A/N: Thank you for all the favorites, follows, and reviews!
I'm sorry for the long wait for this chapter. Between the Kiddos state testing and an ongoing personal issue, it took me much longer than I anticipated. Once you read this chapter, you will understand why I didn't even put out a short chapter.
So, we are swiftly coming to the end of this story and I anticipate two or three more chapters. (I will give warning in the penultimate chapter)
It has been so much fun writing this story! You, my readers, have been so supportive and vocal about what you really liked and didn't like, and I cannot thank you guys enough. Without you, Sigurd would have never been anything more than a painting. How disappointing that would have been?! Your reviews bolstered me when I was sick and stressed, when I lost motivation, and when I thought I was never going to get it done and grew frustrated. I've become a better writer from your feedback and I have learned how to take criticism with a grain of salt. You guys are the absolute best!
I want to point out that the room has been imbuing Sigurd's magic and therefore something may have changed in the way it operates. It is stronger now.
24
Previously:
"Do you think the room would be satisfied with your magic alone? It is a cold, greedy thing. If it takes you, sucks out your magic to leave you nothing but a husk, what do you think it will do then? Do you think it will be satisfied when there is so much power in its grasp? Hermione alone makes it salivate. Can you not feel the excitement every time she enters the room?"
"Thanks to you, they are no longer in the room."
"But they will come back... For you."
**HGHG**
Hermione took a deep steadying breath and slipped her hands into Abraxas' and Draco's, taking comfort at the small squeezes she received in reply.
"We cannot walk out of any door unless we know for certain it is to get home," Abraxas said, slipping something metallic into Hermione's robe pocket unobtrusively so that Hermione, Draco, and Lucius wouldn't see. "and we all go together, or not at all."
"Agreed," Draco mumbled. Lucius whipped his head up and pinned Abraxas with a questioning glance that Hermione nearly missed.
"What are you planning old man?" Lucius asked suspiciously, the only one out of the three who noticed that Abraxas slipped something into Hermione's pocket.
Abraxas shook his head. "It's not a plan so much as a worst-case scenario, let's hope that we never have to use it."
Together, the four of them raised their intertwined hands and set them against the door, each desperately thinking of Hecate's antechamber.
The moment they stepped into the room, the candle on the lone table flared, brightening the whole room so that they could see it as it was. Sigurd was chained to the stone table by a black tether that pulsed, almost as if it were swallowing the magic it was leaching out of Sigurd. Hecate was standing behind him, hard flinty eyes, staring into their very souls.
"What have you done?" her old horrible voice accused.
"Let Sigurd go," Hermione asked.
"I cannot. He has taken from the room and must now give back to it."
"You could kill him," Hermione said.
"Don't place the blame for his loss of magic and death on me. If you hadn't disregarded the rules of the room, the only thing that would have happened is that you both would have spent five years apart. Then he would have come home to you. But no, you couldn't bear the separation, no matter the danger you put him in. That is pure selfishness, Emrys' daughter."
"That would be selfish if it were the only reason," Hermione said slowly. "Sigurd has gone through so much, has orchestrated events for a thousand years, have given up his family, his life, his needs to be here today only to be stuck in this Merlin forsaken room. I don't bloody think so."
"You love him," Hecate tilted her head as if confused and stared uncomprehendingly at Hermione.
"I love them all,"
"If you love more than one man, you actually love none of them,"
"Who in hell told you that? It is not a one or none situation. I love them each deeply and without reserve, for their own merits. Are you so unfamiliar with love that you can't love more than one person?"
"There has always only been Emrys,"
Hermione nodded sadly, pity welling up in her eyes.
"Don't," growled Hecate. She. Would. Not. Be. Pitied!
Hermione let go of Abraxas and Draco and moved slowly across the room, to sit directly across from Sigurd, who was wincing and growing ever paler.
"Take from me," she offered the room, holding her wrist out to the blackness drawing upon Sigurd.
"That is not how it works," Hecate clucked.
