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: Dinas Emrys - (Welsh for "fortress of Ambrosius") is a rocky and wooded hillock near Beddgelert in North Wales. Rising some 76m above the floor of the Glaslyn river valley, it overlooks the southern end of Llyn Dinas. Arthurian connection - When the High-King Vortigern fled into Wales to escape the Anglo-Saxon invaders, he chose this lofty hill fort as the site for his royal retreat. Every day his men would work hard erecting the first of several proposed towers for the palace; but the next morning they would return to find the masonry collapsed in a heap. This continued for many weeks until Vortigern was advised to seek the help of a young orphan boy born of the fairies. The King sent his soldiers out across the land to find such a lad. They were eventually successful at the city, which became known as Caer Myrddin (Carmarthen). The boy was called Myrddin Emrys, better known as Merlin today. Vortigern, following the advice of his councilors, was planning to kill the boy in order to appease supernatural powers that prevented him from building a fortress here. Merlin laughed at this advice, and instead explained that the hill fort could not stand due to a hidden pool containing two vermes, a word that can be translated as either "badgers" or "dragons.” He explained how the White Dragon of the Saxons though winning the battle at present, would soon be defeated by the British Red Dragon. After Vortigern's downfall, the fort was given to High-King Ambrosius Aurelianus alias Emrys Wledig (the Imperator), hence its name. Link to some more info and pictures: http://www.castlewales.com/dinas_em.html




Whom the Gods Would Destroy…

Part 21




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






In Bude, they stopped in the late afternoon. Charlie flew with Draco behind him while Hermione flew alone. They kept in close formation, Charlie often glancing over to Hermione to make sure she was well. With the strange sword lashed to her back beneath her pack, Hermione looked like some ancient warrior princess in all black.

At a luxurious hotel on the Bude canal, Hermione was the first inside. There were few bodies, mostly in the car park outside and mostly bone and clothing. Inside was again, corpse free. There was the ‘Tennyson Restaurant’ in the hotel, and it was in the kitchens that Hermione grasped Malfoy to sit him down next to a metal table, his alabaster like hand on the table with the mirror.

Charlie stood next to a cold stove, arms crossed as Malfoy began frowning, incredulous, as Hermione cast with the wand Malfoy had taken from Black, what appeared to be a simple spell to remove his hand from the silver basin. Charlie could see that Black’s wand, whatever it was, did not react well to Hermione’s command, but she had tightened her grip and successfully reversed the jinx.

“Thanks,” Malfoy grumbled, flexing his fingers stiffly and taking the wand back. His fingernails were blue, but as his moved his fingers, blood flow returned.

“I’ll leave mirror in your care, Malfoy,” Hermione sighed, hoisting herself up to sit on the table.

Malfoy grumbled again, eyeing the basin disdainfully.

By sunset, they had found food in the pantries, but nothing beyond their usual fare of tinned meats and vegetables. They ate silently in the kitchen.

Nightfall came without the screech of Inferi, and for the first time in a long while, Charlie felt out of sorts without the sound. Malfoy had opted for a large bedroom, leaving Charlie and Hermione to pick one across the hall on the second floor. Hermione seemed to be concerned about Malfoy, making sure that he had plenty of candles, informing him that there would be no hot water as there was no electricity, and short of Charming whatever he needed, Hermione would not be able to help much.

Charlie wondered if Malfoy could still use magic at all, now that he had Black’s wand. Then Charlie wondered about the wand itself.

“I will take Malfoy back to Hogwarts.”

Charlie had been looking out the window to the canal below, hugging himself while Hermione had been washing up in the lavatory. He had not realized she was done.

Turning, he found Hermione standing in one of her nightgowns, her body smelling fresh, the black blood scrubbed away. The only light in the room came from the candles he had placed on the desk near the door, and in that light Hermione seemed to glow golden.

“You should head for Dinas Emrys, I can meet you there…”

She stood just at his elbow, her eyes moving to look out the window as he had been doing.

“I’m anxious to know if Harry’s found anything, if Hogwarts is safe.”

He frowned, moving away from the window to the lavatory, undressing and letting his soiled clothing fall to the floor. Hermione followed, leaning into the doorjamb.

“Well?”

Charlie refilled the tub, only keeping his wand to Charm the water hot. He did not answer until he was settled into the tub, rubbing shampoo from a small complimentary bottle into his shaggy hair.

