Hermione shivered under the cold red eyes of Lord Voldemort, wishing the monster would say something, anything. Instead, he simply stood outside her jail cell bars, studying her, his hands behind his back. His snake-like nostril slits pulsated gently.
She backed herself up against the stone wall, trying to stop herself from crying. Harry wouldn't cry.
"Mudblood." He greeted. There was no anger or derision in his voice. It was like he thought the slur was her name.
"I have a name—"
"Where is your bond?" His skull-face tilted down, his unnaturally long fingers entwining around the metal bars.
"B-bond? What are you talking about?"
"Foolishness!" Voldemort slammed the bars. Hermione flinched. He paced up and down the damp corridor, walking from cell to cell, though they were all empty. "What worth have you?"
She stayed silent. He really was a mad man. He was muttering to himself, spitting, his eyes glowing red. Finally, he pressed himself against the cell bars and leaned his head in, the metal parting without a word, so he could crane his skeletal top half through.
Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from whimpering, her hands around her knees, backing up as far as she could against the grimy stone wall. Her cell was small, just a bed and a bucket and the torture of the rhythm of water dripping down from above.
Voldemort hissed, his breath washing against her face. He was frightening. How did Harry fight against him again and again? His chalk-white skin taught against angular bones, a man made into a monster.
"You don't know what he's done, do you?"
Hermione took a deep breath. Harry was brave enough to fight against him — and, up close, she could see the wounds that her best friend had inflicted. Voldemort could bleed. "I know he hurt you." She declared, looking at the monster's shoulder. "He can do that, even when he doesn't mean to."
Voldemort just laughed, following her gaze. "This?" He rumbled. "Nothing compared to my power. How do you not know? Why did he not take you? Is your beauty really so faltering?"
"What on earth are you—"
The Dark Lord tutted in disappointment. "What will you think of your beloved Harry Potter when you realize how your idol has fallen? What he's done to force those to love him. Such a lonely boy. But not lonely enough to spend any time with his loyal mudblood friend, to force her to love him as he forces the others."
Hermione clenched her fists, trying to regulate her breathing. As if anything this man could say would turn her from Harry's side, where she'd always been, where she'd always be. "I don't care about what you do and I don't care about what he's done."
The Dark Lord slithered away. "I am always surprised by the hypocrisy of the Light. Such outrage about my actions, yet always willing to look the other way to the power plays of their idols. Dumbledore claims every title of every organization. Bones enforces laws when they suit her. And Harry Potter…raping minds and hearts, bonding lovers to him, using magic to create love where none exists."
Hermione stared at him resolutely, even as she trembled. "Then I don't need to worry. I've always loved him."
The Dark Lord hissed with amusement, even as his frame distorted in odd angles as he withdrew from her cell. He didn't look back at her, but his whispered words resounded around her cell. "We shall see if he holds any such affection for you, when I make my demands on him. Will he submit himself? Will he besmirch the name of Amelia Bones? Will he trade his bonded for you?"
"Harry will never negotiate with you—"
"Ah, but he already has." Voldemort looked back at the doorway. "I gave him the choice of the Bones niece or you. And, your dear beloved, guess who he chose to save?"
The Dark Lord's raspy laugh echoed around the stone corridors as he disappeared.
Hermione was left alone, cold and afraid.
She missed Harry, so badly that it felt like her heart was hurting, like a leash was wrapped around her beating organ and being tugged away.
As the minutes turned into hours, hours left alone with the cold rhythm drip of water, she thought of him.
Thought on how he'd changed. They'd both been playing games. He, enjoying his domination, exploring his sexuality, free to experiment with her, who could only pretend to refuse that she would do anything he liked, for she loved him so.
And she, exploring her own burgeoning sexuality, the depths of her submission, wondering how she could champion the strength of women everywhere and still be so beholden to his touch. She'd denied him if only to see him coat her in affection and gifts and most precious of all, his time. She'd let him toy with her only to enjoy the feeling of playing with her best friend, a school playground switched for an intimate bed.
But, even though he'd changed, even though he slept with girls unknown and took liberties with her love, she could still see the boy beneath.
Harry, who'd befriended her, defended her, loved and laughed with her. The boy she'd stepped into the world of magic with. The special boy that smiled a special smile for her and her alone.
The liberties he took didn't matter, then. Because he could slip his cock between her thighs while he slept, cup her breasts in his dozy state, wrapped himself in her warmth. And she was sure he did that to the other girls too. But when he woke, when he brushed the hair from her eyes, he smiled at her.
And that smile was one she recognized, one her father had given her mother in happier times. One of her first memories, clacking two toy bricks together and seeing her parents smile at each other. It was a smile of love.
She was afraid and alone.
But not for long — she knew, beyond any seed of doubt the Dark Lord had planted, that he was coming for her.
He always did.
He always would.
That was a bond beyond magic.
###
The stone gargoyle turned aside. Harry entered the Headmaster's office to find him choking, steam pouring from his ears. The old man spluttered, one hand on his bookcase.
"Professor?" Harry said in alarm.
"Oh, n-not to worry." Dumbledore coughed. He showed the empty vial in his hand. Pepper-Up Potion.
"Is that wise, sir? At…err—"
"My age?" Dumbledore said wryly. He set the vial down. "Kind of you to be concerned, Harry, but set your worries aside. I am quite able, still."
Harry looked around the office. The trinkets were playing a low-volume rhythm of chimes and vibrations on his desk. Fawkes chirped, golden beak gleaming, beady black eyes taking Harry in. Outside his window, an entire row of twenty owls perched on a wooden pole, hooting impatiently as the falling snowflakes coated them white, as it had the castle grounds.
