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 25




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








“…all felt the Seal disengage, heard it. We saw the dragon in the sky, heard the roar. It shook everything, I’m surprised the castle did not shake down on our heads…”

Hermione listened to Ron’s voice, but did not open her eyes. She could feel a rough hand holding her own, and slowly surfaced into full consciousness.

“Charlie remembers a little. He has told us all what had happened with him, and the Red Dragon. It was fitting, I guess, that Charlie be the one to do what he did. He always had an almost supernatural way with animals, especially dragons. Some of what he told us did not make any sense, though…”

Ron was talking to her, she realized, and her eyes fluttered open.

He was smiling down at her, his disfigurement not so severe as she remembered. Brushing a cropped strand of hair from her face, his smile widened.

“I knew you were listening, ‘mione.”

She said nothing, lacking the strength to speak or move.

“You’re safe now, you’re at Hogwarts. The Seal is broken, and you are going to be fine…”

Hermione blinked slowly, and Ron nodded.

“Everyone is doing much better now. Charlie’s been up for two days, and everyone is treating him like a hero…” Ron chuckled. “I suppose it is only right.”

She blinked again. Ron was different, although the scar still marred his face. It was as if something heavy had been pulled off him, and he reverted to the boy she remembered—kind and loving.

“I wanted to apologize, though…about…”

Her lips trembled and Ron trailed.

“Yeah, I know…you forgive me.”

She wanted to smile, but did not.

“I’ll send Padma in now. You’re going to be fine…”

Ron had said that before, Hermione realized.






Hermione had spent two weeks in the Hospital Wing by the time she opened her eyes, and it was another three days before she could sit up and speak. Charlie had been by several times, but before he could speak more than a few words to her, he was called away again.

She had been a hairbreadth away from death, Padma told her. The blood loss, combined with the trauma to her organs had been severe. Surprisingly, however, when she was brought back to Hogwarts, her body was already healed enough to make it able for Padma, Justin, and eventually a restored Madam Pomfrey to cure her.

News came to her in small bites, everyone fearing that it would upset or excite her too much. She was still on the mend, and even with magical ability; Hermione was still treated with Muggle medicines.

On a particularly hot July day, Hermione was dozing in her hospital cot, Cooling Charms all around her, when the screens parted and waking Hermione. Lucius Malfoy sat on the foot of her bed, dressed in shirtsleeves, his long hair pulled back in a high ponytail. He was dirty, mud smudged on his high cheekbone and his hands stained. Lucius Malfoy smelled like sweat and Hermione wrinkled her nose. When did a Malfoy ever sweat?

“Curious about the world you have saved, my dear?” he asked finally in a trademark drawl.

Hermione sighed. “I saved nothing…”

Lucius grinned. “That remains to be seen.”

She opened her mouth to retort, tell him to disappear, she could see that he was well, the sickness gone from him while she was still hurting.

“Draco and Astoria have decided to return to the Manor with young Theodore Lupin. I suppose that whenever we can manage to pull together a formal system of government, they will adopt him, and try for another child.”

Licking her lips, Hermione nodded. “Draco is the closest thing to family…”

A cousin once removed was better than nothing at all, she supposed. And there was Harry, Teddy’s godfather…

“I am staying behind to help get the refugees settled back in their homes, or placed in new situations. Most of the Weasleys have returned to wherever it is that they live, and those who have no other place to go have decided to settle near Hogwarts.

Dufftown was spared, it seems…”

“And the Inferi?”

Lucius sniffed, crossing his legs so that one dirty boot rested upon the knee of his dusty black trousers.

“The bodies in and around Hogwarts have been burnt. Your Mr. Weasley has organized disposing of the rest within twenty miles of Hogwarts. He also had charged a few people to go to London to see what is left of the Ministry…”

Hermione frowned. “Why are you telling me all of this, Lucius?”

Lucius cocked his head and smiled. “Because no one else will. You are being treated as ‘delicate,’ and we both know you are not…

Now, where was I? Oh yes… Mr. Potter will not be held accountable for the deaths he caused—again. However, it seems that he is now the pariah of the Wizarding world, no longer the hero since your Mr. Weasley destroyed the Seal.

To Potter’s credit, he, his wife, and his surviving child have left Britain for greener pastures. In fact, many have left since the Seal was destroyed.”

