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 5




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







The telephone box was in shadow, but across the street, Charlie Weasley and Hermione Granger stood in sunlight, eyes squinted.

“I hate this,” Hermione muttered.

“I just hope we can get in,” Charlie muttered back.

Charlie stood stiffly under his cloak, his hands shoved into his pockets. Hermione stood with the strap of her rifle across her chest, her hand on the handle of her wand at her belt.

Hermione was worried what they would find once they were inside. Together, they walked to the telephone box, Charlie opening the door, and like a gentlemen, let Hermione step inside first. With Charlie pressed into her back, his face frowning at the barrel of the rifle nearly poking him in the nose, he shut the door behind them.

Hermione picked up the receiver and dropped it, knowing that it was useless. With her grubby finger, she dialed: six-two-four-four-two.

Charlie jumped as a crackling sound filled the box; Hermione bit her bottom lip until she tasted blood.

A recording started, the usual female voice used by the Visitor’s Entrance was muddled by static. “Thank you for your inquiry to the Headquarters of the Ministry of Magic. We regret to inform you that the Ministry is closed. If you would like to leave a message, please dial one. If you are in need of a representative of Magical Law Enforcement, please dial two. If this is an emergency, please dial zero-zero.”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to Charlie who shrugged. Forcefully, Hermione jabbed twice at zero.

Again, there was a terrible crackling noise and a voice sounded in the box.

“We apologize, but the Ministry of Magic is closed. If you like to leave a message, please dial one. If you are in need of a representative of Magical Law Enforcement, please dial two.”

There was a pause, and then in a different voice, a male voice: “If the Seal has been enacted and you are seeking assistance from the Ministry, please dial seven-three-two-five.”

Hermione punched in the numbers and the box jerked. Charlie’s large palms slapped the glass panels of the box as it began to descend slowly and roughly. There was no light overhead, as was normal, and the unpleasant ride down into the Ministry was in darkness.

“That voice sounded very familiar,” Hermione commented, feeling Charlie move against her back.

“I think it was Kingsley’s voice,” Charlie said tightly.

Hermione hummed to herself as the descent continued. When light filled the box again, it was dim. The Atrium was empty, hundreds of bare fireplaces on either side of the hall. Hermione stepped out just as the box touched the polished wood floor, wand drawn. Charlie was soon at her side, his eyes moving along the Atrium.

They moved together toward the fountain. No water was flowing over the golden figures of the Fountain of Magical Brethren and further down the hall, there was no watch wizard at the counter.

Hermione sniffed the air as Charlie moved to the counter, bending over the side to look behind. The air was stuffy, stale, but she could not smell the tale-tell scent of death that meant Inferi.

Charlie moved to the lifts, Hermione following. Together, they stared at the disused lifts.

“Where should we try first?” Hermione asked aloud, her voice echoing through the Atrium although it was little more than a whisper.

“We start with Level One and work down. Personally, I would like to start with the Minister’s offices.”

Hermione nodded and jabbed at the call button. Surprisingly the lift doors opened immediately, admitting Hermione and Charlie. Charlie worked the lever in place of the usual man, and soon the lift was moving, backwards and then down.

“Level One, Office of the Minister of Magic,” a cool female voice sounded in the lift.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she exited first, stepping into a corridor of white marble walls and floor. When Shacklebolt had been Minister, the corridors were a dark golden marble. Hermione had not been in the Ministry since Hestia Jones became Minister.

The corridor was empty, the length running down both sides of Hermione. To the right were the offices of the Minister, to the left, the offices of the Wizengamot.

“Stand behind me,” Charlie said, breaking the pristine silence of the white corridor.

Hermione did not question as Charlie moved before her.

Magic swept from Charlie as a spell was cast. She felt that it was the same spell Charlie had used to locate her. A flash of light had accompanied the spell, but as Charlie stood still, darkness fell into the corridor again, the only light coming from the lift as the grate closed.

“Nothing…” he said.

Hermione moved to his right side as he gripped his wand again and lowered the tip to the floor.

“You’ll have to teach me that spell,” Hermione said, trying for a smile, but failing.

In the light from the lift, Charlie seemed baffled by Hermione’s expression. Hermione licked her chapped lips and turned, lighting her wand and starting toward the Minister’s offices. Charlie followed, also lighting his wand. The wall sconces did not react to their presence, and Hermione fell ill at ease.

