Disclaimers: Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.
***
Harry disappeared for three whole days, which made Hermione very cross. He didn't tell her specifically where he had gone, but she pretty much knew his intent. She'd asked him for something, and he was such an insanely lovely boyfriend, or whatever his role might be called these days, that he wouldn't rest until he'd delivered it for her. Her heart swooped at the very thought, until her intense misery at missing him kicked in and she started calling him names.
Enola had been cool around Hermione for a full week, too. Their little unspoken exchange during Sue Bones' episode in the infirmary had thrown up an awkward tension between the new friends that neither really knew how to get past. Hermione felt terribly guilty for being so possessively jealous, but she wasn't used to having to apologise for something like that, so she didn't know how to go about making amends. Enola, for her part, was simply wary ... if Hermione was anything like Sue, who knew how volatile she was likely to get.
The world outside the wards, for all Enola knew, might have turned all the girls into feral beasts ... and she had her little girl to think of, after all.
So Hermione became lonely very quickly. She focused on helping Sue to settle into her new suite, and filled her in on all things Harry, but the touchy issue of Sue's actions put an unspoken barrier between them. Sue seemed keen to steer the conversation towards Hermione and Harry's sex life - which she refused to believe was confined to heavy petting at best - but it was all a fairly obvious front, an avoiding tactic to prevent confronting the horrors that had taken place in the infirmary.
Susan needed time, to be left alone, to properly process what had happened. Hermione gave her that space, but with Enola giving her a wide berth in return, it left Hermione in something of a social black hole. But then, on the evening of the third day of Harry's absence, Rhian popped into view in her bedroom with a new dress and a message.
"What's that?" asked Hermione, pointing at the dress. It looked to be made of some sort of scaly leather.
"A battle-dress for yous," said Rhian, proffering it to her. "Dragonhide for protection, chameleon skin to blend in."
Hermione was suddenly taut. "And why would I need either of those things?"
"For yous be going out into the world tonight, Mistress Hermione," said Rhian. "Master Harry be waiting for you. And he wants you to be safe."
Hermione's breathing changed. Harry was home? Since when? She didn't feel the wards shift as she usually did when he returned.
"I didn't notice Harry coming in," said Hermione. "When did that happen?"
"Half an hour back, maybe less," said Rhian. "He be very serious tonight. He keep his emotions under check. Come along, Mistress, best not leave Master Harry waiting."
Hermione stood and allowed Rhian to help her change into the battle dress. She had noticed how the Head Elf had stopped calling her Lady, in favour of Mistress. That spoke quietly to her heart about her subtle change of role, but she barely heard it over the nervous way it was suddenly beating. The air of the house was very serious tonight, Hermione only noticed it now. Perhaps she'd been in such a funk of a mood that she'd switched off her new perceptive ability.
But it was back on with aplomb now, and Hermione shuddered as the low throb of energy settled on her. Harry was worried, she could sense that. She was attuning more and more to the feel of the house when he was around. It was wildly thrilling to be able to tap into these energies so easily now. She didn't think she could possibly get any closer to Harry, in any way bar physical, but every time she thought that, a new way cropped up. That was giddyingly thrilling, too.
And this was the latest one. But, tonight, Hermione was unsettled by it. Harry had never felt this serious, this alert. It was a sobering sensation. It was like he was mentally prepared for a fight, rather than the explosive anger that had spewed from him in Glastonbury. That night, Harry knew there was a possibility they'd run into trouble.
This time, he was absolutely certain that they would.
And that irrefutable truth settled on Hermione like a lead apron. She took a rattling breath to calm her speeding nerves. She steeled herself as she considered her reflection in the mirror. This was war ... this was what it was all about, how it felt. She was supposed to be Harry's Queen ... and Queen's didn't show fear. She would hold her head up, hold her wand firm, and stand at Harry's side. Stand at her man's side ... at her King's side.
And together they would fuck up any fool who dared to threaten them.
She grinned at her reflection for comfort. Actually, she looked good. No ... she looked better than good ... she looked ready. The battle-dress was fit to form, and form had never been a problem for Hermione, since she'd filled out in her late teens. The dress needed to be able to move, but to protect her at the same time. She looked like Fan or Ann ... a bad-assed witch to be reckoned with. She felt inordinately pleased with herself as her reflection nodded back her approval.
"Good, it fits," said Rhian. "Come Mistress, time be short."
Rhian offered Hermione a hand and Apparated her to Harry, was who pacing around his Secret Copse. The fountain was softly sprinkling water, and moonlight tinted one side of the space. Harry was moving in and out of the shadows it threw. Hermione hurried to him, as Rhian popped away.
"Well, you've been gone way too long," said Hermione as she reached him. She tugged up his shawl abrasively and planted a deep, full mouth kiss on him. Harry thrust his tongue forwards first, before snatching his arms around Hermione's waist and smothering her in a passionate embrace. Hermione moaned into his mouth ... he always left her a little senseless with the intensity of his kisses.
They broke apart for breath, which came in panting puffs to them both. Harry drew Hermione close to him. "You look gorgeous tonight. That dress ... oh my word ... sex. on. a. fucking. stick!"
