All of Harry Potter and anything related to it are the sole property of J.K. Rowling.
(Each title is derived from a song that, I believe, complements the overall narrative, if not the individual chapter.)
Random Location in England, October 1997
Hermione's Point of View
I had noticed the Horcrux locket had started doing strange things to the photographs in my own locket and didn't like it. When Slytherin's locket was worn with it, Adien cried in his pictures; Draco and I looked at each other with distrust; my mother looked scared; and my father's image looked thunderous. Knowing I didn't want to risk the changes becoming permanent, I had to break my promise to Draco and take off my locket, even though it pained me to do so.
I was sitting on the ground outside our tent with 'The Tales of Beadle the Bard' on my lap, its pages fluttering gently in the breeze. I put Slytherin's locket with Voldemort's Horcrux down on the cover of the book so I could remove my locket from around my neck and place it in the small, secure pocket just inside my bag. Its weight had quickly become a comfort to me over these months, and I knew I would miss the familiarity of it.
With a sigh of resignation, I picked up the defiled locket, placing it around my neck. I shivered in revulsion to have it this close to me; even through the material of my light jacket and top, it felt as though it was touching my skin. I hated wearing the Horcrux. It made me feel cold and depressed, but Harry would not let me put it in my bag. Now that I had seen what it was doing to my photos, I was glad he had disagreed with me on that, even if I hadn't liked the tone he had used.
I had no idea how Dolores Umbridge had worn this horrid thing every single day without feeling the evil in it. But perhaps her soul was so twisted and dark that it made no difference to her. Either way, the thought was a scary one.
My mind briefly wandered back to the day we infiltrated the Ministry, disguised with 'Polyjuice Potion', we blended in, each of us playing the part of a Ministry worker. Fear and trepidation had my heart pounding the entire time. The revelation of Mr. Moody's fate was a devastating blow. Ron had proposed a rescue mission to Azkaban, but Harry had highlighted the impossibility of such a feat. Reluctantly, I had agreed with him, wishing circumstances were different.
Letting go of the depressing thought, I picked up the children's book that Professor Dumbledore had entrusted to me, searching for any hidden meanings in it once again. I couldn't understand why he hadn't just given it to me at the same time he had given me the few other books he gave me during the year.
He had lent me books from his personal collection on Horcruxes and other subjects so I could research and plan for what we might require for this journey. I was utterly perplexed, but Harry was convinced that it was related to the symbol in the book that he had seen Mr. Lovegood wearing at Bill and Fleur's wedding. When he pointed it out to me, I recognised it as well, but I had no idea what it meant.
I opened the front cover, much like I had countless times now since I had gained the book, but now a single piece of parchment came fluttering out and landed on the ground beside me. I picked it up and recognised the handwriting of the jotted-down notes immediately. Clearly, Professor Dumbledore had anticipated the Ministry's actions and concealed his notes in a clever manner that prevented them from being discovered.
In the notes, he speculated that only certain elements could bond to a Horcrux. I had reached the same conclusion, but according to his notes, he had four elements that he considered definitive: metal, diamonds, crystals, or living flesh. These were the elements that had the most affinity and durability for dark magic and that could withstand the strain of containing a Horcrux. I found the last one rather peculiar, and frowned at the words. Did that imply that he thought it was impossible to contain a Horcrux in dead flesh, such as leather?
He had also jotted down a few words about a ring, stating that it was the object that had cursed him. I recalled Harry mentioning a ring Professor Dumbledore had destroyed, but he had never elaborated on it. Professor Dumbledore noted that he believed that Voldemort had most likely tried to put the Horcrux into the stone the ring held, but it had sunk into the metal surrounding it instead.
In his writings, he expressed his belief that the stone held magical importance. He described it as a black river stone that had been cut to fit a ring with runes inscribed with characters that were either ancient or original to the creator. However, he stressed that the stone was inanimate and lifeless in every possible sense of the word. Therefore, it was unsuitable for serving as a vessel for a Horcrux.
The diary, he noted as a curiosity. He believed it became an accidental Horcrux after the death of Myrtle Warren. He didn't think it had anything to do with the pages, the binding, or even the ink, but more of the intent behind it.
The young Tom Riddle had infused the diary with a great deal of his own magic and, consequently, his soul over several years as he confided all his ambitions and fears about his own future. This is what Professor Dumbledore believed the Horcrux bonded to—a part of Voldemort/Tom Riddle that already felt familiar to it.
He reasoned it was able to affect Ginevra Weasley to such a degree because of the similarity in intent between the users at the time. He speculated that an adult wizard would have been harder for the accidental and unlikely Horcrux to affect simply because adults have much more control over both their emotions and magic, while teenagers are anything but controlled.
He also had a note point that simply said P.H? sacrifice. Once again, I frowned, unsure what it was supposed to mean.