Hermione pushed through the large oak doors into the front of the offices of the Minister of Magic. The first office was dark, the enchanted windows blank. She moved around the front counter, past the secretary’s desk and to another set of oak doors.

“Hermione,” Charlie began before Hermione tried the door.

The doors did not move as Hermione pushed upon them. Hermione stared at the doors for a moment.

“Hermione?”

She grimaced and raised her boot. Charlie was visibly shocked as Hermione kicked in the door, not bothering to cast ‘Alohamora.’ The doors flew open, banging back into the walls.

Hermione did not enter as Charlie moved to her side; instead, she coughed and pressed her sleeve against her nose. Charlie mimicked her motion, gagging.

The room was not completely dark, a magical fire burning in a small fireplace against the far wall. The odour was all too familiar.

Hermione and Charlie moved in unison. Charlie lit the non-drip candles, and Hermione cast an air freshening Charm. In the light, Hermione’s eyes took in the room. Behind a large desk piled with file folders and rolls of parchment sat Hestia Jones in a padded leather chair. Her white, dead eyes were pointed to a spot before the desk, her mouth agape in death.

The Minister of Magic had been dead for some time, her body bloated, flies moving over her purple distended flesh.

“I have always wondered,” Hermione said softly, studying the woman’s face.

Charlie was across the room, standing next to a winged back chair before the fire.

“Where do the flies come from? This office has been closed up for weeks now—so where do the flies come from?”

Charlie stared into the back Hermione’s head, and Hermione could feel his incredulity at her words. Hermione blinked and turned away from the desk, moving to the middle of the office and a centre table with a spray of dead flowers. Lying on the floor was another body.

“Marcia Edgecomb,” Hermione said aloud, kneeling next to the body. “Department of Magical Transportation, current Head.”

Standing again, Hermione moved to the wall across from the Minister’s desk. Another body was leaning against the wall, beneath an empty portrait. “Amos Diggory, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, current Head.”

Hermione studied Mr. Diggory’s body, his wand hanging from his bloated fingers. Her eyes moved along the wall to yet another body. Kneeling beside the body, Hermione pushed it onto its back, and sighed.

“Arnie Peasegood, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, current Head.”

Charlie had not responded, and as Hermione moved to the fireplace, she understood why. A body rested next to the fireplace, Floo powder scattered on the tiles before the hearth. Even dead, Hermione did not have to search for a name.

“Merlin,” she whispered, glancing up from the body to Charlie.

Charlie was trembling violently, his jaw set, his eyes clear as she stared at the face. Hermione hesitated to touch Charlie’s right arm, his right hand clenching his wand until his knuckles were white.

Percy Weasley’s body rested at an odd angle against the wall. From the way his body was posed, it seemed he had been in the process of making a Floo call when he was killed. Hermione glanced over her shoulder to the other bodies.

“The Killing Curse, all of them,” she whispered.

All but the Minister had been killed mid-stride or mid-spell. The effects of the Killing Curse were unmistakable to Hermione’s eyes. However, Hermione felt as if something were off. She forgot about consoling Charlie and moved to the Minister’s desk, studying the body of Hestia Jones again. As she stood before the woman, the only sound she could hear was the artificial crackle of the fire and Charlie’s trembling form. Hermione closed her eyes and listened harder.

There was a startling lack of something. There were the hum of the spells she and Charlie had cast in the room, but beyond that, there was nothing.

Hermione’s eyes snapped open. There had been a vacuum of magic until she and Charlie had entered the room—Hermione knew that the Killing Curse left a palpable taste and feeling upon a person. It made no sense, she would have never considered it before, but there was a starkness to the office. It was not just the office in which she stood, but also the entire Ministry.

Someone had sucked the marrow from the bone, but not all of it for she could still use magic.

Hermione turned her attention to the rolls of parchment on the Minister’s desk. Moving to stand next to the deceased Minister, Hermione picked up the topmost parchment. Her eyes scanned the handwritten words.

“Sweet Nimue,” she gasped as she read over a list of names, a long list of familiar names. “Charlie?”

Charlie did not turn away from Percy’s body. Hermione knew that Charlie would be in shock, she knew she in shock but she was setting it aside. She did not have siblings, and Hermione could not imagine coming upon a loved one in such an unexpected manner. However, as she stared at the parchment in her hand, she was beginning to understand how it felt.

Charlie turned away from Percy’s body, his eyes distant, and came to stand just before the Minister’s desk.

“What is that?”