"I've missed you, too!" Hermione giggled into his shoulder, hugging him close. "Where have you been!? And why have you got me all dressed up?"
Harry pulled her away, and dragged his eye up and down her frame several times. Hermione shivered pleasantly with each pass of his gaze over her body, despite the humid night. "It's getting you dressed down I'm thinking about! Seriously ... I was in such a foul mood when I got home ... but, this ... phew! You look hotter than the actual sun, do you know?"
Hermione beamed, then pulled Harry back to her lips. He went without the barest of resistance.
"I don't think I will ever kiss you enough," she said breathily, as they eventually broke apart.
"As long as you don't stop trying," Harry grinned back. "But we do have some serious business to attend to tonight."
Hermione took another steadying gulp of air. "Where are we going?"
"I've met with Narcissa Malfoy," said Harry, guiding Hermione to one of the stone benches by the fountain. "She's set up a meeting with the person who can help us find your parents. Tonight. Hermione ... I don't think I can be any more blatant about this ... going out of the wards is going to be extremely dangerous. I ... I took two more lives in the past few days. It was self-defence, but it is what it is. We are being hunted. You need to be prepared for that."
Hermione scowled crossly. "You were attacked?"
"Yeah."
"And you killed them?"
"I had no choice," said Harry lowly. He looked cautiously in Hermione's direction.
"I hope you mutilated the fuckers," she said angrily. "How dare they attack you! Were you man or lion?"
"One of each," Harry replied.
"Good. I hope whoever it was suffered."
"Oh ... that much is certain."
"And, if we run into trouble tonight, don't hold back on my account," said Hermione forcefully. Then she aired a shame she'd been carrying for days. "I was rubbish in Glastonbury. I will be better for you, Harry, I promise."
Harry looked at her, confused and startled. "Er ... you saved my life by crushing someone's entire bone structure! If that's your idea of rubbish then I can't wait for you to be good!"
"Oh, it will be a masterpiece of pain," said Hermione. "Seriously, Harry, the idea of someone threatening you ... it makes me crazed ... worse than that ... demonic."
Harry laughed. "Then come, my little demon, we don't want to be late."
Harry stood, offered Hermione his hand, and they walked together to the edge of the wards and out into the world.
And Hermione felt like she'd been soaked by a bucket of ice. She sucked in a breath.
"They know we're out, don't they?"
Harry nodded. "Yes. But I've reconfigured the exit portal to deposit us miles away from the palace. They'll never zero in on the place. Come on."
"Where are we going?" asked Hermione, scurrying behind in Harry's wake.
"A little country pub," Harry explained. "It's secluded, off the beaten track. We will have an hour at best till Riddle's tracking teams locate us. Neville and Owain have been working on disrupting the charms on Magical Movement, but the spells are dense. It's a shot in the dark if we can be effective against them."
"So that's why we're running cross country on foot?" Hermione smirked at him.
"Something like that," Harry volleyed back with a grin.
Hermione continued to follow Harry. She didn't feel at all afraid any more, despite the risk. Harry's mere presence was just immensely protective. She was sure nothing could hurt her if Harry was nearby. It was a little exhilarating, to be defying the oppression she knew so well. She could almost bounce for the restless energy flowing through her. She didn't think resistance would feel this good. If she had, she considered rationally, she might have butchered Ron in his sleep years ago.
That brought a dark smile to her lips.
They hurried on through the night for ten minutes or so. This really was an out of the way pub, wherever it was. Rural didn't even touch the sides of the definition. Just as Hermione was about to question Harry's judgement on their location, they came over the rise of a shallow hill and the pub emerged before them.
It was called The Skirrid Inn. It was an old coaching inn, complete with ancient stonework and a rusty sign, which swung in a light breeze with a satisfyingly atmospheric squeak. The courtyard looked like something from a ghost story. Hermione loved it, with its deep shadows and original cobblestone driveway. Inside, the inn was quaint and cosy. Warm, reddish light spread out from a faux-log-fire, which dominated a wall on the far side of a compact little lounge-bar. A handful of drinkers clustered around the bar and the small, circular tables crammed into the place.
Harry went to the bar and ordered an ale. He hadn't had a decent pint in a while, and 'When in Rome', as the saying went. Hermione opted for a pink gin and lemonade. She and Sue were practically connoisseurs when it came to Mother's Ruin. They drank deeply, shamelessly. If Voldemort was coming for them, that was something to toast to. Harry turned to Hermione, smiling.
"This is good beer. One day, I'm going to take you out properly, without any of this crap hanging over us. And we're going to get rat-arsed pissed! We'll drag Nev and Ennie with us. It'll be the biggest laugh! Honestly, they cant drink for shit. It'll be so funny."
Hermione laughed. "Consider it a date. Our first one."
"That's weird, isn't it?" Harry considered in his amusement. "Us ... on a date! Would you ever have thought it?"
"Only in dreams I'd never have dared tell you about," Hermione confessed. "I proper fancied you back at Hogwarts, in case you never noticed."
"Really?" Harry grinned, taking a swig of ale and leaning on the bar. "I never did. But you know how dense I am ... why didn't you ever say something to me?"
