Chapter Text
Cover artwork by the amazing @delartsss
Hermione panted, the muscles in her legs burning as she ran through the forest. She had gotten the locket—her and her friends. Barely.
For weeks, they had planned, poring over every worst-case scenario. Brewed the polyjuice, practised mannerisms, only for it all to blow up in smoke. The ministry had been an utter disaster. Everything that could go wrong, did. Yaxley’s fingers almost closed around her wrist. They lost Grimauld Place.
Now they were apparating for their lives, jumping from place to place to find a safe place to land.
The odd cold weight of the serpentine locket pressed into the thigh of her jeans—Tom’s Horcrux. It was a cold thing. Darkness seeped in at the edges of her magic. She could already feel it working its way into her psyche, a remnant of him threatening to pull her under. Drag her into the darkness with him.
Hermione guarded a gash on her arm where a slicing jinx caught her. She was bleeding a lot, but then there was Ron.
He lay on the ground, writhing in a pile of leaves, staunching his abdomen, moaning.
There was blood pooling around him. Too much blood.
Hermione noticed, but couldn’t stop. Her mind raced faster than she could cast as she threw the most basic wards around them. Salvio Hexia, Repello Inimicum, while Harry crouched over his friend. Screaming her name.
“Hermione, do something! “
“He’s bleeding. It’s a lot of blood, do something.” Harry begged..
Hermione could save Ron. She would. But they needed to be covered first, contained in a safe bubble so that she could shift gears from security to healing. The woods were full of snatchers. The ministry that they had just infiltrated was rife with Death Eaters, and they were undesirables one, two, and three.
“Harry, get started. I’ll be there in a minute.” She bit out.
“I—I—- I don’t know what to do.” He said in a shaking voice.
She threw him her charmed little bag with her free hand as she quickly cast with her other. “A salve of dittany and hold pressure. I’ll be right over. We are sitting ducks if I don’t get these wards up.”
She was scared, so scared, but she didn’t have space to feel such a useless emotion.
They needed a haven.
Hermione had apparated them from the Ministry to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, but two Death Eaters circled the property like sharks circling prey. They were waiting for them. The trio had barely popped into view before the red and green flares of jinxes and curses started to fly in their direction.
No, Hermione had to apparate. She went to the only place she could think of. The Forest of Dean, a place she used to go to as a child with her parents before she ever knew anything about magic or wizards or the man who would haunt her youth and steal her naivety for seven long years. Voldemort.
Satisfied that at least the most basic wards were up, she ran over to a pale, shaking Ron. Harry grabbed her by the arm, “You have to save him, ‘Mione.”
“I know.’ She nodded.
But Harry forgot one thing. She was eighteen, just like he was. She had studied more field medicine than any teenage girl should ever have worried about, but she was still just that, a teenage girl.
Her body vibrated with adrenaline. Her mind was flipping through spells faster than she could move.
She steadied herself, exhaled, and raised her wand.
She cast a diagnostic charm, a comprehensive one that she found in her Medical Maladies text.
She could do this.
The diagnostic charm illuminated damaged tissue below the skin. He had a liver laceration.
Godric.
Her stomach dropped.
She could do this.
She could do this, she could do this!
Liver lacerations were Dangerous, “but easy enough to heal with magic.” Magical Maladies, Page 257.
Her mind raced as she mentally flipped through a book of healing spells that she had been trying to commit to memory.
“Episky? No. Braceim emendo? No. Finally, her brain landed on the answer. Vulnera Saneteur.
That was the one.
Her wand was raised, she practised the motion once, and was just about to cast when a voice invaded her subconscious, causing her to pause in her tracks.
“You could let him bleed,” the voice murmured—soft, male, almost curious, as if testing the shape of her thoughts from the inside. “You’re wasting magic on him.” It whispered, honeyed and sibilant. “He’s a blood traitor. “ The voice said in a slow purr.
Hermione shook her head. What was going on? What was this voice? It had structure and intention. It was real.
“Hermione, cast!” Harry’s panicked voice broke through her psyche.
“V-vulnera saneteur.” She said, waving her wand over Ron’s abdomen.
