Chapter Ten

Death of the Lesser

Harry watched from a corner of the Slytherin common room as Lucius walked away from the cells. Letting out a breath, he waited until the elder wizard disappeared up the stairs to the main floor. He desperately wanted to be in there to hear the conversation Hermione and Lucius had a moment ago, but knew it was wiser—and far less risky—to keep his distance. One stumble and he might find himself in a cell of his own, or dead. He wasn't certain Lucius Malfoy cared which, as long as he was out from under foot.

Harry shook his head at himself as he crossed the common room and made his way toward the cells. "Who are you kidding, Harry? He'd kill you in a heartbeat."

He stepped inside and paused, feeling a chill down his spine. There she was, caged—just as she'd called it—and kneeling. She looked so . . . small and broken, lost in the dark folds of that cloak as she was.

"Oh, God, Hermione," he said in a whisper as he lowered the hood of his Invisibility Cloak.

She turned, pinning him with those flawless silver eyes. His jaw dropped; even from meters away, he could see how her eyes had changed since he'd seen her last—really seen her. The irises were so clear . . . perfect, like liquid silver.

Like unicorn blood, he thought, swallowing hard.

Hermione rose to her feet and Harry thought for a moment that might actually be someone else standing there. The way she moved was so fluid . . . as though she was now possessed of effortless grace and poise. Slow, measured motions brought her to her proper height, yet her posture was different. Pin-straight, shoulders back; the cloak parted enough in the front that he could see her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

He realized, as he brought his gaze up to those eyes in his best friend's suddenly doll-like face . . . . Standing there like that, Hermione looked regal.

"Hermione," he said, his words low and trembling as he ran to her. "Are you okay?"

Her lids swept down in a slow blink as she tilted her head to one side, as though unable to comprehend his panicked tone. "Of course I am, Harry."

He stumbled backward a step at the sound of her voice. It was Hermione's and yet . . . not. It sounded odd, hollow . . . alien. Like someone else was using her voice to respond. And yet beautiful, so beautiful it almost hurt to listen to her.

"God, Hermione, what's happening to you?" The moment he said it, things became clear. "That's why Malfoy wants you, isn't it? Because of whatever this is?"

Again, she did that slow blink, gliding forward a step to peer at him through the bars. "I am becoming what must be."

"What?" That . . . that didn't even make sense! Harry shot forward, latching one hand around the bars, and reaching with the other to cup her cheek with his palm. "Snap out of it!"

As his skin touched hers, she shuddered violently. For the space of a single heartbeat, he feared she'd fall, but she gripped his arm with both hands and clung to him, staying on her feet.

That strange tension flooded out of her and life returned to her features. "Oh, God, Harry! What's . . . ? I don't understand what's happening!"

"I don't know," he said, speaking in a low fervent whisper. "But whatever it is, I know the Malfoys know something. Draco's going try to find out what."

"You spoke to him?"

Harry nodded. "I told him I'd be here with you."

She sagged forward, leaning against the bars. Suddenly she felt exhausted; so drained she wondered vaguely how she was still standing. "Thank God for that. At least it'll stop him from trying to get himself thrown in a cell for a bit."

"What are you two doing here, anyway?"

Hermione spared a moment to laugh at herself. There was so much to say, and so little time. "We had to move, Fenrir found the forest manor. But I was too weak to go far, and we knew we couldn't just leave you behind—"

"So you risked yourselves to come rescue me?"

"Um . . . ." She pointedly cast her gaze about, looking at the walls, ceiling, and cell door, before returning her attention to Harry. "Yes."

He smiled. "Worst rescue ever."

"Harry, listen, we can laugh later. Right now, Lucius Malfoy is mad. As in I think he's seriously lost his mind. He means to keep me locked down here, because he wants to see how Fenrir and I are different, I think."

"What!"

She nodded, looking around again, fearful that the werewolf could come barreling out of any unwatched corner. "He's . . . Fenrir fed from the unicorn. He must've been more wounded after your fight than we thought."

Dropping his gaze to the dungeon floor, Harry found he had to force a gulp down his throat before he could speak. "No, that was me. I—I did that to him, Hermione."

She felt like a blanket of ice had wrapped around her shoulders and she shivered, trying to desperately to cling to his arm, still. "Why?"

He shook his head, refusing to look up at her. "You had just collapsed. I know . . . ." He licked his lips and tried again. "I know you said you were awake the entire time, but I don't think you could have been. I think you were asleep for those first few moments, or you would have remembered overhearing me."

Hope you enjoy your half-life, he heard the echo of his own, angry whisper in his head.

"Knowing he did that to you, I couldn't just leave it," he said, finally lifting his gaze to hers. "He had to suffer at least as much."

"Dammit, Harry," she murmured, dropping her forehead against where his fingers curled around the one of the bars. "You shouldn't have done that. You had cuts all over the place, what if some of it got into you?"

He pressed his face between the bars to drop a kiss against the top of her hair. "We'd both be on that side of this door, probably."

She gave a breathless laugh, but the sound stopped short. Her shoulders shook as she darted her gaze about.

"Hermione?" The instant change in her demeanor scared him. "Hermione, what is it?"

That sick fear churned and twisted in the pit of her stomach. "It's Fenrir," she said, her voice barely audible, even in the quiet of the dungeon. "H—he's awa . . . . He's awake. And he's co—"

A bellow tore the air and she gasped, as though the sound hurt.

