Chapter XVI
He landed knee-deep in fresh snow. The Forest of Dean looked exactly as he remembered, tight branches that
blotted the sky, old trees with thick trunks and, snow, as far as eyes could see.
A whirlwind of images
and memories slammed into him. Everything he thought he had buried here came hurtling back. He remembered the
endless nights he wandered these frozen trees, hoping for a glimpse of her, a whisper of her voice, or any sign
she might still be close. The many freezing, sleepless hours he had curled under dripping branches, convincing
himself that he was undoing his mistake.
Leaving had been the mistake. Believing she would choose Harry
had been the error. Doubting himself when she had clearly picked him, not Harry, had been plain
stupid.
"I was stupid," he muttered, yanking his leg free and starting forward. "Maybe that was what
started it all."
He pulled out his deluminator and clicked it. A soft ball of light swept free and
hovered before him.
"You know where to go..." He told it.
The orb drifted ahead, gentle and
sure, carving a pale path through the dark.
He wasn't sure why he came here. He felt drawn to the memory
of it, ever since he woke sprawled across his bed at the Burrow. His family were as understanding as they could
muster-or as repulsed at him to leave him alone through Christmas. He was glad for it. They had all bought the
'duel went wrong' story that his dad had fed them. All but bill.
Bill had known the moment he arrived
at the Burrow. After dinner, he climbed the stairs, knocked once, then entered without waiting. Ron sat on the
floor, back against the wall, staring out the window.
"What have you done?" He asked
flatly.
"Duel. Spell went wrong. Dad told you all. Now get out." Ron said monotonously.
Bill
closed the door behind him. "You forgot I am a curse-breaker."
Ron finally turned. "Oh."
"Tell
me, Ron. I will not judge. I swear it. I want to help." Bill paused. "The others lack sensitivity to sense such
shifts in magic, but I have spent too long around dark magic. I can almost smell it on you."
"Did you
ask Dad?" Ron finally said.
"No. If he is still feeding Mum the duel story, there is no point." Bill sat
on the floor across from him.
"I never wanted to do it..."
"Tell me Ron, you're my brother...
You won't last like this..."
"What do you mean?"
"You feel wounded."
"You won't tell
anyone?"
"I swear. No one."
It was only then that he had told him in broken pieces, the trinity
charm, the ritual, and how it all went wrong. Bill's face-already scarred and deformed-twisted at the mention
of the trinity charm, but he had managed to pass it off as a cough.
"...and then the energy stream, or
magic or whatever it was, shifted. It was like she was pouring into me...instead of him...and I thought... I
thought that... That she's chosen me... And it felt... Felt..."
"Good..." Bill finished for
him.
"Help me Bill, kill me, wipe my memory, do something please... I'm dying here..." he had cracked
and cried.
Bill pull him close and held him as he shook and gasped for air. It wasn't crying, it was
suffering from a pain that wasn't there, yet it agonized him. It was the first time that he was held like that
by any of his older brothers. He always liked Bill. He was cool in every way that mattered, yet
steady.
"It wasn't your fault."
"It was... Dad says I fed on her..."
"Ron look at me."
Bill cupped his face. "There is a reason soul magic is forbidden... Because it always fails! Always Ron! I
don't know what you guys were thinking, or how you managed to talk Dad into it... He should've known
better."
"What do you mean, it always fails?"
"We are not mages of the old days. Very few ever
pulled it off, and they are all dead."
Bill promised to take him to the cottage if he could slip away,
but with Mum watching every move over Christmas, it was impossible. He patted Ron's shoulder, brotherly and
firm. "You will be all right. You need runic treatment."
The next morning Bill returned with a pouch of
herbs and roots that reeked like tar. He painted runes on the walls, muttered under his breath with each
stroke, then used an astrolabe to measure moonlight angles through the window. When he finished, he charmed the
paint invisible. "They will work the same. They just need to be there."
He turned left, following the
drifting orb as the memories of those nights under the runes flooded back. Every evening had been torture. His
mind raced with visions that felt foreign, and invasive. He squirmed and twisted in his bed for hours, begging
for sleep that never came. His own mind rebelled against him, conjuring horrors, scenes, sounds that set his
heart hammering.
The forest lay quiet except for the wind. Snow-clad trees glowed faintly even in the
dark. Every so often a nocturnal bird called as it hunted. His beard shielded his face from the worst of the
frost, but his legs burned from the cold sinking through his boots.
