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?

AN2: Taken from Wikipedia (quick description)—In the ‘Mabinogion; story Lludd and Llefelys, the red dragon fights with an invading White Dragon. His pained shrieks cause women to miscarry, animals, and plants to become barren. Lludd, king of Britain, goes to his wise brother Llefelys in France. Llefelys tells him to dig a pit in the centre of Britain, fill it with mead, and cover it with cloth. Lludd does this, and the dragons drink the mead and fall asleep. Lludd imprisons them, still wrapped in their cloth, in Dinas Emrys in Snowdonia.





Whom the Gods Would Destroy…

Part 22




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





“Charlie!”

Hermione’s voice rang out through the darkness, and Charlie’s sense of time returned. However, his sense of reality did not. And the path before him was still marked with faint white rocks, leading up to a bare rock face, and Charlie knew where the path led.

Hours had literally passed without his notice.

“Charlie!”

Her voice was weaker, and as he turned back, he could see her eyes in the wand light, wide and golden. She was walking slowly, her cloak in tatters about her body, the strange sword dragging the rocky ground from her right hand. The metal and rock clanged dully together along with the sound of her dragging boots.

Something was wrong, and Charlie moved, running along the path toward her.

“Oh gods,” she whispered as he came upon her, and then she was on the ground, falling gently in Charlie’s hands, his wand falling to the ground next to her.

Her sword rolled from her hand and into the darkness, but in the starlight, he could see her face, pale and drawn. Her eyes were wide, staring up at him.

“Have you seen him?” she asked so softly that Charlie had to lean down to hear.

“Who?” he asked, his left hand searching for his wand.

“Have you…”

She began coughing, and in the starlight, her lips were blackened.

Charlie found his wand, but before he lit it, his hands ran along her face, his body bending over her. Hermione’s mouth moved but only a gurgling came out, and then he smelled it. Blood.

“Hermione? Hermione!”

All around her, the ground was black, and slowly her eyes closed.

Charlie lit his wand, and down the front of his black armour he found fresh blood smeared into his borrowed costume. She was still breathing, her dragon hide clad breasts rising and falling far too slowly.

“Go…” she whispered, her mouth full of blood. “Go, Charlie, he’s coming…”

A sound of footfalls startled Charlie to stand, wand out to light the track he had followed.

He’s coming…she had said, and Charlie felt fear crush inside his chest.

“Go!” she wailed, rolling onto her side, more blood trickling from her mouth and from her nose.

A dark shadow came into sight, and Charlie clenched his teeth.

Charlie had faced dragons, he had fought Death Eaters and all manners of dangerous beasts, but nothing inspired so much fear as the shadow on the path. There was no time to help Hermione, a rational part of his mind told him. Fight or flight?

Hermione’s wail echoed in his head, and he did the one thing he knew he would regret. He ran.







The peal of bells followed every pounding step, and as Charlie ran, he extinguished his wand’s light, finding he did not need it. Each stride brought him closer to the rock face above, the white stones on either side of the path glowing brighter as he ran. When he came near to the rock face, more light lit his way as the opening to Merlin’s cave came into view. It was like the parting of a heavy white velvet curtain and inside, there was a dull white light.

He could feel the shadow behind him, the ‘him’ Hermione had mentioned, but Charlie did not look back. The fear drove every thought from his head other than to run.

His boots slapped against smooth stone as he skidded into the cave, not trying to imagine how it was possible that the cave existed or how it seemed to open just for him. Charlie clutched his wand, moving along a low tunnel, much like the cave near Tintagel, much like the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack to the Whomping Willow. It was different, however, in the sense that it was not wet, and there was nothing causing his insides to squirm with pain.

The dull white light came from within a larger chamber and as Charlie had to force his legs to stop moving before falling into a pit of water, he let his logical mind begin working again. Somehow, he felt safe.

