2. Into The Woods

Hush by msscribe

Summary: Hermione Granger has been missing from Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry for almost four months. Everyone thinks she’s most likely dead. Everyone except Harry, who’s beginning to hear things…

Disclaimer: No profits are being made off the fiction on these pages. Harry Potter, associated characters and the associated Harry Potter universe is © J. K. Rowling and respective publishers.

AN: Here is to writing because you love it - and to Babygrrl, for biting the heads off of caramel bunnies.

~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1 – Dead Air

The morning begins with a whispered complaint from the dresser, as the floor shakes violently from the master slamming the front door. Hermione never sees him off, and she hopes he never insists upon it. She sits up in the bed, and the covers pull themselves down. The room he has her stay in is small and dark. She is alone in the house now, and the next five hours or so are the only one’s she finds tolerable. She pulls on her robe, trying not to listen to it whine about being hung up properly, and walks down the staircase towards the kitchen. The hallway is filled with things. Some look like they are very valuable, others do not. There are so many things in tiny glass boxes, or displayed on empty bookshelves, that she still hasn’t seen all of them. In a few glass displays, he has tiny creatures equipped with artificial environments. The fairy in the box at the bottom of the stairs is still asleep, and curses when Hermione accidentally bumps into it's home.

She is underfed- table says as Hermione opens the kitchen door – too skinny to be fully grown-

If only she’d use me more – iron skillet retorts – it isn’t my fault; it’s her lack of appetite -

‘I’ll be seventeen in a few weeks,’ Hermione replies without making a sound, although she doubts she looks it now.

Everything speaks. Everything but her. But at least they can hear her.

Please use me today –teapot begs– I’m in desperate need of being useful-

She promises it that she will, even though she’s tired of tea. The kitchen is cold, so she asks the fireplace to light. A tiny flicker begins to spark from the black soot, and soon grows into a weak flame. She detests that it is always so cold in there.

I’ll try to get things going fast- fireplace says, hearing her thoughts.

She neglects to block her mind from them sometimes; it’s very easy to forget that they are always listening. She doesn’t mind being alone with them because they are usually helpful and kind. They all pity her, but they are either afraid of, or fiercly loyal to, their master.

When she first began to hear them, she had tried to get them to help her. They wanted to. Doors sobbed because they were too afraid to unlock for her. Windows slammed shut whenever she got too near. They were terrified of their master’s temper. She used to arrogantly pity them, but now she had become one of them. Just another object in a madman’s collection. A madman who had taken her in the middle of the night while her roommate had slept peacefully only a few feet away.

He rules the thicket! He rules all things that grow here! You are disobedient, and master was justified in taking away your speech! - the trees outside of her window had told her, after she had begged them to send down a message through their leaves that she was being held against her will. They were angry with her, calling her a traitor to the forest for disobeying their king.

‘What day is it?’ she asks the clock.

Tuesday, the twenty first of May –

It has been one hundred and three days since she has seen Harry or Ron. One hundred and three days since she has heard the sound of her own voice. She turns on the stove, and the skillet rattles around happily when the icebox door creaks open.

Breakfast will be lovely, you’ll see – skillet says.

‘I’m sure it will, thank you.’

She sits down at the table. The chair pushes itself in. The lights in every room begin to flicker on one by one, and the house comes alive.

~~~~~~~~

“ I’m sorry to have to inform you that the Grangers are coming today to collect Hermione’s belongings. We can’t keep her room, as it is now, over the summer holiday. Both of you know she wouldn’t have wanted that,” Professor Dumbledore says soberly.

Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley slump down in their chairs. This wasn’t unexpected. In fact, they were glad Dumbledore had waited until the last day of class. Ron shifts uncomfortably and looks toward Harry, who’s toying with a piece of string hanging from the sweater Molly Weasley had sewn him last Christmas.

“Would you both be kind enough to meet them when they arrive, and help them pack up Hermione's belongings?”

Harry nods his response.

“Sure, we'd be happy to,” Ron says for both of them.

“That’s very kind indeed. I am terribly sorry. I know how much Miss. Granger meant to both of you. I pray that she will be found unharmed. That is all any of us can hope for.”

The wind blows hard against the stained glass window to Dumbledore’s right. The sorting hat snores up on the third shelf, on vacation until the start of the next school year, and Dumbledore’s beard is at least a foot longer then when all three of them started school six years ago. Harry can't believe Hermione isn’t sitting beside them.

The day they found out she was missing was like any other day. They had waited for almost an hour in the common room before Pavarti had come down and told them that Hermione wasn’t in their room. They were a little angry with her for standing them up, but he and Ron went to breakfast anyway. When she wasn’t there, they had gone to the library to look for her. There were still no signs of Hermione. She had simply vanished into thin air. They had met with the Ministry almost weekly since, with no leads.

Rumors spread like wildfire. There were tales of her running away to live as a Muggle, and even one saying that she was secretly tied to Voldemort. Harry and Ron had been in quite a few fights on behalf of their best friend these last few months, but none of that mattered much because after many sleepless nights and frustrating days, they were still left without her.

“If either of you need someone to talk to, I will always make myself available to you.”

Harry says nothing. But thinks quite a few things.

~~~~~~~~

They make their methodical way through their early classes, now having grown accustomed to the empty seat in the front row. Nothing has stopped, and that’s what bother’s Harry the most. People still laugh at Neville, Draco Malfoy still manages to get in his healthy dose of insults, and Quidditch is still as popular as ever.

He and Ron go to all of their classes faithfully,on a day when most students were skipping. Hermione would be glad of that. She was always harassing them to take their studies more seriously.

When they reach the door to Hermione's room, they hover in the hallway listening to see if her parents are inside. There is silence. They force themselves to wait another five minutes, just in case, and then Ron delicately pushes the door open. They peer cautiously within. The Grangers haven't arrived yet.

“Do you think we should start without them?” Ron asks, looking at the empty trunk next to Hermione’s desk.

“No, probably not,” Harry sighs sitting on her bed. His head is pounding, thinking about the morbid task ahead. “I know she’s alive Ron. I can feel it.”

Ron kicks at the dust on the floor. “I want her to be alive too, but I think we have to be realistic. It's been a long time.”

“I know,” Harry says, looking over at her dresser.

Her hairbrush. Some hand lotion. A picture of her and her parents. Then his eyes settle on what the picture is sitting on top of. It’s Hermione’s copy of “Hogwarts a History”, 523rd Edition. He moves the picture aside, picking up the book.

She needs me, please get me to her, she’s lost without me –

Harry turns to look at Ron, who is staring at him blankly.

“Did you say something?”

“No, why… what is it?” Ron replies looking around the room.

Harry stares at the book in his hand. He listens. Nothing.

“I just thought maybe you said something.”

Ron raises his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you’re hearing voices again. Please say your not hearing voices.”

“No,” Harry says, “I guess I’m just dreading this.”

Ron looks relieved, panicky thoughts of giant spiders and chamber monsters now subsiding.

“Me too,” Ron shrugs, looking around at the well organized room.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. The Grangers were probably meeting with Dumbledore first.

“Caramel Bunny?” Ron asks, pulling two angry rabbit shaped candies out of his pocket. “They’re annoying little buggers, but they’re fun to eat. You just have to bite their heads off right away, or else they’ll start screaming at you.”

Harry smiles weakly. “Sure, thanks Ron,” he replies chomping down on the pissed off confectionary.

The door creaks open, and Mrs. Granger enters, her eyes puffy and red. For a long moment, Harry struggles to gear down his complex thoughts about what could have happened to Hermione. He tries to focus on being a friend to Hermione's parents.

Ron speaks first, his hands fisting up around the empty candy wrappers.

“We haven’t given up on finding her,” Ron says, and Mrs. Granger flashes them a warm smile.

“We know that boys. Thank you so much for everything,” Mr. Granger says, picking up the picture on the dresser.

~~~~~~~~

Hermione always takes her dinner in the front room, the only room in which he allows the windows to remain open. From there, she can hear the evening noises: the rustling of the breeze through the trees; some small animals scrabbling around in the bushes. She has no illusions that the mind searching capacities of the things around her can be completely blocked out, but at least she can feel alone, unwatched.

She waits there. She tries to handle her current situation with stoic patience. She has learned from all the years of fighting beside Harry and Ron that yielding to anguish is useless.

She can’t see very far outside. There are too many trees blocking her view, unwilling to bend for her.

He’s given you so much and you are still ungrateful – an elder tree scolds, reading her thoughts.

She struggles to clear her head. This could very well be her world now, and she had better learn to get along in it.

She hears the door open, then slam shut. She waits.

“You will be most interested in the day I’ve had today Hermione,” he says, his voice ringing out, deep and over-loud as he enters the room. He smiles his toothy smile and rests his hands on his hips.

She forces her lips to curl at the edges, and satisfied with her false response, he begins to tell her about his successful day of protecting his kingdom. His black, beady eyes bear down into hers as he recounts disturbing anecdotes filled with death and violence. He tells her these tales as if they were epic stories of romance and love.

His hands are red, stained with the blood of some unfortunate soul who wandered too far into the forest that day. His thick, dark brown hair is in a constant state of disarray, and she can barely bring herself to stare at his face too long, remembering in vivid detail the night he had sucked the breath from her, leaving her speechless. There are so many lines around his eyes that he looks as if he is at least two hundred years old. It wouldn’t surprise her if he were.

Her eyes lift briefly, involuntarily, to the blood on his hands again. He releases an unexpected peal of laughter.

“I don’t think you are ready yet to go into the forest with me. You are safer here. I can’t have that bloody Giant trying to take you from me.”

He has never tried to harm her physically, or …violate her. That was her biggest fear at first, but he didn’t show any interest in anything except simply possessing her.

‘A useless object.’

There are sighs and hisses all around the room as she thinks this.

‘My apologies, I’m just tired,’

We aren’t useless, we simply aren’t-

‘Of course you aren’t,’ she thinks, meaning it this time.

His mouth twists wryly. “You are getting better at obeying the rules. If you keep this up, I may allow you more privileges,” he says to her, picking up one of her curls and smoothing it straight behind her ear.

As he speaks to his prize possession, his arms twitch with the suppressed urge to wring his hands around her neck. He doesn’t really want to hurt her; it’s just an innate reaction when he is around humans. He is strong enough to overcome this impulse. After all, he has killed two humans already today.

Wearily, she nods and lowers her head. The cushy chair she is sitting in is humming a happy tune. She is envious. Hermione hasn’t laughed in a long time. She hates that she cowers before this ‘creature’. It is only the shock of seeing him, she tells herself.

“You may retire when you like, but keep the windows open. It’s too warm in here for my liking,” he says, leaving her alone again.

He knows that she won’t flee. She wouldn’t make it pass the first row of trees if she did.

~~~~~~~~

Harry awakens to the sound of something jumping around on the floor.

Thud…Bonk.

“Crookshanks?” he whispers, sitting up to look for the cat he and Ron had adopted ever since Hermione’s disappearance.

She needs me, don’t you understand? There is no time for sleep. I can’t imagine what she’s doing without me–

“Who’s there?” Harry asks.

Something clinks, and then scuffs up against his bedpost. He reaches for his glasses, blinking twice as he sees the book, the book he had asked the Granger’s if he could keep. It wiggles and falls flat again.

We need to go to her. I’ve waited so long–

Harry looks over at Ron, who is snoring loudly on the other side of the room.

‘This can’t be happening,’ Harry thinks.

I’m choosing to speak to you, even though it means I’m an outlaw now, and I will probably be banished-

He hadn’t said anything, but the book had heard him. He picks it up and it feels just like any other book, cold and lifeless.

‘Do you know where Hermione is?’

Then the book trembles and its pages open to the section on the Forbidden Forest.

She has been collected-

“What?” he says out loud.

Ron stirs a little, groaning. “What’s going on, Harry?” he mumbles.

“I’m not sure Ron, but could you look at something for a minute. I think it might be important.”

Ron groans again. “Christ Harry! It's three o'clock in the morning, what can be that important?”

“It might be about Hermione.”

Ron grows quiet and sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His hair is sticking straight up from the center, and if Harry wasn’t still in shock from what the book had just told him, he would be laughing.

Collected, he collects things…page 1,302 –

“Did you hear that?” Harry asks Ron.

Ron glares at Harry.

“You lied to me! I knew you were hearing voices again! I can’t believe-”

“Shhhhhhh…..” Harry whispers, hearing it again. The book jumps, and slams into the bedpost again.