I picked up the locket I wore now in speculation. As I held the chain, I realised that although it appeared just as antiquated as the rest of the necklace, it lacked the taint that pervaded the locket. Reluctantly, I placed the locket in my hand and gave a violent shudder of revulsion and almost pain as it touched my skin. The sensation was so intense that I nearly dropped it, but the thought of having to muster the courage to try again kept me from doing so.
Once my gag reflex subsided, a reaction I had barely noticed amidst the onslaught of others, I reached out and brushed a finger over a portion of the large green emerald adorning the front of the locket. Nothing happened. It was dead to my touch, and then I realised the aptness of my own word choice. The emerald was just that. A dead hunk of precious stone. It did make me wonder what was different about diamond and crystal but as I had no interest in geology, I didn't speculate on it further.
Feeling braver now, I carefully ran my finger over the tiny filigree snake that lay in the shape of an 'S' in the centre of the emerald. Again, I felt no revulsion. Obviously, the front part of the locket and the chain were not affected by the Horcrux.
I got to my feet, the soft squish of grass under my shoes barely audible. It was a beautiful day, and the sun was shining over the field we had set up camp in last night. After collecting my book and bag, I turned for the entrance of the tent to tell the boys what I had discovered, courtesy of Professor Dumbledore. I didn't know if it would help at all, but it might make them feel as if something was progressing with this hunt. I was also hoping that just this small amount of information would have Harry at least talk to me for a few minutes in a civil manner.
Perhaps 'uncivil' was too harsh a term to describe his behaviour; after all, he was seldom outright rude; he was just avoiding talking to me as much as possible, and I knew Ron was becoming worried we were keeping secrets from him. We were, but I didn't like to see the lack of trust on his face either, and it was even worse after he had been wearing the Horcrux for a while.
It seemed to magnify his insecurities, casting a dark shadow over our friendship. We had only had the thing for a little more than a month, and we were already falling apart. Harry was always angry, I was always sad, and while Ron tried his best to be his jovial self, his doubts about himself and us were getting to him, and we had hardly begun our hunt. I had no idea how we were going to survive this with our sanity intact, let alone our friendship.
Stepping into the tent, I was immediately met with the sight of both boys at the table. Ron was diligently chopping carrots with a frown on his face, his movements methodical and precise, for the stew that Harry had already set to simmer on the stove. The rich aroma of the stew wafted through the tent.
Harry, on the other hand, was once again toying with Moody's eye. He had been furious, which was a common mood for him lately, when he found the horrible toad Umbridge had taken the eye from the ex-Auror before they threw him into prison on charges of espionage. I unlooped the locket from around my neck, and I quickly placed it down on the hard surface of the table, drawing the boys' attention.
"That was quick," Ron remarked, pausing in his task to glance up from his chopping board. His eyes flickered with wariness as he took in the sight of the locket as I sat down next to him. I then put the book and my bag down as well.
"I discovered something in the book," I said, taking out the note from its pages once more. "Professor Dumbledore had concealed it so the Ministry wouldn't find it."
"What is it?" Harry asked and almost had a hopeful tone to his voice, putting down the eye he had taken from Umbridge's office, where she had displayed it as a trophy, embedded in her door. I handed him the parchment, and he immediately started to read it.
"What is it, Mione?" Ron asked as he watched Harry read.
"Notes that Professor Dumbledore had made on his investigations into the potential items a Horcrux can bond to," I explained.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"It means that we have narrowed down our search criteria. Anything that is not composed of metal, diamonds, crystals, or living flesh cannot be a Horcrux, and we can dismiss it."
"Living flesh?" Ron said, wrinkling his nose. "That's bloody creepy, and disgusting. Who would want to put a piece of their soul in someone else's body?"
"Riddle, of course," Harry said bitterly. "You know the snake I told you about? Nagini? She's one of his Horcruxes as well."
"Hang on? What about the diary? That wasn't any of those things you mentioned," Ron said with confusion, looking back and forth between Harry and me. "That was just a book, right?"
"According to this," Harry said, finally putting the parchment down on the table and looking across at Ron, "Dumbledore reckoned it was an accidental Horcrux, and it happened when Riddle murdered Myrtle. He said it wasn't the diary itself, but the magic and the soul that he put into it. He said it was a piece of Riddle that got left behind."
"Blimey, so you mean the diary turned into a Horcrux 'cause of what Riddle scribbled in it?" Ron said, sounding amazed. I noticed Harry was absently playing with the eye again, making it roll back and forth under his finger on the table.
"Yes, Ron. Professor Dumbledore hypothesised that the Horcrux bonded to a part of Tom Riddle that already felt familiar to it," I added.
"So, what does that mean? How do we get rid of them?" Ron asked.
"Well, I was just experimenting a little and believe the face of the locket and chain are not connected to the Horcrux," I told him, and saw Harry give me a reproachful look.
