stood. Surprisingly there was a stew on the table, two bowls for the both of them as if someone had laid it out knowing they'd be chilly whenever they came in. Hermione grinned. Cho would definitely like Molly's stew!
'Hermione. Yes, that's who I am. Hermione Granger.'
She walked forward to the table and sat, noting a small letter left upon the table beside the two bowls of soup.
"Hermione Dear,
We've gone out for some late Christmas shopping. Didn't expect to have Cho staying with us for the holiday's you understand, so we needed to get a few extra things. It is likely that we shall be back late in the evening, so I've left some hot stew out for you. Do be a dear and show Cho to her rooms, will you? She'll be staying with you. I do hope you don't mind, but I can't very well put her with any of my boys now can I? I know they're the untrustworthy sort.
I'll expect you to be a perfect gentleman for her, and make her feel as welcome as possible.
With Love,
Molly Weasley
A subtle blush crossed Hermione's cheeks. Cho would be staying with... her? In the same room? That was improper! But... at the same time... A devilish little thought wound its way up her mind as the thought of Cho disrobing in her room sent a flutter up her spine. She couldn't stop a slightly subtle leer in the older girl's direction.
"What's improper about it?" thought the voice in the back of her mind, but yet again it failed to gain any traction in Hermione's higher thought processes. Then another thought came to mind. "Gentleman?"
Hermione paused. Gentleman? Why would Molly call her a gentleman? Rereading the letter she shrugged. Must've been a typo.
"Looks like you'll be staying with me." She said to the girl behind her with a devilish wink. "Wanna see my humble abode?"
"Was that flirting? Am I flirting with Cho Chang?"
"W-with you? I could think of worse things..." the girl replied in an embarrassed yet slightly sultry manner.
"I AM flirting with Cho Chang!"
Once again the voice went ignored.
The scene shifted once more, the intervening stairs between the sitting room and Hermione's bedroom flashing through like memories of events that never happened. The world blurred into view, and suddenly, she and Cho sat on the bed, happily noting that Molly had gotten her a queen sized at some point during the school year. The sitting room was gone, and now the room looked as it normally should save for the oversized bed.
The next thing she noticed was Cho's lips firmly attached to her own.
She melted like putty into the older girl's kiss, and felt herself pushed down to lie on her back, still attached to the other girl at the mouth. Her feet dangled lightly off the bed, sock-covered toes just able to touch the wooden floor. Those toes curled as the black haired asian's hands began to explore her, tongue invading her lips to twirl around her own like a sensual candy.
'Mmmm, she has good hands. H-hey! That's my boob!" the voice in the back of Hermione's mind seemed just as flustered as she was.
What was happening here?
Cho's lips left hers and the girl rose a little bit. She threw a leg over Hermione and lay happily atop the bushy haired girl with a rather naughty glint in her eyes. Hermione took the moment to glance at the girl and note that her Ravenclaw robes had been discarded in favor of something far more flattering.
"Slutty, you mean."
She wore a rather simple muggle tank top colored red, that accentuated her ample chest, and a pair of tight black pants that Hermione was certain she'd worn herself once. Then, the girl leaned down close to her ear, her breasts pressing pleasantly into her own, slightly smaller ones.
"Hermione... I've fancied you for a long time now, you know?" she whispered huskily, and wriggled, setting Hermione's chest on fire.
"You... fancy me? I'm not all that special," Hermione replied somewhat somberly.
"Why in bloody hell would you fancy another gir–oh, god keep doing that!" the voice's protests melted into a murmur of coos and cute mewls as the raven-haired Ravenclaw laid a sensual assault upon her body. She lowered her lips to Hermione's neck and began to rain kisses down upon it.
"Ch-Cho? Uhm... what if the Weasley's get back? And uggg–" Hermione's words guttered and died as Cho relieved herself of her shirt, exposing a neon red bra, that clasped her breasts very nicely.
"So... Sexy..."
"Ew! I don't like girls!" sobered the voice in her mind as her eyes focused upon the orbs, covered only by thin red cloth.
For the first time, Hermione took note of the voice. Don't like girls? That was ridiculous. Of course, she liked girls! The alternative was that she liked boys and that was simply unfathomable! Why upstanding sort of man would like blokes–!
She stopped, shocked. She was a girl. She was Hermione Granger. And Hermione Granger liked Ron Weasley.
Finally the true Hermione within and the exposed outer skin had similar thoughts, and they blasted through the piecemeal of this faux reality like a lightning bolt. Suddenly both girls became one, her mind suddenly focused on a problem and quickly finding a solution. In moments, she realized exactly what had happened.
Two immediate facts came to her mind that were somehow beyond question. The first, was that she was dreaming, and it wasn't her dream. Instead, she was filling the shoes of Harry James Potter, in his own fantasy. A Soul Bond. Of course they would share more than just touches!
Her eyes snapped open and she bolted upright to a view of the Hogwarts hospital wing. Her expression was a mingled outrage with a flushed embarrassment that shouldn't have been possible so soon after sleep. She didn't take into account her surroundings. She didn't care who heard. Injustice was flouting itself in her friend's mind and she would see it rectified in only the truest and oldest of ways...
...Righteous feminine fury.
"Harry Potter, you pervert!"
"H-Hermione!" came a surprised voice.
Male. Warm, it made Hermione's cheeks blush, and she blinked, coming to herself with a sudden start. What had she just shouted?
"Hermione..." this time, there was no surprise. Instead Ron's voice was filled with a relief the likes of which she'd never heard. He looked haggard. The bags under his eyes had bags of their own. His clothes seemed dirty, and his voice was haggard and cracky as if it had gone unused for quite some time.
