Another Horcrux Down
–Parseltongue?†said Hermione, unbelieving.
The sound of that word coming out of Ron’s mouth was more than enough to cause Hermione to doubt the previously-unquestioned brilliance of Ron’s plan to enter the Chamber of Secrets, find the dead Basilisk, and remove its teeth for the purpose of destroying a Horcrux or two. Or four, more likely. He’d only been muttering to himself when he’d said it, but if she understood the implications, this plan was becoming rather less impressive than she’d originally believed.
–Yeah,†he mumbled, clearly not fussed.
–But, Ron,†she complained. Frustration was quickly replacing the rush of adrenaline that had allowed her to keep pace with him through the corridors and down five floors to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, where they now stood in a moment pregnant with in-between. She was helpless, having been petrified when Ron and Harry had taken this little excursion the first time around. As for Ron, his eyes were on the sinks, and he was obviously thinking so hard he was likely to rupture something.
He either didn’t hear her objection or chose to ignore it, likely the latter. Instead, he muttered something under his breath again, seeming to remember something. Hermione could only imagine it was some other important detail he’d neglected to tell her, but before she could ask, he’d raced out of the bathroom, back into the corridor.
Lovely, she thought, folding her arms across her chest.
Ron has disappeared, and the entrance to the Chamber only responds to Parseltongue, which neither of us can understand, let alone speak. Needless to say, the aura of admiration and respect that had been building around Ron in her mind’s eye since the moment he’d bent down and whispered his plan into her ear was diminishing faster than pumpkin pasties at the Opening Feast. They were wasting time. If there was no way into the Chamber, they were better off helping Harry find the diadem.
She’d nearly finished mentally preparing her speech about what a bad idea this whole thing was when he burst back into the bathroom holding a broomstick in one hand and his wand in the other. He closed and locked the door.
–Where did that come from?†she demanded as he rejoined her at the sinks and dropped the broom on the floor.
–No idea. I summoned a broom, and it came.†He crouched down to examine the taps more closely. –Unless you’re hiding Fawkes in that little bag, this is a one way ticket without a broom.†He stood and looked at her for the first time in a while. –What’s wrong?â€
He was standing so close she had to lift her chin to meet his eyes, and their upper arms brushed each other on one side. She chewed the inside of her lip, suddenly unable to remember any bit of the speech she’d felt so strongly about only moments before.
–Unless you feel like setting up house down there,†he added, grinning.
He was only joking, but for one moment, it was just too much. He was looking at her with such excitement in his eyes, even if it was more about his perceived eminent success than anything to do with her. She felt a rush of something she didn’t want to deal with right now, not here in the castle with their lives on the line and a battle about to begin. But the truth was, she could imagine many,
many scenarios far worse than being stuck in the Chamber of Secrets with Ron.
Another moment, and she might have done something impulsive, but he turned away, toward the sinks again.
–It’s this one,†he told her.
Hermione moved closer to study the copper tap. She’d seen it before—her curiosity had been overwhelming when she'd been unpetrified and the boys had filled her in on everything she’d missed at the end of their second year. But now, looking at the snake carved into the copper, knowing Ron would have them go down there… She had to admit that—even with the beast dead and the certainty that Tom Riddle was preoccupied with other matters at the moment—there was still a strange, ominous feeling moving through her as Ron’s thumb brushed over the image.
–Right then,†he said, grabbing the broom. –You take this.â€
She complied, wondering if they were finally going to discuss a very obvious problem.
–This is the tricky part.â€
–Most definitely,†she said in a knowing tone. –Ron, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but you don’t
speak Parseltongue.â€
He shot her a look as if deeply wounded, then rolled his eyes. –
Really, Hermione?†he said dramatically. –Thanks so much for setting me straight on that.â€
–Ron, you don’t honestly believe you can--?â€
–Yes, I do!†he snapped defensively. –S’pose I’m the only one who does, though. That seems about right.â€
She started to say something more but thought better of it, feeling both guilty and right at the same time.
