Harry Potter and the Carnelian Key

Dedication: This chapter is for Callie, because she squees.

Chapter 17

Still round the corner there may wait

A new road or a secret gate

And though we pass them by today

Tomorrow we may come this way

And take the hidden paths that run

Towards the moon or to the sun.

Home is behind, the world ahead

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadows to the edge of night

Until the stars are all alight.

--J.R.R. Tolkien

********************

The sky looked strange.

It wasn't nearly time for sunset yet, but the warm, rich blue overhead morphed through clouds near the western horizon into splashes of gold and bronze. It was odd, but strikingly beautiful and strangely captivating, and it reminded him of her. Of sunlight in her hair and on her skin, of her touch and the way her arms felt around him right now, hands splayed across his chest and stomach, holding on with light pressure. She trusted him. It all felt golden. But then, everything beautiful reminded him of her.

Ron let out a small sigh when he felt his face beginning to burn. Blimey, wouldn't there ever be a time when he would be able think of her like this without getting all embarrassed at himself? He was allowed to think about her this way if he wanted to, wasn't he? Besides, it wasn't his fault that she was beautiful. How was he to help it if she insisted on staying in his head all the bloody time?

As if to prove his own point, Ron released one hand from his broomstick and placed it over one of hers, pulling it closer around him. Hermione responded immediately, leaning her head down on his shoulder and squeezing him tighter with both arms. The small, unspoken gesture sent a warm, fluttery shiver through him, and he caught his breath, wondering if she might squeeze it right out of him if he didn't hang onto it. If so, it wouldn't be because she was holding on too tightly. See? Hermione's fault, he told himself. Definitely Hermione's fault. But even so, nothing that felt this right could possibly be cause for shame, could it? This was wonderful and comfortable and safe. Definitely nothing to be ashamed of. She was certainly nothing to be ashamed of. That was one thing he knew for sure, even if his cheeks didn't.

He just wished it wasn't the only thing.

It wasn't for nothing that they were up here on his broomstick, flying quiet and high above the castle while their classmates engaged in carefree celebrations down by the lake. For days, Ron had been feeling like a jumbled mass of questions and fears and doubts inside. He had tried to keep a handle on it. He had tried to keep it to himself, tried to sort it all out into something that made sense, but he just didn't know how. That was more Harry's area anyway, the careful, controlled ordering of thoughts and feelings. Ron would rather just shout about it and get it all out in the open, or rationalize it all away. But he couldn't do either of those things, not this time, so instead, he just wanted to escape it. He just wanted to let it all go, just for a little while, while he still could, before they had to go off to find some corner of the earth, before Voldemort came out of hiding to unleash his reign of terror, before they had to remember that these weren't ordinary times and they weren't ordinary students and they couldn't just participate in ordinary end of term parties on the lawn. It wasn't for them.

They had bigger plans. And the truth was, Ron still had a bad feeling about what they were planning to do. He knew they had to. He knew the future of their world could depend on what they found in the next twenty-four hours. But why did it always have to be them? Why couldn't someone else save the world this time, and tell them about it later? Not that Ron had much experience in saving the world. But with Harry for a best friend, it certainly felt like it, by extension.

Hermione seemed to sense something uneasy in him because she held him even closer around his middle, bringing her chin to rest on his shoulder. He leaned his head down to touch hers and sighed.

"We have a long way to fly tonight," she spoke gently in his ear after a moment. "Let's land."

Ron knew immediately from her tone of voice that she didn't mean on the ground, and he was grateful. He knew her well. He knew she would probably rather be inside right now, going about last minute preparations, organizing maps and charming compasses and giving instructions. But she knew him too; the fact that she was up here with him right now told him that, and he knew that he didn't need to explain why he'd asked her. She already understood.

He nodded in answer and pushed the handle of his Firebolt XL gently to the left. It obeyed instantly, bringing them around the outer wall of the castle, through shadow and then back into brighter light. He saw his destination up ahead, and was thankful that no one would be able to see them this high up. They would have privacy and that was exactly what he wanted. He just needed this time alone with her, just a few minutes of something, anything other than the tension and the dread, and felt that if he could have it, he would never ask her for anything ever again.

He directed his broom to the top of Gryffindor Tower. With a small stumble, he brought them into a landing and Hermione slipped off the broom behind him. When her hands left him, Ron felt an instant, empty ache. The depth of it would have startled him if he hadn't already admitted to himself how much he needed her. He swung his leg over his broom and propped it safely against one of the gargoyles lining the stone railing, wondering what Hermione was feeling.

He quickly got his answer. Hermione came immediately back to him, wrapping herself in his arms and his robes and pressing her face into his shoulder. She held him tightly and he responded in kind, wishing that he could keep her here, that this moment could just stretch into eternity and never bring any danger or fear or darkness to their world. Hadn't they already seen too much of it as it was? Hadn't they all had their fair share by now?

Hermione pulled back slightly in Ron's arms to look up at his face. Her eyes were full of tender concern, and he wondered about it until he realized he had just let out a heavy sigh. Her eyes searched his, deeply, penetrating until he thought for sure that she could see into his soul. He was surprised it didn't feel more uncomfortable. But after a moment, he wished she would stop. He wasn't sure he wanted her to know what he was thinking. So instead, he distracted her the best way he knew how; he took her face in his hands and brought his lips down to touch hers.

He kissed her slowly and thoroughly, more deeply than he had in a long time. Sometimes he hated living in the castle, where there were always eyes watching and never a private place or moment. So many times he had wanted to do this, for happier reasons, when he'd had to settle for a quick peck, hoping that no one had seen them. Kissing her like this was so different. It was exhilarating and electric, in ways that touched him all the way down to his toes. It still made him quake when she did things like...what she was doing now. She had pressed herself even closer to him, and her fingers had found the nape of his neck. Her mouth moved against his, exploring back with tender and agonizing motions, and when they pulled apart at last, Ron felt that they had just said more to each other than they could have with any words.

"You're scared," Hermione said at last.

There was no accusation, no judgment, and yet Ron found himself looking away, trying to avoid her gaze. Gryffindors weren't supposed to be afraid. But...he wasn't afraid for himself, his brain pointed out, so that was allowed, wasn't it?

"It's okay," Hermione told him. "I am too."

She wasn't just saying that to comfort him, and he couldn't decide whether that was good or not. He could feel the tension in her body as he held her. She was nervous and worried. And tired. He had seen it in her face all day, and he was pretty sure it didn't have anything to do with the OWLs. She probably hadn't slept any better than he had the night before...or than Harry had. Harry had been up almost all night. Not that that was really unusual.

For a few minutes, they just stood there, listening to the sound of each other breathing, and Ron tried very hard to stop thinking so much. This wasn't why he had brought her up here, after all. He was supposed to be forgetting things, not thinking harder about them. But he couldn't help it. Thoughts continued to flood his brain like there was a broken dam inside his head. Voldemort was coming back in five days. Five days until...Merlin knew what. Destruction. Despair. Constant, agonizing fear.

"Hermione..." Ron said at last. She drew back to look at him again, eyes questioning. "It's..." he couldn't find the words he wanted, but he wasn't even sure what he was trying to say. "It's all going to be...what if Harry...?"

Something broke in her eyes and it was almost painful the way she was looking at him.

"What if-?"

"Don't," she said, touching her fingers to his lips. "Please, don't."

He lowered his head until his forehead rested on hers. He didn't mean to be doing this. He was sinking, but he didn't mean to be dragging her down right along with him. It was just so exhausting, worrying. He was trying so hard to be strong and brave. He wanted to be strong for Hermione and for Harry. Harry needed him to be. But he just couldn't hide anymore, not from her, and he felt his eyes drop closed and heard another, raspier sigh leave his lips. Hermione made a soft, soothing noise in reply and she drew him into her, letting him clutch at her wordlessly, until at last he felt some strength return to him.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. "This wasn't what I had in mind when we came up here."

"Don't be sorry," she said. "It's understandable."

"But I...I didn't want it to be like this. I wanted to forget about everything. I...wanted it to be like last time."

She turned her head and placed a gentle kiss on the side of his face. "You wanted me to sleep on you for three hours?" she asked.

"No," he replied, heat pricking at the tips of his ears. "I meant, er - the other stuff."

She smiled. He could feel her lips curling up against his skin, and then they traveled down his jaw until they found his. "Like this?" she asked against his mouth, and then they were kissing again, more intensely than they ever had, except for maybe the first time. And for a moment, from somewhere around all the tension and anxiety, he managed to feel a little thrill. He was a teenage boy, after all, and he was alone with a girl...a girl who was putting her tongue in his mouth. And not just any girl. He pressed into her, drinking her in, and he felt wicked and indulgent and pretty damn lucky. But more than that, he felt desperate. Desperate to cling to this moment and burn every millisecond into the fibers of his memory. This was like the last time and this was nothing like the last time. Before, they had been unsure and so careful, and now neither of them seemed concerned with getting everything just right. And somehow, that made it even better.

But far too soon, Hermione ended the kiss, pulling back slightly. She was wearing an odd expression, Ron thought, and then her hand went to his chest, in the space where her body had been touching his only moments before.

"I can feel your heart," she said softly.

Ron froze. His eyes locked with hers and he felt his insides growing warm. Her gaze was full of...something. Something that made him want to close the space between them right back up again. But before he had the chance, Hermione reached down between them and closed the fingers of her free hand around one of his. Then, bringing it up, she placed it on her chest - just so - and after a moment, he felt it too. The gentle but steady thumping inside of her.

"Do you feel that?" she asked him.

"Yes," he managed, in a raspy voice that was barely more than a whisper.

"It's real," she said. Her voice shook. "And it's good, and it's pure, and we need to believe in it, Ron. That's what we need to hang on to."

Ron felt his breath catch as he drew in air, and immediately, Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and touched their mouths together again. Almost instantly, he felt the rhythm in her chest quicken, and was stunned by how it made him feel. It was because of him, because of his lips and his touch, and it made him feel safe, somehow. Like she was completely his, and he was hers, and that as long as that was true, nothing could touch them, could it?

But when at long last they finally drew apart again, breathless, he found that he couldn't meet her eyes. He just...couldn't. It wasn't gone, this feeling of fear and dread, and he couldn't bear to make her see it again.

"Ron..." she said. He didn't look at her, but he waited for her to finish. He could feel his throat working and her eyes surveying his face. But she didn't say anything more. Instead, she took his hand and led him to the wall where the tower joined the side of the castle, and they sat down, in the same spot they had sat watching the sunset the night of the Quidditch final, when Hermione had fallen asleep in his arms. The moment she sat, she leaned back against the wall and opened her arms, and Ron went immediately into them, gratefully wrapping his own tightly around her and burying his face against her stomach. She cradled him to her, and they sat like that for a long time, watching the sky as the golden tones at the horizon deepened, beckoning the sun westward. It really was incredibly beautiful, and for a moment Ron entertained himself by thinking that the sky had decided to put on a special show, just because it knew they would be watching and needed the cheering up. But of course, that wasn't true. The sky was oblivious to everything happening below it, and would continue to carry on just the same, no matter what was to change down here on earth. It felt both unfair and strangely comforting. Maybe it really was like Hermione had said. Maybe, as long as they continued to believe in everything that was steadfast and real, like sunsets and heartbeats, nothing could change, not really, and they would be okay. How had she ever gotten to be so smart, anyway? And how in Merlin's name had he ever gotten so lucky to have her?

"Hermione," he said.

"Hmmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can."

"Why did-" Almost immediately, he faltered. Maybe it wasn't really right to ask her this. It was a pretty personal question, he knew, even if it was about him. Maybe it was something she'd rather keep to herself, or maybe...well, maybe he was just worried about what her answer would be. Not that he doubted her feelings for him, not anymore, but still...well, maybe there was just a better way to ask it. A safer way.

He took a deep breath. "When did you first know that you wanted to be with me?"

She was silent for a long time. But surprisingly, Ron found that he wasn't really nervous, now that he'd asked. He knew that she was thinking; he could feel it. She was taking his question seriously, like she took everything. He loved that about her. And sometimes hated it.

"When did I first know?" she finally repeated. "I think it was when I saw you belching up slugs."

"Ewww," he replied, scrunching up his nose. She laughed, and he liked the way it made his head move up and down against her belly. "Really?"

"Yes," she answered. "It wasn't the actual belching of the slugs-"

"I hope not," he answered. If that had been his most attractive moment, he really didn't want to know what that said of him.

"-it was why you were belching the slugs."

"Oh." He thought about that. He decided it was a good answer. "Malfoy's a prat," he said.

"Yes."

"That was a long time ago."

"I know," she said softly.

They were silent for a few moments. Then Ron grinned to himself and asked, "And when did you know that you would just die if I didn't kiss you and hold you and shower you with my Weasley charm and dashing good looks?"

It was his apologetic attempt at lightening the mood, and he really expected some sort of teasing response. But instead, he felt her hand come around the back of his head to stroke gently at his hairline, and she answered him in the same quiet tone.

"Just about every moment since."

He turned his head to look up at her face and saw that she was being serious. He needed to spend some time contemplating that, later.

"When did you know it about me?" she asked him, voice catching with hesitation. She bit her lip and averted her eyes, and Ron was dumbfounded. She was nervous? Was it really possible that she still didn't understand, even now?

He lifted himself up, resting his weight on his hands on either side of her so that he could look into her eyes. "Which question?" he asked.

"Both. First one first."

He didn't hesitate. This was easy. Adopting his best impersonation of her favorite know-it-all tone, he said, "Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one."

Hermione burst out laughing and smacked at his chest. "You did not."

Ron put on his most convincing face. He wasn't lying, anyway. "I did so!"

Her giggles died off, and she sighed. "No, really."

"I'm being serious. Of course, it took me about nine years to figure it out."

"We've only known each other for five," she said, letting out another half-laugh.

"I know," he said, feeling a cheeky grin spread across his face. "I'm still not entirely sure."

Hermione's mouth fell open and she smacked at him again. "That's a horrible thing to say, Ron Weasley."

He laughed. "I'm only joking. You know it's the truth."

"Well, what about the second question, then? Be honest!" she warned.

He leaned closer, reaching up to push a windblown curl out of her face. "When did I know I would just die if I couldn't have you?"

She nodded. "Yes." Her tone had gone quiet, probably more so than she intended, and she gave a small smile. "And no cheek, Weasley."

He thought about it. How could he put it into words? How could he tell her just how many times there had been, in simple moments when she had smiled at him or when her leg had knocked into his under the breakfast table? How could he run down the complete list of countless times he had felt the sharp ache of desire stabbing into his heart when her hair had fallen into her face or she had bit her lip in concentration over her studies? How could he tell her about Christmas, when every moment spent near her had made his blood hot and his arms ache to feel her in them? When they had argued over how to hang the ornaments on the tree...when she had come into his and Harry's room in her pajamas...later when he had watched her sleeping in her bed...

"More times than I can count, Hermione," he said at last, resisting an urge to look away from her and study his own hands. "More times than I can even remember."

"Name one," she begged, voice soft and strained.

He thought harder. He knew he owed her a truthful answer. He had brought the subject up, after all, and she had answered him honestly. He struggled to think of just the right moment, and then suddenly, it hit him. "You want to know the best one?" he asked her, finding her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. "The one when I finally knew that I might literally explode if I had to keep it all inside for one more second?"

She nodded, eyes wide.

"When you sang to me," he said simply. She just stared at him. "That was when I felt like...something was breaking...and..." He didn't know how to finish, and to his great irritation, he felt his face flushing again.

