HP and the Price, part 8 (Patreon)

Now that Thea has found herself, I just want her girlness to go unremarked. She’s not a trans-girl, she’s just a girl.  A kick-ass girl.

——

Harry stared at the stalactites that hung from the ceiling of the dueling room, his body aching from the last hit. Fighting Fae was not smart. But the fact that the Fae kept showing up for dueling practice made Harry suspect that their time was running out. Maybe Severus thought the war would wait until Harry was seventy, but Harry was starting to worry that he wouldn’t make it to his 17th birthday.

Dinae looked down at him. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” Harry said as he rolled to one side and groaned. At least he had lasted longer than the others, although Thea had come a close second. She was killer with a wand. She was actually awesome at all sorts of things.

Dinae gave him an incredulous look. “You seem half-dead.”

“Dinae Medusa Carrow!” Severus snapped. He came over with a potion, and Harry accepted the offering. The potion eased most of the aches. Often the Fae had vanished by this point, but they continued to stand on the dueling floor, studying Harry.

Severus turned to the Fae. “I don’t believe it would be wise to have the children continue practicing. Human bodies are fragile.” Leave it to Severus to call out a Fae. Harry just hoped Severus won this round because Harry didn’t feel ready to fight a soggy piece of bread, much less go another round with a Fae.

“I feel fragile,” Neville said softly. The side of his face was still reddened from the spell that had hit him when his shield failed.

The Fae stepped forward, forcing Severus to move aside. Severus frowned, but he retreated to the stairs. With a sigh, Harry pushed himself to his feet, ready to fight again. “Thea, do you want to fight doubles this time?” Thea was perched on the stairs, but she got up, ready to fight although her braid was half undone and strands of hair hung in her face.

Harry expected the Fae to move back into position to either attack or defend, but instead they stood still.

“Um, shouldn’t something be happening?” Thea asked.

“I don’t know.” Harry looked over to Severus, but he seemed as nonplussed as the rest of them. Harry rubbed his forehead as the first threads of a headache pulsed.

“Harry, are you okay?” Neville asked. He moved to Harry’s side and grabbed his elbow. Harry didn’t know why until he realized he was listing to the side.

“Move!” Severus yelled as he ran across the dueling clearing. He reached Harry’s side the same time that searing pain ripped through Harry’s skull. He screamed and fell to the ground, writhing as his body became painfully hot. He was burning alive.

“Sev’rus!” Harry cried out, and Severus was there, holding him tightly.

“Neville, fetch a fever-reducing potion. Dinae, pain potion. Neville, a beazor.”

All three ran out of the room, but Harry had trouble focusing on them. Flashes of a night superimposed themselves over the familiar curves of the dueling room. Gravestones appeared and then vanished like ghosts. “Severus, I’m seeing things.”

“Fevers cause hallucinations.” Severus brushed the hair back from Harry’s forehead, but when he touched Harry’s scar, the vision grew infinitely more vivid. A rat-faced man stood near, his glee leaking out into the night.

“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!” He lifted a white bone. Harry blinked, and time slipped past, but when the weird man spoke again, Harry opened his eyes. “Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master.” The man lifted a knife and cut off his own hand. Harry screamed and tried to crab walk away from the horror, but Severus held him tightly, whispering promises that everything was going to be alright, but nothing would be alright again. Nothing. “Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe,” the weird man said. He pulled out a square of blood-soaked cloth. It was a garishly patterned bit of clothing, maybe the front panel of a wizard’s robe that had been torn off. The rat-faced man added it to the caldron.

The man picked something up. No. He picked Harry up. Harry felt himself move into the air, and then he was moving down into the caldron. He was going to become a part of the potion.

Harry screamed in terror, and the vision broke. He was sitting in the dueling room, his head in Severus’s lap with the others kneeling around him. Harry blinked, and a shadow appeared on the far side of the room. A man with a deathly white complexion and snake-like features rose from a caldron. He raised his hands over his head and the pops of apparition filled the air. Black-cloaked figures in silver masks crowded near. Jubilant. Harry had seen those masks before in Severus’s memories. Those were Death Eaters.

Severus tried to urge Harry to drink a potion, but Harry grabbed Severus’s wrist. “No,” he said. He needed to see what was happening. The rat faced man danced about like a fool even though his arm ended in a crude amputation. The Fae touched Harry on the head, and the vision broke. Harry was free of that place and all the horrors that were gathering in it.

