The Descent Beckons

Chapter 1 - Tears, Fears and Green Toothbrushes

It was an icy day early one December, and the sixth year students in Professor McGonagall's Advanced Transfiguration class were desperately trying to keep themselves from gradually freezing and becoming giant ice sculptures. Some students, like Gregory Goyle, had taken to wearing so many layers, it was now extraordinarily difficult for him to fit through the classroom doors. Others, like Hermione Granger, had decided that perhaps a brighter idea was to take advantage of their abilities, and use magic. She had just finished enchanting three pairs of gloves to hold harmless, but incredibly hot fire, and was handing them out to her two friends, Harry and Ron, when McGonagall stalked over to their table.

"Miss Granger, please refrain from charming fashion accessories during my class," she demanded, crossing her arms and towering over the curly haired girl before her. Hermione, hardly ever one to argue with a teacher, nodded meekly and quickly engrossed herself in her Transfiguration textbook.

"But Miss," complained Ron, who had never been very good at realising when people are in a bad mood (unless they beat him over the head repeatedly with a broomstick). "It's freezing in here! My fingers are turning blue! They're so numb I can't even hold my wand!"

McGonagall whirled around to face Ron, her fluffy purple earmuffs almost falling off her head.

"DETENTION!" she shrieked, pointing a wavering finger at him. Ron went to protest, but Hermione quickly clamped her hand over his mouth, briskly shaking her head.

Harry, who had been busy drawing stick figures on the edge of his parchment, looked up at Professor McGonagall's outburst. McGonagall slowly lowered her arm and stood silently, staring at her feet. Harry watched her carefully and could see she was trembling, although she was trying desperately not to. It was completely understandable, all the teachers had been a bit tense and overworked since Dumbledore had gone to London to run the Order full-time.

The students too, Harry thought to himself as he glanced around the room at the sullen faces of his classmates. The whole school felt the impact of Dumbledore's absence. Halls that had once been filled with laughter and mischief now merely held silence and brooding, with students travelling in packs, afraid what the next dark corner might hold. Everybody's so scared, he thought as he observed how closely they sat together, how intently they spoke. Well, nearly everyone.

The Slytherins, who had separated themselves from the others and were seated on the other side of the room, had remained the same. Well, at least more like how they were than anyone else. They weren't quite as rowdy as they had been, and they too had their moments of deep contemplation and misery ("Except Crabbe and Goyle," Ron had remarked the other day when they had spoken about it. "I don't think they've ever been capable of deep contemplation, they can't even speak properly, unless grunting is a language of course..."). But they seemed happier than anybody else in the castle, and Harry was sometimes exceptionally envious at their nonchalance. For instance, at this moment, as his gaze shifted from watching the despairing Gryffindors, the Slytherins appeared to be as relaxed and as calm as if they were at a day at the beach.

Pansy Parkinson was sitting on a table, tranquilly plaiting the hair of Tracey Davis, Vincent Crabbe and Goyle were swapping tips on how to punch people in the face without hurting their knuckles and Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass were playing a round of poker with Draco Malfoy, a pile of shimmering Galleons on the table between them.

Harry's gaze rested on Draco, who had his feet crossed on a chair in front of him, and who looked so unaffected by the iciness of the classroom, it was if he had drunk a whole gallon of warm Butterbeer. Harry could vaguely hear Ron grumbling beside him and was slowly brought out of his daze.

"W-w-why is it s-s-so sodding c-c-cold?" he stuttered, his teeth chattering.

"Oh, Ron," muttered Hermione irritably. "You know the castle's been a bit inefficient now that the elves are too frightened to walk around the castle alone. They've started fleeing in terror."

Ron mumbled something inaudible about where exactly the elves could flee, triggering Hermione to hit him on the arm.

"Hermione, will you still be my friend when my hands have fallen off from this bloody weather?" he asked, pained.

"Ron," said Hermione tiredly, "I would be your friend even if your head fell off. Actually, I'd probably be a better friend to you. You'd stop mouthing off about how you have to pick up your own socks off the floor now, and how the Herbology greenhouses are really too far away to walk to and so maybe we should just not bother going. I might actually be able to grow some monkshood in peace."