The pit of water was smaller than the lake in the Horcrux cave, but there was something in the depths, causing the glow that had lured him inside. Charlie’s eyes took in the chamber, finding it to be made of pale grey limestone with fantastic natural formations, all glittering with white and bluish calcite. High above was a what appeared to be a natural opening, letting starlight and muted moonlight stream down to light a rounded peninsula toward the back of the pit of water. Charlie considered the water below his feet to be a pit rather than a pond or lake due to its depths and the shape. It was much like the pit described in the Mabinogion.

However, the thing that sat on the peninsula was nothing like Charlie would have imagined. There was a throne upon the highest point of the rock, glowing gold and large enough to seat more than just a king. It was Merlin’s golden chair, as legend had mentioned, and to the left of the throne upon a truncated stalagmite, was a golden drinking horn. In the horn, Charlie saw, was a rolled up bit of parchment, out of place from the antiquity of the cave.

It was what was sitting on the chair that held Charlie’s attention from that point on.

Made of stone and covered in the same white calcite, as the flowstones and the other speleothems was a figure of a man. Charlie blinked, thinking that it had to be an ancient statue of a male figure, sitting on the golden throne, left temple resting on the left fist, elbow on the arm of the throne. Time and natural mineral deposits had obscured the features of the body and face, tiny stalactites dangled from the sharp chin and between the spaces where the right hand rested on the knee.

Lifting his chin to move his eyes to the glowing, watery pit, he knew that he could not simply swim across, the water was too deep, and he was suspicious of what was causing the glow from below. He could not Apparate, Portkey, and the broom was outside…

Charlie’s boot slipped into the water, and he fell back instinctually, fear getting the better of him. The disturbance in the water echoed through the cavern, changing the light, reflecting ripples onto the walls.

Movement in the water had Charlie scrambling back further. Rising slowly, the source of the glow surfaced and Charlie blinked rapidly at what he was seeing.

The smooth underbelly with iridescent white scales of a dragon made the light brighter in the cavern, the calcite shimmering like diamonds on the speleothems.

“Merlin…” he whispered.

It was a bridge of three feet square segments of scales and as Charlie stood, moving to the first ‘stepping stone’ he saw the head of the white dragon under the water, eyes closed. It looked very much like a Ridgeback by the horns on its head and the shape of its snout, but by its whiskers and the shape of the eyes, it was like a Fireball. It was not any breed of dragon Charlie ever knew, but somehow, he did know, it was the legendary White Dragon of the Saxons, slumbering forever.

And the Red Dragon? Charlie licked his lips as he let his boot fall upon the scales, feeling the skin give slightly. It was akin to walking on boggy peat.

The distance between the edge of the pit and the peninsula was at least fifty metres, and Charlie figured that the dragon under the water whose belly was exposed to the air, had to be three times the length. When he leapt to the stone of the peninsula, the scaly underbelly sank down into the water again, taking the light with it.

Charlie glanced back to the tunnel, half expecting to see the shadow, but there was nothing. A twinge of discomfort surged through his body, knowing that if he did not hurry, Hermione would…

He shook his head violently, striding toward the golden throne, and ignoring it as he moved behind it to the horn on the stalactite. Of all the impossible things—Hermione, the strange sword, Malfoy being alive, the cave he stood inside—he had to push it all aside in his mind. Charlie did not allow his eyes to linger long on the statue on the throne, and snatched the roll of parchment from the horn, curling his thumb about his wand to unwind and read.

The ink was fashioned in a familiar hand, and it was not until Charlie skipped to the signature at the bottom that he knew who had written the missive.

‘Dear Soul, you are standing in the most sacred location in all of Britain…’

Charlie frowned, feeling nothing but his own anxiety and fear.

‘This parchment was placed here after great pains to penetrate the cavern and the resting place of the great Red Dragon, Y Ddraig Goch. I, myself, could never set foot in the cavern, and had to use an ancient relic to leave this message to you, as I was never the one to complete the task you, dear soul, are here to complete. You have come to break the Seal.

I do not want to imagine the circumstances as to how you came to be here. The fail safes have obviously…failed, and the Seal is most likely destroying all magic in our world. This place, and the time in which you are reading this message, is the last chance to save our world.

