Whom the Gods Would Destroy...

Title: Whom the Gods Would Destroy…
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Angst, Horror, Mystery
Warnings: Character Death, Graphic Violence, Adult Situations, Dark!fic
Summary: DH-EWE: The end of the world has come. Millions dead, magic waning, Hermione Granger and Charlie Weasley are the last people left in Britain—left to pick up the pieces of their once great civilization. Why were they spared? Who is responsible for the death of a nation? These are the mysteries left as a legacy for two lost and lonely people.
Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at a Charlie/Hermione pairing, so please be gentle. This fic is very much inspired by my morbid obsession with ‘end of the world’ scenarios. There are few OCs in this fic, and I have tried to keep much in ‘canon’ as possible. WGWD is unbeta’d, so pardon the mistakes, please?


AN 2: From wikipedia: ‘The legends of Prester John (also Presbyter John), popular in Europe from the 12th through the 17th centuries, told of a Christian patriarch and king said to rule over a Christian nation lost amidst the Muslims and pagans in the Orient. Written accounts of this kingdom are variegated collections of medieval popular fantasy. Reportedly, a descendant of one of the Three Magi, Prester John was said to be a generous ruler and a virtuous man, presiding over a realm full of riches and strange creatures, in which the Patriarch of Saint Thomas resided. His kingdom contained such marvels as the Gates of Alexander and the Fountain of Youth, and even bordered the Earthly Paradise. Among his treasures was a mirror through which every province could be seen, the fabled original from which derived the "speculum literature" of the late Middle Ages and Renaissance, in which the prince's realms were surveyed and his duties laid out.’

AN 3: ‘Gwyn ap Nudd’ in Welsh myth, is the ruler of the Underworld or Annwn, and it is said that he leads the souls of the dead to Annwn.




Whom the Gods Would Destroy…

Part 20




‘quem deus vult perdere, dementat prius.’ –A Roman proverb





Malfoy gasped and coughed, much as he had when Charlie roused him in the Department of Mysteries, but other than being unconscious, Charlie could not find anything wrong with the man. There were cuts and bruises, of course, but Malfoy seemed fine other wise.

However, the first thing out of Malfoy’s mouth was a shout.

“Get out of here, Weasley! Quickly!”

Charlie knelt before Malfoy, frowning. Malfoy tried to move, but could not raise his right hand where he clutched the mirror.

“Why? Why are you here?” Charlie asked, nearly shouting to keep Malfoy’s wide silver eyes from moving so erratically and focus on his face.

“Oh gods, he’ll be back for me this time, and with you here…” Malfoy whispered in a rush, his left hand swiping at his damp blond hair.

Charlie glanced back to the shore of the lake, but Hermione was gone. He moved to stand, but Malfoy grasped the front of his jumper, pulling him back down.

“How did you get here?” Malfoy asked, his voice taking on a serious, more controlled tone.

He was not sure how to answer, his eyes still scanning the shore, seeing nothing. Then, there was a sound, rippling water and Charlie adjusted his sights as a small boat appeared out of the dark, knocking against the island. Hermione leapt out, her wand drawn, and eyes wide.

“Malfoy?”

Malfoy shuddered at the sight of Hermione, and grew, almost impossibly, paler.

“No, no…” he gasped. “You cannot be here, either of you!”

Charlie grasped Malfoy’s wrist, pulling his hand away from the front of his jumper. Hermione knelt next to Malfoy, her golden eyes upon the mirror in his clutching hand.

“It’s nice to see you alive, Malfoy, now—why are you here?”

Malfoy licked his chapped lips, seeming to calm at the sound of Hermione’s snarky tone, and pulled his right arm up, scraping the mirror on the rock beneath him and into his lap. “This…” he whispered.

Hermione blinked, her eyes moving to his stony hand, and then glanced to Charlie.

“I tried reaching for the source through the mirror. I touched it…I could feel it, but…” Malfoy trailed, his head falling back against the dais, his icy eyes fixed on Hermione. “The Ministry was shaking itself apart, and I couldn’t break the Seal, I couldn’t reach far enough… I am not sure why I came here, maybe it was the nearest place with life, I don’t know, but I fell through the mirror as everything was crumbling… I held to the mirror and came out the other side, my hand freezing about the reflection to pull it with me.”