Harry looked up at the Fae. This is what the creature had been waiting for. They wanted Harry to know that Voldemort was back. He had found a ritual to return him to a body. Harry knew it was coming. He had always known. But he hadn’t thought he would be fifteen years old when he had to face this. He wasn’t ready. He absolutely wasn’t ready.

Harry wanted to shout and rail and point out that Severus always said that he wasn’t allow to fight wizards out for world domination until he was at least seventy. However, the fight had come. Harry had trained hard for nine years so he would be ready. They had all trained hard, and Severus and the Fae had given them every possible advantage.

The Fae stood and then vanished in a shimmer.

“What was that?” Dinae demanded.

Harry looked around at his family. It didn’t matter that he didn’t share blood with any of these people—he loved them with all the Hufflepuff devotion that Severus always accused him of embodying. But his love couldn’t stop the coming war.

“The False Lord is back,” Harry said calmly. “The ritual just ended. He has his body again.”

Severus lost most of the color from his face, as did Neville. Thea pressed her lips together and radiated fury, but Dinae shrugged. “There’s five of us and one of him. And we have a dragon. So, do we go kill him now or later?”

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Hermione clenched her teeth as Professor Umbridge loomed over her. Hermione had always had the highest level of respect for her teachers, but she wished she could hex Umbridge… something nasty and long-lasting. Maybe the twins could come up with an appropriate revenge.

“I don’t hear an answer,” Umbridge said.

“These are my notes on the textbook.”

“And yet, the textbook does not mention the Unforgivables.”

“I know,” Hermione said carefully. “I am comparing the theories in Slinkhart to what we learned last year.” Hermione was proud of herself for not mentioning that last year, defense had been taught by a Death Eater in disguise. That always aggravated Umbridge. Her and Minister Fudge wanted to stick their heads in the sand, but Crouch had gone on a suicide mission to get Professor Dumbledore’s blood. That probably meant You-Know-Who was back. And students were learning sodding useless theory when another wizarding war was on the horizon. Hermione had never been so frustrated, and she had tutored Ron through potions.

“Last’s year’s curriculum was not approved or appropriate. Detention.” Umbridge strode away, her heels clicking on the stone floor. She whirled back around and pointed a finger at Hermione. “All week, Ms. Granger.”

Draco Malfoy cackled, the little troll.

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione said between clenched teeth.

“And destroy those notes,” Umbridge demanded.

Hermione took out her wand and issued a brusque “Incendio.” She must have put a little too much emphasis on the word because the notes went up in a fireball that sent other students scrambling away.

“Watch it, Granger,” Malfoy snapped. “Some of us are trying to focus on this excellent text we have been provided.”

Hermione turned around and nearly set Malfoy’s excellent text on fire next. However, she was too mature for that sort of petty retaliation. She would find a better way to make Malfoy sorry. So she settled into her seat, only then noticing that Umbridge was staring at her with an open mouth. Hermione smiled. “You told me to get rid of the notes, ma’am.”

“Two weeks of detention,” Umbridge snapped.

Hermione settled back in her seat and took out a new scroll. She was playing a long game; she would be here long after Dolores Umbridge was gone. Hermione was going to make sure of that.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Bill knelt down as he considered the broken-down house with Dark magic seeping from every nail and board. “I don’t think you should be here.”

“Too bad Billikins,” Fred said. Or maybe that was George. Hermione still had trouble telling even after four years of being best friends.

“We promised Dumbledore that we’d help you out so you don’t get killed,” the other twin finished.

Bill stood and gave the three of them a weary look. “All three of you should be in school right now.”

“As far as Umbridge is concerned, we are,” Hermione said brightly. “Besides, it’s the weekend. Are we right? Is there a horcrux in there?” Hermione had found this place, but the evil that surrounded it was too much for them, and too many people in the ministry were watching Dumbledore. Borrowing the twins’ older brother seemed like the next best option, but if he was going to treat them like children, Hermione would find someone else to help. They didn’t have time to wait for the adults to get their acts together. And she wasn’t going to stand by and let Voldemort and his ridiculous blood-purity prejudices force her out of the magical world.

“Come off it, Bill,” George said, “we’re seventeen now. If we don’t want to stay in school, we don’t even have to.”

“We would have left already only someone’s got to help out.” Fred looked at Hermione.