I hope this missive is never read, and that my fears are never realized. I hope that by doing what must be done will not obliterate magic all together…

The Seal is powered by many sources, but this place, this power, it the main ‘generator’ of the Seal. To break the Seal, you, dear soul, must awaken Y Ddraig Goch. By doing this, you reset every enchantment used to construct the Seal, and I pray, you save our world.’

Charlie stopped reading for a moment, seeing that there were only a few lines left on the scroll. Where was Y Ddraig Goch, and how was he to wake the dragon?

‘There are many that will not want the Seal to be broken. There are those who will try to profit from the flux of magical energy, try to rein it for their own uses. This must not be. Break the Seal…

Charles Gideon Prewett Weasley.’

The parchment fell from his fingers and he knocked into the unmovable throne, the parchment rolling up again and resting against the toe of his boot. He had not seen his name when he read ‘Regards, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.’

Charlie’s hands shook though he kept a tight hold of his ash wand.

Had it always been so? It made sense, oddly, that he would be the one to ‘awaken’ a dragon. Had he lived and kept his ability for some predestined moment?

He would not believe it.

Bending down to grasp the parchment again, he unrolled it, rereading the message. His full name was on the parchment, as was Dumbledore’s… Then, as if oozing out of the parchment, there was a postscript in tiny letters.

‘The Red Dragon sits asleep upon the golden throne, just as the great Merlin left him. Y Ddraig Goch in human form is the last of an ancient race, born in a time when this world sprang from a previous age. Be ware, Charles Gideon Prewett Weasley, Y Ddraig Goch is far more powerful than anything this current version of the world has known. —A.P.W.B.D.’

Charlie hissed as the parchment burst into flames between his fingers and he dropped the ashes to the ground. Still, he did not know more than before, and in the tunnel, the shadow was finally approaching.







Malfoy’s arms threatened to crack her ribs as they descended toward Hogwarts. She could hear him yelling something, something that sounded like ‘slow down!’ Hermione felt a small satisfaction, rankling Malfoy. However, her attention was drawn to the gates, the last bit of grey daylight allowing her to see that there were people, not Inferi moving in the vale.

Triumph washed through her, but it was short lived as just before the front doors, curse fire flashed and disappeared into the castle. The light they had noticed before coming upon Loch Etive was lightning, but not like any Hermione knew as it traced the clouds over the Forbidden Forest.

Landing, Malfoy grunted, jumping off the broom to run toward the front door. Hermione sniffed, abandoning the broom to follow. The scent fire came below in the vale, and she supposed that the other survivors were burning the bodies of the Inferi. However, Hermione was more concerned by the flashing from the windows of the Great Hall and the crowd of people in the Entrance Hall.

“Hermione!”

Ron caught up with her as she pushed through a gaggle of older witches, sisters by the look of them. Ron caught Hermione’s hand, pulling her between the people and around to the middle of the Hall.

There were bodies on the floor, and Hermione recognized that there were at least twenty, all faces frozen in shock. Among the fallen bodies were several Hermione knew, Oliver Wood and his older son, Roger Davies, and, half buried under two other people, Susan Bones.

The only sound came from beyond the closed doors of the Great Hall, the crackle of spell fire and crashing wood.

“Move! Get the injured to the Hospital Wing! Someone move the bodies!” a voice called via a ‘Sonorus’ from the top of the stairs, and Hermione’s attention was pulled to Minerva McGonagall, standing over the Entrance Hall like a sentinel.

At the snap of her bristle, people began moving, and Hermione realized that people were screaming, crying, some of the wounded moaning. Ron continued to pull her to the ancient oak doors, his hand like a vise about hers.

“War is upon us! Move!”

Hermione shivered at the sound of McGonagall’s voice, but turned her attention to the group of people at the doors, small flashes of spell casting making her eyes narrow.

Dennis Creevey and Marcus Flint were using whatever spells they could to blast open the doors. George stood nearby, drawing out small pellets from a box. Hermione realized they were miniature explosives. Coming to stand next to Katie Flint, Hermione saw that almost all of those who had went out to forage were standing about the doors, even Theo Nott whose arm was wrapped and hanging in a sling.

