Harry Potter and the One Ring of Power

Harry Potter and the One Ring of Power, Chapter 27

The Doom That Came To Orodruin

After a few hours' worth of uneasy rest, always with one of them on the lookout for Gollum, orcs, or other enemies, they turned to the last obstacle in their terrible quest. The Mountain's slopes were very gentle at first, and they were able to make nearly as good time as they had in the plains, but as they went up, the going got steeper and steeper, with big boulders forming more of the mountainside.

At first, Harry's injury was a dreadful impediment; he could barely climb under the most favorable conditions, and as they got higher, it got worse and worse for him. Draco's past mountaineering experience came into real play for the first time on their trip, as he fashioned bowlines from the elven-rope they had been given in Lorien, and used them to haul Harry up the more precipitous spots. Ron was still a little fuzzy from the effects of Gollum's stone, but it didn't seem to affect his climbing much, for which small mercy Hermione was devoutly thankful.

To Hermione, the world seemed to shrink to their little struggle; all that mattered was to get up that next precipitous spot, or holding tightly to the rope with her heels dug into the crumbly black stone of Orodruin so that Ron or Draco could clamber quickly up. Her hands had become callused over their long trip, but even so, she was soon blistered and bleeding from times that the ropes chafed her hands.

For the first time, the bad air began to seriously bother Hermione; her lungs labored to extract what they could from the sulfur-laden atmosphere. The closer they got to the top, the harder it got to breathe. She noticed, through the haze that seemed to have taken over her mind, that the others were suffering, too. Ron had developed a racking cough that she really didn't care for, and Draco was wheezing like a bellows.

Oddly enough, Harry seemed to almost be thriving. He didn't seem to mind the bad air, and although he still needed help climbing, his eyes sparkled behind his glasses in a way that Hermione decided she didn't like at all---Harry looked like he was full of mischief, and had plans of some sort.

When they took a few minutes' breather, she plopped down on a flat spot, between Ron and Draco. Hearing Ron coughing, doubled over as he spat out phlegm, hurt Hermione almost as though she were the one suffering. When Ron got over his coughs, he collapsed beside her, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to get enough air in.

"Pity---I had to get rid---of those potions," gasped Draco, his face chalky-white under his tan. Hermione looked at him, noting the red of his eyes. "Some of them---would have helped." He shook his head. "Never---had---weak lungs---before."

"You couldn't have known, Draco," murmured Hermione. Draco nodded, wheezing. "I wonder how Harry's feeling?" Reminded of Harry, Hermione took the opportunity to give her old friend a long, considering look.

Harry was sitting on a rock near them, looking out over the Land of Mordor. His expression was not like the others'---no thousand-yard stare here! He turned to her as she watched. Stretching out his hand, in a gesture that reminded Hermione of the scene in Paradise Lost where Satan offers the world to Adam. "Look at it, Hermione. You have to admit, it does have a certain grandeur, doesn't it?"

Hermione looked out in her turn. Below them, Gorgoroth stretched out, dimly visible through the smoky air. It faded into the murk some miles away, but she could see a good deal from where they were. There were camps here and there, laid out in a surprisingly orderly way, and she saw troops marching here and there, tinier than ants from her perspective. It was, she had to admit, an awe-inspiring sight.

Then she raised her eyes from the plain, and awe died, to be replaced by fear. Just at the edge of visibility loomed Barad-Dur, the Dark Tower, the stronghold of Sauron. It was an incredible fortress, far larger than Hogwarts or any Muggle-built castle she had ever heard of. Towers loomed into the gloomy sky, guarding walls made of some dark stone she couldn't identify, clustering around a single huge tower in the center of it all. From the centermost tower, a red light glowed, and what looked like a searchlight beam stabbed crimson through the clouds, off to the northeast.

"Can you sense Him?" whispered Hermione. "Can you tell what He's thinking?" Harry nodded, smiling a very unpleasant smile. In the dim light, his eyes almost seemed to glow, and Hermione shivered suddenly, pulling her cloak closer.