"Snowed under?" He asked.
Dumbledore sighed. "When a tragedy occurs, it is surreal and unexpected, as unpredictable as any of Misters Fred and George's delightful inventions. But in the aftermath, as I'm sure you well know, the rage that follows is the same every time. Questions that need answers and all demand their pound of flesh."
"How could you let this happen?" Harry said quietly.
"Yes, along those lines." Dumbledore said softly. "Though I'm sure you may have many a quarrel with me, I do hope you're not here to join the baying crowd, Harry." He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Harry took him in for a long moment. He'd never seen the Headmaster look so tired. Old. Frail.
"To be honest, Professor, I thought you'd be the one with questions and quarrels." He said, holding his fingers out for Fawkes to nip at. Was he still good enough at heart for the phoenix?
The bird nipped at his skin. Sharp, but not enough to draw blood.
"What quarrel can I have?" The Headmaster sighed. "You saved the students where I could not. You stood against Tom's madness. I can — and do — question how the boy became a man, but I am only sad to see your childhood stolen, to see you grow so quick."
"I am not the Harry you wanted me to be, I know." Harry said, thinking back to the disappointment on Dumbledore's face when he'd ran Umbridge out of the castle.
Dumbledore's smile was wan. "I am not your mother or father, Harry. I am proud when I see you, but it is unearned, it is not my place. And so, any disappointment in turn, is not my place. All I know is James and Lily would be overjoyed to see you stand against the evil they fought against."
Harry studied him. "Thank you, Headmaster."
"Thank you, Harry. For being there when I could not. The students of Hogwarts are the children I never had. I could not bear to see them fall."
"On that note…" Harry led.
"Miss Granger."
"And?"
Dumbledore looked troubled. "We're doing all we can to retrieve her."
Harry looked at the mass of parchment on the man's desk and raised his brow. "Are you?"
The Headmaster's face flashed for a moment. "Harry. Miss Munbridge suffers from a rare Thai curse, one that needs three possibly extinct flowers found. Miss Turpin needs a heart transplant within twenty four hours, one that St Mungos requests my assistance with." Dumbledore took a sharp sip of tea.
"Mister Coote is getting a constant stream of Professor Snape's potions fed down him twenty hours of the day, leaving Severus only four hours to brew the next day's batch, which means I need to find two expert Potions Masters in the next day, one to brew more healing potions, another to teach the classes. And that is without mentioning the funerals, the political incident committees, the parents demanding meetings—" The Headmaster broke off into an exhausted sigh.
"I understand, Professor." Harry said gently. Hermione would be left behind, the girl that none could find, taken by the man that none could fight.
"I have a duty of care to all my students, Harry." Dumbledore looked to the ceiling. "I have people I trust looking for Miss Granger. I will do all that is in my power. I'm sorry, I know this is hard—"
"Don't be sorry." Harry said suddenly. "I'm glad to hear it. We'll wait and see—"
"My boy, please don't do anything reckless, we cannot afford—"
"It's fine, Professor." Harry held the door. "I'll wait to see if she turns up in the post."
"Harry—"
But Harry was already gone, jogging down the steps from the Headmaster's office. His blood was boiling, but it wasn't anger. Dumbledore had made his position clear, which made Harry's path even clearer.
It was up to him.
And his sidekicks.
At the bottom of the stairs, they waited with hopeful faces.
Ron. Ernie. Dean. Seamus. Neville.
"He's not going to help." Harry said shortly. "Busy with the other hurt students, the parents and the politics."
"But—" Neville frowned.
"It's fine. We'll do it ourselves." Harry cut him off, flexing his fingers as the adrenaline began building up. "Ron, the twins?"
Ron grimaced. "Getting attacked by a thousand customers for Defense items, apparently. The battle was good for business. The article on your duel, Harry, it had a line about their involvement. But I'm sure they'd be willing—"
"Forget it." Harry decided, looking around at the boys. "There's enough of us. We want to keep our numbers low. We'll need to do this quietly. Everyone still in?"
The boys chorused their agreement.
"We got the Pepper-Up and some Healing potions." Dean said cheerfully. "Couldn't get much, his storeroom is almost empty."
"Ernie and I stole some brooms from the broomshed." Ron said.
"School brooms?" Harry frowned.
Ernie sniggered. "Nope. Took the Slytherin's brooms — we should be pretty quick."
"Good work." Harry praised. "Do a final round-up. We leave in twenty minutes. Neville, tear up the greenhouse, get the dangerous stuff. Ron, get some bites from the kitchen, you don't fight on an empty stomach. If anyone had the bright idea of to leave a note on where we're going, go and destroy it."
Seamus looked guilty.
"We don't want any evidence of where we went or what we did. It's not going to be pretty." Harry said. He clapped Ernie's shoulder and held it firmly. "And today's the day when Ernie kills his first Death Eater?"
"It is?" Ernie coughed. "I mean, it is." He took a deep breath.
"Meet at the Room in twenty. I'll get us a Portkey."
They dispersed, leaving Harry alone. He took his own deep breaths, discarding the moment of self doubt. Hermione was waiting.
There was no room for second guessing.
###
An hour later and Harry knew who he wanted to claim as the newest member of his harem.
A Potions Mistress, some expert who could keep him imbibed on all the great effects that they could brew.
Spells could replace some of it — warmth and eyesight improvement, but potions were much better for holding focus, removing anxiety.
Felix Felicis would be nice, too, Harry thought.