“We should go together.”

“The Inferi are…”

“I know, luv, but that does not mean it is safe either,” he growled before dipping his head into the water to rinse.

“You know as well as I do that if we do not try to disable the Seal…”

“I know,” he snapped, and then blinking, wondered why he was irritated.

Hermione turned away from the door, disappearing into the bedroom. He heard her settle on the bed.

Charlie used a small bar of soap to scrub his skin, the light dim from the obscured candlelight in the bedroom. He scrubbed hard until he felt every last bit of the cave’s stench was gone.

He was angry, but he did not know why. Perhaps he was jealous that Hermione had been so kind to Malfoy, almost ignoring him completely. No, he thought, laying back into the tub, he was beyond petty jealousy.

Perhaps he was angry that Hermione had nearly died and he had done nothing to try to save her.

Yes, that was the anger he felt. He was angry with her for nearly dying, placing herself in danger, and he was angry with himself for doing nothing—again.

“Tell me about the sword,” Charlie asked, once he emerged from the lavatory, a soft towel wrapped about his waist.

Hermione was sitting on the bed, hugging her legs to her chest, the sword in question lying before her toes. It was wicked looking armament, Charlie thought, dangerous.

“I found it.”

Charlie moved to sit on the edge of the bed, near the sword. After Malfoy suggested they leave the cave, Charlie tried to Summon Hermione’s wand from the water, but it never came. Being wandless in a dead world was a disadvantage, then again, Hermione was a powerful witch, and he had seen her use wandless magic before…

“It is enchanted, and benign.”

“How can you know that?” Charlie asked in a whisper

Hermione shrugged. “It is nothing to worry about, Charlie.”

She rose, taking the sword with her and setting it on top the low chest of drawers across the room. He made a mental note to ask again later. Hermione moved back to the bed, but stood before Charlie instead, her hands reaching out to his face.

Hermione was different, and not just because she had cut her hair. There was sadness in the depths of her eyes as if she had learned grave news. She did not speak it, however, and kissed him gently. Pulling away, she moved to sit next to him, her hand on his towel clad thigh.

“Silence…” she started, her cheek resting against his freckled shoulder. “It does not seem possible. I just hope that with this, Hogwarts is safer.”

He agreed, shifting his arm to wrap it about her waist so her cheek fell to his breast.

“We are closer, Charlie,” she whispered. “And when this all over, I want to go away. Far away where it is warm, and there is people.”

He sighed, letting his anger drain, grasping her chin and lifting her face to his. “Lima.”

“Lima?”

Charlie grinned, remembering. “There is a Reserve in Peru for the Vipertooth. I was down there about five years ago; helping the keepers set the wards. The Vipertooth is endangered now after the International Confederation tried to wipe them out. It is a great place…

But if you don’t like Lima, I will take you to Buenos Aires. There is an Amazonian Reserve for some of the more rare breeds.”

Hermione smiled, and Charlie’s breath caught. He could not remember her smiling, not in his recent memory.

“Or maybe Bali? No dragons though…”

She laughed softly and stretched to kiss his jaw. He held her closer as her nose rubbed into his half formed beard.

“Lima sounds fine,” she whispered.





A sharp knock on the door startled Hermione as she kissed Charlie’s neck, his fingers teasing her clit through her curls. It was early morning, and Hermione had slept dreamlessly, awoken by Charlie’s nips on her pulse point and his hard cock rubbing into her thigh.

“Granger?” a muffle voice asked from beyond the door, and Hermione groaned as she rolled away from Charlie, pushing back the blankets.

Her core ached and glancing to Charlie who was frowning at the door as he lay on his side, hand propping up his head, Hermione went to the door. Opening it just a crack Hermione was presented with a cleaner, not so pale Draco Malfoy in what looked to be an oversized pair of Muggle denims and grey tee shirt. Hermione’s eyes ran over the thin man, speculatively.

“Found it in some luggage,” Malfoy grumbled, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“What is it?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

Malfoy sighed. “Nothing really, I just was too anxious to wait around for you and Weasley to untangle from each other to fill me in on what has been happening.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She assumed it was at last six or seven in the morning. “An hour, Malfoy.”

Malfoy shuffled, his nostrils flaring.

“Please?”

He was annoyed and anxious. Hermione could only sympathize so much. Surely, Malfoy did not like being disturbed so early in the morning.

“Fine. I’ll see to breakfast then.”