Charlie had not made a motion to the document in Hermione’s hand, and his voice was flat.

Hermione began in a tremulous voice. “It is a memorandum from the Office of Magical Law Enforcement, dated February 25, 2010, after the Seal was set on February 21st. It is a list of names, people who were missing…” she trailed, losing the resolve of her voice. Clearing her throat, she began again. “People who were used to cast the Holokauston.”

Charlie’s hand reached for the parchment and Hermione passed it across the desk, her hand trembling. The names of sixty-seven witches and wizards were emblazoned on the backs of her eyes. She knew most of names, people she knew in person, the other names were of people she had heard of or read about.

“Ludo Bagman, Heathcote Barbary, Miles Bletchly…” Charlie read aloud, his jade green eyes moving down the alphabetized list. “Neville Longbottom… Narcissa Malfoy… Harry Potter…”

Hermione closed her eyes. She felt as if she were going to vomit.

“Angelina Weasley, Arthur Weasley… Gods…”

Hermione heard the parchment flutter from Charlie’s hand to the carpeted floor. When she opened her eyes, it was to see Charlie stalking out the office and out of sight to be sick. Hermione sighed and walked around the desk to pick the parchment up and begin folding it. She could hear Charlie groaning, but she did not go to him.

The rest of the memorandum had dashed all remaining hope. Aurors had been dispatched to seek out the missing sixty-seven witches and wizards, and on February 25, 2010, the sixty-seven Imperius’d souls were dispatched to another world.

Neville, Harry, Angelina, Arthur, those were people who had been close. Harry had been the Boy Who Lived, and he was dead. Hermione fell against the desk, holding her head in her hands to keep her mind from spinning. Harry had always been able to break through the Imperius Curse by sheer fortitude of mind, Hermione could not understand. So many of the names on the list were people who had fought in the War for the side of light, but there were also names of former Death Eaters and their families. So many names were of people Hermione knew to be strong in character and mind. But what bothered her more than the names on the list was the fact that every other witch and wizard in Britain seemed to have disappeared.

Ron, George, Ginny, Molly, their names were not on the list. And what of the people in the room? Who had killed them and why?

Hermione whirled to the desk and began searching. Parchments fell to the floor, all of which were of no interest to Hermione. She looked for something about Hogwarts, the Seal, emergency orders, evacuations notices, but there was nothing.

The lack of something pertinent seemed off. If the Ministry and all of Britain were in emergency mode, there had to be something on the Minister’s desk. Moving about the desk, she pushed the heavy chair and the Minister out of the way, as she began pulling out drawers, breaking locks by using her wand to blast into the wood.

Nothing and more nothing, Hermione’s chapped and broken lips trembled.

“What are you doing?”

Hermione froze, glancing up from a bottom drawer to look at Charlie. Charlie’s face was ashen, but he seemed calmer.

“There has to be something more than a memorandum. There has to be something about evacuation, about the Seal…”

Charlie said nothing, but his eyes moved about the room, pointedly overlooking the bodies.

“What do you know about the Seal?” Charlie asked, his eyes returning to Hermione.

Hermione blinked as she rose. What did she know?

As she moved out of the Minister’s office, she lit her wand in the darkness in the corridor. Charlie followed silently as she moved to the lift and gently tapped the button to open the grate.

She knew she had opposed the act Shacklebolt and Moody had designed. She also knew that Harry had been for it.

As an act of recompense, several families associated with Voldemort volunteered family secrets to help construct the magic involved with the Seal. The Malfoys, the Bulstrodes, the Goyles, the Parkinsons, and a number of other Pureblood families collaborated with the Ministry. Magical markers were set around the British Isles, and spells constructed.

“Not much,” Hermione answered finally as she stepped onto the lift.

Hermione worked the lever, and as the lift began to move, Charlie touched Hermione’s shoulder. She had been shaking. Hermione turned to Charlie, the barrel of her rifle scrapping the grate of the lift.

When the pert feminine voice announced ‘Department of Mysteries,’ Hermione’s face was buried into Charlie’s black jumper. He held her close, his chin resting on the top of her head.

She was exhausted. Hermione inhaled the knit of Charlie’s jumper and closed her eyes. He was warm, unusually so, and she wondered if he would allow her to sleep against his chest for a few minutes. However, before the grate could close, Charlie reached around Hermione to hold it open.

“C’mon,” he said softly, tenderly.

Hermione opened her eyes and inhaled again. Under the body odour and death, Charlie smelled like everything good about the forest.