Flying above Torquay as the moon rose, their eyes struggled to make out much through the darkness. The town itself was easy enough, the buildings lit yellow, blocky stars in the night canvas. But on the harbor, the water was just inky waves of wriggling liquid, splashing against the large harbour and the wobbling array of small boats anchored.
They'd split up at first, canvassing the area on their broomsticks. But Harry quickly realized that he needed to be the one that flew around the town, because he held his own pendant and searched for the flicker of joined magic that would be Hermione's own. He'd brought the boys back and they followed silently as he swept over Torquay.
And finding nothing, even at the former address of Malfoy's carpet rug shop, they expanded to the rolling hills around Torquay, the acres of Devon's countryside. To their dismay, the coast was covered by a thick fog, so dense that they had to fly closely together so as not to lose one another. Worse, the light drizzle of rain was now thick, a torrent that soaked them, clothes heavy and waterlogged.
"Harry!" Seamus shouted through the whistling winds. "My knackers are colder than me mam's nipples."
"Keep going!" Harry yelled in reply. "Use a spell!"
"I did but the chill is in my bones!" He shivered.
Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn't deny the cold.
Warming spells could only do so much and the winter night was bitter.
But, north of Great Hill, Torquay's highest hill, Harry finally felt something.
Or rather, the lack of something.
The magic in the soil, an ambient thrum, disappeared as they flew over it.
A ward.
And, if he gripped it tight, the slightest warmth in his pendant.
"Down there!" Harry gestured the others and sent his broom into a dangerous dive. The sharp wind howled, buffeting his robes as he careered downward, but even as he grew colder, his pendant warmed.
Hermione.
Below, appearing out of the fog, there was a castle. It was not a castle of towers and spires, like Hogwarts, but an old Norman motte and bailey castle. The motte — or mound — was a high grassy hill stretching steeply into the sky, the trenches around it filled with dirty rain water, a pseudo-moat that replicated the real moat that would have been here, a thousand years ago. And the bailey, the fortified walls, were huge stone walls built into an almost perfect circle, on the mound's top, stretching off into walls etching down the hill. Inside those circular walls, it was a grassy courtyard with little outhouses.
Once, this castle could have been used by William the Conquerer, huge walls protecting a keep inside. Now, it was in a state of disrepair, rubble fallen onto the grassy courtyard.
And not a sign of anyone. But Harry could feel her.
Inside the mound.
The Death Eaters had dug inside the motte hill and used the old Norman fortifications as protection from any attacks. Some wards to keep the Muggles away, and few would bother with the falling apart castle, far in the countryside.
Harry could feel the ward as he hovered in the air, evaluating the castle. Something to keep those that weren't meant to be away, something they could push through.
He could attack them head on. He wanted to, wanted to rescue his Mione as soon as possible. But then the place would be flooded with Death Eaters. Voldemort, even.
No.
Each motte and bailey castle used the trenches around the hill as a moat, with a drawbridge and all. The water in those trenches could be a way into the mound.
"Look! Lights." Ernie pointed.
Sure enough, in the courtyard on the hill, there was a fireplace pouring smoke into the sky. Death Eaters patrolling the top — that was another way in.
And on the other side of the hill, if they used gouging spells to carve through the earth, perhaps…
Three different ways in.
"What's the plan?" Ron breathed heavily, wiping his forehead. He pulled a Cauldron Cake from his pocket and bit into it.
"Let me think, first. Good thing I made you bring snacks, huh?" Harry smirked.
"Is she down there?" Neville peered down at the fortification, adjusting his backpack — swaying tentacles were peering from the bags top, plants that he alone controlled. He slapped the tentacle and it retreated with an audible groan.
"I can feel her."
"I am fucking freezing." Seamus announced. "Think they'll let me borrow their fire to warm me nads?"
"We'll ask 'em nicely." Dean grinned, swiping his wet hair out of his eyes.
"Alright," Harry decided. "Listen, up boys. We're going to split up, because I don't know what's down there and we need to move fast, because we can't risk 'em getting reinforcements. Three teams. First up, Ron and Ernie. Ron, I need you to act like the world's biggest idiot."
Ron swallowed the last of his Cauldron Cake, crumbs spilling from his lips. "Harry, mate, one day I want to be the hero in the fairytale."
"Deal. But not today." Harry agreed.
"Don't worry bro, you were born for this." Dean told him.
Ron flipped him off.
Harry drew his wand and made patterns in the sky. And as his wand drew, the air turned into red flames, pointing them to where they needed to go.
"Good luck." Harry told them softly. "Don't worry, I'll be watching."
###
Michael Murray shivered, inching closer to the fireplace. Above them, a thin polyester canopy, like fabric torn from a tent, covered them from most of the rain, while spells did the rest. The fire danced and billowed in the wind, occasionally threatening to light up their robes. But it was better up here than down below, where the damp darkness was cold and soul-sucking.
"Better to stay away from that psycho Brooks, huh?" Chambers said, sipping from his beer.
"Least we can drink up here, don't matter how fuckin' cold it is." A blonde man said — Griffin, Murray thought his name was.
Murray took a gulp of his own beer, letting it warm him. Brooks was a psycho, an ex-Auror who insisted on keeping his own band of Death Eaters held to the same strict regimen. No smoking, no alcohol, no fun. Just endless wandwork and exercise.
That wasn't what he'd signed up for.
Freedom. That was the dream.