Charlie’s mouth opened, to ask how it was possible, but he closed it again when Malfoy began shivering violently.

“Life? What life?” Hermione asked in a hushed tone.

“There were others here before he took them. Muggles, a few wizards…Krum…”

Hermione recoiled and Charlie snarled, grasping Malfoy’s shoulders. “Explain, Malfoy!”

Malfoy was in shock, and Charlie could see that despite being relatively unscathed on the outside, on the inside, Malfoy was a wreck.

“Black…” Malfoy groaned, his eyes beginning to shut.

Charlie slapped the younger man across the face and suddenly Malfoy was very awake, glowering at him with a familiar scowl.

“He’s been using something, Polyjuice, glamours, I don’t know what, to make decoys out of living people. He sends them out in his place, like he does the Inferi. Krum was here, unconscious, he was the last Black used…”

Hermione made a choking sound, and Charlie watched out of the corner of his eye as she stood and stumbled away. The splashing sound of vomit on wet rock was distant, and Charlie wished he could go to her, console her in some way.

“This place…it is his. And he will be back soon, I know it!” Malfoy hissed.

Hermione was out of sight, on the other side of the dais, sobbing softly.

“But if you have a way out…go, all of us!”

Charlie’s hands moved away from Malfoy’s shoulders, feeling how thin the man was, emaciated, yet still alive.

“Yes…” Charlie whispered, standing.

They had to go.





Hermione wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, trying to control herself from curling up on the wet rock and crying.

She had killed Viktor. It had to have been either on the railway outside of Tyndrum or with the ‘Terminatio’ two nights before…

She cursed herself, wishing she had convinced Viktor to come with her to London. She should have Stunned him and dragged him along.

“Hermione! Let’s go!” Charlie called from the other side of the dais.

Hermione gritted her teeth and stood, her stomach still churning unpleasantly. She began to walk back around the dais as Charlie helped Malfoy to his feet, the mirror dangling from frozen fingers.

They had found some answers, but Hermione knew that they had not learned enough. Black was still about, conducting Inferi to move.

“Take the broom,” Hermione said thickly as Charlie and Malfoy headed for the small boat. “You need to get him out first.”

Charlie blinked, his jade green eyes shining strangely in the coloured light. Malfoy said nothing, his own eyes upon her. She could feel Malfoy’s curious gaze on her clothing and her cropped hair, and compared to the weight of his father’s gaze, Hermione found Draco Malfoy harmless.

Moving to the boat as Charlie began to ready the broom, Hermione slipped on the wet rock, nearly toppling in the lake. However, when her hands touched the wet wood, she was suddenly blown back.

Curse fire splintered the boat, and Hermione rolled over the rocky island, wincing as her cloak tangled about her body.

“No!” she heard one of the two men yell.

Hermione was on her side, wand still in her hand as a loud sound seemed to fill the chamber. She could not recognize the sound at first, but when two booted feet slammed into the rock before her face, she knew. It was the fluttering of fabric.

“Shit!” it was Malfoy.

Hermione slowly looked up from the ground, up into a pale, dead face with tangled, long inky hair and flat eyes. Purple tinged lips and dark brows was the only contrast to the white skin.

Regulus Black.

Hermione moved, trying to roll to her feet, Curse the man, blast his head from his shoulders. However, as she managed to make it to her feet, a blow sent her stumbling back along the slope of the island, her wand flying off into the darkness, sliding through the water with a loud ‘plop.’

Curse fire flew from behind Black as he towered over her, a Stunner, she thought, striking into Black’s back. Black did not fall. All of his attention was set on her, and Hermione ground her teeth, feeling that one of her molars was loose from his vicious strike.

Wandless, Hermione let her fist fly, realizing that she had nowhere to escape to unless it be in the water. Her fist was caught, and a gloved hand wrapped about her throat. It happened so suddenly that Hermione had not a chance to take a breath to hold it before being strangled.

“Bastard!”