"That's great, Mi, but how is knowing part of it isn't cursed going to help us destroy it?" Ron said, his voice laced with scepticism and a hint of frustration.
"I'm not sure," I admitted, feeling rather dejected.
"I thought Dumbledore had you buried in books all year," Harry said sharply, his green eyes meeting mine with accusation and knowledge.
"He did," I said, letting out a weary sigh as I looked back at him, not wanting to argue. "But he didn't just have me researching Horcruxes. I had to master all the spells we required to secure our camp as well as any others that might come in handy." He looked away but didn't apologise.
"Do you know anything?" Ron asked, sounding desperate, while looking between Harry and me with worry again.
"I know that Horcruxes can be destroyed with Basilisk venom, but we don't have any of that, and I couldn't master Fiend-fire. Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let me attempt it when I..." I paused, knowing I couldn't complete that sentence. They both looked at me in question, and I concluded somewhat awkwardly, "Got sick because it requires such intense negative emotions."
"I think you're still sick," Harry mumbled, looking off towards the front flap of the tent as if he could see through the canvas. I winced with hurt at the words.
"Oi!" Ron shouted, jumping to his feet. "What's got into you, you git?"
"No, Ron. It's fine," I said, trying to soothe him, all the while pushing aside my own pain. As I gently touched his arm, he looked down at me with a frown of frustration. Then I seized on a bit of truth. "He isn't exactly wrong. While I am mostly recovered, there are some lingering issues I still need to deal with daily."
"That's not what he was on about, and I don't get why you two are at each other's throats," Ron said, irritated. He looked hurt and angry, and I could see the suspicion in his blue eyes.
"I'm just in a foul mood. Sorry, Ron," Harry said, still looking away from both of us. He ran one hand through his untidy black hair, seized the eye with the other, and then rose from the table and disappeared out of the tent.
"I notice he didn't bother to say sorry to you," Ron grumbled, clearly still miffed. I just pursed my lips and said nothing. I turned my attention back to the Horcrux. I wondered if I could use magic to pry the emerald from the front of the locket. The chain, of course, was easy to remove. Ron got up to go add the carrots to the pot of stew and came back in time to see me levitating the emerald with its filagree snake out of the locket, just leaving a closed metal casing.
"Wicked," he said, attempting once again to regain his normal manner and coming to look at the freed jewel. "This is actually quite nice now it doesn't make me want to hurl," he said, beaming down at me as he held the emerald in his hand. "Hey, did you feel this, though? There's a tiny spark of magic in the snake."
"Really?" I asked, and he held it out for me to take. Once again, I brushed my finger over the silver that formed the snake, and it took me a little bit, but finally, I could feel the soft vibration of magic that Ron had detected at once. I handed it back to Ron with a smile of approval.
"Do you reckon I should show this to Harry? Maybe he could get Kreature and then use the dodgy one he has and switch the settings and chain," Ron suggested.
"That's a great idea, and as to Harry, I don't think it is possible to put him in a worse mood at the moment," I told him. "You should also mention the magic in the little snake. It was Slytherin's locket; perhaps it has Parsel Magic in it."
"Yeah, I guess," he agreed, but his brow was furrowed with concern again.
"Try not to be too upset with him, Ron. Harry has been through a lot, and he never gets a chance to heal. He has lost too many people the past few years, and he hasn't even been able to talk to anyone about it," I told him, even though I knew there was much more than just that to Harry's anger.
"He could talk to me whenever he bloody well likes," Ron grumbled, clutching the emerald and chain tightly in his fist.
"You are a good friend, Ron, but he requires more than that. In the muggle world, there are therapists… mind Healers," I explained to him at his puzzled look. "They would be able to help him cope with his stress and anger in a way that we can't."
"Muggles can sort out the brain?" he asked with amazement, and I smiled.
"Not exactly, but they have doctors who can perform wonders that even our Healers wouldn't dare. A therapist is someone who is trained to help people deal with their emotions and overcome life's difficulties," I clarified. "They use various methods to help people comprehend and control their feelings, thoughts, and actions. They can provide support, teach coping skills, and even help alter negative thinking patterns. It's a different kind of healing, one that focuses on the mind and emotions rather than just the physical body." Ron looked thoughtful at this, clearly intrigued by this muggle approach to healing. It was a reminder that magic, in all its wonder, didn't have all the solutions. Sometimes, the muggle world had its own kind of magic.
"Sounds a bit like Occlumency, but that's a tough one to pull off for a lot of people, innit? Still, I reckon a lot of people would be better off if someone could do that," Ron said, sounding wistful. "I think I'll go show this to Harry," he finished, waving his hand briefly with the emerald and chain still clutched in it.
"Okay," I said, with a small nod.
He flipped the flap open as he left, allowing the breeze to come in and the green of the field to be viewed. I opened my bag and took out my locket, needing to feel the closeness of my family now, especially knowing they were so far away in Australia. Also, Ron's mention of Occlumency reminded me of my promise to Draco that I would keep practicing the meditation techniques he taught me.