He had never told Bill how deep the
shame ran. Somehow he thought Bill already knew. He only hoped his brother did not know the full
depths.
Hunger. Even the very word still turned his stomach. Yet it was true. He felt an insatiable
thirst for experiencing that feeling again: being filled with something divine, nourishing, pure, and powerful,
and all her.
He knew it was wrong, and he pushed the thought away.
Something stirred in the
distance. He whipped out his wand and fired a reflexive Stupefy. The red flash skimmed over a silver fox's head
and vanished into shadow. The fox met his gaze for a single heartbeat, then bolted.
"Stupid fox." He
muttered, turning back to the orb.
A week under Bill's runes had dulled the hunger and eased the sharp
pain in his chest with every breath. But it had not fixed him. The images still came. The voices still echoed.
He had not expected miracles, only hoped.
Each gust of the freezing forest wind carried fresh memories.
How she flinched at his touch, how she refused to meet his eyes, and how she murmured Harry's name in her
sleep.
The orb halted above a flat rock beside a frozen lake. Ron stopped, staring down at the glassy
surface. He remembered diving into that black water to save Harry. He clicked the deluminator shut, swallowing
the light, and sat on the rock. The very one where he had destroyed the locket.
The visions the Horcrux
showed him still haunted his nightmares. Even now after everything, the sight of Harry and Hermione tangled
together, bodies twisted into one, as they made out, was a constant in his nightmares. It was not jealousy, he
told himself even then. It was betrayal. If she wanted someone else, fine. Harry was better than Krum. But to
choose him, then throw him away for Harry, and Harry going along with it despite treating her like a sister,
that burned his heart and made his blood boil.
Now she had forged themselves a blood pact, and Merlin
only knew what other bindings the ritual had woven.
'Obsessive'. He thought. "Both of them".
He
cast protective wards around the lake. Strong enough to keep out animals and muggles. No wizard would bother
coming here.
They were both obsessive. Maybe they deserved each other. His obsession with Draco being a
death eater, or with the bloody half-blood prince, her obsession with SPEW, Rita, with taking every class, with
pushing herself to breaking point for the ritual. And now, she was probably obsessed with Harry.
He
still vividly remembered the look of utmost spite on Harry's face when he cursed him as everything fell apart,
and if he was honest with himself, he was glad that he did.
He ran a hand through his hair, and pulled a
sandwich from his bag. He had taken as much food as he could carry from home. He took a bite, conjured a small
fire, and watched the flames lick low.
He had to own it. He had to accept what he had done. A week of
nightmares and terror, and he still tried to pretend he had not caused it all. He remembered the voice inside
him whispering, 'if he couldn't have her, no one could'. But that wasn't like him. No, something made him do
that, something rejected him in the bond, and he had latched on out of instinct.
No. This was a lie.
He swallowed, and dropped the sandwich. His eyes burned, as he felt his chest tighten again. He drew a
deep breath, allowing the freezing air to pierce his lungs. He held his face in his hands as tears began to
run.
He had done it, he had fed on her, knowingly and willingly, and he enjoyed it.
"I'm a piece
of shit." He told himself.
A crow cawed in the distance, the fire burned low.
"I FED ON HER
SOUL!" He roared into the dark.
The forest listened, quietly. Watching him, judging him, and loathing
him. But not nearly as much as he loathed himself.
His vision blurred, the world turned and tilted, he
clutched his chest, coughed hard, and rasped for air as he fell to his knees. He could hear his heartbeat
against his eardrums. He could feel his blood run through his veins. Every muscle in his body contracted, his
joints rigid. Then he pitched forward off the rock and everything went black.
He woke up well into the night. The sky above clad in starry silk, the freezing moon shone bright, and indifferent.
A white owl perched on the rock beside him.
'Hedwig?' He thought.
But the owl opened its beak and spoke in a voice, deep, and monstrous.
"And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him."
"No!" Ron begged. "You're not real!"
"Come up hither, and I will shew thee things which must be hereafter."
"I don't want to... Leave me to my misery..."
The owl hooted once, horse and eerie. Ron squeezed his eyes shut and told himself that when he opened them again, it would be gone.
He rolled on the frost, and opened his eyes. It was still night. He had no idea how long he was out, but the owl was gone. He sat up, clicked the deluminator, and sat on the rock again, pulled out his flask of water, and took a large gulp. 'What the fuck was that?' He thought and splashed cold water on his face.
