Fic: Brave New World (18/28): Harry Potter

[patriciatepes]

Title: Brave New World
Author: patriciatepes
Artist: twisted_slinky
Fandom: Harry Potter
Chapter: Prev | Next
Rating/Contents: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters. Making no money here, as they all still belong to their prospective owners.
Summary: Partially DH compliant, most AU. Voldemort arrived at Malfoy Manor quicker than expected, and like that, the war was over. Now, Hermione is Snape's "assigned companion," and as determined as ever to stop Voldemort and save her friends. But that's hard to do in Voldemort's new world…

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Chapter Eighteen: Necessary Risks

Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth as tightly as she could, suppressing the screams held within. Her eyes were locked on Narcissa's limp form, the pool of blood surrounding her head, dying her white-blonde hair a faint shade of pink. But it seemed that the attention within the tent had shifted toward the back, and Hermione took extra precaution with staying hidden. It didn't take long, even from the outside looking in, to see where all the attention had floated to. Bellatrix, Lucius, and Draco were all standing, stock-still, a look of horror on their face. Hermione could see just barely more than their profiles, but she could tell that Draco—particularly—looked on the verge of tears.

Suddenly, his Aunt Bellatrix's hands appeared on his shoulders, and they fell to the floor on their knees. Lucius followed soon after. Their heads dipped, and Hermione was sure now that she heard a dry sob escape from Draco, hidden just a bit from the small thud his knees had made on the hardwood.

"M-my l-lord," Bellatrix said, her voice much shakier than her form. "I—we—didn't know. We d-didn't know that we had-had such-such filth in our veins!"

Voldemort didn't move. He didn't speak. Hermione felt her body going rigid. She hated Bellatrix Lestrange, and the Malfoys. They were cruel, hateful people who thought that their coldness and closed-mindedness made them superior to others. Not to mention their money. But this tension, this darkness that hung over them and their onlookers in the tent was unbearable. It was like being around Dementors again. She wasn't quite sure that anyone deserved that… Well, maybe Bellatrix did.

"I offer you my life!" Bellatrix suddenly squealed. Hermione's eyes went wide, and Voldemort responded with, of all things, a laugh.

"Oh, Bella. You always were so dramatic. What good would you be to me dead? Rise, girl," he said.

Bellatrix rose slowly, followed a few seconds later by Draco and Lucius. Lucius had a death-grip on his son's shoulders again, and he seemed to be holding him as close to him as possible without wrapping him up in his arms.

"You are one of my most loyal followers," Voldemort said.

"My lord?" Bellatrix questioned.

"I won't be killing you today. But know this: you are never allowed to bare offspring. I will not allow the further dirtying of the bloodlines."

Hermione's eyes flew to Draco as apparently he had a similar thought to hers: Ginny. This did not go unnoticed by Voldemort either, who chuckled.

"Your reward for your loyalty, young Draco, is your child's life. But you and Miss Weasley are to bare no more children either. Am I understood?"

Draco nodded, hard, before finally forcing out, "Of course, my lord."

With the situation apparently handled, Voldemort was returning to the cauldron, undoubtedly to discuss the varying methods of application for his newest creation. Hermione pulled away from the tent, eyes darting about. No one had missed her. Snape was inside the tent, preoccupied with the latest events, and Ginny was mad at her and probably not giving a damn about where her friend was at the moment.

This was all well and good for her. She reached into the bodice of her dress as she slowly trotted off for the cover of some flowery trees. She had hidden her coin there for reasons she could not have explained at the time. She supposed, subconsciously, she knew that this information she knew Voldemort had wanted to share with his Death Eaters at this wedding would not be able to wait. And her subconscious self had been right. The resistance needed this information as soon as possible.

The sun was just now beginning to set. Neville should be done, or close to done, raiding the school if all had gone well. She knew he was taking the book and the quill back to his safe house… and this coin was equipped to get her to the safe house if necessary. Neville had said just to tell the coin "what you need." She held the dull gold coin up to her lips.

"I need to get to Neville, please," she whispered to it.

It felt like the pull of a Portkey. One minute, she was hiding in the shadows of a tree and the dying light of day, and the next she was in… a room. A room she thoroughly didn't recognize. It looked like a rented room, with a bed in the upper-left hand corner, and an attached loo directly across the space from the bed. There was a comfortable looking chair in the corner opposite the door, and the entire place had a sort of rustic charm to it, like a room out of an old farmhouse. It even smelled faintly of goats.

She was alone in the room, but only for a moment. A second later, following the familiar pop of apparition, Neville stood before her, a brown burlap sack that reached down to his waist flung over his shoulder. He blinked, starting just a bit, before he relaxed into a smile. Then, immediately following the apparent realization that this was his safe house, he frowned.

"What's wrong, Hermione? Are you all right?"

Her face was set to grim and she knew it without glancing in a mirror. But she forced the tiniest of smiles.

