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Hush

msscribe

Chapter 7 - Deliverance

AN: Thanks to Sue for the beta (how I love her!). Sorry for the long wait, the next one will be along shortly. Pinky swear. If you want a first look at chapters and new fics before they are posted, please join my yahoo group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/msscribefandom .

Now, on with the show…

~

"Ouch," Pansy squeaks, "You're suffocating me. I'm literally drowning in your noxious fumes. Ugh. Death by Weasley breath."

Ron presses his back tighter against his side of the coffin. "There, is that better?"

Pansy sighs, resigns herself to temporary misery, and covers her nose.

"Your breath smells like Knockturn Alley. Worse than Knockturn Alley."

"You aren't exactly a basket of potpourri either."

"I smell?" she says stiffening up, "impossible."

Ron exhales, relaxes his arm behind her. "You're no bed of roses."

"Oh. Well, I guarantee I smell better than you."

Pansy stretches her arm, letting it fall across Ron's chest. He stiffens.

"Don't go getting all weird on me, Weasel, I'm just trying to get comfortable in here."

Her chest is pressing up against his, and Ron feels a tightening in his groin.

"So am I," he mumbles, begging his body not to betray him.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

A turn in the road sends her crashing into him. She giggles quietly, but as their bodies continue slamming into one another, her laugh changes into a heinous cackle.

"That certainly doesn't feel like nothing."

Ron groans, quickly changing the subject, "I can't breathe, and my neck feels like it's going to snap in two."

"Look, we've got to be getting close by now, so stop whining like a baby."

"As if you haven't been whining the entire time. I'm in pain, but I suppose it would kill you to be sympathetic."

Ron shivers when Pansy puts her hand on the back of his neck, and begins to rub the knot.

"How's that, Weasel?"

"G-Good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Should I stop?"

"N-oo-ooo," Ron groans.

Pansy laughs. "Tell me I'm the most gorgeous witch alive, and that you'll never tell a soul."

"You…you're gorgeous," he moans, "and I won't tell a soul."

Pansy takes her hand away. "That's not what I said."

"You're the most gorgeous witch alive, and I'll never tell a soul," he says reluctantly.

Pansy begins to massage him again, sighing in ill-disguised amusement.

Behind them, back in the direction of the village, something gives in to the wind and falls over with a huge loose crash. The sound makes the Imps wheel around, but they spy nothing. Harry is suddenly grateful for the heavy load they are carrying in the back. If nothing else, he knows it keeps them from being shaken worse then they already are.

"What was that?" Harry asks James, who is driving the carriage pulled by the Abraxan.

"Sounds like something gave out near the arena."

"It's all this damn wind. Makes me nervous about my garden," Patrick complains.

The other Imps grumble, and Patrick shrugs.

"What? It took me three hours to weed the other night and I don't need my gardenias being uprooted."

~

Harry finds himself breathing hard; the muscles in his chest are knotted. The air pricks his lungs like needles. The carriage is open, but it seems suffocating. In their haste, he had forgotten to eat anything, and his stomach clenches from hunger. He is so close to Hermione, and he is disappointed that he doesn't feel vigorous, filled with endless energy.

As the carriage rumbles over a small rise, James points towards the house, nestled in a shadowed valley. A fire burns below, reflecting flames off of the coffins that they are pulling behind them. Creatures are scurrying around the fire, preparing for the ceremony.

There are two goblins standing by the side of the road. The Imps all lower their eyes to the road, except for James who nods at them in recognition.

"How many do you have?" the goblin asks them.

"I'm escorting the bodies of five souls sacrificed for him, and one very lively winner," James says.

A tall goblin comes closer to inspect the carriage. His face is hard. His nostrils flare with each breath. The hair rises on the nape of Harry's neck, and goose pimples stand up on his arms as the goblin inspects the coffins. He opens one, and satisfied with the carcass he discovers inside, waves them on.

"You were almost late," the goblin chastises.