I rose from my seat and settled on the floor with my legs crossed. Then I took a calming breath and closed my eyes, ignoring what remained of the container, which held the Horcrux, that still rested on the table.
Harry's Point of View
I left the tent and squinted at the bright sun of the field where the three of us had set up camp the night before. I gripped Moody's magic eye in my left hand; it was a bitter reminder of his current circumstances, but I knew he wouldn't mind me using it until he could have it back. It was a handy thing, especially for someone like me, who always had to be on guard. You never knew when Riddle or his cronies would strike.
I scanned the surroundings with the eye, searching for any threats, my wand gripped in my right hand. Nothing. Only the green grass, the clear sky, and the faraway mountains. It was a peaceful scene, but I knew it was only a matter of time before it would be shattered by war. Maybe not this place exactly, but the magical world as we had known it was already being changed in ways that made scenes like this scarce now. Feeling fairly confident we were safe for the moment, I settled on the slightly damp grass.
So much changed the night Dumbledore died, and my world has not been the same since. I thought I had known and understood loss, even accepted it. But to see the man I admired more than any die in front of me had been too much. The loss of Sirius and even, to a lesser degree, Cedric came crashing down on me once again. Dumbledore's death felt like a boulder sitting on top of my old hurts. Far from holding back the pain, the weight seemed to grind it further into me.
I remembered standing against that wall under the invisibility cloak, trapped and helpless to help the older wizard as he was confronted by Draco. I was sure the slimy snake was there to kill him, but then the words they exchanged confused me, and I began to believe I was wrong. Didn't mean I could forgive the snake for all he had done, especially this past year.
As I listened, Dumbledore confirmed my suspicions that Malfoy was the one behind what happened to Katie and even Ron. Then it got worse, and it came to light that he had smuggled Death Eaters into Hogwarts. It didn't matter to me that he had only intended for his aunt to enter. He had put every person in the school in danger because he was a selfish prat who cared for no one but himself.
Yet that belief was soon overturned, revealing a truth I hadn't anticipated. Turned out he was in love with somebody who mattered to him more than his allegiance to Voldemort, and for her, he was seeking Dumbledores help. I had no idea who he was talking about, and even the headmaster was surprised by the revelation.
When Dumbledore said he believed Draco, that the female in question would never betray anyone, I couldn't help but think he was just saying what Draco wanted to hear. It seemed like the right move to me, but then I remembered the professor I knew wouldn't have done that. And if he trusted someone beyond question, then there must be good reason for it.
How many times had he asked me to trust his opinion of Snape? I may hate the greasy bastard, but he did spy on Voldemort for Dumbledore. I was confused by his trust now, though. Who could possibly be so important to Malfoy that he would give up everything, but that Dumbledore would trust without question?
For countless nights, I lay awake, thinking of that conversation. Each time, I came back to the same answer, and I hated myself for even contemplating it. There was no way Hermione would ever have anything to do with Malfoy.
Looking back, there were signs that I had overlooked—moments that seemed unimportant at the time. But now, I recalled seeing their names on the Marauder's Map, sharing the same corridor—a sight I had brushed off as coincidence. And then, there was that one time, their names appeared close together out by the lake. That time I had almost gone to check it out, but I got waylaid by Ginny, and, well, I let it slide. I knew my best friend could handle herself, sick or not.
But then she left Hogwarts without a word to either Ron or myself, and her reaction to my duel with Malfoy… it nagged at me. Once again, I shoved those doubts aside, clinging to the trust I had in my best female friend.
Over a month passed, and I received a letter from her explaining her visit from Mad-Eye. I could see from the words written that she, as always, understood me enough to know how I felt about people taking risks for my sake. She had even outlined a plan I was comfortable following.
Before I slipped away in the early morning a couple of days later, I had an unexpectedly pleasant exchange with Dudley. He had caught me in the act of sneaking out, but, for the first time in his life, had no intention of giving me away.
When Hermione showed up at the Burrow, at first I couldn't help but worry. But she seemed to be her usual cheerful self, and I found myself beginning to let go of the tension. It was as if a weight was lifting, and I could finally breathe a bit easier. Her birthday gift caught me off guard, made me stop and think. It wasn't like the usual presents we exchanged—this was different, more thoughtful, and it made me wonder once again.
Up until Ron's birthday, it had always been books she gave us, hoping to inspire us to further study. When she gave Ron that hunting knife, I had brushed it off as something more personal because of the crush I had become aware that she felt for him. With the gift she chose for me, I began to think that maybe she believed a seventeenth birthday warranted a gift that held more significance than just a book.
