The Last Gift

They acted simultaneously. Hermione set off a Caterwauling Charm. Charlie had to struggle not to cover his ears. A mere second later he cast his Patronus, a tremendous Norwegian Ridgeback, and it went streaking up the corridor on gossamer wings.

The alarm shrieked all around them, and for one brief moment Charlie looked at her. She could see his eyes cataloguing the bruises, the marks of nails, and the purpled crescents that were teeth marks on her neck and the top of her breast. Like a true brother, he was memorizing each hurt. She was willing to bet that he wished he had not already disposed of the man who perpetrated them.

Then, with a grim nod, Charlie turned and set off the same way his Patronus had gone. Hermione followed, fueled by sheer willpower; the time would come when she could break down, but this wasn’t it. As she whipped through the stone corridors one thought punched through the panic to eat at her.

Where was Lucius?


Harry flinched and dropped his fork as the horrible wail of the Caterwauling Charm began to sound in the Great Hall. He’d heard it before and it brought about an immediate response; his heart began to hammer and panic beat against the edge of his senses. He had to fight the urge to run for his life. Placing his palms against the battered wooden table, he willed it to pass.

All around him, people had abandoned their dinners and were on their feet, wands drawn. Conversation ceased. The only sound was that endless, shrill wail.

After a tense minute, a large, dragon-shaped Patronus burst into the room. It began to speak in Charlie’s voice.
“There is a Death Eater loose in the school. We don’t know where he is or what he looks like but be on your guard!”

And just as the last echoes of the dragon’s brief message bounced off the high stone walls, all light was suddenly snuffed from the room.


Remus received a very rude awakening as the blaring charm went off with ear-splitting volume. Nymphadora started beside him and sat straight up. A moment later Teddy began to cry. Powered by maternal instinct, Nymphadora climbed over him, still naked, and went to comfort her babe.

In spite of the horrible noise and the shock, he was able to admire the shapely curve of her buttocks and she leaned down to the crib and lifted Teddy out. Then reason returned to him and he realized that someone had set the charm off for a reason. Something was happening. Something that probably wasn’t good.

With a curse, he tumbled out of bed and hastily began to dress. His wife watched him. Teddy hiccupped and sniffled against her chest, his hair fluctuating between colors to indicate his displeasure at the never-ending alarm.
When he had managed to pull his pants and shirt on, Remus looked up at Nymphadora and said, “Stay here with Teddy.” And he expected her to argue, to insist that she was an Auror and probably better equipped for this situation than he was like she usually did, but this time she just nodded. After slipping his shoes on, he gave both of them quick kisses and grabbed his wand. He didn’t know what he was getting into, but the castle’s eerie stillness once he stepped out the door was not encouraging.


Harry felt the press of people around him. Like a herd of animals, the others had protectively encircled him. He swallowed and clutched his wand. He didn’t like it. This kind of protection was for the sick and the young and he was neither.

Still, he didn’t dare order them away. The darkness was absolute. There was no hope of seeing. Several had tried Lumos and the spell was like nothing more than a pinprick of light that lasted a second before being swallowed by the darkness all over again. It had to be Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. It thrived on light; its presence only made the dark stronger.

All he could do was listen and feel. The powder would run its course in about ten minutes. Until then…he had to hope that one of the people around him was not the rogue Death Eater, and that he was not about to die in the dark.


Remus nearly collided with Charlie and Hermione outside the door of the Great Hall. He couldn’t control his consternation at Hermione’s appearance. Her face was bruised, her clothing torn, and sweet Merlin, were those bite marks on her breast?

“The Death Eater,” Charlie said gruffly by way of explanation. “He’s dead.”

“Death Eater?” Remus blinked.

“Yes. His partner is missing.”

“They were Polyjuiced to appear as my parents,” Hermione spoke up flatly. “We brought them right into the castle.”
Remus closed his eyes. That meant…

“I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

Her jaw tensed and she swallowed. “Yes, well, we’ll all be sorry if we don’t catch the second Death Eater.” Purposefully, she marched forward and pulled on the door to the Great Hall. It yielded with a groan. Instantly, tendrils of darkness wisped from the open doorway, twining around Hermione. Charlie reached forward instinctively to take hold of her. He was not going to lose her in the murk.