“Did you just do that?” Ron says eyeing the book suspiciously.

Pick me up, pick me up -

“No, it did it on it’s own. It’s talking to me.”

Ron flops back onto his bed. “Your crazy, do you know that?”

Harry stands and picks up the book.

‘Where is she?’ he says silently.

In the center of the forest, where only he dwells, not quite a myth, not quite a man, but real –

‘We have to find her,’ Harry thinks.

Harry lays the book down on his bed and walks over to Ron, flicking on the lamp.

“Ron, I think she’s in the forest somewhere. I think that maybe she’s been kidnapped.”

Ron shakes his head. “What? Dumbledore has had Hagrid scour the forest inch by inch.”

“Not beyond the swamp.”

Ron sighs. “No one goes beyond the swamp, not even Hagrid…not even Dumbledore himself goes there. Only the occasional Muggle is foolish enough to wander in there.”

“I think that’s where she is.”

Ron recognizes the serious tone of Harry’s voice. His jaw drops. “Your not kidding are you? You really think this book is talking to you? On it’s own? A stupid book?”

“Yes, I promise I’ll explain more tomorrow but I want you to come with me.”

Harry looks at the floor. “I understand if you won’t.”

Ron lays down again, growling.

“Why the hell not? I’m destined to die with you anyway. I think even Mum and Dad have accepted that fact.”

Harry smiles and flicks off the lamp. He goes back to his own bed pulling open the window shade just enough to filter in some moonlight. He picks up the book again.

‘I hope this is real,’ Harry thinks.

I’m an outlaw now, so many rules broken, but I love her. I’d die for her. She loves us –

The books pages flutter again, and it stops at a section about Quidditch. There is a doodle at the top right corner. It's a pencil-traced heart, with HARRY scribbled in the middle.

3. The Collector

Hush by msscribe

Disclaimer: No profits are being made off the fiction on these pages. Harry Potter, associated characters and the associated Harry Potter universe is © J. K. Rowling and respective publishers.

Chapter 2 – Into the Woods

~~~~~~~~

The forest makes noises, stirrings, and sometimes they can hear sounds echoing from far away. It will sound like a small cry or a soft booming, things not heard on Hogwarts grounds. They do not know what is making these voices, if it is just the wind and water, or some creature patiently waiting to be stumbled upon.

They have been walking for nearly three hours, but the usual nervousness is still there. It’s always there. The weather is brisk, but calm enough, and at this rate they might actually make it to the swamp by sundown.

The book under Harry’s arm starts wiggling around. Ron casts a bewildered glance at Harry.

“What’s it saying?” Ron asks.

Don’t take the worn path! Too many tragedies there –

Harry points towards a thick row of trees. “It says we should not stay on the path, we can cut through there.”

Ron shakes his head. “Of course that’s what it says. After all, who’d want to do this the easy way? I hope Hermione appreciates this if we ever find her.”

They move forward, making their own trail for a while. A tiny gray mouse bobs forward, then runs under a bush. Harry takes a step backwards, startled for a few seconds.

“So far so good...nothing we can’t handle,” Harry says, all the while realizing how lethally unprepared for this journey they both are.

Ron understands that they absolutely have to do this. They have to find her. Hermione would do the same for either of them.

Ron holds his hand out, wrist up. “Do you feel that?”

Harry shakes his head no at first, but then a droplet of water lands on his nose.

“We’d better find shelter,” Ron says pointing to their right, “That group of trees over there.”

~~~~~~~~

The skillet cooks Hermione a lunch of corn cakes and berries. She watches as the steam from her plate rises up into nothing.

Don’t let all my hard work go to waste by waiting until it’s cold –

‘Sorry,’ Hermione thinks, scooping a berry into her mouth, ‘it’s wonderful’.

The night before, she had to will herself to sleep. This morning, she will have to will herself stay awake.

He’s gone to meet the Giant today – the kitchen door whispers to her – better be obedient -

Her thoughts are elsewhere.

She’s thinking about the dark haired boy again – chair giggles- she thinks about him a lot -

Hermione stuffs the corn cake into her mouth, forcing it down with one dry gulp. The kitchen is cold again this morning. The clock in the hall chimes eight am. One hundred and four days now. Harry and Ron must certainly think she’s dead.

You’d better hope he doesn’t trade you –window sneers – he just might you know –

Even though the air in there is frigid, she’s glad the window slides up and down of it’s own accord whenever it chooses to speak. It gives her a chance to hear the birds outside. Her corn cakes are coated with a fine powdered sugar.

She likes things sweet - plate explains - and sugar bowl doesn’t get much use-

She wonders if she’s read all of the books in his small library. She can’t imagine he’s ever read them, because they are so neatly lined up and on display. Just another part of his collection.

Should we tell her about the room? – a new voice says anxiously – she seems so very nice –

Shhhhhh- many voices cry out – quiet now! -

Hermione is still. She looks around to see where the voice is coming from. It’s something she hasn’t heard before. It’s his belt lying over a chair. He had forgotten to put it on.

‘What room?’ she thinks. The belt shakes nervously.

Master Edred prefers to keep it secret! - table scolds- he will punish you if you seek it out-

‘Tell me.’

The belt doesn’t have much willpower. It’s only a belt after all.

~~~~~~~~

Ron picks the two fattest, squishiest ‘fuzzy’ fruits from the row of bushes nearest to them, and hands one to Harry. The rain never amounted to more than a brief sun shower, but they had decided to stay put for a few minutes to rest and go over their plan – or lack thereof. The fruit tastes heavenly, and Harry is grateful they had both paid attention in Professor Sprout’s class that semester.

“God, I really needed that,” Ron says, licking his fingers clean of the sweet syrupy juice.

There is a scrambling noise a few feet behind them, and both of them stand with their wands ready.

“What the hell was that?” Harry says, looking all around.

Then he hears a continuous squeal that makes his teeth ache. It’s a hideous noise, like an animal being tortured.

“Look up there!” Ron says, pointing towards an oak tree a few feet behind them. Something is struggling to free itself from a patch of prickly vines writhing around it, covering almost every inch of it’s body.

They move cautiously closer, wands pointed. They can almost make out what the creature is. It’s upper lip is rising and falling in a disgruntled snarl and the barely visible eyes are moving from Harry to Ron, and then to Harry again.

The sunlight is causing a glare in Harry’s glasses, and he squints to try to see what it is. Ron grumbles.

“Great, just great!” Ron says aloud.

“Can you tell what it is yet?” Harry says.

Ron groans, pointing his wand at the vine.

“Disintigris plantus,” Ron says.

The vine screams and crumbles into dust. The girl is propelled forward like a slingshot, her hands and knees scuffing against the dirt, still screeching. She stares up at them through her tousled hair, momentarily dazed.

“It’s hideous,” Ron scoffs.

Pansy Parkinson stands and brushes herself off. “You are not even beneath my contempt Ronald Weasley.”

~~~~~~~~

The belt leads Hermione to a locked door on the third floor of the house. She had always assumed it was a closet, never having seen him open it.

‘Please open, I just want to see what’s inside, I promise not to get you in trouble.’

She waits. She has never spoken to this door before.

You promise – it asks – you won’t harm anything? –

‘I swear.’

The doorknob turns slowly, and the door creaks open. Hermione quietly enters. The pine boards are cold on her bare feet as she moves across the room. The space is dark, but there is a patch of light silhouetting a tall wooden box in the middle of the floor.

‘What is it? It looks so plain.’

I’m not plain. It’s where he keeps his sight-

She reaches out to touch it.

‘May I look inside?’ she thinks to the box.

The box opens up to her. It is filled with tiny blue vials.

‘I don’t understand?’

She picks one up.

We let you see –

The blue vial starts to heat up. It disintegrates in her hand. Something tugs at her soul as a force overtakes her body.

Liquid drips from her forehead, and suddenly she can see the Forbidden Forest.

Her heart beats faster and her palms grow sweaty.

She can see Harry. Harry is in the forest.

~~~~~~~~

“Why were you following us Parkinson?” Harry says, glaring at her suspiciously, “Is anyone else with you?”

Pansy lifts her nose into the air, haughtily pursing her lips together in a defiant sneer.

“Awfully suspicious aren’t you? I am a very big girl Potter, and if I want to take a walk in the woods unsupervised, I certainly can.”

Ron turns to see Harry’s reaction. His hands are balled up at his side. “No one goes for a walk in the Forbidden Forest, not as far out as we are now. So why don’t you save your breath and tell us why you’re here. Are you collecting ingredients for dark magic, looking for something more terrifying than yourself perhaps? Go on, I’ll try to be open minded!” he says sarcastically.

Pansy folds her arms across her chest and narrows her eyes at Ron. “Open minded eh? Is that how your brain slipped out?”

Ron points his wand at her. “I swear, I should have let her get eaten by that plant!”

Harry looks around to be sure no one else is there.

“Well…you either tell us and we’ll let you stay with us, or you can try to make it back to Hogwarts before dark, although I hate to think of what will happen to you if you don’t make it back in time,” Harry says.

Pansy can well imagine what her fate will be.

“Fine. I was following you. I saw you and Ron sneak out this morning and I thought I’d find out what you two were plotting. I didn’t pay attention to the time and I became afraid of getting lost so I stayed close. Happy?”

Ron lowers his wand. Pansy bends to pick hers out of the grass.

“Planning to report back to Malfoy were you?”

“I would say that you aren’t a complete idiot, but what’s my opinion compared to that of the rest of the world,” she snaps.

Ron shakes his head angrily, turning a bright shade of red. “No way Harry! No way am I putting up with her!”

She swings her hair and smirks at them. Harry leans in close to Ron.

“We can’t leave her here alone Ron.”

“Why the Hell not? She’s scarier than anything I’ve seen here so far today!”

Harry shrugs. “Look, we’ve got to focus on saving Hermione. Just try turning the other cheek for once.”

Pansy walks over and picks a ‘fuzzy’ fruit from the nearby bush. She bites into it, slurping rudely.

“I don’t need him to turn the other cheek Harry, it’s just as ugly.”

“Why you ungrateful little - ” Ron starts.

Harry turns and starts walking without them. They both freeze and watch him for a few seconds, confused at his sudden departure. Harry stops and turns.

“Well... are you coming? We’ve only got two hours left of daylight and we still need to find a place to sleep.”

Ron walks first. Pansy waits, thinking over her choices again, and then follows.

“Moron,” she says to Ron as she catches up with them.

“Tart.”

Pansy growls and keeps walking, “Bloody vines left tiny holes all over my perfect skin!”

Harry rolls his eyes and Ron snorts.

“What do you want us to do about it?” Harry asks.

“Nothing, I’ve just been used as some plant's pin cushion is all! Perhaps you could slow down a bit.”

Ron laughs, “You should be used to it Pansy, being as you’ve had more pricks in you than a secondhand dartboard.”

~~~~~~~~

He’s early - front door says- he’s early today-

Hermione’s whole body becomes instantly numb, and she feels a second or two of hideous paralysis. She hopes she has left everything in the room as it was before. She hopes he doesn’t notice one of his vials is gone. The belt assured her earlier that he never counts those. He’s always getting more.

He’s brought her gifts! – a tree outside the door says - He should give her nothing if you ask me, it’s a good thing he can’t hear us or else I'd tell on the little ingrate-

The shock of seeing him always makes her want to scream. This feeling tears at her mute throat, and sometimes she lets her body go through the motions just for the release.

She stands as he enters the room. The look on his face is unmistakable. Hermione can sense that his day has been unsuccessful.

He sets down his large wooden club and moves towards a collection of glass spheres lying on the middle shelf. He picks one up and raises it to his face, examining the colorful ball of sparks inside. It is a collection of living light. It’s beautiful to watch as it struggles to free itself. He thinks that everything is beautiful when it struggles.

It has taken him months to collect them, and they always give him a sense of satisfaction. It is nothing compared to the satisfaction he gets from her.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wrapped brown package. He hands it to Hermione.

“Unwrap it, then be grateful I could find these.”

She does as he says, revealing some articles of clothing. Female undergarments. She manages a smile and he grunts.

“One man escaped me today,” he says angrily, “but he’ll most likely not survive the night.”

He watches her modestly hide her new things behind her back. In the thicket, he ran into an old ally who offered him a valuable sight crystal for trade, but there is no price, not one that anyone could afford anyhow, that would make him trade her away.

He had expected to become bored with her, like his other possessions, but she was a complicated creature. He had never really spent any time with a human before, and he found the way she chose to live fascinating. Most creatures he collected had begged him for all that he would allow, but she never did. She always took the least food; never provoked him to strike her.

