Persephone Descending

Chapter 9: Awakening

There it was that the Lord who receives many guests made his lunge. He was riding on a chariot drawn by immortal horses. The son of Kronos. The one known by many names. He seized her against her will, put her on his golden chariot, And drove away as she wept. -Homeric Hymn to Demeter

Hermione awoke late the following morning, the long night of sleep rejuvenating her body, but doing nothing to ease the torment of her mind. She sat for a moment on the edge of her bed, hands pushing weakly at her hair. It had been a while since she'd eaten, and her stomach rumbled lightly in hunger, but she ignored it as she twisted her hair up and dressed in silence. There were two things she had to accomplish that day and thinking of devoting energy to a task provided a purpose that nourished her soul far better than the idea of food.

She stopped at the front desk and promised to return later with money for her room; the man nodded and refused to meet her eyes. His gaze slid away from her as if she were some horrid creature that had just crawled out of a lake. Scowling, Hermione felt an irrational surge of anger as she walked out of the inn and into Diagon Alley. I'm certain I've had a worse day than you, she thought in annoyance.

Apparently, however, it was not just the innkeeper that suffered from such a strange malaise; everyone on the street seemed to be draped with it, as if some pall hung over the whole of Wizarding London. A bright blue sky belied the slight chill of the October day, but everyone walked about with shoulders hunched and expressions pained, as if they were trudging through a blizzard instead of a perfect autumn day.

She noticed that those walking avoided each other's eyes. At one point on her way to Ollivander's, Hermione stopped in the street and turned around slowly as she observed this odd phenomenon. Most people walked alone with arms crossed over their bodies in a protective gesture, mistrust rife in the air. She sighed, noticing she too hurriedly walked with her head down as if there were monsters waiting around every bend. Unfortunately, that was becoming closer and closer to the truth with each day. Hermione shook her head at the dramatic tone of her thoughts, rubbing her hands up and down her arms briskly to warm her chilled skin.

She opened the door to Ollivander's slowly, wrinkling her nose as the dust swirled gently in the motion caused by the door. She forced back the memories of her younger and far more innocent self who had entered this very shop all those years ago to wave wands as her parents looked on proudly. "Mr. Ollivander?" she called, conscious of her voice in the quiet of the shop. "Is anyone here?"

"Miss Granger."

She blinked owlishly as the proprietor of the shop appeared behind the counter. It took a moment to realize he must have Apparated in from somewhere and she took a deep breath, heart pounding at the suddenness of his appearance. "Mr. Ollivander," she began, "I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time?"
His strange, moon-like eyes stared unblinkingly at her, and she flushed as he gazed at her thoughtfully. "Of course, Miss Granger," he said in his quiet voice, motioning her closer to the counter with a wizened hand. "Do come here."

She walked up to the counter and placed her wand in front of him, swallowing before speaking. For some reason, she felt embarrassed at what she was about to ask, but she knew of no other place where it was safe enough to make this inquiry, and he was the most respected wand-craftsman in the business..."Mr. Ollivander -"

"You have suffered much, Miss Granger." His voice fell around her, wise and soft, as the dust sparkled in the afternoon sun through the windows of his shop. He closed his wide, pale eyes briefly, shaking his head as if a terrible weight had descended on him. "So much. But then, it appears we will all suffer much before this War has ended." He caught her gaze again with his, eyes glowing softly in a way that completely disconcerted her.

She stared at him, expelling a breath as she struggled to regain her train of thought. "I've had another wizard use my wand to cast a truly dark and horrible spell," she said in a rush, pulling her cloak tighter around her. "I need to know if there are any lasting--effects, so to speak. If something is lying in wait to harm me." Stepping back, she crossed her arms around herself and waited.

He nodded, suddenly becoming business-like, and picked up her wand. His face contorted for a moment into an expression of pure pain, and he made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a cry.

"Mr. Ollivander!" Hermione said, stepping closer and reaching as if to snatch her wand back.

"No," he gasped, and held a hand up. "I but feel a moment of pain from the soul of the owner of this wand," he said, shaking his head. When he opened his eyes, they were intent and fierce as he stared at her. "There is something in this wand that I do not understand," he said slowly. "There is a spell waiting to be released, but its intent is not to harm." He waited a moment, and his face started to close. When he handed it back to her, mistrust was evident in his expression. "Take this wand and leave, girl," he said gruffly, turning away from her.

The gesture was so abrupt that Hermione stood gaping at him incredulously before she could speak. "Mr. Ollivander, what-"

"Out!" he roared, eyes flashing and his face screwed up in a fit of terrible rage. "I know the taint of dark magic, girl, and it's far too late to do anything for you. Get out of my shop before you call the Aurors here with your very presence!"

Hermione blinked, astonished. "I'm no Dark witch!"

"Out!" he roared, stepping as if he were going to come round the counter, and she saw his hand go for his wand. "This wand has a terrible, terrible spell inside of it, and I will not shelter such darkness in my store."

She jumped, snatching her wand and turning to leave the store, tearing at the door as she felt his malevolent presence behind her. "I am a victim of this War same as you!" She twirled around to stare him down, chin tilted in defiance as she repeated, softly and with steel behind each word, "I am no dark witch."

As long as she lived, Hermione thought she would never get over the horror of that moment; seeing kindly Mr. Ollivander, eyes wild, staring at her as if she were the Dark Lord himself, panting slightly and trembling in his rage. "Not yet," he said, voice deadened. "Not yet, Miss Granger. Now get out before I tell the Aurors what you have summoned with that wand."