He turned away from her and stared at the tap, closing his eyes the way he did when he was trying to remember something for an examination. Hermione had seen that look many times; it always made her want to whisper the answers in his ear. She would never have done it, but still, it made her want to help him. Tonight, though… tonight she didn’t have an answer. Ron was on his own.
The sound that escaped his lips was part snake sound and part steam from a tea kettle. Hermione’s eyes darted back and forth from his face to the taps and back again. Nothing happened, and she had to push back the irresistible urge to grin at this foolishness.
–If you laugh, you’re not coming.†The words were obviously for her, though his eyes were focused hard on the copper snake.
You couldn’t stop me. Still, she kept quiet.
He hissed a couple more times before it happened: the tap began to glow, gleaming brilliant white as Hermione drew an audible breath of surprise and wonder. They both stepped back as it began to spin and the whole sink shifted and fell down through the floor and out of sight. All that remained was an opening to a large pipe. Ron’s expression could not have contained more excitement if there’d been a welcome sign hanging above the entrance. He was grinning from ear to ear, looking even more shocked than Hermione felt.
She stared at him and smiled, thinking he’d never looked more attractive to her in all these years than he did just then—grinning like an idiot as he grabbed the broom and positioned himself to drop down into the pipe.
–I’ll wait at the bottom, okay?â€
She thought she’d responded, but she must not have because he had to say her name at least once more before she nodded that, yes, she would follow. Then he was gone. She leaned into the dank-smelling pipe, listening as he thudded along for quite a while. Finally, he called for her to follow and she did, letting go of the top rim of the pipe and tucking in her arms as she slid down and down toward she knew not what.
She landed on the damp floor of the stone tunnel, flat on her back. She clasped the hand Ron offered and scrambled to her feet, brushing herself off in case she had picked up anything from the debris on the floor.
–Did I tell you I stepped on a rat’s skull the last time I was down here?â€
Hermione grimaced. –No, I think I would have remembered that.â€
He chuckled quietly as he moved deeper into the tunnel, Hermione following close behind. A chill of fear caused her to shiver as their footsteps crunched and echoed off the stone walls. Hermione had nearly been killed more than once in the last several months. She’d wrangled with Voldemort’s snake and Bellatrix and got an emotional ride on a dragon very recently. In general, she didn’t frighten easily, but she was so incredibly tired. They had not slept since that last night at Shell Cottage, and the thought of sinking into the quilts in the old iron bed next to Luna’s could easily bring tears if she thought about it too hard. The light from their wands cast shadows against the wet-green walls of the tunnel until they looked like giants, monsters even. She stepped closer to Ron, reminding herself that there was nothing to fear anymore in this place.
Ron stopped suddenly, causing Hermione to walk right into his back. There was a wall of rock blocking their way.
–Lockhart’s a bastard,†Ron muttered as he moved to a section on the upper right side and reached up and through, his head disappearing entirely for a moment. Not one to be left out, Hermione tried to climb up next to him but there wasn’t enough room. Finally, he reappeared wearing a look of frustration. –I’ve grown a bit since I made this hole. You might squeeze through, but I haven’t got a chance.â€
The girlish fears she’d entertained only moments ago dropped away with the arrival of a task needing done. –Then I’ll go on alone,†she said easily, stepping onto a ledge of rock to take his place.
–Like hell,†he snapped. –We’ll clear more rock and make the hole bigger.†He gave her a hard look, obviously preparing for her to challenge him.
But to her surprise, she didn’t want to. The slightest ache formed in the back of her throat as she realized she didn’t want to rip the fangs from the jaws of a dead basilisk without Ron going with her. And why, her heart demanded for the hundredth time in the last year, was he so stubbornly protective of her? The easy answer was that they were best friends, but he never treated Harry that way and Harry meant the world to Ron. Chivalry was a possibility, but honestly, it felt like something more, something she desperately hoped was the cause but dare not rely on, at least not yet, not when they had so much yet to do.