"I've told you why," Hermione reminded him. "I knew how much I liked you, but I was scared of it. If you were the kind of girl I was at fourteen, how are you supposed rock up to the cutest boy at school ... who just happens to be your best friend, by the way ... and tell him that you're obsessed with him? That would hardly have been subtle, would it?"
"I don't know ... a big, sloppy kiss might have given me a hint!" Harry teased. "Or a corny Valentine's Card? I mean, you cant have done any worse than that shitty poem Ginny sent me when she was possessed by Tom's old diary, could you?"
Hermione laughed heartily. "No, that was dire! I wonder who actually wrote it ... Ginny or Tom? It's a bit creepy to think that Voldemort wrote you a singing Valentine!"
"I think I'd rather it be from him than a skanky Weasley!" Harry scoffed. "What did she say? ... my eyes were like pickled toad puke or something, wasn't it? How romantic! Nothing gets a guy going quite as much as being compared to a slimy toad!"
Hermione laughed again and fell against Harry in her mirth. "Oh, Harry! I've missed you. I don't think I've told you how much since you've came back. You always knew how to make me laugh. Five years you were gone ... and I think I can count the times I genuinely laughed on five fingers! Maybe less."
"Well, let's make a toast then," Harry proposed. He tilted his ale glass. "To making sure you laugh at least once a day from now on ... and let's try to make it at the expense of our enemies!"
Hermione clinked her glass against Harry's and they drank deeply. This was weird ... almost like a real date night. The most comfy one she could imagine. If she'd closed her eyes, she might have been able to block out the reality, to forget why they were really here at all. To think that this was just a normal night out with her ... whatever Harry was. What was he? It was a curious question. Boyfriend felt too weak a definition ... partner too vague.
Soulmate perhaps a little too idealistic. Or maybe not.
In any case, they were here together, in every sense, and that was all that mattered. But the reason for their being there had reared its head, and wouldn't go away now it had.
"Who are we meeting, Harry?" Hermione asked in a whisper.
"That's her, over in the corner," said Harry, with a nod.
Hermione gasped. She knew the bespectacled woman staring back at them ... Hermione was stunned to see her in such a place.
"Irma Pince? Madam Irma Pince?"
"It's nice to see you also, Miss Granger," said Madam Pince, as they sidled up to her table. "I'm glad you have managed to survive in these dark and insane times."
"Harry," said Hermione, looking confused. "I thought you said we were meeting with someone who knew where my parent's remains ended up? How can the Hogwarts librarian do that?"
"Madam Pince was not just the librarian," Harry explained. He nodded towards Madam Pince in a gesture of encouragement.
"No, indeed," said Madam Pince. "I was also the Registrar of Hogwarts. I worked closely with Minerva McGonagall, to locate and track magic-users who were eligible for scholarships to the school."
"And so, there is no greater authority on magical background than Irma, here," said Harry.
"Which is what led to my coercion by Lord Voldemort into his service," Madam Pince went on, her tone one of deep shame and sadness. "He threatened my family, tortured them, forced me to help him."
"By doing what?" asked Hermione.
"By providing details of all non-Pureblood students and their families, as far back as records were relevant," said Madam Pince. She took a long slug of wine in her shaking hands. "I was weak, and selfish. Thinking only of my own. I do not ask for forgiveness, Miss Granger. I deserve none."
Then she burst into tears, burrowing her head into her folded arms. Harry moved to comfort her. But Irma was beyond consolation.
"I-I'm responsible," she hiccupped. "For so many deaths! I live every day in utter shame. I will have no rest in my afterlife ... I will rot in Purgatory for eternity."
And fresh tears flowed. Hermione's heart broke at the sight. She smoothed the old librarian's shoulder as gently as she could.
"It isn't your fault," Hermione whispered. "Voldemort is the most evil wizard ever born. You could not have resisted him ... none of us could. You shouldn't blame yourself for the things he has done."
"But you can still do a little good," said Harry. "Help us. Tell us how to find the ones who murdered Hermione's parents."
Madam Pince nodded, drying her eyes. She reached into her handbag and drew out a piece of crumpled parchment.
"I was able to find the death warrant for your parents, Miss Granger," said Madam Pince. "Section Seven carried out the assassinations. They have always been keen on explicit record-keeping for their recruits. Death Count is actually a part of the Candidate Specification on their job application form."
Hermione felt a sliver of cold prickle over her skin. It was so callous, so calculated. Her parents had gone through this. She couldn't envisage it ... the sorrow pumped through her veins was clouding her senses.
"They were murdered at the Abingdon Pit, just outside Oxford," Madam Pince went on. "Agent Terry Boot was assigned the gruesome task. But ..."
"But?" Harry asked.
Madam Pince swallowed hard. "A witness was always needed ... for a positive identification of the victim. They were also required to check the bodies to make sure death was certain. They ... they were offered all the wealth and assets of the deceased ... as a form of compensation for their inconvenience."
Hermione felt disgusted. A putrid sickness swirled in her belly. She tried to shrug off the nagging piece of knowledge she was trying to ignore ... as if she knew what was coming.