Ron lay whimpering, his face growing paler by the second.
“Vulnera Sanetuer,” she said again, once more. confidently.
Ron’s abdomen slowly started to stitch back together, but his breathing remained ragged. She cast again, “Vulnera Sanetuer.” The bleeding slowed and then completely stopped.
“I can see into your mind. You are cataloguing spells while the boy bleeds. “ The voice said, almost amused. “You are thinking in systems, patterns–even now.“
It trickled through her mind, cool like a stream.
“Tell me who you are.”
Hermione clapped a hand over her head. She wanted to–needed to shut the voice out. The locket started to thrum in her pocket, almost as if it were a second heartbeat. There was no other explanation than some form of dark magic.
“Stop,” she whispered, and the voice did, almost as if it was curious to see what she would do next.
The color returned to Ron’s face, and his eyes fluttered open, landing directly on her.
“I’m so sorry, Ronald—the Death Eaters, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to splinch you.” She whimpered, three octaves above her register. The adrenaline had started to wear off, and her hands began to shake.
“Thanks, ‘Mione,” Ron said, sitting up and hugging her deeply. “I thought I was a goner for a minute there. Thank you. I would be dead if you had not thought on your feet.”
He kissed her cheek, hugging her to him until the shaking subsided, but as it did, the voice rang back long and sibilant. “You chose him?” it asked, almost thoughtful. “How disappointing.”
————————————
Harry magically erected the tent while Hermione, with shaking hands, took stock of their supplies. She needed to press on, catalog what they had and what they had lost along the way.
Luckily everything that they needed was house in her little beaded bag, her supplies earlier in the day organized and catalogued with precision, but were now jostled, some vials broken, some potions rendered useless. A shame—they, with their “Wanted” status, the trio had no access to their Gringotts’ vaults. Potion ingredients were expensive. She would have to forage for the essentials or find some way to communicate with Order members.
She tallied the essentials: Dreamless Sleep, Vertaserum, Essence of Dittany. Her store of Blood Replenishing Potion had shattered.
Godric
Ron needed it urgently. He was resting on the cot, pale, shivering with a dew of perspiration across his brow. Harry and Hermione had forced him to rest until one of them, Hermione, most likely, had time to re-brew the potion.
“You were brilliant back there, Hermione, bloody brilliant,” Harry said, his face strained but voice bright.
“Thanks, “ she said, only half paying attention to Harry. Her mind was wholly occupied with that voice.
Her hands recounted the same dreamless sleep potion thrice.
The voice was unlike anyone she had ever heard before, cool and calm with a timbre that echoed through every surface of her mind. She couldn’t say who it belonged to for certain, but she had her suspicions.
Something must have cracked in her defenses while she was occupied with the external threats. A piece of Voldemort's soul had made itself wholly known. Realization dawned on her. In the presence of the locket, Hermione‘s thoughts—something that she held above all else- were no longer her own. The feeling was repulsive, invasive.
“Hermione, are you paying attention?” Harry asked.
“What? Oh, sorry, Harry. I’m just in a bit of shock after all of this.” “I think I need to light the cauldron for Ron’s replenishing potion. “
Harry opened his mouth. Closed it and then opened it again. “You sure you’re all right, Hermione?”
“I‘m fine.”
The answer came too quickly.
Harry nodded. He put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. He knew that this was all a lot, the constant threat of danger, the nights and nights of empty bellies, but what choice did they have?
—--------------------------------------------
With the help of a blood replenishing potion, Ronald made it through the night. The three were recovering in the tent, not daring to step outside of Hermione’s wards.
Harry had made a game of catching and releasing the slow-moving Snitch left to him by Dumbledore. Ron convalesced in his cot. He was doing a sight better, as he made a point of listing all of his mum’s cooking out loud in order from good to to die for while munching on a bag of Muggle crisps that Hermione had packed in her little beaded bag.
“Mum’s kidney pie is good, but not quite as good as her Sunday roast—oh, but my favorite is a good ‘ol cottage pie. I can just taste the mince and buttery potatoes.” He said, in a blissful reverie as he crunched his thirtieth crisp. “Oh, why did I ever take her food for granted. Harry, when we have found all of the Horcruxes and Hallows, mum will cook us up a feast to celebrate!”
