Love and Other Fairytales (Harry/Luna, R) 2/?
Title: Love and Other Fairytales
Characters: Harry, Luna, Voldemort, Ron, Hermione, Ginny
Pairings: All pairings initially reflect canon. Eventual Harry/Luna
Rating: R for violence and disturbing themes.
Summary: Harry learns Luna knows something about Horcruxes, and her price for the information is that Harry keep in touch. He soon learns that not all enemies can be fought and even Luna has secrets.
Harry watched with eager eyes as Ron re-entered the tent. It had been a week since they had stolen back Slytherin's locket from Umbridge; and, more importantly, a week since Harry had had a decent meal. His stomach had progressed from loud growls to a dull, throbbing ache. It was Ron's turn to head down to the village and try to steal some food. Harry hoped he had brought back something good. Like steak and kidney pie. Piping hot steak and kidney pie.
But Ron's expression was as glum as Hermione's had been the night before. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a box of animal crackers. "Sorry. This was the best I could do. Stupid Muggles and their security cameras."
The locket felt cold and clammy against his skin. Harry twisted the chain around his finger. "We've bloody broken into the Ministry twice now. How hard can it be to steal food? Tell me that."
Ron shrugged. "You're no better at it than I am. Be glad I got this much. We're just not cut out for life on the run."
Hermione patted his shoulder and took the animal crackers from him. "Harry knows you did your best, don't you Harry?" Harry glared at her, and she cleared her throat. "Anyway, we might as well divide it up." She tore open the package and took out a cracker. "One for me. One for Ron. One for Harry. One for me..." She went on and on like that. It reminded him of a particularly macabre kindergarten sharing exercise. They ate in silence, and Harry tried to pretend that graham crackers tasted like kidney pie. It didn't work.
"So, where are we going to look tomorrow?" Ron asked when they had finished. "I reckon we've looked everywhere old You-Know-Who might have wanted to put a Horcrux."
"Except Hogwarts," muttered Harry.
Hermione shook her head and regarded him with such pity that Harry wanted to wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze. "I know there are some superficial similarities between you, but he isn't you. You're the one who would be happy to stay at Hogwarts for the rest of your life. Riddle only wanted the Defense job because he'd have access to impressionable children he could mold. Besides, if there was a Horcrux at Hogwarts, Dumbledore would have found it."
Harry scowled. Hermione didn't understand. No one did. They didn't have Voldemort running around their head at inopportune moments. They hadn't fought him face-to-face twice. They weren't the Chosen One. He knew Voldemort better than anyone. He couldn't say how it had escaped notice, but Harry was certain Voldemort had placed a Horcrux at Hogwarts. He would have staked his life on it. "Any progress on deciphering Mrs. Lovegood's notes?" he asked sourly.
"Very little." Hermione said. "Not to speak ill of the dead, but her handwriting was dreadful. I think it was something to tell how many soul fragments of someone remained."
Harry brought a hand to his forehead. He had told Luna about their mission for nothing? "We already know that. There are four. Five if you count Vol--"
"Please, don't say that name," Hermione said. "And we don't know. He might have made more after he found out you destroyed the diary or he might never have gotten around to making all seven."
"Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine?"
Ron popped a last cracker into his mouth. "I still think we're going about it backwards. We ought to be searching for ways to destroy the Horcruxes before we start tracking them down."
"Dumbledore meant for us to have the sword. We would have had it if Scrimingeour hadn't been such a prick."
Hermione laid a hand on his arm. "Harry, Scrimingeour died to --"
"-- save me?" Harry finished with a bitter laugh. "Doesn't make him any less of a prick." Something icy snaked around Harry's heart. Yes, Scrimingeour had been a bastard. Umbridge wasn't an official Death Eater, but she was most certainly a monster. Not that the rest of the world was any better. He remembered the nauseatingly pink pamphlets extolling the dangers of Mudbloods the team of witches and wizards had been working on in the mass of people who have passed the MAGIC IS MIGHT statue without so much as looking up. Mary Cattermole had begged for her life, and no one had moved to help her. She would have been thrown in Azkaban -- or worse -- if he hadn't been there. The world was full of parasites and cowards. If he had any sense, he wouldn't be risking his life for such people. Maybe he ought to just leave them to their fates and spend the rest of his life on a beach in Nice. He heard it was lovely in the Riviera this time of year.
Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. He couldn't allow himself to think such thoughts, couldn't allow the locket to whisper them in his ear. It was his job to fight Voldemort and no one else's. He could hardly expect people who never did anything more strenuous than cheer at a Quidditch match to act like trained Aurors. "Sorry," he whispered, "but we still don't have the sword."