She knew they worried about her. This was their NEWTS year, but she would have to get through sixth and seventh years with only Ron to back her up. Luna too, but still. Ron was a great friend, but he wasn’t all that keen on getting involved in the war and Luna was… Luna. Hermione suspected she was either a seer or she had been mentally damaged, but either way, she wasn’t great at helping her watch her back when she had to share classes and hallways with slimy Slytherins.

“If you quit school, Mom is going to kill both of you,” Bill said.

“She’d have to catch us first. So, does that seem like the sort of place You-Know-Who might have hidden a bit of his soul?”

Bill ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, it does. But the wards on this place… I don’t know if I can undo this spellwork.”

“I’ve studied reciprocal curse-breaking,” Hermione said. “I don’t have the experience to be the lead partner, but if you take lead, I can reinforce your casting and hold the backside of the spell open so it can’t trap you.”

“You can…” Bill looked at his little brothers before turning back to Hermione. “That’s the sort of skill one only develops when going for a mastery in curse-breaking.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m motivated, and Professor Dumbledore himself taught me the technique. I can hold my own.”

“That’s our Hermykins… always breaking the curve.”

“Going above and beyond.”

“Impressing the masses.”

“Enough,” Bill said, holding up a hand. “Assuming I take you at your word that you’ve been trained, this is still something I would rather tackle with Professor Dumbledore. Or at the very least, we should bring in another curse breaker from Gringotts.”

“We’ve explained the situation,” Hermione said, her temper fraying. She used to be so level-headed, but year five was trying her patience, and it wasn’t all about the OWLS. “Dumbledore is being watched, and Fudge doesn’t want to even consider that You-Know-Who is either back or on the verge of returning. And we absolutely can’t tell anyone else about the horcruxes. Our only advantage is that the Death Eaters don’t know we’re looking for them, so they haven’t doubled down on any security. If just one horcrux ends up under a fidelus charm, there’s literally no way for us to win the war. The Slytherins will be able to bring him back again and again until our side is worn out.”

Bill rubbed a hand over his face. “This is a horrible idea.”

“Horrible? Yes,” Fred said.

“And yet still better than any other idea,” George finished.

“Fine, but if we all end up ghosts, I’m going to say ‘I told you so’ until someone exorcises us,” Bill warned.

“Deal,” Hermione said before the twins could say something to aggravate Bill.

He crouched down near one of the boarder stones that defined the magical footprint of the house and he started chanting. Hermione listened to his voice, low and soothing, like waves trying to trickle through the cracks of the curses to pry them apart. When she had the pattern of his work, she added her own chants to his, reinforcing his work and allowing him to move to the next step while she maintained the pressure on the first line of the wards. Fred and George took positions behind her, moving with her as she followed Bill. He moved steadily toward the house, his chanting shifting was he encountered new curses—new wards, and Hermione chanted with him, letting herself flow with the magic.

This had been the hardest magic for her to learn. It wasn’t about the precision of the incantation, but the ability to let magic flow around her. To swim in it rather than to direct it. But there was no form of magic that existed that she couldn’t master, and she had tamed her own need for control until she could ride the magic, dancing with the power.

Bill had reached the door when Hermione felt rather than heard the hesitation in his chants. A second later, he fell silent.

“Muggle-born curse,” he shouted. “Run!”

Hands grabbed Hermione as if to pull her clear of the shack, but then a brilliant white light enveloped her and the whole world vanished under tingles and stars.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Hermione landed in a cave rich with old magic, and she had her wand out before she could draw a breath. A fire warmed the enormous drawing room, casting ominous shadows across the polished stone walls. A man came in, and Hermione cast a “Stupify” before he cleared the doorway. She expected to catch him off guard, but he whirled away from her curse, billowing robes making it hard to target his actual body. Still, she tried. She followed up with “Incarcerous” and “Locomotor Mortis” and “Expelliarmus.”

None hit.

All the cover was low—couches and tables. She threw herself behind the nearest couch as a flurry of wordless curse flew past.

“Relashio” a male voice called just as a woman called, “Sectumsempra!”

“You impudent, careless little oaf. That was our sofa, and you are cursing a guest.”

“But she’s cursing us.”

“Not with anything lethal, brat.”

“If she hits me, I get to hit her back harder.”

The exchange distracted Hermione, and she didn’t notice a figure crawling around the far side of her sofa before she was caught in a stunning spell.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“Hermione, how are you feeling?”