“They’re in here,” Remus said, his voice very low. His nostrils flared. “Trying to pick Harry off in the dark…”

“Cowards,” Hermione sneered.

Remus placed a hand on both of their shoulders. “Let me take care of this.” He looked at Charlie. “Stand watch.”
Hermione made to protest, but a slight squeeze from Charlie stopped her. She turned and gave him a questioning look.

He can smell them, he mouthed.

Yes. Reaching for some kind of calm, she took a step back. Remus and his werewolf’s nose would be able to pick out the person who didn’t belong.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

He acknowledged her with a short nod, and then Remus stepped forward into the shadows.


The darkness was absolute, yet even in absolute darkness, a werewolf could see. His vision wasn’t perfect, but Remus could make out the shapes of things – tables, chairs, benches, and clusters of people frozen together in protective formations, wands raised. He had to be careful. If he moved too quickly, his own companions might fire upon him.

He was rarely thankful that he was a lycanthrope. This was one of those unusual times. He walked soundlessly with a predator’s skill. Remus stalked from group to group, sniffing, straining for a scent he didn’t recognize and remaining vigilant for any sudden movement.

This group was the most familiar. He could smell Minerva, several Weasleys, the earth-like scent of Professor Sprout, and mingled among all of them, Harry. There was no aberrant scent around him…yet.

Remus waited, standing close to a nearby group so that he wasn’t conspicuous. The Death Eater had to have his own way to find Harry in the darkness. In time, he would come. It would be easy pickings.


Harry tensed as the scrape of feet and sounds of a scuffle broke out close by. The entire group tightened, pressing in on him claustrophobically. He could barely hold his wand up.

As it turned out, he didn’t need to. There was a shout of “Stupefy!”, followed by the thump of a body hitting the floor. A rather large one, by the sound of it. The silence afterwards was deafening…until Lupin’s voice washed over his ears.

“I’ve got the Death Eater. Everyone stay put until the darkness lifts.”


“I thought you were dead.”

Lucius turned to Pansy’s whisper with bleary eyes. He felt dead. Considering he had died once before, he had a pretty good frame of reference.

“As long as you’re held captive, I will not be dead.”

Pansy looked a little taken back. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think you have much control over that.”

He pushed up on his hands and knees, wincing. “I have...more control than you think.” Lucius made it to a sitting position and weathered the dizziness that came with it. It occurred to him that he was naked, but he was too tired to care. Either they would bring him clothes or they wouldn’t. It was the least of his concerns.

At least Pansy was dressed. They had given her an old tattered robe that was too big for her frame. Perhaps they had done it on purpose to accommodate the baby once she started to grow. Lucius took that as a blessing; it meant they had no immediate plans to kill her.

However, no immediate plans wasn’t the same as no plans. He knew how Voldemort worked. He would use Pansy to try to force Lucius’s hand, and it would work. He wasn’t going to let anyone harm her. If it meant doing terrible things, he would do them, but he doubted the Dark Lord wanted much more than to torture him until he lost his mind.

It was a poor plan on all sides. A leader who was preoccupied with vengeance would miss other things, important things. Lucius couldn’t hope to protect Pansy and the baby if Voldemort became bored with torture. He had some control over life and death, but only his own. Still, it was better that he was here to distract attention away from Pansy.

The truly important factor was time. Given enough of it, Lucius would be able to come up with something better. He would have to take it wherever he got it because one of the Dark Lord’s favorite things to do was to torture a prisoner relentlessly; no time for respite, sleep, food, or recovery made a person crack much sooner. Moments like these could not be wasted.

Pansy was watching him, unsure of what to say. Then she ventured, “I was hoping they wouldn’t catch you.”