But Hermione didn't seem to notice, or care. Her eyes grew glassy and she blinked twice, then leaned in and brushed her lips against his, gently. She trailed her mouth over his, then moved her lips across his cheek, coming down to his neck, where she nuzzled her face into him and sighed. He felt her breath tickle his skin. It was warm and soft, just like her, and he felt a shiver in his heart as her fingers danced in his, stroking over his palm as if she was trying to feel every millimeter of the skin there.

And then suddenly, Ron had an idea. He knew just what he wanted, knew exactly what she could do to make him forget, if even for a moment, everything that was weighing so heavily on them right now.

"Will you do it again?" he asked her. Her fingers halted in his hand and she drew herself back to look at him.

"What?" she asked.

"Will you sing to me again?" His arms went back around her and he lowered himself until his head rested against her shoulder. "Please?"

She didn't seem to know what to say, and she was silent for quite a while. He prayed that she wouldn't say no. It wasn't too much to ask of her, was it? But when he felt her arms come up around him and she didn't protest, he knew she had capitulated. She was just thinking now, of what to sing. He didn't care what it was. It could be the ruddy school song, for all he cared, as long as it was in her voice and it was for him - just for him.

After a long moment, he felt her draw a deep breath, and she began to hum. It was a beautifully haunting tune, and he felt the hair on his arms begin to stand up. And then, very quietly, she added words.

"I can stand with the weight of the world on my shoulders," she sang, in the same painfully crystalline tone he remembered from Boxing Day. How could this be inside of her all the time, without anyone knowing? "I can fight with the toughest of the tough. I can laugh in the face of all my insecurities. Anytime, anywhere, anything. I'm strong enough.

"But when you're holding me like this, I'm carelessly lost in your touch. I'm completely defenseless. Baby, it's almost too much. I'm helplessly, hopelessly, recklessly falling in love."

Ron closed his eyes, letting himself absorb her words with every one of his senses. The vibrations in her chest as she sang each word trembled against his cheek, and he relished it, not daring to move, lest he lose it.

"So let consequence do what it will to us, I don't care. Let the stars stand as witness to it all. Say the word and tonight I will follow you anywhere. I just can't pretend anymore I'm too sturdy to fall.

"Cause when you're holding me like this, I'm carelessly lost in your touch."

He tightened his arms around her, fingers brushing her waist on either side and he wondered how this could be Hermione. How could this be the same bossy know-it-all that had used to drive him mad, who was now sending chills up and down his spine?

"I'm completely defenseless. Baby, it's almost too much. I'm helplessly, hopelessly, recklessly falling in love."

Her voice dropped almost to a whisper, and then she leaned down to kiss the side of his head before she sang the next words.

"I am not afraid. I am not afraid."

Something sharp and raw hit him deeply in the chest and he pulled away from her as she trailed off. They shared an intense look before he leaned in and captured her lips with his one more time. They kissed for a long moment, tenderly, softly, and when at last he pulled away, he found that he couldn't speak.

"We should go," Hermione whispered.

Ron just nodded.

"There's so much left to do. Harry will be waiting."

But neither of them moved. He just buried himself in her again, wishing the clock would stop ticking, wishing the sun would stop sinking. But it wouldn't, and he knew that in a minute, they had to go inside and begin to face whatever it was that was coming.

But at least, he told himself, they would be facing it together.

********************

Gryffindor Tower was empty when Harry returned to it, a fact for which he was immensely grateful. As usual, everyone had retreated to the lawn to celebrate the end of exams; he could hear voices and laughter drifting in through the open windows. For some reason, he felt very annoyed. Perhaps he was bothered by the cheerful celebration because it was in such stark contrast to the state of things inside his own head. Perhaps he was just tired and cranky from the OWLs. Or maybe his ill mood was the result of the sudden and inexplicable pain bouncing off of the inside his skull.

Harry didn't know where the headache had come from. It seemed to have hit him out of nowhere and quite suddenly, as he hadn't had it all day, nor did he remember feeling any pain during his final OWL, which had been his duel for Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was only during the walk back to Gryffindor Tower that the pain had come on, and by the time he made it through the portrait hole, all he could think about was lying down and praying it would pass quickly.

This was the worst possible time for a stupid headache. Harry flung his bag down on the floor and collapsed on the squishiest sofa in the room, thinking that this had to be his body's idea of some kind of joke. He had a million things to be concerned with at the moment, and certainly didn't have time for a silly distraction like pain. He pulled off his glasses and pressed his hands over his eyes, wishing that the aching could just be pushed away. Wishing that everything could just be pushed away.

But it couldn't. Every breath that he drew, every second that passed, reminded him. It was coming.

His nightmare. Only this time, it would be real.

Harry opened his eyes, squinting, and glanced at his watch. Four-thirty. Hours would have passed now, since Voldemort had called his Death Eaters to him. Things would be happening now, people would be moving, mobilizing, preparing their attack. As expected, Harry hadn't heard from Sirius in days. Not for the first time, he wondered where his godfather was and what he was doing. Had he really been the mole Dumbledore had spoken of? Harry imagined a circle of hooded men in the dark, all falling at the feet of the Dark Lord in chilling displays of devotion while Padfoot looked on, hidden in the shadows, dangerously close to discovery. A shiver caused Harry to bury that image, hoping against hope that Sirius was safe and that his information was already in Dumbledore's keeping.

Dumbledore. The name was the only thought keeping any hope alive in Harry's heart at all. Dumbledore was sure to be taking action already, preparing to meet with the Council in only a few short hours, and together, they would be deciding what to do. And within the next twenty-four hours, Harry would deliver to him a tool that could help bring about Voldemort's destruction once and for all. They would work together and Voldemort would be defeated, and then they would all learn, for the first time, what it really meant to live in peace and safety.

Because they would find the box and Carnelian Key that night. They had to.

Harry laid still, fighting to keep control of both the thinking and the throbbing. He just kept his eyes shut, hoping that Ron and Hermione would return soon from whatever secret tryst Ron had swept Hermione off to earlier. He had always found that waiting made him the most anxious when he was alone, and right now he felt about ready to come out of his skin. He needed their presence, sturdy and comforting, and then he'd be able to gather his wits and start making the final plans for their journey that evening. If only he didn't have this headache...

"Looks like he's not back yet."

Harry started. There was a fuzziness in his head that told him he'd fallen completely out of time, and his limbs felt weighted down, like they were crushing the cushions beneath him. Had he fallen asleep? How long had he been lying here, waiting?

"That's strange," Ron said in answer to Hermione. "His duel should have been over ages ago."

"Maybe he's upstairs," Hermione replied. "Stay here and wait for him. I'm going to go and get the maps from my trunk."

"Wait, I'm here," Harry called. Sharp pain pulsed behind his brow, and he winced. "Over here," he added, much more quietly.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice instantly sharpened and Harry opened his eyes. With a jolt, his surroundings slipped back in around him and he saw Hermione come around the arm of the sofa, looking harried. At the sight of him, her eyes widened and she was at his side in a flash. "Oh my goodness, are you all right?"

Ron came up behind Hermione and froze. For an instant, his eyes locked on Harry's and there was a drawn darkness in them that Harry couldn't stand. He had to look away.

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked, voice wavering as she gave him a frantic once-over. "You look terrible!"

"Thanks," he replied, his voice thick and dry. "You look lovely."

"Don't joke, Harry!" she scolded. "What happened? Did you get hit with a curse during your duel? Are you injured?"

"Nothing happened," he answered, letting out a heavy breath. "The duel was fine. I was paired with Malfoy," he said the name scathingly and both Ron and Hermione scowled, "but we both did well. Neither of us got hexed. It's just a headache."

"You didn't have it earlier," Hermione observed, laying her hand over his forehead and pushing his hair back. Her skin felt cool and it brought a small but immediate measure of relief from his pain. "It's not your scar, is it?"

"No," he assured her, closing his eyes once again. "Just a regular headache."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked.

"Yeah."

"Then, finite caput cardimona."

Harry felt something touch his temple, and a moment later, the pain rapidly lifted until he felt it ease away completely. Shocked, he blinked his eyes open and saw that Ron had touched him with his wand and muttered the unfamiliar incantation. He was now replacing his wand in his robes, looking very nonchalant as he stood there holding his Firebolt XL in his other hand.

"What did you just do?" Harry asked, amazed.

Ron just shrugged. "Nine people live in my house. I've seen Mum cast that spell on herself a million times."

Harry cracked a smile and shook his head a little, testing the success of the spell. It was impressive. His pain was completely gone.

"That's...that's incredible," he said. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Are you all right now?" Hermione asked tightly, moving back to allow Harry to sit up.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm fine..." but suddenly his voice left him. He looked at Hermione and everything seemed to rush at him and crash to a stop, leaving him with a deep, head-spinning confusion.

"What?" she asked, frowning. "What is it?"

But he didn't know. There was something...something speaking to him from a deeply embedded corner of his mind...a warning...or a memory...something important. But what was it?

"Harry?" Ron's voice broke through the heavy fog, and as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

"I...what?" Harry tore his gaze from Hermione to look at Ron, but he found he couldn't keep his eyes away and they went immediately back to her.

"Harry, what's the matter?" Hermione demanded.

"Nothing," he answered at last. "Nothing." But he knew that wasn't true. He felt an odd shiver, and reached up to rub the back of his neck, where hair had begun to stand up. "I...I just felt like there was something I was supposed to tell you...or something."

"Something you were supposed to tell me?" she echoed, "What? Why?"

"I don't remember," he replied, finally succeeding in looking away. He felt extremely uncomfortable, like his very skin was itching to speak, or like it suddenly wasn't his own skin at all. He got to his feet in some kind of subconscious hope that he could shed it, but it remained. Nervously, he ran his hands over his robes, smoothing them, and then, without warning, his hand brushed against something in his pocket and memory came flooding back.

"Oh!" he said. Relief washed over him in wide, cleansing waves. "Of course. It's your quill. You left it in Professor Matlock's class after the exam this morning."

"Oh," she replied, accepting it when he handed it to her. "Thanks." But her gaze remained fixed on him, piercing and thoughtful, as if he was some kind of puzzle or complicated Arithmancy problem that she was trying to sort out. It made him uneasy.

"Harry," Ron spoke after a moment. "You sure you're okay, mate? You're acting awfully odd."

"Yeah," Harry answered, putting a finality in the word that was as much for himself as it was for his friends. "Yeah, I'm fine." That was all he was supposed to tell Hermione, wasn't it? There was nothing else...

"Let's get to work on the maps, all right?"

Harry's suggestion was met only with silence until, at last, Hermione said, "All right. I'll go get them."

She disappeared upstairs and returned only minutes later, carrying a large roll of parchment. Firmly, Harry pushed away the last of his discomfort. There was work to be done now.

Carefully, Hermione spread the parchment out on the table in front of them, revealing a set of very complicated maps of their corner of the Scottish Highlands.

"Where did you get these?" Ron asked, smoothing his hands over the top edge of the parchment to keep the corners from curling back up. Harry held another corner and Hermione plopped a small hand compass down on the fourth.

"From the library," she answered, fixing him with a half-hearted scolding look. "Honestly, don't you ever go any further back than the Quidditch shelves?"

Ron gave a weak shrug and turned his attention to the map where a small square had been outlined in black.

"This is the square mile we need to search," Hermione said, pointing to the small black square. "And here is Hogwarts...I think," she added, dragging her finger to the east and circling it around a small area in the midst of a deep mountain valley.

"You think?" Ron asked.

"Well, it's unplottable," she reminded him, "so I can't know for sure. But I'm fairly certain. I think we should fly to the north out of Hogsmeade and then circle back down to the south when we're several miles out. That should give us the best chance of not being spotted."

They had agreed several days ago that their best option for escaping the castle was to use the invisibility cloak to get them under the Whomping Willow and into the secret passageway that led to the Shrieking Shack. Once there, they would leave on foot, staying under the cloak and traveling far out of the village before they took to their broomsticks. If they were seen, that would be the end of their plan, so they needed to be as careful as possible leaving both the castle and the village. They were pretty sure they'd be safe the rest of the way; the land to the west of Hogsmeade was completely uninhabited, as far as they knew.

"And what happens once we get here?" Harry asked, pointing to the outlined square. "How do we know what to search for?"

Hermione tapped the squared off section of the map with her wand and it magically expanded to cover the whole of the parchment.

"Cool," Ron muttered.

"This is the area we'll be searching," Hermione said. "It's fairly flat land at the base of the mountains. Here," she said, pointing, "is where the land starts to slope up the mountainside to the west. This is where I think we have the best chance of finding the corner. There could be caves all along here, or rock formations that could have secret tunnels or hidden entrances. Lots of places where ancient runes could be carved. The rest of this," she said, brushing her hand over the remainder of the map, "is just empty land, with a few pockets of trees. I don't think we'll find anything there."

"So we know we're looking for ancient runes," Ron said, "and we don't know much else. But are we even sure we'll be able to see them? What if they only show up when the corner is accessible, and what if the corner isn't accessible for the entire twenty-four hours of the Solstice? I've been wondering about this. I mean, the legend says the corner is accessible on the longest day of the year. What if that literally only means during the day? What if the runes don't show themselves until sunrise?"

"Then we keep looking until sunrise," Harry said in a flat tone, skimming his eyes over the parchment, trying to imagine in his mind's eye what the landscape would look like. He didn't want to have to waste a single second getting his bearings once they arrived there. "We wait as long as it takes." He flicked his gaze up from the parchment to meet Ron's eyes, which were wide but had a steadfastness in them - a resignation.

Ron nodded, then swallowed. "All right," he said, directing his eyes back to the map. Once again, it was as though they couldn't bear to keep one another's gaze, and it was a sobering realization that made Harry's stomach clench. His best friend couldn't even look at him. For a fleeting moment, Harry wondered if Ron was really just going along with all of this to humor him, to keep him busy so that his sanity wouldn't start coming unraveled piece by piece. What was he thinking right now? That this was all just madness and wishful thinking? Harry wanted to ask him. He wanted Ron to spill his guts, to shout and scream that this was crazy, that it was hopeless, that they would never find what they were looking for. Everything was crazy. Where was the reason? Where was reality? But he remained silent.

"This compass will help us find the location of the square mile," Hermione was saying. She picked up the small device from where it was sitting as a paperweight. One corner of the parchment curled up. "I've charmed it to point us to the center of the area at all times. It will help us get there in the first place, and it will keep us on target once we arrive and start searching." She slipped the compass into her pocket and then rolled the maps back up, charming them into a small tube that fit inside her robes. "I think we should split up when we get there. You two can search from your brooms, and I'll go on foot."

"What?" Ron's head snapped up and he took a single, feverish step toward her. "No. I think we should stick together."

"Ron, one square mile is an enormous area to search for a few tiny runes," Hermione pointed out. "We have to utilize the time we have. We'll be able to cover more ground if we split up."

"She's right," Harry agreed. "We can't waste time. It'll be fine. We'll be in the middle of nowhere. It's completely abandoned out there. We'll be perfectly safe."

"How can you say that, Harry?" Ron asked quietly. "No place is ever perfectly safe."

A thick silence hung between them. Someone outside on the lawn shrieked with laughter and there was a loud splash from the direction of the lake. A strong breeze blew in from the nearest window and it was chilled with the hint of the nearing sunset. A strand of Hermione's hair flew into her eyes, and she reached up to push it back.