“Hermione…” Katie gasped, and suddenly Hermione was embraced, feeling Katie’s trembling body against hers. “Thank Merlin you are here!”

Before Hermione could ask to know what was happening, Ron answered.

“Harry and…Voldemort are inside. McGonagall found V-Voldemort…” Ron stumbled over his words, his face quivering.

“It was Teddy.”

Hermione blinked, eyes moving to a new figure, Astoria Malfoy with Draco next to her.

“It has been Teddy all along,” Astoria continued, glancing to her husband whose face was grave as his eyes moved from Hermione to the door.

Realization coursed through Hermione, painfully. She had been so stupid.

The miniature explosives had no effect and Theo Nott stepped forward, trying different spells on the door. It was clear that the doors were locked by a strong enchantment.

“No one knew…except Slughorn,” Astoria said as Hermione felt her knees grow week and she fell against Ron who caught her and held her tightly. “Slughorn was the first to confront Teddy, see that Teddy had been possessed, had been since the day the boy left for Hogwarts…”

Hermione felt a sob pass her lips and her eyes water. Astoria let go of her husband’s hand to wipe away her own tears marring the perfection of her beautiful face.

“Slughorn was wounded, but McGonagall and Potter pursued…many have been killed…”

Hermione closed her eyes as the sobbing increased, and Ron held her tighter.

Teddy… How could it be? Teddy had suffered so much in his short life, an orphan, with no family left that was close. It was unfair, wrong…

As if something clicked into place, Hermione straightened, but allowed Ron to keep a firm hold on her. Ron smelled less like grass and spun sugar and more like dank soil and blood.

Slughorn’s words came back to her regarding Teddy, and Hermione blinked away her tears, her vision distant. Slughorn had been awarded partial custody, taken Teddy from the Ministry just before everything started. But how could a twelve-year-old boy cast an Imperius, let alone in the middle of the Ministry of Magic? How could sixty-seven people be affected?

A ground shaking crash from inside the Great Hall distracted her, and her mind returned to the present moment. Nott stumbled back, his face sweaty, his uninjured hand trembling about his wand.

“No good. Whatever enchantment was used will not respond to any type of magic,” Theo gasped as Marcus moved to sit the man on the floor before he fainted.

“Couldn’t we fly around and get through a window?” Katie suggested.

“No, after the Battle of Hogwarts, the glass has been Charmed unbreakable and impervious to any sort of impact or Vanishing,” Ron muttered against Hermione.

Hermione’s eyes trained on Malfoy who frowned, and as if reading her thoughts, shook his head.

“No way, Granger,” he hissed, and most of the attention fell upon him. As if noticing for the first time, Hermione felt Ron stiffen and saw Katie blink rapidly at Malfoy. “You saw what happened when I went through the mirror. It may not just freeze your hand to the side, it might kill you!”

Only Hermione knew what Malfoy was talking about, biting her lips as Malfoy shifted the pack with the mirror on his back.

“If you cannot think of another way to get inside and help Harry, we will have—“ Hermione began, but Malfoy stepped forward, causing Ron’s embrace to tighten protectively.

“Use that sword of yours, Granger. It is enchanted, is it not?” Malfoy drawled, eyes moving to the hilt resting against her hip.

Hermione blinked, and slipped from Ron’s arms. “If this doesn’t work…”

Malfoy sighed, moving back to his wife. “I’ll consider using it,” he muttered darkly.

Drawing the sword from the Transfigured scabbard had Hermione a feeling as if she had stepped back in time. The sword seemed to pulse in her hands, and again, she wondered what it was exactly—sentient and benign, she hoped. At the sight of it, everyone around her backed away cautiously, and Hermione wondered if the sword, whose name she did not know, did look so threatening.

She took several steps to the door; the others backed away, eyes wide in disbelief. Hermione pushed aside the heavy weight of their curiosity and stood just before the doors.

With a grunt, she lifted the sword so the tip was pointed at the tight crack between the doors. Then, with an exhale, she surged forward.