"But, mate, the sword can't be the only way to destroy a Horcrux. I mean, the only reason it works is because of the basilisk venom." Ron's face lit up and he snapped his fingers. "That's it! All we have to do is get our hands on some basilisk venom! I bet there's a shop in Knockturn Alley that sells it. They sell everything else that's Dark."
"That won't work." Harry had heard that tone of voice many times before. Hermione had always used it when she was attempting to explain some obscure point of magical theory for the tenth time. "We'd have to use Polyjuice Potion, and we can't afford to stay in one place long enough to brew it. Besides, I doubt any of the shops carry the venom. Not counting the one in the Chamber, the last confirmed basilisk in England died centuries ago." It was Hermione's turn to brighten. "Though the fangs in the Chamber would still be usable. We'd have to go back to Hogwarts -- or get someone to smuggle them out for us."
"Well, if we can't even go to Knockturn Alley, we damn well can't sneak into Hogwarts."
"Which leaves the smuggling."
"Who would we get to do the smuggling? The DA is loyal, sure, but they'd have to get into the Chamber. The only people who know how to speak Parseltongue are Harry and maybe --" Ron broke off and stared at Hermione, who nodded slowly. He blanched. "I'm not bringing Ginny into this. I'd die first."
Harry looked between them. "What does Ginny have to do with this? She can't speak Paseltongue."
"She gets... flashbacks sometimes of the things that happened in her first year. I've heard her wake up screaming more than once. Sometimes she hisses during her nightmares. It's possible that she may remember enough to open the Chamber and get some of the venom to us."
"She never told me about it. I thought she didn't remember much at all." They hadn't done much talking during the three weeks that they were together, but Ginny would have told him about it at some point. Granted, he hadn't responded well when she had mentioned it in fifth year, but surely she had forgiven him for that. "But I agree with Ron. I won't ask her or anyone else I care about to be put in danger. This is our fight."
Hermione muttered something under her breath, but Ron clapped him on the back. "You've got that right. So, basilisk venom is out. Anything else we can use?"
"Dumbledore thought one of the Horcruxes was Naigini, right? An animal that stores a Horcrux is still an animal and just as easy to kill. No special magic required."
"That'd be great to know if we weren't lugging around a very much inanimate locket."
"Pardon me for trying to be helpful." Hermione bit her lip. "There's the Fiendfyre Charm," she said slowly.
"What the bloody hell is the Fiendfyre Charm, and why haven't you mentioned it before?"
Hermione dug into her bag and pulled out one of the books from Dumbledore's office. It seemed like an ordinary leather-bound book, but looking at it made Harry feel cold and sick. She flicked through the pages and found what she wanted. "Fiendfyre can destroy any substance upon contact. It bypasses Flame-Freezing Charms. An object destroyed by Fiendfyre cannot be reconstituted even by magical means."
Harry stared at her. "You've known about a spell that we could have used to blast this locket to bits the day we got it, and you never told me? I went through all this for nothing?"
Hermione glanced at the ground before returning her gaze to Harry. "In the Founders time, it was said that a wizard who cast the Fiendfyre Charm conjured the very fires of Hell. According to the book, twenty-two European wizards killed themselves misusing Fiendfyre in the first half of the twentieth century alone. It's that difficult to control."
"But you know the incantation?" After a long moment, Hermione nodded. "Then do it."
"But Harry..."
Harry yanked the locket off and threw it to the ground. "I said do it!" He was sick of the cold, clammy weight on his chest, sick of feeling like he couldn't quite breathe every time he put the locket around his neck. If Hermione had to burn down a whole forest to destroy the Horcrux, so be it."
"I'm with Hermione. It's too dangerous. We'll find another way."
Harry rounded on him. "And you call yourselves Gryffindors. No one made you come. You volunteered. If you two are going to back down the first time you have to take a risk, go home to your families right now, I can manage fine on my own."
The light went out of Hermione's eyes. "I don't have a family anymore, remember? I sent them away to help you." She picked up the locket and shivered. "If we're really going to do this, I suggest we step outside. Less chance of the tent going up in flames."
"What? I thought you just said that it was too dangerous."
She sighed. "None of us are ever going to see our families -- or anyone else we care about -- until You-Know-Who is dead. Maybe Harry is right and we do have to take the risk. If it means I can go back to my parents five minutes sooner..."
Ron's hand hovered over Hermione shoulder before falling limply to his side. "Lead on, then." Harry tried very hard not to smirk. Soon, half the Horcruxes would be destroyed. He would be home by Christmas. Ginny would rush into his arms and everyone else would congratulate him on being so brave and self-sacrificing. Merlin knew he deserved it.
They scrambled out of the tent. Their hiding place tonight was a Royal Forest somewhere in Cumberland. They hiked for perhaps a quarter of a mile until they came to a clearing and Hermione held her hand up for them to a halt. She placed the locket on the ground. "Stand well back, both of you." Harry and Ron both stepped back. Hermione screwed her eyes shut and drew her wand. "Infernus!"