"Let me see the warrant," said Harry, coldly. Hermione noticed his own anger flickering over his skin. He was flirting with turning golden, in matted fur. It was as if he already knew.
Madam Pince smoothed out the parchment with trembling fingers and slid it over to Harry. His eye dilated in unmitigated fury as it flashed over the words. Hermione edged around to read over his shoulder.
And her heart stopped.
She collapsed back into her seat, as her worst horrors were confirmed. For there, at the bottom of the document, was a very familiar signature ... one her own had once been forced next to on a very different piece of official parchment ...
The Rt. Hon Lord R. B. Weasley.
Hermione fought to control her incensed, unrelenting anger. It was coming in violent waves that she felt powerless to stop.
"H-he ... he ... Ron ... he was the one who signed my parent's death warrant!"" Hermione croaked out. "He claimed their assets ... their wealth ..."
"And their only daughter," Madam Pince pointed out.
Two lightbulbs smashed overhead, showering them with glass. Hermione's hatred, her fury, was surging out of her. She had no ability to control it. Harry reached over and touched her just then. Not with his hands, or his fingers ... but with his own magic. It searched deep into her very being and enveloped it, caressed and soothed it. Harry pulled Hermione's destructive rage into himself, and she erupted. He absorbed it, casting runes on his forehead when his own body became overloaded. They glowed furiously, and Harry cast them into the coin at his throat. Even that didn't seem enough.
"Come on, Hermione," said Harry, urgently. He stood up. "We have to get outside before you bring the roof down on us!"
So they did. Harry hurried them to the pub exit and into the courtyard. Then he just abruptly stopped.
Something was very wrong.
It was utterly, palpably dark ... so completely gloomy all around that it was clearly unnatural. There wasn't even the briefest sliver of light to be seen. The wind was whispering on the air, light and breathy, a mere shadow of sound. Harry was gripping Hermione's hand so hard that it almost hurt her. His alertness set the blood thumping and hammering hard in her ears. There were people ahead of them. Dozens of people. Hermione couldn't say how she knew, she just did.
Then a multitude of pinpricks of light fractured the complete blackness. They flickered against golden masks of wand-touting Death Eaters. Hermione couldn't believe how many there were, but they surrounded them in a massive semi-circle, boxing them in. They were three, four, maybe five deep in places. A growl escaped Harry's throat. It was so deep, so guttural, so immensely dangerous that Hermione was as afraid of that as she was the enemies arranged against them.
And Harry struck first.
His spell was the most incredibly powerful piece of magic Hermione had ever felt. It even pushed her back into the wall of the little pub, as the shockwave passed over her. It's light trail arced away from them and struck so many Death Eaters at once that Hermione had a wild thought that the fight would be over before it even started.
And then, it actually started.
Spells flew from everywhere, all angles, all at once, all aimed at Harry. And the yells and screams that accompanied them were deafening. Harry conjured a dome of pure energy that deflected all of them, then he was off, casting counter-curses and jinxes so fast that Hermione thought he would beat them all on his own. Then she heard a piercing scream, in his voice, as he was pinioned by two curses at once.
Then Hermione sprang to action. She flew forward, firing off every curse and spell she knew until she reached Harry's side. Several spells hit her, but the dress did its job and lessened the impact of them. Harry was getting hit more often, so Hermione could woman-up and deal with the blows she was receiving. Harry was duelling with six Death Eaters at once. So Hermione pinned her back to his, and took on the one's encroaching from the other side.
"Are you alright?" she cried through the din.
"Yeah, it's just my pride that was wounded ..." said Harry, his tone bizarrely light. "Bat-Bogey Hex ... I mean ... the shame!"
"Harry we have to get out of this ... there are too many of them!" Hermione shouted to him.
"Spoilsport!" Harry teased, flicking his wand and sending three attackers sprawling away in screeches of agony. "I was just starting to enjoy myself!"
"Well I'm not!" Hermione shrieked. "Get us out of here!"
"Okay, on three I'm going to cut us a path directly in front of you," Harry cried. "When it opens, just run! They've erected an anti-Disapparition field around the pub. I'll tell you when we're clear, then I'll tell you a safe place to Apparate to. Ready?"
"Ready," Hermione nodded.
Harry counted to three. Hermione felt his wand slash the heavy night air. A chain of fireballs, scores of them, flew out and sped at the Death Eaters. Agonised screams split the sky in two. Hermione watched several bodies stumble away, covered in angry flames, flailing hands dabbing at the fire, futilely trying to save their doomed lives. It was totally surreal. The acrid smell of burning flesh would linger in Hermione's nostrils for the longest time.
But now Harry was pulling her forward. He had dragged her in front of him, his wand over her shoulder and those furious fireballs cutting a swath through the crowding enemies. They were almost free, then Hermione turned to cast more spells at the attackers coming at them from behind.
And then she saw it.
***
"Harry!" Hermione breathed. She had lost every shade of colour from her face.
"What?" Harry yelled back. Now hardly seemed the time for her to start being shocked by his callousness in a fight.
"It's Duh ... it's d-Duh," she stuttered. Her vocabulary seemed to have deserted her. "It's Du-du..."