"But they are. And all the plants are frozen now, anyway. At least we don't get knocked out from being in the same room as the Mandrakes now."

"Uh-huh," agreed Hermione absently. She was too busy sneakily conjuring up a feathery maroon scarf under the table. She quickly draped it around Ron's neck before returning to her book work.

Ron stared at the scarf with distaste. "Maroon. You know I hate maroon. There are a billion colours Hermione, and for me, you chose maroon?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Fine, if you don't like it I'll take it back!"

"No, it's keeping me warm," mumbled Ron, pulling it closer around his neck.

Hermione watched McGonagall carefully and as soon as her back was turned, she produced two more scarves, one turquoise, and one lavender. Harry accepted the turquoise one with a grateful smile.

"MISS GRANGER!" screeched McGonagall from the other side of the room, causing Seamus Finnigan to fall off his chair. "WHAT DID I JUST SAY? YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE DOING WORK, NOT KNITTING SCARVES!"

Ron tried to explain that Hermione didn't knit them, but was immediately quietened by Hermione kicking him forcefully under the table.

"DETENTION!" McGonagall declared, stomping over to the blackboard and writing 'Detentions' with Hermione and Ron's names below, severely underlined. She spun around, glaring at the students with an expression of pure fury.

Draco Malfoy, who had momentarily stopped the game of poker to watch the spectacle, opened his mouth to wryly ask if Hermione could whip the Slytherins up a couple of the scarves, preferably grey for Draco, thanks very much, but barely one word had come out of his mouth when -

"DRACO MALFOY! DETENTION!" McGonagall whipped back around to the blackboard and added Draco's name to the list.

"Oh, bloody sodding hell. You can't be serious!"

McGonagall turned around slowly, fists tightened, teeth clenched. "WHO SAID THAT? DETENT-" She realised everyone was looking at Harry, who had stood up out of his seat, and was looking furious.

"Professor, it's bad enough Dumbledore's gone and we're all scared out of our brains that Voldermort--"

There was a collective gasp from the class at You-Know-Who's name, and a shriek from Lavender Brown, who buried her face in Dean Thomas's shoulder.

"Oh, bloody get used to it!" snapped Harry irritably before continuing. "What's the point in giving out all these detentions? Is it some sort of power trip for you now that you're the temporary Headmistress?"

Hermione was wide eyed, tugging on Harry's sleeve, begging him quietly to sit down. He shook her off and looked at McGonagall harshly. McGonagall was standing beside her desk and she looked so drained it was as if her one hand on the tabletop was the only thing stopping her collapsing to the ground. She suddenly looked so old and fragile, and for a moment Harry felt a pang of guilt in his stomach.

"I suggest you sit down, Potter," she whispered.

The pang of guilt was gone, and Harry felt hot anger sear through him. "What? Aren't I going to get a detention? Why not? You feel sorry for me don't you? I DON'T SODDING WANT YOUR PITY! I'LL BLOODY WELL GO TO DETENTION TONIGHT WHETHER YOU WANT ME THERE OR NOT, BECAUSE I DESERVE IT AND I DON'T WANT TO BE SOME SPECIAL CASE EVERYONE TIP-TOES AROUND! SO DON'T TREAT ME LIKE ONE!" Harry grabbed his satchel and swung it over his shoulder violently, almost smashing Ron in the face, and stomped out of the room, slamming the wooden door behind him.

Hermione nervously bit her lip and looked from the door to McGonagall, desperate to follow Harry. McGonagall took a deep breath and made an attempt to pull herself together. She looked almost recovered, but her voice still wavered when she spoke.

"You are dismissed early. You're to go straight to your common rooms, no dawdling. And, I'll be seeing Weasley, Granger and Malfoy here for detention at six-o-clock." She nodded curtly and disappeared through a door beside the blackboard which led to her office.

Ron scooped up his parchment and quills into his bag and slung it on his shoulder, following Hermione out the door.

"He's really not in a good mood," Ron stated.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Good observation," she said sarcastically. "Just in case you haven't noticed, he's been moping around for quite a while." She quietened as they passed the stone gargoyle which guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office, looking at the statue longingly, wishing Dumbledore to return. They rounded a corner and Hermione continued.