For a moment, there was only a roaring, billowing noise, and Harry was afraid that the spell had failed. Then a jet of flame larger than any he had ever seen shot from the wand. Harry and Ron shielded their eyes against the light, and Harry could feel the heat on his skin even at this distance. There was no further sound, and he finally dared to look. A fiery dragon hovered a foot above the ground, flames rippling down its body. Harry had never seen anything as terrible -- or as beautiful.
Ron was not as awestruck." Shouldn't in be going after the locket instead of standing there?"
Hermione didn't turn around. "I'm trying. It's not responding. I'm not sure why it's so still. Fiendfyre naturally goes for the nearest source of --"
Hermione screamed. Time slowed, and Harry stood rooted to the spot, helpless to do anything but watch as the dragon lunged for her. She instinctively put up an arm to defend herself. Ron charged forward with a yell and tackled her out of its path. He wasn't quite fast enough. The tip of one wing grazed her left hand. Hermione screamed again, and Ron grabbed her to keep her from collapsing to her knees. Something broke inside Harry. He had never meant for Hermione to get hurt. He had only wanted the locket to stop plaguing them all. No, he had wanted it to stop bothering him. Ron and Hermione hadn't even entered into it. And now they were both going to die because of his stupid, stupid pride.
The dragon rounded on them again. Ron couldn't dodge it a second time and still protect Hermione. There was nothing Harry could do. Unless... Harry drew his own wand, shut his eyes, and silently begged whoever might be listening for forgiveness and a lucky break. If this didn't work, the dragon would kill him as well. Maybe he deserved it. "Finite Incantatum!" he bellowed.
He waited for the inevitable screams and smell of burning flesh. The roar died away, and Harry dared to open his eyes. Ron was kneeling on the ground, Hermione in his arms. The dragon was gone. Harry exhaled and darted toward them. "I -- it worked! I stopped the dragon! He leaned forward to envelop them both in a hug.
Ron shoved him away and glared at him with such pure hatred that Harry took an involuntary step back and hung his head. "It's only because of you that that thing attacked us in the first place. Look at what you've done to her." Harry didn't dare look up. "Look!"
This time Harry did as he was told and felt bile rise in his throat. The flesh on the back of her hand was white. Not the ordinary sort of white, either, but the same color as Voldemort's skin. Red blisters encircled the injury. The back of her hand didn't even look like it had human skin anymore. It looked like dry leather. The fire hadn't burned Hermione; it had charred her.
Ron picked Hermione up and carried her back to the tent. Harry followed behind them in a daze. A numb horror enveloped him, and he could only watch as Ron laid Hermione on top of one of the sleeping bags. Her eyes were glassy with pain, but at least she was still conscious. Ron knelt over her. He took off his jacket, balled it up, and stuck it under her head as an extra pillow. "I'll get you through this. Promise."
Harry didn't see how Ron could be so confident. Neither of them had any skill at medical magic. Harry could barely mend a broken nose, and that had to be a third-degree burn. Ron Hermione needed a Healer. St. Mungo's was out of the question. Wanted posters with their photos were probably in the waiting room, and Harry had the funny feeling that Healer-patient confidentiality didn't mean much when the Death Eaters were beating down your door.
"Water," Hermione whispered. "Helps replenish fluids. Bandages good, too."
"You heard the lady. Take care of the water. I'll manage the bandages." He drew his wand and muttered something. A stack of clean linen bandages appeared at his feet. He picked them up and began wrapping them around Hermione's hand. She hissed. "Sorry. I'm doing the best I can." He turned to Harry. "I thought I asked for some water!" he shouted.
His anger was enough to rouse Harry from his stupor. He Transfigured a Knut in his pocket into a bronze-colored ceramic mug and magically filled it with water. His hand shook as he cast the spell, and some of the water poured onto his trainers instead. Harry cursed as the icy liquid hit him but dutifully passed the mug to Ron. He accepted it wordlessly, and held it to Hermione's lips. "Slow sips now. Take it easy."
She drank. "Thank you."
Harry figured the sound Ron made was supposed to be a laugh, but it didn't sound like one. "Remember that next time you call me -- how did it go again? -- 'an insensitive, chauvinistic troglodyte.'" He shook his head. "I shouldn't have let you cast the spell. And I bet we didn't even get the locket." He looked up sharply. "Where is the locket anyway? Did you at least remember to pick it up?"
"I thought you had it. Last I saw of it was... in the forest," Harry finished lamely.
"Wonderful. Not only are you an insensitive jerk, you're an incompetent, insensitive jerk. I'd be safer with Lucius Malfoy. Hell, I'd probably be better off with Bellatrix!"