~

The after effect of the potion is excruciating, like someone twisting a corkscrew into her brain, but Hermione manages to lock the room and make it downstairs to the kitchen.

- Silly girl, he'll find out eventually - the tree says- then we won't have to deal with you anymore-

'There are things worse than death,' Hermione thinks, her shaky hand reaching for the teabags.

-You look awful, dear - the stove says - would you like us to help you?-

'Please.'

The stove begins to tremble, a flame leaps from the burner, and the teapot bounces towards the heat.

-Sit, let us make the tea, our Queen - teapot says.

'I'm not your Queen, but thank you.'

Hermione sits down on the chair.

- She's much too light to be a Queen - chair complains, rising slightly in the air, as if to prove its point.

- But she is noble - the table insists.

A ludicrous mental image of herself flashes in Hermione's mind: she must resemble a character in one of those horrible fairy tales.

"Hermione!"

Hermione jumps. She is so surprised by Edred's abrupt entrance that she would have cried out if she still had a voice. She makes a tremendous effort to grab a hold of herself before he walks into the kitchen.

There is a curious, wary expression on his face as he looks down at her, silently offering him tea, but he nods and takes the cup. His eyes move away from her, and down at the ground. Hermione follows his gaze and sees something come slinking into the hall behind him.

"Nothing to be fearful of."

The thing is about the length of a coffee table. Its eyes are sockets of crimson, and its skin is slick with moisture.

Edred unceremoniously pulls a niffler out of his bag and bites down on it. It screams; its voice fading out painfully slow as Edred devours it alive. Hermione's stomach twists into a knot.

"That is a gravedigger. Every loyal servant who died in today's battle will receive a noble burial, it is the highest honor in my kingdom."

He takes another nonchalant bite from the niffler, his demeanor curiously out of sync with the sentiment he is trying to convey.

Hermione feels like weeping.

The wind gusts, the house sways on its foundation, and a tree branch flaps like a torn sail across the kitchen window. The gravedigger lowers its head, gripping a small instrument in its mouth. It looks over at Hermione attentively for a moment, and then backs off three steps.

"You and the others may begin at any time," Edred commands.

The gravedigger's body begins to shake as it balances itself on its hindquarters. With a speed that takes Hermione by surprise, it whips out of the room to begin its work.

In a daze, Hermione realizes that the gravedigger is more powerful then it appears to be. It races out to join several others around the enormous bonfire, and she watches as it begins to remove coffins out of the first few carriages, whipping them around as if they are as light as driftwood.

- Hundreds will come tonight to bury their dead - the door says -

Edred grins at his bride-to- be, his cheeks stretching upward into a smile. The dull orange light from the stove paints his brow and lips, fills in his eye sockets. He sticks his tongue out from between his sharp teeth, and licks a drop of blood from his lips.

~

"We've been stopped forever! If I die in here, you'll all be sorry."

"We sure will," Ron says, "we don't have an extra coffin to put you in, being as we need two to go back."

Pansy sighs, "My life is just a bloody mess, thanks to you and Potty- brain out there."

"Look, it's better that you are stuck in here with me than in one of the other coffins as dead as a doornail, isn't it?"

"Barely."

"And here I was all ready to believe you were beginning to act like an actual human being," Ron grumbles. "You aren't the only one suffering. I haven't gotten to eat a decent meal, take a decent bath, or shave in ages."

"You don't have to shave, Weasley. I can pluck out those two hairs you've got growing on your chin for you if you want."

"Ow! Stop that! Wait a minute…my face is hairless?"

"Uh Oh."

Harry knocks softly on the top of the casket, and then opens it.

"You'll need to get behind the house…but be careful, there are plenty of goblins walking around."

"And then what?" Ron says, untangling his limbs from Pansy's.

Harry eyes them suspiciously.

"I've changed back," Ron says looking at Pansy, "and so has she, although it's hard to tell."

Pansy kicks him. Hard.

Harry looks from Ron to Pansy, then back again to Ron. "It's going to be more difficult than we thought, then."