"It's completely understandable, of course. He's still not over Sirius, nor should he be. I wish there was some way to help him..." They walked silently down the deserted stone corridor, the lit torches shimmering around them, and Hermione paused as they came to an alcove.

Ron slowed and turned around, looking back at Hermione who was gazing down at the floor.

"Hermione? What's wrong?" asked Ron, dropping his bag and walking over to her.

Hermione slumped against the wall and slid down to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest and burying her face in her hands. Her long curly hair cascaded around her shoulders, covering her expression from view. Ron squatted down beside her and laid a hand gently on her shoulder, trying to comfort her, and was surprised as her petite frame trembled beneath his palm. She raised her face and exposed her tear stained cheeks.

"Oh, Ron," she whispered. "Everything's falling apart. I'm so scared. I'm scared for Harry, I'm scared for you, I'm scared for me. I'm scared Voldermort's going to come and attack us all and we can't do anything to stop it."

Ron sat down beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her towards him. Hermione slid a hand across his chest and laid her head in the crook of his neck, tarnishing his cloak with her tears.

"Harry and I would never let anything happen to you," he whispered gently in her ear. "We'll protect you every second of our lives."

Hermione looked up at him bleary eyed. "And who will protect you?" she asked quietly. "When the fight comes, I'm not just going to sit back while you and Harry sacrifice yourselves. I'll fight. I'll fight for us. For Harry, you and me. I'm just so scared. I don't want to lose you."

Ron nodded and stood up. "I know."

Hermione wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and took Ron's offered palm to help her up.

He picked up Hermione's discarded bag and walked ahead to retrieve his own.

"We better go find Harry," he muttered.

***

Dinner was a sombre affair, as had become usual. Tension and misery hung over them all, blanketing them in gloom. Even the sky which showed through the enchanted ceiling seemed a little darker. The only sounds which filled the room, besides the gentle clattering of plates and cutlery, were the soft murmurings of the students and the hushed conversations of the teachers. Dumbledore's chair stood at the end of the hall like an empty throne, a silent reminder that their king was gone.

Hermione glanced at the vacant space beside her, Harry's usual seat for dinner. They had found him up in the owlery, gazing out vaguely at the sweeping grounds. He had insisted he was fine, but Hermione knew that was a lie. He got into his moods more and more as the days wore on, and every time he had one of these outbursts, Hermione's heart broke a little further. She wished she could burden some of his pain for him; she hated the injustice of him suffering so much. He was only just sixteen, and in his short life he had experienced so much loss and grievance, shouldering the entire weight on his own. She was afraid one of these days he would stumble, and not be able to pick himself up again.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" asked Ron quietly across the table.

Hermione sighed. "I wish we could take a break from it all you know? Just leave, rest, then return to fight the fight."

"Well, if you're wishing for things, it would probably be better to wish for there to be no need to fight," replied Ron sadly.

"You know what I mean. We all need it, Harry especially. He needs time off from all this."

"This isn't a part-time job Hermione," stated Ron. "It's not as though there are breaks, or days off, and you can't call in sick."

"I know that. It's the cards that Harry has been dealt, it's his fate, destiny, whatever. It's just not fair. He shouldn't face this alone."

Ron reached out and patted Hermione's hand. "He's not alone, he's got us."

"But are we enough?"

Ron shrugged. "We have to hope." They quietened down as they saw Professor McGonagall walking down the path towards them.

She paused behind Ron and gave them a brisk nod. "Detention begins in ten minutes."

***

Ron insisted on finishing his plate of cakes before they left, and Hermione waited as patiently as she could, but after five minutes of her continuous foot-tapping, Ron got the point, and decided to compromise by stuffing his pockets full of dessert to save for later. Hermione strode down the corridor, with Ron waddling behind her as his pockets were so full of éclairs they had started to weigh him down. They had just passed the statue of the unicorn-riding pixies and rounded the corner when Hermione almost had a nasty collision with Harry.

His hair was tousled, his clothes rumpled and he smelt vaguely of owl treats, which led Hermione to believe, quite correctly, that he had fallen asleep where they had left him in the owlery.

"Oh! Harry! Ron and I were just going to that detention we have with McGonagall," Hermione told him, taking him by the arm and leading him down the corridor with them.