He wasn’t going to tell her that he had given himself up. She didn’t need guilt, nor did she need to think that he was only here because of the baby. It was partially true, but the other thing that had driven him was the thought that Draco had loved this woman in front of him. He had not been able to save his son, but Merlin help him, he would save his first and only love.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’m already gone inside without my family. I’m not afraid.”

She swallowed, her eyes brimming. “I am.”

Lucius saw the absolute despair in her eyes and it prompted him to move. Whether it was for Draco, her dead mother, or all that had surely been done to her in the course of her imprisonment, she needed reassurance. She folded into his arms easily and gave in to her sobs.

He wondered if she had been alone all this time. If Death Eaters had come and gone, torturing her in whatever way they preferred, taunting her with stories of how her parents were dead, the Dark Lord had won, narrowing her world into this bleak little cell. He wondered how long it had been since she had human contact not intended to hurt. His arms tightened around her.

He remembered Pansy as a girl, a dark-haired little spitfire who would come over to play with Draco. How amusing it had been to watch them back then, when their interaction consisted mostly of her bossing Draco around or Draco picking on her. He and Narcissa had spent more time breaking up fights than anything else.

Lucius should have known they were meant to be - especially after the time he’d caught them experimentally kissing on the lips at the tender age of ten. One warning look had been enough to send Draco away, but Pansy had just stared at him, refusing to accept any wrongdoing. In time she would have become family. If he had anything to do with it, she still would.

“Oh, how charming.”

Pansy tensed in his arms. Lucius turned to face the intruder; he was a young Death Eater that he didn’t know. However, he could tell that Pansy knew him. Her panicked breathing and the way she had gone white and rigid betrayed that. Whoever this man was, he had hurt her and she was petrified of him.

He released her, turning fully to face her tormentor. He’d likely become Lucius’s tormentor, too, but he’d been honest with Pansy - he wasn’t afraid. Not for himself.

“Malfoy,” the younger man spat, his disdain ringing clearly through the syllables. His dark eyes flickered above Lucius’s shoulder to Pansy. “You know, he’s only here because you’re carrying his heir. He doesn’t care about you. If he could cut the baby out of you and walk away, he would.”

Oh, now he knew this man’s brand of torture. It was psychological, and from the way Pansy cowered, he was certain that he paired it with physical pain. Few people were endowed with real cruelty, and not surprisingly many of those men and women found their way to Voldemort.

“You’re quite the man, aren’t you, torturing a child, someone who can’t even fight back,” Lucius retorted coldly.

“And to think I used to hold you in esteem, Malfoy,” the other man snorted. “Wasn’t it you who slipped the Weasley girl the Dark Lord’s old diary? You, who chased the same girl and her little friends through the Department of Mysteries and threatened to kill them if you didn’t get what you wanted? How deliciously hypocritical of you to denounce me for tormenting children.”

“There’s a difference between not knowing the full consequences of what you’re doing and choosing to do it in spite of that.” His eyes narrowed. “I never hurt any of them. Now I know how wrong I was, regardless.”

The Death Eater tossed his head back and laughed. “That’s the best part about it all. If you hadn’t screwed up so badly that the Dark Lord felt you needed to be punished, you would still be licking his boots. Don’t kid yourself. You’re still one of us, Lucius.” His face broke into a sinister smile. “Before the end, I’ll make sure you know that. But for now...it’s always more fun to play with two instead of just one.”

He flicked his wand and Lucius felt himself being pulled. He tried to hold his ground, to stay where he could protect Pansy, but the spell flung him to the other side of the cell. He hit the wall with jarring force and sunk down to the cold, dirty floor, momentarily dazed.

“Imperio.”

His eyes shot open, but he felt none of the cloying warmth of Imperius. That meant...

Pansy. She was climbing unsteadily to her feet, tears wobbling on the edge of her lashes. They spilled over when the Death Eater approached her. He trailed his fingers along her back and collarbones as he circled her.

“It’s his fault you’re here. His fault your Mummy and Daddy decided to betray the Dark Lord and die. His fault you’re being used as a pawn, an incubator...a toy...though you like that, don’t you, Pansy?”