She swallowed hard against the lump, moved up next to him and pushed a large rock aside. It clamored to the floor with a crash that echoed around them. He remained still for a long moment while she worked, and Hermione would have given anything to know what he was thinking. Then he wordlessly joined her, and in less than ten minutes, the hole was twice its original size.
Hermione climbed through first. –
Lumos,†she whispered to the darkness, moving her wand in a large arc to reorient herself in the tunnel. It was basically more of the same. She took a few steps forward as Ron climbed noisily through the hole behind her, and as she did, a large, curved, crumpled something came into view. She moved closer to study it properly, the sickly green color shimmering eerily in the light of her wand. A scream popped out of her before she could clamp her hand to her mouth. It was a giant snake skin.
Ron rushed forward and grabbed her from behind. –All right?†he asked anxiously.
She nodded, embarrassed for having overreacted. –Sorry. It’s just… big.â€
He squeezed her shoulder before releasing her and moving his own wand over the skin. –It’s deteriorated. Believe it or not, it was much bigger.â€
–You were smaller.†She took a deep breath to settle her nerves
Ron met her eyes. –It’s dead, Hermione.â€
So often, they misunderstood one another. On other occasions, his comment would have annoyed her to no end. But now, for once, she knew what he meant: he was trying to comfort her. And he was right. This animal had been killed by Harry five years ago. Wherever it was down here, it couldn’t hurt her again. It couldn’t hurt anyone.
–I’m sorry,†she said.
–Don’t be--it’s a monster.†He moved ahead of her, toward the tunnels.
–No,†she said to stop him.
He turned back and faced her, part of the snake skin lying between them.
She held his eyes. –I mean… I’m sorry I didn’t think you could get us down here.†Hermione saw his lips part in surprise. She concentrated, forcing herself to say the rest. –I should have known you had a plan, and that it would be a good one.â€
The corners of his mouth began to twitch until he was grinning outright, still looking right at her.
She crossed her arms defensively. –What?â€
He laughed low in his chest. –Nothing.†He faced the tunnels again. –C’mon. Harry’ll be wondering about us.â€
They moved together like rats in a maze, maneuvering turn after turn under the watch of their shadow selves until Hermione had no reliable sense as to which way they were going, only that they must be closing in on the Chamber. Finally, they rounded a corner and were stopped short in front of a solid wall on which two serpents were carved, their eyes made of shining emeralds.
–I think this is the place,†said Ron dryly.
Excitement bubbled up inside Hermione: this was going to work. It
had to work. –Do it,†she told him, confident they would be inside in a matter of seconds.
The strange, strangled hiss that emerged from his mouth was the most delightful sound she’d heard all day, and this time, the doors parted on his first try. Ron beamed like it was Christmas morning, and Hermione squeezed his arm in shared enthusiasm.
His hand closed around hers as they stepped inside. They walked forward, taking in the high ceilings and the serpentine columns stretching tall on both sides of the walkway. Hermione’s voice was a whisper. –Look!†The giant statue was straight ahead, its mouth gaping, and off to one side…
Ron stopped in his tracks when the snake came into view, if the creature before them could even be referred to in such benign terms. –Bloody hell.†It was enormous, gruesome in death, with long-dried blood dripping down from its mouth, and fangs as long as a human arm, stretching half the length of the entire Chamber.
Hermione had not seen much in the mirror—a flash of great, yellow eyes, like something from a nightmare. She could never have imagined this. –How did Harry ever kill it?â€
–No idea.†His voice was blank as his eyes moved from the basilisk to the water around them, to the statue and back again. –That son of a bitch nearly killed Ginny right here.â€
She knew he wasn’t talking about the basilisk.
The last time she’d heard that cold tone in his voice, he had, unbelievably, been speaking to Harry—a memory that only served to remind Hermione what they were doing down here in the first place. With her left hand still wrapped in his, she brushed his arm up and down with her right. –But he didn’t.â€
–
Couldn’t,†he corrected.
