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?




Whom the Gods Would Destroy…

Part 24




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





How does one wake a dragon?

Charlie was out of time. He stood next to the golden throne, his eyes upon the shadow falling in the passage. He was not sure whom Hermione had meant, but he knew that it was danger. With his wand poised, Charlie’s eyes moved back to the stone figure on the throne.

Then, ‘he’ was there, standing just at the edge of the watery pit, and Charlie’s eyes narrowed.

“What is it you are here to do?”

Harry Potter stood with his wand ready to cast, his glasses gone, his clothing ragged. However, as Charlie gazed back, he knew that it was not Harry, his brother-in-law. The eyes glowed red, the face too pale, and the voice wrong.

Charlie did not answer, instead ignored the man, and began thinking. How does one wake a dragon? He had only been concerned with incapacitating dragons, wrangling them, healing hatchlings if they were injured…

It came to him suddenly as he could feel Hermione’s blood soak through his jumper and to his skin.

Blood.

Human blood was of particular taste to dragons, a lure, a drug, that caused many dragons to go into a frenzy. It had always been human blood that attracted dragons to attack in the past. In the long history of dragons, Charlie knew that besides a penchant for hoarding treasure, dragons considered humans one of three things—enemies, food, or allies. It was rare that dragons would ever ally with humans and through hundreds and hundreds of years, most dragons were more like over large attack dogs, the ancient power lost through the generations.

Charlie took his wand and stretching out his left hand, gritted his teeth as he cast.

However, Charlie had no time to think about the deep cut in his palm as he whirled to cast a Shield Charm before him and the golden throne.

“You will not wake him!”

The Blasting Hex was cast aside and Charlie moved, gripping the back of the throne with his bloody hand and leaping over to stand before the slumbering a calcite covered effigy of Y Ddraig Goch. His blood dripped from his left hand, splattering the throne, the calcite covered figure and the rocky peninsula under his feet.

“This world is over…” Harry muttered darkly, and Charlie had to keep reminding himself that it was not Harry Potter speaking. “I will see it is over!”

Charlie winced as his fingernails dug deeper into the cut, and he shook his hand free to splatter more blood onto the throne behind him. It was still such a small amount of blood, and Charlie knew that it was not enough. He also considered he could be wrong…

“What would the point be in that?” Charlie asked, the rest of his mind turning quickly.

If not blood…flesh?

Harry’s face twisted into a disturbing smile. “Revenge? Or would you like something more intricately detailed?”

Charlie said nothing, peering down his nose as Harry’s possessed body. He was not sure how his brother-in-law came to be used, for the last he knew they were looking for a boy…

“You are in the way.”

“Obviously,” Charlie muttered darkly.

Charlie had never come face to face with Voldemort during the Battle of Hogwarts; he had only ever seen the wicked man out of the corner of his eye or at a distance. Even then, Charlie never had to face Voldemort’s sneering countenance. Using Harry’s face, Charlie felt ill just looking at the man, but also resolute.

He had to act.

Harry’s body moved, not to cross the scaly bridge, but to propel itself upward without a broom, and Charlie remembered… Voldemort could fly. Memories of Harry telling him and Bill about how George lost his ear over Little Whinging, and seeing Voldemort defying the laws of magic by flying to pursue. With Harry’s body taken over, could he fly as well?

Spell fire caused Charlie to stumble, his bleeding hand itching and tingling as he fell back to cast a Shield Charm, however, something happened that had Charlie suddenly lost for a moment.

A hand grabbed his wrist and he sank into the throne, into the stone, and came to rest upon the golden seat, blinded by darkness. As if the figure had been an illusion…

He felt the painful rasp of a Curse against his body and felt cold take over his body and his blood. There was a sound, like spell fire colliding against a ward, and the smell of ozone, and then, as if waking from the longest sleep he had ever had, Charlie opened his eyes, seeing only in shades of red.





For over one thousand years, Y Ddraig Goch slept peacefully with his enemy embalmed in a pit of mead. Y Ddraig Goch had had many names; the Welsh name the most recent. He had been called a ‘scourge,’ an enemy of men. He had been called ‘evil,’ and he had been defeated before. However, Y Ddraig Goch had many ages of men to know that he was eternal and no matter how defeated he had been, he would always be until the Last Battle, and the dissolution of the earth. His disposition changed, as did his perceptions. Man had become powerful and magic lived still, manifesting in men who called themselves ‘wizards.’ It was an interesting development to Y Ddraig Goch, as he had seen the rise and fall of many ages of the earth, the coming, and going of entire races.

