Chapter 40


The voice of her new prison pal came down every day now, usually for an hour apiece. There must be something wrong with her to find companionship in a second dark wizard, but besides Emma there was no one else. At least with Grindelwald she was mildly disturbed by him. He was eloquent and intelligent, but appeared psychotic. His face would spasm randomly into the most unpleasant expressions before settling back into his regular neutral.

But then there were the times he spoke in German. Hermione could never tell what he said, but if it was longer than a single phrase it was usually an angry monologue that she couldn't help but think was nefarious in purpose. It always sounded murderous, or insulting, or something. He would sneer and spit on the ground, even snarl if she asked for him to tell her what he meant in English.

This was especially when she mentioned her hopes for the future, which had been growing for the last little while.

"The world is for men, hexe," the old wizard said. "There is little work for you with two kinder about your ankles. How will you live?"

"I've been offered a shop in Diagon Alley," Hermione admitted. "Ollivander – the wand maker? – he's been teaching me his craft."

He went from calm and sympathetic to angry violent in the time it took her to blink. German curses and angry words she couldn't understand came raining down on her. Their conversation was abruptly ended; echoes of gruff voices came from above and the stone in the roof was replaced. His shouts had clearly attracted the guards.

Then from outside the door and down the hall, Hermione heard a familiar shriek.

"Wa-What?" She couldn't believe what she heard. Her arms shook as she lifted her heavy body from the bed and headed towards the door of her cell to open the flap on the door. "Ron?"

"'Mione?" a mix of red, black, and brown hair came around the corner and jumped at the sight of her through the cell door. Ron gaped. "'Mione! You're okay!"

"Ron? Harry?" Just seeing her two friends brought tears to her eyes. Her children kicked around painfully in her belly, and she wished she pulled fruitlessly at the door handle to try and go to her friends. "Where's the guard?"

Ginny looked upward warily. "She said, er, he was acting up. But we were worried, we couldn't just wait where she left us."

Hermione resented that her guard had to leave just as her friends arrived. Mentally cursing Grindelwald for choosing right then to lose his psychotic marbles, Hermione focused on her friends.

"What are you all doing here?" she asked. "How did you even know where I was?"

Harry now, coming forward, answered. "Dumbledore told us everything. He wanted us to come guard you."

"Guard me?" She glared through the bars. "Just say it—Voldemort's coming for me tonight, isn't he? The battle's starting. Why would you even TRY to be here when you know he's coming?"

The Neville and Harry looked at their feet. Ron scratched the back of his neck. Ginny just ran forward and grabbed her hands where they rested on the bars. "Don't worry, we're just all getting into place. We'll be here for a week if You-Know-Who acts like we think. We might not even be here when he comes. Think of it as just us visiting our friend."

Hermione took her hands and relished in the shared warmth from the girl. It had been so long … Emma was nice, but she hadn't touched the woman. Emma occasionally touched her – while she was crying she'd touch her arm, when she went to the showers she'd help lift her and get her into the spray – but she never returned it. It felt wrong to bring someone else in that hadn't been there before, especially if she didn't know why she was there. But Ginny just offering her hands and being able to touch her in return made tears come to her eyes.

"Umm, you okay?" Ron mumbled from the side. Harry whacked him upside the head. "What? She's crying!"

"It's just hormones, Ron," she dismissed him with a watery smile. "Well, it's also really, REALLY good to see you all. I missed you all so much … I just wish I could hug you all!"

It wasn't a good idea to bring up the literal prison cell door between them, as it served to make it more awkward. Still, they managed a stilted conversation about their summers, about what they were doing so far. She learned that they'd all gathered at Grimmauld Place once again, that the adults in the Order were all stationed around the edges of the sea she was surrounded by, patrolling and communicating via protean charms and Patronuses to catch Voldemort when he came, and that Ollivander was still okay. She asked about Snape, with incredulous looks all around, but was told they hadn't heard anything from him.