"It always is," Ron says. "So what do we do?"

~

Hermione walks towards the flames where Edred is already standing in the middle of the sizable crowd. She is wearing a black dress, made especially for the ceremony. The rest of the crowd is wearing long robes. The hems of the robes puddle against the tall grass. Their hoods are up, hiding the faces within.

Hermione is directed to Edred's side. He smiles down at her as she takes her place. Immobilized, she feels his hand gently brush against her shoulder. She catches the sickly scent of him: sweat, mixed with the faint unearthly smell of death.

Edred bends down so that his face is level to hers.

"You have nothing to fear, so long as you always know your place, my future Queen," he says softly.

She can make out every eyelash.

'I never want to see you this clearly again,' she thinks.

The trees are eerily silent, and Hermione is acutely conscious of the pressure of Edred's hand on her back.

One of the creatures steps closer to her and bows.

"My Queen," Harry says.

Hermione looks up, trying to find his face, but he steps away before she has a chance to. Edred's eyes are still on her. She feels liquefied, and has to remind herself to keep breathing. Those eyes. Those empty eyes, big and inhuman.

~

"Those two coffins were brought by mistake," James begins, when one of the gravediggers starts to tug on the coffin containing Ron and Pansy. "This is one of them."

The gravedigger eyes the Imps suspiciously, taking an audible gulp of it's own saliva.

"Uh, yeah, we brought 'em along just in case somebody got killed," explains Max.

Imran illustrates this point by pretending to keel over dead. James applauds. "See, it could happen at almost any time, and we need the business," says Patrick, nervously grinning up at the beast.

The gravedigger starts to walk away, but when Pansy sneezes, it whips around again.

"Achoo!" Patrick says blowing snot into his hand and wiping it onto his fur, "bloody ragweed."

Imran opens one eye, and then lets his tongue hang out from the side of his mouth. Max pretends to weep.

"He was so young!"

James sits on top of the coffin, holding his breath. The gravedigger begins to move away again, but slowly. It is still deciding. Either it will come and drag the box into the hole, or it will move on.

Suddenly, it leaps forward and sinks it's claws into another coffin. When James attempts to help it, it swipes at him, hissing and clawing.

"Ok…Ok..," James says. "Touchy, aren't they?"

Max nods. Patrick wipes the sweat from his brow.

"Imran?" James says, kicking his melodramatic friend. Imran jumps up, startled.

"Sorry, dozed off for a minute," Imran says.

Ron knocks on the coffin, his voice angry and muffled. "If you don't mind, I think this is where we get out."

The Imps look around, and certain that no one is paying attention, then they unlock the coffin. When two humans emerge, Imran keels over again. This time, Max and Patrick join him. James stares, unable to speak.

"It's a long story, we'll explain some other time, mate."

James silently hands them two robes.

"Your friend said to give you these."

Ron and Pansy toss the robes over their heads, and quietly merge with the crowd.

~

Harry walks away from Hermione, glancing over at her standing next to the King. What he sees makes chills lance through him. Her face has a deathly pallor, and she is breathing roughly, shallowly.

'It won't be long, Hermione,' he thinks. When Edred begins the ceremony, Harry starts gently unwinding a spare robe from around his arm.

The coffins are led into the clearing around the flame. The gravediggers are beginning to bury the caskets in a circle. Edred walks around to each one, touching the lid, while pillars of smoke rise from the bonfire.

No one utters a word.

Torches brighten the shadows where light from the fire does not reach, and gravediggers begin to work in pairs, pushing and tugging the boxes into the ground. When the last box crashes a loud thud, something streaks across the sky. Hermione grips the hem of her dress, her eyes wide, as the sky explodes in a silent storm of light.

Edred laughs. The crowd is jubilant.

Hermione clutches her shoulders with her hands, as Edred walks past. His subjects swarm around him, praising him on the success of the day. Another streak of light runs halfway across the black and then winks out.