Freedom from the Ministry and their rules. No messing with Muggle artifacts, every earning taxed to high heaven, every half-interesting magic book censored and hidden away. Murray had made a living experimenting with Muggle objects, imbuing them with runes and selling them on, until that too was made illegal.
Toasters that had a mind of their own, browning bread perfectly without being touched. Irons that lived in the cupboard and uncreased all the clothes you stored in there, cars that drove themselves, houses with heart.
The Ministry ruined everything.
And the Death Eaters promised freedom.
This, too, wasn't what he'd signed up for, shivering in the winter night and 'guarding' the top of the underground keep. But he always knew he had to pay his dues.
The flames were burning his eyes. He closed them and still saw orange, so instead he looked away, focusing on the inky hues of the night. The dancing shadows.
But one of the shadows grew closer.
"W-who the fuck is that?" Murray muttered.
"How many beers we got left?" Griffin sighed.
"I think West has got a stash under his bed." Someone said.
"Guys, who the fuck is that?" Murray said louder, watching the shadow form into a human.
"Hoggy Warty Hogwarts—" The man sang, his voice carrying to them by the howling winds. Murray blinked and realized the man was completely naked.
They stumbled to their feet, slowly brandishing wands.
"Teach us something please!" He crooned, swaying from side to side. A drunken fool, pale and ginger-haired, his dick shrunken from the biting cold. His skin was blue. How long had he been out there?
"Who the fuck is this joker?" Griffin snorted.
"Whether we be old and bald, or young with scabby knees." The drunk sang, stumbling closer. Someone throw out a blue spell, but it sailed harmlessly past the drunk.
"How'd he get through the wards?" Murray frowned.
"Never mind that, how'd he get up the hill?" One of them laughed.
"L-lads!" The ginger man hiccuped. "Spare us a drink?"
"Fuck off, buddy."
The drunk pointed an angry finger. "How v-very dare you. Don't you know what I have?" He patted himself down.
"Murray, go and deal with the idiot." Griffin sighed as he poked the fire.
"Why should I?" He growled.
"Cos you're the new guy. Now hop to it before he brings Brooks up here."
Murray swore and stood, brushing off the dirt from his knees. He walked closer to the ginger fool, whose face was still cast in shadows, his feet sinking into the soil.
"I think you lost your wand, fella." Murray felt his magic shoot down his arm and into his wand. It would be good to have an excuse to hurt something, to cast aside the boredom. "How about you fuck off before you lose something else?"
The drunk giggled. "I have something better than a wand?"
"Yeah?"
He leaned forward and tapped his nose conspiratorially. "I have Harry Potter."
Murray laughed, more from surprise than anything else. But the fool's eyes were large, looking past him, and despite himself, Murray turned slowly.
He saw madness, behind him, an illusion. The fire had grown into a whipping flaming statue, one that held a Death Eater like a mother did her child, only the statue roasted his flesh red.
To the fire's side, Griffin stared at him with wide eyes and dropped to his knees on the grass — and above the waist, he just kept dropping, scissored in half.
And Chambers lay on the ground, slowly being enveloped by the earth, like it had opened up and sucked him in, a mouth in the very ground.
Murray blinked and the man was gone, like he was never there.
"I—" Murray gasped. He turned to see the naked ginger man rubbing his arms.
"I'm not sure he's my size, Harry." The man said, incomprehensibly.
"I surren—"
"It's too late." A silky voice whispered into his ear.
Murray never saw his end, but he felt it, sinking into the foamy soil beneath him, like he was being devoured by Mother Earth herself.
###
Neville swam, kicking his legs. The slimy, rubbery taste of gillyweed still felt like it was in his throat, choking him, but it worked nonetheless. Once more, he felt a tinge of admiration for Harry, who'd done this, for the first time, under the pressure of all the eyes at the Second Task.
But Harry bloomed under pressure.
Neville just wilted.
But not tonight. Tonight, his friends were counting on him. Hermione was counting on him.
Harry was counting on him.
The water was freezing and if he stopped swimming, he thought he'd just freeze to death, but it parted for him, for his webbed hands, hands that looked green in the light of the dirty of water. His backpack felt like it weighed three tons in the water, but it carried the most dangerous plants he could find.
His flipper-feet shot him through the water, and there it was, just like Harry said.
A grate for the rainwater-filled moat, for the water and waste of the castle to be expelled. It had descended below the water line because of the heavy rain.
Neville grinned. He could do this.
He fumbled for his wand and took aim at the grates.
"Bombarda!" He shouted, but only bubbles sprayed for his mouth. From his wand, a jet of boiled water simply washed through the grate.
His resulting swearword emanated even more bubbles. He had to get closer.
Neville swam to the grates hinges and instead used a localized Cutting Charm, just like Harry had taught them, like a blade of magic on the edge of his wand, carefully cutting the grate until he could pull it open.
Hopefully he wasn't running late. Harry said he'd meet him inside, when he was ready, but Neville wasn't sure if that meant when Neville was ready or when Harry was ready.
Because Neville was never really ready…he shook his head.
Onwards.
He wanted to show Harry that he could be trusted. Harry wasn't the only one who wanted to spill Death Eater blood.
Up through the tunnel, a slimy grimy affair with a stench that filled his lungs. For a moment, he had to wait for the gillyweed to dissipate, wait for his flippers to turn to feet, for his gills to turn back to skin, but he'd measured the right amount. Neville might not know much, but he knew his plants.
Out of the water tunnel, he found himself in a dark stone castle, stone walls caked in mud, moss growing among the cracks, and the only sound was the constant dripping noise from the walls itself.