Her smiles are forced, and he hates that, but he doesn’t really care all that much. She is voiceless; she is a prize.

~~~~~~~~

The winds drop low as the clouds dissolve into the darkness. They are sitting in a small cave only a few feet from the edge of the swamp. Harry’s eyelids feel like they are being weighted down, but it’s his turn to keep watch.

Even Hermione’s book has stopped rambling to him.

Harry thinks he can make out someone walking in the distance. It could be anything. At least they are beyond the realm of the spiders, and shielded by the lack of moonlight tonight.

Ron’s sleep is now very deep. Pansy still stirs occasionally. To her credit, she was fairly quiet the last hour of their walk. They were all tired, and they still had at least two days journey to go until they reach the center of the forest, where the map said Hermione had been taken.

Harry wishes they could just apparate, but you couldn’t do that in the Forbidden Forest. He is anxious to see her.

Harry glimpses something. It’s only a pixie. It doesn’t pay him any mind. The trees are still. Everything is perfectly still. It was luck that they found this cave when they did. The night had grown slightly chilly, and making a fire would have called too much attention to themselves. They had to settle for a small warming spell instead.

So far, they have only come across a couple of pixies, and a mountain troll they avoided crossing paths with. Besides Pansy ‘dropping’ in on them, everything is going well.

Harry lets his eyes shut for just a second, thinking about what the book had shown him the night before. So many times he wondered if what he felt for Hermione, she felt in kind. Then there it was, all the proof that he needed scratched out in pencil; his name written in her neat little script.

He hears a woman’s voice singing. It is high and sweet, like a lullaby. He opens his eyes and sees nothing.

Leaves are rustling now, a slight breeze starting to pick up. He will find her. He will save her, or die trying.

~~~~~~~~

Wishful thinking sweetie – the bra says – eat your vegetables and maybe one day you’ll be able to fill me up nicely –

Hermione hates having to wear the things he steals or kills for, but she has no choice. She had arrived with only a nightgown on.

‘Thanks a lot’ she thinks sarcastically.

They’re lovely- the bra says apologetically – but you don’t need anything like me -

She decides she will wait to try on the underwear until morning. God only knows what it would have to say. It is getting late and she is tired, and worried for Harry and Ron. She hadn't seen Ron, but she knows he with Harry. He is always with Harry.

You need your rest - bed says - I'm nice and warm-

Hermione says a prayer for them, and climbs between the sheets. She mouths a song her mother used to sing for her, and she can still hear it in her head...even if no one else can.

4. The Collector

Hush by msscribe

Disclaimer: No profits are being made off the fiction on these pages. Harry Potter, associated characters and the associated Harry Potter universe is © J. K. Rowling and respective publishers.

"The forest hides many secrets." -- Ronan the Centaur

Chapter 3 – The Collector

This is his mountain, where he can see his world. The winds have arrived, and he has been expecting their most recent demand. Nature is the only thing that has power over him.

Edred’s life isn’t often touched by intrigue. To him, there are simply those things that should be killed, and those things that shouldn’t. He is comfortable in this world. He has power beyond what humans have, even the magical kind, and all who roam freely under his watch submit to his authority without question. He has always detested men, having little patience for the way they react to him. Some scream, some weep, and others only lie on the ground and tremble, silently awaiting their fate. His father was one of these weaklings, and he hates that some of the blood in his veins is the same as theirs.

Hermione’s subtle beauty is unearthly, and although killing her would be enormously satisfying, he did not take her for that reason. She is his prize, and will soon be his key to atonement.

For a moment, Edred stands staring down at the forest being tousled mercilessly by the summer wind, hoping to appear unsuspecting to the overly ambitious mountain troll who is sneaking up behind him.

A couple of scout pixies fly through the trees below him, and he nods to them, signaling that he has indeed seen the threat.

He is hit with a wave of nostalgia at the thought of killing this mountain troll. It isn’t uncommon for a mountain troll to try and attack him. Because of their arrogance, they have always been difficult creatures to maintain rule over.

His hand shakes with anticipation of the kill, but he waits. He will have to transform some, but not enough so anyone watching would be able to understand what was happening.

The troll raises his club into the air above Edred’s head.

Edred spins around; slicing open the troll’s enormous gut with his razor sharp claws. The troll falls back, surprised by this counter-attack. They are always surprised. They don’t know that his range of vision is in all directions. They don’t know that he can will his large ungraceful hands into efficient weapons. They don’t know his other form. Everyone has always just assumed that their king and his enforcer are two separate entities.

The troll’s eyes begin to roll back as blood spills out around him on the ground. Edred recognizes the necklace the troll wears and rips it from his thick throat. This troll was sworn to obey him, and wore the symbol of loyalty he gave out to all of his soldiers.

Edred will have to make an example of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione wakes up from her deep sleep suddenly, like someone had snapped their fingers inside of her head. Her vision is blurred and she blinks to try to clear away the clouds.

The wind outside rocks and pummels the house. The branches from the trees are slashing against the shingles and she listens for complaints, but hears only silence.

‘Has he gone already?’ she thinks, seeing the clock only at five am.

No one answers.

‘Did he leave already?’

The silence rings in her head, taunting her.

Fear begins to knot in her stomach as the wind keeps tearing things loose from the outside of the house. Harry and Ron are out there in the forest somewhere. She prays they have found shelter. For a while, she listens intently for all of the chatter she has grown accustomed to hearing. Still nothing.

Panic-stricken, Hermione gets out of bed. The kitchen is empty and quiet. Nothing is moving except for the fairy at the end of the stairs.

Hermione taps the glass and the fairy looks up at her, unconcerned.

“What?” its little voice says, annoyed.

She remembers that it can’t hear the things she does, so it probably doesn’t notice that the aliveness of the house seems to have come to a halt.

Hermione shakes her head and walks away. It curses her again, calling her a nuisance.

‘Maybe nothing can hear me because of the wind,’ she thinks to herself, hoping that something will speak to her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they sit against the back wall of the small dark cave, Harry thinks that the wind is worse then he has ever known. It is brutal and angry as it rushes past them like something diabolical.

“I hope this lets up soon,” Harry says.

Pansy sighs, then resumes nibbling at her fingernail.

“I can’t believe I’m trapped here with you two.”

Ron begins to draw a chessboard on the dirt floor. “We can’t believe it either. I’d give anything to be able to apparate you back to your slimy boyfriend.”

Pansy snorts. “Draco is hardly slimy. He happens to be very refined, unlike you and the orphan here. What’s the matter with you two anyway? Why risk your lives trying to find what’s- her- name?”

“Hermione,” Harry says, growing annoyed with Pansy’s chatter, “Her name is Hermione.”

“That's right, boring little Hermione. I could never remember her name because whenever she tried to tell me what it was, I used to fall asleep halfway through it.”

Ron bites his tongue, and strategically places some stones onto the ground.

“You obviously don’t have any friends like Hermione so I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” Harry says, shifting his eyes towards Ron.

“Yeah, and I can bet any amount of money Malfoy won’t come looking for you!” Ron snaps.

Pansy’s eyes turn to slits and she brings her knees up to her chest, looking away from the two boys. The wind is swirling so hard now that leaves blow by them like rain.

She sits in silence, trying to think of a good way to put Potter and Weasley in their place when she notices an outline of a figure walking towards them. It looks like a girl. Pansy stands, pointing at the entrance.

“Do you see that?” Pansy asks.

Harry and Ron look up from their chess game and reach for their wands. How was it that this figure hadn’t been pitched high into the air by the fearsome wind?

She draws closer and Harry can see more clearly.

“Wait! Don’t come any further or else!” Ron yells, pointing his wand at the being now standing in the doorway.

“Or else you’ll do what?”

She is dressed in animal skin. Her feet are blackened with dust and her face is pointy. Her eyes are supernatural. They are yellow and wide and when she smiles at them, she reveals two razor sharp fangs in the front.

“What are you?” Pansy whispers, barely able to keep from shaking.

The girl enters the cave. “You have trespassed onto our land.”

“Our?” Ron says.

One by one, more figures step out of the wind and begin to surround the entrance to their shelter. The girl walks closer to Harry.

“I’m warning you, I don’t want to hurt you,” Harry says.

The strange girl laughs again, and she raises a claw to pick her teeth with.

Ron moves up beside Harry. “Werewolves…they’re werewolves.”

Harry swallows hard and looks the werewolf girl directly in the eyes.

“What do you want?”

The wind begins to die down, and Harry can hear the ragged breathing of the creatures. She wipes a trail of saliva from her mouth and speaks.

“Had it not been for your good timing, you would be our breakfast. But we have already eaten our fill this morning. I cannot promise that you won’t be lunch however.”

Harry is holding his wand so tightly now that his fingers are aching.

“How can you be werewolves? You aren’t human,” Harry asks.

The girl bears her teeth again, growling angrily at the remark.

“Of course we aren’t you fool! We can infect humans, but those of us born as werewolves are always more than human.”

“Infected werewolves appear to be human, like Lupin, but real werewolves are never completely human,” Ron explains to Harry.

There are quiet rumblings now at the sound of Professor Lupin’s name. The girl steps aside as an older werewolf, a graying man, steps into the cave.

“How is it that you know Remus?” the elder werewolf asks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Without the comforting babble from the objects in the house, Hermione feels like she is drowning in silence. Silence, like the inside of a coffin.

‘I am awake and alive,’ she thinks over and over again, trying to convince herself.

Hermione can’t imagine enduring such silence for long. She has been surviving on the friendly voices of the house. It is enough that she has to push back thoughts of never seeing her parents again, never seeing Hogwarts again and never seeing Harry or Ron again.

The wind begins to slow. Cold wraps itself around her like a blanket. She listens, and her heart leaps with hope as she hears something mumble.

‘Can you hear me?’ she thinks tearfully.

Not to worry dear, we were silenced by the winds- the chair she is sitting in says - we had to answer its call –

And the voices in the house begin to swell, like different sections of a symphony being introduced into a song.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drums from the werewolf village fill every cranny and space of what used to be a vast and thrumming silence. It pours into their ears as they are led into the center of the numerous crude structures that lie hidden behind a thick patch of sycamore trees. Harry thinks to himself that at least they are still on the right path.

“Our leader is Dergon,” the elder werewolf says, pointing them towards the biggest hut leaning up against a large, black hill.

Harry, Ron and Pansy walk towards it, taking in the view around them. There are large flat rocks being used as a walkway, and they gleam like polished tiles. They avoid the red, glassy sand that is spilling out of a hut that appears to be a slaughterhouse. Its occupant is currently slicing open an animal Harry recognizes as a Centaur. He turns his head quickly, somewhat comforted that it isn’t Firenze, the Centaur who had saved his life in his first year at Hogwarts.

When they reach the entrance, a small werewolf boy runs inside to inform Dergon of their presence. A few seconds later, a tall and muscular werewolf emerges. His eyes fall upon Harry’s scar and he nods.

“You are the one Remus Lupin told me so much about. We are in debt to him, and because of that, we will spare your lives,” he says loud enough for those gathering around to hear. There are disappointed sighs, and someone tosses a stone at Pansy.

“Silence! Concentrate on fighting the three headed dog that keeps trying to devour our children and steal our prey!” Dergon howls.

Ron and Harry exchange a knowing look. Pansy kicks the gravel at her feet uncomfortably.

“Do you think he means Fluffy?” Ron asks Harry.

Dergon hardens his stare. “You know of the monster we fight?”

Make a bargain, they can take you farther – the book in Harry’s bag whispers – he knows where she is, I can read his mind –

“What if we told you we could get rid of this beast? Would you be willing to do something for us?”

Pansy shakes her head. “I’m not fighting any three headed dog for that little girlfriend of yours Potter. It’s daylight now and I think I’ll take my chances!”

She turns to walk and Dergon raises his hand, directing his followers to stop her. Pansy considers running until the girl werewolf raises her claws to Pansy’s face.

“I would be willing to make a trade if you rid us of the beast. Our weapons cannot penetrate its thick skin at a distance, and whenever one of us has gotten close enough to injure it, it has devoured them whole,” Dergon says.

They could make it to Hermione faster with those who knew the forest. It would cost them time now, but he knew it would save them time later.

“We have even tried leaving it a portion of our kill, but it prefers its victims live,” Dergon says, pointing to a hut with the roof torn off.