Charlie’s face came into view as Hermione’s feet left the ground. Her eyes bulged, and suddenly Charlie cast a spell even as Hermione felt her body begin to fly.

Regulus Black had the strength of ten or more men, it seemed, and as Hermione’s body flew through the dark, she wondered what he was exactly. Managing to take a breath before her head hit the water, Hermione let the literal blackness around her and the blackness inside her; take her far away from the world of death she had come to know. She was death.





Gwyn ap Nudd began to lead her to the underworld. A fair-haired man drew her down into the darkness of the water. She could only stare at the handsome god, passively. However, the hold on her hands slipped and Hermione was alone.

Sinking deeper into the lake, the blackness was complete. There was no light from above, and though Hermione’s lungs burned from lack of oxygen, she did not fight the water.

Hermione was not alone in the depths, she could feel bodies around her, floating for all time, some half rotted, other preserved. If she could see, she wondered who these people had once been and how long they had been waiting in the water. Centuries, perhaps.

Opening her mouth in the stale water, she let the last of her air out of her lungs, but did not drown herself just yet. Instead, she kept her eyes open to the dark, knowing that she would eventually die, not having saved the world as Lucius Malfoy had wished. She supposed Lucius would be pleased that his only son was alive, no matter the man’s mental state and shock. Of course, Malfoy would have to survive Black, as would Charlie.

Charlie… Just the thought of him made her wish she could summon the strength to begin kicking her legs to swim up to the surface. She wished that the death and destruction were over so she could get to know him properly. Hermione knew that she already trusted the man with her life, and that she was enamored with him despite the lack of opportunity she had to show it.

The pressure of depth hurt her ears, but Hermione did nothing to relieve it. Gwynn ap Nudd had left her, and she wondered if she was so lost that even a god could not bring her to the underworld and rest. Hermione began to shut her eyes, remorse beginning to fill her suffocated brain.

However.

A flash of light below her made her eyes open wider than before. Hermione moved her hands to reach out as a blue flash made her pupils constrict.

Hands reached for armour-clad shoulders, and Hermione was reminded of stone effigies of medieval kings, clasping their swords against their bodies. The blue glow came from a sword held by gauntlet-clad hands. In this glow, she could see all around her, bodies with ancient faces, older than time itself. Warriors floated, all dressed in strange raiment, eyes closed, long black hair floating languidly in the water.

The figure that held the sword, by Hermione’s estimation, was older than she, but still held a youthful mischievousness and deviousness in his heavy brow and thin lips.

Take the sword.

Hermione moved to pull away the gauntleted hands, which came away easily from the blue glowing steel. She grasped the handle, and suddenly, she could breathe.

Enchanted, surely, she thought. Hermione knew little about swords, but as she held it, Hermione knew it was a light sword, it did not drag her deeper into the water. The blade was about three feet long, slightly tapering down to a wickedly sharp tip. The guard was unlike anything Hermione had ever seen, made of silvery metal that glowed faintly white. It reminded Hermione of dragon claws with a silver inlay that rested over the blade itself in twisting tendrils. The blade was smooth; double edged and approximately two and half inches in width. It was a weapon forged in another age, in another place, and wielded by those who had shaped the very world.

Besides the fact she could breathe, her brain beginning to move faster with oxygen, Hermione wondered what sort of sword would glow in the black depth of a cavern lake. Was it malignant? Was it dark magic?

It did matter as she mimicked the original wielder’s posture, clasping the blade against her body, the pommel just short of her chin.

Swords had names, but Hermione did not know the name of the one she held. All she knew was that she had a weapon, and she had a life yet to live.






Malfoy, despite being wandless and weak, tried his best to fight next to Charlie. It was clear that Malfoy was not going to go down without a fight. Charlie could not let his thoughts linger on Hermione as Black turned and began casting rapidly at Charlie.

The wand Black used was unfamiliar, but it was precise in its casting.

“He won’t kill us!” Malfoy shouted over the crackle of dispelled magic against Charlie’s shield Charm. “He will incapacitate us, use us!”

Bloody unlikely, Charlie growled mentally.