Man was vigilant, having learned an ancient lesson of the agents of evil. Evil was to be destroyed. Y Ddraig Goch had renounced his allegiances before the age in which the name Y Ddraig Goch was given, and allied himself with the peoples that lived on an island nation sometimes called Breoton or Albion. Of course, in his very nature, he loved gold and treasure, he loved riddles, he loved the taste of mulled mead, and he loved the scent of human blood.

Several times in a millennia, he spent his time in human form, only revealing his true form when it was time to battle. In his last foray, he had walked among the people of Albion, seen their tenacity, and seen their cruelty. He had indulged in a human life for a short while in his terms, tasted the things that drove men to madness, had riches, a wife, a house, and a love. It was a fleeting thing, of course, he being immortal and not human, and in time, he went to battle with the last of his kin, the White Dragon. It was in this last battle that Y Ddraig Goch wearied of the world, and fell into a deep slumber.

The call came with the scent of blood. It was a familiar scent, one that he missed. The scent was just enough to make him realize that he was no longer alone in his cave and that a man was standing just before him. There was something even more familiar about the blood he smelled and felt, something kindred, something powerful, and that made him begin to see beyond his slumber to the cave beyond.

Evil had entered his sanctuary. He could feel it, a fragment of an ancient evil that was present during his birth, but had faded and disappeared in the coming of new ages. It was stronger than he remembered, and that strength made him angry. Man had vanquished this evil before, and yet, it was in his sanctuary, only slightly aware of who and what he was. The Great Enemy, his father, had yet to return to the world, and Y Ddraig Goch felt no hesitation to destroy the fragment of evil. It was not the sake for men, or for some grand gesture of true Good, but it was because that fragment of an ancient evil irritated him.

The man stumbled back when the evil moved to strike the fatal blow and Y Ddraig Goch acted, his right hand lashing out and pulled on the man’s wrist, pulling him back into the cold. Y Ddraig Goch had slept too long, and he needed the life warmth, and the power he felt in the man to be whole again. When he felt the man settle, he began whispering even as an evil spell hit his body.

The man was a kinsman, a far descendant perhaps, but in the warmth of the man’s life, Y Ddraig Goch knew that providence had brought the man to him for another battle.

He could see into the man’s heart and mind, see the new age and what came with it. He could see histories, faces, families, pain, and suffering. The fragment of evil had been contained due to the will of magical men, but the magic was dying and with it, every living thing. Y Ddraig Goch did not fear death, for he feared nothing. Perhaps, he had thought many times, where there was anger, there should have been fear.

Therefore, Y Ddraig Goch greeted his kinsman, and opened his eyes for the first time in one thousand years. He knew what had to be done.





The land shook and a terrible sound filled the air. Albion wept as once again the Red Dragon woke to go to War, and from every corner of the realm, whatever living creature was left, trembled in fear.







The Red Dragon was bigger than any other known to the Wizarding world and when it took flight into the night sky over Wales, the other dragons bowed their heads in fearful respect as their pantokrator’s wings beat the air to cause gales. The Red Dragon glowed in the sky, casting the landscape in bloody light. As it flew higher and higher, still it could be seen for miles around.

Then a roar came that made the earth shake and the sea churn. It was this roar that broke the Seal over Britain, and the heavens flashed and all eyes that looked to the sky were blinded. Powerful magic was sent back to those who had unwillingly given it. The Red Dragon glided over Wales to the north, over Ireland, over Scotland and the outlying islands before heading south. The earth let loose its joyful cry and thousands of voices rang out, every living creature bowing its head in respect as the Red Dragon of Britain passed.

With jade green eyes, the Red Dragon surveyed its realm, seeing the living and dead, and lamenting that the ancient evil had once again slipped back into the world. The Red Dragon was not benevolent by nature, but it protected its realm with jealousy. When it flew over every place, it came back to its cave, folding in on itself to land upon the ground of Dinas Emrys in man form.