The Locked Room. Hermione had always wondered ever since Fifth Year what was inside. She remembered Harry telling her what Dumbledore had said about the room. Inside was the most powerful magic, Dumbledore had said.

Love.

Hermione had come to feel that Dumbledore was full of hippogriff shite. In the room with revolving doors, the door to the infamous Locked Room stood open. And sitting just in the door was a person.

Hermione and Charlie stood in the middle of the circular room, their wands trained upon the figure whose back was resting upon the jamb. As they approached, the figure did not seem to notice them, and when Hermione jabbed the cowl-covered head, it rolled about on its neck.

Charlie made a noise as if to warn Hermione, but Hermione knew—this person was not dead.

Kneeling, Hermione curled her thumb about her wand and pushed the cowl from the figure’s head. Silver hair tumbled down wide shoulders, a stark contrast from the black cloak the person wore.

Draco Malfoy was sitting in the open door of the Locked Room, his lips cracked, his eyes ringed with black, his face more gaunt than Hermione’s. Hermione nudged her old schoolmate, but Draco Malfoy did not wake. She felt for a pulse and found one though it was weak.

“He’s dehydrated, starved,” Charlie said kneeling next to Hermione. Charlie studied Malfoy’s form. “He is wandless.”

Hermione did not want to assume so much and she ran her hands under his cloak, over Malfoy’s black business suit, over his arms and legs and into his boots. Then, taking hold of his pointed chin, she adjusted his head so it leaned back into the doorjamb.

Draco Malfoy, despite being half dead, looked surprisingly handsome. In the lit chandelier in the middle of the circular room, he looked very much like a younger version of his father, but beaten and ill.

“I’m going to try to wake him,” Charlie uttered softly, and Hermione nodded.

Hermione stood and stepped back. Charlie tried a simple ‘Rennervate,’ but it was ineffective. Then Charlie cast a wordless spell, the colour of the magic a soft white, Hermione could not identify the spell.

Immediately, Draco Malfoy’s pale eyes opened and he gasped for breath. Dry coughing took the man, and Charlie glanced back at Hermione concerned. With a bit of Conjuring and an ‘Aguamenti,’ Hermione passed Charlie a crude metal cup of cold water. Hermione knew her Conjuring and Transfiguration were getting weaker as her body was growing weaker.

Charlie pressed the cup to Malfoy’s lips and Malfoy drank between coughs. Hermione noticed that he did not try to lift his limbs, and she wondered if he were somehow injured in a manner she could not see. She waited, shifting from foot to foot, until Malfoy seemed aware that he was not alone.

“Weasley?” came a croak, and Hermione turned her attention to Malfoy’s face.

“Yeah,” was all Charlie said.

“Not the one I knew in school…” Malfoy trailed, coughing again.

Hermione moved closer, knowing that Malfoy’s coughs were not a sign of good health. The way he coughed seemed to use every bit of his strength.

“Granger?”

Hermione did not acknowledge Malfoy, but raised her wand.

“Hermione, what are you doing?” Charlie asked, turning to her as she stepped closer.

Malfoy’s eyes widened in fear as Hermione cast, and then narrowed as his coughing subsided.

“How long have you been sitting here, bleeding into your lungs?”

Malfoy swallowed and glanced to Charlie. “I don’t know.”

“Why are you sitting in the door?”

Malfoy’s red-rimmed silver eyes moved to the black polished floor. “I fell here. I think I was Stunned.”

Hermione knelt next to Charlie who pressed the cup to Malfoy’s lips again. Malfoy’s hand twitched, Hermione noticed, but again he did not raise his hands. She had healed his broken ribs and the punctured lung, but there seemed to be more wrong with the man.

“Can you tell us what happened here?” Charlie asked softly, setting the cup aside.

Malfoy nodded. “I came here to see if I could lift the Seal.”

Hermione and Charlie shared a look.

“When?”

Malfoy nodded. “I don’t know. A few days ago?”

“Where did you come from? Where is everyone?” Hermione asked impatiently.

“Hogwarts, I came from Hogwarts.”

“Then it is safe?” Charlie asked.

Malfoy nodded. “It was when I left. The castle was full of refugees.”

Charlie and Hermione were lost in thought for a moment. There were so many questions, but Hermione was the first to break out of her own mind.

“Who is doing this, Malfoy?”

Malfoy blinked and tried to move, but grimaced instead. Hermione studied Malfoy again.