"What is it? What?"
Hermione could only stare in awestruck terror, pointing at something over Harry's shoulder. So he turned ... and saw, quite clearly ... what.
And all breath left his body in one go. He had just enough left to say the word Hermione had been trying to tell him. Or, rather, the name.
"Dumbledore!"
Harry's old mentor was advancing on them, wand drawn, power so crazily potent pounding out from it that it churned Harry's stomach as it hit him. It was all he could do to keep his bowels under control. Dumbledore's skin was sunken, his eyes nothing more than black holes. But he moved, lithe and springy, as if he were in his prime. But he wasn't in his prime, far from it.
For in that moment, Harry realised, with a jolt of shame at his own stupidity, that Dumbledore was still dead. Nothing could revive the deceased. But Tom Riddle had obviously found a way to reanimate the old wizard ... the only man he ever truly feared.
And then Harry saw how he had done it.
For there, at his throat, a medallion was swinging as Dumbledore continued to stalk menacingly in their direction. It was embossed with the coat of arms of Godric Gryffindor. And Tom Riddle's stinking, acidic, putrid essence was oozing out of every atom of the golden disc. Harry could think of no more fearsome defender for such a precious object. It was a stroke of genius.
For Harry was getting his first look at Lord Voldemort's Lost Horcrux ... and the magnitude of the task it would take to recover it.
Then both of Harry's Killing Curse scars suddenly split open with the fiercest, most burning, white-hot pain imaginable. He fell to a knee screaming, clutching at Hermione's battle dress for support. The pain was blinding ... and Harry's eye was streaming with boiling liquid. He couldn't see, couldn't sort his mind to react. Panic set in, he was eleven years old again, weak and frightened and about to die at Tom Riddle's stolen hands. He knew it.
Then he knew something else. He felt a build-up of energy, a forewarning. Something so full of forceful fury that Harry had no idea how he was supposed to stop something so irresistible. Luckily, he wasn't the only one there who was able to think.
"Protego!"
Hermione's Shield Charm was immense. It deflected Dumbledore's ferocious spell, but the strength of it still pushed them back several feet. Her voice woke Harry from his stunned torpor, her protective intent infusing him, her terror inspiring his imperative to defend her. He forced the searing pain in his scars to fall away to mere background burning. Cogency rushed back to his senses ... but there was another of those energetic build-ups on the air, another spell was coming. Harry wasn't sure the Shield would hold this time.
"Run! ... I'll hold him off!" Harry cried.
"No, Harry! I'm not leaving you!"
"Please, Hermione, go!" Harry screeched, standing and gripping his wand. "Run, hide, get the others! Anything! Just go! I'll buy you some time ..."
"Harry! I'm not ..."
But whatever she might not have been, Harry didn't get to hear. Dumbledore's spell pierced the Shield Charm and hit them both. Hermione span away like a top and hit the floor ten yards away, while Harry roly-poly'd in a tangent direction. The sound of Hermione hitting the ground - with a dull, lifeless thud - stirred feral rage in Harry's heart. He forcefully pushed it back along the connection Riddle's Horcrux was making with him, then flicked his wand at Dumbledore. The spell hit the walking corpse so hard he was flung back himself, and slammed into the amassed Death Eaters, who had crowded behind to watch the duel.
Harry was on his feet in a flash. Battle form was coming to him. His mind was racing, but he had to remember one thing - he was fighting Riddle's Horcrux, not his old Headmaster. It didn't make the fight any easier, but if he could just focus on that ...
But then a spear of magic hit him hard in the shoulder, splitting it in two. Harry cried out at the pain, watching in surreal disbelief as his left arm just hung there, limp and useless. And the pain was mind-numbing. He recovered just quickly enough to spring away from another power bolt from Dumbledore, who seemed unharmed from Harry's lone attack.
He saw Hermione, still strewn on the floor. She hadn't moved. Harry dodged another jet of light and reached Hermione's side, just in time to cast another Shield Charm over her. It held for one spell, but shattered seconds later. Harry wanted to flee, to Apparate them away. But he couldn't concentrate. He'd never make it ... he only had one option ...
"Lily!"
The phoenix arrived in an eruption of air and flame. It seemed to distract Dumbledore, who held his wand mid-spell, but almost seemed to forget what he was doing. It bought Harry the time he needed.
"Get her out of here!" he cried to the phoenix.
Lily mewled in defiance.
"Don't argue with me!" Harry screamed angrily. "Go!"
Lily hopped to Harry and, in one movement, dripped a tear to his broken shoulder, then spirited Hermione away in another flash of fire.
Harry felt the power of renewal flow through him. Lily had healed him, and Hermione was safe ... it was all the impetus Harry needed to take up his wand again. He slashed it through the air, sending a spell into a rocketing collision with another of Dumbledore's own. The resulting explosion was like a clap of thunder so violent that it could have caused a rent in existence itself. Harry slashed and flicked again. A deep gouge opened up on Dumbledore's face, he doubled up a moment where Harry pounded a Hammer Hex into his hip, but he seemed largely unaffected by the assault, as though he felt no physical wound at all. Harry would have to change strategy.
