"Hermione, I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Theo said, his voice thick with concern. His brows were knitted together, his dark eyes scanning her pale face for any sign of hesitation. The dim candlelight flickered in the room, casting ghostly shadows that danced against the stone walls, as if mirroring the unease creeping into his chest. "Maybe we should wait until you're feeling better."
"You're the one that said we should try this," Hermione reminded him, her voice firm but strained. "I'll be fine."
She didn't look fine. The deep hollows beneath her eyes and the pallor of her skin told a different story.
"That was two weeks ago," Theo retorted. "You weren't nearly this bad."
Hermione huffed, ignoring him and pressing on. The fireplace in the centre of the common space had been transfigured into a makeshift workstation, a flat, obsidian surface stretching across where flames had once roared.
Her meticulously written noted on blood analysis were arranged with almost obsessive precision, each page neatly aligned, the ink glistening under the warm light. To her right lay a small, gleaming silver blade, its sharp edge catching the candlelight with an eerie gleam. Beside it, a delicate glass jar of moonstone powder rested, the fine particles shimmering like crushed stars. An empty crystal phial was placed beside them along with a small glass vial, waiting to receive the cursed blood. A stolen runic analysis parchment from Professor Brindlemore's classroom lay waiting in the centre, its delicate fibres trembling ever so slightly from the faint draft slithering through the room.
Hermione's hands quivered as she adjusted the layout, her fingers pale and skeletal. The wound on her arm was concealed with a bandage but it did little to quell the throbbing ache that pulsed beneath her skin, each beat of her heart sending a fresh wave of pain through her veins. With a slow, deliberate motion, she began unwrapping the layers, revealing the grotesque network of dark veins that spiralled out from the cursed wound like jagged cracks in porcelain. The sight of it sent a shudder down her spine, bile rising in her throat.
She forced herself to look away, focusing instead on the instructions she had written meticulously over the past few days. She had memorised them, each word etched into her mind, ready to be executed. But she read them again. And again. Until the words blurred together, their meaning lost in the haze of her exhaustion.
Eventually, she found her fingers curling around the hilt of the silver blade, its weight far heavier that it should have been. Her hand trembled as she raised it, not from fear but from the sheer effort it took to move. The world titled slightly, the edges of her vision darkening.
Theo's hand covered hers, steadying her. "I can do it," he offered, his voice softer now, gentler than she'd ever heard from him.
She hesitated, her pride warring with common sense but eventually nodded. She allowed him to take the blade from her hand, turning her head away, unwilling to watch.
Theo moved with quiet efficiency, his actions smooth and precise. He positioned the empty glass vial just beneath the wound, his fingers careful as he pressed the blade against her skin, just under the centre of the horrible word. A sharp, biting sting bloomed at the site, followed almost immediately by the slow, thick trickle of blood. It was a terrible shade – too dark, too thick, unnatural in every way. It oozed like tar, swirling lazily as it pooled into the vial.
Hermione clenched her teeth, the pain sharp and unrelenting, sending a ripple of nausea through her stomach. The scent of iron filled her nose, metallic and raw, mixing with the faint traces of moonstone dust. Her breathing was shallow, ragged. But she forced herself to stay still.
When the vial was full, Theo capped it quickly, his fingers now stained with streaked of blackened crimson. He muttered a quick healing spell before pressing a thick piece of gauze into Hermione's palm, guiding her hand to the wound.
"Thanks," Hermione murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Theo only nodded; his expression unreadable. "We need to move on to the analysis," he said, clearing his throat. "This blood will only be viable for a few minutes."
Hermione nodded weakly, her grip on consciousness beginning to fray. But she didn't let on. She hastily wrapped a fresh bandage over the wound, her fingers clumsy and uncoordinated.
Theo moved quickly, pouring the moonstone powder into the crystal phial, the fine dust catching the light in shimmering waves. He handed the phial to Hermione who clutched it with trembling hands. Theo reached for the blood sample, his eyes flickering to Hermione for confirmation.
She nodded, though it took effort.
As soon as the blood met the moonstone, the reaction was immediate. The mixture bubbled violently, emitting a high-pitched, almost melodic wail. Heat radiated through the glass, a fierce pulse of energy rolling through the air like the aftershock of an explosion.