"I'll go get it. You can stay with Hermione." Yes, Harry should be the one to go. He certainly couldn't bear looking at Hermione at the moment.
Hermione's eyes flickered to Ron. "No. I'll be fine. Go with Harry." She whimpered, and it was a long time before she spoke again. "I don't think he should be alone right now."
"But --"
"Go. Please."
Ron sighed but scrambled to his feet. "Come on." He half-led, half-dragged Harry out of the tent. They walked together in silence. Harry felt like a murderer walking to the gallows. Ron probably wouldn't kill him for what he had done. Harry was the Chosen One, and Chosen Ones usually didn't get murdered by their best friends. The prophecy hadn't said that Voldemort was the only one who could beat him to a bloody pulp with his bare fists or torture him until he made Frank Longbottom look functional by comparison. From the expression on Ron's face, it looked like both of those options were still on the table. But no curses or punches came and they reached the clearing without either of them speaking a word. Something golden glittered in the moonlight.
Harry picked up the locket from where it still lay on the ground. After all they have gone through, the Fiendfyre hadn't even destroyed the Horcrux. Hermione had been maimed for nothing. "You made me do this," he whispered. "I never would have put her in danger if I hadn't been wearing you."
"One problem with that, mate," Ron said. His voice was like the grating of metal on metal. "You weren't wearing it when she cast the spell. That was all you."
Harry hung his head. It was true. Even if the Horcrux had spurred on his actions tonight, it hadn't been influencing them when Hermione had actually cast the spell. He could have stopped her. He should have stopped her. He had always believed himself to be a basically decent person. He hadn't even been able to Crucio Bellatrix right after she had killed Sirius. Granted, he had left Draco lying in a pool of his own blood, but it wasn't like the bastard didn't deserve it. For the first time, he considered he might be wrong. It wasn't like he was on this quest because he was better or nobler than anyone else. He was here because his mother had died to save him. Perhaps Harry wasn't as heroic as he had always imagined.
Ron snatched the locket from his hands. "I think I'll take that for a while. It's obvious you're not up to handling it." He put it around his own neck and marched in the direction of the tent, not waiting for Harry to follow. By the time they got back to camp, Hermione had succumbed to a fitful slumber punctuated by the occasional moan or whimper. Her breathing came in hoarse, but regular pants. Harry chose to take that as a good sign. He had no idea what the extent of her injuries was, but she probably wouldn't die because of the Fiendfyre. Because of him.
Ron sat beside Hermione and pulled his knees to his chest. "You might as well get some sleep. You've done enough for one night."
"I didn't mean to hurt her. I only wanted the locket gone. I thought I had a shot, and I went crazy."
"I know," Ron said quietly. "But you still did it. Go to sleep before I decide giving you what you deserve is more important than defeating You-Know-Who."
Harry climbed inside his own sleeping bag and pulled the cover back. Tonight's disaster had exhausted him and sweat plastered his clothes to his back. Sleep was out at the question. The locket was on the other side of the tent with Ron, but in the silence Harry imagined that he could still hear Voldemort's voice whispering in his ear. Fool, it said, Why do you fight me? We are the same, you and I. Quite willing to destroy our "friends" to achieve our goal. Wouldn't you agree, Harry?
No. He was nothing like Voldemort. Dumbledore had always emphasized that he and Riddle were opposites in every way that mattered. Harry possessed true friendship and the capacity for love. Voldemort had servants and was incapable of understanding anything besides fear or hatred. Tonight had been nothing more than an aberration brought on by hunger, desperation, and proximity to the locket. That was all.
So certain of that, are we? I always knew you were a fool. Hermione was burned because you wanted her to be. If she's injured, Weasley might decide to take her home and leave you alone to do this properly
"They're my friends," Harry whispered weakly.
High, cold laughter sounded inside his head. Friends? They are only slowing you down. They can't even forage properly. Weasley hasn't done anything except complain. Granger has her books and spells, but you've always been clever. Lazy, but clever. With a bit of study, you'll be able to hide and protect the tent on your own. Without them, you could search at Hogwarts at your leisure. Let them go back to their safe little lives.
Yes, it would be best for them to leave. He might go mad again, and one of them could be seriously injured next time. The voice was right. He did not really need Ron or Hermione. He was the Chosen One, not them. Either he or Voldemort must die at the hand of the other. The final battle would be between the two of them alone. However much he loved them, Ron and Hermione would be ultimately irrelevant.
Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Dumbledore's voice was soft and Harry felt a strange warmth spiral through him. He was stronger than Voldemort. Harry merely had to summon the strength to tell him to go "Shut up! I will listen to you. Ron and Hermione are the best weapons I have. I'm not leaving them, and I'll never hurt Hermione again!"
Still listening to that old fool? I would have thought Rita's article would have taught you better. Very well, I shall leave -- for now. But make no mistake, Harry: I will return. And I will prove to you that we are exactly alike.