"Well," she said, "why don't we just wait and see what it's like when we get there? There's no need to decide everything now."

Harry disagreed, but nodded anyway.

"In the meantime," she continued, "why don't you two try to get some sleep? I'll wake you up in a couple of hours if you want to go down to the Great Hall in time to catch some dinner."

"What about you?" Ron asked.

"One of us needs to stay awake at all times to keep an eye on the clock. Anyway, I need to get my books ready. I can try to get in an hour or so of sleep before we go."

"Books?"

"My ancient runes texts, Ron," she said with a hint of irritation, but she moved immediately into his arms as if in apology for her lack of patience. "I need to make sure I bring as much information with me as possible, in case I can't translate the message from memory alone."

"Oh, right," he said, brushing his lips against her hairline. "That makes sense."

"I can't sleep now," Harry said flatly. "I already did a little bit, anyway. You go on ahead, Ron. I'll stay down here with Hermione."

"Harry, you should really get some rest," Hermione insisted. "You're tired."

Harry felt a surge of annoyance. He knew he was just tense; they all were. And she was just trying to look out for him. But still, he found it difficult not to lash out at her for trying to inform him of how he felt. He fought hard to keep his feelings in check before he replied.

"Fine," he mumbled at last, feeling no energy for arguments. "I'll be upstairs if you need me." In truth, he really did have no inclination towards sleep, but equally unappealing was the idea of sitting around all evening while Ron and Hermione stared at him. At least, he thought as he trudged up the stairs, his bed would offer the comfort of peace and solitude.

It was a while before Harry heard Ron come up to their dorm room behind him. Harry was already ensconced behind his curtains when Ron's heavy footsteps entered, sitting straight up against the headboard on top of his covers, staring at the back of scarlet curtains in the tinted half-darkness. And it was another while still before Ron's soft snoring could be heard, though it came sporadically. Ron's sleep was restless.

Harry watched the light in his bed grow dimmer and heard the sounds of students returning to the common room below, settling in for the night, and still sleep did not come. Eventually, his body had laid itself down, backwards with his head near the foot of the bed, and he found some interest in studying the way the ceiling looked from this perspective, the way the chips in the stone were mirrored against the familiar images in his memory. The way everything seemed turned on its head.

After a while, Ron rose, socked feet padding toward the nearest window, which closed with a soft rattle of windowpanes. The air had grown chilly. Ron moved about the room quietly, though Harry could sense his movements as if his curtains were open wide and he could see him moving to the dresser, pulling out fresh clothes to redress. It was going to be a cool night, Harry thought, and was glad when he heard the telltale scratch of Ron's bottom drawer being opened, the one with the slightly splintered wood that always caught against the inside of the dresser when it was pulled, the one that held his heavier, handmade jumpers.

"Harry?"

He jumped slightly at the sound of his own name, and tensed.

"Harry?" Ron repeated. "Do you want dinner?"

He didn't even ask if he was awake. He didn't need to.

But on the off-chance that Ron might be fooled, Harry chose not to answer. Ron waited a few moments before sighing softly and crossing the room, and after a moment, Harry heard the click of the door as it shut behind him.

********************

In all his years at Hogwarts, he had never realized how cold the hallways could get after dark.

It was a strange comprehension, really, given how many times he had been out in them, traipsing around after hours for all sorts of reasons that probably could have gotten his Prefect badge snatched right away from him. Not that Harry had ever really understood why they had given him the thing in the first place. It was almost funny, really. Three students out of bounds in almost every conceivable way, flouting every rule there was with their silver Prefect badges pinned proudly to the front of their robes. It would have been laughable, anyway, were it not for the very real and sobering possibility that they could all be facing expulsion before this was all said and done, if the Board of Governors had anything to say about it.

Not that it mattered.

What good would it do to be tucked up in the castle while the world fell in on them, Harry wondered, when they could be out trying to stop it? He would rather be expelled if it came down to it. He would rather be kicked out of Hogwarts for good than sit around waiting for it all to come tumbling down.

And that was saying something.

There was a chill in Harry's bones. In his very blood. The emptiness of the corridors seemed more profound than ever, their light footfalls echoing off dim torchlight and shadowed walls. The silence was eerie and still. Not even Peeves could be heard clanging about in the trophy room, or bouncing around in the library. Harry wondered if anyone was patrolling the halls at all, or if all semblance of order at Hogwarts disintegrated under Dumbledore's absence. The castle almost seemed to sense that he was gone, growing cold and flat at the lack of his ever steady presence.

For the Headmaster would have left these walls by now. The Council would be convening at this very moment, someplace far away and undisclosed, deciding what they could possibly do in the face of Voldemort's promised reappearance in four days' time. And while they debated the future, three students would be off seizing the first piece of it.

"Do you think it rains in alternate dimensions?"

They had just made their way through the great oak doors and onto the lawn and Harry had barely taken a passing notice. He looked up at the sky through the silky sheen of the invisibility cloak and saw that the odd swirl of clouds that had been lingering in the west earlier in the day was growing, cloaking the sky in thick blankets of gray. The air was heavy and carried a definite damp chill, and silently, Harry cursed the sky. Rain would be just the thing to make their journey more pleasurable.

"We don't even know for sure that it is an alternate dimension, Ron," whispered Hermione. "For all we know, it could all be symbolic and the corner could just be some cave or hole in the ground or something. Immobulus."

It was the first they'd spoken since sneaking out of the common room and now they grew silent again as Hermione charmed the Whomping Willow to freeze its wild thrashing. It took some maneuvering for them to get inside - with three bodies, two broomsticks, two lanterns, and a backpack, the invisibility cloak was occupied to capacity - but within a few short moments they had crawled through and were safely concealed underground.

"Well, that was the hardest part, I reckon," Ron said, disentangling himself from the cloak. "If we made it out of there all right, the rest should be a breeze."

How right Ron was, Harry thought, as he gathered the cloak up and crammed it into a pocket in his robes. It had been almost too easy sneaking out of the castle. It was unsettling, in a way, to realize how simple it was to slip away from all the supposed securities the castle offered. How truly little there stood between Hogwarts and the world, every day.

They didn't speak as they made their way through the secret passageway and up into the Shrieking Shack. Just as when they'd last seen it, everything was cloaked with layers of dust. Layers of memories. This was where he had met his godfather, had learned the truth about his parents' deaths...and beneath those layers were years of Animagi transformations and secret adventures and a loyalty more fierce than love or hate. Harry was glad when they passed through the house and stepped back into the cool evening. There was too much to contemplate, here.

It was with this same understanding for silence that the trio traversed the village of Hogsmeade and took to the air at last. Hermione rode with Ron, tying the straps of her bag securely around the end of his Firebolt, and hanging one of the lanterns with it. Harry charmed the other lantern to stay in place on the back of his own broomstick, and they were off.

What were they leaving behind, Harry wondered as he kicked off and shot into the new, unfamiliar expanse of air. Another piece of their innocence? Another piece of Dumbledore's trust? Of their passivity? That, at least, he hoped was true.

********************

"Good thing we brought the lanterns, huh?"

Ron held one of the devices out to Harry, who struck a match to light the object the Muggle way. They all knew it was likely only a matter of time before they would have to use magic out here, but the longer they could avoid possible detection by the Ministry, the better.

"You could say that," Harry agreed, lifting his eyes skyward. The three of them stood side by side in the middle of a great expanse of vacant ground, cloaked in a blackness that gave new meaning to one's understanding of darkness. They were at least forty miles from any civilization, and the meager lights of Hogsmeade had faded from view long ago. The moon was waning, but would have been bright enough to be of service were it not for the growing sheath of clouds that continued to spread across the sky like an unfurling roll of parchment.

Once the lanterns were lit, Harry looked out around him. They had done it. They had actually arrived at this nondescript plateau at the foot of the mountains, and looking around, it was hard to believe there was supposed to be anything spectacular about this place at all. It was cold. Barren. Completely devoid of the electric subtleties of a world Harry had not yet begun to take for granted.

There was no magic here.

Almost at once, something gave way in Harry's gut, dragging him down along the dangerous slope he'd been struggling so hard to stay atop of all year. What were they doing here? This was mad. They had made a mistake.

"Certainly doesn't feel like anything special, does it?" Ron asked quietly, looking around and giving a small shiver. Harry looked at him and shivered too. The look on Ron's face said it all.

The world suddenly felt very, very big.

"Come on," Hermione said, slinging her backpack onto her shoulders. "We knew it wouldn't just jump right out and bite us. The corner is here somewhere. We just have to find it." Her voice was steady and determined, and Harry clung to it. As long as one of them had confidence, they all had it, and they hadn't come out here for nothing. Not yet.

They took to their broomsticks once more, flying directly at the side of the mountain before them, which stood fierce and tall, like the hull of a grotesquely giant ship. Now that they had arrived, they knew Hermione had been right about the location of the corner having to be somewhere in the mountainside. Behind them was nothing but open land, and there would be no ancient runes to be found there unless they were spelled out by the trees themselves. Somehow, Harry doubted that was likely.

Wordlessly, they began their work in tandem. Harry flew high above Ron to search further up the rocky slopes while Ron and Hermione trained their efforts closer to the ground. It was a functional compromise on the issue of splitting up; they were searching twice the space but were still well within each other's vision.

But between the limited light and the vast stretch of mountain on either side of them, their progress was slow. Harry's insides were clenched in anticipation and doubt, and it was torture, making the slow, careful loops, too anxious to maintain patience but too scared of missing something to charge onward. The ferocity of his concentration left little concern for things like time and distance, and he was shocked when Hermione called up to him, telling him to come down. They had reached the boundary of the square mile she had determined contained the corner, and there was no use in flying on ahead. They decided to head back in the opposite direction, traveling higher up the mountainside to see what lay above. It was with an exchanged glance of trepidation that Harry and Ron mounted their Firebolts again. Looking up, the light of their lanterns scarcely reached the ridges they had flown along to reach this point. They would both be flying higher than they had ever ventured, with the ground far out of sight.

Harry chanced a furtive glance in Hermione's direction as they kicked off. His own nerves were fluttering around inside of him like live wires, and he lived for the thrill of flight. Hermione, on the other hand, had never been a big fan of leaving the ground. But if she felt any fear, it wasn't showing. She just wrapped her arms tightly around Ron's waist and helped him kick off, face set with determination.

It felt like hours passed, and still they found nothing. They searched the entire length of the mountainside, leaving no nook uninvestigated, no cave unexplored, doubling back time and again in case they had missed something. It was like an exceptionally long game of Quidditch with a cruel, elusive Snitch. But winning this match promised a prize far more valuable than the Quidditch Cup, and Harry's resolve grew more steeled with every passing minute. They had to find the corner. They simply had to. Because if they didn't, then that would mean it had all been for nothing. The months of research, Hermione driving herself mad, the very source of the sanity he had barely held onto...it was all wrapped up in this, and if they failed...

They could not fail.

But as more and more time passed, it seemed as if they might. They found nothing, no sign, however small, of any rune carvings. The frustration began as a small knot in the depths of Harry's stomach (there just isn't enough light, I can't see every corner of this cave, or come on, be here. Be around this corner) but slowly, it grew into something more closely resembling panic. Slowly, the oppressive darkness was fading to a murky black-blue, and before long the sun would be up...so much time gone already. So much energy spent.

"Where to now?" Ron called with a tired sigh. He was flying up to meet Harry, and Harry turned and met him halfway.

"I don't know. I think we've searched every inch of this bloody mountainside."

"We have," Hermione said in a voice stretched thin with exhaustion. She looked as though she might fall right off Ron's broom at any moment. "There's nowhere else to look. We've been up for hours...I'm sorry, can we just take a small rest? The sun will be up soon, and when it's fully light we can go back into some of those caves and see if our lanterns missed anything."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Yeah, let's land."

Every joint in Harry's body protested when his feet hit the ground and he tossed his broomstick aside. Time had stopped for him the moment they'd left the Gryffindor common room, but if the sky was anything to judge by, they'd been flying for a good five hours, at least. Ron let out a loud groan next to him and sprawled himself on the ground. Hermione didn't even make it to her feet. She just collapsed on her knees where the broomstick halted and crawled forward into Ron's waiting arms. Harry, at least, remained upright. He stood stiffly, reacquainting himself with the feeling of being linear and gazed out at the landscape before them, adjusting his eyes to the growing light that now bathed everything with dim vision.

"Hey, what's that?" he asked, pointing.

"Hrmm?"

"What's what, Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice muffled against Ron's chest.

"Over there," Harry said, squinting out into the distance. "There's..." he took a few steps forward, trying to focus on what it was that he was seeing in his line of vision. "A shadow. But I can't see what's making it." Almost unbidden, Harry found his feet carrying him toward the odd formation in the earth, trying to decipher just what it was.

"Harry, wait," Ron's voice called lazily. "We'll go with you."

But Harry dismissed him with a wave of his hand, continuing forward, away from the rocky cliffs of the mountain. It wasn't far away; he could go alone and let Ron and Hermione rest for a few minutes. His legs both ached and rejoiced as he walked, stretching the muscles that had been clenched tight for so long, and he vaguely wondered how any of them would manage the flight home. Of all possible variables he'd considered regarding this journey, fatigue had not been one of them. He wouldn't tell Hermione, but he wished now that he hadn't let himself get annoyed with her when she insisted he try to get some rest. Hadn't he always known she was smart?

There was something standing straight up in the earth. There wasn't a shadow at all, he realized as he got nearer, at least not yet. He had just seen the object itself from far away, black against the lightening horizon.

It was a rock. A simple, unremarkable slab of stone. And altogether foreign.

Harry frowned as he touched it, running his fingers over the weathered crevices and craters on its surface, then bent to inspect it more closely. It stood straight up in the ground, about two feet in diameter, slightly higher than eye level when he crouched. It didn't belong here. The angles formed by the stone where it disappeared into the earth were unnaturally geometric, its perpendicularity too perfect. And yet, here it was, standing as if it had shot out of the ground on its very own.

And then, from somewhere beneath all the walls he'd built up around his childhood, all the carefully constructed barriers he'd placed over the memories of everything that had come before the hut on the rock and his eleventh birthday, something spoke to him.

He had learned this.

In school. With Dudley and Piers Polkiss and all the other children who had never been his friends, back when all he had to do was read and daydream, and try to be a good student in hopes that it might somehow earn him a way out of his cupboard. They'd studied things like this in class. Places like this.

"Hermione!" Harry called, jumping to his feet. "Hermione!" Far away, he saw her jerk upright, and in an instant she and Ron were on their feet, running towards him. He realized now that his shout had sounded panicked, desperate, but he didn't care. He needed them here now.

"Look at this," Harry said when they reached him, breathless. "Look." He pointed to the mysterious stone and Ron and Hermione both regarded it as though it were something entirely unexceptional.

"What?" Ron asked, screwing his face up. "What about it?"

"Hermione," Harry said, "you know about places like this. I'm sure you must. You know everything, Muggle and magic alike. What do you think this is?"

Hermione's eyes searched his for a moment, wildly, and then they widened with understanding. "Oh my gosh," she said. "Of course! There have to be more! There have to be more of these, in a circle maybe, or-"

"This cannot be a coincidence," Harry said.

"Look around," Hermione ordered, and they set off in opposite directions, searching desperately for more pieces to this new puzzle.

"What?" Ron called, voice sharp with frustration. "What are you two on about?"