Standing next to the body of a woman, it regarded the woman with more than pity.

She had wielded a familiar blade older than even he, and it was this blade that whispered to him.

‘Caranamlug, the Last Battle has not come yet?’

“No, but it is near for us.”

His voice echoed over the hill and down to the lake and valley, too large for the form he took.

‘At the end of the Age?’

“Yes, and I will be waiting.”

His glowing eyes were like green jade, his long hair an unnatural shade of crimson, and on his body, dark blue markings that had survived since the last Age, markings declaring him free of the Great Enemy.

“And this woman?” he asked, his attentions moving to the dying woman whose eyes looked up at him blindly, her lips stained with blood.

‘Maethil, the mate of the one who has given his body for you to wake in this time. She will not die, the evil used me to kill her, not knowing what I was and that I would not let her be killed…’

He smirked, the blue markings on his ageless face shifting. He could smell her blood, and it took every bit of his control to keep from devouring her whole. Such sweet blood, imbued with old power that he was certain the woman knew nothing about.

She would not die, and the soul he had borrowed rejoiced.

It was this stirring of the soul inside him that made him rise. His time was short, his task done. The world was set right for the time being, and the end of the Age would come too quickly for him.

“You will stay with her, Gaelchathol?”

‘I chose her, I will stay.’

He stepped back, smirked again, and with a short barking laugh, began up the path back to his sanctuary.

The woman’s descendants would hold the sword, and most likely wield it at the Last Battle. He would be anxious to see whose face would be screaming a war cry.






Charlie blinked as sensation returned to his body, lying on the rocky floor as the golden horn glinted in the light of dawn streaming down from the ceiling. He watched his mirror image lift the horn to pale lips, a blue marked throat moving to drink. He could not move.

And mead makes me sleep again…

The vision ended, and the golden horn clattered to the floor next to Charlie’s face as the calcite replaced that living flesh. It had been a dream, perhaps.

The sound of a groan startled Charlie and he pushed his upper body from the cold rock to look out into the rest of the cavern. Harry Potter was lying on his back near the entrance, a hand rubbing his face, his clothing in burnt tatters.

Charlie frowned.

Standing unsteadily, Charlie found his wand resting next to the golden throne with the still rock figure, and gripped it. Then, picking up the golden drinking horn, he placed it on the flattened stalactite. He studied the form on the throne, poised as it was before as if it had never moved.

“Charlie?”

He turned, seeing Harry was sitting up, his emerald green eyes squinting toward him. Charlie began to move to cross the watery pit again, but it no longer glowed and there was no white dragon under the surface. Charlie wondered if it had been an illusion.

Charlie watched Harry begin to rise, holding his head in one hand, his other curled about his wand.

“Is it… Is it over?”

Charlie blinked, and then with a concerted thought, Apparated to stand next to Harry.








The cave’s entrance disappeared behind them as if it was never there, and Charlie’s eyes narrowed in the brightened sky of a new day. The wind felt hot against his dragon hide armour, and on the air, he could smell summer.

Harry Potter walked beside him, haltingly, as if injured. Charlie paid no mind to Harry as his eyes were dazzled by the reflection of a sword sticking out of the ground on the path below them. He wanted to run, seeing a dark figure lying on bloody grass.

However, a series of pops signified the arrival of others, and Charlie sighed as five people ran up the track from below.

His brother was the first to reach Hermione while Marcus and Katie Flint, with wands drawn, ran toward Harry.

“Drop it, Potter!” Marcus snarled, and Charlie swayed on his feet.

Harry complied, but already Draco Malfoy and his father, the last people Charlie expected to see, had joined Marcus and Katie.

“It’s over Flint. That is Potter, not the Dark Lord,” Lucius Malfoy drawled, his snake headed cane tapping against one of the many rocks on the hillside.

“How can we be sure?” Draco murmured.

Charlie collapsed.

“Charlie? Merlin, we need to get them all back to Hogwarts,” Katie breathed, moving to Charlie’s side.

He was still conscious, but exhausted, his body feeling odd, as if his mind were somehow disconnected.

“How…?” he breathed, finally mastering the ability to speak one word.

“How did we find you? Draco… He knew where you were…” Katie answered in a whisper as Marcus moved to lift Charlie to his feet; his thick arms shifting Charlie until he was being carried over one wide shoulder.