Abruptly, he was before her, kneeling at her bedside, his arms wrapped lovingly around her, his face burried into her shoulder, his embrace tight and comforting. He smelled a little, but Hermione had never felt cleaner.
"R-Ron..."
"You terrified me. I thought I was going to lose you. Bollocks! Both of you! Why would you do that Hermione...?"
His face was buried in her shoulder, and she could feel a wetness spreading there as he tried to hide the quakes his body was involuntarily undergoing. Ron Weasley? Crying?
"Ron I..." Her arms found themselves unconsciously folding around him, comfort oozing off her in waves equal to the guilt she felt within.
"Hermione. I think I love you... Please. Don't do that again. Please?"
Hermione's heart swelled. It flooded. Such simple words, uttered over a tearful visage had Hermione dancing inside. Even as she bathed in his embrace, she felt the stained touches of the Faux Cho flowing away to be replaced by wondrous, real Ronald Weasley.
She lifted him off her, to gaze into his eyes and found such sincerity there. Such heartbreaking joy. She had leapt to give her life for Harry, and not even thought of what that might do to Ron. What did that say about her...?
She didn't want to think. Didn't want to dwell on this strange twist her life had taken. Cho's hands that had made her feel so good and so dirty at the same time. But they had done one thing right. One thing that she could learn from. She took a page from Harry's Dream and kissed the weeping boy soundly. Surprise lasted only a moment before Ron deepened the kiss, melting further into her arms...
Nearby, Harry's sleeping form cracked a silent grin as the Cho of his dreams relieved herself of her undies.
Madam Umbridge woke wearily, and her first sight upon returning was happily not the form of the younger Lord Voldemort. She remembered waking... remembered him healing her severed arm, and then a sudden drain that seemed to tug on her very soul. It felt very much like the tug of a Dementor.
Unconsciousness had fled her... and then?
She shielded her eyes with her stump of an arm, mildly disgusted by the children snogging like mad on the other side of the room.
"Hem hem!" She coughed, startling the two, who both turned to look at her.
Ron Weasley, for his part, looked like a house elf that had failed a task. His eyes were wide and red, and he looked as if he hadn't slept in a lifetime, but embarrassment still seemed to creep through. His mouth hung open as if he'd been caught with his hands in the cookie jar.
For but a moment, Hermione looked the same way. Then the girl's eyes narrowed challengingly at her before she roughly turned back to the Red head and sniped his lips with her own.
If not for the intolerance for rule breakers that she had, and the seriousness of the situation, paired with the fact that she appeared to still be missing her arm, Umbridge might've laughed.
Then her eyes wandered to Harry... Harry who she only vaguely recalled dodging the locket phantom's killing curse as she passed into darkness. Harry. Who she probably owed her life. And these children, Harry's dearest friends, who probably had helped in their own way. Well she supposed a kiss or two was not entirely unfounded in this situation.
'Aaron,' she thought glumly. Idly, she wondered if she would ever have someone to kiss her like that again...
Probably not.
Night was upon the land.
A small creature waddled its way through the snow, seeking its small den. It was cold, and the creature knew it shouldn't be out. But it had been hungry, and its stores were much lower than anticipated. It had been a cold winter.
It didn't notice the quiet steps of a much larger creature approach.
When it finally did, it was already too late.
Large cat claws crushed the tiny mouse, killing it quickly. Crookshanks was good at killing mice. He always had been, and he was particularly fond of the taste. Getting rid of rodents was one of his jobs, and the castle grounds needed to be free of the pests just as much as the inner walls did.
So Crookshanks felt he was doing his duty. He didn't like the snow, but the mouse was worth it. He was just about to take a bite out of the small creature, when a dark shadow appeared above him.
He scampered out of the way just in time. A snowy white Owl swooped down and snatched the mouse, but instead of flying away it stopped, angrily nipping at the cat.
"This is mine," the owl thought. "I've been stalking it longer than you. Get your own."
Crookshanks was perturbed. But it was not his way to question. He'd never been able to understand owls before but perhaps that was because he'd simply never spoken to one. Well. Now he had plenty of reason to do so.
"I caught him! He's mine!"
"Mine!" the Owl retorted with a squawk and a fluttering of wings.
"Mine!"
"Mine!"
The conversation degenerated even further from there.
END CHAPTER
Author's Notes: Well here's another chapter. I told you it was going to get darker didn't I? Bit of fluff at the ending to easy the heavy handedness with which I began. The plot thickens. The Soul Bond book is burnt to a crisp, and Harry of course, went and got himself into Mortal Peril despite Madam Pomphrey's request. Hermione is Dreaming Harry's dreams with a bit of lime juice, and What the hell am I doing with Luna?
All shall be revealed in time. Kudos to those of you who know EXACTLY where this story is going. The hint is in the runes.
There have been a few comments that Hermione didn't express any feelings towards Ron during fifth book, and I would agree. I'm actually basing her wanting him off of the amount of angst that occurs in book six during the whole Lavender debacle. That kind of jealousy doesn't just develop overnight and since we only get Harry's POV in canon, I'm using my imagination to fill in the gaps. Also, the Yule ball seemed to indicate that Hermione had a crush on Ron at least a little bit and that was a year ago based on this story's timeline.
Umbridge. Well, I'll probably get some hate for this but I've never seen it done before and I wanted to be original. Nuff said.
I truly hope you're all enjoying this. It's a pleasure to write, and I hope its just as much fun to read. Next chapter is going to be a lot lighter, and a bit more dramatic as Harry and Hermione's connection begins to grow stronger.
Please leave a review!
Till Next!
MB