Lucius was slowly moving around the perimeter of the room, hoping that he could get behind Hecate and bind her. Abraxas stayed right where he was, keeping Hecate's quick glances on him, and Draco moved behind Hermione who had thread Sigurd's fingers with her own.
"I know how the room works," Hermione said. "but what I don't understand is why we were able to leave the room last time without a truth,"
Hecate cackled and said, "That is because your dear prophet took the punishment for you, but perhaps it was the room punishing him even more for breaking the rules."
"What do you mean?"
"Why don't you tell your lover what truth you were given, Sigurd."
Sigurd rested his forehead against the stone and exhaled weakly. Hermione was growing more and more panicked as time crept on. He wouldn't last much longer but they couldn't remove him until he was no longer tethered. She racked her brain to think of a way.
"No?" the crone taunted. "Shall I tell them?"
Sigurd groaned.
Hecate waved her hand and the room changed.
Hermione stood in front of her mirror at Malfoy Manor, a horrible grimace on her lips. The white dress and veil marked the day of her wedding and even though she looked absolutely beautiful, her face was twisted in disgust.
"What's the matter, my sweet?" Lucius asked as he walked in the room.
"I'm not feeling very well. I think I ate something bad,"
"I doubt it. And I wouldn't say that around Gilkey, the elf may kill herself from the insult alone,"
"Something is wrong with me,"
"Nerves?"
"No." her lips twisted wryly as she glared at Lucius. "Our wedding feels more like a formality than anything, nothing to be nervous about."
"That's because it is," he mumbled, staring at the Malfoy family ring already on her finger.
"What was that?" Hermione asked as she brought up her hands to cradle her unruly stomach. Her face turned green, and she eyeballed the distance between where she was standing and the bathroom.
"Nothing, Love, nothing at all."
"Whatever," she mumbled, clenching her eyes tightly shut and breathing steadily in and out to help dissipate the nausea.
"Gilkey," he called.
Gilkey popped into the room and bowed. "Master?"
"Bring me the first healer you see and make it fast,"
Gilkey bowed again and disapparated. She was gone for the length of several heartbeats when she popped back in. A snarling, angry, and manhandled potions master in tow.
"What the fuck is the meaning of this?" Snape snarled.
"We need a healer," Lucius said. "Something is wrong with Hermione,"
Snape rolled his upper lip and said, "then why in bloody hell am I here? I am not a healer!"
The door opened and Narcissa breezed in. Her hair was rolled into a perfect French twist and her periwinkle silk robe flowed over her willowy curves; a small feather fascinator in her hair.
"She is fine," Narcissa crooned, gliding to where Hermione still stood with hand over her stomach. Narcissa gently ran her hand over Hermione's curls hidden by the veil.
"I told you it was something I ate," Hermione muttered through clenched teeth at Lucius.
"Eating had hardly anything to do with it, dear. You're pregnant."
"That is impossible. I have been getting Depo Provera shots from the Muggle world since this war started."
"Yes well, there is a reason why medi-witches and healers never prescribe the stuff. The first time you drank a healing potion, it negated all the hormonal imbalances that were preventing you from ovulating."
"Are you saying that it made no difference what-so-ever?"
"Exactly Dear," Narcissa sang happily. "I'm going to be a grandmother!" She clapped her hands together as Snape rolled his eyes.
"There is no way of knowing if it's Draco's child," Lucius said drily.
"Does it look like I care who the father maybe?" she turned with eyebrows raised, a 'fight me' look on her face. Lucius nodded, acquiescing to her desire to be the grandmother to all of Hermione's children. Narcissa had been through hell and back. If she wanted to be a grandmother, he would not stand in her way.
Lucius walked over to Hermione and slid his arms around her middle, large hands cradling her nonexistent baby bump. "A baby," he whispered into her neck.
Hermione tore out of his arms and ran into the bathroom, projectile vomiting into the porcelain bowl. Narcissa followed faster than belief in her four-inch heels, gleefully taking Hermione's veil in hand, her wand waving as she went, and casting an impervious to all of Hermione's wedding gear.