Harry nodded. "I know. And I'm coming with you, remember?"

Ron quickly toddled over to catch up with them, smears of chocolate surrounding his mouth. "Oh, come on mate, you can't be serious! Why d'you want to voluntarily come to detention and spend time with Malfoy and a very pissed off McGonagall when you can be lounging around in the common room?"

"Because I'm sick of everyone treating me different just because of Siri--you know," mumbled Harry, staring at the ground. "And besides," he added, a bit more cheerfully. "I'd rather spend time with you two that by myself in the common room, even if it does mean going to detention with that pointy-faced git."

Hermione gave him a slight smile and paused as they reached the door to the Transfiguration classroom, knocking lightly.

"Come in," barked McGonagall from within.

They entered the frosty interior, greeted by the irritated expression of Professor McGonagall, and the cool indifference of Draco Malfoy, who was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed. McGonagall rose from her seat behind the desk and motioned for Draco to do the same.

"You will be serving detention on the fifth floor. Peeves has been up to he's usual mischief, and he's left some damage. You're to clean it up. Follow me, please," she informed them, traipsing out the door.

The group headed through the jumble of corridors which made up the fifth floor, and Ron was about to complain how far they had to walk when McGonagall stopped in front of a set of double doors. She took a set of rusty keys out of her pocket and flipped through them, selecting a particularly stained one which she unlocked the doors with, opening them wide.

They entered what appeared to be a lounge. The walls were a deep crimson, panelled up halfway with dark wood. Crystal chandeliers coated with cobwebs hung from ceiling roses, dimly lighting the vast space. Dilapidated armchairs crowded the room, and large rectangular tables covered in sheets stood over by the far wall. A fireplace stood in the centre of the nearest wall, black ash and charred wood filling the grate. On this wall, in bright pink ten-foot letters it said "Remember boys, it's not the length of the wand, but the magic in the stick"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Typical male."

But her remark went unheard by Harry and Ron, who were too busy sniggering in the doorway, and by Draco Malfoy who was still inspecting the room with an expression of disgust.

"As I said, Peeves has left some damage, and you're to clean this wall. You are not to use magic," said McGonagall, clasping her hands together and surveying the group sternly over her spectacles.

Draco stopped poking a particularly decrepit chair and whipped around. "Excuse me? Did you just say we have to clean up? Without magic?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I did," replied McGonagall. She crossed the room and opened a nearby door, revealing a broom cupboard.

"Usually when I'm having a nightmare involving cleaning I'm in pink taffeta...this is a bit of an interesting development..." muttered Draco quietly to himself.

McGonagall returned from the storeroom, clutching a cup in her arms. She handed each of the group a green toothbrush from out of it and set the empty cup down on a nearby side table, causing a little cloud of dust to rise up off the surface.

Draco stared at the toothbrush incredulously. "My smile is quite dazzling enough, thank you Professor. It's a nice thought, but I'm just afraid if I brush anymore, it might cause temporary blindness to all my admirers."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry examined the bristles of his toothbrush. Ron frowned.

"You have admirers? Who?"

"That's enough," growled McGonagall. "The elves took all the other cleaning materials with them when they left, seems they had a bit of an emotional attachment to their mops and such. So, you're using the only thing we have left," she gestured to the toothbrushes in the groups hands before continuing. "Start cleaning, I don't want to be here all night." She magicked up a bucket of water and sat down in a nearby armchair, pulling a ball of wool and a set of knitting needles out of her robes.

Hermione dragged the red bucket over to the graffitied wall, splattering water onto the velvet carpet. She dipped the toothbrush into the water and began scrubbing the wall forcefully. Harry and Ron shrugged at each other and went over to help. Draco leant on the doorframe, a sulky look on his face, annoyingly flicking the bristles of his toothbrush with his thumb. McGonagall looked up from the scarf she had begun knitting and cleared her throat, motioning for Draco to join the others. Her waited a few moments before obliging and grumbled the whole time crossing the room.

Harry stooped down and washed his toothbrush in the water. "So what is this place?"

Ron looked away from the "R" he had been busy scrubbing. "And don't say anything about it being in Hogwarts, A History and that we should've read it by now."