But later that night, after sneaking back up to Ron's room after a very nice make-out session with Ginny, my world came crashing down once again. It took me most of the night to remember the words of Professor Dumbledore. But my best friend, the girl I had known since first year, she wouldn't just choose to marry a filthy snake like Malfoy. No, he'd done something to her; I was sure of it. Cast some dark spell, slipped her a potion, or—Godric forbid—he'd messed with her mind. Something, DAMN IT! Had happened to my friend, and I was going to save her from it.
Turned out I was even wrong about that too, and no matter Hermione's claim to innocence, the truth was that she had betrayed Ron and me, and maybe even the Order. She picked a Death Eater over her own friends and family. Yet, despite the anger boiling inside me, I blamed myself. And I still clung to the hope that she was just under Malfoy's control.
I wondered what I had done wrong in a previous life to deserve to be punished like this in this one. Maybe in a past life I had been a terrible person—a murderer, a traitor, a dark wizard, or worse. Maybe I had betrayed my friends or killed someone innocent. Maybe I had hurt the people I loved or broken the most sacred laws of magic. Whatever it was, it must have been terrible, because nothing else could explain why I had to face this.
It was my fault that Cedric died, my fault Sirius died, and I hated myself for it. I knew I wasn't directly responsible for Dumbledore's death, but I was sure it was my cursed life that had led to the circumstances. And now there was Hermione. I couldn't quite piece together what had happened or how I was to blame, but there was a nagging certainty that I had somehow let my friend down.
I had always relied on her strength and smarts to keep her safe. But I had forgotten how tender-hearted she was, and I was sure Malfoy had taken advantage of that. I had failed her, and she had fallen for the lies of a Death Eater and now tied herself to him. I was at a loss for how to fix that, how to save her. Despite everything she said, I just couldn't believe she chose him willingly. It was just too much to wrap my head around. She had willingly tied her soul to his, and now he owned her. I knew she still had a shred of free will left, or else she could not have sworn the vow she made to me, but it hurt not to trust her.
I didn't want to blame her, but she was the only one here who seemed to deserve any of my rage, so she got it all, and I couldn't help myself from lashing out at her. Everything she did or said now, I looked at and listened to with a hint of doubt and suspicion about her motives, and I didn't know how much longer we could go on like this. I saw the pain in her eyes when I looked at them, but my fury had more control over my words now than either my mind or heart.
I was furious with her for allowing herself to be swayed by Malfoy. I was furious with Sirius for dying and abandoning me again. I was furious with Dumbledore for always keeping me in the dark about everything he knew.
Bloody hell, I wasn't sure I had a clue who the man was at all in the end. The more I looked back on our relationship, the more it struck me that we'd never truly had a genuine conversation. He'd never opened up about his own life, never shared his experiences, which I now realised could have guided me through all the chaos. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be between a teacher and a student, but our relationship had been anything but normal. Dumbledore had said he cared for me and trusted me, but it was all a lie.
No, Dumbledore was not my friend and certainly not any kind of grandfather figure to me, no matter what others might believe.
The third point in Dumbledore's note that Hermione found in her book had not been lost on me, and even if I didn't know the context, I was sure it was about me and my scar. I was more surprised that Hermione didn't spot the rubbish attempt to hide who the note was about. But it just showed that Dumbledore still had more lies to share and secrets to keep.
I felt guilty, knowing I was alienating my friends. Both Ron and Hermione. It was like a hidden barrier of my own making was gradually rising around me, cutting me off from them. I knew it was happening, but I couldn't do anything about it. I didn't want to hurt them, but I could just feel the rage inside of me as a constant fire in my chest, bubbling away. I tried not to snap and snipe at Hermione, but then I would remember that Dumbledore had known something was going on with her, and they had both chosen not to tell me.
I couldn't shake off the image of Malfoy's smug face. It was burned into my mind from all the times he had watched her this past year. I hadn't understood the intensity of his gaze and had feared for my friend's safety around him. I felt like an idiot now that I understood that she was never in harm's way from him, at least not in the way I had imagined. And now I had to hide a secret from Ron, and I could tell, could see, that Ron knew we were keeping things from him. I hated keeping secrets and lying. Too many people kept secrets and lied, and it always led to bad things for me!
I wished I could stop caring. I wished I could erase all of this from my mind, but I knew I had to fight, not let the world fall into the hands of Voldemort. As far as I could see, the magical world was screwed anyway, but Voldemort would make it so much worse.
I also loved Ginny, and for her sake, I wanted to keep going. If I didn't make it out of this, I wanted to know that I'd done something to protect her. That I would leave her a better world than this one. I had tried breaking up with her at the end of the school year, but she had simply said, 'No!', kissed me, and walked away. I hadn't wanted to bring it up again because the only time I had felt happy in recent times was when her arms were around me.
I wished for Ron and Hermione to have that kind of happiness. A happiness that could make you forget all the horrors of the world and show you only wonder, honesty, and security. I wanted Ron to find the peace he needed and also be appreciated and cared for by someone for being himself. And I wanted that for Hermione.