Hermione floated toward consciousness, her head throbbing. She risked opening one eye. While she expected to be tied in some dungeon or maybe chained to a wall, she was in a cheerfully decorated bedroom with burgundy bed curtains that reminded her of Hogwarts.

“Hey,” a soft voice said.

She turned her head and studied the young many sitting beside her bed. He looked familiar. Sort of. She frowned.

“It’s me. Neville,” he said.

The minute he said his name, Hermione could see the similarities between the handsome and self-assured man sitting next to her and the classmate who had vanished four years ago, but she never would have made the connection on her own. “Neville? Neville Longbottom?”

He grinned at her. “Hi, Hermione.”

Hermione sat up. “Where are we?”

“Prince Keep,” he said.

Hermione searched her memory, but she came up blank. But honestly, that was a secondary concern at the moment. “How did I get here?”

“The Fae,” Neville said.

“The Fae don’t kidnap people. Well, not adults. And there hasn’t been a confirmed case of a changling for almost three hundred years. Some experts argue that our world has drifted away from the Fae world, far enough to make it difficult for them to even cross over to our Earth.”

Neville smiled. “I’ve missed that brain of yours.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she tried to figure out if he was making fun of her.

“And I don’t know whether the Fae can just appear on their own, but someone cast a spell looking to escape the cycle of war between the Light and the Dark, and we think the Fae hijacked the ritual to work their own agenda.”

Hermione rubbed a hand over her face. “Who would be stupid enough to invite the Fae into their business?”

“I would.”

When Hermione looked up, her mouth went dry. Severus Snape, the most famous Death Eater of all time, stood at the open doorway to the bedroom. Hermione looked around wildly and realized she had no escape. The only other door stood open, and it showed a small bathroom. There were no windows, no escape routes, and the room was small enough that she didn’t have good cover.

And her wand was gone.

“Did you get our couch fixed?” Neville asked as though he were talking to a man and not a monster.

Snape’s gaze never left Hermione. “Unfortunately, that particular spell is designed to create irreparable damage. We are now short one sofa. Perhaps you can introduce us.”

“Oh, yeah,” Neville said. “Hermione Granger, this is Severus Snape. Severus, this is Hermione Granger, a muggle-born witch from Gryffindor and probably the smartest person I’ve ever known.”

Cold fear coursed through Hermione. Severus Snape—The Severus Snape—now knew that she was muggle-born. While Hermione wasn’t ashamed of her family, she didn’t want to advertise it to Death Eaters. Of course, being in class with Draco Malfoy meant that most of them probably already knew—another reason why Hermione was determined to stop the racist asshole Dark Lord from rising to power.

Snape tilted his head toward her in a mockery of a bow. “Ms. Granger.”

“I was just telling her that the Fae had brought her here, but I don’t think she believed me,” Neville said.

The corner of Snape’s mouth twitched. “Given how you reacted to seeing me, Neville, I had assumed she wouldn’t take you at your word. In fact, I assume, Ms. Granger, that you have the erroneous belief that I murdered Harry Potter in order to clear the path for the False Lord.” He stepped into the room. “Therefore, let me introduce Harry Potter.”

A young man with wild, curly hair and sharp green eyes followed Snape into the room. “Um, hi. Merlin, this is always so awkward. Will this ever stop being awkward?” He ran his fingers through his hair, and for a moment, his lightning-shaped scar was visible.

“Yes, it must be terribly awkward to have others believe you are dead, as opposed to having the world assume you are child-murdering monster who longs for the return of the days of chaos and torture. My heart bleeds for you.” Snape’s sarcasm made the young man roll his eyes.

“You can’t be Harry Potter. He’s dead,” Hermione said softly.

“Okay, here’s the thing, how do people know that?” Harry asked. “The Carrow family haven’t removed Dinae from her heirship, so they clearly know she’s still alive even if they don’t know where she is, but you guys who came later are one hundred percent sure I’m dead. Haven’t any of you checked the magically updating family trees?”

That sounded like he was accusing Hermione of being stupid. She sat up in bed. “Of course we would have checked family trees, only none of us can get to a family tree that includes you. You are the last member of the Peverell and Potter families, so those family trees are locked in Gringotts. You are a Black on your father’s side, but the only surviving Black is a Death Eater in Azkaban, and you’re distantly related to the Lastranges, Averys, and Rosiers, but they’re all Death Eaters and we can’t exactly ask if you show up on their family trees. Besides, you’re so distantly related to those families that you might not appear on it.”