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Characters: Harry, Luna, Voldemort, Ron, Hermione, Ginny
Pairings: All pairings initially reflect canon. Eventual Harry/Luna
Rating: R for violence and disturbing themes.
Summary: Harry learns Luna knows something about Horcruxes, and her price for the information is that Harry keep in touch. He soon learns that not all enemies can be fought and even Luna has secrets.
Harry watched with eager eyes as Ron re-entered the tent. It had been a week since they had stolen back Slytherin's locket from Umbridge; and, more importantly, a week since Harry had had a decent meal. His stomach had progressed from loud growls to a dull, throbbing ache. It was Ron's turn to head down to the village and try to steal some food. Harry hoped he had brought back something good. Like steak and kidney pie. Piping hot steak and kidney pie.
But Ron's expression was as glum as Hermione's had been the night before. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a box of animal crackers. "Sorry. This was the best I could do. Stupid Muggles and their security cameras."
The locket felt cold and clammy against his skin. Harry twisted the chain around his finger. "We've bloody broken into the Ministry twice now. How hard can it be to steal food? Tell me that."
Ron shrugged. "You're no better at it than I am. Be glad I got this much. We're just not cut out for life on the run."
Hermione patted his shoulder and took the animal crackers from him. "Harry knows you did your best, don't you Harry?" Harry glared at her, and she cleared her throat. "Anyway, we might as well divide it up." She tore open the package and took out a cracker. "One for me. One for Ron. One for Harry. One for me..." She went on and on like that. It reminded him of a particularly macabre kindergarten sharing exercise. They ate in silence, and Harry tried to pretend that graham crackers tasted like kidney pie. It didn't work.
"So, where are we going to look tomorrow?" Ron asked when they had finished. "I reckon we've looked everywhere old You-Know-Who might have wanted to put a Horcrux."
"Except Hogwarts," muttered Harry.
Hermione shook her head and regarded him with such pity that Harry wanted to wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze. "I know there are some superficial similarities between you, but he isn't you. You're the one who would be happy to stay at Hogwarts for the rest of your life. Riddle only wanted the Defense job because he'd have access to impressionable children he could mold. Besides, if there was a Horcrux at Hogwarts, Dumbledore would have found it."
Harry scowled. Hermione didn't understand. No one did. They didn't have Voldemort running around their head at inopportune moments. They hadn't fought him face-to-face twice. They weren't the Chosen One. He knew Voldemort better than anyone. He couldn't say how it had escaped notice, but Harry was certain Voldemort had placed a Horcrux at Hogwarts. He would have staked his life on it. "Any progress on deciphering Mrs. Lovegood's notes?" he asked sourly.
"Very little." Hermione said. "Not to speak ill of the dead, but her handwriting was dreadful. I think it was something to tell how many soul fragments of someone remained."
Harry brought a hand to his forehead. He had told Luna about their mission for nothing? "We already know that. There are four. Five if you count Vol--"
"Please, don't say that name," Hermione said. "And we don't know. He might have made more after he found out you destroyed the diary or he might never have gotten around to making all seven."
"Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine?"
Ron popped a last cracker into his mouth. "I still think we're going about it backwards. We ought to be searching for ways to destroy the Horcruxes before we start tracking them down."
"Dumbledore meant for us to have the sword. We would have had it if Scrimingeour hadn't been such a prick."
Hermione laid a hand on his arm. "Harry, Scrimingeour died to --"
"-- save me?" Harry finished with a bitter laugh. "Doesn't make him any less of a prick." Something icy snaked around Harry's heart. Yes, Scrimingeour had been a bastard. Umbridge wasn't an official Death Eater, but she was most certainly a monster. Not that the rest of the world was any better. He remembered the nauseatingly pink pamphlets extolling the dangers of Mudbloods the team of witches and wizards had been working on in the mass of people who have passed the MAGIC IS MIGHT statue without so much as looking up. Mary Cattermole had begged for her life, and no one had moved to help her. She would have been thrown in Azkaban -- or worse -- if he hadn't been there. The world was full of parasites and cowards. If he had any sense, he wouldn't be risking his life for such people. Maybe he ought to just leave them to their fates and spend the rest of his life on a beach in Nice. He heard it was lovely in the Riviera this time of year.
Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. He couldn't allow himself to think such thoughts, couldn't allow the locket to whisper them in his ear. It was his job to fight Voldemort and no one else's. He could hardly expect people who never did anything more strenuous than cheer at a Quidditch match to act like trained Aurors. "Sorry," he whispered, "but we still don't have the sword."
"But, mate, the sword can't be the only way to destroy a Horcrux. I mean, the only reason it works is because of the basilisk venom." Ron's face lit up and he snapped his fingers. "That's it! All we have to do is get our hands on some basilisk venom! I bet there's a shop in Knockturn Alley that sells it. They sell everything else that's Dark."