Harry reaches out his hand to Dergon. “We will rid you of the beast. And if we do, you will send two of your own to help us get to the center of the forest.”

Dergon takes Harry’s hand. “I will honor that bargain. The beast is due to visit soon, so you probably don’t have much time.”

Ron steps up and rests his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Where are we going to get soothing instruments? If we sing to it, we’ll just piss it off. ” Ron whispers.

Harry shrugs. Neither one of them could carry a tune in a bucket. “We’ll have to be resourceful,” Harry says, turning to look at Pansy who is still in a staring competition with the girl werewolf, “but at least we already have the live bait.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Why are you here again so soon?- the door asks- have you come to see? –

‘Please open for me. I promise I won’t harm anything,’ she thinks in her now achy head.

She doesn’t deserve it! – the tree outside of the hallway window screams

The door opens for her, and once again, Hermione finds herself in his private room. The wooden box doesn’t wait for her to ask, and opens by itself.

‘Thank you.’

Hermione picks up a blue vile and sucks in her breath, preparing to be gifted. The room begins to spin and round bits of crystal form around her, each gem perfect and brilliant.

Pick one – a voice says

She reaches to pick up a crystal, hoping to see Harry and Ron. Instead, she sees Edred walking through the thicket. He is dragging something behind him. It is the body of a troll, and it leaves a trail of blood. She drops the crystal, and it shatters into dust.

Pick another –

She is beginning to sweat and her hands are starting to feel weak.

Hurry, you cannot withstand sight much longer –

She picks up another crystal and she is relieved to see Harry and Ron. Her heart is pounding faster now. They have people with them. She can see Harry’s eyes. His lips mouth her name reverently. The vision isn’t clear and the crystal begins to disintegrate. She grasps at ever speck of dust like her life depends on it, but they fall through her fingers anyway.

The box in the room makes a 'tsk-tsk' sound.

Hermione is soaked with sweat. She has seen so little, but it was at least some comfort, knowing they were still alive. Knowing she still had some hope.

You’d better clean up – the door says – he’ll be home soon; the winds have died down -

She closes the lid on the box and checks the room for anything out of place. She leaves the room feeling close to death. The sight she received from the blue vial gave her very little, but took away a great deal of her strength.

‘Why is the wind important?’ her mind asks, as she makes her way into the bedroom for a change of clothes.

The winds have forced him to atone– the dresser says to her in a hushed voice – and that means your time has come as well –

Hermione doesn’t know whether the chill running up her back is from the dresser’s words, or the air hitting her damp body as she peels away the wet clothes. It will take her twenty minutes to draw a bath and that will leave her little time to prepare for his arrival.

‘What does that mean?’

She won’t be happy – the pillow mumbles – she loves another -

He has chosen you dear – her bed explains- you will be his Queen-

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The winds have called everything out of it’s routine today. Our king answers to it and so do we,” Dergon says.

They are sitting around the campfire in a large circle as dusk begins to creep up on them. They have been there all day, gathering the supplies needed to complete their end of the bargain.

“Can you tell me about the king?” Harry asks, knowing only what the brief passages in Hermione’s book had written about him.

Dergon pulls a live spider out of a bowl and bites into it. The creature screams as his teeth rip it in half..

“The king rules over all of the forest, and even we answer to his power. He has been challenged by many and unmoved by none. He has chosen a bride, and his promise will be fulfilled.”

‘Hermione,’ Harry mouths softly, lowering his head to hide the pained look on his face.

“What promise?” Ron asks, swallowing back nausea as the werewolves swallow live spiders left and right. Ron kicks an escaped one towards the werewolf boy who picks it up happily.

Dergon chomps into another. “The king will be given power for another one hundred years if a human accepts him as her husband. It is to atone for what nature has said are his crimes against man. He has never allowed humans to remain in the forest for very long, and although it is not a sin to kill for self preservation, it is a sin against nature to kill for pleasure. So he promised to pay his debt by meeting Nature's demands. And his pledge was carried to us by the wind.”

Dergon spears a large spider through the stomach and sticks it in the fire. He does this twice more.

“Remus told us that humans prefer their meat to be engulfed in flames. This is Acromantula flesh. Very tender,” he replies, handing Harry a stick with the meat charred at the end of it.

Harry nibbles at the offering appreciatively, trying to rid his head of the giant spider from where his meal came. Ron’s face contorts in anguish, but he takes his offering as well. Pansy simply stares at hers, instead choosing to hand it to the werewolf girl. It is gulped down greedily in a matter of seconds.

“We can’t afford to be rude,” Ron warns her.

“I don’t go around eating everything that’s offered to me Weasel,” Pansy replies, “That’s how I manage to stay as pretty as a picture.”

She runs her fingers through her hair.

“Pretty as a picture huh? At least that would explain my urge to hang you,” Ron mumbles.

Harry opens the book in his hands. Ron looks over at him, his eyes questioning. Harry shakes his head no. The book has been very quiet tonight.

“I hope you two have a plan to catch this three headed thing. It’s starting to get dark,” Pansy says.

“Oh yeah, we have a plan all right,” Ron replies smugly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I worship the ground that awaits your corpse Harry Potter!!” Pansy screams from the top of the hurriedly constructed post in the middle of the village.

Ron holds onto the drum and Harry brings the hollow, wooden tube to his mouth, looking around for signs of Fluffy.

5. Engagement

AN: Thanks to Sarah James and Seakays for the beta, to Eric for pointing out a fatal error, and to my husband who called me profoundly irreverent the other night when we were acosted by a very large woman with curlers in her hair at our local grocery store.

Chapter 4 - Engagements

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pansy screams at the top of her lungs for nearly fifteen minutes, while Harry and Ron sit crouched down in the bushes. Sharp-tongued and profoundly irreverent, she vows that she will seek revenge on them both, even in death. But no matter how hard Pansy clamors, yells or shrieks, the two just sit in silence, waiting for their plan to come to a rapid conclusion.

Pansy suddenly becomes aware of a smell – foul, rank, nauseating. She doesn’t even want to consider what it might be. She wants to be let down. Immediately.

“Who would believe that you, Harry Potter, would be an accomplice to murder!” she yells in desperation.

But they aren’t listening. They are both staring up at her, their eyes unwavering, and there is something hot and moist on the back of her neck.

“Now!” Ron screams, and Harry begins to blow the wooden flute. It is an ungodly sound, and Pansy doesn’t think anything else in the world can sound as bad.

That is...until she hears a low growl coming from six livid eyes, above three sharp canine noses.

“It’s not working!” Harry screams, banging the flute around as if trying to dislodge something from it. There is a bug scurrying around inside, and it is distorting the sound.

The three-headed beast is licking its horrible chops, trying to decide which piece of the wailing girl it will bite off first. Growing desperate, Ron tries to blow out the bug by forcing angry notes, and Harry has a go with the drums.

(A pixie being tossed into a shredder, an ailing hippogriff…)

The beast is repulsed by the chaotic chords, and swings one of its heads towards Ron. It snaps at his arm, but Ron leaps into the bushes just in the nick of time.

“Our music isn’t working, how the hell are we supposed to knock it out?” Ron yells, tossing a stone at the beast to distract it from Pansy. Fluffy snaps at Ron again, this time just missing his foot.

Harry and Ron have panicked expressions on their faces. They have no idea what to do next, and Pansy is still tied to the pole like a live shish kabob. Harry tosses another rock at the creature, and then breaks out into the only wizarding song he knows the words to. Ron joins in.

(Two Dementors on their deathbeds, a house elf being tortured…)

Fluffy snarls angrily, moving its other head towards a tone deaf Harry. Harry feels for his wand and Ron does the same. Ron curses as he realizes he has left them in Dergon's hut. They had been too busy carving that useless flute to remember to grab them.

“Hopeless, brainless embarrassments! You don't even have your wands?” Pansy screams, drawing Fluffy’s attention again.

And it is then, that Pansy Parkinson resigns herself to doing the only thing she can think of.

“Alas, my love, you do me wrong, to cast me off discourteously…”

The hideous, overgrown canine otherwise known as "Fluffy" sways a little to her surprisingly sweet voice. A wide-eyed Ron and Harry exchange surprised glances.

“For I have loved you well and long, delighting in your company…”

Fluffy gurgles a bit, and one of its heads snaps into a yawn.

“Keep singing Pansy,” Harry whispers as he motions towards Dergon and three other werewolves.

Then another head yawns…and another. Fluffy begins to settle at the foot of the post that Pansy is tied to. The men each grab the end of a large net, woven from threads of Acromantula Web.

(Yawn, Drool)

Harry, Ron and Dergon approach Fluffy carefully as it’s eyes droop, and finally close. Ron is sprayed by slobber as one of the massive heads exhales in his direction.

"Christ!" Ron complains, wiping his face clean.

“Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight...”

“Now!” Harry whispers.

They toss the net over the beast. The stench of the monster hits them like a fist as they begin to drag it towards the nearby cave.

“Sod... Fluffy must not have had a bath since he was staying at Hogwarts,” Ron groans, “he smells almost as bad as Parkinson’s boyfriend.”

Pansy stops singing, glaring down at Ron. One of Fluffy’s eyes opens, and a head begins to turn towards Ron.

“Sorry….” Ron says realizing she has the upper hand now, “keep singing.”

Then another head opens its eyes, awakened by the silence.

“Pansy!” Harry says urgently.

“Now I remain in a world apart, but my heart remains in captivity…” she croons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Edred is late returning to the house that night, and Hermione has everything in order. There is no sign that she has been sneaking around, and even though the trees still call her traitorous, she finds comfort in the fact that he can't hear their angry voices.

The wind has started to pick up again, and the leafy loyalist’s complaints are only background noise now.

Hermione doesn’t hear him enter this time. She is preoccupied in her thoughts of blue vials, and visions of Harry and Ron. Hearing his foot brush against the rug, Hermione turns around slowly and finds him behind her, staring down at her. A bright cold sweat breaks out on her forehead, and she feels a dizzying rush. Edred touches the back of her hand; his fingers hot and sticky on her skin.

“You will leave the house with me at sunrise tomorrow,” he says, “and you will wear what I have brought for you.”

She notices the dress lying across the front room chair. Its beauty is overshadowed by the fact that Edred is caressing her hand, touching her in a way that he has never before.

‘Hermione Granger is still alive,’ she reassures herself.

Hermione shuts her eyes tightly as he leans down to her. Then something scurries across her face. It feels light and hairy. She moves to brush it away, and realizes it’s the hair on his chin. He plants a wet kiss on her cheek, and she flinches when his saliva burns her. Her heart thuds in her ears, and as slowly as she can manage, she begins inching away from him, pressing her back against the hall table.

Edred smiles at her, feeling a stirring he hasn’t felt for a while. He is attracted to her vulnerability. He moves towards her, letting his long fingers take her by the chin. He tilts her head gently to catch the light. She is a girl on womanhood's threshold, her nose straight and fine and her eyes large and wide with fear. Her lips curve into a perfect Cupid's bow and he thinks that she is what an angel must look like.

“You will be my bride soon enough, so for now I will leave you be. But I think it's only fair that you see me for who I am Hermione.”

While Hermione watches, Edred steps back, clenching his head in his hands as if in pain. His fanged jaws hinge wide, and his forked tongue begins dancing at her. The fire in his eyes burns brighter. His neck grows and arches like a vaulted ceiling, and his clothing is stretched to its limits, ripped at the shoulders and legs. His skin grows scaly, as wings fan out, and for a moment, she thinks she might be looking into the face of her childhood bogeyman. Except this monster is real enough, inelegantly transforming before her.

“Look at me Hermione,” he snarls, sparks coming from his breath , “You are the only one to know my secret and live.”

‘Hermione Granger must stay alive’, she thinks again, and she forces her eyes to remain open. She is shaking so violently, the table behind her trembles as well.

“It is a great honor to be my bride. You will be Queen, and perhaps one day you will even earn my trust.”

She thinks she knows now what death is. Her pulse has quickened to where the beats all flow together, and the wind is screaming against the door.

His voice, in this form, is like the searing sound of water being disintigrated by flame. Only gradually do the words make sense to her, because as he speaks them, they hang in the air like smoke, sifting into her ears. "My servant of so many years, the one who I call Barden, will retire tomorrow after my new servant has been chosen. There will be a great competition and all will die but one, who will have great power bestowed upon him. You will be presented then, and two nights afterwards, on the eve of the full moon, you will become my bride. Do not be afraid Hermione, for even in this form...I have complete control of my being."