"Oh yes, I can sense Him. Right now, He's concentrating on a war He's waging---from what I can pick up, He's besieging Minas Tirith, and bringing armies up through somewhere called Rohan." Harry shook himself, and whatever had been in him seemed to go away, leaving a very tired and drawn Harry Potter, his face twisted in pain. "I hope Faramir and Anborn and all our friends from Gondor are all right, don't you?"

"Gods, you're right---I'd forgotten all about them!" Shamed at her forgetfulness, Hermione shook her head. "But I've been worrying about you, Harry. You've been acting strange. Is the Ring getting to you?"

Harry gave her a considering look. "Perceptive of you---but I shouldn't have expected otherwise. Yes, I've been tapping the Ring---very carefully---for the strength to go on. The Ring gives power, but power of a sort that the owner can use." He grinned at her conspiratorially. "If you'd kept the Ring, you'd probably have found your memory improving exponentially, and remembering every book you've ever read, even more than you now do."

"But the Ring's dangerous! If it gets control of you---" whispered Hermione, feeling a cold chill down her spine. "Do you remember when you slapped me, the other side of Torech Ungol?" Involuntarily, she remembered that moment, and felt sick all over again at the madness she had seen in Harry's eyes.

At that reminder, Harry lowered his eyes. "It was like I was taken over for a second, when you asked about sharing It. I think I'm in control now. Still, It tempts me, endlessly, dangling everything I've ever wanted before my eyes." He grinned mirthlessly. "Ron told me what Draco said you told him about dealing with the Ring: 'Wrestling with temptation, best two falls out of three,' and I've got to say you summed it up well."

"Which is why I've never wanted to be Ringbearer," Draco interjected. Startled, Hermione whirled to see that he had gotten back onto his feet while was talking to Harry. "In one way---and in one only---I resemble the Muggle playwright Oscar Wilde." Hermione raised her eyebrows, and Draco condescended to explain: "I can resist anything but temptation."

Who'd have ever thought Oscar Wilde would be quoted here, in this hellish wasteland? thought Hermione. Draco, you are an endless source of surprises! Standing up in her turn, she heard her back creak as she looked up the side of the mountain. "Well, boys---it won't get any less steep for us sitting here looking at it, now will it?" She watched as Harry and Ron rose to their feet, slowly and stiffly, and began preparing for the next stage of the climb.

*

Some time later---Hermione was never sure just how long; she had other things to do than stare at her watch---she was busy scrambling up a particulary precipitous patch when she heard Draco, above her, call out: "Blimey! Who'd have believed this?"

"What is it?" she called back. Most of her attention was on belaying the rope so that Ron could help Harry up; Harry was having one of his bad spells and required a lot of assistance to climb at all. Once she and Ron had managed to get Harry to secure footing, she held onto him with one hand and pulled the ropes in with the other. "What have you found?"

"A road! A bloody road! Right up the side of the mountain!" Hermione and Ron looked at each other, wide-eyed. Has Draco finally flipped? thought Hermione. Ron shook his head, obviously as non-plussed as she was.

"Hold on to Harry," muttered Hermione, as she clambered up to see what had Draco's knickers in a knot. When she'd finally gotten up to where he was standing, she found that he'd been telling the truth. A road wound along the Mountain's side, heading inexorably up toward the top. "And here I thought you'd finally lost your mind, Draco," she whispered.

Draco turned toward her, looking as smug as a cat with canary feathers all over its face. "Come on, Hermione, help me get Ron and Harry up here. This'll make things a lot easier." Then his expression darkened. "That is, if this place isn't patrolled. At least we've still got the Invisibility Cloak and our wands."