"That won't work." Harry had heard that tone of voice many times before. Hermione had always used it when she was attempting to explain some obscure point of magical theory for the tenth time. "We'd have to use Polyjuice Potion, and we can't afford to stay in one place long enough to brew it. Besides, I doubt any of the shops carry the venom. Not counting the one in the Chamber, the last confirmed basilisk in England died centuries ago." It was Hermione's turn to brighten. "Though the fangs in the Chamber would still be usable. We'd have to go back to Hogwarts -- or get someone to smuggle them out for us."
"Well, if we can't even go to Knockturn Alley, we damn well can't sneak into Hogwarts."
"Which leaves the smuggling."
"Who would we get to do the smuggling? The DA is loyal, sure, but they'd have to get into the Chamber. The only people who know how to speak Parseltongue are Harry and maybe --" Ron broke off and stared at Hermione, who nodded slowly. He blanched. "I'm not bringing Ginny into this. I'd die first."
Harry looked between them. "What does Ginny have to do with this? She can't speak Paseltongue."
"She gets... flashbacks sometimes of the things that happened in her first year. I've heard her wake up screaming more than once. Sometimes she hisses during her nightmares. It's possible that she may remember enough to open the Chamber and get some of the venom to us."
"She never told me about it. I thought she didn't remember much at all." They hadn't done much talking during the three weeks that they were together, but Ginny would have told him about it at some point. Granted, he hadn't responded well when she had mentioned it in fifth year, but surely she had forgiven him for that. "But I agree with Ron. I won't ask her or anyone else I care about to be put in danger. This is our fight."
Hermione muttered something under her breath, but Ron clapped him on the back. "You've got that right. So, basilisk venom is out. Anything else we can use?"
"Dumbledore thought one of the Horcruxes was Naigini, right? An animal that stores a Horcrux is still an animal and just as easy to kill. No special magic required."
"That'd be great to know if we weren't lugging around a very much inanimate locket."
"Pardon me for trying to be helpful." Hermione bit her lip. "There's the Fiendfyre Charm," she said slowly.
"What the bloody hell is the Fiendfyre Charm, and why haven't you mentioned it before?"
Hermione dug into her bag and pulled out one of the books from Dumbledore's office. It seemed like an ordinary leather-bound book, but looking at it made Harry feel cold and sick. She flicked through the pages and found what she wanted. "Fiendfyre can destroy any substance upon contact. It bypasses Flame-Freezing Charms. An object destroyed by Fiendfyre cannot be reconstituted even by magical means."
Harry stared at her. "You've known about a spell that we could have used to blast this locket to bits the day we got it, and you never told me? I went through all this for nothing?"
Hermione glanced at the ground before returning her gaze to Harry. "In the Founders time, it was said that a wizard who cast the Fiendfyre Charm conjured the very fires of Hell. According to the book, twenty-two European wizards killed themselves misusing Fiendfyre in the first half of the twentieth century alone. It's that difficult to control."
"But you know the incantation?" After a long moment, Hermione nodded. "Then do it."
"But Harry..."
Harry yanked the locket off and threw it to the ground. "I said do it!" He was sick of the cold, clammy weight on his chest, sick of feeling like he couldn't quite breathe every time he put the locket around his neck. If Hermione had to burn down a whole forest to destroy the Horcrux, so be it."
"I'm with Hermione. It's too dangerous. We'll find another way."
Harry rounded on him. "And you call yourselves Gryffindors. No one made you come. You volunteered. If you two are going to back down the first time you have to take a risk, go home to your families right now, I can manage fine on my own."
The light went out of Hermione's eyes. "I don't have a family anymore, remember? I sent them away to help you." She picked up the locket and shivered. "If we're really going to do this, I suggest we step outside. Less chance of the tent going up in flames."
"What? I thought you just said that it was too dangerous."
She sighed. "None of us are ever going to see our families -- or anyone else we care about -- until You-Know-Who is dead. Maybe Harry is right and we do have to take the risk. If it means I can go back to my parents five minutes sooner..."
Ron's hand hovered over Hermione shoulder before falling limply to his side. "Lead on, then." Harry tried very hard not to smirk. Soon, half the Horcruxes would be destroyed. He would be home by Christmas. Ginny would rush into his arms and everyone else would congratulate him on being so brave and self-sacrificing. Merlin knew he deserved it.
They scrambled out of the tent. Their hiding place tonight was a Royal Forest somewhere in Cumberland. They hiked for perhaps a quarter of a mile until they came to a clearing and Hermione held her hand up for them to a halt. She placed the locket on the ground. "Stand well back, both of you." Harry and Ron both stepped back. Hermione screwed her eyes shut and drew her wand. "Infernus!"