But then, Dumbledore out-thought him. In wand movement faster that Harry could imagine possible, Dumbledore conjured a vat of water, doused it over Harry ... and turned it to ice the moment it touched him. Harry was trapped in a freezing cocoon, unable to move. His breath stuck in his lungs, his energy drained out of him. Dumbledore was pulling it from him by force! The battle had taken enough of its own ... Harry wasn't sure how much more he had left to spare.
So he used what little he did have to push his very magic to the surface of his skin, hoping the heat would melt the ice. It did, but whatever this draining spell was that Dumbledore was using, it now no longer had the ice barrier to Harry's actual body. It hit him, hard. Squarely in the chest, smashing his ribs to pieces. He shrieked in mind-breaking agony. The spell was sucking the last breath from him, and some of his life, too.
Harry crumpled to the floor, weak and beaten, and felt the last of his energy get ripped out of him. Shock and fear had robbed him of the ability to think. He heaved his broken lungs for one good gulp of air, but the spell seemed to have hit him in his magic itself. He felt it bleeding out of him. The noise coming from the triumphant Death Eaters was chaotic terror in his ears. His sight was swimming ... his wand a mile away. And what would happen to Hermione if he died out here? He prayed she could find somewhere safe in the world ... for he had failed to protect her again ...
"Avada Kedavra!"
Two evil words ... in a dark echo of that once-friendly tone ... and Harry prepared to face Death again, only permanently this time.
Then a flash of fire exploded in front of him.
Lily had re-emerged and swallowed the jet of green light, before falling helplessly to the floor. Then the air came alive. Two, five, ten ... maybe a hundred swirls of breezing Apparition exploded all around him. Harry was too dazed to really tell. He looked up to see Neville and Enola, Angharad and Myfanwy dart forward to form a protective arc around him and take up the fight to Dumbledore, casting so fast and furiously that even the corpse-wizard turned and fled into the scattering mass of Death Eaters behind him. Harry's heart soared as he saw them, ranged alongside one another for him, a line of ferocious defenders driving their enemies back.
But they weren't alone. Sir David Pincott, and Patrick O'Brien, and Angus Kelvin, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Owain Jones, Cassie and Arianwen and who knew how many others had arrived and their wands were firing off spell after spell, screaming and roaring and sending the Death Eaters racing for cover in surprised panic.
And then, one more flash nearby ... and Harry felt Hermione's soft, gorgeous energy reach out and infuse his own, passing a warm, renewing force into his broken body. She cast a protective wall of magic around them that nothing could ever penetrate. It was just that powerful and even Harry, in his bruised state, was in awe of it. Where had that magic come from? How would he even describe it? He would have to ask her later. If there was a later. He was so tired ... maybe just a little nap ...
"Open your eye!" Hermione commanded forcefully. "You are not dying on me today. That's an order!"
"Yes ... my Queen ..." Harry croaked out.
"Rhian!" Hermione cried. The little elf popped into view, took each of them by the hand and prepared to whisk them away.
"Hermione!" Harry breathed weakly. "Lily ..."
Hermione reached over and gently scooped up the phoenix, now a wrinkled little hatchling, mewling for Firewhiskey. Then she nodded at Rhian, and all three of them were swept away in a whirl of air and colour.
***
Harry sat in front of the roaring fire, shivering to the very marrow of his tender bones. The healing had been excruciating, the recovery not much better. He was shivery, his breath rattled in his bruised lungs. He couldn't stop shaking, that was the most alarming thing. Even in those snatched moments where he held his mind steady, his body trembled and tingled, with no way, it seemed, to stop it.
Harry was terrifyingly afraid that he'd really broken something this time. Something properly inside ... something that couldn't be fixed.
Hermione came up to him just then. She hadn't left his side in twenty-four hours. Hadn't slept, either. Her eyes were ringed by dark shadows, her expression lined and pained. Worry was etched into every look she gave Harry, which was where her eyes were almost constantly fixed. She refused to let anyone take her watch, not even Neville, who was sat with them now, quite cheerily cradling his own injured arm in a Muggle-style sling, which he was proudly displaying as though it was a badge of honour. Harry needed care, and Hermione was the only one capable of giving it to him. Everyone else could just piss off.
She delicately placed another blanket around his hunched shoulders. He tensed at her touch, but it was through surprise rather than discomfort. His overwrought mind was miles away.
"You can touch me, Hermione," Harry offered reassuringly. "I'm fragile ... but I trust you to be careful."
Hermione required no second invitation. She slipped an arm around Harry's neck and drew his shattered body to her own. She needed this so badly. She had been restless not being able to touch him, to soothe him. She tensed her throat, held still the tears building behind her eyes. She had to feel Harry alive, breathing, moving despite his pain. She was mindless at how close she'd come to losing him for good. She couldn't keep the thought still in her head for any more than a few seconds. The grief it inspired was overwhelming.
But, equally, she couldn't let it go. Couldn't not face what had happened, what they'd seen. Harry didn't want to confront the reality, the visceral horror that had been unleashed upon them. Hermione wanted to let him rest. But she couldn't, not this time.
"What was that, Harry?" she asked gently. "What are your thoughts?"