She was muzzled by the Imperius. She couldn’t shout no, couldn’t fight his accusations, and after so many weeks of pain, Lucius could hardly blame her for letting the curse take over. Her eyes went blank. Her tears dried. The Death Eater knew he had won.

“That’s it. Good girl. We need to punish him, don’t we, Pansy? Make him feel the pain he’s caused you?”

Numbly, she nodded. Lucius watched the Death Eater slip a second wand into her hand and wished she had the strength to fight, but if the Dark Lord could not resist a well-cast Imperius, Pansy had no chance. He stayed where he was as Pansy approached, the other man behind her with his wand aimed at the back of her neck. Lucius knew he was in for hell.

He would take it without fighting. He’d endure it, because he was thankful that the curse had not been cast on him. If he hurt Pansy, even under the Imperius...he would never forgive himself.


They had to hold Miles Parkinson back when the darkness faded. He lunged at the Death Eater, a plain, gargoyle-like woman, with his steak knife. The wildness in his eyes said he clearly intended to kill her. Kingsley barely managed to cut him off on the way and subdue him.

He dragged the struggling man to another room. Parkinson fought the entire way. When Kingsley let him go and closed the door behind him, he had to avoid his fists. The Auror didn’t fight back; he recognized a man driven temporarily insane by the desire for vengeance. In another few minutes he would exhaust himself.

That was exactly what happened. Parkinson slumped down to the floor, panting, crying, emotionally ravaged. Kingsley had seen this kind of reaction dozens of times before; whoever this female Death Eater was, she had a history with Parkinson, and if he wanted to kill her it obviously wasn’t a good one.

“You understand why we have to keep her alive. We need whatever information she has,” Kingsley said softly after a long minute.

“Oh, I understand, I just don’t fucking care! You wouldn’t either if you watched that bitch and her brother torture your wife!” Parkinson dragged himself to his feet and jabbed his finger into Kingsley’s chest. “You better keep your eye on her. If she’s unattended for even a second, I will kill her. I don’t care about anything else.”

“You should care. She may be the path to You-Know-Who. If we can get to him, we may be able to rescue your daughter.”

His face faltered for a moment. Then it hardened again into the mask of man who had seen too much - a man with no more faith.

“She’s probably dead already. She and Lucius both.”

“Well, I’m not ready to accept that.” Kingsley took hold of the other man’s shirtfront and gave him a hard shake. “And if you thought that was how it was going to turn out, why would you have done that to Lucius? Just interested in saving your own skin?”

“No!” Miles fired back. “They were going to kill me if he didn’t give himself up. I couldn’t do anything more to help Pansy. At least with Lucius, there’s a chance. A small chance...but I couldn’t die and leave her all alone.”

“Then don’t give up on her. Don’t do her that disservice.” Kingsley released him, tempering his own anger. He didn’t have children, but if he did, he was certain that he would refuse to accept that his child was gone until he was given irrefutable proof, and until then, he would do everything he could to bring him or her back home. “Right now that Death Eater is the only link you have to Pansy. Put vengeance on hold.” Now Kingsley put his hand on the other man’s shoulder, addressing him as a comrade. “And if it turns out that she doesn’t make it, Miles, no one will stand in your way.”

Parkinson looked up at him, a hundred emotions flashing across his face. Then he closed his eyes and nodded.


Hermione sat numbly in the infirmary, tolerating Madame Pomfrey’s fussing. They were only cuts and bruises. She didn’t feel them. She didn’t feel much of anything.

She watched as Charlie endured the same treatment. His face had bruised fantastically. That meaty Death Eater had really packed a punch. Hermione knew she would be dead or very strongly wishing she was if Charlie hadn’t come along, and if Lucius had not given her the will to fight.

Where was he? He should have been here. He was the natural choice to interrogate the surviving Death Eater. He would do what was necessary to get answers and no one would stop him. Not here, not now, not after all that had happened.

She had once had a very idealized view of war. People were supposed to abide by certain rules, and being morally victorious was just as important as being victorious on the battlefield. She was discovering that real war was nothing like she’d imagined. Being more ethical than the enemy got them nowhere.