The memory of Ginny’s vulnerability under the influence of the diary seemed to renew his determination. He untangled himself from her grasp and moved with intention to the dead beast, Hermione reluctantly following. He leaned down and studied the fangs. Hermione felt dizzy at the sight of Ron’s upper body inside the animal’s mouth, but she moved closer just the same. He wrapped his hands around a tooth and braced himself to pull it out.
–Wait!†she cried.
He jumped back as if burned. –Blimey, Hermione!†She’d scared him to death, obviously. –What’s wrong?â€
–Just… don’t cut yourself.â€
He rolled his eyes in frustration. –Good idea.â€
His hands circled a fang in the upper front of the mouth and pulled it down and out, so his arms were protected against the teeth protruding from the bottom. He sat staring at his prize for a moment before lifting his eyes to find hers.
There was no need to say anything. She pulled out the beaded bag and removed the cup. When he’d closed the space between them, she held it out to him.
–Not me,†he said. –It’s your turn.â€
–I can’t,†she said feebly, pushing it toward him.
–I said the same thing, but I’m glad Harry made me do it myself.â€
She looked down at the object in her hands, so seemingly innocuous, a treasured relic passed down and down until it had fallen irrevocably into the wrong hands. Now tainted beyond hope. What would happen when it was destroyed? The boys had told her the locket had screamed when Ron destroyed it, but she’d suspected there had been more to it than that. If so, why had they kept it from her? And why, if he’d thought her too weak to hear the truth about what happened with the locket, did Ron now feel she was capable of destroying this one on her own?
Ron took the cup from her hands and walked to an open space away from the water. As he dropped down on one knee and placed the cup on the ground, he looked at Hermione. –I was scared, too.†He held the fang out to her. –Trust me, you need this.â€
Everything inside her wanted to say no, and if she refused again, he would probably give in and destroy it himself. But in this moment, Hermione realized that she
did trust Ron. She trusted him completely. His instinct seemed to always lean toward her protection, yet this time, he wanted her face the enemy. There must be a reason, perhaps one that she would only understand on the other side of the cup’s destruction.
Without her permission, her feet moved toward the Horcrux. She reached her palm out and closed her fingers over the weapon Ron placed in her hand.
–Don’t cut yourself,†he said with a grin.
She sat on her knees in front of the cup, holding tightly to the fang as she watched Ron: he'd crouched down a couple of meters to her left with his wand at the ready.
–Any last advice?†she asked, hating the tremor in her voice.
–Yeah.†He looked at her earnestly. –Just remember… he lies.â€
Hermione raised the fang over her head and focused every fiber of her being on the center of the cup, repeating the mantra in her head:
he lies, he lies, he lies. She brought it down only to yank it up again suddenly when she saw the cup was no longer there at all. In its place was a beautiful leather-bound book. It had gilded pages and an ancient-looking scrollwork design over the cover—it was lovely, and her mind blurred the longer she looked at it. She wasn’t sure what she’d been doing before it had appeared here.
As she turned back the cover, she thought she heard Ron’s voice from far off, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying. There were pages and pages of photographs, mostly featuring her during various stages of her life. A man’s voice narrated as the book drew her in, commenting on the events and people represented by the photographs.
Her mum and dad were there, giving her baths and taking her to the park; they all looked very happy. But the next page wiped the smile from her face: her parents were alone in a parlor she had never seen, talking and eating, surrounded by photographs that should have included Hermione but didn’t. This was a picture of her parents in Australia.
It brought her to her senses and she looked up for the first time since she’d noticed the book. She was in the Chamber of Secrets, but where was the cup? Panic seized her as she realized the degree of her own confusion. Had Ron been calling to her? Had he left her here?
She released the book, terrified that it had sucked her in somehow. But it didn’t matter: the pages were turning by themselves now, telling its story whether she wanted to hear it or not. The photos showed her at Hogwarts, trying to make friends and failing miserably. She was on the outside with Ron and Harry and on the outside with Lavender and Parvati as well.
You didn’t belong with them then, and you still don’t, you pathetic girl, said the voice, taking on a new and menacing tone.