“I think my legs are broken,” Malfoy gritted out.

“Merlin,” Charlie swore, standing. Hermione was about to cast the appropriate spells, but Charlie acted first. Within a few moments, Malfoy was on his feet, supported by Charlie.

“In here,” Malfoy said, inclining his head toward the Locked Room.

Hermione followed behind Charlie and Malfoy into a darkened room. From what she could see, the room was not very large, but the walls were lined with shelves. Upon the shelves were books, artefacts that looked like holy relics, weaponry, and jars of strange looking two headed creatures in formaldehyde, among other things. In the middle of the room, where Charlie and Malfoy were standing, was a small stone dais as high as Hermione’s hip.

Malfoy took a step away from Charlie on his own volition. A light shone down onto the dais from an unseen place, and the reflection of light off the top of the dais lit Malfoy’s pale face and hair so that it seemed to glow silver despite the dark circles around his eyes. Even Charlie’s jade green eyes seemed to glow brighter.

Upon the dais was a silver bowl, like a Penseive, but shallower and filled with clear water. Hermione frowned at the bowl, moving to stand between Charlie and Malfoy. Looking down into the bowl, she saw her reflection, a perfect reflection. Hermione could see how dirty she was, how tangles framed her gaunt face. She looked as dead as an Inferius except her eyes. In the mirror of the water, her eyes glowed golden.

“This is Prester John’s fabled mirror,” Malfoy drawled, apparently feeling in better health. “Utter nonsense, but that is what it is called.”

“You can see places in this mirror?” Hermione asked.

Malfoy made a noise and Hermione glanced up, she knew he want to make a smart remark, but thought better of it.

“It is one thing it can do.”

Hermione frowned. “And this is important because?”

Charlie pinched Hermione’s arm without Malfoy’s notice and Hermione clenched her teeth. She knew she would have a bruise.

“This is how I was going to try and lift the Seal.”

Hermione knew that she was exhausted and her mind was not functioning as well as she liked, but she could not see how a water filled bowl was going to help lift perhaps the greatest and most unfortunate bit of magic every created.

“You haven’t tried yet?” Charlie asked softly, staring as if transfixed into the bowl.

Malfoy coughed, and for the first time Hermione saw him struggle to raise his pale hand to his colourless lips.

“I couldn’t. I was attacked by…” he trailed. Then with a pained sigh: “I’ll show you.”

Hermione blinked as Malfoy stepped forward and with no ado, thrust his hand into the bowl. A flash of light from the bowl made Hermione jump back, wand at the ready. Charlie had reacted similarly, but as a tendril of smoke rose from the bowl, they relaxed. Hermione looked to Malfoy whose eyes were closed, his body trembling as more smoke rose from the surface of the water, swirling. Colour seemed to seep into the smoke and soon a shape formed. It was of a building, or what looked like a building to Hermione. Slowly, the smoke shifted and she realized what she was seeing.

It was the room just outside the door. What Hermione was seeing was something like a surveillance recording, a magical version in three dimensions.

From one door, Draco Malfoy entered the circular room, dressed as he was as he stood next to Hermione. His long platinum hair fell in wavy strands from the cowl of his cloak. He moved purposely to the centre of the room as the doors began to rotate around him. When the walls stopped, he turned slowly about the room and then moved to a door. Then, pulling his wand from his cloak, he cast a spell that resulted in a green stream of magic. A door glowed for a moment and then the latch opened.

Hermione could hear the sound of the latch like a sound effect from a Muggle telly. She watched as Malfoy began to go into the door, but from her vantage point, there was movement across the circular room and suddenly, another figure entered.

There was as strange rasping noise and the smoky form of Malfoy whirled, and a Stunner whizzed across the room. The Stunner was deflected and ricocheted into the wall. Malfoy moved back toward the door, and Hermione knew that Malfoy wanted to get into the former Locked Room and shut the door.

She could not see the other person in the round room, and she moved to Charlie’s other side. From her new vantage point, she saw a face from under a heavy cowl.

The face was pale, and purplish lips moved to soundlessly incant.

Crucio.

Malfoy tried to deflect the Curse, but caught part of it, knocking into the jamb of the Locked Door. Malfoy’s face contorted angrily, but he did not speak, instead he cast the Killing Curse, but the magic slammed into the opposite wall. Hermione blinking seeing that the black cloaked figure seemed to Apparate just in front of Malfoy. She knew it was impossible to Apparate and figured the figure must be able to move incredibly fast, faster than a normal human being.