"They died an honorable death, but I'm certain you are relieved that your own honorable death will be postponed," Edred says to Harry.

Harry nods in agreement. The gravediggers are busy covering the coffins in a whirlwind of black soil. The air grows dusty, and Hermione covers her mouth to keep from breathing it in. Edred begins accepting gifts from his subjects, recounting his tale of how he bargained for the Quintaped.

They all listen intently, reverently.

"Hermione, take this," Harry whispers, dropping a robe onto the ground, "When he isn't paying attention, slip it on, then meet me behind the house,"

Hermione stands above the bundled garment, concealing it with the length of her skirt. When she is almost certain no one is looking, she picks it up, and tucks it under her arm.

Harry pulls the hood up further. The skin on his face is now smooth, and he can feel his fangs beginning to retract.

They are running out of time.

~

Edred can smell it in the air. He is uncertain where it is coming from, but it is raw and pungent. At first, it is so faint that he thinks he is merely remembering his last kill. It happens to him often, the scent of a delicious kill still lingering in his nostrils. But then, the scent becomes thick, and rank.

It is not Hermione's scent. He has grown accustomed to the smell of her sweat, the taste of her breath lingering long after she has left a room.

Hermione walks up beside him, and tugs on his arm. She crosses her legs, pretending to need a restroom, and nods towards the house. He groans, then grants her permission.

Edred likes that she has been so cooperative. No tricks, not a single act to show she is anything other than accepting of her situation. He doesn't think much on this however; he is trying to find the source of the strange odors swirling in the air, mixing with the more common fragrance of goblins and trolls. He ponders this; Werewolves smell of human, but that is to be expected. Even so, their smell isn't very strong.

Edred turns around in search of the esteemed winner of his bloody tournament, Harry. The wolf boy is lost among the crowd, no doubt enjoying the spoils of victory. Edred is unconcerned, so long as he is at the wedding ceremony in the morning.

He looks up, catching Hermione's shadow move across the light of the window.

~

-If you run, he will kill you- pleads the bed - please don't leave -

'I'm sorry,' Hermione thinks, 'I will miss you.'

She is nervous. She realizes that she has very little time to make it back downstairs and outside. Hermione struggles to block her thoughts, and the objects in the room can sense she is misleading them.

-Why won't you speak to us? - the dresser complains.

She puts on the robe.

- Lies- a cold voice from outside says - terrible deception-

It is the tree nearest to her window. She can almost feel it trying to pry open her mind.

Hermione hurries downstairs, sees that Edred is still being presented with offerings, and opens the back door. Her palms are sweaty as she grips the doorknob.

Click.

She steps outside, pulls the hood around her, and for a minute, can taste freedom. But she is not careful in hiding this thought, and when she hears the faint sound of someone treading close, she breathes a sigh of relief, thinking it is only Harry coming to meet her. Hermione is taken completely by surprise as something wraps around her waist, coiling its leaves up her torso until her arms are pinned to her sides.

-We have snared the wicked girl after all! - a tree says , pulling her cruelly to the ground from which it's roots had sprung - we have served our King well -

'Release me, I am only going back to the ceremony!' Hermione protests silently.

-Don't struggle - the voice says - or we'll bury you alive-

'Let me go!'

Hermione can't stop her mind's chant, but she stops resisting, as if complying with the tree's orders.

-It's too late - another voice says - I say destroy her now!-

Hermione begins to resist again, desperately searching for her voice. She is paralyzed with fear as another branch swings upwards, preparing to crash down on her. She shuts her eyes tightly as the branch begins to drop. A drop that is blocked by Harry, his eyes clouded with anger.

Pansy and Ron come running from around the other side of the house, both of them sinuously weaving around the angry trees.

"What the hell is this?" Ron says, helping Harry to pull the tightly wound root from around Hermione.

"Look out!" Harry says, as another root springs from the ground.

"Stupefy!" Pansy cries out. The jet of red light stops the root in mid-motion. It screams, an awful sound that reverberates in Hermione's mind. She wonders if she is the only one who hears it.