"I wasn't going to," lied Hermione.

"Well, do you know what it is?" asked Harry.

"Of course I do," said Hermione. "It's the private sitting room of the Head Boy and Girl. You know, to relax in, do homework in--"

"Throw parties in..." muttered Draco from beside them.

Hermione frowned at him. "What parties?"

Draco glanced at them. "What, you were never invited to any of the parties? There was one nearly every weekend..."

"No...?" said Ron, confused.

"I really don't think such responsible people as Head Boy and Head Girl would throw parties in a room they were given for educational purposes," said Hermione sceptically.

"No, responsible people like you wouldn't throw parties in a room given for educational purposes. That's probably why you didn't get any invites. If you wouldn't throw a party, why would you be wanted at a party? Come to think of it, I don't think any Gryffindors were ever invited. Doesn't that tell you something?" said Draco.

"If you don't stop chatting, you'll be here every night for a month," barked McGonagall. Her moment of distraction made her drop a stitch, and sighing she began unravelling the scarf.

The next few moments passed in silence, the only sounds the scratching of the toothbrushes on the wall and the occasional splash of water. Suddenly, the windows rattled, and the walls trembled. The faint sound of an explosion was heard. A moment of silence, and then, a round of continuos blasts.

The toothbrush dropped out of Hermione's hand and she turned to face McGonagall, who had risen out of her seat and cocked her head, listening.

The next explosion made Hermione lose her balance, and she was caught by Draco at the last second, who helped her back to her feet. The double doors burst wide open, and in swept Ginny Weasley, a mess of red hair and torn robes.

"It's Death Eaters, Professor, they've ambushed the castle! They're hexing everything in sight!" cried Ginny, wide eyed and breathless.

Ron made a strange little strangled noise and paled, making his freckles stand out against his skin like ink on blank paper. Hermione gripped Harry's arm in fear, leaning her forehead on his shoulder. He took her hand in his and squeezed it tightly, whispering gently in her ear that it would be okay. McGonagall had her wand embedded in her clenched fist, and eyed the exposed corridor with suspicion.

"You are to stay in here; I'm going to lock the door behind me. Under no circumstances are you to leave, no matter what you hear. I will come get you later. Do you understand me?" asked McGonagall sternly. She ignored Harry's protests against her not letting them fight and ventured out of the room, closing the double doors behind her. Sealing them tightly, she whispered as many protective charms as she could think of, and set off down the corridor, the sounds of explosions and cries of pain ever-growing.

***

The edges of the double doors glowed gold before fading back to their original colour. Harry walked over to them and began kicking the panelled wood, tugging the handles every few moments.

"You know, I don't really think that's productive..." drawled Draco.

"No one cares what you think," snapped Ron. He rushed over to Ginny who still hadn't moved from where she had made her declaration, and sat her down on a nearby stool.

He kneeled down beside her and inspected the cuts and grazes on her face.
"Are you okay? What happened? How did you know where we were? Did you get hurt? How did--"

"Ron, it's alright, I'm alright," interrupted Ginny, laying a hand on his shoulder. Hermione detached herself from Harry and rushed over to join them.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "What exactly happened?" Hermione knelt down beside Ron and summoned up a cup of warm dandelion tea, placing it gently in
Ginny's trembling hands.

Ginny took a deep breath and lay the tea down beside her. "Well, I was in the Great Hall, finishing up dinner. There weren't too many people, pretty much everyone had left, only a dozen or so at each table were still there. So there I was, just eating my pumpkin soup, when in rushed Stuart Ackerly, you know, the Ravenclaw third year? He looked so terrified, I didn't know what to think, I just got up and ran over to him, asked him what was wrong. He told me Death Eaters had gotten into the castle, loads of them, and they were attacking anyone they came across. I thought of you all straight away and just started running up the stairs, trying to get to you before they did, before they found you. I didn't even know where I was going, I think I was heading for the Transfiguration classroom, I'm not sure. I had gotten as far as the library when this hooded man stepped out from behind a statue and grabbed me by the wrists. He was horrible. He-he pushed me against the wall and jammed his wand to my throat, threatening to kill me, calling me a traitor..." Ginny's eyes welled with tears and she stared down at her hands, busying herself by fiddling with the loose threads of her robes. Hermione took her hand and squeezed it gently, silently urging her to continue.