The keep under the mound was so earthy and damp, it seemed like it was going to cave in at any moment. Old stone walls were reinforced with new wooden lumber to hold them up, and Neville wondered if magic was involved too. Probably.
Neville crept forward, feeling a little excitement mix in with his nerves, wand at the ready.
Something light at the end of a corridor. A torch sticking out from the wall, illuminating two Death Eaters, facing away.
"Does he come often?"
"Our Lord? Barely ever. He doesn't like to mix with the prisoners."
"Doesn't like the stench, you mean."
"One or the other. More likely, we'll be asked to clean a prisoner up, bring them to one of the circle. Malfoy, Lestrange, you know?"
"For interrogation?"
The other man shrugged. "More like playtime. I've been asked to bring some people to that crazy bitch Bellatrix and I don't think she had any questions in mind."
"She's a freak."
"You know it man, but best not say it. I've seen what she's done to those that even look at the wrong way."
Neville took a deep breath. This was his chance. An image of his parents in the hospital flashed through his mind. These Death Eaters, they'd reduced his parents to vegetables. They made Granny cry at night, behind her bedroom doors, when she thought he wasn't listening.
He'd have his revenge.
The stone wall to his left bubbled, like gray water. The bubble turned into a shape protruding from the stone. And from that shape, Harry Potter strode through, calmly, as if he was emerging from the bath. He was covered in blood, but he was smiling.
"Alright, Nev?" He greeted casually.
"Harry!" Neville hissed, gesturing at the two Death Eaters.
Harry nodded and tugged him forward, knee-walking closer. "You take left, I take right?" He muttered.
Neville swallowed and nodded agreement.
"On your go." The black-haired boy told him. He seemed quite at ease, like he wasn't dosed head to toe in dripping blood.
Neville gripped his trembling arm with his other hand, holding his aim tightly.
"Don't lock up, nice and easy." Harry whispered.
He tried to do as Harry said, tried to relax himself, but all he could see was the face of Bellatrix Lestrange, the laughing mocking face he'd seen in Hogsmeade. How he hated her.
"Bombarda!" He yelled. His wand bucked and a black light shot forward like a torrent. The Death Eater exploded, like a bomb in his torso, organs and bloods coating the castle walls.
The man next to him died with Harry's simple muttered spell — a little hole in his chest.
"Nev, what the fuck?" Harry wiped some of the newly splattered blood from his face.
Neville gaped, his eyes wide, sweat dripping from his forehead, face hot. "D-did I do that? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He babbled.
The handsome teenager snorted. "I'm just kidding man, I loved it. Nice work."
Neville stared uncomprehendingly. "Really?"
Harry shrugged. "Sure, man. We wanted him dead, he's definitely dead."
"B-but—"
"I mean, his family isn't getting an open grave, that's for sure." Harry nudged something squidgy with his foot.
"I think I'm going to throw up." Neville held his mouth.
"It's fine, mate. First time's always rough." Harry patted his back as Neville coughed up bile onto the stone floor. "Good thing we aren't the castle cleaners, am I right?"
"Guh—" Neville wiped his lips.
"Think you may have overpowered it a little. You seem backed up." Harry frowned at him. "Come on, let's move." The boy led the way through the shower of guts. "Do you masturbate?"
"W-what?" Neville must have misheard, he thought. He fingered his ear and pulled out something red and fleshy.
"Do you beat your Bludger?" Harry looked back over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. "Y'know? Shoot your Patronus? Polish your wand? Umm—"
"Yes, okay." Neville said hotly. "Alright, yes. Sometimes."
"Good." Harry nodded thoughtfully as they explored the damp corridors. The stone corridors were turning warmer — torches on the wall, paintings, suits of armor. Carpet below instead of cold stone. "How many times?"
"W-what?"
"Like, how many times a week are you jerking the dragon?"
"O-once a week?" Neville ventured. What was the right answer?
Harry tutted. "Those are Hufflepuff numbers. You need to be squeezing the sap from your Mimbulus mimbletonia like once a day, Nev. Your magic isn't getting regulated enough, it's building up and fucking with your control. Got it?"
"O-okay." Neville fretted, trying to keep up with Harry's long strides. "How much are you, y'know?"
"Like three times a day, sometimes more." Harry hesitated. "But I have help, so that's not a fair comparison."
"Help?"
Harry stopped suddenly. Neville ran into his back. The boy pushed his glasses up his nose. "I need to go." Harry said. "Dean and Seamus need some help."
"How can you tell—"
"Just keep going forward and see if you can find Hermione. Make a ruckus if you do." Harry patted him on the shoulder, smiled at him and then walked into a painting on the wall.
Neville gaped. For a moment, the oil painting bubbled and then Harry was gone.
"How the fuck does he do that?" Neville allowed himself a minor curse. He checked over his shoulder to make sure Granny wasn't around, shook his head, and then continued, wand in hand. "Maybe I should jerk off more."
###
Dean grimaced, picking out mud and dirt from his hair. Harry had been right about where he, Seamus and Ernie needed to use their Gouging Spells. It had taken them five minutes of continued casting to gouge through the earthy mound, but once they'd spotted a hole, they'd been able to wriggle through the worms and dirt, finding themselves in a castle stairwell, narrow and steep.
At the bottom of it, a voice.
"Why do I always get the shit jobs?" A man muttered to himself. "As if anyone can find this fucking place."
Dean led the way down, pressing his hand against the painting on the wall for support. Inside the painting, a long-haired female knight stirred from atop the horse she rested on.
Dean felt Seamus' hand on his shoulder. They'd been friends for a long time. Dean knew what the Irish boy meant.