*

The road did make things easier, although Hermione was uneasy about using it. Not having to literally climb rocks took a lot of strain off of the four friends. She noticed that Ron's coughing was less severe once they were able to use the road, and Harry was able to make better time, leaning on one of the others. Hermione and Draco both took turns, but in the end, it was usually Ron---Ron's shoulder that Harry clutched for support, Ron's strength that pulled Harry to his feet when they paused for a breather and Harry couldn't get back up by himself, Ron's unswerving determination and loyalty that helped Harry work up the courage to work through the pain, even when tears were making clean streaks down his grubby cheeks and his mouth was twisted with the effort not to cry out.

I'm glad Ron's along, thought Hermione, watching Ron gently help Harry over a rough spot in the road where Orodruin had apparently shaken, dislodging a bunch of rocks and gravel and all but blocking their path. Harry's willing to accept his help, and even show that he's weak and in pain, where he wouldn't be able to do that with me---or Draco. For all that Draco Malfoy was firmly their friend now, and an essential member of their team, there would always be the shadow of the "old" Draco Malfoy standing behind his shoulder; Hermione trusted him implicitly herself, and knew that he'd throw himself in front of a wand, arrow or bullet for the others---just as she would for any of them---but the past could not be changed. I'm sorry, Draco.

Beside her, Draco paced along, not aware of the thoughts that were passing through her head. He peered suspiciously from one side of the road to the other, his body taut with alertness. He muttered to himself sometimes...Hermione couldn't catch most of the words, and from what little she did catch, she was quite grateful. He quivered, and reminded Hermione of a bowstring just before the arrow was released.

Reminded of her new bow, Hermione paused for a moment, winking at Draco when he gave her a quizzical look. Taking it out of its case, she strung it in one swift move, pulling the string back to her ear with a practiced motion. The gods be thanked I'm not one of those bosomy girls, she thought with an inner grin---she remembered how one of her Muggle neighbors had howled and howled when her breast had been whanged with a bowstring, when she'd been careless at an archery competition a few summers before. She looked down at herself. I look an absolute fright, I'm filthy dirty, I must stink to high heaven, I've lost weight even since we were in Lorien---my clothes are all but hanging off me. She swiped futilely at herself, only managing to rearrange the dirt.

"You know---Ron thinks you've never been more beautiful than you are now," Draco drawled. Hermione looked up, her heart thundering. How in hell--- At her look, Draco went on, winking: "You sleep a little ways away from us, usually---and Ron talks in his sleep. I'm a light sleeper, and I find myself listening. I don't really mean to." His expression grew wistful. "I've sometimes envied other people---what it must be, to be able to select your life's partner. You know, of course, that I'm an engaged person, don't you?"

"Who?" Hermione's eyes went wide. "And how---?" As her mind wrestled with the concept of one of them being engaged to be married, she began walking up the road again, automatically, her eyes scanning for danger all around as she and Draco continued their conversation.

"Pansy Parkinson. I've known her since forever, and our families arranged it for us when we were both babies. Lots of the old wizard families do it that way---I'm surprised that Ron's mum and dad weren't in that sort of arrangement."

"But---isn't that illegal?" Hermione tried to grapple with the idea of one of her friends being engaged, and having been since before she had ever met him. She herself fully expected to marry someone some day, but the thought of having the whole thing planned out for her by her parents offended her on a fundamental level---like the enslavement and mistreatment of house-elves, so casually accepted by her friends who'd lived their lives entirely within the wizards' secluded society.

"No. Even by Muggle law it isn't, although enforcing the agreement against the wishes of the people most concerned would be all but impossible. Believe me," Draco gave her a bitter smile, "I've checked." He wiped sweat and grime from his brow, as they continued on up the hill. "Oh, it's not that I don't like Pansy. Like I said, we've known each other since the year dot. It's just that her heart's bestowed---elsewhere."

"Really?" Draco nodded. "Can't you---oh, I don't know---work around it?"

Draco gave Hermione an unreadable look. "Her heart's long been given to Millicent Bulstrode." Hermione felt like the world had been tilted sideways. "Around Slytherin House, they're accepted as a couple."