The only way they had survived this long was to become more like Voldemort. They had to think like him, fight like him, plan like him. This was a wake-up call. The time for clean, straightforward warfare was over. Their enemy let no rule restrict him, but he most certainly relied upon the fact that his adversary did.

The fighting was going to become more personal and much more brutal. She, and indeed everyone at Hogwarts, was fighting for the right to exist. For freedom. The time had come where they would do whatever they had to in order to win. The only other option was death.

Hermione felt her heart go cold and knew that the last vestiges of her youth were gone.


“I’m not interested in playing nice,” Harry growled, his fist slamming down onto the wooden table. “There was nothing nice about what they did to Hermione’s parents and what they tried to do to Hermione, and I guarantee there’s nothing nice about what they’re doing to Malfoy and Pansy right now. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of quietly accepting monstrous acts. I’m not going to stand for it anymore.”

“We can’t sink to his level, Harry,” Minerva disagreed, as she had been for much of the conversation.

“We can, and we will. He won’t expect it.”

Minerva and Lupin exchanged a worried glance. Before them they could see Harry becoming a man, one that they would soon lose their ability to argue effectively with. He leaned heavily on the table and shook his head.

“My entire life I’ve been afraid of what I share with him. Afraid that he would somehow make me bad.” He looked up, green eyes blazing. “It’s time to make him afraid. Time to make him see that I am a part of him, and that means I can be just as ruthless. I will make him regret ever starting this.” Harry straightened and for the first time, Minerva noticed how tall he was. “You can support me or not, I don’t care, but I’ve reached my limit.”

With that, Harry stormed away. Lupin exhaled and eased down onto the bench. Minerva just stood there, lost in worry. She wasn’t a squeamish woman; she’d seen two wars before this one, fought in both, and could be as vicious with a hex as any seasoned dueler. Neither of those wars had been as ugly as this. It was as if all the unresolved venom of the past congealed here, boiling over into such potent hatred, such atrocity...

“How are we going to talk him out of this?” she asked, turning to Remus.

He looked up at her, golden eyes sharp and very clear. It was getting closer to the moon.

“We’re not going to.”

“What?”

“He’s right. The Dark Lord won’t expect Harry to retaliate in kind. It will throw him off.”

“Remus, he’s going to make mistakes, do things that will haunt him forever. What kind of victory is that?”

“It’s that or death. The sooner you realize that’s the only choice we have left, the easier it will be.” He stood up. “I’d rather be haunted and live to see my son grow up in a free, peaceful world than the alternative. We’re already lost, Minerva, but our children and grandchildren don’t have to be.”


Hermione was very still, but Ron knew she was still awake. He could feel the thud of her heart. It was too fast for someone lost in sleep.

She had accepted his comfort. He had not been sure what kind she needed at first; she was so quiet, so unlike she had been when all this started and her emotions had driven her to screaming tears. He whispered at her not to bottle it up, to let it go, he was there for her, but he was beginning to think that there was nothing left to suppress. She had nothing more to give.

Every moment he spent cradling her in his arms made him angrier. This was not his Hermione. She wasn’t the kind of person who just shut down. To think that the war had done this to her, driven all the life out of her...her, his first crush, first love, and best friend...

Things were escalating. Ron could sense that they were on the cusp of something. There had been too much loss, too much personal pain, and everyone around him was growing tired of it. He had been lucky enough not to have any of it hit so close to him until now. In addition to Hermione, he knew that he very well could have lost his brother today. If Charlie wasn’t a dragon-wrangler, he might not have been able to fight off that Death Eater.

The door to the dormitory creaked open and Ron looked up, his protective instincts in overdrive. It was only Harry. He relaxed back down against Hermione’s back. He didn’t know what to say to Harry lately. He, too, was changed by all that had happened.

In the end, he didn’t have to say anything. Harry watched them for a moment, pain resplendent in his green eyes, and then he climbed into bed on the other side of Hermione. He touched her face for the briefest of moments. This his eyes flickered up to Ron.