"Ron," Harry said, beckoning his best friend to follow him. "Have you ever heard of places like Stonehenge? Ancient temples, or altars where things..." he trailed off, searching desperately for more stones in the distance and for the right words to explain, "line up. You know? On the solstices, or the equinoxes. Ancient clocks, really, that's what they were. Clocks of the sky. They were built by Muggles, thousands of years ago, but some people think there is more to them than that. Something mystical." He stopped. There, in the distance, he saw it. Another stone, this one toppled over onto its side. "Something magic."

"Hermione!" he called. "Over here!"

In the end, it was the only other one they found. The two stones sat about a hundred yards apart, both equidistant from the mountainside. Hermione agreed with Harry that they had to mean something. It was just too much of a coincidence that they were here, in the very place where there was supposed to be a secret entryway to the corner of the earth on the Summer Solstice...

"What do you think they mean?" asked Harry.

"I don't know. There has to be...some kind of alignment, or something," she said, looking around.

"Or maybe the runes are on them," Ron suggested, examining the fallen pillar closely. "Did you look at the other one?"

"Yes, there's nothing on it," she replied. "It must have something to do with the alignment. With the positions of the stones." Hermione looked up, eyes settling on the eastern sky. "The sun will be up soon. Most times, these types of stones are arranged so that they line up with the rising sun on days like the solstices. I think we should wait and see what happens when the sun rises. It won't be long now."

The suggestion seemed as good as any, so they decided to wait it out. Harry's heart thumped as they made their way back toward the cliffs to wait. This had to be it. It had to be. Somehow. They'd found nothing else...

They did their best to keep their eyes open while they waited, but none of them were fully successful. They sat shoulder to shoulder, leaning back against the sturdy rock of the mountain, at a place where the cliff was high and flat. As Harry gazed out, he could see the two stones in the distance, each equal distances to his left and right. And in the very middle, straight in front of him, he noticed only for the first time a small mound in the earth. One that didn't look entirely natural.

"Hermione," Harry said, nudging her with his elbow and pointing. "Look."

"I know, I see it. The sun's going to rise right there, I'll bet. Right in front of us."

Harry barely noticed his eyes closing, or the cool splash of the first raindrops that fell on his skin. Sleep, blissful sleep began to overtake him, and he didn't even feel himself slouch to the side, onto Hermione's shoulder. Everything faded out as he waited, and he had no idea how much time had passed when he heard Hermione gasp suddenly, and he jerked awake.

"There it is," she said breathlessly.

The sun was rising. It was wholly unimpressive, grayed by rolling clouds, dimmed in its glory, but they could see enough of it to tell them what they needed to know. They had been right.

A feeble round glow could be made out, rising just over the odd mound of earth in front of them. Perfectly framed in equal distances by the two ancient slabs of stone that mapped it.

"But what does it mean?" Ron asked, groggily. "What does it tell us?"

"I don't know," Harry said quietly. "Something. Something's got to happen." He hauled himself to his feet and paced around, aimlessly, waiting. And then he noticed something strange. As a single, persistent ray of light pierced through the cover of clouds, something on the wall of rock beside him changed. Or had he imagined it? There was a groove, a dark line, completely vertical near where he stood. He reached his hand out to touch it, and his fingers slipped into the stone, which felt hot and smooth. Unweathered. New.

"Something's happening," he said.

"What?" Hermione asked sharply. "What?"

"I don't know. This stone," he said, looking over his shoulder toward the sun and then back again. "This stone, it changed when the light hit it. It made this groove."

Hermione stepped closer, examining it closely, looking for any sign of rune carvings inside, anything to go on at all. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Ron moving away from the wall, stepping back to observe from further away.

"It's nothing," Hermione said, "There's nothing here."

And then, in a voice that sounded rapt with awe, Ron spoke.

"Oh, there's something here. Look up."

Two, four, six steps backwards and then everything fell into its cosmic place.

There, high up on the face of the cliff, spread wide across its distance, was a pattern of enormous, perfectly carved, glorious, glowing runes.

"Oh, dear God," Harry breathed, stepping further back to take it all in.

They were spreading, widening in their formation, deepening until Harry could have stepped his whole body inside the groove he had first touched, the one that he now saw made up only a portion of one gigantic symbol. It was mind-blowing.

"What does it say?" he asked, his voice floating away on a whisper. "What does it mean?"

Hermione was gazing at the wall with astonished disbelief, stepping further away, further, further until she could make out the whole display.

"It's simple," she breathed. "Old, very old, but easy. It just says enter."

With a great lurch, and a rumbling like the sound of splitting earth, the looming wall of the mountain before them gave way, parting like the fabled Red Sea. The rock curled, groaned, turned in on itself and rolled back to reveal an opening, a crack, and from inside spilled forth a blinding gleam of orange light. They stood transfixed, watching, until they all had to throw their arms across their eyes to shield them from the offending brilliance of the hollows of the earth.

And then, slowly, the rumbling grew silent and the light grew dim, and the grooves in the rock of the mountain wall shrunk, closing, leaving everything unmarred, unchanged from how it had been. Except for the gaping fissure that stood open before them.

"Sweet Merlin," Ron rasped.

For a moment, no one moved, and then from far away, the rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning brought them all to their senses.

"Well, this is it," Hermione said. "It's now or never."

Ron stepped forward, gathering up a lantern as he did, and moved in front of Hermione, moving cautiously toward the doorway into the depths of the mountain. He peered inside, but there was nothing to be seen, and then he reached back, gulping, and waited for Hermione to slip her hand into his. And then, he led the way inside.

Harry stepped through after them, bracing himself for the unknown, for whatever it was that happened when one entered a new plane of existence, but nothing did. Everything was the same, and everything was different. The moment his feet crossed the threshold it was as if all movement, all breath, all life ceased. There was nothing but stillness, nothing but hollow, vacant, vast emptiness, and it filled his lungs and skin with an odd sensation of weightlessness.

"Everyone all right?" asked Ron, and his voice seemed to come from very far away. But he was right there, Harry knew, because when he reached out his hand and closed it around Ron's arm, he was solid, and real, and warm.

"What are we doing?" Harry asked to no one in particular. This was unreal.

"We're finding the bloody Carnelian Key," Ron said with fierce determination. "And we're finding the ruddy box that goes with it and then we are getting the hell out of this godforsaken place."

It sounded good to Harry. They forged ahead, slowly coming into cadence with their surroundings, and the odd sensations that had at first felt so unnatural seemed to lighten their grip. Something in the very walls around them seemed to brighten, casting a dim glow that lit their way. Now that everything was coming into focus, Harry could see that they truly were still under the mountain, in some way, at least. It was like traversing a very large cavern, and there were caves branching off at all angles. They hardly knew where to begin.

"So I guess we just start looking," Harry said, finally gathering his wits. He took a deep breath and looked back, where the world they'd just stepped out of was now nothing more than a small sliver of light in the semi-lit darkness of the cavern. And then he turned away again and moved across the space, making for what looked like the main path into the depths of this strange place, a wide cave leading off to their left.

"We stick together," Harry said, reaching behind him with one arm to pull his friends close. In his other hand, he gripped his wand tightly, and together, they moved forward into the bowels of the earth.

Their path sloped downward at first, and they moved slowly, lanterns held high to cast as much light around them as possible. They saw nothing, heard nothing, smelled and felt nothing as they walked. The temperature didn't even change, no matter how far down their steps took them, and there was no sign of water, no dripping or dampness that one would usually find in such places, if one was still in his or her own dimension.

"This is bloody bizarre," Ron observed, and Hermione didn't even scold him on his language when she agreed.

"It is," she said.

After awhile, they wondered if they should turn back and try one of the other caves that branched off of the main cavern. They were finding nothing here, though they continued to pass smaller fissures in the walls, narrower caves that may have held the secrets they were searching for. But they were reluctant at this point to break off from the main pathway and risk getting themselves lost. Hermione was the one who pointed out how easy it would be to get turned around down here, and it was with a nervous flutter in his stomach that Harry gripped at the pockets of his robe, feeling for the Portkeys that he knew were concealed there.

Just in case, he told himself. Just in case.

"Well, if I was an object like a dirty great box of pieces of people's souls," Ron wondered loudly, "where would I be hiding?"

"Not here," Hermione said with a sigh, coming to a standstill. "Come on, let's turn back."

It was a gamble either way, they knew. No matter which way they went, there was a chance they would never find what they were looking for in this seemingly unending labyrinth, so the choice to head back seemed as promising as the choice to continue on. Ron and Hermione both turned around and began to make their way back up the sloping incline of the cave's floor.

But Harry froze.

Had he just imagined that?

Please, he thought, Oh please oh please oh please, no no no.

"Harry?"

He started to take a step forward, to catch up with his friends. I'm coming, he wanted to say, but his ability to speak seemed to leave him in a rush as his hands flew, unbidden, to clutch at his head.

Oh yes. He hadn't imagined it.

It was searing, agonizing, and completely unexpected. It knocked the wind right out of him and he couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, could only fall to his knees, gripping his forehead, listening to the strangled noises emerge from his own throat as he tried not to scream.

"Harry!" Ron's voice was frantic, but it barely cut through the pounding fog that had taken the place of Harry's brain.

"Harry? Oh God, it's his scar? Harry! Hold on..."

But what Hermione was about to say next, none of them would ever know.

For out of the shadows stepped three cloaked figures, all hooded in black, and in one, seamless motion, three wands were pulled and aimed.

"Stupefy!"

********************

Silence.

That was the first thing she noticed when consciousness returned, though she didn't even realize she was awake at first. She only sensed the silence.

And then the dryness. Her throat was so very, very dry.

She moved her lips, tried to wet them, but her tongue felt like an empty sponge.

"Ron?" No sound came out. She tried again, tried harder. "Ron?"

A groan in response. She thought her heart would break.

What had happened? What had happened...she couldn't think, couldn't remember. She just knew that Ron had been there...and Harry. Where was Harry?

"Ron?" This time her voice finally sounded like her own, though only barely. "Ron? Ron?" It was coming out of her throat on whimpers. "Ron?"

She couldn't move.

"Here," came the answer. "I'm here, Hermione."

His voice was cracked, broken, barely audible, and then he groaned again, louder.

"Bloody hell."

"Ron?"

"It's okay, Hermione. It's all right, hang on. I'm coming."

But he didn't, not at first. Moments passed, long, terrorizing minutes before she heard sound and she realized that he was crawling towards her. And then a comforting, familiar warmth was at her side, and her hand was in his.

"Ron, what's happening?"

"I don't know," he said, and his voice wasn't fixed yet. "I don't know. Here, get up. I'll help you."

"I can't."

She couldn't. All of her limbs felt numb and heavy, like they were pulling her down into quicksand, and she couldn't move. She tried to lift her head, tried to wrench it from where the ground held it like a vice, but all that happened was a strange dizziness that felt like she was falling. She tried to scream, didn't mean to, but she was falling, for heaven's sake. Only she wasn't, and her scream died on another whimper.

"It's all right, Hermione," Ron said, "Just be still, just wait, it will wear off."

"What will?"

"I think we were stunned."

"What? What? No...where's Harry? Ron, where's Harry?"

Silence again. This one more pronounced, more torturous than the one when she'd first awoken, even though it lasted only a second.

"I don't know."

"What?"

"He's not here."

"What? Ron..."

"I don't know where he is. We're in the caves still, but he's not here."

Finally, Hermione opened her eyes. Or had they already been open? She couldn't tell. But she was seeing now, one way or the other, and Ron's face hovered over hers, and his eyes were swimming with a hundred things that she'd never, ever thought his eyes could be.

It made her want to sob. And finally, finally, she forced her fingers to move, forced them to curl around his and she gripped his hand with as much energy as she could muster. It wasn't much.

"Ron?" her voice was nothing. Barely a whisper. "Where is he?"

"We'll find him. Okay? We will. But you have to get up. We can't stay here. I'll help you."

"Where are we?" she asked as she felt Ron's arms slip under her and heave her up into a sitting position. This time, she thought her head might explode from the dizziness. She cried out, trying to clutch at him, and his arms went around her, steadying her until the wave passed.

But when she focused her eyes on his again, he was looking at her very strangely. "Hermione..." he said, "I think...you should be able to get up by now."

She should? "I can't."

"I know."

"Where are we?" she asked again, and she only now took a look around her, realizing they were still in the caves, tucked into some nondescript nook. A small hollow off a wider, taller corridor. Then she turned her head back to look at Ron. "Who stunned us?" she demanded, feeling her first wave of anger. It would not be her last.

"I have no idea. Are you...can you move at all?"

She tried, and somehow, though it felt like she was pulling her arms and legs through vats full of liquid cement, she managed to sit up further, and hold herself up on her own. Slowly, she lifted her hands to her face and pushed her hair back.

It took all the energy she had.

"I'm going to move you, all right? I'm going to carry you over there-" he pointed, "-so that you can sit up against the wall and I can try to find Harry."

"No," she begged. "Don't leave me here."

"I'm not!" Ron's arms tightened around her and he dipped his head to brush his lips against her forehead. "I'm not leaving you, I promise. I'm just going to go right out there-" he pointed again, into the larger cave beyond the cove where they were sitting, "and look around and see if I can see anything. Okay?"

"Yes," she answered. "Yes, okay."

Ron stood up, then bent and lifted her into his arms.

He had been stunned too. He'd had the same curse placed on him, and here he was lifting another person into his arms and she couldn't even sit up. What was wrong with her?

"Ron-" she breathed his name into his ear. "I'm scared."

"You're okay," he told her. But his voice shook. He was lying. "Here, just sit right here." He set her down and she was able to brace herself against the wall of stone at her back. Her fingers tingled and she tried to grip at the ground beneath her, but still, she could barely move.

"I'm going to look for Harry. I'm not going far. Not out of earshot, all right?"

"All right," she answered.

He looked her dead in the eye and nodded. "Okay. I'll be right back. Okay? Can you hold your wand?"

"Yes." She thought she could anyway, and she wiggled her fingers, trying to lift them so that she could reach into her robes and retrieve it. But her hand wouldn't cooperate.

"Here," Ron said, searching quickly for her pockets in the folds of her robes.

"Front left," she told him.

"Hermione," he said, frowning as he found the pocket and fumbled inside. "Are you sure?" She felt his hand withdraw and search out the pocket on her right.

"Yes, I'm sure."

His next words were flat with disbelief. "It's not here."

Immediately he began pulling out his own pockets, patting himself down, searching desperately.

"They disarmed us." Hermione's words rang into a silence that seemed to stretch on forever.

They were completely unprotected.

Who had done this?

And then, before she'd even finished wondering it, the silence was broken by a sound that cut the air like a slow, cruel, twisting blade. A voice. And they knew.

"Well, well, well. The rumors are true. Hermione Granger really is obscenely clever."

Ron whirled around and what Hermione saw made the air in her lungs go thin and the blood in her veins freeze mid-flow.

Death Eaters.

A semi-circle of hooded men stood before them, dark and tall and inhuman. They were stationed like a wall, like a dam. Like an inanimate force of nature, devoid entirely of will. They were on a mission.

Oh, God. Oh, no no no no no. What was going on? How had this happened? Where was Harry? Hermione's thoughts flew immediately to him, and she was filled with excruciating terror. Oh, God. Oh, please, please...

"What do you want?"

Ron had risen, squaring himself against them. His hands were clenched at his sides in white, shaking fists. His voice trembled and he gave a violent shiver that made Hermione want to lunge at him and pull him away, and hold onto him. But he was out of her reach, and then he took two very deliberate steps in front of her and drew a shaky breath.