His sandwich lay abandoned by his feet. He wouldn't be able to eat anyway, he hadn't had a full meal since the ritual. He didn't feel hungry at all, then he'd feel starved, and when he'd try to eat, he'd just throw up, or faint. But hallucinations, were a whole new story.
He stared off into the distance, and recalled having seen a movement there, just before he had dived to save Harry. Now he knew that it was Snape back then, he probably would've saved Harry if he hadn't showed up, but he had, and in saving Harry he had saved their friendship, and Hermione's too.
He didn't know a life outside their friendship. It was always them, him, Harry and Hermione, rushing into danger, or running from it. Sure, it had always been Harry who rushed into danger, dragging them with him, but they'd been there for him. Always. He had spared no effort in their friendship. He'd even given him a family, his own sister too.
'Look how he repays me." He thought. Though he'd promised him that their friendship will stand, he was sure that Hermione wouldn't allow that, even if they could somehow make it up.
He hated him for dragging them into this mess. Moving them like chess pieces one at a time. It was well played, he admitted. First he shut himself up in the basement for months, then sulked for another, and finally revealed that he needed to do a dark and forbidden ritual with him. 'But I can always find other people.' he had said. 'Fucking benevolent of you!' he thought and spat on the ground.
He stood and started to pace. A deep resentment was building up within him, one that he had tried laboriously to bury in the past days. The past few months flashed before his eyes, in broken pieces, and his anger grew. Each memory added itself to the burning pit of his wrath like sacrificial dry lumber, and the flames rose higher. He drew a deep breath and realized that it didn't rasp. For the first time in a week, the air moved clean through his lungs.
He drew his wand. 'Bombarda!' The frozen lake erupted. A tower of ice and black water shot upward. Thick slabs shattered outward, raining shards across the snow. A murder of crows cawed and flew off in the distance.
"She doesn't know what she's doing! She's obsessed!" Ron said loudly, talking into the night. "And he probably showed him a petty orphan when she was in there, and now she feels protective of him! Yeah! That's it!"
He stopped, chest heaving, his wand hanging loosely in his grip. The sphere of light shone dismal light across the destroyed lake.
"Let them rot with each other." He said and pocketed his wand. "Hope it eats them alive!"
Snowflakes drifted past his face. The broken lake groaned as water settled. He stood there, breathing hard, waiting for the anger to fade. It did not.
"Go on," He told the hovering sphere of light. "Take me out of here."
It wiggled merrily and flew off, in the direction of the trees, where the crows had just taken off from. Ron grabbed his bag and followed.
Hermione slid off the bed in her nightgown. They had paid the hunched old man with the muggle bills from her purse, and apparated straight to Grimmauld Place. They spoke very few words since their apparent agreement over dinner. Hermione had said goodnight and took the stairs soon after arriving. Harry had been somewhat nonchalant, but that wasn't unexpected.
She turned the door knob and pulled, her eyes found the plaque on the door: 'Ron & Hermione'. She both frowned and smiled, she'd have to fix that, though she wouldn't change Harry's handwriting.
She descended the stairs quietly, knowing that Kreacher was curled in his cabinet, and Harry would be asleep too. The nearly sheer fabric of her nightgown swirled around her body as she moved. She found Harry fast asleep on the couch in the living room. 'When did he become a couch sleeper?' but then she remembered that days of nursing her, watching over her, and sleeping between doses of medicine, had probably something to do with that. She'd have to fix that habit. 'In time' She thought, grabbing a crumpled blanket from the floor and covered him.
She watched him for a few moments. He looked so peaceful, so benign and careless, yet she knew that even then, in his sleep, he was probably fighting demons. She bent and laid a gentle kiss on his cheek, her lips barely brushing his skin. "I'm sorry that it has to be so difficult, it wouldn't be worth anything to you otherwise... I should know..." She whispered, as softly as the autumn breathe, before turning towards the basement.
She slipped down the stairs, and pushed the door open.
"Hello Phineas." She smiled solemnly.
"She lives!" He exclaimed brightly.
Ron had reached the edge of the condensed trees. They looked like a black wall of brown and white from the distance, but now that he was closer, he could see that there was large gaps between the tree trunks. The sphere danced over and beyond the threshold, and he followed. The air was different this side of the forest. It felt more dense, almost magical, as though these trees had known magic.