When her guard finally returned, she was tired from standing and her feet had swollen if the heat pulsing from them was any indication. But when the cell was unlocked, she still let herself be carried forward and into a giant group hug with her best friends. She sagged into their warm embraces and let her tears freely flow down her cheeks.

Harry stroked her hair like he did when she cried, Ron tried to make her smile by poking the corner of her mouth, and Ginny and Neville just hugged her with their warmth and kindness and love.

Ron tried to lighten the mood with a joke when his finger wasn't working. "So, what's there to do around here?"


Dumbledore was a fool.

Tents of his followers, allies, and minions dotted the shore in formations but the wards around them were minimal. They weren't looking to keep him out, but the little sensory wards would let them know if he or his followers arrived. They would be easy enough to disable.

No, the reason Dumbledore had set up a tower in the middle of the camp as his own temporary dwelling that was a solid several feet taller than the wards he'd set up. The old fool knew he could fly, knew he could sense the wards he'd placed. Even more than that, the tower erected was glowing brightly against the gloom. The other tents and campsite had small fires, at most, but the Headmaster had adorned his parapet with glowing white lights as thought he were hanging Christmas lights. The Headmaster was inviting him for tea.

His forces were waiting for him. To the east he had stationed the werewolves, to the west were his lower Death Eaters each with one of his Inner Circle for him to signal. The rest of his Inner Circle were waiting a ways away for the signature burning on their forearms to call them into battle around him. Did he delay the fight to accept the invitation – risking the initiative in battle should he alert his followers – or did he initiate the surprise attack?

He leapt.

Through the air, everything whipping around him and biting his skin with the chill of the night. Revenge was coming to Dumbledore this night. He had taken Hermione from him, hidden his children, banished them to the middle of a desolate sea.

Still, when he landed through the opening Dumbledore had clearly left for him, he hesitated. The old man was sat there in an old camping chair, wand extended gingerly in his hands as if it were an offering.

"You should not have invited me tonight, you fool," Voldemort hissed. "Do you wish to die?"

"Yes."

The words struck him in the chest as the blue-eyed Headmaster's gaze met his with an unfathomable look. It scared him. The look of men who were so unafraid of Death coming for them.

Dumbledore moved, making his wand twitch, but he only pulled up the sleeve on his robe to reveal the effects of his long-standing curse moving its way higher and higher. Dead and grey, his hand a forearm were dead weight now for the Headmaster.

"Does it hurt, old man?" Voldemort hissed maliciously. The man wasn't reacting how he expected, igniting his fury even more. "Perhaps you understand the pain you've caused, then."

"I understand your anger, Tom," Dumbledore told him baldly, "but before you kill me, would you begrudge a chance to tell one, final story?"

His eyes narrowed. "You left yourself open to … regale me with more of your morals?"

"No, none of that," Dumbledore chuckled sadly. "No, this is the story of a wand and its two brothers, a stone and a cloak."

His breath caught. The Tale of Three Brothers.

"They once belonged to powerful if misguided wizards," the old man began, sitting back. "To be able to create an invisibility cloak that has not faded to this day is impressive enough. The ability to call back the dead, or at least as we recall them, must be lauded as genius. A wand that is as unbeatable as its owners are fallible."

With a movement of his still functioning hand, Voldemort's attention was drawn back to the wand in the wizard's hand. Definitely not an Ollivander wand, he knew, but could it truly be … ?

"This wand has quite the tragic history," Dumbledore admitted his own wand's power freely, yet didn't hold it up but let it sink in his hand as if it weighed a thousand pounds. "The original owner died, of course, at the hand of a rival who stole it in the night. But then came another rival, then another, then another. Until Grindelwald found it in the hands of an unfortunately ill-informed young wizard who had no idea what wand he possessed."

A raspy breath, and then Dumbledore continued. "Gellert and I used to be friends, closer than friends, but I couldn't let him hurt so many people. He viewed it as a rebellion, a movement, but it was nothing but a violence that needed to end. The Elder Wand became mine through conquest even as I lost someone so dear to me. From his hand I plucked the Elder Wand and watched as he screamed and cried over his failure."