"Too bad Sigurd isn't here. I swear that man has an unhealthy fascination with you being pregnant," Lucius called out to his puking wife, his voice filled with humor.
The room faded the vivid truth and left the bare face of the stone of the room to close them in again.
"Too bad Sigurd isn't here," the crone mocked in a sing-song voice as Sigurd moaned and slowly shook his head as if denying the terrible reality.
"That could have just meant he wasn't in the room," Hermione protested. "There is literally no context to form an opinion about that statement!"
"Or it could mean that he died or became a muggle in this room," Hecate prodded.
"Give me my truth!" Hermione demanded. "We are using the room. By the rules, we each will receive a truth. Bring it on!"
"So be it," Hecate cackled again and waved her hand, the room morphing once more.
Abraxas stood in the walnut grove, a little boy with curly brown hair and grey eyes in his arms, the small hands clasped tightly at the nape of his neck and his face buried in Abraxas' robes.
Around him milled three girls, all of which had the striking Malfoy looks, cooing at the tiny golden unicorns that were a mere three days old. Beside him stood Bast, fifteen years old and already as handsome as Tom Riddle once was. It had been mildly disconcerting for Abraxas to watch him grow into the form of the man who he had grown up with and struggled to put down like a feral animal. The only difference between Tom Riddle and Bastillion Lestrange's looks were the eyes. Bast had the piercing ice blue eyes of the Lovegoods that were filled at this moment with boredom.
"Why can't I go over to Teddy's house?" He whined to Abraxas. "Uncle Harry just finished the Quidditch pitch behind the Burrow and he invited me to go too!"
"Today is the day your mother died twelve years ago. We are going to her grave and you are going to show the respect that I have taught you to the woman who brought you into this world. After we properly honor her, then you can go to Uncle Harry's. Not one moment before."
"I never even met her. And Mum is my Mum."
"Your biological mother gave up everything so that you could live, and you will attend her grave with us or you won't be going to the Burrow at all!"
"Yes, father," Bast muttered sullenly, face slumping into a sulk.
"Do you want to pet the unicorns too, Klaus? Layla would happily take you," Abraxas asked.
Klaus shook his head vigorously, "They are scary," he murmured burying his face into Abraxas' neck.
Bast rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets. "What a baby," he mumbled.
"Bast," Abraxas warned.
"Ugh! Fine!" Bast huffed and lifted his arms up to the scared five-year-old. "I'll take you over if you want."
Klaus looked over at Bast with something close to hero worship and nodded, reaching out for his older brother.
Imogen skipped over, her blond curls bouncing with each step, her dark brown eyes sparkled with intelligence.
"The Mummies are coming over, Bast," she sang, taking hold of the sullen teenager's hand and pulled him toward the unicorns, Klaus in his arms. Over his shoulder, Bast threw a kill me now look that made Abraxas chuckle.
It was easy to see how much the children adored Bast and that was another glaring difference between Bastillion and the Dark Lord. Everyone loved Bast, especially those closest to him.
Abraxas sank to the ground and pulled out a small blade of grass, fiddling with it as he watched his family play with the unicorns.
The room seemed to go fuzzy as if was losing focus and for a few moments, the room clouded with purple shadows before gaining clarity once more.
Draco wiped the sweat off his brow and took a second to breathe. Sigurd's door laid on the ground well beyond the back garden. He had been at this for hours, struggling to find a way to destroy the door. Nothing seemed to work.
He even resorted to trying Fiendfyre. Nothing.
Draco sighed and lifted his wand, "Expecto Patronum,"
The small fire drake gamboled around his legs, bathing him in the wonderful feeling he used to conjure the thing. The day he finally made Hermione his.
"You were right Potter. Don't get used to hearing it either! And bring that damn sword."
His Patronus shot away into the forest and Draco settled in to wait for his once nemesis.