"How did you get here? What do you want with us?"

Hermione's heart pounded ferociously through a long moment of agonizing silence. And then the Death Eater in the middle, the one who had spoken, merely turned his head snapped his fingers once.

Hermione barely had time to register the motion before the Death Eaters were moving, driving into the space between them and forcing Ron back against the opposite wall.

"Get her," the one in charge said.

"What? NO!" Ron shouted. He threw himself against the black figures that blocked him. "Don't you touch her!"

"Get up," someone ordered her. They were all the same. How many of them even were there? She couldn't tell; it was all a blur.

"No," she replied, and she was shocked at the weakness in her own voice. She was so tired. "Get away from me." She wanted to scream and kick and demand explanations and hurt them, but nothing her brain demanded was obeyed by her body. "Leave him alone. Ron..."

"Hermione!" Ron's shouts were full of a panic that seized her and cleared her mind with a jolt. "Hermione!"

"Ron-"

"NO! Get your hands off me, you fucking bastard! HERMIONE!"

"Stun him again!" one of the Death Eaters called, and Hermione saw that he was struggling to hold Ron back, along with several others. Ron was fighting like he was suddenly possessed, kicking and straining against the sets of arms that held him back.

"No," one of them said sharply. "He wants them awake and unspoiled, didn't you hear him? Just hold him and we'll get her out of here."

"NOOOOO!"

"Get up!" Someone hissed into her ear and she let out a groan of protest as two pairs of hands seized her and yanked her into a standing position.

"NOOOOO! HERMIONE!" An unearthly, guttural cry rang out and Ron choked on it, hurling himself against his captors.

"Ron! Ron-" No. She wouldn't go. She wouldn't. She wouldn't leave him, she wouldn't let them do this. But what could she do? She cast her mind desperately over everything she had ever learned, every defense skill she'd ever read about, everything she'd ever been taught, but nothing had prepared her for this. They'd been ambushed. And she had no idea how.

But she tried. She tried to kick, tried to fight, tried to struggle as best she could. "No! Let go of me!"

"HERMIONE!"

A hot, gloved hand clamped down over Hermione's mouth, hard. She gasped on a half-breath and the hands that had seized her now lifted her between them. A pair of arms circled around her waist and she was heaved off the ground. She tried to scream, but wasn't able, and her meager attempts to fight them off were useless. They were dragging her away, out of the alcove.

Ron was screaming. She could hear him, could see him fighting. There were at least four Death Eaters on him, maybe five, and it took all they had to hold him off.

Hurt them, Ron. Kick them, fight them. Help me.

"Damn it, STUN HIM!"

"NO!"

For a split second, Ron almost broke through. He shot through a gap in their arms, but they were back on him immediately, and this time there were to be no holds barred. One of them drew back a fist and slammed it, hard, into Ron's jaw.

Hermione screamed against the hand that silenced her as Ron fell back into the wall, stunned. After a moment, he tried to clamber back to his feet, but it was all over now. A foot struck him squarely in the stomach once, twice, and he was sent sprawling.

Hermione felt herself being dragged away and she was powerless to stop it. She was numb now, sickened by the wheezing gasps that were Ron's attempted breaths, and when he was kicked a third time, her vision went blurry and she felt dizzy.

"Hermione..." He was so quiet now. "Hermione..." He let out a cough and heaved himself over onto his side, looking up at her with wide, fearful, defeated eyes. The Death Eaters rushed him, grabbing him and hauling him to his feet. For a final moment, his eyes locked with Hermione's, and she felt as though everything good that she had ever seen in them was being torn out of him, floating on the surface one last time before being ripped away forever.

"I love you."

Tears sprang to her eyes. He had never said that before. She couldn't answer. Even if there hadn't been a hand clamped over her mouth, the heaving, sobbing breaths that had overtaken her would have prevented any words. And then it was too late, because she was hauled away and he was out of sight.

********************

Harry blinked, hard. Over and over again. He could think of nothing else to do. There was nothing else to try.

He was surrounded by blackness. His eyes opened and closed and nothing changed. No hint of light, no flicker of motion, just endless, empty darkness.

He wondered if he was blind. Was there some spell? Some curse or potion that could render him temporarily sightless? Or worse...permanently?

He refused to think about that, trying instead to rally his thoughts, gathering up the remaining shreds of them and trying to fit them together into something that made sense. Everything had gone terribly, horribly wrong. That was the first thing he knew. The second thing was that he didn't have his wand. Desperately, he'd searched the ground around him for it, but all the time he knew that he would not find it. He spent quite a few minutes berating himself. This is the exact reason your robes are charmed, you idiot. You should have had it in your pocket! So that no hand could have removed it but your own. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But how could he have known this would happen? But what had happened? He couldn't remember. The last thing he remembered before the blackness was the pain. His scar had been burning, much like it was now, but more ruthlessly. He reached up the fingers of one hand and connected them with his forehead, testing gently. It still hurt, but not as badly. Or else he'd just become very accustomed to it over the long hours.

He was pretty sure he was alone. Little knots of terror and dread tied themselves around his insides at the knowledge. He didn't know where Hermione and Ron were. He knew it was probably risky, calling out for them and risking whomever had done this to them hearing and realizing he was awake, but he felt compelled to reach out to them the only way he could, and had called their names over and over again until he'd gone hoarse. He'd heard nothing.

And he heard nothing now. His senses were completely empty. No sight, no smell, no sound, only the knowledge that he was by himself. He put together clues as best he could. He knew that he was in a large area, because when he'd called Ron's and Hermione's names, his voice had echoed around him. And he knew that he was still in the caverns, or at least, he suspected it. He was sitting on rough ground that felt like stone under his fingers. It felt like it should have been cool, but there was no temperature here, in this strange place. He also knew that he would be retrieved, eventually. He hadn't been left here to fend for himself.

This was it.

This was what he'd been waiting for ever since the moment Voldemort had stepped out of that enormous cauldron. The hunt was up. In a strange, twisted way that Harry didn't want to analyze too deeply, it was almost a relief. There would be no more waiting, no more wondering. This was his chance.

But chance to do what, Harry didn't know. He was trapped, unable to move even a few feet due to the shackle that held his right hand high above him. He was chained to the wall.

He had panicked when he realized it, trying desperately to free his hand, yanking against the metal as hard as he could until thin trickles of blood had begun dripping down his arm. And then, he had yanked some more. But it was fruitless. The cuff held him securely, and he was pretty sure it was more than just strong metal holding him. There was some magic at work here.

In the end, he slumped down to the ground, energy spent, and waited. It seemed like hours passed, and he tried his hardest to keep his wits, reminding himself that he would be all right. He was prepared for this. He had waited for this. He had known that Voldemort would get to him eventually, hence all his hard work at arming himself. He had the Portkeys right here, right here in his pocket, and he could reach them if need be. Not that he would dream of escaping without Ron and Hermione. He had to make sure that they were all right.

He prayed that they were all right.

For a long time, the only sounds he heard were those of his own breathing, and of the metal chain clanging against the wall whenever he moved. And then eventually, he heard not even that as he slowly began to slip into the narrow space of half-consciousness. He was so tired. So tired already...

It started so quietly that it took a while for him to realize the sound was real and not something in a dream. Footsteps were echoing toward him, and not just one pair. This was it. He tried to sit up straighter and waited for the pain in his head to intensify. He was coming.

And then, suddenly, there was light. It flooded the area around him and instinct sent Harry cowering against the wall, hiding his face in as much darkness as he could find still remaining. At least I'm not blind, Harry thought hazily as he forced his eyes slowly open again. He wanted to stand up and face Voldemort bravely, not sit in a crumbled heap while the Dark Lord laughed at the pathetic mess he had made of the great Harry Potter. He would not give him that satisfaction, not this time. Squinting, Harry turned toward the sound of the footsteps and his heart bucked painfully in his chest when he saw.

He was in a large, tall cavern, only feet away from a steep drop-off. The cliff he sat atop circled half the perimeter of the room; across from him the wall was flat, with another cliff higher up. To his left and right the walls loomed high above him, jutting out in ragged ledges. And below was only darkness. A huge chasm yawned wide, and immediately Harry found himself wondering how far it was to the bottom. He was so close to the edge...

But Harry had little time to contemplate what it would be like to fall into the dark abyss or even to wonder how he had gotten there. The footsteps were nearing, and he quickly realized they were coming from the cliff opposite him. To the left of it was an opening that seemed to lead off to a passageway behind the rocks of the cliff face. It was through this opening that they came. One, two, three Death Eaters emerged onto the high ledge opposite the one where Harry stood.

Standing his ground and taking deep, measured breaths in an effort to slow his pounding heart, Harry waited.

"Ah, you're awake," one of the Death Eaters spoke. The voice from beneath the hood chilled Harry's blood. It was piercing and cold, malice dripping from it like falling droplets of melted ice. "We were so hoping you would be. The Dark Lord," the voice said sharply, "grows impatient."

"Who are you?" Harry asked. His knees shook violently, but his voice did not tremble. It sounded strong and sure in his ears. It surprised Harry somewhat, and bolstered his courage a notch. He took a deep breath. "Where are my friends and what do you want with me?" He lifted his chin, though he knew perfectly well what they wanted with him. But he was determined to put on a defiant front. If he was going to die, it wouldn't be while lying down in any form.

The Death Eater that had spoken laughed a cruel, hollow laugh. "You ask stupid questions, Boy Who Lived. But they will be answered soon enough, I foretell. You," the Death Eater jerked to his right, beckoning one of his companions nearer. When the man moved, Harry's throat felt as if it had just been clamped shut. There was a flash of silver and Harry peered into the shadows beneath the hood, wanting to see the expression on the filthy turncoat's face. Wormtail.

"You," the Death Eater repeated. "Tell him the boy is awake. Bring him here."

"Yes," Wormtail answered, flicking his head ever so slightly in Harry's direction. He twitched nervously and Harry felt a sudden urge to leap across the chasm and take the dirty neck in his hands, and squeeze. Hard. "Yes," he repeated with a slight bow. He turned and shuffled back down the side corridor, and was gone.

"How did you get here?" Harry asked loudly. Be in charge, he told himself. Make them answer you. Make them slip up, throw them off, force them into a mistake.

"You really are that dense?" the man replied, sounding as if he was genuinely surprised beneath the malevolent heat of his words. "You led us to yourself," was the delighted, hissed answer. "We followed you."

For a moment, Harry wondered if he had heard wrong. It made no sense. They hadn't been followed. They couldn't have been. They would have known.

"Shut up," the third Death Eater spoke at last, scolding his companion. His voice was low and callous, and strangely familiar. Harry supposed he'd heard this man speak the last time...the last time. Why did this have to happen again? Why couldn't they just leave him alone? "The details are not for us to reveal."

Harry winced involuntarily and his free hand flew to press against his scar. It was burning again. The pain sharpened and Harry fell to his knees, chained hand dangling above him, blood pulsing hard in his arm as it drained down. It matched the pounding of his heart when he heard the slow, measured footsteps that meant only one thing. You're ready. You're ready, you're ready, you're ready. Stay calm.

"Harry Potter."

Harry's insides turned over with a force so powerful he thought he might be sick.

"We meet again. A pleasure, as always. It's been too long."

Harry lifted his head, slowly, painfully, and squinted into the distance until the Dark Lord came into focus.

"Voldemort," he said in clear, deliberate voice.

A smile. A twisted, sickening smile, and Voldemort's cold and fiery eyes gleamed with delight.

"How I've missed you," the Dark Lord said, stepping carefully up to the edge of the cliff across from Harry. Wormtail whimpered behind him, straightening Voldemort's robes where they trailed on the ground while the other two Death Eaters took their places at Voldemort's left and right. There was a sound like crinkling sandpaper, and Harry saw Voldemort's enormous pet snake, Nagini, slither out from the passageway and across the rough stone floor to wind herself protectively around his feet.

After a moment, something in the looming figure seemed to lessen, and he leaned back slightly. The pain in Harry's scar let up a notch and his vision cleared. Carefully, and with effort, Harry returned to his feet.

"Let's not waste time on the casualties of small talk, hmm?" Voldemort crooned. "I'm sure you're very interested to hear every little detail of what I've been up to for the past year, but that would take quite a long time, I'm afraid, and we don't have time for that tonight." The inhuman voice dropped to a low, sharp drawl. "We have more important matters to attend to."

"Where are my friends?" Harry asked suddenly. "What have you done with them?"

Voldemort smiled again, that chilling grin that made Harry's guts writhe.

"Your blind devotion is so touching Harry, really. And so useful."

Something in that tone made Harry stop short. There was a revelation there. He sensed it. His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"All in good time, dear boy. You are impatient." He turned to his right, and spoke to the disciple who stood there. "Our guest has made a request, Macnair."

Macnair! No wonder Harry had recognized his voice. He'd seen this man in his dreams, had heard him speak at the Hog's Head, remembered him from when he'd been at Hogwarts to execute Buckbeak. He was highly trusted, it seemed. And worked for the Ministry of Magic. How blind the world was, Harry thought. How naïve and blind and dangerously instrumental in its own demise.

"Harry wishes to see his friends. Retrieve them."

"Yes, master."

Unthinking, Harry rushed forward, anticipation making his chest tight. He teetered close to the edge of the cliff and the chain around his hand tugged him cruelly and mercifully back.

"If you've hurt them," Harry said, conjuring up as dark and threatening a tone as he possessed, "you will be sorry you didn't kill me before I learned it."

The evil head was tossed back and a high, unnatural laughter erupted, echoing around them until Harry broke out in chills.

"Your death will come soon enough. And there is nothing you can do to frighten me, Harry, don't you realize that?" Voldemort's voice grew heated and he seemed to swell again where he stood, sending pain shooting back through Harry's head. "You may think you are powerful. The world may fill your head with those precious illusions, but you are nothing. You are nothing compared to my power, and you will learn that soon enough. Oh yes. Very, very soon."

It didn't come as a surprise, the confirmation that Voldemort intended to take his life that night. Harry had known it the moment he'd opened his eyes and realized he was being held captive. But hearing it sneered at him out loud did something to Harry nonetheless. Something he wanted to pretend he was strong enough to resist, but he wasn't, not really.

He was afraid.

It took only moments for Macnair to return, and this time he was not alone. A throng of Death Eaters followed him in, and it took a minute of conscious concentration for Harry to focus and realize that three of them held Ron between them. Harry's breathing quickened and he stretched against his binding.

"Ron!"

Ron's head lolled and he pulled it upright, eyes glassy and unfocused. "Harry?"

At least his voice was clear and coherent, Harry thought, but Ron's appearance was painful in a way that Harry knew his scar would never measure up to.

Ron had been beaten, that much was obvious. There were dark purple bruises on his face, burning livid already, and his features were drawn dully with pain. It didn't take Harry long to realize that the three Death Eaters holding him were not ganging up merely to keep him captive. They were fully carrying him. Ron didn't seem able to support his own weight.

"Ron, Ron, it's all right," Harry called, nearly breathless at the shock of seeing his best friend like this. But he wouldn't let it show. He wouldn't frighten Ron further and he wouldn't give Voldemort the satisfaction of seeing him affected. "You're all right. Everything's all right."

Ron's voice cracked. "Are you?"

Harry's heart felt like it was splitting.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Where's Hermione?"

Before Voldemort even spoke, Harry sensed his smile, his amusement, his satisfaction. "Why, here she is."