Sobbing, Hermione slammed the door and rushed away from the shop, pushing people out of her way in her haste. She stopped finally, leaning against a wall, hands braced against the stones to steady her breathing. Tears threatened, but she grasped her wand in death grip and slowly, slowly tried to control her breathing. What did he mean, 'not yet'? Terrified, her dreams rushed over in a wave; images of the Dark Lord's cruel laugh and sinister scarlet eyes assailed her, and she closed her eyes. I didn't call the Dark Mark! Malfoy did it! She had an almost childish urge to rush back and tell this to Mr. Ollivander, but the memory of his burning eyes and the loathing on his face stopped her from indulging.

She remained pressed against the stones for a long moment, wondering why the cool caress of the rock was so comforting. Taking great gulping gasps of fresh air, she smoothed her hair nervously and waited until her trembling had subsided before rejoining the crowd on the street and heading to Gringotts. She wanted to settle her bill at the Leaky Cauldron and then figure out what to do from there. She needed to find Harry, but had no idea how to do so. She was desperate to know if what Ginny had said about the Weasley family was true, and indeed if Malfoy had succeeded in locating and murdering her parents, but for some reason, her mind seemed to gloss over these horrible things as if they were of no consequence.

Shock, she thought, going through the motions to descend to her vault. She noted the goblins working furiously, looking as if the only thing they cared for was the money kept safe in the vaults of the bank. Every now and then, however, Hermione thought she would see one of them look at her with a speculative gleam in their eyes, but she looked away, wanting to be unnoticed in the crowd.

Several moments after descending in the cart to her vault, Hermione found the second great shock of the day; the pile of gold in her vault was sadly diminished and only a few Galleons and a handful of sickles remained. When she settled her account at the Inn, she would be penniless. There would be no more nights at the Leaky Cauldron for her. If she did not want to return to her small apartment where rent was fast approaching, she would have to sleep on the streets. Hermione briefly considered transfiguring enough Muggle money to fool a hotel manager and stay somewhere in Muggle London, but was ashamed at the thought.

Her appalling lack of funds shocked her, but she knew it shouldn't have. After all, she had no proper job--working for the decimated Order did not provide her with an income. She gathered her money, thanked the goblin that ferried her to her vault, and stood outside in the late sunshine of the day, standing still in the middle of the street as she watched the people hurrying around her. As she stood, a simple, undeniable fact insinuated itself in her brain and refused to detach.

It was over.

It didn't matter that Harry still lived, that there were a handful of Order members that still opposed Voldemort. They would die. They would die, and Harry would die, and the world Hermione had known would be destroyed. It had already started here in Diagon Alley. A place once full of life was now stripped down the barest necessities of trade and commerce. There was no life left here, and that was Voldemort's true victory. He had destroyed that precious spark that lived within them all. Goodness and hope, joy and happiness had been leeched away and was now gone forever.

Hermione paid her account at the Leaky Cauldron, eyes vacant. She walked through the streets with her arms crossed over her chest, as wary and dead inside as the others she passed. At the final store she visited, she handed her last remaining Sickles to a florist and clutching a handful of daisies (she could not afford anything nicer), she pulled her wand out and Apparated. There was only one thing she had left to do, one small bit of business left unfinished.

It was a beautiful day, the clouds moving lazily in the sky overhead. The scene would have been picturesque if she had not been standing in a cemetery. Hermione looked down at Ronald Weasley's grave, placed the flowers she had bought with the last bit of her money on his grave, and pulled out her wand.

There is only one thing that I can do. Her life was forfeit. When she was captured, she would be killed, and her death would finish what Voldemort had begun. It would destroy Harry. She'd known him for 10 years--he was strong, but as he'd always said, he needed his friends with him. Ron had been taken; to lose her too would be his undoing.

Ginny Weasley and her would-be martyrs would fall to Voldemort's Death Eaters, most likely killed by the lowest ranking among them, for why would he send his Inner Circle out to fight against children? It would be but a moment of time before it was all over, and Hermione stared at Ron's tombstone and thought of what she could do. She fingered her wand, feeling with all her might for the spell that Ollivander had felt, and she smiled mirthlessly.

She was Hermione Granger. She would not lie down so easily, but nor would she throw herself into certain death. If only there was some way I could fix it. If I could kill him myself, through trickery and cunning, perhaps his Death Eaters would rebel. My life as I knew it is over. Everyone I know and love is dead. If I don't do something soon, I'm condemning all those poor children to an early grave. They haven't the resources to stand against Voldemort. He is far more terrible than anything they can possibly imagine.

Hermione looked down at the flowers on Ron's grave, lavender daisies looking obscenely cheerful next to the grey of his tombstone. "Forgive me, Ron," she whispered, and pulled out her wand. "Fortes fortuna adiuvat," she murmured, smiling sadly. She could almost hear him there arguing with her. This is foolish, Hermione! You can't do this by yourself! The entire Order of the Phoenix--Dumbledore!--couldn't, so why are you doing this?

"I'm Hermione, Ron," she whispered, reaching out to touch his tombstone lightly with the fingers of her left hand. "When have I ever let the impossible stop me?"

It took her but a moment to think, to ponder, her brain sliding smoothly into the intellectual pursuit of deciphering the puzzle. She felt the magic inside of her swirl as she held the wand in the sky, as she thought long and hard for the right words to release the spell inside her wand. It seemed as if he spoke them to her, softly, and her mouth twisted into a grim smile as she repeated the spell. "Nox Mundi."

Dark of the World.

In a moment she was gone, to the darkness where she would make her last stand, Persephone descending into Hell to take on the Dark Lord himself. The words she had spoken to Ron flashed in mind. Fortes fortuna adiuvat.

Fortune favors the brave.