Harry showed up exactly eight minutes later, the Sword of Gryffindor in his fist and a smug taunting look on his face. "I told you, but you just wouldn't listen,"
"Shut it, Potter," Draco growled.
Harry smirked and they both stood silently looking at the door.
"How's the family?" Harry asked.
"Good," Draco said, a smile growing on his face. "Hermione is so damn insatiable while pregnant,"
"Wipe that smarmy grin off your face. I don't want to hear that shit," Harry said groaning. Draco laughed, thoroughly enjoying the look of abject horror on Harry's face.
"And how is Ginny and the baby?" Draco asked.
"Well, Ginny is a right bitch when she doesn't get enough sleep, so I have been waking up at two with Evangeline every morning. She is the sweetest little thing. Doesn't cry very much either."
"What I want to know is how the little tyke got bright blond hair. The eyes, now those are obviously from the Weasley side of things but neither the Pucey's nor the Weasley's have that color hair in their lineage."
Harry shrugged. "Does it matter?"
"No, just curious is all,"
"Right, well," Harry said gesturing to the sword. "let's see if this can do any damage to the infernal portal,"
Draco rolled his eyes. Harry walked up to the door lying on the ground and in one mighty swing rent the buttery wood in half.
"Bloody hell!" Draco yelled as a few splinters flew through the air and embedded into his face. Harry was likewise wincing as little beads of blood sprang up on his neck where he had been hit.
The room shifted, getting more seamless in its truths as it went along.
"Imogen," Hermione's voice rang out as she searched the back lawn. "Layla, Denna, where are you?"
Three blond headed girls hid behind the topiary and giggled, their new brooms from Uncle Harry clasped tightly in their hands.
"Shh," Denna said to her two younger sisters, which set off one pair of wide grey eyes and one pair of amber to sparkle with mischief.
"Don't make me send Daddy out to find you," Hermione warned.
Denna rolled her eyes but Layla looked at her eldest sister in terror.
"The worst he would do is make you sit through one of his long stories about Farmor,"
"But he told me that she used to see us. She could see us being naughty,"
"What is she going to do, Lay? She died a thousand years ago!"
"Daddy always knows what we are up to," Imogen whispered.
"He does not!" Denna muttered angrily. "but if you want to go back to Mum like little babies, fine. But I am going to test out my new broom!"
"I'm pretty sure your mother told you that you couldn't until Papa could go with you," Sigurd said as he stepped out from the other side of the tree. The three girls groaned as they realized they had been caught.
"Told you," Layla mumbled mutinously to Denna.
"I want to go with Denna too!" Klaus screamed as he squirmed in Hermione's arms. She had finally caught up to Sigurd, her hair sparking in agitation.
"You three… I've had it!" Hermione growled. "Grounded! No going to Uncle Harry's, No brooms, no Teddy's. You three are going to stay here with me while everyone else goes to Kings Cross to drop off Bast!"
"No!" Denna screeched, her own blond curls sparking in response. "I told Teddy I would meet him there!"
"Oh, yes, young lady! I've had it up to here with this willful attitude!" Hermione said gesturing well above her five-foot-five frame.
"Why don't I stay with them Hermione," a soft voice flowed over the breeze behind them, a sweet smile on Nana Cissy's face.
"You're too soft on them," Hermione mumbled still angry with the girls, Denna especially. The ringleader of their tiny crime organization.
"Well, why don't I start them on the training we discussed earlier?"
Sigurd bit his lips in an effort to contain his laughter at the grimace on Hermione's face. It had been one heated discussion when Narcissa insisted that the girls be given a lady's education. Dancing, etiquette, fine dining, conversation, posture, etc.
"They are certainly old enough. Denna is ten, Layla is eight, and Imogen is six. I was five when my mother started with me."
"Your mother was nuts!"
"Is that a no?" Narcissa asked, unimpressed.
"It wouldn't hurt anything," Sigurd said, and Hermione slumped as she finally gave in.