Malfoy tried to distract Black by flashing the mirror in the light of curse fire, and it worked well to make the dead man’s aim slightly off. The light from the basin was enough for Malfoy to use, and on more than one occasion, curse fire hit the mirror. Oddly, the curse fire seemed to be absorbed by the silver basin, leaving no mark.

“Blasting Hexes!” Malfoy shouted as he jumped in front of Charlie to lift the mirror as a shield, absorbing a Stunner. “To the head!”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed angrily, but not at Charlie. Charlie could see that Malfoy was frustrated, wandless, weak, but doing all he could to preserve his life. Charlie nodded, and as Malfoy moved, he cast.

Again and again, Black seemed to knock the hex away.

In the light of curse fire, Charlie could see just how dead Black appeared. Even with heavy cloak and robes, his body was emaciated worse than Malfoy’s. There was no life in the eyes that moved between Charlie and Malfoy, unnaturally wide and unnerving.

It was clear that there would be no easy way to kill Black, and Charlie wondered if they would have had a chance if Hermione…

“Dodge!”

Malfoy pushed Charlie who recognized the complicated wand motion Black used next.

The Killing Curse.

Charlie fell one way and Malfoy the other as the green curse fire burnt into the lake water behind them. Charlie was gasping, wondering if Black were too frustrated by their life’s tenacity that he decided to kill them. Malfoy was exhausted, still holding Prester John’s mirror against him, unable to release it.

Black took a step forward, on the slope, closer to the water. Black did not speak, and that too unnerved Charlie. What was this man?

Charlie rolled to his feet again, wand at the ready, eyes narrowing. The respite of exchanging curses was short, and soon Charlie was casting faster than he thought possible, edging closer to Black. Perhaps if he could get Black into the water…

Malfoy was soon at his side, his face sweaty, his shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes.

The rapid fire of several spells at once made Charlie growl. Whatever magic Black was using, it would eventually kill him and Malfoy. It frustrated Charlie; he was no match for the walking living/dead.

Malfoy fell as a Stunner slammed into his knees, the mirror catching only part of the hex. Charlie snarled as he threw another Blasting Hex at Black, the magic finally connected, and the man’s left shoulder visibly exploded. Black cloth, white flesh, and bluish blood splattered the rocky ground of the island and the pale man stumbled back, his wand hand moving to his wounded shoulder.

Charlie did not hesitate, lifting his wand to send another hex, but Black was faster.

Purplish lips moved, but no sound came.

Avada Kedavra.

Before the green stream of magic totally blinded Charlie, he suddenly saw his own face, distorted, and reflected back.

The next thing Charlie knew, he was on his back, Malfoy half laying on him, and the mirror clanging against his forehead.

“Christ!” he heard Malfoy ground out, rolling off Charlie to lie beside him. “Lucky…lucky…” Malfoy gasped out.

Charlie blinked slowly, feeling that he was still alive. Black, however, was still standing, but not casting. Sitting up slowly, his back hurting from falling so hard into the rocky ground, he did not understand what he was seeing at first.

Malfoy sat up also, staring with Charlie at the long dead Regulus Black, on his knees, a sword edge pressed into his slender, white throat.







The journey back up allowed Hermione to learn many things.

First, the sword was definitely enchanted. Second, the sword whispered to her in a voice that was so old that Hermione could not begin to comprehend the language—at first. Third, Hermione was told the history of the cave.

It had not always been a place of dark magic and sacrifice. The Horcrux Cave, as she came to know it, was once a tomb of sorts. Entombed were warriors who would eventually awaken for the ‘Last Battle.’ Hermione was not sure what it meant, but the sword’s words implied something like Armageddon or Ragnarok, and not some petty battle between dark wizards and everyone else.

In time, with the turn of ages, humankind found the cave and began using it for different purposes. Dark magic filled the space, took over as blood was spilt to ancient, evil gods. Human sacrifice marred the space with a stale death from before the time of Tintagel and Arthurian legend. It was a marked place that appealed only to those with blackened hearts. The bodies sank into the water multiplied through time, pushing the ancient warriors intended for the ‘Last Battle’ to the bottom. The souls of those killed lingered, and made the flesh useable for darker intentions.