The supposed Harry Potter blinked at her. “How is it that I have that many surviving family members and I still ended up with magic-hating muggles?”

“I believe she did mention that most of those families follow the False Lord,” Snape said. “Your immediate family died in the last war. I believe your father outlived two siblings and a cousin.”

“I’m not buying the ‘false lord’ business,” Hermione said. “I don’t care what you say. I am not going to help you take down Dumbledore. So, if this is some mind game you’re playing, you can stop. I’m not stupid. I’m not going to believe you just because you say you aren’t on You-Know-Who’s side.” She pressed her lips together.

“Ms. Granger,” Snape said, and he sounded a lot like McGonegall when she was talking to Umbridge. Hermione took offense to that. “The Fae had charged me with your safe keeping. I am entirely unconcerned about your personal opinion of me or my actions; however, I will not have my sitting room furniture endangered, so please refrain from any further attempt to hex the members of the household. It will not end well for you.” With that, he was gone in a swirl of robes.

Harry Potter stepped to one side to let him out, and a new face peaked around the corner. “Is it safe?” a young woman asked.

“Yep. Hermione is not going to throw any more curses,” Neville said cheerfully.

“Dinae will be disappointed,” the woman said as she came in. She had long, wavy brown hair—the type Hermione had always envied—and she wore colorful skirts that fell mid-calf. Harry Potter smiled at her, but she didn’t seem to notice. Hermione already hated this new woman. She was like the other girls her age in the dorms—always attracting some boy’s attention and then toying with them.

“I’m Thea,” she introduced herself. “I’m the most recent member of the family, since the Fae grabbed me about two years ago, so I should say that I understand how you feel. It’s disconcerting to get yanked out of reality and dropped in a Fae stronghold. However, the Fae only grab us when we’re in danger. I was considering ways to kill myself.” She shrugged.

Hermione opened her mouth, determined to say something wise and supportive, but what came out instead was, “But you’re gorgeous.”

Thea blinked at her. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

Humiliation stained Hermione’s cheeks red. “I mean, it’s just that girls that look like you get all the attention. I don’t know why you would kill yourself.”

“Because Slytherin politics and my father’s idiotic pure-blood bullshit was more than I could take,” Thea said. She didn’t have any apology or shame in her voice, just a cold certainty that she hadn’t been able to endure more. For the first time, Hermione wondered how many of the Slytherin children felt that way. Not Draco, obviously, but she wondered if Crabbe or Bulstrode or any of the others every contemplated dying to get out from under their parents’ thumbs.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not.” Thea offered a brilliant smile. “I got to come here. Here is pretty great, but fair warning, you shot hexes and curses at Severus, so Dinae is going to make it a mission to pay you back for that.”

Harry Potter winced. “Maybe I should talk to her.”

“You’re not going to talk her about of being angry,” Neville said.

“Hell no. Dinae is plotting revenge now,” Thea offered.

Harry Potter’s eyes grew wider. “I definitely need to go talk to her now. Hermione, it’s nice to meet you. Welcome to Prince Keep, and no matter what Severus says, don’t worry about the sofa. It was ugly anyway.” He hurried out of the room, and Hermione was left with Neville and Thea.

“So, what’s been happening since I left?” Neville asked.

Hermione blinked at him, not even sure where to start.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Let me get this straight,” Neville said. “Quirrell had the False Lord’s sorta-ghost stuck to the back of his head? That’s why he was going to kill me?”

“We thought he had killed you,” Hermione said. She couldn’t believe she was sitting at a kitchen counter with Neville Longbottom. “When McGonagall and Flitwick challenged Quirrell when he was trying to steal the philosopher’s stone, they killed Quirrell’s body, but You-Know-Who went sailing through the castle walls and up into the air. That’s how Dumbledore knows for sure that he’s still out there. And since Barty Crouch attacked Dumbledore and sent his blood-soaked robes somewhere, the Death Eaters might be using that blood to bring him back to life right now.”

“Too late to worry about that,” Harry said. “The Fae gave me a vision last year. I watched Voldemort crawl his way back to being mostly alive, although his face is all snaky and definitely not right.”

“Merlin,” Hermione breathed. She wasn’t sure she could trust anything that was happening here, but right now, she didn’t see why they would lie to her. She was clearly trapped here, even if she wasn’t sure she believed their story that they were trapped as well. And Snape was keeping her wand somewhere. She suspected it was in his office, but he kept the door locked, and Hermione had never been great at wandless magic. In short, she wasn’t a threat. They could keep her here forever. “I have to get back. I was on an important mission.”