- Sorceress! - the trees cry out fearfully -

"Hermione! Can you walk?" Harry asks, kneeling beside her.

Hermione nods yes.

"Good," Ron says, "Lets go before the grass decides it wants a piece of the action."

The carriages are beginning to line up on the narrow path back to the village. From the gathering, there comes a sputtering roar. The fading light and rolling smoke seems to signal the end of the lengthy ceremony. Ron and Harry help Hermione to her feet .

"Where are the Imps?" Pansy says frantically "Idiotic fur balls, they were told to meet us here!"

The sudden stillness of the night gives Hermione gooseflesh. Harry grabs her hand, and they sprint across the yard.

"Around here!" Harry says.

James and Imran are sitting in the front of the carriage. Max and Patrick are standing near the wheel.

"Hurry up, before we miss our place in line!" Imran says nervously.

Ron opens the back of the carriage, and climbs inside one of the coffins. Pansy joins him. Max slams down the top, and motions towards Hermione, who lowers herself inside, followed by Harry. Max doesn't shut their casket.

"What are you waiting for?" Harry asks.

"The money," Max says.

Harry reaches into his knapsack, pulling out a small bag of coins.

"Here's half now, and you'll get the rest when we reach the village safely," Harry says.

Max takes the money, grins.

"You aren't as dumb as you look, you know."

~

"Hermione, are you all right?" Harry asks, his face inches away from hers in the musty darkness. He is trying not to fall against her as the carriage rolls up the jagged road.

Hermione nods.

"Why aren't you talking?"

Hermione sighs.

- He stole her voice- the book explains, frustrated - Haven't you ever read me before? I explain all about the King and his ability to steal voices -

Hermione smiles.

'Hogwarts; a History,' she thinks, wondering if Harry can too.

-You can hear me? So can he! - the book says - I got him to help! I had to save you!

"You were a help, but you were awfully quiet when we ran into the werewolves," Harry says out loud. He is grateful that Hermione can't see the blood rushing to his face. He can't imagine what she must think.

"I was…just…well…"

- She knows who you are talking to - the books says - she can hear me-

Harry laughs. "You can hear it?"

Hermione nods yes. Harry reaches up to touch her face, trying to decipher her expression.

"I damn near thought I was going crazy!" he says.

Hermione moves his hand to his mouth, and her fingers trace along the curve of his lips, his smiling lips. Hermione wants to tell him everything. Her breath falls on his neck, and Harry feels a teardrop trickle onto his shoulder. Hermione is trembling.

He holds her.

- Four months of misery - the books says, it's squeaky voice quivering - so much to tell -

Harry moves his mouth to her forehead, comforting her with a gentle kiss. A shiver races up his spine. He goes to kiss her again on the cheek, but she presses her lips to his instead. He gasps in surprise, as she opens her mouth to him. When they break apart, his heart pounds in his ears like native drums.

In the silence that follows, Harry listens for the wind outside. There is none.

~

Half drunk on the deliciously complex smell of death, Edred sees the last of the gravediggers scatter off into the thick woods. With shiny delight, he watches as the carriages create a glowing trail moving back towards the village. He feels buoyant, omnipotent.

Walking into his home, he is greeted by the warm glow of a torch that Hermione has neglected to extinguish. Preparing to retire for a much needed rest, he raises his arm into the air to stretch.

The back door is open.

Edred cannot imagine anyone daring to attack him here, but can't wait to taste the creature foolish enough to do such a thing. He prepares to change, his mouth open wide with the anticipation of new blood. He approaches the door with caution; stopping suddenly as a familiar scent grows thicker, intermingled with others.

Humans. Hermione and others.

Thoughts flare through his mind in a blaze of delirium. The house is empty.

Edred roars, jerking, twisting, and writhing until he is no longer recognizable. Ethereally beautiful blue flames streak from his nostrils, knives burst from his hands as he rips the door from its hinges and rises into the enduring darkness.

~