"But---your parents are dead, doesn't that make you your own master?" Draco shook his head.

"I honestly don't know. Things have changed considerably since last summer. I think that if Pansy and I explain things to the Parkinsons, they'll release us from the compact. However, until then, I'm bound to marry her." Draco looked ahead, and pointedly changed the subject. "Come on, we don't want to let those two idiots get too far ahead of us, do we? Without us, they'll wander off and get lost, or something."

*

When they reached what had to be the Cracks of Doom, they were all but at the end of their strength, even Harry. The fetid air and lack of water had worked on them for too long, and they were staggering with weariness from not being able to sleep peacefully; their last good sound sleep had been in the tower of Torech Ungol.

"Well, I guess this is, as they say, 'it,' said Harry. The Mountain rumbled around them, the sound vibrating their very bones and teeth, as they paused outside the entrance. The heat was greater than any they had felt since the fight with the Balrog in Moria, and sweat poured from them. Hermione felt dizzy, and the others also looked dazed.

Just as Harry turned to enter the Mountain, a familiar voice, shrieking from above, startled all of them. Instinctively, they snapped into defensive mode, ducking into cover with their wands at the ready. "Maaasster!" Above them, a Nazgul hovered on its flying steed, dangling a shrieking Gollum by one arm. "Maassster! Pretty girl! Sssave uss, pleasse! Save us!"

"Expelliarmus!" roared Harry, and Gollum flew out of the Nazgul's grasp. With a Levitation Charm, Harry brought the gangrel creature safely to earth, where he scuttled behind Harry, cringing and whimpering for help.

Meanwhile, the others were also busy. Draco pointed his wand at the Nazgul and screamed "Petrificus Totalus!" The curse seemed to splash off the Nazgul, but hit its steed, which fell like a stone. The Nazgul itself fell, but hit the ground rolling and came up apparently unharmed. Its steed crashed down beside it, and slowly got to its feet, shaking its head and looking dazed. Ron fired a Reductor Curse at the Nazgul, but missed, shattering a rock.

Hermione unslung her bow, nocking an arrow automatically and drawing the string back to the ear. Taking careful aim at the Nazgul, she let the arrow fly, hardly noticing the pain in her un-shielded bow arm as the string whipped it; in the fog of pain she had moved in for so long, a little more pain was nothing to even notice.

To her surprise, the arrow seemed to disintegrate as soon as it struck the Ringwraith. Throwing back its head, the Nazgul emitted a cold, clear laugh. "Thou fool!" it said, in a voice like a woman's---a beautiful, almost seductive voice. "Thou fool, to think that thy mere arrows could slay me! Know, fools, that I am Adunaphel, and since the death of the Witch-King of Angmar at the hands of Eowyn of Rohan, I am the greatest of all Nazgul!"

"If arrows won't hurt you, let's try spells!" Draco snarled, his face twisting in a rictus of hatred. Holding his wand in both hands like a Muggle policeman aiming a pistol, he shouted: "Avada Kedavra!" Green light erupted from the tip of his wand, speeding toward the Ringwraith.

Unlike the Balrog, the Nazgul visibly felt the Killing Curse. Although it didn't cause instant death, any more than it had against Durin's Bane, it did bring the Ringwraith to its knees, with a scream like a woman in agony. Ron let loose a Reductor Curse, which knocked the black-robed horror back on its back.

Draco ran up, pointing his wand down. "Avad ---urk!" The Ringwraith had grabbed him by the throat, flipping to its feet with a move that reminded Hermione, incongrously, of a tumbler. Draco struggled, his face working with pain, as the Nazgul gripped him, cutting off his air . Dragging Draco up so that they were face-to-face, the Ringwraith breathed out deeply. He kicked convulsively, as his face turned red, then bone-white, under his tan. Yanking out a dagger from a hidden sheath, the Ringwraith stabbed Draco, who convulsed as the blade struck home---his wriggling spoiled the creature's aim, so that a blow aimed for the heart ended up stabbing into his side, scoring a deep wound

"Noooo!" screamed Hermione. Pulling her bowstring back, she sent another arrow winging at the Nazgul. "Get away from him, you bitch!" The arrow sang out, taking the wraith in the back of the head.