A group of Death Eaters came in behind the ones that had just entered with Ron, and if Harry had been pained and stunned at Ron's appearance, it was nothing compared to how he felt when he saw Hermione.

One Death Eater carried her, cradling her like one would hold an infant. She was the color of paste. One arm hung limply down, lifeless, and even across the distance, the color of it made Harry's stomach freeze. She appeared to be unconscious, but she wasn't, at least not fully, because Harry could see that her lips were moving and she was mumbling, ceaselessly.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted and some energy seemed to come back to him as he struggled to free himself from the hands that held him. They tightened, keeping a fierce grip. "Oh God, what..." Ron's head snapped up and he glared at Voldemort. Something distant in Harry's brain reminded him that this was the first time his friends had ever seen the Dark Lord, but Ron seemed undistracted by the fact that he was face to face with the most evil wizard who had ever lived. All he saw was the person responsible for reducing Hermione to this frightening state. "What have you done to her?"

"I'm sorry," Hermione mumbled. Harry jerked to attention when he made out the words. They were tumbling over and over again out of her lips, but he was only able to make them out for a second before Voldemort was speaking.

"Your friend and I," Voldemort explained, gesturing toward Hermione, "have just been having a little chat. Getting to know each other better, if you will. I waited a long, long time to speak with her. It was such a pleasure."

"You sick motherfucker," Ron spat. "If you've laid a hand on her, so help me-"

Voldemort cut Ron off with a sharp laugh. "I didn't touch her. I didn't need to. She's already been so useful."

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded.

His question was ignored. "Put Miss Granger in her rightful place, will you, Lucius?" Voldemort requested.

Lucius Malfoy! Draco Malfoy's father held Hermione in his filthy, Death Eater arms. It made Harry want to break them. But a moment later all Harry knew was confusion. From out of thin air, something was appearing. Voldemort had pulled out his wand and was waving it in circles, causing the air to spin until something began to take shape. When it appeared, fully materialized, Harry saw that it was a chair. A throne.

Voldemort flicked his wand and the throne dropped to the ground beside him, inches away from the edge of the cliff.

Lucius Malfoy walked over, balancing carefully, and deposited Hermione into the seat.

Both Harry and Ron made motions as if to move forward, although it was a joke for either of them to even try. But Hermione was so limp, there was no way she could hold herself upright, and Ron broke into a visible sweat as she started to fall forward. She whimpered softly when Lucius Malfoy pointed his wand at her, and wordlessly, brought her up to sit straight in the chair. It was as if invisible bindings held her in place.

It was a surreal, sickening sight.

"What is this about?" Harry demanded.

Voldemort smiled. "A throne for a queen," he said in a shrill, sing-song voice. "She is the reason we are all here, after all. Mmm?" Voldemort seemed to sense Harry's unspoken question. "Yes, Harry, she led us all here. And she did so..." Voldemort's voice trailed off as he leaned in, bringing his face very close to Hermione's, and lifted one long finger to trail down her cheek. Ron growled and ripped his arm from one of the Death Eater's grips, but they all reacted instantly, holding him even more tightly.

"She did so," Voldemort repeated, gazing at Hermione as if she really was some queen of highest repute. An idol, to be adored and revered. "For me."

Even the pain in Harry's head seemed to freeze. Everything stopped.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked hesitantly. Voldemort couldn't mean...No. No. No.

"Oh yes, Harry," the Dark Lord confirmed, his tone dancing with delight. "Your friend brought you here. To me. She brought you to me." He turned his head to fix Harry with his gaze. "She betrayed you."

Something from deep inside of Harry began to scream, ripping through his brain, gripping his thoughts and squeezing his heart. It couldn't be true. It couldn't, it couldn't, it couldn't.

"No," Harry answered flatly, hearing his voice waver for the first time. "No. She wouldn't. You lie."

"Hermione," Ron called. His voice sounded fractured. "We know he's lying. Don't worry, you're going to be okay."

"I do not lie," Voldemort hissed, sweeping back to stand and glare at Ron. "I do not tell falsehoods, Weasley. I have more powerful tools at my disposal, didn't you know?" He spoke through gritted teeth, voice aflame with cruelty. "Perhaps you'd like to see?"

Before Harry could even shout a protest, Voldemort's wand shot out and pointed at Ron, and Harry knew exactly what was coming.

"Crucio!"

Ron's screams filled the cavern with echoes that made Harry's hair stand on end. Both boys fell to their knees, and Harry pressed his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the sound of his best friend's torture. Why, why, why did he have to do this? Why did he have to terrorize them like this? Why can't he just kill me and be done with it?

With a whoosh of sudden silence, the curse was halted, and the only sounds heard were Ron's strangled cries of shock and recovery. He was sprawled on the ground, chest heaving, and Harry saw that he was trembling. Violently. And when Voldemort pointed his wand at Ron again, Harry thought for sure that he might vomit.

But there was no curse this time, no words at all, just a sharp flick that sent Ron tumbling through the air until he slammed into the wall to Harry's left, high above the gaping depths below them. Panic immobilized Harry, but Ron did not fall. Voldemort dropped him onto one of the many ridges that jutted out from the side of the cavern wall, suspending him high above the dark pit. Ron was safe, but barely. He was only inches away on either side from tumbling down into the darkness.

"Ron," Harry choked. "Ron, don't move."

Ron was incoherent, lying face down and gripping at the stone below him with shaking fingers.

"Don't move," Harry commanded again.

"Harry?"

The trembling voice stole Harry's attention and he turned back to look at Hermione, who was still sitting in her chair, like a grotesque display of something dead and royal. She lifted her eyes to look into his, and across the distance their gazes locked. Her eyes were flat and lifeless.

"Forgive me."

Harry just stared at her. What was she saying? Was she saying that Voldemort was telling the truth? That was madness. Madness. He knew she would never, ever betray him...would she?

"Hermione?" was the only reply he could muster. His heart thumped rapidly in his chest while he waited for her to deny it. She had to deny it.

"I'm so..." she was weak, so weak she could barely speak. She had to take a deep breath to finish. "So sorry. It's true."

Harry didn't remember getting back to his feet after Ron had been cursed, but he must have, because he knew he was falling again and his knees hit the rocky surface, hard. But he didn't feel it. He didn't feel anything, not even the thin trails of blood that soaked through the knees of his robes or down his arm from the freshly angered skin at his wrist. He knew nothing, heard nothing, thought nothing except the one word he had never imagined he would ever associate with either of his two best friends.

Betrayed.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. It was a joke, a cruel, evil misunderstanding. It wasn't real. It wasn't fact. He was dreaming. Was he dreaming?

"I didn't know."

It took an agonizingly slow minute for Hermione's words to be processed by Harry's brain. Didn't know what?

He asked her the question aloud, with what little voice he had left, and it was then that she began to cry. Tears poured down her cheeks and her feeble breaths turned to choking sobs. It was like something from Harry's nightmares, the sight and knowledge that confirmed that Voldemort had finally gotten to them all. He had broken all of them, and it was over. He was winning.

"Hermione, please," Harry begged. "Please, tell me the truth."

"What part of betrayal do you not understand, Harry?" Voldemort spoke again, grinning that grin and fingering his wand in his hands. "It really is a shame you never knew your parents. They could have explained the concept to you quite efficiently, I suspect."

Harry didn't think it was possible to feel any sicker than he already did, but those words effectively did it.

"You are a sick, fucked up, pathetic excuse for a human being," Harry shot. "Shut up."

Voldemort's grin never faded, never faltered. "I will forgive you that outburst, Harry, as I know you're feeling a little overwhelmed with reality right now. Your dear Mudblood friend has betrayed you. It's a shocking revelation, I know." He let out a low chuckle. "I guess some Mudbloods can be useful."

"Not you," Harry said hotly. "Your blood's as dirty as anyone's, and you're not useful for anything."

Voldemort shot forward suddenly as if to leap across the chasm and attack Harry with his bare hands. It seemed a rare loss of self-control, and though Harry flinched at the resurgence of the pain in his head, a part of him rejoiced at having hit a nerve. Maybe if he could just rattle him somehow, maybe Voldemort would mess up and Harry could come up with a way to get them all out of this. He glanced uneasily at Ron, who had now made it onto his hands and knees on the narrow ledge and seemed to be recovering his strength. Their eyes met and Harry read everything that Ron was feeling. What was this madness? And how were they going to get out of it? Did they have any hope at all?

Did they, Harry wondered frantically? He had the two Portkeys, and that was their best chance of escape, but Ron was out of his reach, and so was Hermione...his brain refused to wrap around the concept of betrayal, but even if it was true, he still wasn't going to be leaving her here. What else did he have? Nothing, really. Potions and curses, but he didn't have his wand and it wouldn't do him any good to drink a flying potion when he was chained to the wall, or something to ease his pain when one of them might need that particular potion worse later on. What else did he have? The mind power potion, but that was only good for channeling magic through a wand. The only thing that might do them any good was the spell blocking potion, but he'd have to be careful with that. How could he sneak it down his throat - or more importantly, Ron's...or Hermione's - without Voldemort knowing? What else was there...? Harry fought through the labyrinth of thoughts in his head to remember. The dagger. That was the only other thing. The dagger...

"You take foolish chances, Harry Potter, in the name of nobility," the Dark Lord said sharply. "Just like your parents did. You would be well-served to watch your step."

"Why?" Harry asked. "You're just going to kill me anyway, aren't you? Why should I care what I say or how angry it makes you?"

"Because," was the burning response, "there is more at stake here than your own pathetic existence, isn't there? I have insurance this time, don't I? Oh yes. You may be facing certain death, but your friends don't have to. Just like your groveling mother didn't have to-"

"Shut up about his mother."

Harry's head snapped to the left. Ron was on his feet now, glaring at Voldemort through swollen, half-lidded eyes.

"Aren't you satisfied with your own cruelty yet?" Ron asked harshly. "How dare you speak to him about his parents?"

Harry held his breath and Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Bravery, Weasley. Mmmm. Gryffindor indeed. Courageous and foolish. The likeliest of combinations."

"Look," Harry interrupted quickly, before Ron could earn himself any further punishment. "Why don't you just let them go? Let them out of here, and I'll stay. I'm the one you want anyway. I'll do whatever you want."

Voldemort looked as if it was the most amusing thought anyone had ever uttered to him.

"What, dismiss them before story time? Now, Harry, what kind of host would that make me? To turn out my guests before the entertainment? No, I think we'll all just stay put for a little while."

Harry's stomach twisted. Story time? He was quite sure he didn't want to know anything Voldemort had to tell them...except perhaps just how Hermione had turned on him. As much as he hated it, Voldemort had something he wanted. Explanations.

"Well tell us then," Harry said, "We're listening."

"I suppose you want to know just how we all came to be here, don't you?" Voldemort's tone was light, as if they were all sitting around for a casual story telling at their neighborhood library. "I've already told you how, really." Voldemort looked again to Hermione, who was now silent in her chair. What Harry could see of her face was stained with tears. Her head hung against her chest and she did not look up. She was unconscious. "But that came later. A convenient turn of events, really. Why don't I just start at the beginning?"

"Yes, why don't you?" Harry said in a tight voice. He wanted to know. He didn't want to hear, and yet he did. He needed to understand. How had everything come to this?

"One year ago, nearly, I was reborn, Harry. You remember that night. It was all thanks to you. I was so grateful. You did me a great service. But I was not quite ready to return to power. I needed time to rediscover my old strengths. And my old allies. I needed time to develop a plan. I needed time, Harry, to decide how best to get rid of you."

Voldemort began to pace as he spoke, and the Death Eaters hung back, rapt with obedient attention. Nagini continued to swirl her way between the Dark Lord's legs as he moved. Vaguely, Harry wondered why he kept her around. Her days of service were surely over. It had been a long time since Voldemort had been forced to live off of her milk.

"After the night of my glorious rebirth, I fled to a faraway place where no one would think to track me. I knew that the world would soon learn of my return, thanks to that officious fool Albus Dumbledore. I knew the world would live in fear. But I was not ready to stage a great attack, so I decided to enjoy that fear from far away, and wait for it to turn complacent, until I could lash out at a most unexpected moment."

"My first task, of course, was you. How to get rid of the great Harry Potter once and for all? For if I could do that, there would remain no witch or wizard alive who would not fear me. But I could not get to you again. I had let you slip through my fingers too many times, and you continued to be so well protected that I had no hope of reaching you unaided. I needed someone who could help me. Someone who could tell me your secrets, show me your weaknesses, provide me a clear path to you at last.

"My logical thought was Severus Snape. Who better than him to feed me information straight from Hogwarts? Ah yes, did you know, Harry? Severus Snape used to be one of my most promising young Death Eaters. But he abandoned me years ago, and I feared that he had left my service once and for all. I needed to know. I needed to test him. But that would take time, and I had no time to waste. I needed someone else, someone immediate who could begin to pass me information. Any information.

"But there was no one. I began to fear that I would not get my hands on you again while you remained at Hogwarts, but then I remembered an offer made by one of my most loyal followers not long after I had returned to my body. A boy, his son, willing and ready to aide me and prove his worth.

Harry's brain took no time to make the connection. Draco Malfoy? Who else could it be? Surely not Crabbe or Goyle. They couldn't be trusted to find their way from Herbology to Transfiguration, let alone to be discreet in service to Voldemort. But even though Harry had suspected it before, it was hard to believe when presented like this, as fact. Was Draco really turning to the Dark Lord already?

"His task was small. All I asked was that he watch you and tell me everything. No detail was too unimportant, no observation unworthy of my ears. The boy, of course, knew nothing of what he was doing. His father told him to report and to ask no questions, and that's what the boy did. He owled his father every day, delicious little bits of knowledge about you, from what time you used the Prefects' bathroom each morning to what you ate for dinner every night. He proved a most entertaining observer, and quite thorough. Though for a long while, he reported nothing of use to me whatsoever.

"Until the one day when he began to take an interest in your friends. He observed all of you, feeding me all the boring details of your interactions, how you all fell all over each other with your Gryffindor loyalty and your nauseating displays of devotion. He even told what you all wore every day. I began to think I should tell my follower to inform his son that I did not require quite that level of detail. But it wasn't long before I became glad that I didn't.

"Soon we learned a most valuable snippet of information. Apparently there was a necklace."

Harry sucked in a breath. Hermione's necklace. There was something odd about that necklace, wasn't there? It was as if there was some memory deeply entrenched in his mind that was struggling to break through to the surface. But he didn't know what it was. He looked at Ron, who had gone pale where he sat propped up against the wall at his back. Ron brought his hand up to his eyes and rested his head in it, letting out a shaky, tremulous breath. Ron had given Hermione that necklace, and she adored it.

"He told us that she never took it off. That she insisted on wearing it every day. Something about this information struck me as potentially useful. I told my follower to tell his son to get the necklace. I had my doubts about the boy's reliability, but I had no other options, and he seemed perfectly willing to do whatever his father asked of him without question. And three days later, I had the lovely Miss Granger's necklace in my hands."

Harry looked at Hermione now, noticing for the first time that the necklace hung there, around her neck and outside her robes. It had been touched by Voldemort and then by Hermione, countless times. It made Harry shudder. And then he remembered the day in Potions, when Malfoy had gotten Hermione into trouble with Professor Snape for wearing the necklace on the outside of her robes. He had told Hermione to take off the necklace...

"I will not," Hermione had said, indignant. "I never take it off."

"You never take it off?" Malfoy had echoed in a cruel and mocking voice.

"That's right," she had replied sharply. "It has sentimental value. Not that that's anything I'd expect you to understand."