Edred’s face begins to shift again, his neck shrinking, and changing back to the color of old leather, his wings collapsing behind him. His eyes stay the same. There is an air of restrained violence about him, and Hermione is careful not to make any sudden movements. A ghostly grin sweeps across his lips. He has made it very clear that his sense of possession of her is complete.

“You may retire if you like,” he says, turning to go into the kitchen for a meal of raw flesh and mead.

Hermione walks upstairs as fast as she can. If she were walking any faster, she’d be running. When she enters her room, she closes the door behind her. And although no one can hear her…she screams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dergon and Harry drag the last boulder in front of the cave, trapping Fluffy inside.

Pansy is sitting on the ground, her voice growing hoarse from her continuous song, and she sighs with relief when Harry nods that she can stop.

“How did you know its weakness?” Dergon asks, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Harry listens as Fluffy cries and scratches from the inside, now beginning to awaken.

“We’ve had to get by him before,” he answers, "perhaps in time you can train him to be of use."

Pansy flips her hair, as if she’s trying to rid herself of a pest, and smiles at Harry in an insidious way.

“I suppose it was a good deal of fun you had, letting me think you were sacrificing me to that thing…which you almost did by the way.”

Ron shoves his hands into the tall grass, trying to wipe off Fluffy’s rancid drool.

“It serves you right for sneaking around on us in the first place. I think it just about makes us even, don’t you Harry?”

Harry smiles a little, “Just about.”

Dergon says something to a young werewolf boy, motioning for him to leave them.

“I will keep my promise to you. Naya and I will accompany you to the center of the forest.”

Harry shakes Dergon’s hand again. “Thank you, and I’d like to leave tonight... if that’s acceptable.”

Dergon looks out towards the path. “The forest is filled with cold, black spaces where the sun never gets to anyway. What is it that you seek there? Have you come all this way just to see the King introduce his bride at the games?”

Harry looks over at Ron. Then back at Pansy, who is watching the werewolf girl pick little red bugs off of her skin, popping them into her mouth. She offers one to Pansy who turns up her nose in disgust.

“Yes...uh, the games,” Harry answers, unsure of where Dergon's loyalty lies. He couldn't very well tell him they were going to recue the King's 'Bride'.

Dergon shakes his head in confusion, looking back at his companions. “The King will not permit a human to attend the games.”

Ron mouths ‘What games?’ and Harry shrugs.

“It is a competition for the right to serve as our Kings right hand. The winner gets wealth and security until old age, while the losers are put to death. It happens every twenty years. We will help you with a disguise if you like, it is an event worth seeing,” Dergon offers, “I have often contemplated entering myself, but I fear for the well being of my tribe if I were to lose.”

Harry nods anxiously, and Pansy whimpers at the thought of dressing up like a wolf girl.

“That would be greatly appreciated,” Harry says.

Dergon and his men wander back towards the camp. Ron walks up next to Harry. His eyes are serious and intense.

“Do you think going to these games will help us find Hermione?”

Harry nods. “I’m sure of it. You heard Dergon; the King is going to introduce his bride. That means we’d get to see Hermione. At least see if she’s alright,” Harry says looking up at the night sky, wondering if he’ll get to her in time.

Pansy snorts. “You’ve got it really bad for the mudblood don’t you, Potter.”

Harry snaps angrily at her, “I suggest you not call her that."

Ron is too busy looking for something to clean himself off with to hear her comment.

Pansy laughs, “Don’t get so hot under the collar. She is sort of pretty in a way I guess, although I think it’d probably take Moses to part those knees...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe she will grow to love him in time – pillow says softly – maybe she will be happy again –

Are you daft?- blanket replies – she loves another already, she would rather die a miserable death –

‘Harry will rescue me,’ Hermione thinks defiantly, ‘I am certain of it.’

She’s crazy is what she is, thinking a silly human will be able to defeat our King- the tree outside of her window scolds – ungrateful and insane, a fitting Queen she will be –

Her situation has suddenly become more desperate and she tries to block out her thoughts because she knows she won’t get any real sleep that night. She has dozed off once or twice, only to be awakened by small rushes of anxiety.

Her nightgown is thin, but it is unusally warm. Every now and then, it feels like a vortice of warm air is moving over her. She tries to think of her favorite thing. She imagines she is floating, gazing up at the white skiy, the thin sliver of moon still visible at dawn. There is no light coming from the tiny window, and she wonders if the trees will allow any daylight to pass through when the morning comes.

The dress is still downstairs. She doesn't want to hear it's voice. She wants to see Harry and Ron. And she prays they will find her.

'Hermione Granger is still alive...for now.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pansy is finally clean, after using clear water from the werewolves well to wash away the scent of that dog, those wolves, and those bumbling idiots she found herself accompanying to rescue some girl she barely knew. The rude werewolf girl, Naya, had reluctantly given her one of her rugged little dresses to complete her “disguise”.

But Pansy is just glad the garment is clean. Especially since Potter insisted they leave that night in order to make it to the center of the forest by morning.

She wonders if Draco has even noticed she is missing, and she hates that Weasley might actually be right about something. She doesn’t see the redhead sneak up behind her.

“I have to admit, it’s a good thing you know how to sing,” Ron says, sitting down on a log. He accidentally squashes a brittle bug, and it’s companion treats Ron to a long string of curse words.

Pansy is suddenly aware of how little she is wearing when Ron’s eyes wander over her unconsciously.

“Finally realizing that I have many good qualities Weasley? Did you know I am also an expert fencer and I can play the piano …” she says, tying her hair back with a piece of string.

“It’s more impressive when others discover your good qualities without your help,” Ron answers, “I can’t believe anyone can be so vain.” Ron moves his eyes to his feet, blushing furiously, as Harry walks towards them.

“I’m not vain, although I have every right to be,” she replies.

Harry shuts his eyes for a moment, listening to the persistent voice of Hermione’s favorite book.

“What is he doing?” Pansy asks, as Harry blanky stares into the darkness..

“Doesn’t concern you,” Ron says, looking at the garment Dergon has given him to wear. “Not much to this thing is there?”

The book's pleas to Harry are sad and needy. It misses her, like he does. He has known a good deal of Glory, and he isn’t ungrateful, but nothing has ever lasted. Nothing ever amounted to anything. That’s why he has to find her. He isn’t sure what he’ll say or do when he does, but he knows he has to. He is staring at the book now, ignoring Pansy and Ron’s bickering.

“You shouldn’t let your mind wander Potter, It isn’t big enough to make it out on it’s own,” Pansy says, bringing him back to his current reality. Harry's eyes remain far away and sad, and Pansy feels an unfamiliar pang of regret.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You can’t show fear, but when one challenges you, don’t ever stare directly into their eyes. It is an insult in our world,” Dergon warns as they follow him down the winding path. They can hear snakes slithering near their feet, crackling their tiny rodent victims against the roof of their mouths. Dark, hot shapes are swooping overhead while strange animals cry out in the distance, hungry for fresh meat. The only thing they can do is keep moving.

Naya is bringing up the rear, daring Pansy to step out of line. “We will have to pass through the Troll’s territory, and we have an understanding with them, but they won’t be pleased to see werewolves they don’t recognize,” she cautions.

“We understand,” Harry says, grazing his tongue over his fangs. They aren’t as impressive as the ones Dergon and Naya have, but it is the best they can do. They all look enough like werewolves that no one will question them. At least not while they are with Dergon. The transformation will only last them one week, so time is of essence. Changing their eye color to yellow was easy, except for Harry, whose eyes didn’t respond to the spell. Dergon agreed that someone would probably notice, but they would most likely think of it only as a mutation.

Pansy isn’t thrilled with her new look, except for the fangs. There is something sort of nice about having fangs. Yes, very nice indeed. And the way that little animal skin dress fits her seems to be making Weasley just a bit uncomfortable, miserable prat that he is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione is lying in bed, but she feels faint, her breath rising and falling, her hands grasping the sheets beneath her. She can't seem to will herself to open her eyes. She thinks of Harry’s hands, the way he fiddles with his dress robes. She thinks about what she will say if she ever sees him again. She keeps her thoughts on him, his memory bringing her a certain calm.

She doesn’t know that Edred is in her room, observing her. He can see her breasts, and her ribs and how her waist narrows. Her long legs are a little apart as she lay on her back in the dark.

He will wait.

He has desired her before, in fleeting moments of weakness and loneliness, but never was the desire as strong.

She mumbles silently again, her mouth forming words. He considers giving her back her voice just for a moment, so he can hear what she sounds like. But he worries that she might sound shrill or needy or weak. He decides that he likes her masked in silence.

She is more than beautiful.

The human part of his flesh is boiling now, much hotter then the dragon flesh that can ignite fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Strands of cobwebs brush across Harry’s face as they move in the darkness. They have walked at least two hours now. Pansy begins to whine, but Naya squeezes her wrist, cautioning her to be quiet. Dergon has a thick, strong neck and his head swivels alertly while his eyes focus on you before you are prepared for them to. The torch he is carrying illuminates only inches in front of them.

It’s nearing the end of the night now. And it has been night for a very long time at least, because hours have passed since they left the camp. Harry’s mind is fractured like broken glass, thinking of Hermione, the book, his own life at risk in the middle of the forest.

Ron’s pale skin is flushed, and there is a livid, feverish look to his face. They are both dressed like Dergon, but their builds are smaller. Dergon jokes that some will think of them only as children, and not young men.

Harry notices Ron is shivering. Another quick shift in weather, as if each part of the forest adapts itself for its local inhabitants. The wind is stronger now.

Ron stammers, “I can’t see even a foot ahead of me.”

“I can see clearly,” Dergon reassures them, “And we are approaching Troll territory.”

“How do you know that? It’s pitch black out here. I can’t even see a bloody tree!” Pansy says.

Her foot steps in something warm and squishy.

“Ugh, what is that?” she whispers, wiping her foot onto a nearby tree stump.

Dergon laughs. “It’s fresh, their camp must be close.”

She gags, wishing she were back at Hogwarts, away from Potter and Weasley, and werewolves... and Troll dung.

“I hear that stuff is good for the complexion,” Ron teases. She kicks some at him.

“Hey!”

“Shh…” Dergon warns, “I hear something.”

There is an unexpected flicker of light a few feet away. A small flame from a fire, and in the shadows, the reflection of the first thing they had ever fought together. There is more than one however, and what looks like two female trolls are hovering over a large pot, prodding, gossiping and grunting at each other like the witches from Macbeth.

“I can’t believe Hagrid used to wrestle those things, but they are interesting creatures,” Ron whispers to Harry.

Dergon nods to them, "If you understood them like we do, you wouldn't find them so interesting."

They will have to approach the Trolls cautiously.

“Hopefully, we won’t have wrestle any tonight,” Harry says, as they quietly step out of the shadows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione’s body wants to sleep, but she can’t. All the horrible things she could have imagined, helter-skelter, are all swirling around like visions tossed into the commanding wind. The wind, which has callously handed her a fate worse than death.

A monster sleeps in the next room.

She has seen it with her own eyes, his shirt ripping to accommodate his wings, speckled and multi-colored. His hands and feet tangling into fearsome claws.

Please sleep dear - her pillow says - we're beginning to worry -

She cries again. Not for the pain of the burn on her cheek, but for the loss of ignorance about what it was she was dealing with. She thought him a madman, but not a monster. She was foolish to think she would continue to live there without…

She didn’t want to think about it. She would think about how to escape. Harry is in the forest now. He and Ron. She almost kissed Harry once, in the common room after a long night of studying for potions. They stared into each other’s eyes for an unusually long amount of time, until she broke away, the moment forever lost.

You need rest my dear – pillow says – please try to sleep-

Dream – dresser suggests– dream of flying, you enjoy that dream-

After she had been captured, flying away had become her favorite fantasy. There was great irony in the fact that she now dreamed about doing something she had only done when necessary, never having been one to enjoy riding a broomstick. But not even her dreams of the earth unfolding beneath her can recompense for all the time taken away from her, or for all of the lost kisses.

Edred watches her mouth move, her eyes flutter, and he slinks into his room to await the glorious morning.

6. Hidden Oasis

AN: (Definition from the Harry Potter Lexicon) Imp: is similar to the Pixie and the Fairy. It is about seven inches tall and is colored dull brown or black. Imps live in damp or marshy areas. They have a somewhat slapstick sense of humor and they love to trip people. Imran, James, Max and Patrick make their debut in this chapter as members of an Imp gang. Sorry boys, I just couldn’t help myself. Also: The line “Hermione awakens and immediately regrets it” is from Douglas Adams’ “The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy”. Thanks to Seakays, for the fantastic beta!