Hermione had been gnawing on her bottom lip, but released it. “And the Muggles, have any come back?”

Lucius grinned delightedly. “I was getting to that…

It seems that when the Seal was destroyed, there was an interesting ‘side affect.’ Muggles still cannot see Britain, but wizards can. For the past week, the Wizarding world has rallied to Britain’s aid. There are already mentions of repopulation by ‘immigrants’ from the Continent. And British Wizards who were lucky enough to be out of the country when the Seal was enacted are returning.

The problem now is keeping track of who is coming in and out. So far, we have been able to keep any mention of the ‘Dark Lord’ from being spread beyond those of us who knew the truth. The Headmistress has charged all involved to take a vow of secrecy.

In the meantime, American, French, and Canadian aid has been pouring in to begin cleaning up the dead, restore some basic things we magical folk need while dismantling some of the Muggle monstrosities that dot the landscape—power plants, I think they are called.”

She was gaping, she knew, but did not care. The Muggle world could not see Britain…

“By Christmas, we expect to have a bare bones Ministry up and running. There were several Ministry officials taking refuge in the castle, and there will be elections at some point to appoint a new Minister.

I expect there will be several people vying for the position, but I will not be one of them.”

Hermione closed her mouth and snorted, crossing her arms before her gown clad chest. The world was changing, it seemed, and Hermione felt a small satisfaction in that fact. Lucius chuckled softly.

“The Daily Prophet is up and running again, a few making it back into Diagon Alley. The economy was the first thing to return with the goblins. It seems that they took refuge in the bowels of Gringotts, their enchantments protecting them, as well as preserving Diagon Alley.

We have been finally getting in shipments of supplies needed here at Hogwarts and the re-opened St. Mungo’s. Of course, there is a shortage of manpower, and that is where foreign aid has worked best. However, it is amazing to see how quickly we can rebound for all of this.”

Lucius fell silent, his eyes distant. Hermione took the opportunity to look at his face, seeing how healthy he seemed, younger even, and changed. He was still the bane of her existence, but there was a contemplative silence that was lacking before. Lucius chose his words more carefully; at least, it was how it felt to Hermione.

“I had wanted to ask about everything you saw, Hermione, but now… It does not really matter to me anymore…” he mused. “I will be staying here for a few more weeks, unless McGonagall decides to hire me on to teach…”

Again, Hermione snorted. “What?”

Lucius pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. “There are still school age children needing to be taught. Granted, the classes will most likely be combined since there are so few, but if there is no education for the children, there is no real future for us. Besides, in about twelve years, I am certain there will be large influx of new students.”

“Baby boom,” Hermione muttered, letting her arms slip to her lap.

Lucius nodded. “I offered my services to the Headmistress for the DADA post or Herbology if Sprout does decide to leave for South America to stay with her sister. There is also Astronomy, now that Aurora…” he trailed.

Hermione hiccupped a sob, startling herself as the tears began to fall.

The weight of reality all crushed down upon her, starting with Aurora Sinistra. For months, she had lived hour by hour, killed, and regretted none of it. What pained her and caused her tears was the thought of those she had left behind or lost.

Lucius rose, but did not move to her. Instead, he turned to leave, unable to look at her while she cried.

“Its…its really over, isn’t it?” she managed through her tears.

Lucius turned his head slightly, but did not look at her. “Yes, my dear, it is really over.”










That night, Hermione lay back in the cot, making a mental list of all the dead that she knew. The Sisterhood of Ine, Viktor whom she had killed unwittingly, Arthur, Angelina, Neville, Percy, many of the Weasley children, all but one of the Potter children, Narcissa and Scorpius Malfoy, Oliver Wood, Susan Bones…the names went on and on.

Her mind moved to Charlie, and what she had seen through the sword that was sheathed and hidden under the edge of the mattress of her cot.

She remembered its name when it spoke to her and showed her the truth. Gaelchathol, sometimes called Celebgrist or simply Silver Sword. Celebgrist called her ‘coldagnis’ and ‘handmaethil.’ Hermione was not sure what language the name derived from, but she knew the sword had powers that she had yet to know.