Malfoy shouted out of surprise, and then a flash of red against his chest slammed him into the doorjamb again. It had been a Stunner at close range, but as she watched Malfoy sink to the floor, she knew it was not simply a Stunner. Bone-splitting Hex and a Stunner, Malfoy was struggling to remain conscious.

A white hand poked at Malfoy and then, pulling the cowl further over Malfoy’s head, the figure stepped back. Pushing at its own cowl, the figure revealed itself, long black hair spilling over wide shoulders. What would have been a handsome face was deathly white, fathomless grey eyes were too bright, too alive. Hermione shivered as she looked at the face, and soon the face was gone as the smoke dissipated.

Malfoy had pulled his hand from the bowl and stumbled back, catching the edge of the dais to keep from falling.

“He did not speak a word,” Charlie said softly.

“Why didn’t he kill you?” Hermione asked Malfoy who was sweating profusely.

She knew he was ill, even after mending his bones. Malfoy needed a Healer.

“I don’t know, maybe because we’re related,” Malfoy drawled sarcastically.

Hermione smirked, but let it fade as her tone turned grave. “Regulus Black is the reason why our world has turned to shite?”

Malfoy startled both Hermione and Charlie by throwing his head back and laughing.

“Regulus Black has been dead since 1979, Granger. What you saw was a reanimated corpse.”

Hermione’s brows knit. No reanimated corpse could perform magic and no reanimated corpse had eyes that were so bright.

“That is impossible,” Charlie muttered as the surface of the water settled again, reflecting their faces.

Hermione nodded. “He was drowned after placing the fake Horcrux in the cave…” she trailed. “Drowned by Inferi.”

Charlie glanced to Hermione, his eyes wide. “Inferi cannot use magic,” he whispered.

“He was not an Inferius,” Malfoy said, turning their attention to his pale face again. “He was something else.”

Malfoy’s voice was grave, and as he moved closer to the mirror again, Hermione could see his anger. His face was slightly flushed.

“He’s the one who has been commanding the Inferi, but we think that even he has someone controlling him,” Malfoy continued.

“We?” Charlie asked.

Malfoy’s eyes moved to Charlie. “Your brother, my father, Susan Bones, and myself.”

Hermione bit her lip again. Ron was alive. Something inside her seemed to shake loose, and tears ran down her cheeks. She heard Charlie whisper her name, and then his arm wrapped about her shoulders in a soothing gesture. Hermione said nothing, and did not move.

“We have been working to understand the order of events from February 18th to the 25th. Bones believes that if we can find the order of evens, we can understand where our weak point lies…”

“Weak point?” Charlie asked.

Malfoy nodded, “Not a very apt term, but if you haven’t noticed, magic is draining away from places in Britain, places where magic is the strongest. My father believes that the reason Glastonbury Abbey was destroyed was because it had the highest concentration of magic in the southwest…”

Hermione perked at Malfoy’s mention of Glastonbury Abbey and caught his pale eyes.

“Why?” she asked vaguely.

Malfoy blinked. “Granger, I don’t…”

“Why would someone want to somehow destroy the magic in Glastonbury Abbey?”

Malfoy’s brow furrowed. “The magic was not destroyed, it was drained…like a Muggle battery. Magic cannot be destroyed, but it can be moved…”

Hermione’s eyes moved to the bowl again. Why pull magic away from one place to another? It did not make any sense. Unless…

“For some reason, some of us are losing our magical ability, as if the innate magic in us is being eaten away,” Malfoy said.

“You?”

Malfoy swallowed thickly, but shook his head. “Not me, not yet. But most of the Pureblooded wizards who survived are…”

Charlie stiffened. “My family?”

Malfoy snorted, “Surprisingly, no. My father is weakening, and I… You saw the spells I cast—they were weak attempts at defence. But there are others, and they are dying because their magic is being drained away. Longbottom’s grandmother was the first to go, then more old ones.”

Malfoy’s voice turned soft, and Hermione wondered whom he had lost besides his mother. She knew so little about Draco Malfoy after the War. Had he married? Did he have children?

“The youngest died along with the oldest. A child’s magic is strong, but uncertain, in flux. The weakest went first…”

Malfoy’s voice was trembling, and Hermione knew then that a child had been lost. He stood silently for a long while, staring down into the mirror.

“There was more dying when I left, and we were no closer to an answer as to why.”