It wasn’t true; she had Ron and Harry, now, and had for as long as it had mattered. She turned a page, hoping to prove it. There must be something here to depict the truth, to show she was a part of them.
Suddenly, the air around the book was charged with tension and a wind blew the pages with such speed it forced Hermione’s hands away. It showed her an image she’d never seen before but had imagined many times: Ron and Harry talking in their dormitory. It looked to be around their third year, and they were talking about her. Their faces were filled with frustration, then a hateful kind of anger, and finally, they laughed and laughed. The pages flew and stopped again. This time Ron and Harry were on the Quidditch Pitch while she studied under a tree below, with the narrator explaining how they laughed at her behind her back, how different she was from them, and how they only ever really tolerated her.
She felt eleven years old again, crying in the bathroom, as alone as could be. Was this book true? It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. She’d given them everything—her friendship, her loyalty, her very life and her family. They loved her; they were her best friends.
–Hermione!â€
She heard a voice in the distance but it was hard to make sense of it over the noise of the wind rushing between her face and the book. It blew the pages until a final picture came into view. It was Ron and Harry in Ron’s bedroom, packing their rucksacks and speaking in hushed tones. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the voice told her…
They almost left without you. Look at them packing, making plans you knew nothing about. They’re saying you can’t fly, how you’re rubbish in the air, more trouble than you are worth.
The words slipped into her ears as she watched the two people she cared for most in the world plotting to leave her behind.
You’re only here because they need you… you with your brilliant mind and your clever ideas—that’s all you’ve ever been to them.
An ache swelled in her chest until she wondered if her heart could really break. She imagined a rock hitting a window, and the slow progress of the jagged line stretching out until it cracked the entire surface. That's what it felt like... a slow breaking, with every passing second increasing the damage.
She closed her eyes against the painful image, and after several moments of self-imposed darkness, she thought she heard Ron’s voice again. The longer she kept her eyes squeezed shut, the clearer her thinking became, and one particular thought kept bubbling up to the surface...
He lies. He lies. He lies.
And she knew the truth: the Horcrux had captivated her with its magic. Ron and Harry would never have left her at The Burrow, not in a million years.
–Kill it!†Ron screamed, his voice as clear as crystal now.
The fingers of her hand closed over the weapon and she sat taller, bracing herself.
Just remember… he lies. Kill it. She lifted the fang over her head, closed her eyes, and, with all her strength, brought it down hard into the enemy’s lying chalice.
The entire Chamber was rocked by an explosion that contained no fire and no smoke, only the eerie green and purple light of a dark magic Hermione neither knew nor understood. At the same time, a furious roar enveloped the room, echoing off the walls like a sick symphony of rage. Thrown back by the force of the blast, Hermione crashed violently into Ron, causing them both to cry out. He recovered first; his arm came around her middle from behind like a steel bar, pulling her against his chest and dragging them both back and back, scrambling until she felt them bump into the wall.
The noise went on and on until finally, silence once again permeated Hermione’s awareness. She’d somehow turned in Ron’s arms. Her face was buried in his neck and bits of his jumper were clenched in her fists. He was rocking her slightly and saying something against her hair. –You did it. You did it, Hermione.â€
She pushed herself back just enough to see him properly. –Did you see it? Did you hear?â€
His thumb brushed first one cheek and then the other, wiping away tears. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying.
–I only saw the book,†he told her.
Relief rushed through her. She might tell him someday, but for now, she’d rather keep the worst of her insecurities to herself. Ron retrieved the remains of the cup and held it out for her inspection. It was mangled and streaked with black. He was smiling with something that looked like pride when she found his eyes. She really had done it.
He stuffed it inside his jacket and glanced around, obviously thinking about their return trip through the tunnels. As he moved to stand, Hermione grabbed his arm.
–What?†He rejoined her on the floor.
–Why…†She peeled her eyes off the floor and forced herself to look at him. –Why was it so important for me to do it?â€
–Are you sorry?â€
–No,†she answered immediately. –Just, why?â€
In a gesture more affectionate than any they had shared before, Ron touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. –Because,†he said.