There was no need to qualify the nature of that in the question. It was the only topic on all of their minds.
"Was it really him? Really Dumbledore? Did you feel it?"
Harry sighed heavily, his head bowing. Hermione smoothed his shoulders comfortingly. "It was him ... and at the same time something else. It was an abhorration, an abomination. And what I think he actually was hardly bears thinking about ... it's a reality fundamentally terrifying ... and something I'd never considered in my wildest theories."
"What do you mean, Harry?" asked Neville.
"It was Dumbledore," Harry elaborated. "No question. Reanimated, a zombie, an Inferius whatever you want to call it. I felt him. I know that presence, that power. But I also felt Riddle ... in both the Horcrux and in Dumbledore. And those spells that hit me ... they had such force, such immense potency, but also a dual signature. They were full of such malice, such Dark rage. As if they'd somehow combined their power and cast them as one person. I've heard of that being possible before ... and it got me thinking."
What's your theory?" Hermione encouraged. She felt better just for hearing Harry's voice ... as though it was affirming that he was still there with her. She didn't want him to stop.
"I think that Riddle has somehow reanimated Dumbledore using his Horcrux, so that it's a part of him now," Harry went on. "A truly horrifying part. For aside from being the Dumbledore we knew, with all his incredible power, I think this may also be the version of Dumbledore from Riddle's own mind ... the only man he truly feared ... somehow, made flesh. Super-powered ... charged with all of Riddle's evil and cruelty and, more worryingly, his fear of the real Dumbledore!"
"Oh my!" Hermione gasped. "You think that, if I'm getting this right, this isn't just Dumbledore ... but one powered by all the things that Tom Riddle built him up to have in his mind ... including the very weapons that made Riddle fear him in the first place!"
"That's exactly what I think," Harry smiled weakly at her. "With powers real or imagined, this is the Dumbledore that Tom Riddle's fear has created. And I have no idea how we're supposed to fight something like that."
Neville swore, and curled his good first around the armrest of his chair.
"So he's pretty much unstoppable," said Neville, bitterly. "And if Dumbledore has Riddle's lost Horcrux around his neck ..."
"Then it's a new problem, but not necessarily an insurmountable one, is it Harry?" asked Hermione, more in hope than belief. She'd seen this nightmarish vision of Dumbledore in battle. She knew what it meant. It was horrifying.
Harry didn't look at her. Hermione had her answer in the way his already stunted breathing hitched and held in his lungs.
Harry took a while to consider his reply. He had to give them something, but what did he have left? Not much ... but there was always hope ... no matter how weak it might seem.
"It was still Dumbledore in body," Harry sighed, eventually. "That means he can still be stopped ... in theory, anyway."
"But Harry," Neville cried vehemently. "You hit Dumbledore with spells, Ennie and I did, too. They seemed to bounce off, or not do enough damage to do more than just slow him down. He just kept coming. How do you stop something like that?"
"He still has a body," Harry repeated. "There are rules that come with that."
"Like, if you smash his legs to bits, he wont be able to walk," Hermione considered, thoughtfully.
"Precisely," Harry nodded. "Stopping his enhanced magic is the biggest issue. And that's going to require some serious thought ... if my mind ever returns to my own control."
"And, on the plus side, at least we know where the lost Horcrux is," said Hermione, reaching for any positive she could. "Finding them was always a difficult problem for us."
"Getting this one from around the neck of an indestructible, ultra-powered-up, Inferi-Dumbledore is going to be a little more than a difficult problem, Hermione," said Neville, glumly. "I wouldn't call that a plus side."
Hermione frowned at him. "You know, when Harry and I last embarked on a Horcrux hunt, we had a third-wheel who was just as much as a beacon of positivity as you're being, Neville. Don't be that wizard ... it's not the kind of company you want to be lumped in with!"
"I think there's more to that, too," said Harry, quietly, to offset their bubbling row.
He didn't want to tell them this, whatever it was. Hermione could hear that in his strained voice. So she knew it must be the kind of thing they all ought to know, even if they didn't want to hear it.
"What is it?" she pressed.
"I could feel something about the energy of the Horcrux when it tried to connect to me," Harry confessed. "It felt like it was being fed power externally. It was like the Horcrux was at the centre of a spider's web, with other energy lines flowing to it, making it stronger. That's the best way I can describe it. One was definitely Riddle's, but there were others."
"How many others?" asked Hermione, cautiously.
"At least four," said Harry. "But there could have been more. I didn't have much chance to focus on them. I was too busy getting my arse handed to me by Dumbledore."
Hermione tightened her hug on Harry. The vision of him, broken and defenceless on the ground as she rejoined him in the battle, Dumbledore moving menacingly close, was pounding at her temples again. Seconds ... she had been mere seconds away from ... no, she wouldn't think it. The idea was just too horrendous to allow into her mind. But suddenly, taking just a month to admit she loved him seemed plenty of time ... it might as well have been a lifetime by comparison. It was more than long enough ... if she had been just seconds away from being separated from him forever. She just couldn't get control of her mind. She shook in terror at her own rampaging thoughts.
"What does this all mean, Harry?" asked Neville.