"Personally, I'm fine. But… Oh, Neville, I saw the weapon. I saw what Voldemort wanted to show his followers."

Neville set his sack down on the bed, turning again to face Hermione with crossed arms. "What was it?"

She told him everything. She, of course, left out the part about Crabbe's father confronting her and Snape, and the fact that Ginny was pregnant. But she didn't leave out a single detail when it came to the potion itself, and what she had seen it do to Narcissa Malfoy. When she had finished her tale, Neville's jaw was slack with horror. He pulled it back up, with great effort, and shook his head.

"That's… there's not even a word to describe how bad that potion is. Abomination, maybe. That potion is an abomination to magic. And you… you left in broad daylight. You're taking a considerable risk."

She nodded, keeping the fullness of her disregard for safety to herself. "It couldn't wait." That was all the reason she was willing to give. She wasn't going to lament the willingness of her friends to… she didn't even want to think about it. Good thing was, Neville jerked his head toward the bag.

"You've got to see this, Hermione. I'm actually glad you're here. I think I've found something huge, but… problem is, I don't know why."

She followed him over to the sack, eager to have some happy news for once. "You got the book and the quill?"

"Yeah, I did. But… that's not all. Voldemort, apparently, was using the tower to stash some pretty important stuff. Well, look."

He pulled the bag open over the items with, and Hermione gasped. Inside, its double handles gleaming, was the cup of Hufflepuff, and beside it, its gems twinkling in the light, was the diadem of Ravenclaw. She could see the hilt of the sword of Gryffindor in there was well—apparently Bellatrix had dutifully returned it to her master, after taking it from Hermione, Ron, and Harry. A bright smile broke out, and she threw her arms around Neville, who look properly startled.

"You have no idea what you've found!" she squealed. "Neville! You're a genius!"

He wedged himself out from her arms, scratching at his head. "Uh, thanks. But how is a cup, a crown, and sword making me a genius?"

"These are—" she paused, wondering just how much she should tell him. He may be the leader of the resistance, but she didn't want to put him in any more danger then he needed to be in. "They need to be destroyed. Not the sword, actually. Just the cup and the diadem. I know that I should tell you why, but I just… I just don't think I should at the moment."

Neville looked at her for a moment, but then nodded solemnly. "I understand."

"Right. Well, they're hard to destroy. They need to be destroyed beyond all hopes of repair. And we can't show these things to anybody… and really, Neville, if you're not about to destroy one, you probably shouldn't even be in the room with them for longer than a few minutes. Do you have a place you could hide them?"

He seemed to churn that thought over in his mind before nodding. "Yeah. So, how do I destroy them? The sword here?"

"Hmm. Maybe. It's worked before, but… I don't know. The object that the sword destroyed was significantly less than these items, if that makes any sense." She paused, thinking. What had Harry told her about the past destroyed Horcruxes? The proverbial lightbulb went off in her mind. "The Chamber of Secrets! There's a dead basilisk in there, and with it, a fang full of one of the deadliest venoms. It should be able to destroy at least one of these. We'll both have to think about how to destroy the other."

The sun had almost sunk below the horizon. Hermione was suddenly feeling antsy about having left the wedding. Even Neville had pointed out the risk. Maybe, if she could get back to Spinner's End before Snape, maybe she could convince him that she'd just gone home out of despair.

"The Chamber? Didn't Harry have to open that by speaking Parseltongue?" Neville asked.

Hermione was really getting anxious now as she realized, looking out the small window over Neville's shoulder, that full dark had come. She shrugged.

"We'll figure it out. I know we will. I have to go," she said.

He glanced over his shoulder, out the window, and nodded. "Go. I'll see you at the next meeting."

She hoped so. But she just nodded, apparating away to the point at the edge of Snape's property. Taking a deep breath, she skirted the darkness and just barely squeezed through the front door, trying to prevent any damnable creaks that might occur. The candles were lit in what she could see in the lounge from her position at the front door. She groaned silently. But as she tiptoed farther, she could see no sign of Snape. She entered the lounge fully, sighing to find both the sofa and the chair unoccupied. Maybe she had beaten him home? Maybe the candles were just charmed to light as soon as darkness was here and there as an occupant in the house?

She took a few unguarded steps into the lounge, eyes directed toward the back, where the entrance of the kitchen was. She had beaten Snape home, it looked like. Good for her.

That thought was knocked instantly from her head as a rough hand seized her wrist from behind. Her assailant whirled her about, shoving her back into the built-in bookcase in the wall that opened into the alcove. She winced against the protruding shelves and books in her back, forcing her eyes to clear from the quickness of it all to focus on her attacker. Her eyes doubled for the umpteenth time that day.

Snape was livid. He was actually, physically seething. His eyes were darker than their usual black—something that Hermione would've thought previously impossible.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he growled.