Voldemort glared. "Your point, old man?"

"My point, Tom, of course," Dumbledore said deferentially. "I'm merely warning you this one final time. Take this wand from me, kill me, try to take back your wife and child by force, and you will lose them both forever."

His wand was on the Headmaster's temple in a moment, his insides boiling with fury. "Are you threatening them?"

"Not them, Tom," he said with no fear in his voice. "They will survive this even if no one else does, I'm certain. You won't. Not if you insist on this fight. I offer you this one last chance to negotiate with me … or you can kill me as you've wished to do for so long and, in killing me, seal your own fate."

Had Voldemort a shred of regard for the old Headmaster he might have listened. He might have acknowledged his threat. He might have even stopped and begun negotiations.

But he had only hatred for the old man who had thwarted him time and again, who spouted his anti-dark magic rhetoric even though his own power came from there … he hated the man who his wife had decided to side with over him. Who had convinced her to hide herself from him.

"I will take my chances," Voldemort hissed. "Without you, there is no one left to stop me."

"I will not stop you."

"No, you won't," he hissed. "Farewell, old man. Avada Kedavra!"

The curse didn't have far to travel and neither did the magical backlash. For the only time magic connected the two men – the legend and the nightmare – for one moment of time. Voldemort felt the life force leave his old enemy, felt his body sag from the end of his wand. And the magic … he shuddered as it washed over him. Power, pure power. He had never killed one who had undergone the ritual and it was heady. A portion of the unfettered magic of Albus Dumbledore now ran through his own, a pleasure that he couldn't even fathom.

The wards around the campsites fell, but Voldemort paid them no head. No, the magic had done something even greater. Without Dumbledore, the magic of the mythical prison of Nurmengrad had ended. Voldemort could feel it in the shift in the ley beneath him. He was free to collect his little love.

Standing over the corpse of his enemy, Voldemort laughed.


Magic rolled back into the facility and through Hermione Granger as she was in the middle of a card game with her friends. It hit her in the collar, the stomach, and then the rest of her followed suit. Her friends sat up as she gasped, undoubtedly feeling the same hit of magic. Her heart started pounding.

"You need to get out of here," Hermione turned to Harry. "He's taken down the defenses, you need to go!"

"Then you do too," Harry grabbed her hand. "He can't get to you. He can't!"

"I don't have a choice!" Hermione shrieked. "Without the wards on this place, he could just call me to him at any point. But he doesn't know you're here, he doesn't have to kill you. Please, Harry."

Hermione started at the sound of guards dropping above her. Grindelwald. He was just as dangerous, but at least he wasn't out for Harry.

"We're not leaving," Ginny sat next to her on the bed. Her hazel eyes were hard. "This is it, 'Mione. Everyone we know is out there fighting."

"Yeah!" Ron pumped his fist up. "Bring it on! It's five against one. He can't get all of us before Harry stabs that wa-"

Harry elbowed Ron in the stomach, pointing to Hermione who looked pale at his words. Hands were cupped on her stomach defensively.

"Erm, well, sorry."

Hermione wanted to reassure them that she'd help them, but right as she did a ripple in her magic told her that Voldemort was there, right on the property.

"He's here, he's here," Hermione struggled to get to her feet and Ginny followed. "If we do this, I need everyone behind me. Come on."

As a group, Hermione led them out of her cell and into the corridor. With her magic as a guide, she followed the feel of Voldemort and the kicks of her children to the next corridor and towards the approaching Wizard. She set them in the middle of the corridor and waited for him to round the corridor.

He looked … powerful. Hermione from afar she could only have felt his unfettered magic, but she could feel the other soul on him. He had just killed someone, or multiple someone's. The aura of magic surrounding him told her that. His eyes were filled with a sadistic glee, a glint of victory and a high of power. She felt her eyes water. If he only looked desperate, or sad, or even normal she would have hesitated to hurt him. But now …

"Hello Voldemort," she was softer than she intended, but it carried. He grinned at her, but didn't lower his wand as he stood there to take in her entourage. "How are you?"