For a moment, there was only a roaring, billowing noise, and Harry was afraid that the spell had failed. Then a jet of flame larger than any he had ever seen shot from the wand. Harry and Ron shielded their eyes against the light, and Harry could feel the heat on his skin even at this distance. There was no further sound, and he finally dared to look. A fiery dragon hovered a foot above the ground, flames rippling down its body. Harry had never seen anything as terrible -- or as beautiful.
Ron was not as awestruck." Shouldn't in be going after the locket instead of standing there?"
Hermione didn't turn around. "I'm trying. It's not responding. I'm not sure why it's so still. Fiendfyre naturally goes for the nearest source of --"
Hermione screamed. Time slowed, and Harry stood rooted to the spot, helpless to do anything but watch as the dragon lunged for her. She instinctively put up an arm to defend herself. Ron charged forward with a yell and tackled her out of its path. He wasn't quite fast enough. The tip of one wing grazed her left hand. Hermione screamed again, and Ron grabbed her to keep her from collapsing to her knees. Something broke inside Harry. He had never meant for Hermione to get hurt. He had only wanted the locket to stop plaguing them all. No, he had wanted it to stop bothering him. Ron and Hermione hadn't even entered into it. And now they were both going to die because of his stupid, stupid pride.
The dragon rounded on them again. Ron couldn't dodge it a second time and still protect Hermione. There was nothing Harry could do. Unless... Harry drew his own wand, shut his eyes, and silently begged whoever might be listening for forgiveness and a lucky break. If this didn't work, the dragon would kill him as well. Maybe he deserved it. "Finite Incantatum!" he bellowed.
He waited for the inevitable screams and smell of burning flesh. The roar died away, and Harry dared to open his eyes. Ron was kneeling on the ground, Hermione in his arms. The dragon was gone. Harry exhaled and darted toward them. "I -- it worked! I stopped the dragon! He leaned forward to envelop them both in a hug.
Ron shoved him away and glared at him with such pure hatred that Harry took an involuntary step back and hung his head. "It's only because of you that that thing attacked us in the first place. Look at what you've done to her." Harry didn't dare look up. "Look!"
This time Harry did as he was told and felt bile rise in his throat. The flesh on the back of her hand was white. Not the ordinary sort of white, either, but the same color as Voldemort's skin. Red blisters encircled the injury. The back of her hand didn't even look like it had human skin anymore. It looked like dry leather. The fire hadn't burned Hermione; it had charred her.
Ron picked Hermione up and carried her back to the tent. Harry followed behind them in a daze. A numb horror enveloped him, and he could only watch as Ron laid Hermione on top of one of the sleeping bags. Her eyes were glassy with pain, but at least she was still conscious. Ron knelt over her. He took off his jacket, balled it up, and stuck it under her head as an extra pillow. "I'll get you through this. Promise."
Harry didn't see how Ron could be so confident. Neither of them had any skill at medical magic. Harry could barely mend a broken nose, and that had to be a third-degree burn. Ron Hermione needed a Healer. St. Mungo's was out of the question. Wanted posters with their photos were probably in the waiting room, and Harry had the funny feeling that Healer-patient confidentiality didn't mean much when the Death Eaters were beating down your door.
"Water," Hermione whispered. "Helps replenish fluids. Bandages good, too."
"You heard the lady. Take care of the water. I'll manage the bandages." He drew his wand and muttered something. A stack of clean linen bandages appeared at his feet. He picked them up and began wrapping them around Hermione's hand. She hissed. "Sorry. I'm doing the best I can." He turned to Harry. "I thought I asked for some water!" he shouted.
His anger was enough to rouse Harry from his stupor. He Transfigured a Knut in his pocket into a bronze-colored ceramic mug and magically filled it with water. His hand shook as he cast the spell, and some of the water poured onto his trainers instead. Harry cursed as the icy liquid hit him but dutifully passed the mug to Ron. He accepted it wordlessly, and held it to Hermione's lips. "Slow sips now. Take it easy."
She drank. "Thank you."
Harry figured the sound Ron made was supposed to be a laugh, but it didn't sound like one. "Remember that next time you call me -- how did it go again? -- 'an insensitive, chauvinistic troglodyte.'" He shook his head. "I shouldn't have let you cast the spell. And I bet we didn't even get the locket." He looked up sharply. "Where is the locket anyway? Did you at least remember to pick it up?"
"I thought you had it. Last I saw of it was... in the forest," Harry finished lamely.
"Wonderful. Not only are you an insensitive jerk, you're an incompetent, insensitive jerk. I'd be safer with Lucius Malfoy. Hell, I'd probably be better off with Bellatrix!"
"I'll go get it. You can stay with Hermione." Yes, Harry should be the one to go. He certainly couldn't bear looking at Hermione at the moment.
