Chapter 22: Anchored in Sacrifice
Hermione's eyelids fluttered weakly, her face twisted in pain as she lay on the sofa, teetering between unconsciousness and awareness. The room was thick with tension, every breath a reminder of the urgency they all felt. Poppy Pomfrey's expression was grim as she hovered over Hermione. "We're running out of time," Poppy said, her voice steady but tinged with a desperate edge. "The stasis spell is unraveling faster than expected."
Mary Watson stood nearby, her posture rigid, hands clenched tightly around a handkerchief. Ginny paced back and forth, her face ashen, each step a reflection of her growing anxiety. "We can't put her in a magical coma," Poppy continued, her tone betraying the slightest quiver. "Not with the internal bleeding. We need to stabilize her first. The Legilimency spell has to be performed soon, or…" She didn't finish, but the unspoken threat loomed heavily in the room.
"If we can't anchor her mind, we'll lose her," Ginny finished, her voice cracking as she glanced at Hermione's still, fragile form. The seconds ticked away relentlessly, each one pulling them closer to a point from which there would be no return.
--
Meanwhile, Sherlock sat stiffly in his chair, his mind a tempest of emotions and rapid calculations. He stared at Eurus, his eyes cold, unyielding. The woman before him, his sister and tormentor, was nearly unrecognizable—her features etched with the toll of isolation and madness. Sherlock remained silent, the weight of time pressing heavily on his shoulders. He couldn't afford to play her games, not now, not with Hermione's life on the line.
Eurus edged closer, her presence radiating an overwhelming intensity. Sherlock's gaze never wavered, his voice slicing through the tension. "What do you want, Eurus?" he asked, his tone controlled, almost dispassionate.
Eurus tilted her head, her expression teetering between amusement and frustration. "I thought you'd be more… engaged," she said, disappointment dripping from her words. "All I want is Mycroft. Bring him to me, and you can go. I have no further use for you."
Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion. "You went through all of this just to get Mycroft's attention?" he asked, suspicion threading his voice. Despite his disapproval of Mycroft's methods, he knew there were simpler ways to reach him than this elaborate charade.
Eurus's smile was thin, devoid of warmth. "You always were the blind one, Sherlock. So much like him, and yet not at all. You're nothing but a broken child, mourning a pathetic muggle girl."
The sting of her words hit Sherlock, but he masked his reaction, her ignorance about Hermione's true nature surprising him. She doesn't know about Hermione, he realized, tucking that fact away as a sliver of hope. But time was against him. He needed to escape, needed to get back to Hermione, to make amends, to save her.
"Where is your phone?" Eurus demanded suddenly, her eyes narrowing. Sherlock gestured to his suit pocket, careful to move slowly. With a flick of her wand, the phone zipped out of his jacket and into her hand, humming with the faint aura of magic that was both familiar and strange.
Eurus scrolled through the contacts, her face impassive until she found the number she sought. She dialed, and Sherlock watched, calculating every second lost. He had to act to find a way out.
--
John Watson led Harry and Mycroft through the labyrinth of the facility, his mind working overtime to retrace the steps he'd been forced along. "Straight, left, left, right, left," he muttered, running the directions through his mind like a mantra. He could only hope he was, time was of the essence.
"Are you sure about this?" Harry hissed, his frustration barely contained. "Feels like we're going in circles."
John was about to respond when Mycroft's phone buzzed, startling them all. John's eyes widened. "You have signal?" he asked, barely believing it.
Mycroft pulled the phone from his pocket, frowning at the display. "Sherlock," he said, his voice taut with urgency. He answered immediately. "Sherlock, you're alive, thank God. We're close. Just hold on."
But Eurus's cold voice slithered through the line instead. "Hello, Mycroft," she crooned, her tone chillingly familiar.
"Eurus," Mycroft growled, his voice dripping with controlled fury. "What are you doing with him? Let him go."
"Oh, I intend to," she said smoothly. "As soon as you hand yourself over."
John's pulse quickened as he recognized a door up ahead. "This is it," he whispered urgently. "He's behind this door."
Without a moment's hesitation, Mycroft pushed through, his posture unyielding, every bit the authoritative figure. "I'm here, Eurus," he announced, his voice a steel-edged calm. "Now let Sherlock go."
Sherlock, who had been frantically plotting his escape, felt his heart lurch. He hadn't anticipated Mycroft's swift arrival, nor his willingness to sacrifice himself. With a simple flick of Eurus's wand, Sherlock's bindings fell away, the ropes hitting the floor with a soft thud.