He grinned. "I'm about to take you and our children home, and Dumbledore is dead." Harry screamed his denial. "I'm doing very well, little witch."

"I can't stay with you," Hermione couldn't take her eyes away from him either, though. Taking in his face, his figure, his stance. "I can't let my children's father kill everyone I love."

"You love me, witch," he taunted. "You can't deny this."

"I do." Behind her, the boys squawked. "But I love Harry like a brother. The Weasleys like family. I love my friends and I love my muggle parents. Loving you isn't enough. Not enough to ignore this."

It had taken a lot to come to terms with that. No matter how she loved him she couldn't not stand against him. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

"Please," she begged, "please just stop this. Run away, start a new life for yourself. I don't want to hurt you."

Still, his eyes were glinting dangerously. "You will come with me, Hermione. Now."

"No."

Voldemort's eyes turned to her friends before returning to her. "Then I will kill them."

Her eyes hardened. "No."

A shot of red from her friends told her they were done waiting. Simultaneous shouts of 'Stupefy!' rang down the hallway and Voldemort threw off all four of their stunners.

"The adults were talking," Voldemort sneered. He conjured fire in his hand, growing it. "Now, run!"

Like a coiled snake, the flames shot forward and aimed directly for Harry. Hermione swallowed the spell in her own magic and turned it around, hurling it back at her bondmate with equal fervour.

Harry and the other were scrambling then, moving forward towards Voldemort and ducking around the pillars of the corridor to throw their hexes and charms. Hermione caught the ones that were sent to them – the dark ones that couldn't be defended from with a protego – and returned fire where she could. Five against one, indeed. But regardless of their numbers they were losing. Hermione couldn't catch all the spells because she wasn't fast enough or she was too inexperienced with her magic and all of her friends had cuts, burns, or bruises by now from where his spells pierced their shields. Pillars were blown to pieces by Voldemort trying to get to her friends.

"Stop this!" Hermione shrieked as a spell got too close to Harry. Voldemort barely cast her a glance and she flung her own curse at him. "Stop!"

Harry leapt forward with the sword of Gryffindor, close enough to try to at least off-balance Voldemort with an attack. One spell from the Dark Lord had the sword flying from Harry's hand and clattering to the ground behind their enemy, impossible for them to reach. Harry, swordless, tried to draw his wand but was disarmed immediately and grabbed by the throat by the pale man. Hermione threw her magic at them, trying to separate them, but Voldemort threw her own attempts away and pointed his wand Harry's temple.

"Two of my enemies, all in one day," Voldemort hissed. "First Dumbledore, now … time to die, Boy-Who-Lived. You will join your mother."

He tossed Harry to the ground and pointed his wand. Hermione couldn't stand between them in time, and her magic couldn't protect Harry. Her other friends were throwing spells too, but none got through.

Voldemort raised his wand, "Avada-!"

The fatal words were stopped and Voldemort choked. The Sword of Godric Gryffindor was coming out his chest covered in the red of his blood, and Voldemort's words were a burble of blood. He fell to his knees, revealing the man who had done the stabbing.

Grindelwald.

He stood over Voldemort like a man possessed, his eyes alight with the thrill of bloodlust and victory. His hands and chest were covered in the blood of man she loved.

"No, Voldemort!" She came forward as fast her belly could let her, her sides stitching at even her fast walk. Voldemort looked up at her and coughed, blood coming from his mouth as he tried to breath. "No, no, please. I-I can't. I thought I could let you die, but I can't!"

Voldemort was bleeding out in front of her and her magic could do nothing. She didn't know the rituals, didn't know the spells. Nothing was coming to her mind as she knelt in his cooling blood.

"What do I do?" Hermione pleaded with him, watching as he swayed and his eyes started to flutter. "You know what to do, I know you do! Tell me!"

He looked at her, a spark of panic in his blue, blue eyes. "It feels like water." His laugh was hysterical, pierced with cough of blood. "My blood, herk, my blood feels like water."