“We go, now…” Draco whispered, and Charlie knew no more as Side-Along Apparition took him.






He awoke in darkness, and slowly became aware of his body. It was a slow process. Somehow, something had changed inside him for he felt it keenly although not knowing what it was.

Enlightenment, perhaps?

Charlie lay still for a long while, trying to remember his last memory. His mind was muddled, and he saw fragments of memory behind his eyelids, none of which seemed possible. He had roused the Red Dragon, Y Ddraig Goch, once the enemy of mankind, but no longer.

A heat, an imperative, burned into his soul, and Charlie remembered one thing keenly—there were more wars and battles to come. He had to be ready.








“You are Mr. Charlie Weasley, are you not?”

Charlie opened his eyes, turning his face toward the sound of a man’s voice. In the next cot in the Hospital Wing, was Horace Slughorn, dressed in a familiar pair of green silk pyjamas. Charlie vaguely remembered the man at the Battle of Hogwarts. Slughorn had retired by the time Charlie started Hogwarts, and he knew little of him.

Charlie nodded slowly, still lying on his back, exhausted. Slughorn was propped up on pillows, a book on his lap, but Charlie could not see the title.

“You have been asleep for some time, and I do say, you are looking much more in the realm of the living than when they first brought you here.”

Charlie licked his dry lips, but said nothing. However, his jade green eyes bored into the older, fatter, man’s face, and the old man nodded.

“Miss Granger will survive. There were doubts at first; two days have passed since they brought you and she here. She is on the mend.”

“Wha—“ Charlie wheezed, his mouth dry, his energy still not what it should be in his mind. “happened with V-Vold…the boy…”

Slughorn shifted on his cot, and Charlie could see the right side of the older man’s face, and the bandage over his temple and ear. In fact, the longer Charlie looked at the man, he could see that Slughorn was too pale, his eyes too reddened, his body weak.

“I am sure you will be told soon enough, but I was the one to first confront the Dark Lord in his latest manifestation.”

Charlie blinked slowly. “The boy?”

Slughorn nodded gravely. “Teddy Lupin. The boy will live, and I have suggested that he have his memory modified somehow… He did not know what he was doing or why.”

Charlie opened his mouth to speak, but Slughorn continued. “I had suspected something was off when I brought Teddy back from the Ministry. He had disappeared, wandered through the Ministry and Diagon Alley before and after his hearing. I assume that was when he cast the Imperius on those sixty-seven poor souls. Only Tom Riddle could have done something like that…”

Slughorn turned contemplative, but Charlie listened, beginning to add things up in his weary mind.

“I will always wonder why he picked Mr. Potter. Surely, he would have seen that Teddy was not himself… When I confronted Teddy, he nearly killed me. He had the capacity to do so, but did not. I think that whatever Tom was oppressing of Teddy’s soul was beginning to weaken. Knowing that Mr. Potter was alive, Tom was surely delighted to slip inside the body of the one who had destroyed him many times over… But still, how Mr. Potter could allow it…” Slughorn trailed, shaking his head sadly.

Complacency. Charlie knew that with the Battle of Hogwarts, everyone, even Harry Potter, believed that Voldemort was utterly destroyed. No one could have anticipated the lingering hatred and vengeance that would nearly decimate their world.

“Then the music… That wonderful tune that I enjoyed…I heard him singing it after it echoed through all of us like a haunting voice. I began thinking. The soul that had a hold of Teddy Lupin was outing itself, consciously or not, echoing through the earth, through the natural veins of magic in the ground…

The ancient evil…fragment of the Great Enemy, it was singing out, tainting everything.”

Charlie’s eyes widened.

“What do you mean?” he whispered, finally able to speak a complete sentence.

Slughorn’s eyes glittered as they turned to Charlie and a haunting smile curling his lips and made his moustache quiver.

“What do I mean, Mr. Weasley?”

Charlie blinked again, agitation coursing through his exhausted body.

“Of that, I will never speak. I know nothing about it, compared to you.”

Slughorn said nothing for a long while.

“Rest assured, Mr. Weasley. Voldemort, that manifestation of evil, is now gone. There are other evils we must check now—the evil of mortal men.”