Narcissa rubbed her hands together and pinned a happy smile on the girls. "I can't wait,"
The room darkened, pitching them into the darkness, moments before showing the final truth.
Hermione laid on the master bed hemorrhaging. Her sweaty skin was white and pasty, and her eyelids were drifting shut.
"Keep your eyes open!" Lucius ordered her as he tried to help staunch the flow of blood.
The newborn baby wailed as Narcissa cleaned him up, taking over for the medi-witch that was badly needed at Hermione's bedside.
"Please," Lucius said, "don't die!"
Snape appeared at Lucius' elbow and moved him out of the way, trying everything in his power to fix Hermione before she bled out onto the white linens.
"Won't," Hermione mumbled almost incoherently. Her eyes slid shut and she stopped breathing.
"No," Lucius said, shock transforming his face before the rage took over, "NO!"
"Enervate," Snape yelled, and nodded with relief when Hermione drew another breath.
"We need another blood replenisher," the medi-witch said and Narcissa pulled one out of the satchel that Snape had brought with him and handed it to the woman.
"Thanks," she muttered to Narcissa who was now cradling the tiny baby boy she swaddled against her chest.
After several nerve-wracking minutes, Hermione was finally stabilized. Snape had found the tear in her uterus when the placenta detached and had cauterized the wound. They all took a deep relieved breath.
"What kind of Healer are you?" Snape growled at the medi-witch.
Furious pounding began at the door seconds before three frantic male voices demanded entry.
"Let them in," Snape barked at the woman who nearly cost Hermione her life.
"What happened?" Draco demanded.
"Everything is fine," Snape said. "Hermione had a near-fatal complication, but I was able to save her. Although, I doubt she will be able to have any more children."
"Five is enough for us," Sigurd agreed.
Narcissa walked up to them, the child in her arms. "What are you going to name him?" she asked them.
"Klaus," Lucius said from behind. "Ever since she was pregnant with Denna, the boy name she always wanted to use was Klaus."
Sigurd cradled the tiny infant against his huge body, admiring the soft brown hair on his head.
"Can I hold him?" Hermione said weakly from the bed. Sigurd turned to her and gave her the biggest, most adoring look in all the world.
"You did good, Mama," he murmured as he laid the infant in her arms.
"Severus?" Hermione said from the bed as she ran her fingers through Klaus' dark curly hair.
He turned and looked at her with one brow hitched in question.
"You should be a healer,"
Snape bared his teeth at her in a growl, even as the rest of the room erupted into relieved laughter.
"Well, well, well…" Hecate said lips pinched, eyes narrowed. She had seen, the same as they had that Sigurd was in several of their truths and none of the scenes took place in the room. One even showed the desecration they planned on one of her portals.
"Isn't there some way that we can work this out?" Hermione asked.
"Five years is owed. You could stay in his place," Hecate said to her.
"No!" Abraxas said the same time as Hermione said, "Okay,"
Four blond heads whipped in her direction, narrowing their steely eyes at her. She avoided them all.
"If you are sure…" Hecate asked, a thoughtful look on her face.
"I am," Hermione confirmed. She laid her hands flat on the stone table and watched as the black chain retreated from Sigurd and wrapped its way around her legs and arms.
"So, mote it be,"
"What the hell are you doing?" Lucius demanded.
Hermione looked up at his face and smiled softly, "Do you trust me?"
"You know I do,"
"Then take Sigurd and go."
"I don't want to exchange my life for yours," Sigurd said weakly, reaching across the table for her with the only hand that wasn't already entangled in hers.
Draco, knowing Hermione far better than the rest of them, grabbed Sigurd's arm and pulled him up, helping him limp around the table to drop a kiss on Hermione's temple. Without asking a single question.
"What do you need from me?" Draco whispered against her cheek.
"When you open the door to go home, let Harry through." She breathed as she turned to kiss his cheek. He nodded infinitesimally and turned to the door that would lead them all home.
"Come on Abraxas, Lucius," Draco said. "help me get Sigurd out of here."