Chapter 5 – Hidden Oasis

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry steps into the firelight alongside of Dergon. Ron, Pansy and Naya follow close behind. There are three fully-grown male Trolls sitting around the fire, along with two females brewing something malodorous in a cauldron almost the size of the cave they had spent their first night in. Two young Trolls are running about, making a game out of trying to catch a clabbert, a creature resembling a cross between a monkey and a frog. Harry is amazed that he can see their faces, especially in the dim light. In his guise as a werewolf, he has to keep his glasses tucked away. But, surprisingly enough, his vision is completely clear. Harry can only assume that it’s because of his new form.

“Dergon, leader of the Lower Swamp Wolf Clan seeking passage through your camp!” Dergon proclaims confidently.

The Trolls are surprised, eyeing them all with vacant, antagonized expressions. Harry and the others are well aware of the fact that Trolls are dreadful, encroaching beasts, with smug attitudes and loud voices. They also aren’t known for their elegant manners. One Troll demonstrates this infamy by standing to take a piss next to the fire circle. The largest Troll, a blue one with cracked skin and tired eyes rises and walks towards them.

Dergon stops Harry and Ron from instinctively drawing their wands.

“What give us?” the beast grumbles, proper English also not being a valued skill among his kind.

The small Trolls have given up on catching the clabbert, and run behind the two female Trolls so they can safely ogle the outsiders.

“We offer you alliance with our clan,” Dergon says.

The other two male Trolls laugh, and slap each other on the backs. Ron gives Harry a look of dismay.

“This may not go as I’d hoped,” Dergon whispers to the two young men.

The largest Troll takes a step closer. “Girl!!” the Troll says, pointing to Pansy.

Dergon and Naya eye Pansy pityingly, looking over at Harry and Ron for an answer.

“They want Pansy?” Harry asks.

“Sure, no prob—” Ron begins, cut off by a jab to the side from Harry.

The largest Troll is beating on his chest Impatiently, looking for a response.

“We can’t give you the girl,” Harry says.

The Troll shakes his head, “No! Want!” Harry realizes the Troll is pointing to Pansy’s wrist. “That!” he grunts again. He reaches out to touch the lustrous gold, and Pansy yanks her hand away. The Troll seems irked by her response.

“They want your bracelet, just give it to them Pansy,” Ron urges, anxious to get out from downwind of the beast.

“No! This bracelet is very expensive!” she protests, “and Draco had it engraved for me last Christmas.”

Ron rolls his eyes, shaking his head. Naya growls at Pansy. Pansy growls back, baring her own fangs.

“I’ll get you another one if you give it to him Pansy,” Harry pleads.

Pansy sighs, and reluctantly unhooks the tiny latch. She grieves for the loss of the one thing left on her body that makes her feel like she is still a Parkinson.

“Fine, but you are going to have to replace this, Harry.”

Harry nods sympathetically. “I promise that I will, as soon as we return.”

Pansy hands the bracelet to the Troll who sniffs at it and smiles. He tosses it over to one of the females, who ties it around her finger like a ring. The female Trolls are swooning over the shiny trinket, and neglect their brew for a moment. Pansy muffles a scream as an enormous hand floats to the top of the cauldron. The Troll woman who is wearing Pansy’s bracelet beats the appendage back down, shrugging her shoulders and looking over at her companion.

“Pass,” says the large Troll, now happy to have made a trade. He grunts in the direction of a tree near the end of the camp. There is the half-decayed body of a Troll dangling from it. They reluctantly walk towards the carcass, then around it.

“Oh God…” Pansy says, turning her head away from the gory scene.

“Lazarus,” Dergon says, looking up at the ripped body.

“Who is that?” Harry asks, trying not to stare too long at the empty eyes of the beast.

“He is a Peruvian vipertooth dragon who serves the King and protects the forest. Even his fangs are venomous. This Troll must have committed a traitorous act to be slain by Lazarus. That is why they are devouring him, to show their loyalty,” Dergon explains.

“Things just got more interesting,” Harry says to Ron as they walk along the edge of the camp, towards the red beginnings of a rising sun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione awakens from her half-sleep, immediately regretting it. She feels seedy. Her mind begins to replay the scene from the night before, and she grimaces as she remembers his serpent-like fingertips tracing a menacing path down the side of her face; stopping at her neck. There is fear, but the feeling she feels most of all is uncertainty. She doesn’t know if Harry and Ron are still on their way, and she doesn’t have a plan.

Sounds like you have a long and horrible day ahead of you– the tree outside of her window teases-

‘Shut up’, she thinks angrily, ‘If I am going to be your queen you had better learn to respect me’.

The trees grow silent, except for a few angry whispers to themselves.

Edred has laid her dress on the chair by the door. The thought of him having been in her room without her knowing it makes her queasy. She can hear him walking around downstairs as she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Perhaps if you splash some water on your face – the mirror suggests – or maybe have a nice cup of tea-

She is in no mood for chit-chat. She begins to brush her hair, contemplating her situation. The trees had grown silent at her request. She wonders if she were to become Queen, would they have to obey her too? Perhaps the thing she had lost so much sleep over last night was her ticket to freedom. She needed to think.

How could she escape this monster and still live to tell the tale? She has no magical powers without her wand and her voice. The sensible course of action has got to be some sort of strategic retreat. Hermione knows from experience that she cannot count on Harry or Ron to have a well-developed plan when, or if, they arrive to save her.

She is courageous, but foolhardy courage doesn’t count as a virtue.

Treachery – the trees hiss again.

‘I thought I commanded that you be silent!’ she thinks, testing the waters again.

And they listen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dergon doesn’t explain how close they are, but Harry can feel a stirring of life nearby. There are whispers and faint noises in the distance. He becomes more anxious as they move through the tall grass towards a hilltop, surrounded by a few oak trees and a small marsh.

We are almost at the center – Hermione’s book says excitedly –

The daylight has finally illuminated their path, and they move forward more swiftly, without fear of accidentally stepping on a sleeping snake or waking up some other inhabitant along the way.

When they reach the top of the hill, Harry is surprised at the stunning site before them. There is a city, with stone houses and small, well-kept yards. A wide path of winding brick road stretches through the whole town, leading up to a wood on the other side. Harry can see the top of a larger house over the trees, in the middle of the thicket.

“Is that where the King lives?” Harry asks Dergon, pointing to the far away home.

“Yes,” Dergon replies, “I have always believed it to be, although few have ever paid the king a visit.”

“We could make it there by tonight, but we’d better come up with a way to get her out first.” Ron says.

Harry shakes his head. “I think we need to find out more about what we’re dealing with and–”

Rattle! Clang! Whoosh!

There is shuffling down near their feet, and a tiny brown Imp leaps out from behind a bush. His eyes are wide, fringed with black ashes and he is covered in brown fur, wearing tiny pants with a pocket sewn onto only one of the legs.

“Stop! Hand over everything of value to us, by order of the King!” he says. He is carrying what looks like a spoon. There are several tools and weapons dangling from his belt, and he sounds like a wind chime as he bounces about menacingly.

“What the Hell are you?” Pansy says, bending to eye the creature more closely. Dergon and Naya laugh, and Harry and Ron look at the creature with much amusement.

“Going to spoon them to death Imran? You weren’t supposed to jump out just then, you idiot!” another Imp says from behind the same bush. “Now you’ve gone and ruined it!” Realizing his mistake, Imran drops his spoon and pulls out a tiny sword.

“I can’t believe this!” another Imp says, appearing from behind a rock, “Third time this week you’ve gone and jumped the gun on a perfectly planned mugging!” The last Imp looks around indignantly. “Where the Hell is Patrick?”

“Here, waiting for you fools to finish bickering,” a small, brooding voice calls out.

The Imp called Patrick climbs down from the tree nearest Ron.

“We don’t have time to be pestered by the likes of you,” Dergon says, picking up the struggling Imran.

“Oh yeah! You think you can just walk into our city without paying an entrance fee?” the second Imp says.

Dergon bares his fangs, poking his finger at the feisty Imp. “The King charges no fee to get into the City. You are nothing but criminals!”

“So what! You think because you’re bigger than us you can come waltzing into our city without paying some sort of dues? Huh?”

The bold Imp draws his own sword and swings it around Impressively.

“Shut up Max, before the wolf decides he wants a s-n-a-c-k!” Imran whimpers.

“We just heard you saying you were going to mug us!” Harry says, remembering to bare his own fangs, “Not that you would have been successful at it.”

“Well, if Imran had just waited until I gave the command and not jumped the gun…well, we had a good plan was all,” the last Imp says.

“James…do you think we could discuss this once the wolf puts me down,” Imran says.

-So close, why are we stopping- Hermione’s book says to Harry Impatiently-

Harry grips his knapsack to keep it from jumping around. Dergon licks his teeth in anticipation. “That snack idea sounds pretty good,” he says.

“Wait! Don’t eat him!” Patrick yells, putting his sword back into his tiny green pants. “We’ll let you off easy this time.”

Ron laughs, “I don’t think you ever had us.” Ron picks up Patrick by his collar.

“We might have if we had stuck to the plan,” James mumbles again.

“Ugh, why are we still talking to these little things?” Pansy says, shifting uncomfortably under the leering glances coming from Max. “Hi there,” the smitten Imp says to her, stabbing his sword into the ground and leaning on it suggestively.

“You’ll never take me alive!” Patrick yells, swinging his fists into the air. Ron laughs and puts him down on top of the rock. Max is still leering at Pansy. He slices a blade of grass in half, offering it to her. She crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“I swear if this little Imp doesn’t stop staring at me, I’m going to kick it!” Pansy snaps.

Max winks at her. “You’re not as hairy as other wolf girls I’ve met, I like it. ”

Naya leaps towards James, who dives behind the bushes again.

“Um…a little help?” Imran says as Dergon lifts him up towards his mouth.

“Wait Dergon!” Harry says, “Do you four know your way around the City?”

“I do! I do!” Imran cries out. Dergon reluctantly stops, and puts him back down onto the ground. Ron plucks the still-swinging Patrick from the rock and plants him next to Imran.

“I need to be a part of today’s Games. How can I do that?” Harry says, kneeling to their level.

Dergon’s face hardens at Harry’s announcement. Ron mumbles something close to ‘I knew it’ under his breath.

Imran looks up at Harry, surprised. “Why would you? You’re not even a very big werewolf. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Harry growls at Imran. The other Imps raise their swords, preparing to attack the green-eyed werewolf.

“We need you to take us to where they are holding the Games,” Harry says.

Imran scratches his head. “I know how to get you entered into the Games, although it’s last minute and it will take a lot of work…”

Harry groans and reaches into his sack. He pulls out a gold coin and hands it to Imran.

“Wizard money! How did you get this?” Imran says excitedly.

“Never mind, just tell us if you can arrange it or not,” Ron says, kneeling beside Harry.

“Sure, we can arrange it. James can have it done in an hour,” Imran says, kissing the coin.

James grumbles, “I thought I told you to stop making promises for me?”

Imran holds the gold coin in the air like a trophy. Max and Patrick are patting Imran on the back and making rude noises at James.

“Oh alright,” James says, “But we’d better get going if I’m going to get him entered in time.”

Harry puts Imran back down onto the ground. Dergon looks over towards Harry. “We didn’t realize your goal was to enter the Games. I would advise against it, but I trust you know your situation as well I as I do,” he says, referring to Harry’s temporary disguise.

Ron and Pansy exchange glances. Harry holds out a few gold coins to Dergon, who accepts this gesture.

“This will bring us food in the trade,” Dergon says.

Naya anxiously grabs a coin away from Dergon. He snaps at her and she sulks, handing the coin back to him.

“You have helped us more than we could have asked. And if you wish to leave us now, we understand,” Harry offers.

Dergon looks towards the town, and then back at Harry. “We will escort you to the Games. Then our debt will be paid.”

Pansy begins walking down the hill. “Touching, very touching, but the little rat said we had to hurry up.”

Imran protests, “We are not rats!”

Ron and Harry race to catch up with her. “Since when did you become concerned with this mission anyway Pansy?” Ron asks.

Pansy kicks dirt at Max, who is following her a little too closely.

“Since it became clear that the sooner this idiotic rescue is over with, the sooner I can get back home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How may we help you?” a goblin says to the motley crew standing before him. The Imps have led them to what looks like a supply store. There are bottles and bags lining the shelves, and a female goblin sits in the corner, manning what appears to be a cash register.