Snape looked over, one eyebrow raised. “Yes, Albus would have entrusted a critical mission to a fifteen-year-old witch who should be studying for her OWLS. When one lies, one should at least endeavor to make the lie believable.”

Dinae Carrow cackled. Hermione didn’t like that little brat. She reminded Hermione of Draco.

“I was working with three adults.” Calling the twins ‘adults’ was pushing the definition of the word, but they were seventeen, which made them of-age in the wizarding world.

“Then they can complete the mission without you.”

Hermione pressed her lips together and fought with an urge to kick Snape. He was quickly challenging Umbridge on her list of people she most hated.

“I want to know how no one figured out that Tom Riddle was possessing a student,” Thea said. Apparently she had been there during the heir of Slytherin disaster, although Hermione didn’t remember her. To be honest, she didn’t pay much attention to the snakes, and seeing how much Neville had changed, Hermione could have sat behind Thea in potions and not recognize her.

“It wasn’t like anyone knew what You-Know-Who had done back then.” Hermione said.

Snape put his sandwich down. “What is the relationship between the False Lord and Tom Riddle?”

Hermione froze. Voldemort’s real identity was a closely guarded secret. She hadn’t meant to let that slip. She hurried on with her story. “You should have seen the trouble Riddle caused in Year Three. You would think a reanimated sixteen-year-old would get eaten in the Forbidden Forest, but he managed to survive and turn Hogwarts into his own hunting ground. That was our most deadly year. The Tri-wizarding tournament was a cake-walk compared to year three.”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “Your attempts at misdirection are obvious and pathetic. Do I assume that Tom Riddle is the False Lord’s birth name?”

“That sounds awfully muggle,” Harry commented.

Dinae frowned. “The False Lord hates muggles.”

“Which proves nothing,” Snape said. “Many psychopaths nurse a deep hatred for themselves.”

“But if Tom Riddle is his original name, how could his young self come back?” Harry asked. “I mean, I thought his old self was still floating around as a wraith when this younger version set up camp at Hogwarts after stealing Ginny Weasley’s life force. How does that work?”

Snape pinned Hermione with a sharp look. “An excellent question. How did young Mr. Riddle return to the world if the False Lord still existed as a wraith?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. “And I never said Tom Riddle and You-Know-Who were the same person.”

Dinae snorted. “It’s a little late to deny that part.”

“Dinae,” Thea said softly. Hermione was glad she had someone on her side. She would have thought Neville would jump to her defense—they were both Gryffindors in what felt like a house of Slytherin. But he continued eating his bean soup, largely unconcerned.

“What?” Dinae asked. “She’s not even good at this stuff.”

“Enough young scalawag. Do you really believe that I require your assistance in this matter?” Snape demanded. “Tend to your own business unless you want to scrub caldrons.” Hermione flinched from the harsh tone. At the very least, Snape was verbally abusing young people who had apparently been placed under his care when very young. At eleven, Neville would have been safe from internalizing Snape’s abuse, but Harry and Dinae would have been so much more vulnerable if they’d been taken as young as they reported. She could not understand why the Fae would trust Severus Snape, not that Fae were particularly concerned with the long-lasting damage abuse did to survivors.

“No offense, Hermione,” Harry added, “but you are rather bad at lying. You should probably just tell the truth before you get more tangled in your lies.”

Snape turned on Harry. “Did I not just finish telling Dinae to tend to her own business? Why would you believe I would welcome your interference, obstreperous young brat?”

Neville leaned closer. “After a while, all you can hear under the insults is ‘I love you, so stay out of this so I can protect you from your own curiosity.’” He grinned across the counter at Snape.

Snape’s expression turned thunderous. “Do not get smart with me, brat.”

Neville’s smile grew wider.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Hermione pressed her back to the wall, horrified at the scene below. Harry and Thea fought side by side, curses and hexes flying as the two tried to land hits on the Fae that danced just out of their way. All three moved like no one Hermione had ever seen before. Sure, second year there had been that short-lived dueling club where McGonagall had put Lockhart on his back in one second flat. However this… this was controlled carnage. She was almost sure she’d even seen an Unforgivable or two fly at the Fae. But she had to be wrong about that.