She blinked as Malfoy turned on his heel and strode down the corridor. Closing the door, she was slightly surprised at the man. ‘See to breakfast,’ he had said.

“Let him,” Charlie said from the bed and Hermione wondered if her surprise were so evident on her face.

Slipping into bed again, Hermione lay on her back before rolling to Charlie, face to face with the red head as the morning light began to filter in through the windows.

“There’s always time,” he said.

They kissed a while longer, but the arousal had slipped into a sleepy comfort, and for forty-five minutes, they dozed.

Washed, dressed, and carrying their packs, Hermione and Charlie descended to the kitchen to find that Malfoy had fixed porridge and found tinned juice and fruit. Sitting around the metal table on stools, Hermione and Charlie told Malfoy everything that had happened since they left him in the Ministry. Draco Malfoy listened passively, his eyes settling more on Hermione than on Charlie.

“My father is finally dying then?”

Hermione nodded. “I would like to think that by finding you alive, it would appease his conscious…”

“And get him out of your hair?” Malfoy added with a smirk.

Hermione said nothing, feeling Charlie’s eyes upon her shoulder.

“My wife?”

“Very well, from what I could tell.”

“But no romantic mourning of my sudden loss…” Malfoy sighed, stabbing at a piece of tinned fruit in his near tasteless porridge. “Just as well.”

They trio sat in silence, eating what they could of the breakfast.

“What will you do with the mirror?” Charlie asked, finally breaking the silence.

Malfoy glanced up and then over to the mirror that rested at the far end of the table where it was left after Hermione cancelled the hex that cemented Malfoy’s hand to the silver.

“It will be useful. Of all the treasures lost in the Department of Mysteries, I suppose it was the most valuable. It can show one places, take you there if need be, but it also can show things that are hidden.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. It could show who was in the castle, housing the last piece of Voldemort’s soul…

“But I would not use it again. I have used it once, I will never use it again…”

“In the Ministry, what did you try to do exactly?” Hermione asked, pushing away her empty bowl on the table.

Malfoy sat to her left, twirling his silverware between his long fingers.

“I tried to destroy one of the markers first. It did not work. Then I tried to reach through to the source of the Seal…”

Charlie’s stool scraped the kitchen tile as he leaned his elbows on the tabletop. “You know where it is?”

Malfoy shrugged. “It was kept confidential from those maintaining and building the Seal. Of course, that did not mean that we, as in, Father, Mother, a few others and myself, did not speculate. Mother believed it was in Wales, at a place called Dinas Emrys.”

Hermione felt Charlie stiffen at her right.

“How so?” Hermione asked.

Malfoy smirked. “Toujours Pur, Granger. The Black family has always had a unique interest in protective magic, wards, and fortifications. Most Pure-blood families have, at one time, specialized in some brand of magic. The Malfoys were adept with torture…modes, methods, and means, as well as circumventing the effects of torture. The Bulstrodes specialized in strengthening magicks and earth magic—half the family has hag blood running through their veins. The Parkinsons specialized in illusionary magic, glamours, and mental magick, but now that power is almost gone…bred out.

There were others. The Potter family supposedly, once upon a time, was masters of enchanting artefacts, descended from the Peverells… You get my meaning?”

Hermione nodded, eyes narrowing.

“And your mother?” Charlie asked.

Malfoy’s silver eyes moved to Charlie. “She believed that the power needed to maintain the Seal came from one of three ‘seats’ of magical power in Britain. Hogwarts was built on one such place, Glastonbury Abbey, the Tor, on another. The third was in Wales, at a place called Dinas Emrys, the site of Vortigern’s castle and before that, the lair of the great Red Dragon of the Britons, a being that had many names. Y Ddraig Goch, being one, Elfydd, another… It all has to deal with ancient names, and disregarding colours. Albion, the ancient name of Britain, meant ‘white,’ while the Welsh ‘elfydd’ meant ‘world.’ All the same, it is this dragon, and Dinas Emrys that seats a great magical power, and that was where my Mother believed the source of the Seal lied.”

Hermione cocked her head, regarding Malfoy curiously. “You tried to reach out to this ‘Red Dragon?’”

Malfoy sighed. “With no effect. The result was the Ministry falling down around me, and me escaping through the mirror to the first place that came to mind—Regulus Black and his cave.”