"I'm not leaving without Hermione," Abraxas said stubbornly. When she had run from him and met up with Riddle he had vowed that the two of them would meet whatever danger that came at them together. There was absolutely no way that he was going to leave her there alone.
"How touching," Hecate sneered. "So devoted. I can sympathize with the sentiment. Wizards such as Hermione and Emrys do what they must and the rest of us scramble in their wake. I would have been his mightiest adversary if I wasn't already in love with him. And perhaps he knew that because here we all are."
"What does your one-sided painful love have to do with this situation?" Abraxas asked.
"I am the room and the room is me. It was the very last gift I received from him- Emrys, my dear sweet deceiver," Hecate said. "He knew of my love and used it against me to trap me here for all of eternity."
"Let us help you. We will try and free you from your bondage,"
"Beautiful courageous Hermione had there been a way to break my chains, I would have done so already."
"Abraxas, please," Hermione begged.
He shook his head and moved behind her, placing his hand heavily on her shoulder. "Where you go, I will follow. You are my everything and nothing could tear me away now,"
Hermione hissed as the black parasite drank deeply from her magical core for the first time. She could feel the flow of it leaving her body like a freezing cold drink after brushing her teeth. Gritting her teeth against the sharp pain, she struggled to remain impassive.
After the room took a long draw it shuddered, shriveled, and struggled to pull away from her. This time it was her magic that held on, forced it to stay with her so that it wouldn't latch onto Abraxas who still refused to leave.
By the door that Draco, Sigurd, and Lucius went through, a ripple disturbed the air and Hermione felt the relief to her very toes. Harry had come. Just as she asked of him.
Hecate leaned over the table, both of her wrinkled hands laid flat on the stone surface. "Why is it that only a few wizards cause the most havoc and the rest of us scramble to pick up the pieces. You and Emrys are like gods who fight other gods. The earth trembles, ripples of magic devastating the world, and all the while ripping out the hearts of the mortals who love and worship you most."
"You make it sound as if you were merely an innocent bystander, but you and I both know that is a lie. What did you do to Merlin for him to put such a curse on you?"
"I am not cursed,"
"Then leave the room,"
"Impossible,"
"Why? Are you bound here? Are you a prisoner of this room? And if so, how did you get here?"
"None of your business,"
"That's it," Hermione laughed humorlessly. "he used your love against you to trap you here. Were you the Dark Witch of your day, Hecate?"
"Enough! You. Know. Nothing!"
Hecate lifted her withered hand and the same black tendrils that Hermione kept bound to her, bled out of her fingertips, they coiled sinuously as they reached across the divide, growing slowly, steadily as they reached for Abraxas.
Hermione struggled to think of a way to protect Abraxas, but all of her focus was employed on keeping the large parasite with her. If she let go, for even a moment, she would lose Abraxas.
Hecate's eyes grew wide and she jerked, dragging her wild eyes to meet Hermione's. Fear filled them for the first time and she coughed, a spurt of blood decorating the stone table top between them.
"What?" Abraxas said. Hermione looked over her shoulder and saw Abraxas was successfully fending off the black tendrils that had come from Hecate, his wand moving through the air beautifully.
Hecate slumped over the table breathing raggedly, a knife glittering from just below her ribs from the back. A familiar knife. Bellatrix's cursed knife.
"Quick," Harry's discombobulated voice murmured through the air and Hermione looked back to the door that was now being held by Draco, fear and urgency on his face.
In a rush she stood, glancing back over her shoulder at Abraxas who, over the course of fighting against the black smoke, moved further away from her and closer to the door.
"Brax," Hermione murmured, motioning for him to go through without her. He nodded, a slight sheen of sweat beading on his brow.
A low groan from Hecate made Hermione flinch and whip around to face the prone witch. She froze and watched in morbid fascination as the cursed knife retracted, seemingly on its own.
As she stared, she felt a hand close over her bicep and pull her towards the door. She noticed with relief the moment that Abraxas reached the portal and smiled as he turned and held his hand out to her, Harry's hand still pulling her through the room.