Questions raided his mind again. The orb in Hermione's hand... Her decision to perform the ritual wandlessly... How good it felt to feel her pour into him...
He shook his head vigorously, trying to get rid of the thought. The hunger had only briefly subsided during his anger, but it now paraded inside him once more, reminding him that he's not free.
He walked slowly. The battle against the cold was nothing next to the one he was losing within. The air densified further as he penetrated deeper into the forest. He felt a strange sense of foreboding, as though walking into a trap, or to unknown horrors. He felt like he was being watched, followed by an invisible hunter, tracked by eyes that pried behind the branches.
Suddenly he was aware of everything around him. The wind as it slowed between the trees, the frost that crunched beneath his feet, the animals that slept within the hollow trunks, or on top of the trees. He felt a strong sense of awareness, one that he had never felt before.
He had reached a clearing. An eerie stone structure unfolded before his eyes, like a ghost, begotten in a heartbeat. It looked like a Stonehenge, but the construction was more advanced than just large slabs of stone shoved into the soil.
It was a columned semicircle of perfectly carved Labradorite that glowed an otherworldly blue under the moonlight. Its surface was smooth and polished, as though it was just installed, yet it had that air of age, of being ancient.
Within, there were three raised surfaces that faced each other, forming a triangle. Runes were carved into the columns interior and on the raised platforms. They looked similar to the ones that Hermione had drawn on their ceremonial robes, though he could not read them.
'Homenum Revelio' He cast, not wanting any surprises, but there was no one there. He felt that exact sinking feeling in his stomach that he felt before and during the ritual. He kept his wand drawn, just in case, and walked into the semicircle, where the sphere had paused, hovering, serenely. The moment he reached the middle of the triangle, he felt safe. His stomach eased, his fear gone and his mind, as steady as the construction he stood upon.
He couldn't feel the cold any more, nor could he feel the terror of the hunger in his chest. He pulled out the deluminator, but before he could click it, the ball of light flew right into his heart, and he heard her. 'I love the memories and hate that I do'. He clicked and the sphere was sucked into the device once more.
'Touché' He thought. Taking another sandwich from his bag, and sat on one of the platforms. He took a bite, chewed and swallowed, then waited for that churning in his stomach that ejected whatever he ate, but it never came. 'Ah thank fuck!' he said rather loudly as he devoured the rest in a blink.
"Was I not supposed to?" She asked, keeping her tone even.
"I had no doubt that you would."
"Yet you were not unprepared, in case I died."
Phineas eyes darkened, his smile drying on his painted face. "No pretence then?"
"None."
Ron had devoured three sandwiches in a row. Feeling fed and relieved, he leaned against his bag, and stared at the glowing Stonehenge around him. He wondered if he found this place because he had known soul magic, or because he was just a wizard, or because the deluminator lead him there.
In any case, he felt a strange sense of calm there. Even the thought of Hermione didn't bother him too much. 'I could live here.' He thought. He was just now beginning to see the resemblance between this construction, and what they had set up in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place.
Three platforms with similar runes that faced, each other. Just like how they had stood, backed by the large geods. Perhaps this glowing stone had a similar effect, or maybe the trinity ritual needed those for reinforcement.
The tiredness of the past days came to him in full. It was like his body just remembered-now that he had eaten-that not only it was famished, it was restless too. He closed his eyes, feeling merrier than he had in a long time, and went to sleep.
"I must say Miss Granger, as a life lesson, that pretence, is what keeps the niceties of human culture afoot."
"I'm through being nice. I will not apologize for what I am, or what I want." Her eyes burned for a fleeting second, long enough for Phineas to recall how they glowed in the darkness of the drawing room, that legendary night. "And now," She continued. "I want an explanation."
"You are truly one of a kind Granger."
"Don't flatter me Phineas, you don't care about me, and I don't expect you to. You are a pale shadow of what you were centuries ago, and even then, I have no doubt that you'd have discarded me without a second thought."
"You are wrong." He said flatly.
"Then convince me."
"I cared enough to tutor you to survive!" He spat in sudden anger. "Did you ever think about that? No!"
"No I didn't. You acted your part well."
"You are intent to be betrayed."
"I was betrayed!" Hermione hissed like an angry cat, not wanting to raise her voice to wake Harry up.
"And what owe did I have to you?"
"I trusted you! You owed me that!"