Although the arrow disintegrated, the Nazgul---Adunaphel, that was its name, the part of Hermione's mind that never slept noted in passing---felt it, throwing Draco aside contemptuously before turning to deal with Hermione. Behind the Ringwraith, the creature it had been riding lumbered up, shaking off the stiffness of the spell it had been hit with.

Hermione backed up, fumbling for an arrow. At this sight, the Nazgul laughed again. "How brave---a mere maid-child seeketh to stay me! Thou mindest me of myself at thy age---and for that, I shall spare thee to the last!" Turning contemptuously away, it continued: "How darest thou think that I, who was Queen in Umbar betimes, could be checked by such as thee? Why, my steed alone is more than a match for thee!" At its rider's signal, the winged beast spread its wings, lunging forward to try to seize Hermione in its jaws.

By this time, though, Hermione had nocked an arrow. Again, she let fly---Artemis, Maiden Huntress, patroness of archers, guide my aim!---and the arrow flew, straight and true, down the beast's throat. With a whistling shriek of agony, it flopped backward, writhing in agony as blood cascaded from its mouth.

This distracted Adunaphel, who had been advancing on Ron and Draco. As she turned, Ron let Draco fall---he seemed to be unconscious, which Hermione privately thought was a mercy---and pointed his wand. "Die, you horrible thing, die!" he screamed, his face a mask of pure, insane hatred. "Reducto!" The spell hit Adunaphel just as she was reaching out for Hermione, and she was knocked off her feet, hissing and snarling in a language Hermione didn't recognize.

"I can't hold her there for long!" yelled Ron, running to Hermione's side. "What's the matter with you? Did you forget you're a witch?"

Hermione put her hand on her face. "I---I guess I did, didn't I?" Unstringing the bow, she pulled out her wand, her eyes narrowing. "It's all down to Harry, now. All we can do is buy him enough time." She looked around. "Come to it---where is Harry?"

*

When the fighting had started, Harry had been right beside the entrance to the Cracks of Doom. The Nazgul's appearance had startled him, and he had instinctively ducked inside, finding himself in a long, high tunnel. At the far end of the tunnel, he could see what looked like fire---it reminded him of Moria, in some ways. Besides the flickering light of fire, he could feel the ground vibrating under his feet, and the heat was increasingly intense.

Well---this looks like the place, doesn't it? he thought, as he moved slowly down the tunnel. With one part of his mind, he knew his friends were fighting outside to buy him time, and he already grieved bitterly for their deaths---but he was consumed with his quest.

Concentrating on his goal, he was startled to hear a familiar voice---a voice he had hoped bitterly never to ever hear again. "Ach, sss, nicce masster savess uss from nassty wraithses! Masster won't let anybody hurt preciouss, will he?" Whirling, he found himself staring into Gollum's lambent eyes.

"Gollum!" As much as anything else, Harry was startled by the creature's sheer nerve. "How dare you ask me for help? You tried to feed me, and my friends, to that awful spider! I can't believe that my friends let you live!"

Gollum cringed. "We were catched, yess, catched, by nassty wraith! It assked uss what we wass doing here, didn't it, gollum? We couldn't help it! Let uss help you, masster!" He seized Harry's hand and kissed it, and Harry yanked it back, shuddering with revulsion---Gollum-cooties, yuck!

"Oh? What do you think you can do to help me? We're trapped in here, fool! Outside is that damned Ringwraith, and the Fires of Doom are just down that tunnel!" Outside, the fighting reached a new crescendo, and Harry retreated down the tunnel, with Gollum cringing along beside him, eyes wide with terror. Around them, Orodruin shook, and a deep rumbling made Harry's very bones vibrate.