Charlie’s arm moved to Hermione’s waist, and though the gesture was soothing, it was foreign to Hermione.

“Then why remove the Seal?” Charlie asked, and Malfoy seemed to recompose himself.

“It was a theory that your brother had,” Malfoy said with a light smirk. “I happened to agree with the theory, and here I am.”

“The theory?” Hermione asked, stepping out of Charlie’s embrace to near Malfoy.

“The Seal—Weasley believes that by setting it, we have inadvertently begun to pull magic from every living witch or wizard to maintain it.

When Shacklebolt had us begin working on setting the markers to construct the Seal, there had been issue with how we were to ‘power’ the Seal. There was a debate whether this magical energy would come from Britain itself, or from some other source.

Individually, when we work magic, we draw that energy from ourselves. And in being human, our bodies heal, recharge—we can use magic up into our old age. However, a continuous strain upon our magic will eventually drain us, kill us, and that is Weasley’s theory.”

Charlie shifted on his feet. “But not all of us are feeling the strain.”

Malfoy nodded. “It was a theory. All the same, the Seal needs to be dissolved. If you haven’t noticed, we are systematically being exterminated—Muggle and magic alike.”

Charlie did not retort, but Hermione spoke again.

“The Seal is the only thing that is containing this, Malfoy. If you release the Seal, it will spread…”

“It has been considered,” Malfoy snarled. “But unless we release the Seal, we will never have a fighting chance!”

Hermione did not react to Malfoy’s anger. She could see both sides, but theory alone would not be enough to push her to release the Seal.

“Do you even really know who is responsible? If Ron thinks that someone is using the resurrected Regulus Black…”

Malfoy sighed and then with a visible effort, brushing his finger through his hair, conceded: “We do not know who used those witches and wizards to cast the Holokauston. That is something that my father and your brother have been working on since we sought refuge at Hogwarts…”

“Has Hogwarts been attacked?” Hermione asked, interrupting.

Malfoy sneered, but composed himself again. “Yes, but the attacks have not gotten beyond the gates. It is daily, several times a day. Inferi swarm just outside the boundaries and walls of the grounds, but McGonagall must have laid a ward—they cannot get through. Father thinks it is a ward to distinguish the dead from the living. A clever ward, by all means, but in the beginning, it was not enough.”

Charlie inhaled loudly and Hermione glanced to him.

“We arrived at Hogwarts on February 22nd. We flew on broom, as had so many others, and on that day, there was fighting on the grounds. Ministry Aurors were fighting against Imperio’d witches and wizards. That was where Longbottom fell, and Johnson…”

Malfoy’s eyes grew distant, and Hermione pursed her lips. “Your mother?”

Malfoy jumped at the sound of Hermione’s voice and his mind came back to the present. “She had gone shopping in London the day before it started. We grew worried when she came back late and immediately went to bed. The next morning, she was gone from the Manor, the elves upset, claiming that she had been acting odd. Father started looking around the county. By then, we realized that something was wrong, we could not Apparate or Floo…Portkeys were useless. So, we flew.

We found her in Mere toward midday, dying. She been under the Imperius, and she had been killing Muggles…”

Malfoy’s voice broke, but he cleared his throat and lifted his head proudly.

“I killed her before the Curse began to wear off. I did not want her to realize what she had done…

By the time we made it back to the Manor, Astoria had packed what she could and ordered the elves to Hogwarts. She had been in contact with her sister in the north via Patronus. Father took Scorpius and went first, then Astoria and I, flying as fast as we could to Hogwarts. The Seal had been set here in the Ministry, and already, we could see the fires in the cities, the Inferi killing anyone, Muggle or Wizard who had somehow escaped the Holokauston.”

Malfoy fell silent, his eyes distant again. Hermione glanced to Charlie whose jade green eyes were also distant.

“The culprit?” Hermione asked, breaking the oppressive silence.

“Weasley figured that it had to be someone familiar with Grindelwald, or Eastern Europe. We did not realize it was the Holokauston until McGonagall learned of the details of the attack.

We started to consult other survivors, those who had seen the curse in action and had somehow survived. There were not many. All spoke of those under the Imperius but none saw who was pulling the strings.”

“As ridiculous as it might sound: it was not Regulus Black?” Charlie asked.

Malfoy shook his head, his pale blond hair falling over his chest. “To see my dead cousin was a shock, Weasley, but I doubt very much that he, whatever he is, is responsible.”