Celebgrist had shown her how the Red Dragon rose, the power of the ancient beast driving out the fragment of Voldemort’s soul as if shining the brightest golden light so no shadow could exist. Tom Riddle was nothing compared to the power of the spirit of Y Ddraig Goch. The presumption she felt of Voldemort was driven out and decimated as if it had been nothing at all.

She had watched Charlie become a part of Y Ddraid Goch, and feared. Even when the ancient dragon took human form and spoke to Celebgrist, it had been in words Hermione could not understand. She could only feel the weight of those words and know her own intuition that the words were important. Then consolation came in whispers that she would not die, and Hermione remembered nothing after those words.

There was so much she did not understand.

First, there was the music, which she had not heard since waking. Hermione concentrated, but heard nothing but the ambient hum of enchantments working through the stone of the castle. There was a deeper sound, ancient, that soothed her, though it had been obscured by evil magic for months.

Why could she still feel so keenly the sudden return of magic? Had she somehow trained herself so well to be aware of it?

Who was Y Ddraig Goch, and what were the ‘Ages?’ What part of history did she suddenly become aware of, and so suddenly? How long had magic truly worked in the ground beneath her?

It was overwhelming, and Hermione eyed the phial of Dreamless Sleep on the bedside table. Padma had left a phial every night since Hermione’s dreams had stolen away hours of restful sleep. It was post-traumatic stress, she knew.

Charlie sometimes came at night to lie beside her, but for three days, he had only come to see her once while she was eating breakfast. She needed him near, and yet Hermione was confined to her bed, and still quite weak. She needed to speak with him, touch him. Hermione needed Charlie to tell her that it was all over.








Without her wand, Hermione felt naked. She wondered if whoever had taken over for Ollivander in Diagon Alley had managed to survive. Finding a copy of the Prophet, which consisted of eight pages in all, Hermione learned that the near death of their world was being called the ‘Scourge.’ She had rolled her eyes when she read the byline—Rita Skeeter. Hermione had almost hoped Inferi had ripped the odious woman apart.

Most of the Prophet consisted of notices for new property, adds requesting assistance in farming operations taking place to restore an independence from foreign aid. There were even lists of known dead. Hermione knew that before long the Prophet would be printing theories as to the cause of the ‘Scourge,’ and she ground her teeth knowing Rita Skeeter would be leading the charge to blame someone.

After breakfast, after the day Lucius Malfoy informed her vaguely of the situation outside the castle, Hermione escaped the Hospital Wing dressed in an old pair of denims and an old Wasps tee shirt that was a size too small. Strapping the sword across her back, she sorely missed her wand more than ever. Leaving the confines of the screens, she found the Hospital Wing nearly empty and the walls and floors scrubbed clean of the smell of death. The rest of the castle was much the same way, and Hermione thought she caught sight of an elf behind a suit of armour, hiding a cleaning wrap behind its back.

The Entrance Hall was buzzing with life, and as she stood on the steps, she spotted Dennis Creevey sitting behind a table, listening to an irate Petroc Parkinson complain that his Manor in Cornwall was in ruins and when would someone find him better rooms… The doors to the Great Hall were open and Hermione could see that the House tables were back in place and a large group of people were sitting down to a late breakfast. She spotted Lucius Malfoy’s blond head next to a disgruntled Cho Chang. Turning her attention to the open front doors, she could see more people on the grounds, casting Charms on the grass to make it grow over the many graves. There were women placing flowers from the greenhouses on each one, and a serious Seamus Finnegan writing something down on a roll of parchment. Names, Hermione supposed.

Near the door, a notice board had been placed, and was overflowing with tacked up bits of parchment, and it was to that, Hermione went. Her eyes scanned the board, mostly notices for advice on where to settle, advice on respectfully removing Muggle remains, and questions on how to begin breeding cattle. There were also advertisements for volunteer work, clean up crews, supply distribution, and even an advert for a new Head of Magical Transportation and Centaur Liaisons Officer.

Hermione walked toward the front doors next, feeling summer all around her, seeing the trees of the Forbidden Forest leafy and green. Summer had been delayed, and Hermione wondered if winter would be as well. Walking along the path to the gates, Hermione looked toward Hogsmeade where several structures had been rebuilt and people moved about again in the distance.