The black parasite struggled to free itself from her magic and thrashed as she got closer and closer to the portal door. But with Harry so close to her, she dared not release it.
"You will not get away from us," Hecate growled, the knife clattered to the floor and its echo resonated throughout the chamber. The old witch pushed off from the table and stumbled toward Hermione, reaching for her.
Hecate lifted her hands once more. Thin metallic silver wires grew impossibly longer as they reached for Hermione. The thin metal twined with Hermione's curly hair and as Hermione reached the door, she was stopped in her tracks.
She couldn't take another step without ripping her hair out at the roots and the longer she stood there debating what to do, the tighter the metal tendrils latched on. She could feel the sharp needle-like tips start to sink into her scalp. Harry's buried his hands in her hair, trying to detangle the metal ribbons with his fingers.
"What is this," Hecate growled, eyes narrowed on Harry's now visible hands. "Do we have a trespasser?"
Hermione grabbed Harry's wrist and shoved him back through the door. He stumbled, and the cloak slipped from his head and he looked at Hermione in shock. Hecate cackled as she bid the door to close even as Lucius, Draco, and Abraxas fought to keep it open.
"Not so lucky, Pierre," Hecate laughed deeply, just before the door sealed, shutting the Malfoys off from Hermione. "Now you are mine," *
"Retract your claws," Hermione said quietly, standing stock still as the metal spikes continued burrowing into her scalp. They retreated immediately, retracting back into Hecate's fingertips.
"No one escapes the room once a deal has been struck. It is curious to me that you agreed to a five-year term, now knowing that you are pregnant,"
"That vision could be from five years in the future,"
"But it's not,"
"How could you possibly know that? Isn't one of the rules you, yourself told me when I used the room for the first time that you don't guess the time of things if they have not already happened?"
"I have seen many, many truths and I consider myself a connoisseur of sorts. I can always tell the mathematic probability between when a person receives their truth and when it will actually happen. The likelihood that you are not pregnant, that you will wait out the five years without protest, that you will leave here without becoming a murderess… well, let's just say that I won't say impossible only because the idea of impossible is in fact impossible. Instead, I will say it is improbable."
"You think I will kill you?"
"Isn't that what you were planning? What have you got in your pocket?"
Hermione reached into her robe pocket and pulled out a small silver dagger, no longer than the palm of her hand. At first glance, it looked unremarkable though pretty, but anyone with a modicum of magic could feel the powerful spells and runes laid into the very core of the dagger. A beautiful scrolled name was etched into the blade, the only decoration on the whole thing.
Emrys
"I'm sorry," Hermione said. And she meant it.
Suddenly the room changed. It brightened so that even when she closed her eyes, Hermione couldn't block it out. As bright as it went, the room suddenly plunged into the deepest night.
"Don't be afraid," Hecate sighed, her voice weary. She sounded older than she had ever looked.
A tall man with long black hair stood in the center of the largest stone ritual circle in Britain. Stonehenge. He was wearing a white robe, a silver dagger in his hand.
Below him, cowering at his feet was the most beautiful woman that Hermione had ever seen. Fiery red hair laid in wild ringlets down her back, steel grey eyes begging silently. Her green tunic was filthy as if she had been dragged there through the half-frozen mud. Hundreds of tiny nicks covered her fair skin, blood seeped out slowly, as if the weather was conspiring with the man to give the beautiful woman a long drawn out death.
"Emrys," She breathed. She shuddered with the cold, with fear, with longing. A single beguiling tear slid down her face.
"What you did can't be undone!" Merlin roared.
"I protected you! I protected that foolish boy you call king! What more do you want from me?" She wailed.
"You gave his wife a love potion so that she would fall in love with one of his knights!"
"You didn't see what would have come to pass, YOU DON'T KNOW!" she screamed.
"I could have loved you," Merlin said. His words were soft and filled with longing, none of which showed on his face. And it wouldn't. Not ever. He never loved her, could never love her. She was nothing more than a tool for him.