Harry reached out to steady himself against the wall.

"Apparently," Voldemort continued. "The boy employed resourceful strategies. He cast a sleeping charm on her and removed the necklace with his very own hands. I had to work quickly once it was in my possession, for I needed him to return it to her as soon as possible without raising any suspicion. It did not take long, however, for me to find the information I needed. It is old, dark magic. Magic that allows an object to be charmed so that the caster of the spell can feed information to whomever touches it. If the girl really was to wear the necklace at all times, there would be no limit to the ideas I could plant in her head. All the thoughts I could feed her, all the information that I could trick her into thinking was her own knowledge." Voldemort grinned and his eyes gleamed. "She was really so easily manipulated. I had no way of checking up on her, of course. The spell only allows the ideas to be planted, and provides no means of actually conversing with the person to see if they are following through on your orders. I had to put my faith in my magic and hope for the best. I had no idea until this very night if any of it had worked. But oh...it worked.

"Did you think this was all her idea? To begin researching immortality all those months ago? To insist that there had to be some meaning in an old legend? That you all had to refrain from telling Albus Dumbledore about the corner of the earth once she discovered its existence?

"She did it all because I told her to." Voldemort's voice was twisted with self-righteous amusement. Harry's mind spun and his stomach lurched, and he had to sit down and brace himself against the wall.

"It was so perfect, really. Who better to use against you than someone you trusted implicitly? For I knew even then that my biggest challenge in reaching you would be overcoming your inherent and newly sharpened lack of trust in all those around you. Using your friend against you would get me over that particular hurdle quite easily.

"My goal was simple, you see. Quite simple. All I needed to do was lure you out of the castle and bring you before me so that I could eliminate you once and for all. But how to get you away from Hogwarts? How to make you leave behind all of your infantile securities and come to stand before me? It had to be convincing, I knew. It had to be something that your brave and noble mind could not resist.

"And I had just the thing. I knew of this old legend, from years ago. I knew the story of Pukana and Iakopa and the Bloodstone Key and the box of immortality it was designed to open. Oh yes, I knew all about it. And I wanted it. For with it, I could achieve a state of existence beyond anyone's wildest dreams. To be immune to death, immune to injury, and free to emerge from hiding fearless and untouchable? It was my most treasured desire.

"And I knew that if you learned of it, it would become your most treasured desire as well. To find the Carnelian Key and use it against me? A temptation that I knew you would not be able to resist. A prize so valuable that you would even be willing to turn away from Hogwarts castle to come and seek it, if necessary. But how, how to convince you? How to lure you here to meet me?

"I spoke to the girl in her dreams. I told her what to look for, told her which books to find, how to discover the location of the corners of the earth. I reminded her time and again that she was not to seek guidance from one Albus Dumbledore, for he would have surely ruined everything. I needed you to come to me alone, without anyone knowing where you had gone. But this was my most distressing concern, for I know how deeply your trust for the old man runs. I knew you would want to turn to him, and I did not have complete faith that the girl would be able to resist the desire to seek his aid.

"From whence came my most brilliant of ideas. It would require cooperation, oh yes, and trust on my part to a degree I was not sure I was willing to give. But I had no other options. I had to use the boy. Could he be fully trusted? Could he be relied upon to perform such an important duty? One that could go so easily wrong and ruin all of my ingenious plotting? It was a leap of faith, and I took it.

"So simple, the Polyjuice Potion, isn't it? So simple and so useful. Two hairs, that's all I needed. Two hairs, one from Albus Dumbledore and one from Severus Snape and I could get you to believe anything. The boy assured his father he could get them quite easily, and again, within days, they were in my possession."

Understanding flooded Harry's brain like a brutal tidal wave. That's what Draco had been doing in the Great Hall the night Harry had spotted him on the Marauders' Map! Malfoy had been sneaking around near the head table, and Harry could not imagine what he had been doing. But now it made sense. He'd been getting hairs off of Dumbledore and Snape's chairs.

It was all too much. It was too overwhelming. Voldemort was telling the truth. Harry had been tricked. Trapped. Fooled. How could he have been so stupid? But how could he have known?

"But then came the biggest challenge. How to convince you beyond all doubt that you were completely on your own, and could not go to Dumbledore for help? I knew he would have organized a group to fight me. I knew he would be making plans to challenge my return to power, and I knew that you would rely on it, cling to it, however foolish it would be for you to actually think he could do anything to stop me from rising again. But nonetheless, I knew just what you needed to hear. A script for the boy, a glass of Polyjuice, and quite a large measure of trust, and our job would be done.

"I told the girl to lead you to the abandoned study lounge on the fourth floor at precisely seven o'clock on the night when we were finally ready. I planted the thought in her dreams every night for a week, and like a good little puppet, she led you, didn't she? Ohhh, she obeyed so perfectly. The boy with his Polyjuice and his instructions, and you thought you were seeing Albus Dumbledore, didn't you? Oh, he performed so nicely. Even I was impressed. His father as Severus Snape in the fireplace, and you were convinced weren't you? Convinced that I had revealed some master plan to reappear on June twenty-fourth, convinced that Dumbledore and Snape and all their little followers were embarking on some great mission to defeat me?"

Harry felt dizzy and was no longer sure if he was sitting or standing. He was no longer sure of anything. No wonder Dumbledore had seemed so unaffected after that night. No wonder everything had continued to carry on so normally, and Sirius' letters had revealed no hint whatsoever of any movements of the Council. There was nothing to speak of. It had all been a lie. Dumbledore had never called any meeting of the Council for the night of the Solstice. He had never left the castle. There had been no reason whatsoever that Dumbledore couldn't have come here himself, or sent other representatives from the Council to find the box and Carnelian Key. Harry had been blinded and sent right into a trap.

By Hermione. How long had she been following Voldemort's orders? How long had she been working against him? He looked at her now. She was so broken. So ruined. She hadn't known what she was doing, he knew. She couldn't have. She would never have betrayed him on purpose, never would have knowingly delivered him to his own death. He knew that. He knew it in the deepest corners of his heart and soul, and it felt like parts of him were breaking inside at the realization that she had been used so cruelly, so callously.

"Yes, Harry," Voldemort hissed. "Yes. Look at her. So valuable she's been to me. So valuable. Everything I told her to do, she did. Every piece of knowledge you needed to bring you here, she gave to you. I owe her so much. It's really a pity it has to come to this. She's obviously not in the best of health, is she?" Voldemort tutted and Harry felt a wave of rage and nausea so fierce that he thought if he could get his hands around the evil wizard's neck right then, he could kill him, immortality or no. Harry was trembling from head to toe, and with a great effort, he tore his eyes from Hermione and looked at Ron. Ron, who had sat so silent through this entire tale, who had been caught in the middle of this disaster for no other reason than he was always there. Harry looked at his best friend and for a fleeting instant, saw him as he had been on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of their first year, when they had all still been so innocent, so unblemished by the evil Harry had unwittingly brought into all of their lives. Regrets rushed through Harry's veins like the tumbling currents of a river, but he had no time to dwell on them now. It was too late to wish things different, too late to wish that he had never met Ron and Hermione, that he had never destroyed them by being their friend.

Ron was crying. His hands covered his face completely, and he was sitting utterly still and silent, but Harry knew he had been driven too far past the limits of what he could accept as manageable reality. He knew it from the tears he saw drip from between Ron's fingers and the way his posture was so lifeless, so empty of the immutable strength that he always carried in it.

What have I done? What have I brought them to?

"It's been quite difficult on her, I'm sad to say." Voldemort was speaking again, standing over Hermione's chair and stroking her hair with one of his evil, wretched hands. She didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't breathe. "It's a side effect I didn't think would affect her quite so profoundly. An unfortunate miscalculation on my part, I suppose." Voldemort turned his flashing eyes from Hermione and bore them into Harry's. "It's been draining on her energy, you see. To follow my orders. To respond to all the planted thoughts and information. To carry out someone else's demands. It's left her precious little for herself. She may..." Voldemort rose fully now, face alight with an evil Harry couldn't even begin to categorize with words he knew. "...never recover."

"You bastard," came a hissed reply, one so full of hatred and disdain that Harry barely recognized it as Ron's voice. "You sick, demented, wicked piece of filth. You're going to rot in hell, do you know that? You're never going to become immortal. Someone's going to tear your insides out and hang them out to dry and I hope it hurts-" Ron's voice was choked with tears and he struggled to shout over them, clenching his hands into fists that looked like they wanted to be the ones to do the job. "-and I hope you bleed and I hope I'm there to spit on you."

"Your words do not wound me, Ronald Weasley," Voldemort replied in a remarkably unperturbed tone. "Nothing can wound me anymore, don't you know?"

Harry felt a new wave of dread snake its way into his blood. Of course. Of course. They were here for a reason, he remembered. This place hadn't been chosen for the ultimate showdown at random.

"For I have this," Voldemort reached one long-fingered hand into the depths of his robes and pulled something out that gleamed like it was on fire with magic. "The Bloodstone Key. Or have you forgotten why we're here at all? Some of my most loyal followers traveled to Africa last December and retrieved this for me from a little place called the southern corner of the earth. I'm halfway there already, aren't I? All I need now is the box and it's here somewhere. Oh yes, it's here in this place somewhere, and I have legions of Death Eaters scouring these tunnels as we speak, searching for it, finding it and bringing it to me. And then, Harry Potter, then...you will watch me become more powerful than any other wizard has ever been before. And then, we will be finished. And you will meet your end at last."

Harry didn't know how he'd missed noticing, but he realized then that all the Death Eaters were gone. They had left at some point, leaving Voldemort alone with his prisoners and his snake. They were out doing the work Harry had come here to do, they were finding the box and the Carnelian Key, and they were going to deliver them to Voldemort, who would keep what he needed and dispose of the Carnelian Key along with his mortal existence.

What could they do? It was all hopeless. Harry didn't fool himself into thinking any differently, but if this was the end, he wouldn't go down without a fight. He couldn't. If only he could get the Bloodstone Key somehow. He could put it into his pocket and no one would ever be able to remove it except for himself. The charms on his robes would see to that. But there was no way to get it. He had no wand, and he certainly had no other way of reaching it. And even if he did get it, it wouldn't accomplish everything. It would keep Voldemort from becoming immortal, but it wouldn't spare any of their lives. It wouldn't make any of them any safer than they were at this moment.

So there was only one other thing. There was one idea that Harry had that could end all of this, right here and now. It had whispered its chilling promises to the deepest, most resigned portions of Harry's brain ever since the moment he'd remembered that he had it, and what it could do. But was he brave enough? Was he really brave enough? He wasn't sure, but when he looked at Hermione and Ron, and realized that there was no other way to get any of them out of this, he told himself he would do it, if he had to.

"What about them?" Harry asked, reaching his hand surreptitiously to close around his pocket. It was there; he felt the cool handle through the fabric that concealed it. "What about my friends? Are you going to let them go after this is all over?"

"Hmmmm," Voldemort replied, taking his chin in his hand and looking as though it was a proposition that really needed careful consideration. "I don't know. They've really wronged me in no way, have they? Especially this one," Voldemort reached out his hand again to stroke at Hermione's hair. Again, she didn't move. Terror gripped at Harry's heart. Was she even alive? She certainly didn't look it, but when he looked very closely, he could see that her chest was moving ever so slightly, taking in pained breaths. "She did lead us to you, after all. I really owe her a great reward. She did all the work, after all, once I figured out where the corner was and told her about it. That was as far as my knowledge went, you see. I didn't know where the runes would be or how to get inside. I placed my trust in her fully, and sent three trusted Death Eaters here to watch you all try to find your way inside. Brilliant work, really, the both of you, on finding your way in. My Death Eaters tell me it was quite impressive. It was only after they returned to me and reported your success that I Apparated out here myself.

"So," Voldemort continued. "I suppose maybe I really should spare her, hmmm? Anyway, she's proved so helpful up to this point, maybe I could find another use for her after? If she survives, that is."

Ron growled and climbed back to his feet. Harry felt another stab of panic seeing how close Ron was to falling into the depths of the cavern.

"Ron-" he began.

"My my," Voldemort cut Harry off, addressing Ron. "You are a rather possessive young man, aren't you? And what to do with you? You've really wronged me in no way either, though your manners do leave a little something to be desired."

"Well what about Harry, then?" Ron shot, gesturing behind him with an angry wave of his arm.

"Ron-"

"You seem pretty hell bent on killing him and he's never done anything to wrong you. All he's ever done is try to protect himself! It's not his fault his mother loved him! It's not his fault she tried to save him and ended up destroying you in the process! What has he ever done to deserve the hell you've put him through?"

"Ron, please, step back," Harry said loudly.

"I'll tell you what, he's done nothing!" Ron shouted. "He's done nothing. You're just evil and heartless, so don't try to act like reasons matter to you. You have no reason to want Harry dead, not really, do you? Why are you so intent on killing him? Why did you ever want him dead in the first place?"

It was a question Harry himself had asked a hundred times but had never gotten answered. Dumbledore wouldn't tell him, Sirius wouldn't tell him, and he'd surely never figured it out for himself. But here he was, in front of the one person who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt and the one person he had never thought to ask.

"Surely it is not so difficult to understand," Voldemort replied dryly.

Ron came up short and fell silent, and finally inched his feet back, allowing Harry to let out the breath he was holding. "Well, explain it to us, then," Ron said flatly.

"What does that fool teach at that school, anyway?" Voldemort asked with a cool chuckle of disbelief. "Does he not even impress upon his students the importance of the art of Divination? The power of prophecies? Do neither of you really know?" Voldemort swept back from Hermione to stand up fully, and Harry's hand went again to his forehead, where pain had began to pulse behind his scar once more.

"I hunt Harry," Voldemort said, stepping forward so that the heat of his words could nearly be felt floating across the gap between them all, "because the stars command it."

Harry's pounding heart was the only thing he felt or heard in that moment.

"I hunt him because prophecies do not lie. Because it has already come to pass once, and I refuse to sit by and wait to see if it will repeat itself. The last Potter will be your downfall."

Harry wasn't certain he was still breathing. He didn't know what the noise was coming from his lungs. It sounded like something alive, but he felt so removed from his body at that moment that he couldn't be sure it was him.

"The last Potter will be your downfall, I was told. What was I to do? Wait for it to happen? I had to eliminate James and Harry. I had to eliminate the possibility that Harry could ever defeat me or that another Potter could ever be produced. They were the last, and now Harry is the last and will be the last."

It all made sense. It made sense in a sort of unremarkable way that made Harry wonder why he hadn't figured it out sooner. It was so simple, really.

And it was about to come true.

Harry closed his fingers around the dagger in his pocket.

It's the only way, it's the only way, it's really the only way.

You are going to die anyway, you know, you know you are, and you can stop him, you can stop him if only you can be brave.

There really was no other way. He remembered how he had felt all those months ago, in the library when Ron had discovered the old legend. The legend that said that any mortal being whose blood ran through an immortal's veins - or anyone who had taken any steps whatsoever toward immortality - was linked to that person forever. They had learned that night that if Harry was ever stabbed through the heart, Voldemort would die. Voldemort had used Harry's blood a year ago and it now pumped through his body the same as it pumped through Harry's, and Harry could end this now. For good.

He just had to be sure that Ron and Hermione would be okay before he could do it. He couldn't abandon them and leave them here all alone. The Death Eaters would come back, and then what would happen? They would kill them, wouldn't they? Of course they would. He had to make sure they could get out first. He had to get that damn Bloodstone Key.