He nodded.
Three wands extended.
"Stupefy."
"Diffindo!"
"Confringo!"
Three beams of light hit the Death Eater — he was stunned, one shoulder exploded and the other sliced cleanly off.
The man collapsed to the floor, bleeding heavily.
"What the fuck?" Dean turned to the other boys.
Seamus was slack-jawed. "I thought we were just gonna stun him!"
"The fuck would we stun him for?" Ernie scowled. "We're here to kill 'em, remember?!"
"We're here to rescue Hermione." Seamus argued.
"Harry wouldn't have—"
"Shut the fuck up!" Dean urged, holding his hand up to stop their arguments. There were voices. Somebody had heard.
"Did you hear that?" A rich voice pondered. A woman. Footsteps, heels on the stone. "What the fuck — Brooks is dead, Brooks is dead!" She glanced up the stairs, at the three stricken boys.
"Protego!" Dean's quick shield blocked the woman's first spell, but she was quick to barrage.
"Avada—" Ernie tried, only he was left choking as one of woman's spells smashed into the stone stairwell, blowing brickdust into his throat.
"Stupefy!" Seamus tried — Dean could hear the panic in his voice.
The woman just laughed.
Dean scampered back, letting Seamus pull him by the shirt collar up the stairs, feeling weak in the knees.
"What do we do, what do we do?" Ernie chanted.
"Fuck the bitch up." Seamus throw another curse down the stairwell.
But Dean was watching the painting on the wall. The woman on the horse had disappeared. The painting was bubbling like it was made from acid, hissing and sparking. And as the Death Eater woman strode up the stairs, Harry Potter's long arms stretched around her neck and pulled her into the painting, into the wall, into the stone itself.
She gasped and buckled, limbs flailing, but Harry had his hand over her mouth. And when he emerged, covered in blood, he was smiling. The woman's feet were still sticking out from the wall — Harry stepped over them like they were an inconvenience.
"Alright, lads."
"Harry!" Seamus sighed in relief.
"You'll never guess what Neville did." The boy grinned, taking his glasses off to clean the blood splatter. "Not much on offer, tonight. Not exactly the cream of the crop, eh?"
"I couldn't kill her." Ernie scowled, hands on his head.
"That's okay. More to come. Ready?" Harry said, like he was inviting them on a walk.
"Where'd you come from?" Dean said, poking at the painting as Harry led them forward. The lady knight was cowering behind her horse.
"Oh, the keep is quite small, as the bird flies." Harry said, as if that made any sense at all. "Come on, she's close. More Death Eaters up ahead, wands at the ready."
"Can I—can I try something?" Dean ventured. "I've been working on something after DA meetings."
Harry did a double take. "Please do."
Dean shook the nerves from his fingers.
"Get 'em, mate." Seamus encouraged.
"Obtestor Periculum." Dean muttered, concentrating on the shape in his head. From his wand grew and then bounced a real football, just like the ones he'd kicked around with his half-siblings, like the ones from the West Ham matches.
"Interesting." Harry murmured, a light in his eyes. Dean kicked the ball ahead nervously as they neared the torch-light of the Death Eaters, just around the corner niche. He stopped and touched his wand to the black and white ball. "Inchoare."
"Come on, Dean."
He reared his foot back and smashed the ball forward, watching it bounce off the wall and onto the Death Eaters.
"What the—"
The ball exploded and he watched as the floor was coated with little…clothespins. The Death Eaters growled. "What fuckery is this?" One of them shouted, before a nasty blue curse spat down the corridor, sizzling with malevolent intent. Harry blocked it with a golden shield, patting Dean's shoulder.
"I liked the idea a lot. Smart. You've really taken on board one of the key rules of fighting — not every weapon is a wand." Harry consoled.
Dean hung his head. "It was meant to be, like, sharp needles that jabbed into their throats."
"Ah, okay." Harry nodded. "Let's try. When you're doing conjuration inside another conjuration, you probably don't want to do it simultaneously. First make the ball — Obtestor. Now you have the ball, you can add the danger inside. Let's try something more threatening. Maybe what we practiced in the last DA? Let's chain Serpensortia to conjure the snakes and Oppugno to make them attack." Harry muttered.
He looked up at Dean, kneeling on the ground, while his shield held up against the Death Eater's barrage of spells.
"What did you do, a timing rune?" Harry asked.
"Y-yeah." Dean said nervously, feeling the shield hiss and fizzle.
"That's good. I think, for more projectile power, add a spell-rune for Depulso, to get that banishment." Harry drew the rune on the ball. "Inchoare. Now, kick it." He laid it steady for Dean, who smacked it down the corridor.
The ball exploded into snakes, thick long hissing snakes that shot onto the Death Eaters, their fangs snapping away. One of the masked men was immediately engulfed by a serpent's jaw.
Harry watched, oohing and ahing as the men were devoured. "That was inventive." He praised Dean. "Well done, mate."
"You are really scary, bro." Dean shivered.
"I fookin' hate snakes." Seamus agreed.
"Thank you." Harry said modestly, apparently not grasping that it wasn't quite a compliment.
Ernie pushed through Dean and Seamus. "Let me at the next one, I have to be able to do this." The stout-looking boy insisted.
But there was no next one. The next shadow in the corridor turned out to be an anxious Ron, who Harry had left at the keep's outside entrance, and the next figure after that was a blood-splattered and trembling Neville.
"Everyone okay?" Harry asked.
"Yes." They said with varying degrees of confidence.