"It means, brother, that we have a longer task ahead of us that we ever thought ... assuming that I'm right, of course."
Hermione took a breath, forced calm into herself. She needed to understand this, and she knew that she could. She was bright and clever, this was something she was good at. She cleared her mind and thought aloud a moment.
"You think they're providing some sort of protection ... four other people, at least, maybe with elite fake Horcruxes of their own, defending the Master Horcrux somehow?"
Harry looked at her ardently, reverently. "You know, sometimes, I think your guesses are more reliable than my cold, hard facts!"
Hermione smiled shyly at him.
"So, four others are channelling power into Riddle's lost Horcrux, and that abomination of Dumbledore is protecting it?" Neville summarised. "So it's simple ... we take out the other four Horcruxes to start with! We can handle them ... if we can find out where they are."
"But they know we are coming, they will have redoubled any protections they have," Harry pointed out. "It looks like old Tom has finally learned from his mistakes. He's ultra cautious with this last piece of his evil fucking soul. I think Dumbledore is actually part of the Horcrux. They are one. Plus, there's an army aligned against us out there. It wont be easy"
"Then, by Merlin, we tear them all down, one by one if necessary, and burn them where they stand!" said Hermione, stoutly. "More pity them, I say. Dumb bastards. Do they even know who we are? We're Team Potter, for fuck's sake!"
Harry just stared at her open-mouthed, hardly daring to believe that she was prepared to stand beside him so fiercely. She couldn't have put a name to the look in his eye just then. It wasn't love. It was something so fundamentally more potent, more raw, it had no name. Whatever it was, it took Hermione's breath away to have it fixed on her so pointedly.
Luckily - for poor Neville at least - the door opened just then, breaking the throbbing energy that Harry was pulsing Hermione's way. Unluckily, Enola came in, looking fitful. She had a nasty bruise on her cheek, and a slight limp, but she was chipper about all that. Hermione smiled weakly up at her, apologetic and still fitfully guilty. Enola leant down and squeezed Hermione comfortingly on the shoulder, letting her know that all was forgiven without needing to say the words.
But it was the news she was carrying that was an infinitely more terrible burden.
"Harry ... you have to see this ... you all do," she hushed gravely.
"What is it, love?" asked Neville, suddenly concerned at his wife's anxious state.
Enola placed a laptop computer in front of them and pulled up a tab on the screen. "This is a live stream, from a site called YouTube," Enola explained. "It shows videos and things."
"I know what YouTube is," said Harry, impatiently. "What are we watching?"
Enola looked at him darkly. "It's what we're about to see that we need to worry about. This video stream is currently being broadcast on every screen in the country. Look."
So Harry did. And Hermione felt his very soul drop. For there, on the screen, was a familiar face ... but in a very unfamiliar pose.
"Elizabeth!" Harry breathed in utter astonishment. He was beyond terror and anger now. All Hermione could sense from him was rumbling numbness.
And she couldn't blame him.
For the Queen of England was in a plain, darkened room ... and she was on her knees. Her hands were tied behind her back, a heavy black blindfold pulled tight over her eyes. Behind her, a large green flag fluttered on a soft draught ... making the menacing silver skull it depicted appear as if it were alive.
And towering at The Queen's shoulder, looming over her like a captor, the flowing robes of Lord Voldemort hung and swayed like wispy thunder clouds. His snake-distorted face was contorted into a rabid smile, his slits for eyes, with their blood-red pupils, looked menacingly into the camera.
"People of Great Britain," Voldemort hissed theatrically. "Behold your Queen, your champion, on her knees at my feet ... defeated. She has been derelict in her duty, allowed corrupt Parliaments to replace the rule of Kingly Law ... and made our great nation weak and comical in the eyes of the world. In time honoured fashion I, Lord Voldemort, do claim the throne to the Realm of Britain, and all her territories, following victory in battle.
"I intend to be a strong and powerful leader. To make Britain truly Great again. A leader on the world stage. No longer will we play second fiddle to the crassness of America, the covertness of China, the subtle manipulation of the Russians. Britain will lead the world again ... and I am the man who will put us back where we belong.
"And, to prove to you that I will be a just and respectful ruler, I offer your fallen monarch a chance at last words, to swear fealty to me, in return for a swift and painless death."
Hermione cried out, flinging her hands to her mouth. She looked at Harry. He was frozen, motionless, too wounded to even consider aid. But he was sheet white, his expression astonished and shocked. He couldn't move to do a single thing but watch in stunned horror.
"I will swear fealty," said Elizabeth, her cracked voice betraying her own wounds. She had been hurt, beaten, who could guess what else. Hermione couldn't even begin to point her thoughts at those horrific images passing through her mind.
"Ah, a sensible decision," said Voldemort, turning the camera to her for a close-up.
"I swear fealty ..." Elizabeth croaked. "To the King ... to the Once and Future King! To King Harry Potter! May his vengeance on you, Lord Voldemort, be swift and violent."
Voldemort turned his furious face back to Elizabeth ... screeched angrily in a high-pitched hiss ... then slashed his wand down in a brutal arc ...
And severed the Queen of England's head in one, swift movement.