Hermione gasped, her fingers instinctively recoiling from the boiling liquid. The phial slipped from her grasp, but Theo caught it, his hands steady despite the burn searing through his fingertips.
They watched as the mixture settled into a thick, viscous sludge of deep green. "I think it's ready," Theo observed, his voice low.
"Okay," Hermione said, bringing the sheet of runic parchment closer.
But Theo's sharp intake of breath stopped her. Her eyes snapped to his and she followed his gaze to her arm. The bandage was soaked through, the dark stain spreading outward like spilled ink.
"Damnit," she muttered, reaching for another bandage.
"Let me look," Theo pressed, worry tightening his jaw.
"We don't have time," Hermione countered, tilting her head toward the crystal phial, still resting in Theo's hand.
Theo hesitated but when she shot him a determined glare, he reluctantly turned back to the parchment. He carefully titled the phial, allowing the cursed mixture to fall onto the page.
The parchment hissed upon contact, black tendrils unfurling like sinister vines. They twisted and curled, forming an inky abyss at the centre before branching outwards. "That confirms a blood curse," Hermione observed, her eyes flicking between her notes and the grotesque reaction in front of her.
But then, something changed. The liquid… shimmered, turning a haunting shade of silver, its surface glistening like liquid mercury before disappearing completely.
"What was that?" Theo questioned softly, his voice barely cutting through the charged silence.
Hermione shook her head, confusion clouding her features. A dizzying sensation swirled in her mind, like the world around her was shifting out of focus. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to concentrate as she reached for her notes, flipping through them with trembling fingers. She had noted the most common reaction but her inked words held no answers – only smudges of uncertainty. Frustration clawed at her chest. Without a word, she crossed the dimly lit room, her footsteps uneven, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
The textbook. She needed the textbook.
It sat where she had left it, thick and weighty. Her fingers curled around the cover but as she turned toward the desk, a crimson droplet hit the floor with a soft pat. Then another.
"Hermione." Theo's voice, laced with concern, waved over her like a thin thread barely holding together. She ignored him. Blood continued to drop to the floor in violent puddles. She ignored that. Her vision blurred as she flipped through the book with increasing desperation, the words swimming before her tired eyes.
"This doesn't make any sense," she exhaled, her breath ragged. The candlelight flickered, casting restless shadows across the room. The musty scent of parchment mixed with the sharp metallic tang of blood – her blood.
Theo stepped closer, watching her with a mixture of apprehension and frustration. He attempted to reach for her bloodied arm but she snatched it away, sending a spray of tiny droplets across the room.
"I think Professor Brindlemore was right," she murmured, her gaze finally meeting his. Theo's stomach clenched at the sight of her pale, strained expression. "Blood analysis is too unreliable to be trusted." Her tone reflected that of someone trying to convince themselves of a fact.
"What makes you say that?" he asked, though his attention wasn't on her words. It was on the way she swayed, the unnatural pallor of her skin, the was her fingers trembled as she clutched the textbook too tightly.
"Look at this." Her voice was strained, urgent, as she thrust the textbook towards him.
Theo hesitated only for a second before taking it. Hermione recoiled, protectively cradling her wounded arm against her chest.
"Look at it," she demanded, her voice cracking.
His gaze swept over the text; the words etched in aged ink stood out against the yellowed parchment.
A reaction of the blood turning silver or gold and glimmering is indicative of the presence of an ancestral or marital ritual…
"Ritual?" the word escaped his lips, curling in the air like mist.
Hermione was right. This didn't make any sense. The results couldn't be trusted. But before he could say another word, she swayed again. Her eyelids fluttered. And then –
She collapsed.
Theo barely had time to react before she crumpled to the ground, her body colliding with the floor in a sickening thud. He lunged forward, his hands catching her just in time to prevent her head from hitting the floor.
"Hermione!" His voice broke through the silence, raw with urgency. Any remnants of colour were now completely absent and her skin was boiling hot. Theo reached for his wand but his actions were interrupted by the sound of the entrance door opening with a loud creek. His fearful eyes met the confused gaze of the figure at the door.
"What the fuck is going on?"