“Sounds good, Mate.” Harry smiled. With no siblings or parents, the Weasleys had pretty much become Harry’s family.
Hermione realized that she was in the same boat as Harry. Her parents are oblivious. No siblings to speak of. All she had in the world was her two best friends and a cause that she believed in more than anything else—that all types of wizardkind deserved to exist. Not just purebloods.
Hermionie sat with the locket cold around her neck as she pored over Medical Maladies. She had done well with Ronald, but she could be better. There may come a time when she would need to cast faster; healing spells needed to be rote.
She read by the light of her little ball of rotating fire.
“Impressive,” the voice whispered.
Her interest piqued, but she ignored the voice, choosing instead to drown him out with thoughts of poultices and the recipe for her own Skele-grow potion.
“You have such control over that fire, I must admit, I’ve not seen that spell, “ it said, slowly, intrigued.
“I created it—, “ she thought absently.
There was a pause.
Her breath hitched, and her head snapped up. She realized her mistake. She was conversing with it, the voice.
“Very impressive, my dear.” It cooed. “You’re very skilled with fire.” The voice was cool, calm, a silken stream running through the anxious crevices of her mind.
“Th-thanks.”
Shut up, she thought. Don’t respond to it, Hermione. You don’t know what will happen if you converse with it.
The voice from the locket paid her no mind.
“ calm under pressure. Resilient.”
“Stop!” she shouted in her mind a little bit more loudly.
“ With skills in healing.”
The little ball of fire went out as Hermione clamped her hands over her ears. His voice did not falter, though. It was inside her, not something she could muffle out.
“Perhaps in another life, you would be a phoenix.” He whispered, sibilant like a snake.
A small, sick part of herself puffed up at the praise. Her friends never really noticed.
“Do they do anything—“ the voice whispered, “those other two, or do they just rely on you for every little bump in the road?”
Hermione did not respond to him, but it did not matter. The voice had struck a chord. Harry noticed when she solved a problem, Ron noticed when she saved the day, but neither ever seemed to notice how hard she worked to get there.
“Ahh, you like being needed,” it said. “I see it here. Inside your head. Lonely child, no friends. But exceedingly bright for her age.”
She winced.
“I was lonely too.” It whispered.
Her breath hitched. Enough. She slammed her book closed and took off the necklace that was beating like a heart. “I need a break from this.” She said aloud, holding the locket out and away from her like the thing would give her Dragon Pox.
“Give it here, “Mione,” Ron offered, extending his hand. “You’re doing a lot. I’m just lying here. I’ll take the stupid thing.”
—————————-
Ron dozed in and out of sleep. His mood turned sour as the length of time between meals increased.
Harry was at the stove, stirring a couple of packets of a Muggle food called ramen. What it lacked in nutrition, it made up for in taste and cost-effectiveness.
Ronald clenched his stomach, “Noodles again?”
“Crikey, what I wouldn’t do for one of Mum's meat pies right now.”
“Sorry, Ronald. Seeing as we have a finite amount of funds—.”
Ron threw up his hands. “Can’t you just transfigure a better meal, Hermione?”
“Have you forgotten Gamp’s Laws?’ She asked.
“Of course, I bloody have. I’m starving, and this is all seeming rather hopeless. We’ve been on the run for months and only have one bloody Horcrux to show for it,” he bit out, getting progressively more volatile.
It was like only his worst thoughts were coming through—
“That's not true, Ron,” Harry said. “Dumbledore destroyed the ring, and Gin and I destroyed Tom’s diary. We have the locket. Now we just need to find four more.”
“And all of those took ages! You two don’t have parents, but my family—My family could be killed! “ Ron all but yelled.
Hermione covered her mouth. She couldn’t believe he said it. It was the most viscous thing he could have said, and he struck at both her and Harry’s jugular.
“Uncool, mate!” Harry said, his defense rising. “ I don’t have parents, but why do you think I’m out here trying to end this all? For my family, that means you and Hermione and the Weasleys!”