Regulus Black, over thirty years before, had been an exception.

Like a breath of fresh air, Regulus Black had come to destroy a fragment of an evil soul and break the hold upon the other souls placed in the lake by the one called Voldemort. For his effort, Black was dragged down, down, into the bottom of the lake. Pushed to the bottom, Black died, but his soul was not blackened, knowing that he had accomplished part of his task in disrupting the intentions of the newest threat to Wizarding kind.

Black was one who rose when summoned, and it was Black, whose soul was intact, that Voldemort used to command the Inferi. The soul, though intact, was weak, and could be easily used, and used it was, for another dark purpose. It was because his soul was intact that he could use magic, that he could move as if alive. It was only his soul, clothed in old flesh, that was a threat.

Kill the boy, save his soul, for the last time.








Hermione pressed the blade into the pale throat of the one whose soul needed saving. With one hand tangled into the disgusting black strands of hair, Hermione jerked the head back, teeth barred.

“Drop your wand.”

Black complied, the wood clattering on the wet stone.

Charlie and Malfoy were sitting on the island, mouths opened, eyes wide, but neither moved.

“Who is your master?”

Black said nothing and did not move.

“Who is your master?” Hermione asked again, jerking on Black’s hair roughly. It was of no use, however, the man felt no pain. She could see that part of his left shoulder was blown away and though bluish black blood oozed, Regulus Black was in no pain.

“Tell me.”

Black made a strange noise, and Hermione realized he was speaking. His voice was watery, odd, and distant.

“The Dark Lord.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she stared into Black’s crown and forehead.

“The boy…is it a boy?”

“…takes many incarnations, he is eternal…”

Hermione hissed, her hand tightening about the grip of the sword.

“Evil lives forever in any form. Agents of a greater source, the Dark Lord is one of many incarnations…”

“Where is he?” Hermione ground out.

Black did not answer.

Charlie rose slowly and then helped Malfoy to his feet. Malfoy moved before Charlie, snatching up the discarded wand in his free hand, and pointed it at Black’s face as Charlie pointed his own ash wand.

“Who is he?”

Again, Black kept silent.

Futile.

Hermione closed her eyes and let her face relax. Enough was enough.

With a motion that caused the two living men to stumble back, Hermione jerked her arm and the blade, no longer glowing blue, slipped into flesh, sinew, and bone. She felt cold blood splash her dragon hide clothing and her face, but she did not open her eyes until she heard a splash and the heavy fall of a body.

She had saved his soul, and cut the puppet’s strings.







Malfoy made a gagging sound as the beheaded body of his cousin fell toward his feet. Charlie tried not to express his distaste as Regulus Black’s head rolled into the dark water. The dark blood ran down the slope and into the water as well, and for a moment, Charlie thought the water glowed brighter.

There was no sound, no indication that the Inferi’s master had forcefully relinquished his rule.

Charlie studied Hermione, her dripping hair, clothes, and the black blood on her face. She looked like a statue, her face pale, and the sword poised before her, the tip resting on the stone under her feet.

When she opened her eyes, Charlie knew she was very much alive. The golden orbs moved from his face to Malfoy who was shuddering and weak.

“I hope it is finished,” she whispered.

Charlie blinked as Hermione began to crumple. He caught her in his arms, the sword falling to the rocky ground in a metallic clatter. Malfoy had also fallen, too weary to stand any longer.

“Hermione?” Charlie asked, her eyes looking up at his face.

She smiled weakly.

“One part done,” she whispered. “I think I need a bath…”

Charlie could not help himself and he chuckled. The chuckling turned to whimpering gasps as he kissed her face, never minding the blood. He had thought she had drowned, pulled down much as Regulus Black had been. Though he had been fighting for his life, he had consigned thinking about Hermione later. It was later, and Hermione was alive.

It would be Hermione who would emerge from the deadly waters with some arcane weapon. It would be Hermione who would eventually kill Regulus Black all over again.

Pride surged through him as he let his lips linger on hers.

“Could we please get out of here? I think the lack of sunlight has nearly killed me,” Malfoy drawled, breaking Charlie’s concentration on Hermione’s cold lips.