"Lies," she sobbed. She could see it now. Oh, so clearly. She had been blind. It was never going to be her. Not if she lived for eternity.
He brought down his arm swiftly, cutting deeply into her thigh. The blade was so sharp that it easily cut through all the layers of clothing that she was wearing. She screamed again, clutching at the gash.
Merlin raked his hands through her blood and began drawing runes around her, binding her, imprisoning her. She went behind him desperately trying to erase the blood runes but the moment he completed them, they were as if branded into the stone altar. Around her, she could feel her magic begin to be sucked out as Merlin used her own power to erect the room.
"You will not always be alone, Hecate, my lovely. One day there will be many,"
"No," Hecate yelled, throwing her whole body against the invisible walls that Merlin trapped her in.
Soon the outside world disappeared, and she was left in a stone room furnished only with a chair, a candle, and the stone table that was stained with her own blood.
"EMRYS!" Hecate screamed his name over and over until she went hoarse only to plead with the walls when she regained the ability to speak once more.
"Is that how you were trapped?" Hermione asked aghast. How could Hecate love a man who did that to her? No matter the reason. Death would have been a better, more suitable punishment.
Hermione felt sickened.
She felt sick from the memory and she felt sick because she wielded the very weapon that Merlin used to trap Hecate in this very room. How could Hecate love him still, so much so, that she protected his progeny? Children from another woman's womb?
"He thought he was saving the world from me. I do not blame him," Hecate said. A small forgiving smile on her face.
Hermione tried not to look disgusted, she wasn't sure she succeeded.
"We forgive a multitude of wrongs from the ones we love most. Things I would tolerate from no other. Our love, his and mine, was a doomed one. Even if he had loved me in return." Hecate stood on the chair and climbed onto the stone table, sitting in the exact same way as she had when Emrys had trapped her. "I'm ready."
"For me to kill you?" Hermione asked incredulously.
"It has been a long time in coming. If you kill me, you break the spell on the room. If you kill me, you can go home…"
"And you are just going to sit there and let me after the way you prevented me from leaving the room? After you fought us so bloody hard?"
"I'm compelled to do for the room. You hold the only thing that can kill me. He made is so. I am powerless against it."
"That is so fucking sad," Hermione murmured, her brows furrowing with compassion.
"A tragedy," Hecate agreed.
Hermione walked up to Hecate and let the dagger fall into her lap.
"I'm not a murderer."
"You have killed before,"
"That was war. This… this is something else entirely,"
"You won't kill me, even if it means five years of separation?"
Hermione gulped, hung her head, and whispered. "They will wait for me,"
Hecate lifted Hermione's palm up to cup her old wrinkled face and kissed the center of her palm. Gently, she laid their twined hands in her lap over top of the silver dagger, "If only you were a man, Hermione, you would have easily stolen my heart from Emrys's cold dead hands,"
Suddenly, Hecate clenched her hands around Hermione's and the hilt of the blade, lifting it, plunging it up in between her ribs to pierce her heart.
Hermione watched in horror as blood bubbled from Hecate's lips.
"Kiss me," she gurgled, and Hermione brought her lips the dying woman, tenderly kissing the crone's cheek as Hecate's last breath left her body.
"Thank you for helping me over and over again," Hermione whispered as she pulled away. She could feel the magic of the room collapsing, trying to find another host while simultaneously trying to avoid Hermione.
As the room self-destructed behind her, and she pulled open the door and stepped through, landing in the relieved arms of Draco Malfoy. Her men were startled out of their deep tactical discussion for her safe rescue, Harry and Snape now among them.
Hermione laughed weakly, ridiculously pleased to be home.
*"Not so lucky, Pierre," is a line from Mel Brooks', History of the World Part 1. (Movie) Pierre is a pet bird that is kept by a prisoner in the Bastille that was eaten by a cat. To see the clip, you can search History of the World Part 1 + Bastille + Youtube. Enjoy!