"I just didn't know what to do; I thought that that was it, that was the end, that I was going to die. Then...there was a blast, and the man just kind of went rigid and crumpled to the floor. Seamus had been in the library and had seen everything so just hexed the Death Eater. I asked him if he knew where you all were, and he said he heard McGonagall complaining about Peeves making trouble in one of the fifth floor rooms, so I came up here and found you..." Ginny trailed off and reached for her tea, taking a long sip.

Hermione and Ron were both silent and merely looked at each other in concern. Harry, who had been listening across the room spun and glared at Draco, pointing a finger at him.

"You," he spat, poking Draco forcefully in the shoulder, "what the hell are you even doing in here? Shouldn't you be out there helping out your friends, maiming and killing innocent people?"

Draco, who had been standing calmly by the wall, narrowed his eyes into slits.
"Don't speak of that which you don't know anything about," he said quietly.

"Harry, it's not his fault," said Hermione gently, walking over and placing a hand on his shoulder, which he shook off.

He whipped around and glared at her. "I don't care. I bet all the Slytherins are having a nice laugh about everybody else being targeted. They don't have to worry about being attacked, or kidnapped, or killed."

"Fuck you, Potter," snarled Draco. Two bright spots of angry colour appeared on his cheeks and he pushed Harry against the wall, pinning him by his shoulders. "You have no idea what we go through. You don't know us, what we're like, what we believe, so just shut your face before I do it for you."

He let go and walked over to the bay-windows which filled the walls, staring fixedly out into the grounds. Harry rubbed his shoulder and glowered at Draco's back. He was about to angrily reply when Ginny suddenly tensed and motioned for all of them to be silent.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered.

There was an array of various footsteps from outside in the corridor, and as they listened, they could hear the muffled conversation of two men.

"This is it! This is the room!" said one of the men excitedly, rattling the doorknob.

"Of course it is you fool," replied the other in a gruff tone, "there wouldn't have been all those protective charms if it wasn't."

"Well, come on, blast the door down."

"I can't, it's quite a complicated seal on the door. We'll both have to disarm it at the same time."

The two men chanted a spell, making the door shudder violently on its hinges a moment later.

Ginny stared wide-eyed at Hermione. "What are we going to do?" she mouthed.

Harry stood facing the entrance, prepared to fight, but Hermione grabbed him by the arm, shaking her head. She pointed to a nearby door that was beside one of the sheet-covered tables and motioned for everyone to follow her. Ron grabbed Ginny and they rushed across the room, flung open the door and hurried inside. Hermione ushered Harry in, and was about to close the door behind her when she caught sight of Draco standing in front of the window, fists clenched, a defiant look on his face. She darted over to him and grabbed him by the wrist, reluctantly dragging him through the door with her. She closed it and sealed it, trying the handle a few times to be sure it was locked.

"Er, Hermione?" said Harry quietly.

"What?" she asked, turning around.

They were in a relatively empty, average sized room with no windows. The only light was coming from a swarm of glowing yellow lights, which were lazily hanging in the air, slowly drifting and rotating like dandelion seeds caught on the wind. The air surrounding the floating orbs vibrated with an unseen energy which made the walls tremble. Ginny let go of Ron's arm and took a step towards the haze.

"What is that?" she asked, her jaw dropping in awe.

Hermione frowned. "I don't know...but it doesn't look good..."

Ron slowly went to touch one of the gleaming lights, but Hermione directly yanked his hand away. "Ron, don't be stupid, we don't even know what these are!"

Suddenly, the lights seemed to multiply. Either the room was getting smaller, or the shimmering haze was getting bigger, Hermione wasn't sure which. She backed everyone against the wall, and pressed herself as far back as she could. The lights moved closer, and as they surrounded her, they began to spin rapidly around her body. More and more lights joined the spiral which encased Hermione, and soon all she could see was a spinning gold wall, so bright she had to shut her eyes, and even then she could still see the light shine through the back of her eyelids. Her head felt light, and her body seemed weightless, and the only feeling she had was the very curious sensation of her body fading away. And then, she could feel nothing, the lights were gone, and everything went black.