Hermione bit her lip again, sucking blood from the crack in her lip. The fact that Regulus Black was somehow walking around was a mystery unto itself. If it was truly Regulus Black…

“We tried to reason a motive for everything. What would there be to gain in killing every living person in Britain? It was insanity. Even with the Dark Lord, he only wanted to subjugate Muggles. Compared to this, the Dark Lord was logical,” Malfoy muttered darkly.

Hermione smirked. Malfoy was right, for once.

“Then Bones made a suggestion. Holocaust.”

Hermione’s smirk faded.

“Cleanse this country, for some purpose.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “You cannot lift the Seal, Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened and turned to Hermione. “I can, and I will.”

Charlie shifted to stand closer to Hermione. “She’s right, Malfoy. If you lift the Seal, whatever or whoever is responsible will have free reign of the world…”

“And if I don’t, we will all lose the ability to fight!”

Charlie said nothing more, and Hermione could understand why. It was a conundrum, simply because Ron’s theory could be correct.

“Why would Regulus Black leave you alive, Malfoy?” Hermione asked again.

Malfoy said nothing, but stepped closer to the mirror.

“Wouldn’t whoever is responsible for this want you to release the Seal?”

His pale hand moved to the mirror and Hermione gritted her teeth.

“Have you even considered it?”

“Get to Hogwarts, I’m sure you could be of more use there,” Malfoy said with a sigh, ignoring Hermione’s words “Besides, if I release the Seal, I doubt that being here would be safe.”

Charlie’s arm wrapped about Hermione’s waist again and he pressed his mouth to Hermione’s ear. “If what he says he true, Hermione, he will do what he thinks is right. We cannot stop him.”

“Yes, we can!” Hermione snarled, pulling from Charlie’s grasp again, moving about to the mirror to Malfoy’s side. At her nearness, Malfoy blinked. Then a fist jabbed at his nose and he began to fall.

“Hermione!” Charlie gasped, rushing around the dais to catch Malfoy before he hit the floor. Malfoy was holding a broken nose, his eyes wide, staring up at Hermione. He fought his way from Charlie’s assistance to stand again even as bright red blood oozed down his chin to his neck.

“I swear to Merlin,” Malfoy said, but it came out different, strange, and Hermione, if the situation were not so dire, would have laughed. “You are crazy, Granger!”

Hermione’s right hand stung from the punch, and she could feel Malfoy’s blood trickling between her knuckles.

“I know I am, Malfoy, but if you do this, we might still have our magic, but we will lose any hope of stopping this here, now!”

Malfoy began searching his cloak and suit for his wand, but did not find it. He had lost it at some point, and Hermione had not seen it in the room. He did manage to produce a handkerchief from his coat pocket and used it to staunch the blood oozing from his nose.

“Unless you kill me, Granger, I am going to do this,” he tried to snarl, but again his words were muddled, pinched.

Hermione’s brows rose, and soon Malfoy was looking at the tip of her wand, pointed just between his eyes.

“Enough, Hermione!” Charlie roared, and with Seeker like quickness, he had moved from behind Malfoy to grasp her wrist, pushing her wand tip to point at the darkness overhead.

Hermione grimaced as Charlie’s grasp crushed her wrist, malnourished bones, forcing her to drop her wand into Charlie’s waiting hand.

“Good call, Weasley,” Malfoy wheezed.

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Charlie snapped to Malfoy, glancing over his shoulder.

Hermione stumbled back from Charlie when he released her, cradling her right wrist against her chest. Charlie frowned, slipping Hermione’s wand next to his in his chest holster.

“I’m not going to stop you, Malfoy, but let us go. Give us time…” Charlie muttered, his eyes fixed on Hermione.

“Just get out,” Malfoy tried to drawl, but his words were slurred, his voice wet with blood.

Charlie moved forward, grasping Hermione by the shoulders and began to steer her from the room. Hermione struggled free again when they came to the door. She turned to regard Malfoy coolly.

“You’re no hero, Malfoy,” she said softly.

Malfoy lowered the handkerchief from his crooked nose, and in the light reflecting off the mirror, he grinned, his teeth red from blood.

“Never wanted to be, Granger,” he muttered with an eerie smile. Then to Charlie: “Better hurry, Weasley. I will give you ten minutes to get out of the Ministry…”

Charlie nodded and instead of pushing Hermione out the door, scooped her up in his arms, and began running for the lift.


TBC...