“We’re perfectly safe up here,” Neville promised. A stray hex hit Snape’s shield and the whole thing glowed pink for a moment.

“Scared?” Dinae taunted.

“A wise person would fear getting in the middle of that fight or even being on the periphery of it,” Hermione answered. She was scared, and that was not cowardice—it was having a healthy respect for the combat ranging across the practice field.

“That is the single most intelligent comment you have made in the last week,” Snape said.

Hermione opened her mouth, but she had no idea what to say. Snape had included her in daily lessons, teaching her more about potions and spell-craft in a week than she normally learned in a month. However, he disarmed her a dozen times a day in defense lessons and he made no secret of reading Dark books on soul magic, searching for the answer she refused to give him. And while she expected him to paralyze her and stare into her eyes to take the information directly from her mind, he never did. She didn’t know how to take Snape. As time passed, she had trouble seeing him as the Death Eater history claimed he was, but he was also teaching ridiculous concepts, like that Dark Magic didn’t exist.

Hermione had seen the evil Voldemort brought into the world. She knew Dark magic existed, and calling it Wild magic was just putting a fancy name on evil in order to confuse others. Evil thrived when people allowed themselves to be deluded and clung to false hope. Umbridge and Fudge were proof of that. However, Hermione had to bide her time until she could escape.

Below, the Fae shimmered out of existence, reappearing behind Harry and Thea, disarming both and sending them crashing to the mossy ground before they could turn. With a startled squeak, Hermione headed for the stairs, but Neville leaned back and held out his arm to stop her. Either that, or he was trying to trip her. She didn’t think he’d do that, but he was a very different Neville than the one she had know first year. For one thing, he believed the lies about wild magic.

“They’re fine. The Fae have never caused a real injury. That’s why we spar with them.”

“All of us except her,” Dinae said with a cruel smile in Hermione’s direction. “She can still duel with Severus because she couldn’t throw a dangerous curse if her opponent invited her to.”

Hermione’s face grew warm. Hermione looked to see if Severus would stop the taunts, but his attention was focused on the practice field. Hermione looked down to see Harry helping Thea off the ground.

“I want to learn that trick,” she said.

“We would all love to do that,” Harry seconded. He was out of breath, but he sounded more excited than upset about the Fae cheating to win the match. He turned and bowed to the Fae, but the creature watched, oversized eyes focused on Harry and Harry alone. “Are we going again?” Harry asked. He glanced over at Thea before flicking a quick look up to where Dinae, Neville and Hermione sat with Severus. The Fae took a step closer, and after a second, Harry said, “Oh. Okay, well go for it.”

Hermione frowned, not sure what that meant. Thea took a step forward. “Should I stay or go upstairs?” She asked as she brushed twigs and moss off her dress. Hermione had always thought that women who fought in dresses were vain, but watching Thea, she realized that she had a harder time predicting where Thea would jump because she was in a skirt. That probably explained why most men dueled in robes.

Harry’s body language shifted. He tilted his head to the side and his back almost undulated as he turned to face Thea. He bowed deeply as the Fae drifted to the wall.

“Oh, it’s going to be like that?” Thea asked. She brought her wand up. “Neville, master of the shield charm, light of my dueling life, would you like to come down here?”

“You got it.” Neville jumped up and hurried down the stairs, his wand already out. When Neville hit the dueling grounds, Harry exploded into action. He threw curses and hexes silently, his body twisting out of the way of the counterattacks. But it didn’t look like Harry. He moved like the Fae. Then Harry shimmered, his body vanishing. Thea threw herself forward, twisting around even as Harry shimmered into existence behind her. She shot off several curses, none of which landed, but Harry didn’t break Neville’s shield, which he had shifted to the rear the second Harry shimmered.

“What is happening?” Hermione asked as she moved closer to the edge of the platform. They traded more spells before Harry shimmered again. Thea and Neville shifted their defense to the rear, but Harry reappeared to the side. Neville couldn’t move his shield fast enough, and he went down in a tangled heap of limbs. Thea threw wild curses, scattering them across the field until not even Harry’s inhuman grace couldn’t avoid them, and he shimmered out of existence again. This time he returned a few feet to the side, and caught Thea with a spell that felled her.

For a second, Harry stood, his head tilted to one side as he considered his fallen friends. And then in a blink, he was back to being Harry. “Okay, that was awesome!” he said before he went to wake Thea and Neville.