*

Outside, the fight raged on. Adunaphel's steed's thrashing had subsided, and it lay on its back, blood drooling from its mouth, still twitching but clearly dying. Unfortunately, the Ringwraith herself was anything but incapacitated, and was getting the upper hand on Ron and Hermione, despite all they could do. A lot of their spells just didn't seem to work very well against a being of such power.

As Adunaphel whirled to face Ron, Hermione spared a second's attention for Draco. He was alive, but unable to fight any more---his face was gray with loss of blood, and there was something else wrong, something she didn't pretend to recognize. Seeing the Nazgul menacing Ron, she cast an Incendio charm; fire-charms were one of her strongest areas of expertise, and she could make fire all but sit up and beg. Burn, baby, burn! she thought fiercely.

To her horror and delight, the fire charm worked, setting the Nazgul's robe alight. Instead of ignoring it, as she had feared, Adunaphel let out a piercing cry and broke off combat, batting frantically at the flames, which burned with an odd bluish-green light and gave off a sickly black smoke that revolted Hermione when she caught wind of it, even through the sulfury air of Mordor.

When the wraith was distracted, Ron took his turn, trying a Tarantellagra. Although it didn't work as it would have on a human opponent, the Nazgul did seem to be thrown off by it, at least somewhat. When she had finished extinguishing her robe, Adunaphel advanced on Hermione. "Thou hast dared to set me alight, little maid-child? Thou, with thy puny spells, against me who bears the Second Ring of Men?"

To her surprise, Hermione found that she could speak---she would have thought that the near presence of the Ringwraith would have paralyzed her speech center. "Yes! Let's rumble, you and I!" Putting everything she had into it, she cast another Reductor Charm. Unfortunately, this time Adunaphel was braced, and instead of being knocked backward, she was only shaken; she stayed on her feet. With a snarl, she cocked back her fist, punching Hermione in the center of her chest. Caught by surprise---she had not expected such an elementary attack from a being of such great power---Hermione was flung backward, landing on her back and knocking the wind out of her. For a few minutes, all she could do was struggle to breathe.

At this, Ron screamed "Die! Die! The gods damn you, you monster, die!" Leaping onto the Nazgul from behind, he yanked out his short sword, gripping it by the blade and hilt and pulling it back across Adunaphel's neck, trying to behead the Ringwraith. Unfortunately, as soon as the Japanese steel touched the Nazgul's flesh, it dissolved, just as Hermione's arrows had.

Reaching over her shoulder, Adunaphel flung Ron to the ground, cursing him in a language Hermione couldn't understand. Unable to speak, she struggled to her feet, determined to at least face her death upright, her wand in her hand and showing none of the fear that gripped her. Her face twisted into a snarl of rage as she stood astride Ron's prostrate body, fiercely defending her friend to the last. Her only hope was that she could goad Adunaphel into killing them outright; when she had asked Draco to use the Killing Curse on her if she was about to be captured, she hadn't thought of the possibility that Draco would be out of the fight before he could do it.

Just as Hermione was bracing herself for death---Adunaphel had drawn a wicked-looking broadsword, and was pulling it back to cleave her from crown to crutch---a miracle seemed to happen. Lowering the sword, Adunaphel turned from them, hurrying into the mouth of the nearby cave. For a second, Hermione couldn't quite comprehend that she'd been reprieved; sinking to her knees, she sobbed for breath, shaking with reaction. Then she realized what had happened. Only one thing could have distracted Adunaphel from the kill...

*

By that time, Harry and Gollum had retreated about as far as they could go into the Mountain. Behind himself, Harry could feel the Fires of Doom; the heat seemed to sear through his clothes. He suspected that his skin was burning; it felt like it did when he got a sunburn. Beside him, Gollum whimpered.

Orodruin rumbled, as though the Mountain, itself, sensed the presence of the Great Ring. The ground shook and quivered, as heat licked at Harry's back. Well, I guess this is, as I said outside, it...Steeling himself, Harry made ready to jump down into the Fires. I'm sorry, but this is the only way. Goodbye, everybody...