James waves his arms in the air to catch the attention of the goblin.

“We seek an audience with the organizer of this afternoon’s Games. I did some work for him before. Tell him that James is here to see him,” the mild mannered Imp says.

“Is he expecting you?” the goblin says haughtily, “All of you?”

“Probably not,” Harry says, “But I’d like to enter the contest.”

The goblin looks Harry up and down and laughs. “That would be entertaining at least. Come on then.”

They follow the creature to the back of the shop, and into a tunnel covered in bundimun, a green fungus with eyes that follow them with every twist and turn.

“I didn’t know that goblins lived in the forest,” Harry whispers to Dergon, walking steadily behind him.

“The original inhabitants were outlaws, banned from your world for one crime or the other. The king saw their usefulness immediately and they remain his most loyal servants,” he replies.

The goblin opens a large brass door, and there is a small, plump goblin sitting in a large plush chair. He is holding a pad of paper and gestures for them to come closer.

“The young black-haired werewolf wants to enter the Games,” their escort sniggers.

The room erupts with laughter. The goblin in charge doesn’t laugh.

“Purpose?” the goblin asks.

James and the other Imps had already filled Harry in on this part. He knew what to say.

“To show my loyalty, and give my life for the chance to serve our king,” Harry says.

‘For love’ Harry thinks.

Max sneaks up behind Patrick, knocking him in the back of the head with Imran’s coin. “Bastard!” Patrick says, retaliating by tripping Max, sending him flying into the air. All of the Imps laugh.

"Those guys have an odd sense of humor, ” Ron whispers to Pansy.

“I think they are just plain odd,” she says.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione sits beside Edred as they ride through the city. She had always assumed that his home was surrounded by forest without any civilized camps, but here was this beautiful city, unfolding right before her eyes. The carriage had surprised her, but she is even more surprised by the abraxan who is pulling it. The horse-like creature is almost the size of the entire carriage itself.

Edred’s expression is mild at the moment, although he seems a bit petulant to Hermione.

“What you will see today will be brutal and violent, but necessary to ensure that the victor is willing to give his life to serve me.”

He pulls on a lock of her hair. “Perhaps you will enjoy the show.”

They ride through groves of fruited trees, and down long aisles of immaculate stone houses. She recognizes some of the creatures. There are goblins, Trolls, centaurs, and even some werewolves. There are also creatures that she has neither seen, nor heard of before. She thinks perhaps that they are crossbreeds, like the Blast Ended Skrewt Hagrid had bred in their third year.

The carriage stops, and three goblins open the door and tug on her dress, urging her to exit. She stumbles, and looks out among the sea of strange creatures gathered around the large arena. A hush falls over the crowd. The goblins pull her towards a platform. Edred follows, squashing a small pixie that is unable to get out of his way in time.

“You will take the chair to my right,” Edred directs her, and she obeys him.

-Oh you’re so lovely!- the chair squeaks happily- such a lovely queen we will have-

‘Thank you,’ she answers sadly.

Edred sits down beside her as the goblins scramble around, attending to them both. One of the goblins hands her a strange drink. She politely accepts it and sips.

A blend of pumpkin juice and raspberries- the cup explains.

“Where are the competitors?” Edred says to one of the goblins.

There is more scrambling, and a door is opened from across the arena. Almost a dozen large creatures with fearsome weapons and intimidating size walk out to face the cheering crowd. Followed by one, a werewolf who looks oddly familiar.

“An ambitious one that one,” one of the Goblins says to Edred, “Just entered today.”

Edred peers closely at the werewolf who bares the mark of Dergon’s clan. “Very well then,” Edred says as the contestants race towards the platform. When they are close enough, each of them stop to bow before their king. Their greetings range from pathetically adoring, to quick and polite. Finally, the young werewolf takes his bow before Edred and Hermione.

“Your majesty…my future Queen…I am humbly at your service,” he says, raising his eyes to meet hers, then quickly bringing them to the ground again.

Hermione’s heart stops at the sound of his voice. Panic, fear, joy, excitement, dread…

“You are either very brave or very foolish young werewolf,” Edred says, taking an interest in him.

“I am both, your highness. Someone close to me used to tell me so all of the time,” he answers.

‘Harry’ she thinks, holding her hand to her throat, her pulse quickening.

Edred laughs and raises his sword into the air. “Death to the weak!” he proclaims, and the roaring crowds of bloodthirsty onlookers repeat the sentiment.

“Death to the weak!”

7. Games

AN: Life’s been crazy so I hope the wait wasn’t too long. A Ngagsa is a creature I made up, a chicken-like bird who nests on the tops of high buildings, and whose eggs are lethal. Thanks to Seakays for being my lovely Beta. This is for Hyacinth Girl, for her friendly reminders that I needed to work on this. So without further adieu, let the games begin…

Chapter 6- Games

The sight of Hermione eats away at Harry’s heart. Her eyes are huge, still and shiny. Edred is ignoring her, his recent solicitude towards her now superceded by his excitement at the impending bloodshed.

“The games will consist of two trials. There will be one to test the physical, and one to test the spiritual. Which one is which, is only known to myself,” the goblin says in the megaphone looking smug, “and our King.”

The crowd cheers at the mention of their ruler. Small children are scurrying for refreshments and their parents are chanting impatiently. The competitors stand, stone faced and ready as a trumpet is blown and a reverent song is sung by a pixie wearing a silver gown with blue beads and too much makeup.

Hermione looks around for Ron. She spots a wolf with a head of red hair and their eyes meet.

Ron? Hermione? Are you all right? Is that PANSY? Long story…

The ground below them trembles, and club- like feet thrust out from the earth. Black soulless eyes in the center of five outstretched arms are pulled into the air; coming towards the participants like something dislodged from Hell and sent careening to the surface.

“A Quintaped? How can it be? They are only found on the Isle of Drear,” Pansy says, stunned.

“Harry!” Ron cries out, frantically looking towards the Imps who are standing against the railing, as much in shock as anyone else.

Dergon releases a groan, “I hope your friend is as skilled as he is brave.”

“Poor dumb wolf,” James says somberly, taking his hat off and shaking his head.

“Wait and see!” Imran protests, thinking of his thirty-coin bet.

The competitors stare helplessly, clutching their modest weapons. In the rows of creatures surrounding them, voices begin to cry out, the noise escalating quickly to what it was before the monster’s dramatic entrance. The Quintaped moves more swiftly now, lifting its first victim into the air, devouring the male troll in three bites. Harry scrambles, along with the others. His wand is tied to his waist, disguised as a small pickaxe. He thinks of a spell that isn’t too obvious. Confundus Charm would confuse the monster, giving him more time at least.

“Confundo”, he whispers, holding the “pickaxe” in front of him, as if readying himself to fight.

The goblin that the creature is holding is suddenly dropped onto the ground with a solid thud. The crowd recoils from the sound of shattering bones. The monster is looking around, dazed. The spell is working.

Hermione recognizes the expression on the beast’s face.

‘Be careful, Harry!’ she thinks.

The remaining ten competitors attack, managing to cause some injury to their confused enemy. Rocks, stones, axes, swords. Harry holds back, as two more are tossed aside by the creature. One poor, unfortunate centaur is stepped on, squashed into the ground like a hamburger patty on a grill. Harry is sprayed by the blood, and wipes it from his eyes. The crowd cheers.

“You owe me for the centaur Max!” Patrick says.

Max grumbles about ‘dumb luck’ and hands Patrick the money. “I should have known not to bet on him. Too damn confidant those things are, don’t you agree sweetie?” he says, looking up at Pansy.

“Bug off, you annoying little pest,” Pansy replies.

“So feisty …do I light the fire in you?” Max says, raising his eyebrows.

Ron can’t just sit and watch Harry get attacked. He looks around the arena, his eyes falling on a large nest near the back wall.

“I have an idea, come on.” Ron stands. Naya and Dergon nod in agreement. Pansy groans and stands up as well. “You too Imps!” Ron commands, annoyed at their lack of response.

“Why us?” Imran protests.

“Look, do you want Harry to get squashed out there? You are the only ones small enough not to get noticed.” Ron asks.

James shrugs. Patrick yawns. Max whistles. Imran looks around frantically for the goblin selling peppermint humbugs.

Pansy laughs. “I’d say they are all genuinely apathetic.”

Ron flinches as another competitor is eaten. His body goes stiff, and he jerks his head towards the Imps again.

“If you don’t help Harry, you won’t get the money.”

The Imps pay attention.

~~~~~~~~

Harry screams as a burst of hot saliva comes from the monster’s mouth, searing his right hand. He draws his hand away, shaking it in the air as he runs to get out of the creature’s line of vision. He almost trips over something. A severed head. “Christ!” There are only three of them left to fight, and the arena is beginning to look like a mass grave. He doesn’t even want to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t used the confusion spell. He has to think of something else.

“Harry!!!” Ron screams, his voice hoarse from trying to get his friend’s attention. “Move to the right!”

Harry nods, and runs to the right side of the creature. The other two competitors follow him, wanting to benefit as well from this unsolicited help.

Hermione breathes a small prayer as Edred watches intently. The pet he has raised just for this occasion is behaving strangely. He wonders if the trade with the secret keeper of that unplottable Isle was worth all of the effort.

Something falls from the sky. Something- no, two somethings – drop to the dry, stony ground right at Harry’s feet. The Quintaped doesn’t take notice right away, which is very fortunate for the remaining competitors.

Harry’s throat tightens, and his stomach twists with nausea as at once, unflinchingly, he picks up one of the smelly eggs and tosses it towards the beast’s open mouth. It snaps it up. He tosses the other, and the Quintaped gulps it down without hesitation.

It only takes a second to begin working. The Quintaped’s movements grow vigorous. Staggering drunkenly around the arena, it spits out a mouthful of something indescribably vile. Then it bends over, retching up half-eaten flesh.

‘Please let this work,’ Hermione thinks, trying to mask her hopeful expression.

A chunk of meat suddenly protrudes from between the Quintaped’s teeth. Its tongue.

“Fall, you bastard!” Harry screams.

The beast stumbles, howls, and then collapses like a punctured lung; finally succumbing to the poison of the Ngagsa eggs.

~~~~~~

“Yes! All right!” Ron cries out. Dergon manages a smile. Naya is busy chomping on a grilled niffler someone dropped onto the ground.

“You know, we were the ones to actually slay the beast. Don’t I even get a kiss for scaling that wall for your friend? Those eggs were pretty heavy.” Max says to Pansy.

“Harry - I mean Potter - is not my friend. And no, I would die before I’d be willing to kiss you.”

Max looks at her thoughtfully, taking in Pansy’s features again. “I’m patient.”

“Grrrrr…” Pansy says, bearing her teeth at him.

“Hey! I was the one who convinced James to use his slingshot!” Imran says. Patrick trips Imran, and the Imp falls. The Imps all point and laugh. Imran stands, leaping onto Patrick’s back and wrestles him to the ground. More laughter.

“God, I hate Imps!” Pansy complains.

Ron’s celebratory mood changes abruptly to revulsion as the Quintaped’s cadaver begins to jerk reflexively. “I can’t imagine what’s coming next,” he says finally.

“Hey! There they are!” A goblin yells, pointing in their direction. “They killed the King’s pet! Get them!”

“What do we do now?” Pansy asks.

The Imps race off towards the gate without warning. “I think maybe they have the right idea!” Ron says, grabbing Pansy’s hand and taking off behind them. Dergon stops Naya from following.