"Neville got his first real kill." Harry said proudly.
Neville flushed, trembling.
"One day, Nev." Harry put his hand on the pudgy boy's shoulder. "The Death Eaters will fear your name just as they fear mine."
The boy nodded nervously and for a moment, all six boys were silent and somber.
Dean knew his job in the group. "Yeah, they'll fear the day they've got to duel the guy who does their gardening." He quipped.
The group cracked up into chuckles.
"Bugger off, Dean." Neville laughed.
"Maybe you can breach out and do pools as well, be the poolboy who seduces the pureblood housewives." Seamus joked.
"Those pureblood housewives are pretty dangerous." Harry said sagely.
Ron snorted. "As if you'd know."
"I want my first kill." Sparks flew from Ernie's wand.
"Soon." Harry promised. "But I don't want you running ahead and getting us all killed. Ron, you've got the lead, let's see what you've got."
The ginger boy nodded sharply, wand up. But as he led the group forward, his shoulders tense, his wand hand shaking, Dean knew how to set him at ease. One last jab.
"Is it true the Death Eaters killed themselves after they saw you starkers, Ronnie?"
"Fuck you, Dean." The youngest Weasley boy cursed him. He threw his shoulders up and stalked forward with more confidence.
As Harry passed Dean, he nodded at him, and Dean knew that he was recognized. He puffed his chest out, ready to go to war. Harry's words played again in his head. Not every weapon is a wand.
###
Ron's ears burned as they explored the castle keep, but he wouldn't take any offense. He'd had more than his fair share of adventures with Harry — and he could recognize bits of himself in the other boys. Trying to impress the Boy-Who-Lived, to prove that they could stand by his side, that they'd insisted on coming along as an asset, not as a hindrance.
To pretend that this was a fairytale about a ragtag group of heroes, not one about the hero and his knuckle-dragging childhood friends.
But Ron knew that Harry was born to be the hero. It rankled sometimes, but he could play the sidekick any day.
But there was the other truth in the back of his mind — in the fairytale, the hero always got the girl.
Whatever it took to bring Hermione back, Ron told himself. Let Harry take all the danger and all the credit. It didn't matter if he had to humiliate himself, naked in the cold of night, his bits almost shrinking back into his body. The result was what mattered.
And Harry always got results.
Ron followed the drip of water, taking left or rights depending on what Harry told him as he clutched his warming pendant. No more voices didn't mean no more Death Eaters, but it all seemed quiet.
And before long, they found the prison cells.
"Hermione!" Ron called out. Through the cell bars, Hermione sat, holding her knees, her head buried between them. For a moment, Ron feared the worst, but with two zags of his wand, Harry had seared through the bars and he was by her side.
"Hermione?" Ron heard the panicked undercurrent in Harry's voice, the first time it had replaced the calm confidence.
He tilted her chin up as she blinked open bleary eyes. "Harry." Hermione said softly. "What took you so long?" She was bruised and battered, but she looked okay.
Harry laughed into her bushy hair, holding her head in his chest. "Had to finish my homework first."
He helped her stand and Ron just watched, wondering if he should hug her, feeling himself boil over with emotion. They'd argued — Ron had been silly, jealous, possessive.
When Harry withdrew, Hermione looked at them all with wet eyes. Met Ron's eyes directly. "You came. You all came."
Ron swallowed. "Of course." Her smile was brilliant.
Seamus shifted uncomfortably. "Couldn't miss an adventure with the lads."
Dean rubbed his hand through his wet hair. "Didn't want Harry pretending he did it all himself."
"And I didn't want Gryffindor to use this to win the House Cup again." Ernie chimed in.
Harry heaved Hermione into his arms.
"Harry, I can walk!" She half-cried, half-laughed.
"No, you can't." He insisted, carrying her out of the cell.
But as soon as they crossed out of the cell, the castle rang out an alarm, like there was a siren embedded in the stone walls, a loud klaxon ringing to drown out the dripping water.
Harry frowned with annoyance. "Oh, drat." He muttered. "Boys, drink the Pepper-Up quick and get your wands up. Remember in the DA, how we covered creating cover and a winning environment when you have time to prepare?"
Ron felt a chill in his heart, though it raced all the same, even more so when he downed his Pepper-Up Potion. Outside of the cells, the corridor ran left and right. Two angles for the Death Eaters to come from, and they could already hear the shout of voices.
Harry didn't seem concerned. He conjured a replica of the armchair in the common room and carefully laid Hermione in it. "Stay." He kissed her forehead.
She agreed obediently.
"Head in the game, Ron." Harry knocked his arm as he walked by. Ron shook himself.
Harry was right.
Dean and Seamus had pulled stone bricks from the wall and Engorged them for cover. On the right side, Ernie and Neville had torn the flaming torches down and enflamed them, creating a wall of fire.
"Okay, Ernie. This is your moment." Harry narrated. "The Killing Curse isn't an easy thing to get off in the middle of a duel. It's a long incantation and you need to psych yourself up for it. But, at the beginning of a fight, once the Death Eater turns the corner? Perfect. They killed your father so you best be ready. Are you ready?"
Ernie looked dizzy, steam still pouring from his ears, but he nodded seriously.
"Okay." The staunch Hufflepuff boy.
Harry closed his eyes, listening to something, feeling something. Ron just watched, feeling completely out of his element as Harry counted Ernie down. "Three…two…one."
"Avada Kedavra!" Ernie shouted, face contorted in rage. His wand lit green. A rush of wind from nowhere — a rush of wind that burned green and swept through the dancing flames, pushing them apart and creating a hole in the fire for them all to see the Killing Curse crash against the Death Eater that turned the corner.