She was mesmerized. By his face, his eyes, the words that were coming, by everything about him.
–Because you’re part of this, Hermione.â€
She loved him. She’d loved him for ages but this was one of those moments when the truth begged to be spoken, to be acted upon with intention and enthusiasm. He brushed a bit of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear, apparently not fussed at the incredible intimacy of the gesture.
–Ron,†she whispered. His eyes dropped to her lips, and she lifted her chin to him.
At this moment, there was a thunderous noise from the castle above, causing them both to look with concern and fear at the ceiling. Dust rained over them as the Chamber walls reverberated from the impact. They looked back at one another.
–Harry needs us,†said Ron, touching her hair again.
She smiled sadly. It was the one thing upon which they always agreed. She realized anything could be happening upstairs in the castle, but as much as that thought frightened her, so did the implications of leaving this moment unfulfilled. He’d been about to kiss her, and now he wasn’t. But as they stood together to leave, she knew it wouldn’t be much longer. She simply couldn’t hold it in anymore, not when their lives were at stake and war was literally shaking the castle over their heads.
Ron officially broke the spell by suggesting they take some extra fangs, which Hermione had to admit was another good idea. With their arms full of giant (and very dangerous) teeth, they exited the Chamber with only a cursory glance back at their surreal surroundings.
The tunnel was familiar now, and retracing their steps was easy. They turned and turned through the maze until they stood once more next to the giant snake skin and the rock wall that had kept Ron from entering the Chamber five years ago.
Again, Hermione climbed through first, after which they carefully passed each fang through the hole until they were all on Hermione’s side. Then Ron crawled through and they made their way through the last stretch of tunnel. The broom was right where Ron had left it, off to one side of the pipe. He retrieved it and shrugged in Hermione’s direction.
She nodded at the broom. –I’m no good at this.â€
–S’all right,†he said easily. –I am.†He mounted the broom and helped her slide on behind him. With her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, he bent low and instructed her to do the same. It would be a tight squeeze getting back up through this pipe and Hermione was trying hard not to think of her head slamming repeatedly into a metal cylinder. She kept her eyes closed the whole time and squealed into Ron’s back at least once, but they made it. Well, actually, they slammed into the stone floor of the bathroom after crashing into the opposite wall, which turned out to be a lot closer than Ron had remembered.
–That was quite an adventure,†Hermione said, rubbing the back of her head as she got to her feet.
Ron muttered a half-hearted apology as they gathered the fangs and broom, then laughed as they moved to the door.
–What?â€
–I just can’t believe you did that, is all.†He unlatched the door and pulled it open, glancing cautiously into the corridor before moving into it.
–Wait,†she said, grabbing his arm. –I thought you said you knew I could do it all along.â€
He laughed harder at this, and she couldn’t resist grinning along with him. They
had done it. They were returning to Harry with a destroyed Horcrux and the means to kill the rest. Things were going very well indeed at the moment.
–No, not the Horcrux,†he said, grinning. –I can’t believe you apologized.â€
Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes as Ron released the lock. –Don’t get used to it,†she warned him, mock-serious.
Then, with their arms full of possibility, they moved into the corridor together with one thing on their minds: finding Harry.
END
Summary: This story is a missing moment from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. We know Ron and Hermione descend into the Chamber of Secrets in search of basilisk fangs, and we know they succeed. But what exactly happened down there? This story provides a possible answer to that question.
This is WeasleyMom of Hufflepuff writing for the Illustration for Inspiration Challenge in the Great Hall.
My inspiration was a drawing done by Carole/EquinoxChick, featuring Hermione's hand stabbing the cup with a basilisk fang. Thanks, Carole! You unknowingly pushed me to write something I've had in my head since DH came out.
Thrilled to announce this story tied for third place in the challenge!
Holy Hufflepuff! This won a 2012 QSQ Award for Best Canon Romance, one-shot! I am thrilled and so, so grateful!