I wished for her to be loved by someone as clever as she was. Someone who loved her no matter what her blood status was. Someone who made her laugh when she was too serious. I couldn't see how someone as selfish and bigoted as Malfoy could ever be what she needed. I was truly scared for my best friend, and I hated Malfoy for again proving how far he would go just to hide behind someone. I was sure that whatever had made him marry a mud-blood, as I knew Malfoy thought of her, was a result of his own cowardice.
I wished I could share my thoughts with Ron. I knew he would be just as scared for our best friend, but Ron had also confirmed the blood feud between the families. It made trusting Ron's judgement when it came to Malfoy even more fishy than my own.
I could hear the familiar sound of Ron's footsteps approaching before he plonked down next to me, a green stone and a chain clutched tightly between his two hands.
"Hermione reckons you need a mind Healer," he told me as he looked out over the field.
"Really?" I asked in a flat tone.
"Apparently muggle ones are good for a chat," he replied.
"I wouldn't know. I only saw an eye doctor once, and that was only because my school forced the Dursleys to take me," I said. We didn't speak for a while.
"Do you reckon you need to see a mind Healer?" he asked cautiously. I didn't answer right away.
"Maybe," I replied after a long silence. "I'm just so angry all the time, and I can't seem to stop."
"Sirius?" he guessed.
"And a lot more," I admitted.
"You know I'm always here for you, mate, don't you? I may not be much help with the healing stuff, but I can lend an ear, and Hermione is even better at that than I am," he said, and I felt his eyes on me.
"I don't think I can trust her anymore," I said, tearing at a few blades of grass. Every interaction between Hermione and me from the last year seemed to play over and over again through my mind these days, and I had no idea what had been a lie and what had been the truth.
"Because she got hitched and didn't tell us?" he asked, sounding puzzled. I looked at the grass next to me, not sure how to answer him.
"I hate feeling this way about her," I muttered.
"Then don't," he said simply, and I caught him shrugging from the corner of my eye, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I scowled, and Malfoy's smirking face flashed in my mind again.
"What if we can't stand the bloke she married?" I asked him and then raised my head to see his reaction. He was thinking as he stared out at the scene again. Ron wasn't much for thinking, but when he did, he took his time. I always thought that was his edge at chess.
"I don't know if that matters," he said eventually, and then looked at me with a slight grin. "I was a right git, you know." I gave him a quizzical look.
"What do you mean?"
"It could have been me, but I was too chicken, and then I... well, you know," he said, his ears turning red.
"Lavender?" I guessed.
"Yeah," he said, looking guilty. "I was selfish, you know. I thought I could have a bit of fun, and she would just always be there," he said, gesturing back towards the tent.
"I thought you fancied Luna now?" I asked him.
"I do, but I was clueless there as well. I'm rubbish when it comes to girls." He exhaled, staring at the wide field in front of us, and then said, "I still love Hermione, more than I'd ever admit to her now, but something changed this year. I know it was my fault, but she moved on while I just thought she would wait for me. I didn't mean to do it, but even I wasn't daft enough to miss that I had hurt her. If some other bloke was clever enough to go for someone as brilliant as Hermione while I was mucking her about, I can't blame her for giving him a go."
"And Luna?" I asked, and he smiled, his face going scarlet.
"She is surprising to me. I don't love her yet, I don't think, but I feel like I could," he told me.
"So, you don't mind if Hermione is married to your worst enemy because you think you pushed her towards him?" I asked incredulously.
"I do mind a lot!" he said strongly, then shook his head. "I hope he's not my worst enemy," he said with a chuckle. "But I do think I owe Hermione to be happy for her. I don't want to make her feel like I made her feel when she went to the Yule Ball with Krum. I don't want to lose her over something that is no one's fault but mine. She's my best mate too, you know," he said, giving me a crooked smile.
"I thought you two would have been perfect for each other," I said, feeling sad.
"Nah. We would have driven each other mental most of the time, no doubt," he said, grinning, but I could still see the pain in his eyes. "Harry," he said, getting serious and looking me dead in the eyes. "I don't know what you two are hiding, but please try to sort it out. I don't give a shit about this Horcrux hunt, but I give a shit about the two of you, and I don't want to lose either of you."
"People drift apart as they grow up, Ron. Sometimes life just changes too much," I said with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. He shook his head.
"I always think that is a crock of shit people say when they don't have the guts to stick things out," he told me. I scowled at that but wondered if he was right.
"What's that you've got there?" I asked, pointing at the stone and chain. He told me what he and Hermione had talked about inside.
"Can you feel the magic?" Ron asked me as I rubbed the tiny snake with my thumb, feeling its warmth and life. And I could feel it now that it wasn't being overwhelmed by the evil aura of the Horcrux.
"I can," I confirmed with a nod.