The understanding he found there made Ron bite his lips. It was also a plea, a silent statement of I need you to be with me from this moment on, no questions asked. They had had their fights in the past, their moments of absolute frustration with one another, but all that had to go away. And, he realized as they both held Hermione, it had. He no longer harbored any jealousy or envy toward Harry; fame was a double-edged sword, and right now, it was nothing short of a monster. Gone, also, was the paranoia that Harry was after Hermione. He loved her, but not the same way he loved Ginny.

Ron nodded and groped forward with his hand, latching on to Harry’s wrist where it rested over Hermione’s ribs. Harry exhaled. By an unspoken cue, the small group tightened, curling together protectively. Ron knew this was how they should have been all along, especially out there in the forest while they searched for the Horcruxes. They were ready now.

Under Ron’s watchful eyes, Harry relaxed into sleep, and eventually Hermione did, too.


She woke before either of them. It was the first time in a long time that she’d felt cocooned in safety. She never wanted to get up. The world beyond the bed was full of question marks and empty spaces.

Hermione listened to their breathing. Even, untroubled, normal. Sleep was the last refuge they had and she was glad that neither of them found that interrupted by nightmares. She hadn’t either, though she knew that she wouldn’t be so lucky in the future. Her life had become a nightmare.

Her parents were dead and she would never be able to lay them to rest properly. Guilt ate at the edge of her consciousness. She felt that little bit of Lucius fighting it. Really, that was the only reason she was able to function. If not for him, she would be useless, rendered so by her own grief.

Now she understood. She understood the insanity that had powered him that day in Knockturn Alley, borne of desperation, hatred, guilt, vengeance...and need. Above all else, there was need. Need for someone, something, anything to stay grounded, to keep from spiraling away into snarling madness.

She also understood how important their connection was, especially now. She needed his objectivity, his control, and he needed her passion and capacity to hope. Without one another they would be lost, eaten whole by the ravages of the war.

Hermione had known all along that this kind of Horcrux was different than what Voldemort used, but she had never comprehended how different. If she could give it a name she wouldn’t call it a Horcrux at all. It was something more. It was an incredibly deep bond, one borne of physical and mental connection. A Horcrux made from a murder could never compare. She had accused Lucius of acting selfishly once, but she realized now that he, too, had given something up for her.

Hermione wasn’t stupid. She knew that everyone’s avoidance of the subject meant that something had happened to Lucius. In all likelihood, he never made it back from Australia. It had all been a set-up by Lestrange. Her parents were the bait to draw both her and Lucius out as well as the way in for the Death Eaters. Lestrange had gotten his revenge, although not completely, because she was still alive...and Lucius had to be, because he couldn’t die.

He couldn’t die, but he could suffer. A spasm of some unidentified emotion hit her and her hands clamped hard into Harry’s shirtfront. It woke him with a jolt. For a moment, his eyes were alarmed. Then he relaxed, meeting her gaze with such clarity that it brought tears to her eyes.

Oh, Merlin, she would give anything to know the spell Lucius had used to swap the fragments of their souls. She couldn’t live without Harry and Ron. If only she knew...then she could make them immortal, bolster their souls with what was left of her own.

Ron had awakened from the movement. He propped up on one elbow and pulled her gently onto her back so that he could see her. Her left hand remained twisted into Harry’s shirt, but Ron demanded her attention. His blue eyes were worried but somehow calming. There was no fear, not a trace of it.

A moment later, Harry made to get up. Ron’s hand stopped him.

“Talk to us,” he said.

Harry settled uneasily back into the bed. He stared at the ceiling for a long time. Ron leaned against Hermione's side, his head resting on her shoulder, and waited.

At last Harry spoke. “I’m going to try to use Legilimency on the Death Eater. I’ll take what information I can find and use every last bit of it against them. They’ve crossed the line.”

“They never had a line,” Hermione replied softly.

“Exactly.” Harry turned onto his side to face them. “And from this point forward, neither do we.”