"If I have so blatantly as you phrase it-betrayed you-then explain to me, how on earth, are you alive and well?"
"I'm not. I'm barely standing. I am weakened beyond common magical remedies. Invigoration draughts help, but only as long as they last."
"You look fine to me. Any other witch your age, with six years of unsteady education, would've died, if not during the ritual, after it."
"And you had counted on that. The guardian told me, and its just something a corrupt Slytherin worm would do."
"Don't insult my house!" Phineas said in equal contempt.
Ron stirred in his sleep, the labradorite's blue glow seeped through his closed eyelids. Hermione's voice echoed again, distant and muffled, he couldn't make out the words, only that she sounded sad.
He twitched, hunger clawing back, not as a roar but a whisper, twisting in his gut like a knife turning slow. In the dream he reached for her light, felt it slip warm through his fingers, divine and pure, then it turned to molten lava, burning his hands as he screamed in horror.
He gasped, half-waking, the runes on the platform pulsing once in sympathy, faint blue veins lighting the stone. The need for reaching out, and taking that profound beauty, that essence of divine life itself for himself, pulsed below his very skin. He mumbled 'No', rolled over on the platform, and sank deeper into the haze, the circle's calm holding him like chains disguised as comfort.
"If I pointed my wand between your eyes, and said Crucio, would you feel it?" Asked Hermione, her eyes glowing again.
"So you had one near-death experience and became a dark witch?" Phineas mocked.
"I don't find that term as insulting as I used to."
"As it should be. There is a balance to everything, darkness and light, night and day, love and hate..." He paused knowingly. "All are equally essential."
"Don't lecture me Phineas." She said impatiently.
"To answer your question," Phineas said as though there was no interruption in his sentence. "You'd have to know what it is that you want to cause pain to, and really want it to hurt. Besides, you'd have to know the Latin for it."
Hermione drew her wand.
"Let us pretend to be civilized, OK? Just as long as it takes for you to explain what happened." Phineas said rather quickly.
"Fine!" Spat Hermione.
"You met a guardian?"
"Yes."
"Interesting, it was one of my theories, but the accounts of such a manifestation were incredibly limited in my time."
"It told me that you wanted me and Ron to die, so that Harry's anger, would be unleashed. He told me that our death would create a monster, strong enough to kill Sheraldov and the þing."
"What was its form?"
"A boy. Like a child Harry, but it looked different somehow."
"It lied to you. You should've known better-clever as you are-a guardian would say anything to guard what it held sacred."
"I find that hard to believe, and at the same time, its so twisted that it makes sense. Though I don't believe that Harry could ever be that monster."
"There is a possibility. For when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you."
"Did you honestly just quote Nietzsche to me? Hermione said half-amused.
"Your knowledge always surprises me." Smiled Phineas proudly.
"Phineas cut the games!" She said, threatening with her wand.
"Very well. Let me explain myself. Then you can burn this portrait."
"Has Harry released you from the bind?" She asked abruptly, noticing that Phineas was never this detached from his frame or this house.
"He has." Phineas admitted reluctantly.
"Hmm, I thought you seem awfully brave tonight. How's the school?" She asked conversationally.
"As dismal as ever. Head mistress," He said as though his ancient brain couldn't comprehend such atrocity. "Had far too many questions about you three, as Potter anticipated. Though I swore not to tell anything, and I keep my promises."
"Its almost like you have honour." Hermione taunted.
"Miss Granger I grow weary of taunts. I refrain from calling you a Mudblood, out of the respect I've grown to have for you, and for my heir. But don't push me."
"Why not?" She nearly shouted. "MUDBLOOD!" She extended her forearm below the torchlight, where the scars that read mudblood were carved into her flesh by Bellatrix. "There! Your grandest of children did that!"
Phineas eyes widened in horror only for a second, before he rearranged his face. "I had not seen that," He said finally. "I am sorry about it."
"Don't waste it. I don't need your pity. Tell me what lies you've prepared so that I can banish you from this frame forever at ease!" She threatened, knowing that Phineas would do anything to maintain access to his ancestral frame.
"Avada Kedavra." Harry fired a jet of blinding green straight at his chest, the light mirrored in his emerald eyes. "She will never love you again," Harry hissed in parseltongue. But Ron did not understand parseltongue. He should not have understood.