Hermione thought she heard someone squeak in fear, but the sound of metal thrusting between the wooden doors sent another, louder whinge into the Entrance Hall. The sword vibrated in her hands, and with a blinding flash, the doors burst open violently and Hermione stumbled into the Great Hall.

The others ran inside, flanking Hermione as she lowered the sword’s tip to the stone floor. The sword still trembled in her hand, but Hermione sheathed it against her left thigh as her eyes took in the Great Hall. The ceiling above was a clear starry sky where there had been a storm only a few moments before. The cots that had filled the space were in piles against the sidewalls, obviously blown away. There were curse burns on the floor and in the walls, and the raised platform that usually had the staff table was blown to bits.

In the middle of the hall, Harry knelt on the floor, his clothing ragged, breathing hard with his back to the door. Ron was the first to move, his wand poised to cast, and Hermione’s hand itched for her lost wand.

The hall was silent except for the shuffling feet of the several people moving to encircle Harry. Hermione’s hand fell to the pommel of her sword as she too moved, circling around Harry’s right side to come to stand before him. On the floor below Harry was a small figure and Hermione had to narrow her eyes to see, the hall was quite dark.

“Harry? Mate?” Ron asked, lowering his wand slightly to move to Harry’s left shoulder.

On the floor was a boy, quite small, in torn school robes with a Slytherin crest on the breast. The face was familiar, but Hermione knew it was not the boy she had found singing over Harry.

Metamorphmagus. Hermione bit her lip, hating herself for forgetting.

The boy’s eyes were closed, his wand broken in half next to his limp hand. For a moment, Hermione thought the boy was dead, but as she watched more intently, she could see his chest rise and fall slowly.

“It’s over.”

Harry rose stiffly, his wand in his hand, his glasses cracked as they perched from the end of his nose.

“Teddy?” Ron asked quietly, his hand clapping on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry’s eyes moved down to the boy, and Hermione’s chin lifted as she noticed something odd about Harry’s expression. It was emotionless. Teddy was Harry’s godson…

“I pulled him out of his body… The Dark Lord…”

Hermione blinked.

“He should be fine.”

The Great Hall was slowly lit as the others began Conjuring candles to float overhead, and in the light, Hermione could see how pale and sickly Teddy looked. In his weakened state, Teddy’s usual blue hair, Hermione recalled from his baby pictures, was plain brown. Teddy looked very much like his father.

“Have you been hurt?” Hermione heard Ron ask of Harry.

Harry straightened, turning for the door. “I’m fine.”

The sword had been trembling all the while, and as Harry turned his back, not acknowledging much beyond Ron’s questions, the sword seemed to quake under her hand, the pommel buzzing with magical power.

Not right…not right…

Astoria was the one to pick Teddy’s small body up from the floor, Draco at her side. They whispered to each other too softly for Hermione to hear. The others were talking amongst themselves, and Hermione felt a sense of relief pass through them.

Too easy…too quick…

Hermione’s left hand clasped around the hilt of the sword, feeling the vibration run up her arm to her shoulder and into the rest of her body. Tearing her eyes away from Harry’s retreating back, she glanced around the Hall, to the devastation again. Despite the curse burns and the lingering scent of ozone, Hermione found everything to be quite contained. Taking a step forward, her boot toe knocked against Teddy’s broken wand.

The sword pulsed in her hand.

Bending down to take the wand, she paused, seeing an exposed unicorn hair from the light coloured wood. Touching it, Hermione felt the lingering spark of magical conduction. The sword burned, and Hermione tore her hand away, lifting her left palm to her face seeing there was a red mark where the handle had fit in her hand. With one knee on the floor, Hermione drew the sword, looking at the blade and seeing the reflection of her golden eyes in the smooth metal.

However, the reflection did not last long, and Hermione gasped softly as a picture formed on the surface.

Hermione watched, and watched, and then snarled.

“Stop!”

Ron and the others whirled toward Hermione who held the sword up, her eyes blazing as Harry paused, but did not turn.

“Restrain him!” she shouted.

Confusion dulled every person in the Hall, but Hermione had seen the truth and she was not about to let Harry Potter out of her sight.