It was almost anticlimactic. No blood. The man simply fell back, dead, lifeless.
Silence, for a long moment.
Harry broke it. "So beautiful." He whispered.
Ron felt sick. But there was no time for recrimination, because the fight was on, from both sides. Their stone cover broke into rubble and debris, revealing Death Eaters holding the leash of a three-headed dog, three barking jaws revealing many yellow fangs. And from the other side, the wall of fire broke into steam as it was hit with curses.
It was a avalanche of colors and sounds; pink and green, screams and yelled incantations, the sulfuric fire mixing with odd senses, spells beyond recognition. The vacuum of air one moment, the crackling of lightning another. Burning heat would dry the skin, only for another curse to whistle by and blue their skin completely.
Ron kept it simple. He did what he'd been taught, what he'd learned over the years. Keep your head down, keep your back against something, fire shit when you get a chance. Blasting Curses mixed with Bat-Bogey Hexes — Harry wanted him to use more deadly spells, but Ron still thought the spell was damn useful to distract the Death Eaters. They never recognized the hex until it was too late.
Harry was barely even fighting back. He just blocked the Death Eater curses that came through in different ways, pulling stones from the wall, conjuring plushy toys, animating the cell bars into stick-like metal insects as tall as men. He shielded curses before they hit Neville, twirled round to mutter advice to Ernie, took a moment to correct Dean's wand-grip.
He was…supervising, Ron realized, shaking his head. When had the gap between them grown so big? And in the armchair, safely protected by Harry at all times, Hermione watched on fondly.
There was a scratchy pain in the back of his throat, as he saw the look on her face. He'd lost her, he knew. And he'd never even had her.
"Stupefy." Ron stunned a Death Eater as he tried to push through the cloud of smoke that Harry deliberately maintained.
It didn't matter.
Ron had been a bad friend to Harry once, and he hated it. He didn't like where he was, not being inside the circle, the jokes, between Hermione and Harry. It had always been the three of them and Ron wasn't going to lose that, even if the dynamic changed. Harry had saved Ginny. Harry had saved him. Harry had helped him see a future for himself, brave and fighting to defeat the Dark Lord that made Mum and Dad cry and hold each in the kitchen, in the late hours, when they thought their kids were asleep.
Yes, Ron decided. Potter and the sidekicks? It wasn't so bad at all.
He took a deep breath, his spell-chain playing in his mind. He charged forward, slashing a Blasting Curse behind his hex, confident that Harry would protect him.
From the corner of his eye, Dean kicked a football bouncing down the corridor — it exploded into vicious little snakes.
Neville yelled a Banishing Charm at the baby Devil's Snare he'd pulled from his backpack, dark thick tentacles shot into the smoke — the resulting scream was short and silenced quickly.
And when Ernie lit the whole corridor green with the sickening shade of the Killing Curse, the castle keep was finally silent completely.
Harry whistled in appreciation. "Great job, guys. You've removed some of the stains on Wizarding Britain today, some of those that would rape and murder your family. How does it feel?"
The sidekicks looked at one another. How did it feel?
There was an answer there, Ron thought, but maybe not the one Harry wanted. How did it feel to win a fight when Harry had neutered the other side? At the same time, the exhilaration, the adrenaline…that was real. He'd been waiting a long to pay back some of the fear and grief he'd felt on realizing Ginny had been taken to the Chamber of Secrets, on watching his father check his wand holster before he left the house, on seeing his mother check the family clock every five minutes.
It felt good.
Ernie dropped to one knee. He had tears in his eyes. "House Macmillan will never forget what you have done for us today, Lord Potter."
Harry wrenched him up by his shoulder.
Ernie was shaking. "I need more," He mumbled, burying his wet face in Harry's arm. "They have stained my name, my House, I can't—"
Harry smacked his back. "I, of all people, know this feeling. We will not rest until they all lie dead."
"You'll always have my wand." Ernie promised.
"And mine." Neville murmured from his side.
"Do we really need to do this?" Ron crossed his arms, grinning.
"Feck this and all, you're not making me cry." Seamus agreed.
Harry snorted. "You're right." He turned and lifted Hermione easily, one arm under her knees. "Let's go home."
Neville bit his lip. "Does-doesn't she need to go to St Mungo's?"
Ron pinched his fingernails into his palm as Harry brushed her hair from her forehead, gazing at her tenderly. "No," Harry said simply. "I'm going to take her to bed."
Ron's stomach quivered uncomfortably, but it was a sign of Harry's confidence that none of them could argue, not even Hermione. Harry was going to take Hermione to bed — it was not a question or a debate, not a moral quandary or a maybe, just a fact.
Hermione leaned into his chest and smiled softly, her eyes fluttering closed, her fingers trailing across his collarbone.
When Harry's eyes met Ron's, they weren't challenging or hard, which would have made him feel like a loser. They weren't knowing or sympathetic, which would have made him angry. They were unconcerned, because Harry didn't even know there was a battle he'd won.
Ron gave a hesitant nod, even though he knew Harry wouldn't know the meaning.
Hermione was safe and happy.
Harry was his best friend, who loved her. He'd keep her safe, rich, protected.
Ron had wanted her to be more than a Muggleborn 'researcher' for a pureblood house, thought he could offer her status, marriage, couldn't understand why she'd settle for a little piece of a larger pie.
It didn't matter.
Harry swept some of Hermione's hair behind her ear.
The hero always got the girl.