The life that had nearly been squashed was moving again. There was a fragile peace in the air, the fear still present, but diminishing. Hermione inhaled deeply, the scent of death almost gone and replaced by flowers, the loch, and the Forest. Resting her hands on her hips, she angled her face to the sky and the warm sunlight. The nightmare was over, and it seemed too good to be true.

“You are looking much better, Hermione,” a voice said from her right.

Minerva McGonagall stood beside Hermione, her spectacles dangling from a chain about her neck and resting over her old teaching robes. Her face was also angled toward the sun.

“Thank you, Professor…” Hermione whispered, closing her eyes and continuing to bask.

“Mr. Potter has left a message for you, one that I have kept after you returned from Wales…”

Hermione opened her eyes again.

“I have not mentioned it to any one else, considering… Considering that Mr. Potter took himself and his family out of Britain, ashamed.”

Hermione sighed and let her chin fall.

“It was only a verbal message. He wanted to let you know how sorry he was…”

“He needn’t be,” Hermione whispered, feeling the sword pulse across her back coolly, as if to soothe her.

“Most know that, Hermione. However, many people will not see it that way. Mr. Potter had been groomed to be a martyr, a method that caused many arguments between Albus and me.

Mr. Potter would also like you to know that if you should decide to contact him that he has settled in America, and would not be hard to find by Muggle means. He has contacted Gringotts to donate a great deal of money into restoring Hogwarts. It is not needed, of course, but Mr. Potter will always carry a great deal of guilt and shame no matter whether he deserves to or not.”

Hermione turned to McGonagall to find her frowning, her face pointed toward the ground.

“What can I do?” Hermione asked in a pained whisper.

McGonagall met her eye and smiled sadly. “You have done plenty, Hermione. All that matters now is that you rest. You are a hero to so many of us, you and Mr. Weasley. No one is going to look down on you if you should want to disappear for a while.”

The matron knew her well, Hermione figured.

Turning their faces to the summer sun again, Hermione wondered if disappearing for a while would be wise. She had had enough of isolation to last her a lifetime.







Charlie sighed, slightly annoyed with the Wizard Council’s requests that he take a larger role in the ‘new’ manifestation of the Ministry. Sitting in a back parlour of the newly reopened Leaky Cauldron, his jade green eyes glanced to the small clock on the mantle above the fire. It was nearly dinner time, and nearly dark.

Sitting in the parlour with thirteen brightest, most powerful officials left from the Ministry of Magic, Charlie felt out of place and time. He was not used to sitting around listening to old bureaucrats argue.

“Mr. Weasley, have you anything to add?” Timothy Williamson asked, the highest ranking Auror to survive the ‘Scourge.’

Charlie blinked, his eyes moving to all assembled. Some of the thirteen he knew well, others he did not, but all had been Ministry officials, all having been able to escape London before the Seal was enacted.

He thought they had been talking about liaising with the foreign aid to begin refurbishing the Ministry. Oddly, after its destruction, the Ministry seemed to literally rebuild itself, from the bottom up. Charlie did not want to think about what sort of Charm work went into something like the Ministry of Magic.

Charlie shook his head, sighing again.

The meeting was quickly concluded and the members of the temporary Wizard Council gone. Charlie remained behind for a few moments, listening to the stillness of the Leaky Cauldron. Hannah Longbottom had been one of the first to come back to London, a new fervor in her eyes to throw herself into her work to try to forget her husband.

Instead of taking the Floo back to Hogwarts, a convenience that had been reestablished automatically as the Seal dissipated, Charlie walked down Diagon Alley, now desolate and lifeless. There were a few shops that had lights inside as the sun began to set, but not George’s shop. Charlie knew that George had returned to the Burrow with the rest of the family. Quality Quidditch had light, as did the Apothecary, even Gringotts had lights at the doors. Charlie had heard from his older brother, word coming that he, Fleur, and the children would be returning from Alexandria forthwith and back to Shell Cottage in Tinworth.

Charlie listened to the wind wail down the street and past him, and turning, he headed to the mouth of Knockturn Alley. In the deep shadow, there was no movement. The ‘Scourge’ had shaken even the darker aspects of Wizarding life.