Hermione's eyes flickered to Ron. "No. I'll be fine. Go with Harry." She whimpered, and it was a long time before she spoke again. "I don't think he should be alone right now."
"But --"
"Go. Please."
Ron sighed but scrambled to his feet. "Come on." He half-led, half-dragged Harry out of the tent. They walked together in silence. Harry felt like a murderer walking to the gallows. Ron probably wouldn't kill him for what he had done. Harry was the Chosen One, and Chosen Ones usually didn't get murdered by their best friends. The prophecy hadn't said that Voldemort was the only one who could beat him to a bloody pulp with his bare fists or torture him until he made Frank Longbottom look functional by comparison. From the expression on Ron's face, it looked like both of those options were still on the table. But no curses or punches came and they reached the clearing without either of them speaking a word. Something golden glittered in the moonlight.
Harry picked up the locket from where it still lay on the ground. After all they have gone through, the Fiendfyre hadn't even destroyed the Horcrux. Hermione had been maimed for nothing. "You made me do this," he whispered. "I never would have put her in danger if I hadn't been wearing you."
"One problem with that, mate," Ron said. His voice was like the grating of metal on metal. "You weren't wearing it when she cast the spell. That was all you."
Harry hung his head. It was true. Even if the Horcrux had spurred on his actions tonight, it hadn't been influencing them when Hermione had actually cast the spell. He could have stopped her. He should have stopped her. He had always believed himself to be a basically decent person. He hadn't even been able to Crucio Bellatrix right after she had killed Sirius. Granted, he had left Draco lying in a pool of his own blood, but it wasn't like the bastard didn't deserve it. For the first time, he considered he might be wrong. It wasn't like he was on this quest because he was better or nobler than anyone else. He was here because his mother had died to save him. Perhaps Harry wasn't as heroic as he had always imagined.
Ron snatched the locket from his hands. "I think I'll take that for a while. It's obvious you're not up to handling it." He put it around his own neck and marched in the direction of the tent, not waiting for Harry to follow. By the time they got back to camp, Hermione had succumbed to a fitful slumber punctuated by the occasional moan or whimper. Her breathing came in hoarse, but regular pants. Harry chose to take that as a good sign. He had no idea what the extent of her injuries was, but she probably wouldn't die because of the Fiendfyre. Because of him.
Ron sat beside Hermione and pulled his knees to his chest. "You might as well get some sleep. You've done enough for one night."
"I didn't mean to hurt her. I only wanted the locket gone. I thought I had a shot, and I went crazy."
"I know," Ron said quietly. "But you still did it. Go to sleep before I decide giving you what you deserve is more important than defeating You-Know-Who."
Harry climbed inside his own sleeping bag and pulled the cover back. Tonight's disaster had exhausted him and sweat plastered his clothes to his back. Sleep was out at the question. The locket was on the other side of the tent with Ron, but in the silence Harry imagined that he could still hear Voldemort's voice whispering in his ear. Fool, it said, Why do you fight me? We are the same, you and I. Quite willing to destroy our "friends" to achieve our goal. Wouldn't you agree, Harry?
No. He was nothing like Voldemort. Dumbledore had always emphasized that he and Riddle were opposites in every way that mattered. Harry possessed true friendship and the capacity for love. Voldemort had servants and was incapable of understanding anything besides fear or hatred. Tonight had been nothing more than an aberration brought on by hunger, desperation, and proximity to the locket. That was all.
So certain of that, are we? I always knew you were a fool. Hermione was burned because you wanted her to be. If she's injured, Weasley might decide to take her home and leave you alone to do this properly
"They're my friends," Harry whispered weakly.
High, cold laughter sounded inside his head. Friends? They are only slowing you down. They can't even forage properly. Weasley hasn't done anything except complain. Granger has her books and spells, but you've always been clever. Lazy, but clever. With a bit of study, you'll be able to hide and protect the tent on your own. Without them, you could search at Hogwarts at your leisure. Let them go back to their safe little lives.
Yes, it would be best for them to leave. He might go mad again, and one of them could be seriously injured next time. The voice was right. He did not really need Ron or Hermione. He was the Chosen One, not them. Either he or Voldemort must die at the hand of the other. The final battle would be between the two of them alone. However much he loved them, Ron and Hermione would be ultimately irrelevant.
Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Dumbledore's voice was soft and Harry felt a strange warmth spiral through him. He was stronger than Voldemort. Harry merely had to summon the strength to tell him to go "Shut up! I will listen to you. Ron and Hermione are the best weapons I have. I'm not leaving them, and I'll never hurt Hermione again!"
Still listening to that old fool? I would have thought Rita's article would have taught you better. Very well, I shall leave -- for now. But make no mistake, Harry: I will return. And I will prove to you that we are exactly alike.
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