"Do you reckon it can talk?" he asked. I shrugged and then hissed a greeting at it. It stayed quiet in my hand. I shook my head at Ron when he gave me a questioning look. "Do you reckon it would make a difference if you knew something about it?"
"Like what?" I asked him.
"Dunno," he said, scratching his neck as he thought, and then his eyes widened as something struck him. "Didn't we hear somewhere that Slytherin's wife gave him that?" he asked me.
"Slytherin had a wife?" I asked and then glanced down in shock as the little snake said something unintelligible in a feminine voice.
"What?" Ron asked, seeing the expression on my face.
"It said something, but I couldn't understand it," I told him.
"I thought all snakes spoke the same language?" he asked, looking confused.
"Maybe it was different a thousand years ago," I said.
"Are they words?" he asked.
"Yeah, but like I said, I don't know what they mean," I said again.
"Maybe Mione could help if you told her," he said, looking at me hopefully. I stared back at him for a moment and then nodded once.
"Kreature," I called, and the old, decrepit House Elf popped in front of me and then hissed at the sunlight. "Oh, sorry, Kreature, I didn't realise you would be sensitive to the light," I said to him, standing up quickly. When I glanced at him again, he had the weirdest expression I had ever seen on his face, but I pretended not to notice, not wanting to hear more scorn from the grumpy House Elf. "Let's go inside and get you out of the sun."
"Kreacher, thanks, master Harry," the House Elf croaked and then shuffled towards the tent. Ron and I exchanged astonished looks, and then Ron shrugged, and we trailed after him.
Hermione was sitting cross-legged on the worn floor of the tent with her eyes closed in deep concentration when we walked in. As the tent flap closed behind us, she seemed to sense our presence. With a resigned sigh, she opened her eyes, their brown depths reflecting the feeble sunlight that filtered through the fabric. She pushed herself up from the floor, her movements echoing a weariness that I knew came from sadness.
I didn't ask her what she had been up to; I just went over to the stove and gave the stew another stir. When I turned back, all the others were sitting at the table, waiting for me. I explained to Kreature what I wanted, and he instantly looked distrustful. Wanting to reassure him, I explained that he would then be the owner of most of the original locket that belonged to Salazar Slytherin. He still looked suspicious, but he reluctantly pulled out the fake locket from his ragged clothes.
"You would give Kreacher such a precious thing?" the old House Elf said, his voice full of distrust.
"I already said you could have it—it's yours to keep," I said, nodding at him.
"Maybe master Harry is as great as other filthy House Elves say," Kreacher muttered. I felt my face heat up at that, but I took the locket from his hand.
I wanted to keep my word to Ron, so I glanced at Hermione and hoped she would see this as a way of saying sorry for before.
"Could you?" I asked, offering her the locket, the stone, and chain. She smiled faintly and took them from me. We all watched as she swapped the stones on both lockets and then the chain. She didn't touch the Horcrux locket at all; just left it lying on the table and used her wand to change the chains. She handed me back the locket that was now Kreacher's. "Did Ron tell you about the magic in this snake?" I asked her.
"Yes," she replied, sounding curious.
"It is saying something, but I can't understand it," I told her, and she looked down at the locket in my hand in interest.
"Can you repeat what you do hear?" she asked tentatively.
I hated that uncertainty—the way she now felt she had to tiptoe around me, as if fearing a Blast-ended Skrewt might erupt from my temper. But I couldn't blame her. I looked at her and saw the same Hermione Granger who'd faced a troll, brewed Polyjuice Potion, flew through the sky for me on trust alone, and fought alongside me whenever I needed her to.
But then I would catch a glimpse of her holding the white-gold locket around her neck while she smiled, curving her lips softly, or see her touch her arm where that tattoo was, as she thought with remembered wonder on her face. Other times she would look at her hand and rub her finger where I remembered a ring had sat for a short time when she first arrived at the Burrow and get angry that she was obviously hiding another thing.
I didn't know how I did it before, so I just said the words again, "Slytherin had a wife?" The little silver snake started talking right away, but it was hard to understand. I had to say it over and over to get the sounds right.
"Ain gifÞ bihofþe keep ich closæ bihofþe thy hearÞ," I said it out loud, hoping it wasn't too messed up. Hermione looked like she was thinking hard, but then she shook her head.
"Keeping something close to the heart?" she said as a question. "It would make sense that if it was a gift from Slytherin's wife, she would have had a portrait made of herself and put it in the locket."
"Slytherin's wife was a Parsel mouth?" Ron blurted out, looking gobsmacked.
"I don't think she would have needed to be in order to do this. One of the books that Professor Dumbledore lent me during the year suggests that Parsel magic originated from a sacrificial ritual involving snakes. If she utilised this ancient method to craft this minor spell and left behind a straightforward message, I'm of the opinion that it's within the capabilities of almost anyone," Hermione explained. I felt my anger rise up again. 'Why didn't Dumbledore ever show me that book? I was the one who could speak to bloody snakes!'