The ‘Scourge’ was a terrible descriptor, Charlie decided early on, but he could not think of a better word for it all. It had not been a ‘War,’ as in the past. He stood alone; wearing the old, battered trench coat he had found what seemed like years ago while he and Hermione were trying to get to Hogwarts.

Charlie often wondered if they would have saved themselves so much grief if they had stayed somewhere and waited for everything to end. Of course, he knew that between himself and Hermione, they would have fought for their survival regardless.

He missed her, terribly. After thinking that she was dead on Dinas Emrys, Charlie remembered little of the events that followed. He did know that it had been something amazing, something worth an epic story, something truly magical. Charlie remembered Slughorn’s words, and the memory kept him unsettled.

Harry Potter, for the last time, was used by Voldemort to contain a piece of a malignant soul. Harry apologized profusely, but it fell on deaf ears. Charlie knew Harry was sorry… Harry had lost children, lost several months of his life, and nearly lost his life trying to play the hero again. He could not fault Harry, in the end; they all had been used in some way or another.

When the truth began to come out during Council’s private interviews with little Teddy Lupin, Charlie began to see the sequence of events, everything that led him to Dinas Emrys. He wondered how much Hermione knew.

Moving to the designated Apparition Point, Charlie stood for a moment, staring across the street to the wall strewn with new notices pasted up by the IMCFA or International Magical Cooperation for Foreign Aid, and smirked. If Percy were alive…

A shiver passed through him, and with a blink of an eye, he was gone from Diagon Alley.






“It is not going smoothly, but I suppose that is to be expected,” Ron said softly, passing his older brother a bottle of Firewhiskey across the House table in the deserted Great Hall. “There is no way to compensate those whose homes have been destroyed, no way to be sure that everyone has the health care they need, the food, etc. I had to subdue Greg Goyle yesterday from stealing from the IMCFA food crates and selling them on what has become a booming ‘black market.’”

“Goyle’s father has been ill…” Charlie grumbled, pouring Firewhiskey into a Conjured glass, only a finger’s worth. “Goyle Sr. has a rare condition, and the potions used to keep the condition in check have run out. It seems that some of our ‘foreign friends’ have been trying to make a profit of their own by raising prices on Potions ingredients.”

Ron blinked, his scar stretching horribly. “And you know this…?”

“The Wizard Council made me an informal thirteenth member last week. Mrs. Goyle seems to have filed a complaint about the price of Re’em blood from our ‘suppliers.’”

Charlie threw back the Firewhiskey and let the heat trickle down his throat. He was tired, he was frustrated, and he seriously considered packing up his few belonging and escape back to Wales and the Reserve.

“That is only one example of how we need someone strong enough as Ministry, with a solid Cabinet, to bring us back out of this stupor,” Charlie muttered. “Elections have been slated for October, but we need something sooner than that. The Wizard Council has limited power…”

Ron’s face darkened. “I’ll see if I can get Williamson to start recalling Aurors. With a policing force, it might quiet some of the loudest voices.”

Charlie nodded. “And Lucius Malfoy…”

Ron’s gaze flicked sharply to Charlie. “What?”

Charlie sighed, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his head on his hands. “The man has international connections…in Romania. We might need to make a new ‘black market’ of our own.”

Ron relaxed. “I’ll speak to him.”

Nodding, Charlie began to rise and Ron opened his mouth to say something more. Charlie’s jade green eyes glimmered in the candlelight, turning to his brother again.

“She’s out of the Hospital Wing now,” Ron whispered. “She’s taken the rooms in the back of the DADA office again.”

Charlie inclined his head, and tried to smile, but was far too weary. Instead, he began walking. The halls were empty, most of the refugees gone, and already the castle’s elves put everything back to rights. It was assumed that a new school year would start on schedule, though the number of students was a fraction of what they once were.

The DADA classroom was also empty, the desks back in place, and as Charlie passed through the open office door, it was to find Hermione sitting behind the desk, writing. She did not seem to notice him until she went to dip her quill in the inkwell, and at the sight of him, the quill dropped from her hand.

Almost immediately, Hermione was in his arms.







“I will be here as long as you need me,” he whispered to her in the dark as they settled into bed. The casement windows were open, the fire out, and as it was too hot to sleep under all the blankets, a sheet covered them. After months of nearly freezing to death, the heat felt too warm and too foreign.

Hermione was already asleep.