"Ron?" He had to have Ron's cooperation. It was their only hope. They didn't have their wands, and there was no way to get the Key without an accio charm unless one of them could use other means. There weren't many other means to choose from, though, and Harry knew he could never pull it off. He hadn't managed to do it in class. Ron had been the only one.

But how to make Ron understand?

"Ron, I don't want you to fight, all right? Just get out of here when he lets you go and take Hermione with you, and don't look back."

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed. "You're mad! I'm not leaving you here!"

Yes, yes you are. Yes you bloody well are.

"Don't do this, Ron," Harry said, fighting to keep his rising emotions out of his voice. "Don't argue with me. Not now. I-" Don't be too obvious about it, don't make it ridiculous. "I don't want us to say goodbye like this. I...want us to remember the good times."

"Harry, you can't be serious! I am not leaving you here."

"Ron, listen to me. Listen to me."

Please, please, Ron, understand what I'm saying.

"I want you to remember the good times. Remember when we...when we met on the Hogwarts Express..."

"Harry!"

Shut up, Ron, and listen.

"Remember all the chess games. Remember how you taught me strategy. Remember all the days we spent in class, trying not to fall asleep in History of Magic, or in Potions."

Listen, and understand.

"Remember Professor Matlock's class. Remember...remember how much fun we had in those lessons together. The one day when she taught us the lesson about...about thinking of the one person you couldn't live without. Remember that, Ron?"

Harry chanced a glance at Voldemort and saw that he was regarding both of them with a scrupulous, uncomprehending eye. It was clear that he didn't understand sentimentality, but equally clear was the fact that he wouldn't have much patience for it. Harry had to work quickly.

"Harry, what are you saying? Don't talk like this. Don't."

Shut up, Ron!

"Remember that lesson? Remember when I said I was thinking of Sirius, and you said you were thinking of your Mum? Even though I know you were lying and you were really thinking of Hermione. Remember what that was all about?"

You have to remember, Ron. You have to remember that you did wandless magic that day. I can't do it, I couldn't do it then. But you did it. You can do it now.

"Remember..." Harry wasn't sure what more to say, and so he just looked at Ron. He tried to talk to him with his eyes, tried to make him realize he was saying more than just words. And then, at last, comprehension flooded Ron's face and Harry knew he understood.

Very deliberately, Ron turned his back on Voldemort and looked straight at Harry.

"What?" Ron mouthed.

Carefully, as imperceptibly as possible, Harry inclined his head toward Voldemort and lowered his eyes slowly until he was seeing the Bloodstone Key out of the corner of his gaze, where it hung in Voldemort's hand.

"What?" Ron mouthed again.

"Remember," Harry said again, thinking fast. This had to work. "Remember in our first year, when we went on that...adventure?" How could Harry allude to the time they had gone down to get the Philosopher's Stone without Voldemort realizing what he was talking about?

"Remember when we saw the birds, and then realized they weren't birds?" He was pushing it now, he knew. Any second Voldemort would realize he was talking in riddles and would demand that he shut up, or that he explain, or he would be punished in some horrible way for trying to fool the Dark Lord.

Ron's eyes widened. "Keys!" he mouthed.

Harry blinked once, slowly. Yes. Get the key.

"Harry," Ron said loudly, in a very deliberate tone of voice. He was playing along now. "Stop talking like this. I am not leaving you here no matter what you say."

Yes you are, but play along for now, that's it.

"All right, look," Harry said, turning back to face Voldemort. He had made up his mind now. He was going to do this and it was going to work and Ron and Hermione would be fine and Voldemort would be gone. He climbed carefully to his feet. He needed to distract Voldemort while Ron worked. Ron needed a chance to clear his mind, if such a thing was possible right now, and use wandless magic to get the key into his hand.

"I want you to promise me that you will let them go when this is all over," Harry said. "You have me, I'm the one you want. You don't need them."

"Why should I promise you that, Harry? Why should I do anything you want?"

It happened faster than Harry ever could have hoped for. He'd barely blinked before there was a flash of motion to his left and the Bloodstone Key was out of Voldemort's hand and in Ron's.

Harry gaped at Ron for a moment, impressed beyond comprehension, but in the next instant there was no time for admiration. Voldemort was shrieking, screaming across the expanse of the cavern.

"Noooooooooo! You fools!"

Voldemort's wand was out in a flash, and it was pointed straight at Ron.

"Ron, toss it to me!"

"I'm not a Chaser, Harry!"

"THROW IT!"

Voldemort's rage swelled, piercing the air with an anger so tangible it drove Harry back to his knees. His scar was agony. And then Voldemort was shouting a curse, one Harry had never heard before, and a bright yellow light was shooting out the end of his wand.

"RON!"

Ron threw himself down onto his stomach and drew his hand back, throwing the Key through the air. He'd ducked just in time; the curse shot into the wall behind Ron and the ledge he was on trembled under the impact. He tumbled to the side, and for a split second, Harry's brain exploded with panic. Ron was going to fall...but he didn't. He held on with some strength that he must have summoned out of sheer necessity. And a moment later, everything was quiet, and Harry had lunged to his left and caught the Bloodstone Key in his hand.

Harry collapsed to the ground, clutching the Key in fingers that could not have been uncurled if he'd tried. His pain was unbearable and he choked on his screams, determined to keep his wits and do what needed to be done. With a tremendous effort, he reached his hand into his robe and tucked the Key safely into one of his pockets.

"What are you doing, you fools?" Voldemort hissed. "That was not wise. Oh no, not wise at all."

"Let them go," Harry said breathlessly, trying desperately to make it to his knees. With a monumental effort, he succeeded. "Let them go right now, and I will give you what you want. I will give you the Key back."

"You will give it back to me right now!" Voldemort commanded, stepping dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. "Or I will take it."

"No...you won't."

Voldemort's wand snapped up and aimed directly at Harry. "Oh, yes I will."

"You can't," Harry said fiercely. "You can't make me give it to you. My robes are charmed. No hand can remove anything from them except my own."

Harry heard Ron's gasp of surprise, but didn't turn to see his face. He'd kept so many secrets from Ron this year, and from Hermione. And he was keeping one now, the biggest one of all, and he couldn't bear to meet those eyes and have the guilt rattle him when it was so important for him to stay strong.

"What are you talking about?" Voldemort demanded, voice frozen with hatred and unspoken threats.

"You heard me. You can't get this Key unless I give it to you. And if you let them go..." Harry nodded toward Hermione and then Ron, chancing a glance at his face this time. It was a mistake. Ron's expression spoke volumes, telling Harry things he couldn't bear. Ron was shocked and terrified. He must have realized now that Harry really did intend for them to leave him here. That he didn't have a plan that included getting all of them out safely. And that he'd used Ron's trust to push them all one step closer to the end. "...if you let them go," Harry choked out, looking back at Voldemort, "I will give it to you."

"And what makes you think I will agree to that? What makes you think I will believe you? I will kill them right now, Harry," Voldemort said, fingering his wand and speaking in a tone that gave Harry gooseflesh. "I will do it right now if you make me."

"No you won't," Harry answered again. "No you won't, because if you do..." Harry reached back into his robes one final time, and drew out the dagger. His breath hitched when he saw it in his own hand, and with a motion that he didn't even feel himself make, he pulled off the dragonhide sheath.

'If you do," Harry continued. "I will have nothing to live for. And I'll use this. I'll kill myself and then you will never be able to get the Key."

Ron yelled Harry's name, but Harry ignored it. He ignored everything, shut down all his senses, all his feelings, all his thoughts except one.

"You wouldn't," Voldemort hissed. "You may think you are brave, Harry Potter. You may think you are smart enough and courageous enough to get yourself out of any circumstance you find yourself in, but you are not. You've only ever had luck so far in escaping me, haven't you? You're done nothing remarkable. Nothing particularly brave. You've only ever escaped by chance. And you are bluffing now."

Voldemort raised his wand and pointed it firmly, steadily at Hermione. "Give me the Key now."

"I will do it," Harry said firmly, carefully putting his feet under himself and rising to a standing position. The pain in his head dizzied him, but he shoved it away. "I will do it because I have a secret of my own. A legend that surely you should know about, if you fancy yourself such an expert on the magic of immortality."

"Harry!" Ron's shout carried a hundred feelings that Harry couldn't bear to let himself absorb.

No, Ron, don't. You'll only make it worse. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I have to do this. It's the only way. I'm going to die anyway, don't you see? I'm going to die anyway, and I can defeat him. The prophecy says I will, and I have to.

"There's a legend that tells me that if I stab myself in the heart," Harry said in a voice that was surprisingly steady, "You will die."

"What?" Voldemort's voice swept through the air on a tangible wind that felt like a hundred gusts of winter's breeze. Everything was so still in this dimension, so devoid of life and movement, that Harry almost relished it. Almost relished the last feeling of air in his face. He so loved the air in his face, flying on his broomstick, reaching out to catch the Snitch...

"It's true. Do you think I won't do it? Don't you think I don't know I'm going to die anyway? How should I care how it happens?"

"YOU!" Voldemort's voice was unreal, inhuman as he lunged to aim his wand at Harry.

"Harry, please!" Ron shouted. "Don't do this!"

"Let them go. Right now."

"You're bluffing," Voldemort hissed. "Do it. I dare you."

"Not before you let them go."

"Master!"

So many voices. Everyone was shouting, and Harry's mind was whirling, turning in on its own shadows, crumbling under the weight of the pain and the knowledge of what he was about to do. He heard footsteps, people running in. He heard a ringing in his ears, and saw movement, blurry through the haze that had slipped in front of his eyes. There were Death Eaters, they were returning...did they have the box? Did they have the Carnelian Key?

"Master, we heard shouting, what is happening?"

"We haven't found the box yet, Master, but everyone is still looking."

"Is it time, Master?" That voice was low and composed, and something about it pushed its way into Harry's consciousness, and he listened. "Is it time? It's ready. I can bring him in right now."

"What's he doing, Master? Why does he have that knife?"

"Accio!"

No! No! With as much strength as Harry could muster, he gripped the handle of the dagger, but it was too late. Someone had taken charge and Harry's chance was gone. The knife flew from his fingers and soared across the cavern into the hand of a waiting Death Eater.

It was over. He had missed his chance.

No no no no no no. I should have done it, I should have just done it and this would all be over, and Voldemort would be gone...

There was silence.

"Master?"

One of the Death Eaters was at Voldemort's side, holding out his hand and offering the dagger he had just disarmed Harry of. For a long moment, Voldemort's eyes did not leave Harry's, and slowly, he reached out and accepted the proffered item.

"Mr. Potter seems to have made a grave error in judgment, my friends," Voldemort said softly. "He has taken something of mine, and I want it back. We must convince him to give it."

Voldemort turned and dismissed the dagger into the hands of the nearest Death Eater.

Wormtail.

A silver hand reached out to accept the item. Wormtail regarded it for only a brief, meaningless moment before he tucked it unceremoniously into his own pocket.

Oh, God. I wasted my chance. Why didn't I just do it?

"Yes, Lucius, it is time," Voldemort said, his eyes and voice burning with a malice that Harry felt cutting right into his forehead. "I have had enough of this. Bring in the extra insurance."

Extra insurance? What?

Harry's senses seemed to drop heavily back into place and his heart thudded painfully. His entire body trembled, and he lifted his eyes, slowly, dizzily.

"Harry?" Ron's voice was bewildered, relieved, frightened.

"Bring him in now," Voldemort ordered.

For a minute, nothing happened. Harry felt frozen on the spot, his brain chaos, full of regret and fear. What was going to happen? How could things possibly get any worse?

They could. And they did.

Out of the stone passageway next to where Voldemort stood, two Death Eaters emerged. And between them stood a figure. Small and silent. Frightened and entirely out of place.

Harry wanted to retch.

It was Gabriel. Hermione's young cousin whom Harry had met at Christmas. The one who had reminded him so much of himself, whom they'd discovered was a young wizard in a moment of shocking revelation that had moved Hermione to tears.

How in God's name had he come to be here?

Harry couldn't speak. He could only stare in horror and press his hand over his eyes in a desperate prayer that this was really all just one of his nightmares and he would wake up in Gryffindor tower any minute now, with Ron shaking him awake and moonlight streaming in through the window.

"I have always taught my Death Eaters, Harry," Voldemort said evenly, "to have a back up plan. And I always..." Voldemort paused, moving over to place his hand on Gabriel's shoulder. The boy shuddered and stared at Harry with wide, fearful eyes. He did not speak. "...teach by example."

This was not happening. It was too surreal. Toounfathomable.

Harry couldn't even look at Ron. Couldn't bring himself to see everything that he was feeling at this moment mirrored back at him. He knew he wouldn't be able to comprehend it.

"What are you bringing him into this for?" Harry heard himself ask. He felt disconnected from his own thoughts, from his own voice. "For God's sake, he's done nothing to you."

"No, but he's going to be quite useful in a moment. He's going to stand here and beg you for his life. Because it's all up to you, Harry. Give me the Key. Now. Or say good-bye to the child."

All thought was effectively gone. There was no more room left for rational thinking, or any thinking at all. Harry's brain was empty, shut off, broken beyond repair. He sank to the floor, feeling his legs crumble underneath him and he reached a hand blindly into his robes, searching.

"That's it, Harry. Give it to me."

Harry's hand closed around the Key and stopped. He couldn't. He couldn't turn it over, not now, not to save one life when Voldemort would surely use it to rise to power and take hundreds of others. Thousands. But how could he not? This was a child. A completely innocent, frightened child, and Harry held the boy's life in his own hands. But how could he even be sure? How could he be sure Voldemort wouldn't just kill them all anyway?

He couldn't think. His thoughts abandoned him again and he just sat, numb, frozen.

"Harry," Ron spoke from somewhere distant. Somewhere unseen. "You have to give him the Key, Harry. This is madness."

Yes, it was. It was beyond madness, and Harry knew he had to do it. It was over now. Voldemort had won. Slowly, Harry pulled the Key out of his robes and offered it up.

"Take it," he said flatly, looking away. "Take it and kill me and don't tell me what you're going to do to anyone else."

"Harry..."

"No, Ron, it's over. I can't...I can't..."

Harry wasn't sure what was happening. Was this what it felt like to go crazy? To finally lose touch with what was sane and real? Everything around him felt like it was falling, shaking, moving from underneath him and he was going to plummet into some unknown chasm where sanity didn't exist and life didn't exist and everything was blank and empty and gone.

"What's happening?"

"Master?"

Voices sounded all around him but Harry heard nothing coherent. People were shouting, screaming, and things were falling all around him.

"HARRY!"

That was all that cut through, just the one voice, the one shout from Ron that made Harry wonder if he was still in reality or if he had already slipped away. Something was happening.

The floors and the walls were trembling with a violence that had come out of nowhere, stones sliding against each other and heaving apart, and the two sides of the cavern split and fell away from each other. From the depths of the vast abyss below them, stone rolled up, pouring out of the opening like the lava of a volcano. Harry felt himself tumbling and when his shackled arm yanked him to a stop, the chain broke away from the wall and he fell, sliding along rock until he slammed into something hard. He tried to look around, tried to see what was happening, where Ron was, where Hermione was, but all he saw was a cloud of rocks raining down, and, driven by instinct, he threw his arms over his head. There was a roaring in his ears, and a sound like the ripping of iron. And the last thing he knew was the sound of his own voice in his head, praying for the end to come and take him, and for silence.