“I’m next,” Thea said before she’d even picked herself up off the ground.

“What is that? What is going on?” Hermione put her hands on her hips and squared off against Snape.

He gave her a weary look as if she were the one being unreasonable. “That, Ms. Granger, was the Imperius Curse.”

Hermione’s blood ran cold. “What?”

“I want in on this,” Dinae said as she ran down the stairs.

“Is she… Do you… Are you really going to let people you care about get put under the Imperius curse, one of the worst curses known to wizarding kind?” Hermione’s voice was growing shrill, but she couldn’t contain her horror. Harry Potter came up the stairs and sat next to Snape, watching the action below.

“That was incredible.”

“Can you duplicate it without assistance?” Severus asked.

“I don’t know. If we can practice a few more times, probably. It’s a great way to travel. Miles better than side-along apparation.”

“You’ve done that once in your entire life.”

“Which is how I know I hate it,” Harry said with a shudder.

“Brat,” Snape said softly.

Hermione’s fury was growing. “Are we going to talk about the bloody Imperius Curse?” She shouted.

Harry looked up at her. “It’s a great way to learn a new skill.”

Hermione could not form an answer. They had broken her. One week here, and she could not form logical arguments. These people should all be remanded to the permanent ward at St. Mungos.

Harry kept talking. “Did you know the Cruciatus curse was originally developed as the cure for the Draught of Living Death?” Harry asked.

“And the Blood Curse of Living Death,” Snape added.

“Yeah, that.” Harry leaned forward as an Imperiused Thea danced across the field, destroying Neville and Dinae. Hermione winced when Neville went down again, but she didn’t feel any sympathy when Dinae got a curse to the face. The action shifted again, and now Neville moved to face off against the other two.

“But…” Hermione looked down and now Neville had the alien body language as he flowed around the field.

“It’s okay,” Harry said. “You’ll get the swing of it.”

Hermione had no idea what that meant, but she didn’t want to be here long enough to get the swing of anything. The rest of them were insane, and Hermione fear that she would lose her mind if she stayed much longer.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Is this the place?” Harry asked. Neville and Thea spread out to either side.

“It looks like it,” Neville said. “I didn’t get a good look in her mind because I was trying to be subtle, but yeah, this is it. The last thing her friend said is that he hit a trip-ward for a muggle born. My guess is, she would have died if the Fae hadn’t pulled her out.”

Thea moved to the side and crouched down to study the wards and curses. “There could be traps for half-bloods, too. Maybe you should stay here, Harry.”

“No,” Harry said firmly. “If Severus is right, and this is a horcrux, we need to get it, and I have the fastest reflexes. I’m also the one with the most proficiency with parselmouth.” Harry looked over at his friend. “Sorry, Neville, but you know it’s true.”

“I’m not offended,” Neville said. “And I can see where you might have an advantage against the spells of another parselmouth, but Thea’s right. The two of us are pure bloods. We might trip fewer traps.”

“And good old Tommy was a half-blood. My guess is that his blood supremacy bullshit started with pure bloods who made fun of him.”

Thea snorted. “He was Slytherin. We don’t make fun of housemates; we emotionally cripple them,” Thea said darkly. Harry winced. He hated the thought that ambition and a desire to change the world had been warped into something evil. Slytherin house was the bastion of the old guard, so it should be the house of Fae magic and dancing in the moonlight, not children trying to hurt each other.

“That’s even more reason to suspect there may be traps for pure bloods,” Harry said. “Maybe he pretended to be from one of the ancient houses and to deify blood purity, but deep down, he has to hate pure bloods, too.”

“That’s a safe bet,” Neville said, “especially considering that the younger version of himself hunted pure bloods as much as muggle-born once he was out of that diary. I am so glad I was not there for that disaster.”

Harry kind of wished he had been. Horcrux Tom had killed several kids before he’d been stopped. And it sounded like the politicians had kept Hogwarts open despite Dumbledore’s protests because they didn’t want to admit that the situation was out of control. Maybe Harry couldn’t have stopped any of it, but he would have wanted to try. Unfortunately, like Severus, he owed his life to the Fae. They had taught the three of them to walk the Fae path—to shimmer, but Harry had no doubt that they would find the Fae path closed if they abused it. The Fae had a plan, and Harry had to trust them to share it when the time was right.

Until then, he would do whatever was necessary to make sure the pieces were arranged so he could kill Riddle when the time came.

Harry was looking forward to that.