His laughter took him to the ground, the sword still stuck in him. Hermione sobbed.

"Nobody's ever cried for me," he wheezed, his eyes unfocused. "Nobody …"

His eyes rolled back in his skull, closing as he passed out from the blood loss. She still had time, though. Still had time to save him.

She turned to Grindelwald, her face wet with tears. "Help me, help me save him," she begged. "Please! I don't know how!"

Grindelwald wasn't listening to her. He had bent down over the body of Voldemort and plucked the knobby wand from his hand, letting out a gasped pleasure at its touch. "Endlich."

Her hands pressed against the neck of her love, searching for a pulse. She couldn't feel anything. Nothing. Could she be missing it? He had only passed out, his heart hadn't stopped, it can't have stopped.

"He can't be, he can't be," she pressed her fingers all over, trying to find his pulse. She put her fingers in front of his mouth, trying to feel his breath. Nothing. Nothing. "No, no, no."

Then, as if answering her, the magic that had been inside the man in front of her broke away. Her magic rippled and shook as she felt Voldemort slip away, his magic breaking at the edge. The parts caught in her magic stayed, but everything that had been bound to his severed from both him and her and disappeared. Her body shook and her eyes filled with tears.

"No!" Hermione screamed. "No!"

Her friends pulled up behind her, holding her and taking her in their arms. The sobs came and wouldn't stop, not easily.

"One thing you learn, hexe," Grindelwald tells her while she cries, accent lilting and soothing amidst the deafening horror of the scene, "is that sometimes men must die."

Her sobs choked her, making her unable to respond.

"And killing is easier for an old warrior like me," Grindelwald acknowledged. His eyes carried over all the children. "None of you has the spirit required to kill. I stepped up."

"He-he-" she was so stressed, her body wracked with tears, that she could feel her belly contract and her children kick up a storm. It was too early. She needed to calm down.

Grindelwald stooped low, making everyone jump and their wands raise again. He ignored them as he took a piece of stony rubble and transformed it into a beautiful, large glass vial. He enchanted it entirely wandless, awing them all.

Then, without a shred of remorse or disgust – without even changing expression – the old wizard dipped his hand into the open wound in Voldemort's chest.

"What are you doing?" Neville cried in horror.

The wizard continued on, cutting open the chest of his fallen victim and pulling up the ribs a little. Harry had to turn away and puke into her little prison toilet. Ginny looked positively green as well, and Hermione just couldn't bear to stop watching even through her tears. Finally, Grindelwald held up the heart of his successor for a moment, as if savoring the warmth, and then squeezed it over the vial.

Blood filled the little crystal vessel, bright and crimson. Not even resting from defiling the man's body, Grindelwald wandlessly cut open the organ and tore the white, fibrous tissue from each of the cavities. Those he put in the jar as well, with the blood.

"A gift for you, hexe," Grindelwald seemed to come back to himself, holding the vial towards her. When she shrank, he gave her a murderous look. "It is the man's heartstrings, heart essence. Your people will soon come and take the body. Take this; it will make a fine wand to remember him by."

The eyes of Grindelwald were sincere, that much she could say. But his actions were psychotic, and his body was sparking and flinching with some repressed motions that Hermione knew would be more violent.

When she hesitated to take the gift, Grindelwald thrust the vial forward more insistently. "Take it!"

Her hands wrapped around the sickeningly warm vial and she nodded to the man. She didn't know if she could be thankful, not when he'd killed him and ripped him open, but he needed acknowledgement.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

Grindelwald laughed then, his voice a cackle and a wheeze. He raised his wand to his temple, making the kids gasp. "Live well, hexe."

"No!" She screamed, but it was too late. Grindelwald slumped to the ground right by Voldemort, his eyes open and vacant. The wand in his hand exploded in his hand and pieces flew around the hall, the magic within dying as well.

Everything was still and silent. Then a wailing sob rang through the prison as Hermione Granger mourned.