Suddenly, Harry found himself paralyzed. Unable to twitch a muscle, he stared in horror as the Nazgul loomed into the chamber. With the tiny part of his mind not consumed by terror, he noticed that the Ringwraith looked to have been in a very bad fight; its robes were torn and charred, and it seemed to move awkwardly.

To his surprise, when the Nazgul spoke, it was a woman's voice, pleasant and seductive. "Come, now, what dost thou here, young wizard?" The creature stretched out a hand. "Come away from those flames, lest thou come to harm." At that, the paralysis ceased, and Harry could move again.

Leaping forward, Harry pointed his wand at the Ringwraith, as he concentrated on the happiest memories he could call up. "Expecto Patronum!" A silvery stag leaped from the end of his wand...and dissolved before it could reach the Nazgul. Throwing back its head, the Nazgul laughed, a warm, rich laugh.

"Thou fool! Knowest thou not, lackwit, that this is the heart of the Dark Lord's power here in Middle-Earth...that here, all other powers are quelled and humbled?" Stretching forth its hand, the wraith made an odd gesture, and Harry was paralyzed again, and felt himself squeezed as though he were in a vise. "Though thou art a worthy foe---thou and thy three companions---the Dark Lord will triumph! I will have the Ring for my Master, and there is nothing, little wizard, that thou mayest do to stay me!"

Through the haze of agony that threatened to consume him, Harry found himself noticing something. The Ringwraith had forgotten Gollum! Concentrating on what it had to see as the greater threat, it had ignored Gollum's presence, and the creature had crept out from where it had hidden, whimpering with fear but giving the Ringwraith a glare of pure hatred.

"Smeagol---" Even forcing the word out took all of Harry's strength. "Smeagol---take the Precious---don't let that creature get It---" Gollum's eyes lit with understanding, and what Harry would have sworn was malicious satisfaction. Before the Nazgul could react, Gollum was on Harry, scrabbling under his shirt. A flash of fresh pain across the back of his neck told Harry that the thin chain the Ring had ridden on for so long had snapped, and Gollum gave a scream of triumph, holding up the One Ring, dancing with joy.

"Precious, precious, precious!" Gollum was capering with glee. "We hass you back, Preciouss!" That had been the one thing that the Nazgul had never, ever expected Harry to do, and its sheer unexpectedness made the wraith's spell falter. Falling to his knees, Harry sobbed for breath, feeling his head clear as the Ring's influenced waned.

"Thou wretch, give me that Ring! Such things are not for the likes of thee---thou art a far less worthy bearer even than this wizardling here!" Striding forward, the Ringwraith advanced on Gollum, who backed up, and backed up some more, until he was standing just on the edge of the Cracks of Doom.

"Smeagol!" croaked Harry. "Smeagol---if the wraith gets the Precious, he'll hurt Hermione! You remember Hermione, don't you?"

Gollum's head nodded. "O yes, we remembers pretty girl---she was always good to us!" As the Nazgul got closer, Gollum looked up at the cloaked figure, his face a mask of malice and resentment. "You hurt uss---hurt uss both before, and when you had uss thiss time! We won't let you hurt uss, ever again!" Stepping back a little farther, Gollum fell backward, into the fires. Harry heard what sounded like a last shriek of "Preciouss!" Then a magical backlash whipped through every cell in his body, like nothing he had ever felt in his life. Somewhere, he could feel Sauron, screaming in agony as he was robbed of all his power, dwindling to a shadow that could never harm anybody again. The "sound" was like music to Harry's ears, and he exulted: Fall into nothingness, Sauron---despair and die!