"He's coming," she said.

"Hermione, how did you know that?"

She shook her head, panic filling her gaze. "I don't know. I think it's the blood, it connects us, or something. That's the only thing that makes sense. But you, Harry, you have to go. He can't find you here!"

Green eyes shot wide behind the wire rims of his glasses. Had that unicorn blood driven her mad? "No, Hermione. I won't leave you here like this!"

"Harry, please, you have to. If he finds you here, he'll kill you just to get to me. I can feel it." She reached through the bars to cup his face in her hands. "Please! I think he might smell you, but I'll distract him. You have to go. We can't make it through this if you don't!"

"Hermione—"

"I'll be fine, I promise. He doesn't want to kill me."

Harry could hear it, now. He could hear heavy, stomping footfalls barreling through the Slytherin common room.

He hated it, but she was right. He could handle Fenrir, but what of the castle full of dark wizards and witches with a score to settle above their heads? He was no good to her dead. Nodding, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and then slipped away.

Hermione watched as Harry stepped back and threw the hood of his Cloak into place. Despair crept in instantly, even as she heard Fenrir's angry steps draw closer, and felt that terror batting at her.

Everything snapped into sharp relief around her. Her fear bit at her skin, the fabric of the cloak over her shoulders seemed made of lead, and the air was so cold she thought her skin might freeze.

And then it was all gone.

She glanced about the cell as she stood straighter. She recalled how she'd gotten here, yes. And she knew the beast would be here shortly. Her silver eyes rolled impatiently.

He had forgotten. They all had.

He would pay for thinking the ancient magics something with which he could toy.

He tore into the room, his bleary silver eyes meeting hers. She only stared back, her expression blank as a twisted grin curved his lips.

He ran at the cell, wrapping his hands around the bars and trying to pull the door off its hinges.

Her eyebrows drifted upward in the vaguest hint of surprise when the metal whined and groaned in protest. He was strong, but not as strong as he needed to be.

"Cease!"

Against his will, Fenrir's arms dropped to his sides. "What are you doing?"

"You will not have me," she said in a lethal whisper.

The werewolf flinched, as though her words hurt. "Oh, yes. I will. I will tear this cage apart and then—"

"And then nothing!" She stepped closer to the bars, her gaze fixed on his, the perfect, unblemished silver giving off a faint light. "You betrayed ancient law. You abused this form. You deserve the half-life cast upon you!"

Fenrir felt as though a ton of bricks had piled upon his shoulders for each word that fell from her lips. He fought to stay on his feet, but as she held his gaze, the weight pressing down on him grew.

Growling and spitting as he fought against it, the beast sank to his knees.

"Never again shall we forget. You did not only forget, you mocked." She lifted her chin in defiance, but kept her eyes on his, still. Her voice was hollow and clear, a sound like shattering crystal as she said, "For that what you truly deserve is death."

"I couldn't agree more, my dear," Lucius Malfoy's voice called into the room a moment before the new Dark Lord stepped inside. He aimed his wand at Fenrir, immobilized as the creature was by the silver-girl's words. "Avada Kedavra."

Even as the Killing Curse struck, even as it ripped what was left of his life from him, Fenrir fought. He felt on his side, hitting the floor with a bone-jarring thud. A snarl froze on his face as the last bit of life ebbed from his dull, metallic eyes.

Lucius expected . . . something from Miss Granger. Some protest, a look of fear, or dread. Something. Yet the girl only stood there, looking upon the werewolf's corpse as though the very purpose of its existence eluded her.

After a moment, she lifted that eerie gaze to meet Lucius' eyes. "You needn't have done that. He was dying, already."

His eyebrows drawing upward, he stepped over Fenrir and watched her through the bars for a long, silent moment. "Was he dying because of what you were doing to him just now?"

She shook her head. This one needed to learn his place, as well, but it was not time. She didn't have the strength for that, yet.

"So . . . because of the blood, then?"

The girl nodded.

Lucius looked from her, to the fallen beast at his feet, and back. "But not you?"

"But not me."

He hid a grin. Finally, they were getting somewhere. "Will you tell me," he said, making his tone light and careless, "why the blood isn't hurting you?"

"Not yet, I think."

He frowned thoughtfully. He had been so correct in this matter that he was actually a little astounded at how well things had played out. Fenrir, the useless one, was dead, and Miss Granger, the one who was becoming something more—this silver being—stood before him. And she clearly was more evolved.

Her strange, blank expression was unnerving, but he couldn't worry about that, now. With how she'd just handled Fenrir, he knew it best if he maintained the guise of the one in power, but understood it unwise to give the girl any reason to lash at him that way.

"Tell me, Miss Granger . . . ."

She arched a brow.

"Was it your words that forced him to his knees?"

Those silver eyes narrowed as she held his gaze. "It was my voice."

So much she had to tell him, but he would not press his luck, just now. He tapped the door's lock with his wand, and it sprang open. "Now, if you behave yourself, I am willing to escort you to more comfortable accommodations."

The girl looked him over as she stepped from the cell before asking, "So then I am still a prisoner?"

Lucius grinned winningly as he put a loose arm around her shoulders to guide her through the dungeons. "Oh, my dear girl. Of course, you are."