Silence fell again, and slowly Hermione turned to Charlie who was staring at the metal tabletop, contemplative. “I have to take him back,” Hermione whispered.

Charlie’s green eyes swiveled to her face and he scowled. “It is no time to be divided, Hermione.”

Hermione knew Malfoy was watching them, curious, but Hermione pressed on.

“The sooner we get there, the better. It would only be a few hours, Charlie. I can be back in no time…”

“And the front?”

She exhales loudly, not quite a sigh, but a frustrate motion. “With Black gone, there might not be any more ‘fronts.’”

“You don’t know that.”

“Malfoy cannot go with us, and we cannot leave him unprotected, Charlie.”

“Protect him from what? If the Inferi are gone…”

Hermione’s jaw clenched. “He needs to be with his family, Charlie. Lucius is dying, and his wife would want to know he is alive…”

Malfoy cleared his throat, interrupting the whispered argument. “If I might add something to your lover’s spat, I will have to agree with Granger, Weasley. Getting me back to Hogwarts as soon as possible is imperative.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed and he grimaced. “And why is that?”

Malfoy lifted his chin slightly, peering down his long nose at Charlie. “Potter is going to need all the help he can get.”

Hermione’s eyes moved to Draco’s left forearm, and just visible was the dark outline of the Mark.

“With my Father weakened, the remaining Death Eater families are not simply going to rally around Potter if the Dark Lord is somehow moving among them. My Father could band the others together to act. That being said, he was no leader, but he was respected. Father placed family above all else, and the others respected that, they look to him…as they did me before I was sent off to the Ministry.”

“Your point, Malfoy?” Charlie snarled.

Malfoy sniffed disdainfully, his arms crossing before his chest. “Those of us with the Mark can sense the Dark Lord, much like Potter could with his scar… And as far as I know, his scar as been dead for over twelve years.”

The idea seemed far-fetched, but Hermione saw Malfoy’s logic.

“I want to go back,” Malfoy finished, resolutely.

Hermione glanced to Charlie again, and though his face betrayed his irritation, he shrugged in defeat.








Malfoy seemed much stronger, Charlie thought, as he rode behind Hermione, his arms wrapped about her thin waist, his silvery hair bright in the sunlight over Gloucester. In a Transfigured bag, Malfoy carried Prester John’s mirror on his back, making him appear to be a pale version of a turtle.

The pain Charlie had felt in Cornwall had disappeared with Hermione’s beheading of Black. It felt as if the dark pressure had suddenly been released. Charlie wondered what it meant to the remaining piece of Voldemort’s soul…

An hour before, just at noon, they had left Bude, Charlie finally dressing in the dragon hide armour, a vision of black and red on his broom stick. Hermione was similarly dressed; her cropped chestnut hair almost golden in the sun. Charlie scowled at the way Malfoy clung to her, his chest pressed into her back, his chin resting on the top of her knapsack. The sword had been strapped to her waist; in a Transfigured plain scabbard Charlie had made resting on her left hip.

The plan was that Charlie head for Dinas Emrys, which he remembered should be at the south end of Llyn Dinas along the Gaslyn river valley. He was to wait at the base of Dinas Emrys until Hermione returned in the night from Hogwarts. If she did not come, he was to find the source of the Seal, and attempt to disable it.

“A Patronus if there is danger on your end,” Hermione had said before kissing him and mounting the other broom with Malfoy smirking all the while.

Charlie frowned into the wind as they moved north. There would be no way for him to know if Hermione would need assistance on her end. With one last look to Hermione, who met his eyes, he broke away west.

Her lips moved silently as he moved, and Charlie thought she said ‘love you.’







“This broom is rated for one hundred fifty, Granger, push it!” Malfoy shouted over the wind at her back.

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from saying something foul and leaned forward, the broom accelerating. Malfoy held tighter, nearly crushing her ribs. Ahead of her, the sky was clear, so clear that Hermione wondered if the lack of Muggle pollution would somehow cleanse the nation. There were large fluffy clouds in the sky, beautiful, and telling. There was no front over the Lake District.

With two on a broom, it was slower going, and Hermione knew that they would reach Hogwarts at about nightfall if there were no impediments in their way.

By late afternoon, they had crossed into Scotland, and Hermione was beginning to feel ‘saddle sore’ from the weak cushioning Charm on the broom meant for one rider. It was part of the reason Hermione disliked flying.