As Harry watched, paralyzed by the shock of the Ring's destruction, the Nazgul turned toward him. Suddenly, instead of an invisible figure wrapped in a black cloak, he could see the face inside the hood. To his shock, he found himself staring at a woman---a handsome, mature-looking woman, with a faint resemblance to Aragorn in the shape of her face and her bone-structure. In seconds, she aged decades, her skin wrinkling and her black hair whitening, even as she reached out for him. As she crumbled, her flesh turning to dust and falling off her bones, Harry thought he heard her voice, whispering "Free---at last!" Had that been an expression of gratitude on her face? He would never know. Even her bones were crumbling to dust before his eyes.

Orodruin heaved under his feet like a ship in a storm, and Harry saw the flames rising higher and higher in the Cracks of Doom, where Gollum had immolated himself. He felt terribly weak, but his head was clearer than it had been for a long time. Got to get out of here, he thought, and, suiting deed to thought, tottered toward the exit as best he could.

*

Hermione screamed as a wash of magical energy tore through her. Even though it was horribly painful, she exulted. We did it! The Ring's destroyed! It's gone! Somehow, she knew---knew for sure that the Ring was gone. Something that had been niggling at her since Torech Ungol was no longer in the back of her mind. She could sense Sauron, and his howl as he was reduced to something less than a ghost reverbrated through her mind; no music she had ever heard was sweeter.

Oh, gods, Harry! Not really believing that Harry was still alive, Hermione staggered toward the entrance into the Mountain. Even with the Mountain shaking, she managed to keep her feet, although she couldn't have said how. To her surprise and joy, she saw Harry stumbling out, looking horribly weak and tired. She ran toward him, helping him away from the entrance just as flames licked out of it. It collapsed as she reached him.

Harry didn't seem to notice her. Gripping her, he stared over her shoulder. "Look!" Hermione turned, to see what he was seeing, and saw something that she would never be able to forget.

Over Mordor, the endless cloud-cover was receding, being blown away by a strong wind from the West, and the westering sun was shining through, far brighter than she was used to. Before her eyes, the mighty fortress of Barad-Dur quivered, shedding stones, and then collapsing as the sunlight hit it, silhouetted against clouds swirling around it as though reluctant to let go and yield to the impetus of the wind. She could see more clearly than she had in some time, and she thought she could see into the fortress as its outer walls fell away; she caught glimpses of huge halls, deep pits and endless rooms, all lit by the sun as though it was happening on a stage. For the first time, she thought with a tiny part of her mind, I understand what they mean when they refer to a "Wagnerian" spectacle!

Behind them, Orodruin began to erupt, and Hermione turned from the ruin of Barad-Dur to deal with the situation. "Harry!" she screamed, hoping he'd hear her over the volcano's noise. "We've got to get out of here---and Ron and Draco are both hurt!"

Ron was on his hands and knees, shaking his head and trembling. Hermione felt a moment's pity for him, but there was no time to deal with that. She pointed her wand at Draco and cast a Mobilicorpus, bringing him to his feet in a stumbling parody of normality. "On your feet, Ronald Weasley!" she shrieked, yanking him up. "Get moving! We've got to get out of here---now-now-now!" Although he seemed not to be tracking very well, Ron followed meekly where she led, as she guided Draco along and lent her shoulder to Harry.

A huge flow of lava came out of Mount Doom, and Hermione cast about wildly for someplace that might be safe. The only thing that she could see was a small rise, which might preserve them from the lava. With the last of her strength, she hauled her friends up there, and once they were on the top, they collapsed in a heap, rather like marionettes whose strings had been cut.

"Hermione---" She turned, to see that Ron was looking at her. Mercifully, Harry and Draco were both out. "Hermione---could you hold---hold my hand?" Ron looked to be in a very bad way. "So---cold." When she had his hand between both of hers, she was shocked at how cold his flesh was. "Hermione---the magical world was blessed, when you joined it." She stared into Ron's eyes, tears blurring her vision. "Even this---to have known you makes everything worthwhile."

He gripped her hand weakly. Gripping it back, Hermione felt herself falling into unconsciousness. Her last thoughts were regretful, wishing that her friends could have survived.