"A gift to keep me close to your heart," Kreature said out of the blue, and we all looked at him. "That is what you said," he told me.
"Thanks, Kreature," I said, and gave him the now useless relic. He took it happily. "What's been going on at Grimmauld Place since we left?" I asked him.
"Death Eaters have been walking up and down the street, but they cannot get in..." he began, but Hermione cut him off.
"Yaxley hasn't managed to get them in?" she asked, sounding shocked.
"Only secret keepers can let people in," he said, shaking his head and making Hermione frown. Then he went on, "The pureblood who served the Dark Lord was very angry when he saw you all had escaped him and damaged the beloved house of Kreacher's Mistress. When Kreature tried to stop him, he hurt Kreature, but Kreacher's Master Regulus said Kreacher must not let himself be hurt again..." he was saying, but Hermione cut in again, looking shocked.
"You had more than one master?" she said, sounding surprised. Kreacher gave her a weird look.
"Yes, Lady..." he started to say, but I didn't miss the alarmed look on Hermione's face, and he changed the rest to, "Mud... muggle-born." I pretended not to hear the slur that was on the tip of the House Elf's tongue.
"What did you do, Kreature?" I asked him.
"Kreature killed him," he said easily, but then added, "Kreature hasn't killed that dirty thief yet, because you summoned Kreature here." Hermione let out a shocked gasp, and I turned and glared at her.
"What's the matter, Hermione? Got a problem with dead Death Eaters?" I spat at her.
"I have a problem with anyone dying needlessly, but I will always support their deaths over the innocent," she snapped back, meeting my angry gaze with her own. Ron muttered in irritation while Kreacher watched us all intently.
"Why were you trying to finish off Mundungus?" Ron said to the old House Elf. Kreacher looked like he was going to ignore him, but then he met my eyes and spoke.
"That thieving scum was robbing the house of my family again, and Kreacher had to stop him now he has reason to," Kreacher said.
"That man is unbelievable. I can't believe Dumbledore trusted him enough to let him join the Order," Hermione said, sounding cross.
"I thought we made him give it all back," Ron added.
"We did," I growled.
"He was giving things back, but when master Harry was gone, he thought he could steal more things," Kreacher said to me.
"Where is he now?" I asked him.
"Kreature put him in the dungeons," Kreature said, making me gape at him.
"You've got a dungeon?" Ron said to me: I shrugged. I had no idea. I looked at Kreacher again.
"Don't kill him, Kreacher, but keep him locked up. You took his wand, right, so he can't get away?" I asked him, and the House Elf nodded smugly. "All right. Keep him locked up, but don't let him die." I saw Hermione purse her lips with disapproval, but she didn't say anything.
"Can Kreacher kill anyone else?" Kreacher asked casually. I felt a shiver of horror at his tone and wondered what the Blacks had done to make killing so easy for him.
"Anyone who comes into the house, put them in the dungeons. Keep them alive, and I'll deal with them later," I said to him. He nodded once.
"Harry, the Order," Hermione said in alarm, but she stopped when I glared at her.
"The Order has no business in that house," I said angrily to her. She turned away with a frown, and then I saw Ron, and he was frowning too. That made me mad. It was my house now, and I hated how the Order had made it a cage for Sirius. Now it would be a cage for anyone else who came in without my say-so. "No killing," I told Kreacher, looking back at him.
"Yes, master Harry," he replied. "Is there anything else you want from Kreacher?"
"Not now," I said to him. He nodded and popped away. "Seems there was no reason for us to vacate Grimmauld Place after all," I spat out my words with venom.
Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Ron slammed his fist on the table hard, startling us both. He glared at me with a furious expression, then got up and stormed out of the tent. I turned to Hermione, who looked worried and upset.
"I suppose you think he needs a mind Healer too?" She gave me a long look, and I expected to see tears glistening in her eyes, but then she just turned away and pulled out a book from her bag. I watched as she buried her nose in the book, and even though I didn't get the reaction I was hoping for, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being a right prat. Once again, I wondered how far I could push my friends before I lost them both, but I couldn't seem to help myself.
Author's notes: - Rkook1210 and Terri Jaye, Thank you for reading.
Play List
The Death of Peace of Mind – Bad Omens
Rewrite the stars – James Arthur, Anne-Marie
Lifetime – Three Days Grace
Prayed for you – Matt Stell
When I look at you – Miley Cyrus
Crystal – Stevie Nicks
Stand by you – Rachel Platten
Forever After All – Luke Combs
Wreckage – Nate Smith
As You Leave – Canaan Cox
As the world caves in – Matt Maltese
Your love is my drug – Kesha
Sympathy – Too close to touch
Alone – I Prevail
Jekyll and Hyde – Five Finger Death Punch