She let her eyes fall to the landscape below where the Lowlands were slowly becoming Highlands, having her to rise higher into the air to clear the mountains. Malfoy seemed to also be looking below them as the land flew by, and then forward. There were darker clouds to the north, and Hermione caught the scent of rain on the wind.

“What’s that?” she heard Malfoy shout, an arm pulling from her waist to point to the northeast, toward Loch Etive.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, and on the distant rain, she saw what looked to be lightning. Yanking up on the broom and braking sharply, she felt Malfoy’s chin bump against her shoulder. Around them wind whipped, as if they had not stopped flying even as they hovered over a small village far below.

The air was too cold for lightning, Hermione thought, but then again, she was no meteorological expert. The flashes were quick and bright, and Hermione considered it was a front…

No, there was no staleness in the wind, no lack of scent. It felt wrong.

“Battle,” Malfoy growled, his arm wrapping about her waist again. “What are you waiting for, Granger?” he barked.

Dread filled her, and suddenly, startling Malfoy to cling tighter, Hermione took off again, faster than ever before.







Charlie walked along the shore of Llyn Dinas, the pebbles under his boots sliding and making a sharp noise. He carried his broom over his shoulder, jade green eyes looking up at Dinas Emrys, a hillock above the lake. The trees were blooming far too late, and Charlie sighed, knowing that if the Seal were not released by winter, no one would have to worry about dying from lack of magical ability, but from the cold.

He had flown over the Reserve, over the Lodge, and the only thing that lifted his spirits was seeing hatchlings running along with a female Welsh Green not far from where he learned the Seal had been enacted. It seemed that the enchantment of the Reserve had protected the dragons. He had counted three new Hebrides Black hatchlings in the north of the Reserve, and saw that the oldest Ridgeback had finally shed its skin for the last time in the far west.

Whatever was slowly killing witches and wizards, seemed to leave the dragons alone.

The sun was beginning to set as Charlie found a footpath leading up the western side of Dinas Emrys. There were Muggle signs telling him that the ancient hill fort was fragile and to take care to keep on the path, but Charlie ignored the signs. Muggles were no more, and possibly never would be again in Britain.

Charlie’s boots left the path along the rocky slope moving toward the east. He was too deep in thought to think about where his feet were taking him.

Genocide. The death of millions of Muggles was genocide. Had it been Voldemort’s last effort to purge the world?

The sun was warm on his back as he stopped upon a more level portion of the slope, the true base of Dinas Emrys, and shrugged off his pack. In a small copse of trees and rocks, Charlie sat down, listening to the wind coming from the east and over the lake. There was a perceptible tingle of magic in the air, but old and almost faded. Charlie could not feel that Dinas Emrys was some ‘seat of magical power.’ Then again, Charlie had learned long ago never to be too quick to judge, it might just cost one’s life. It was a Dragon Keeper’s principle, and he grinned to himself. He supposed he was the last such person in Britain.

He mused as to what would happen if the Seal were removed. Would it save those who were losing or lost their magical ability? What about the Muggles? Would Britain suddenly be ‘up for grabs’ for the world at large?

Charlie ceased the line of thought as the sun began to set. Hermione would be back in a few hours. Until then, Charlie was not sure what to do. He extracted a bottle of water from his pack and drank, the light around him failing. He ate a bit, listened to the wind through the trees, and watched the sun set totally.

In the near dark, he began walking again, finding an old animal track around the eastern slope, gently climbing the hill. Hermione would find him, surely. Charlie knew he was circling the hill, but did not mind as his feet found an even more rugged path in the west, running below an old and fragile stonewall. He figured he was perhaps a third of the way up the hill when he had to light his wand to see the track under his dragon hide boots.

Time seemed lost to him, and Charlie stopped to lower his wand and look up to the starry sky overhead. The moon had begun to rise, a mere sliver of rock in the sky, too near to the new moon.

Walking again with wand light on the ground, Charlie stumbled several times, before coming to a wider path lay with grass. Stepping surely along a slope leading higher on the hill, Charlie recoiled as a sound met his ears. Slowly, he dropped his broom on the ground.

The peal of bells.

Along the path, Charlie’s wand light caught the white of bare rock, lining the sides leading up to a bare rock face, natural and luminous.

Another step and another trickling peal of bells, sounding as if far away…

“Impossible,” Charlie muttered softly, as he took another cautious step, his own voice lost in the delicate peal of more bells.

The tale had been wrong.