Something shimmered in the tears threatening Hermione’s eye. A shimmering around Ron’s neck—The locket,
“Ronald, are you hearing things? “ she asked, dabbing her eyes, curiosity winning over.
“What? You think I’m a nutter, too?”
She walked over and grabbed the chain, pulling it over Ron’s head.
“I’ll take this for a little while, “ she said. “You need to rest and to get something to eat. “
It was like a dense cloud lifted from Ron. Where he had been pale, some color returned to his cheeks.
“Whoa, thanks, Hermione.” Ron mussed his hair.“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me. “
She sighed. “Dark magic, I’m afraid. Did it happen to say anything to you? The locket?”
“No.” Ron shook his head.“I just—” Ron dragged a hand over his face. “I don’t know. It was like… like I’d already lost. Like, there was no point to any of this.”
He swallowed. “Like you were all going to die anyway—even you, Hermione. “
“We don’t know what sort of dark incantations are on this locket, “ she said, slipping it over her neck. “We should rotate—wear it in shifts. “
The moment the chain settled over her skin, she heard a low laugh,
It was soft—close. Inside her.
“Clever, my dear.”
“ Stop!” the thought snapped through her mind like a spell.
“Why?” His voice purred. “We were just starting to have some fun.”
Her jaw tightened. “What do you want from me?” she bit out.
It paused, as if thinking–.
Then, in a soft, amused tenor, “What do you think I want? “ the voice purred out.
Hermione hesitated.
“I-information…”
“Ah…” the voice murmured. “There you are.”
Something in her chest tightened—not fear, but recognition.
The locket started the thrum again, a separate heartbeat pounding next to hers.
It was then that she realized. He knew, or at least this tiny part of him knew, what they had set out to do. Knew that they were hunting down pieces of his soul and destroying them piece by piece.
She took off the locket, slamming it into the little wooden table where it vibrated, almost like laughter.
“What the bloody hell has gotten into you?” Ron asked, in between massive slurpy bites of noodles.
“It’s just-“ Hermione looked down at the locket with distaste. “Rather intense.”
Harry walked over and picked up the necklace. “I’ll take this shift. You focus on finishing Ron’s potion. One of us should keep it on at all times— in case we need to make a run for it again. “
Hermione nodded, thankful that the cold metal wouldn't be around her neck and that voice wouldn’t be in her head.
“Yeah, maybe then we could figure out how to destroy it.” She offered haphazardly.
It was a mistake.
The locket was listening.
He was listening.
Suddenly, the chain tightened around Harry’s neck like a vice, strangling him.
Ron was on his feet in a flash, pulling at the chain with all of his might.
Harry’s hands were at his throat, trying to break loose.
Hermione mentally flipped through every spell she knew. She raised an arm, aiming for the necklace,” Relashio,” she cast, willing the chains to loosen. They didn’t.
Harry was gasping for air that wouldn’t come. His eyes bugged out. He was turning blue.
All of the trials she had helped him get through, QuIrrel in his first year, the department of Mysteries—she wasn’t going to let her best friend be taken down by a tacky piece of jewelry.
She walked up to Harry, touched the necklace, and asked in her mind, please stop.
There was a pause.
Ron looked at Hermione, incredulous, and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Please, let go.” She whispered.
And then inside her head, his voice returned—.
“Well, since you asked nicely. “
And the chain loosened.
Harry gasped for air, his skin going from blue to a normal color, as he hastily pulled the damned thing from around his neck.
Harry removed it from his neck, took a flower vase from the wooden table, and threw the Horcrux inside.
“If we are talking about —“
He drew a finger across his neck to signify destroying it.
“Then we need to make sure the bloody thing can’t hear us.
Hermione nodded and cast muffliato on the vase.
Ron was the first to try to pester it. “We’re going to destroy you, you noseless numpty!”
“Numpty?” Hermione looked up at Ron, unable to stop the giggle that escaped.
Ron’s ears turned a little red, but he laughed and shrugged, “sounded better in my head.”
When there was no movement from the locket, the silencing charm seemed to hold.
Harry’s eyes never left the vase as he rubbed his neck. “Right —“ he breathed. “New plan, when we talk about destroying it, it goes in here— otherwise, one of us is wearing it.”