The curse twisted mid-flight, transforming into Hermione. She tackled Ron to the ground, pinning him, and screamed. No words, only a guttural wail that split his eardrums. Blood trickled from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes burned unnatural orange as she screamed again. "I HATE YOUR VERY MEMORY!"
This was a nightmare, he told himself. It had to be. But why could he not wake?
He twisted on the ground, trying to pull himself free. "You have no power here," she laughed. Her jaw unhinged impossibly wide. Harry stepped from the shadows behind her, seized a fistful of her hair and yanked her upright. She grinned at the pull, turning to face him. "No, leave her alone!" Ron shouted. She only smirked and raised her wand. "Crucio!"
Pain exploded through every nerve. He writhed while Harry and Hermione kissed above him, bodies weaving together in threads of smoke, becoming one shape, one shadow.
"Wake up, boy." A harsh, monstrous voice cut through.
Ron jerked again, unsure if it belonged to the dream or the world outside.
"I said wake up!"
His eyes snapped open.
The white owl perched on the platform's edge, staring down. Ron lay flat, chest heaving, cold sweat slick across his face and neck. He wiped it away with a trembling hand.
"Great... From nightmare to hallucination."
The owl tilted its head. Wings fluttered once, soft and deliberate. Then the bird's form shimmered, edges blurring like heat over stone. Feathers folded inward, white bleeding to pale skin, beak retracting, eyes widening into bright blue that matched the glow from the surrounding stone.
An old man stood where the owl had been. The circle's blue glow pulsed once, slow and deep, as though acknowledging his arrival.
"Your death," He drew his hand on his face. "Would have strengthened him, but so would your love. I had not counted on the love part, until I saw visible signs that it was there, and neither of you knew it."
"So you admit that your original plan was to get us killed?"
"No I would never do that. But I had to calculate every outcome. This was one of them. Simple."
"And what if we neither died nor loved?"
"Then you'd have to deal with this minister and his arcane pet, as you dealt with everything else." He paused. "Through blunders and dumb luck." He added.
"Do you seriously think that I'll believe that? That's nonsense!"
"Nonsense or not, it was my thought process. The blood of Black needs a touch of insanity to unleash its true power. Our blood is the essence of chaos and madness."
"Poetic..."
"No Miss Granger, it is the truth."
"Why would you drive him into yet another battle?"
"He'd have rushed into it anyway." Said Phineas with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"True..." Hermione admitted.
There was a pause. Then Phineas spoke again.
"You are looking for a reason to be upset, yet can't deny that my logic works."
"It doesn't mean I can't be upset."
"You have every right to be upset. But your rational nature-though changing-tells you that I was right, and that perhaps you'd have done the same."
"My changing nature? What do you mean by that?"
"You sense it too, you must. Weakened as you proclaim yourself-you are more in-tune with your magic. You are less patient and apologetic as you're becoming more direct and forceful. Yet you reserve your tenderness for those who earn it. Am I wrong?" Phineas said in a tone that was flat and clinical.
"Be that as it may, if you have an ulterior motive-which I've suspected since you told us about the circles-I will find it."
"There is none. I took on the job to guide Potter through his quest, I had to consider every possibility, as I have already said."
"That is all you're giving me? Calculating the possibilities And trying to keep your so-called heir alive? You really want me to accept your slytherin pragmatism as 'answer enough'?"
"What else do you want from me? I am a painting!"
"Is that it then? Shall I cast the spell?"
"Miss Granger." Phineas paused. "Hermione." His tone softened, almost fatherly.
"Don't use my first name!" Hermione snapped, her eyes flaring again. A molten fire blazed in her amber gaze, spilling downward like liquid lava into shadow.
Phineas blinked, this was the second time since the ritual, he seemed genuinely startled for half a heartbeat. Then his painted lips curved into a wide, almost wild smile, satisfaction lighting every line of his face.
"As you wish... Priestess."
"What?"
"Oh you are shaping up beautifully, Granger." His voice dropped to something reverent. "How I have longed to see one of your kind again, to watch those burning eyes blaze across the canvas of a woman's face. How I've yearned for it 'since I saw thy last, a priestess of the ages past! Terror leashed in a single word, eyes bright as a searing sword!'" He inclined his head toward her stunned silence. "Yes. You are begotten. I should salute my own foresight."
His eyes were wide, the usual aristocratic detachment replaced by something rawer, more alive, and uncharacteristic.
Hermione took one step back. "What are you talking about?" She breathed.