"Go," Eurus commanded, her tone clipped and final. Sherlock hesitated, his eyes darting to Mycroft's looking for the signs of a plan in the making.
"Go," Mycroft repeated, more insistently this time. Sherlock could see the urgency in his brother's eyes, the unspoken desperation in his voice. He stepped toward Eurus, intent on placing himself in between the mad woman and his brother. He barely registered Eurus's wand slicing through the air until a force sent him careening into the wall. Mycroft's sharp, commanding voice ringing in his ears, "You said you would let him go" he accused.
Dazed, Sherlock stumbled to his feet, once more determined to take on this mad woman, his sister. Mycroft, sensing Sherlock's stubborn resolve, summoned his most authoritative voice and with a sneer, ordered Sherlock to leave. Sherlock stared his brother in the eye and Mycroft's scowl softened, "I'll be fine Sherlock, but you need to leave".
Taking a deep breath, Sherlock bolted for the exit. He push open the door and turned down the corridor, the image of Eurus's smirk burned into his mind, as he collided with Harry and John.
Before he could process what was happening, Harry seized both his arm and John's, his grip resolute. "Hold on," Harry said, his voice hard with focus. And then, with a sharp crack, they were gone, the oppressive shadows of Eurus's lair evaporating as they hurtled back to Hermione.
--
Hermione's body jerked slightly, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. Poppy was straining to maintain the stasis spell, her expression tight with concentration. Ginny and Mary hovered nearby, their worry etched into every line of their faces. They knew the clock was ticking—if John and Sherlock didn't return within the next two minutes, it would be too late. Poppy could attempt a desperate maneuver to anchor Hermione's mind to one of them, but the risks were astronomical.
A sharp crack filled the air, and with a breath of relief, Harry, John, and Sherlock materialized before them. Harry steadied the two men as they stumbled, disoriented from the sudden apparition.
The landing was rough, and Sherlock staggered, feeling the world tilt slightly under his feet. His head was spinning, the nauseating pull of apparition still lingering. But the urgency of Hermione's plight snapped him into focus. He glanced around the familiar living room and felt his heart plummet at the sight of her on the sofa, her skin an alarming shade of pale.
Blood stained the floor and the blanket that was draped haphazardly over her.
Sherlock didn't hesitate. He shook Harry's grip on his shoulder and darted across the room, dropping to his knees beside her. Grabbing Hermione's cold hands, he pressed them tightly in his own, the first physical contact they had had in months. He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers, as he whispered, "Please, Hermione. I'm so sorry. I promise you, we're going to fix this."
He looked up at the witches surrounding them, his voice breaking. "Please, help her. There has to be something you can do," he implored, his mind racing with fragments of conversations with Hermione about magic, about healers. He knew Ginny was a mediwitch, knew magic had the power to defy the odds.
Poppy, who had been assessing him with a critical eye, spoke up, her voice brisk and unyielding. "I assume you are Sherlock?"
Sherlock lifted his head, meeting her gaze directly. "That's me," he said, his voice thick with urgency.
"Good," Poppy replied, satisfied. "Now listen carefully. There's a binding spell we need to perform and it requires the baby's father— which I'm told is you." Sherlock's breath hitched. He nodded slowly, confirming what every occupant of the room already appeared to know, despite having only discovered the truth himself less than 2 hours ago. "This spell is the only way to stop Hermione's body from rejecting the pregnancy," Poppy continued.
Sherlock would do whatever the mediwitch asked of him, "What do I need to do?"
Poppy was already moving, her wand ready. "The spell is complex but straightforward for someone of my skill. It will use Legilimency to link your heart and mind with Hermione's, aligning the pregnancy with her body. It's dangerous, for you both, but it's our best shot."
Sherlock nodded, his grip on Hermione's hand tightening. "I'll do whatever it takes."
Poppy moved into position, Ginny and Mary stepping back, their faces tense but hopeful. "Waking her will be the challenge," Poppy warned, her eyes never leaving Hermione's face. "She's at risk of slipping further into unconsciousness, and if that happens, the spell won't hold. We need to act quickly, and you must stay with her every step of the way."
Sherlock nodded, his resolve hardening. "I'm here," he whispered, his voice a lifeline.
Poppy raised her wand, her focus unwavering. The room seemed to still, every breath held as she prepared to cast the spell. She glanced one last time at Sherlock, her eyes piercing. "Stay with her, Sherlock. No matter what happens, she needs to know you're here."
Sherlock squeezed Hermione's hand, his grip steady despite the storm of fear and hope raging inside him. "I won't leave her," he promised, his voice firm.
"Enervate."