They all nodded their heads in agreement.
————----------------------------
The trio sat at the little makeshift dining table, staring at the overturned vase. Harry slurped his noodles, while Hermione twirled and untwirled hers as if she agitated the broth enough, the answer would somehow make itself known.
“What do we know that has killed a Horcrux in the past?”Ron asked, shoving in his second helping of noodles.
“Dumbledore ?” Harry offered, his head in his hands.
“Right bit of help that is now. “Ron said, between bites of food.
It was on the tip of Hermione‘s tongue right there just beyond her grasp.
“What did you use in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry?” She asked, looking up from her broth.
“The basilisk fang.” he looked up suddenly, hope lighting up his features.
“It’s not like we have a bag of those lying around, is it? “ Ron asked, his demeanor brightening the more food he shoved into his face. .
“No,” Hermione pondered.
“No, it's not. “ She said balefully.
“What about The Sword of Gryffendor?” Hermione postulated. “It’s Goblin Made, so it—.”
“Takes on what makes it stronger! “ Harry finished, real hope brightening his eyes for the first time in ages.
“That’s right, Harry! “ Hermione smiled!
But before they could jump up and down and dance in circles, Ron interjected.
“One problem.”
Harry and Hermione looked towards Ron in unison.
“I don’t see any bloody great swords lying around either. “
Just like that, optimism burst like a bubble.
Hermione’s eyes shot to the vase, holding the necklace. She almost thought she saw it move—as if it were listening.
But that was crazy.
The thing was giving her the creeps. Listening to her thoughts, strangling her friends. She wanted it gone. Wanted to be rid of it and moving on to Horcrux number five… whatever that might be.
What she wouldn’t give to have her hands on Gryffendor's sword.
But how—.
Then she had a thought. It was crazy. Simple even. But there was no harm in trying.
“We are in need of the sword.” She whispered to no one in particular.
“Yeah, but it’s not like it will just appear,” Ron said.
But the thing was, it just might.
Hermione closed her eyes this time—focusing on what she needed the sword for. “We are in need of the sword.” She said, a little more loudly.
“‘Mione, obviously. “ Harry said, looking at her with questioning eyebrows.
“We need the sword.” She said again, louder this time. More confident. More resolute.
The vase containing Tom Riddle’s Horcrux began to vibrate on the table.
Excellent. She allowed herself a quick thought.
Harry and Ron’s eyes shot to the shaking vase. Ron’s eyes opened wide as he whispered: “‘mione?” Harry raised his wand, aiming it at the vibrating vase, and joined in with her.
“We are in need of the sword,” Harry shouted in unison with Hermione.
The vase shook faster.
Ron looked from one Friend to the other and joined in.
“We need the sword, “ they chanted.
Once, twice, three times.
A wind began to pick up in the tent. It started as a breeze, lifting napkins, shuffling Hermione’s papers, but the wind picked up faster. Hermione’s curls were flapping on her face. The vase began to wobble. The tent had become a maelstrom.
The three clasped hands and shouted one final time in unison.
“We are in need of the sword! “
The Vase cracked, and the locket was standing upright, spinning. Harry kept a wand trained on it, Ron rolled up his sleeves, ready to pounce, and Hermione felt a new weight drop into her purse.
Bingo.
This was it.
It worked.
She reached inside and felt the unmistakable jeweled hilt of the sword of Gryffendor.
Warmth spread across her chest. Things had been going so wrong, but one thing had never failed her, and was still not failing her---books. "The Sword of Gryffindor is a 1,000-year-old, goblin-forged magical blade commissioned by Hogwarts founder Godric Gryffindor. Crafted from pure silver and inset with rubies, it possesses the unique ability to present itself to any worthy Gryffindor in times of need." ~Hogwarts, A History pg.. 589.
“The sword appears to any worthy Gryffindor in need.” She tightened her fingers around the hilt.
But something stopped her. A voice, his voice.
Very clever.
It will be a shame to watch you die, Hermione.
There was a clang to the floor as she dropped the sword at the sound of her name from his voice.