"You already know." Phineas leaned forward slightly in the frame. "You feel it. You resist it, as is your nature. But resistance only sharpens the blade."
"Explain please."
"Oh we have rediscovered manners."
"Phineas..." She rolled her eyes.
"I half-want to tell you to address me properly, but alas my privileges run thin in this house." And when Hermione simply frowned, he continued. "The old circles always needed three: the blood, the word, the will... You are the will made flesh. Potter is the blood as I'm sure you've seen after you dismissed the guardian. You need another... The word... Then you'd be a proper circle. Woven together in blood, soul and the word, as life intended."
Hermione paused, weighing his words. It wasn't the first time that she came across that term. It appeared multiple times in her reading material.
"I've read about that." She said quietly. A brief note of her past self, the studious bookworm, glinting through at last.
"Priestesses were the highest rank amongst the soul wielders, and the soul weavers. That's why I told Potter-Black that girls were forbidden to study soul magic, unless they were born into it or-" He stopped himself. "well that can wait."
"Or passed through Hades..." Hermione filled in.
"As have you." Phineas acknowledged.
"Did you anticipate that as well?"
"Unfortunately no, one can dream, even in paint, but no. I had not."
Hermione felt her fatigue creeping up her ankles, and knew she had little energy left, and this, needed time, so she decided to ask another question that had bothered her since she woke.
"The blood pact, was that why the ritual failed? Our blood pact ejecting Ron?"
"It's a theory..." Phineas said thoughtfully. "But it doesn't explain the feeding, no he did that willingly."
"I thought the same, and arrived at the same conclusion... I wish I didn't have to believe that..."
"It is over, it is done, you have been revived to serve a higher purpose. Call it the will of magic itself. Focus on that."
"I don't want to have any purpose for a long time... I just want to be."
"With him?"
"With him."
"How is that working out? I presume you've made it difficult for him?"
"How-Why would-"
"You are a difficult woman, that's all."
"Thanks." She said bitterly.
"It wasn't a compliment. But your welcome" Phineas smiled.
"Were you whispering in his ear to keep me close enough, but keep his distance?" Hermione asked with a frown.
"Of course not. That's not like him." Phineas lied. "I watched him care for you for days, I saw how his hands shook as he drew the runes, how he barely slept, and how it affected him."
"I'm tired Phineas, we'll talk later."
"We have to, I want to hear everything that happened.
Hermione gave him a brief smile before turning to leave, her gown swimming around her. She paused by the door. "What was that poem that you sang?"
"Something the young used to." Said Phineas.
She turned and left wordlessly, leaving Phineas to his excitement. She glided past Harry and took the stairs while her legs could still carry her, and nearly collapsed as she reached her bed. She laid there, thinking about what it all meant, and let sleep take her.
Ron scrambled backwards. 'What in the Merlin's fuck are you?'
"The Merlin's fuck..." Said the old man thoughtfully. "I've never heard that one before."
The old man was tall, but not taller than Ron. He smiled, wrapping his simple brown cloak around him tightly.
"It's a cold one tonight, c'mon lad, get up, have you never seen an animagus?"
"Oh, yeah of course." He rose to his feet. "I was having a nightmare. I got confused."
"You carry a wound that bleeds inward, boy. Most wounds bleed out... Yours drinks what it can find."
"Who are you?"
"I'm nobody. You are safe here. These stones stir up what is buried deep."
"What do you want?"
"Nothing you have not already lost."
"What is this place?"
"You brought it a wound, the woods are taciturn, they will keep your pain." The old man said as he looked around, as though he talked to himself rather than to Ron.
"I, I followed my instincts." Ron lied, knowing that explaining the deluminator was beyond him.
"Your instincts brought you to the right place then," The old man looked up at the runes, and then at the moon above. "Rest, the nightmares will come again. Let them, and remember why you deserve them, also sleep on a different platform, they all have their own purpose."
He transformed into the owl again and flew off before Ron could ask any of his many questions.
Ron watched it take off and take shelter behind the middle thick branches that covered him from his eyes completely. He then shrugged, feeling relieved that he hadn't hallucinated back there, he laid down on the platform across the last one, and went straight to sleep.
High in the branches the white owl did not move. Its bright blue eyes stayed fixed on the boy below.
The stones pulsed once... slow and meticulous... as though measuring the depth of his pain.
The forest watched silently. And the hunger... for the first time... did not fight its cage.