“We have paid our debt,” Dergon says, as the goblins race past them in pursuit of the Imps, Ron, and Pansy. Dergon and Naya back away into the crowd, Dergon muttering ‘Good luck’ to his young friends.

~~~~~

-Escape? Why would you want to do that?- the chair says to Hermione- You will be Queen soon!

‘You don’t understand.’ Hermione answers, not taking her eyes off of Harry.

There is a team of pixies clearing off the field for the next event. Harry and the other two competitors sit silently against the back wall. Hermione can no longer find Ron and Pansy in the crowd.

The carcasses are tossed indifferently into the back of a large wagon. Hermione cringes as Edred focuses his attention back onto her. She takes her top lip between her teeth to keep from grimacing.

“Do not be disappointed, Hermione. There is more entertainment to come,” he says with the utmost sincerity, crawling under her skin again, and taking control of her.

The field is clear now, and a startling tunnel of wind blows, lifting dust and rocks into the air. It swirls in the center, dancing; proudly displaying it’s grace and skill. There is applause from the crowd. The stones come crashing down like rain.

Edred smiles, he would have the pleasure of using his most powerful weapon after all. The competitors are directed to the center of the arena again. Harry, a goblin, and a troll are the only ones left. They have exchanged no words, formed no alliances. All must die but one.

Movement flickers behind him, and Harry turns around, his heart speeding up, adrenaline causing his temples to pulse, but there are no monsters, no beasts to slay. It is only a gust of cold wind against his chest.

There is a buzzing noise to his right. He moves again. Wings appear in mid-air, hovering above them all for a moment, and then breaking apart into feathers, disappearing before they hit the ground. There is a meaty thud. Then a brief scream, as the goblin is dragged into the air, vanishing from sight. Harry and the troll stand their ground.

‘Please let Harry survive this,’ Hermione prays. Although she imagines the horror of it, feels it; she can’t even scream for him.

Harry looks over his shoulders, peering into the empty space. There is a brief flutter, a flash of brown. Eyes. Harry picks up a stone and tosses it towards the nothingness. It falls to the ground, tossed in vain. The troll scratches his head. Harry holds his breath, focusing his intense concentration on staying alive.

There is whispering and shuffling. More frenzied buzzing in his ears.

“Flesh…blood…uncooked…” it says. Harry shudders, afraid.

Something tightens like steel bands around Harry’s wrists, pulling his arms above his head.

For a second, Harry is weightless, and the wind has him. He is imbued with a sudden feverish energy, but he doesn’t give in to it. If he dies, it will be because of his own all-devouring fear. Harry closes his eyes, willing himself back to the ground, saying come on, come on to his unseen captor. He pictures the beast as translucent, colorless, and then shapeless; falling away and disintegrating into nothing. The grip is loosening, as he continues with this train of thought.

“You are nothing,” Harry whispers. He suddenly ascends to the ground, landing on his back. The crowd grumbles, confused.

“We can’t see it because it isn’t really there,” Harry says to the troll.

The troll shakes his head. “You want win! You lie!”

“If you believe it’s there, it will kill you,” Harry says calmly, drawing his breath and closing his hands on nothing.

The troll doesn’t believe him, and the being can sense it.

The buzzing, which had never really stopped, reasserts itself, quickly rising to a roar. The troll, who is still on his feet – turns towards it, instinctively raising his club. Harry backs away slowly. The troll is knocked to the ground, screaming through a grin of pain. Blood bursts from the troll’s eyes and nose as he is squeezed, the invisible entity wrapping around his thick middle.

Harry sits, exhausted. The crowd is in awe, and their screams soon turn to cheers.

“Wolf boy has done it!” someone yells.

~~~~~~~~

“Wolf boy has done it!”

Hermione opens her eyes. Harry is being lifted to his feet, cheered on and led towards the platform. Edred nods approvingly at the young victor. The goblins direct him up the stairs and when he brushes by Hermione, it is all she can do not to reach out to hold him. She is fighting back tears of relief.

“Congratulations young wolf, this is most surprising,” Edred says.

“Thank you sire,” Harry says, his words containing pain and contempt in equal measure at the brutality of what he has just witnessed.

Edred draws closer to Harry, taking his hand, examining it for a moment. “I wonder if you understand just what sort of path you have chosen.” Edred’s skin feels like stale bread.

“My life will be to serve you,” Harry says, his eyes glancing over at Hermione, “And your Queen.”

Edred laughs. “Don’t be so nervous. You won’t be tested again, for which I’m sure you are suitably grateful.”

Harry doesn’t allow a flicker of response to cross his face, his feigned indifference causing Edred some concern. “You do realize however that if you once fall out of line, I will kill you myself. And I will make you long for the battle with the Quintaped if that day ever comes.”

“I understand, your Highness,” Harry says through gritted teeth, his fatigued frame rigid.

“What is your name?”

“Harry,” he replies, not having thought to make up another.

Edred smiles, now satisfied with Harry’s response, and turns toward Hermione.

“You will be my honored attendant tomorrow at my wedding.” Edred points to a goblin standing nearest to the stairs. “Lell will be your servant, and he will tell you all that you need to know.”

Edred takes Harry’s arm and raises it into the air. The crowd roars.

“Harry the werewolf!” Edred calls out.

Harry looks around for Ron and the others. When he doesn’t spot them, he looks over again at Hermione.

‘Soon Hermione, I promise,’ he thinks.

She nods her head, and he thinks that perhaps she has heard him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What is this place anyway?” Pansy asks.

James and Max are peeking out of the crack in the door. The goblins have gone.

“It’s the morgue, James has the key because he did some work for them last week,” Patrick explains.

Ron looks at James. “Are you the only one of them who actually does any work?”

James nods, “Yep, pretty much.”

The other Imps agree. Imran begins to say something, but then changes his mind. Footsteps begin to shuffle past.

“Its over, there is a winner.”

There is silence as they all listen to the voices outside. Max opens the door a little more.

“The werewolf looked so scrawny, who would have thought…” someone says brushing past.

Ron exhales with relief. Pansy does as well.

“We’re rich! We’re rich!” the Imps laugh, dancing around.

Ron eyes Pansy suspiciously. “If I wasn’t convinced you were pure evil, I’d say you were happy that Harry won.”

Pansy licks her lips. “Not happy, just relieved that we might soon be able to get out of here.”

“Does the winner stay at the King’s estate?” asks Ron, looking over at Imran.

Imran scoffs “No, the winner gets his own house in town.”

“So how are we going to get to Hermione before this wedding?” Pansy asks.

James raises his hand. They all turn to look at him. Max snickers, kicking Imran in the shin.

“The competitors are all given honored graves behind the King’s house for their display of loyalty. I think I know a way you can get there,” James says, “but it won’t be fun.”

James points towards two empty caskets. Pansy throws her arms into the air. “What a surprise!” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ron exhales, “I guess we’d better go find out where Harry is then.”

“If he’s the winner, I know exactly where they’ve taken him!” Imran says smugly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione knows that Harry has no choice but to play along for now, but his absence pains her terribly. In the ride back to the house, she is silent among the noisy celebrations erupting throughout the village. Edred stays behind, the honored guest of some pre-marital ritual planned by one of his wealthy associates.

Her arms feel heavy at her sides. She is escorted into the house where she is greeted by strange goblins holding a wedding gown, needles and scissors lying neatly on the table.

They are preparing her; being loyal bridesmaids. They are fitting her for the dress she will wear the next day, if she doesn’t escape.

They go to work immediately, stripping her down to her slip. She cooperates as they push the gown over her head. The goblin women tug on her sleeves, and then pull her dress into place, lowering the white veil, smoothing the long train behind her. Hermione is numb, and she blocks out their chatter and bickering over whether to hem the gown or not.

Her eyes are red with weeping.

- Don’t you like me?- the gown asks.

‘You’re lovely.’

Hermione is unwilling to give away any more thought than this. She closes her eyes, blocking out all of the voices. Her subconscious, unsympathetic to her confinement, taunts her with images of freedom.

“Too much room in the waist! I told you!” a goblin snaps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have visitors,” Lall says to Harry.

Harry stands when Ron and Pansy walk into the room.

“You did it! Lucky Bastard!” Ron says, patting Harry on the back. Pansy ignores him, admiring a vase on the shelf.

“So this is what the winner gets, huh? Nice place,” Max says, kicking the table to test the wood.

Harry looks over at Lall. “Please excuse us Lall, I’d like to have some private time with my uh…friends.”

Lall sneers, and then promptly exits.

“Listen, we have a plan to get to Hermione tonight,” Ron says.

Harry nods, “Good, lets hear it.”

“Well, the ones who died today will be buried tonight in the graveyard behind the Kings house, honored graves. James thinks that we can sneak onto the property that way.”

James nods in agreement. Patrick and Max are fighting over a silver statuette on the side table.

Harry looks at James, confused. “How?”

“In coffins,” Pansy says, putting down the vase.

Harry is surprisingly unaffected by this news. “I guess it beats walking there,” he says

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione soaks in the warm water of Edred’s opulent bathroom, and tries to ease the images of the day’s slaughter from her mind.

- What will you do? – the bathtub asks – will you escape, leaving us here?

Hermione shuts off her thoughts. The water grows cool. The bathtub, angry at her refusal to reply, stops putting any effort into heating the water. Hermione stands and dries off, putting on her nightgown. She knows what she will do. She will go to his secret room again. It is a risk, but she needs to see.

She walks down the hallway, ignoring the whispered warnings.

‘Please, I need to see again,’ Hermione says.

The door opens, and her thoughts become curiously selfish as she rushes to pick up a vial.

‘I need to see Harry!’

- Our king will kill you for your betrayal- a tree says

She stops, the blue vial temporarily forgotten as she notices the window in the room is open.

- Climb out and run like Hell – a tree says – so he can catch you and have you for dinner -

She stifles the urge, and lets the magic take over her mind. She sees, but it isn’t what she hopes to see. She begins to panic.

Edred is coming.

~~~~~~~~~

8. Deliverance

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.

9. Of Curses and Madams

Chapter 8

Of Curses and Madams

This chapter is for Seldon and Katrionna. Thanks to Sue for the beta. Sue, you rock me like a hurricane, love.

The night sky is endless and empty and dark. There seems to be nothing behind which to hide, and they know that trying to travel the long distance that night would prove to be fatal.

“Never going to get past him, you know. You may as well leave all of your money. It would be a shame if that went to waste,” Imran says, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Hermione stops walking, and spreads her arms in a gesture of frustration. Harry stands behind her placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing it gently. She reaches up and clasps her hand over his. Ron seems to find this mesmerizing, but makes an attempt not to stare.

“You can go back. In fact, you should leave now unless you want to be hunted along with us,” Harry says.

Patrick kicks the ground. James shakes his head.

“We’ve already paid you,” Ron adds. Pansy mutters some inaudible complaint and Hermione gives her a gaze of warning.

“If you have something to say, just come out with it,” Pansy says to Hermione, “Oops! I forgot!”

“Shut it, Pansy. You aren’t even remotely humorous right now,” Harry snaps.

Pansy snorts. “Oh really? I thought that was pretty good, don’t you Weasley?”

Hermione turns back to look at Ron who flushes red. “Shut it, Pansy. Please,” he mutters.

Imran fiddles with the coins in his pants pocket. Max shoves him, and takes some from him. Patrick wrestles Max to the ground.

“I know somewhere he can’t find you,” James announces suddenly.

There is silence.

“This temporary moment of insanity is brought to you by James, the idiotic hero,” Imran growls.

Harry turns, and glances down at James.

“Go on," Harry says.

“I know where you can seek refuge, at least for a while,” James mumbles hesitantly.

Max gives Patrick a knowing glance, and Imran sits down in the dirt with his hands over his face. “Oh dear,” he says, suddenly grinning widely, “Do we have enough money to splurge some while we’re there?”

Pansy’s patience is disintegrating. “Look, if you’ve found a place for us to hide from this monster then spill it, or else I might be tempted to stomp on you!”

Ron sighs. “Really, Pansy. You aren’t helping.”

James ignores her hollow threat. “We’ll find the Madam.”

Hermione’s eyes widen.

“We’re seeking refuge with a woman whose sense of cruelty is only rivaled by the King. Wonderful idea, James. Wonderful, “Patrick says, throwing his hands up.

“But there are women of ill repute, let’s not discount the value of that!” Imran says anxiously.

Harry is contemplative. Pansy gives Ron a menacing glance when he opens his mouth to comment.

“I trust you, James,” Harry says. “And unless anyone else has a better plan, I say we find this Madam.”

The skies over the woods are still filled with smoke from the celebration. Some of his servants night fires are still burning, confusing his senses. In the pit of his stomach, there is a fire of his own.

Edred swoops down towards the edge of a river for a drink. His throat is dry and his anger has consumed him too quickly. He will rest, and then seek them out again. He spits in his palm, dips his finger into the water and sucks on the tip of it. The water boils on his tongue.

He will call to his loyal servants. Every inch of the forest will be scoured. She will not leave him.

They move quickly, following the Imps, careful to follow in their tiny footsteps. Hermione begins to slip into the type of delirium that comes from either extreme hunger or fatigue, and now, hurrying after the Imps, her waking dreams start to unnerve her even more. She is free, but for how long? She has seen Edred’s power, and her heart is heavy with the thought that her friends could perish in their attempt to rescue her.

“Stop thinking that, Hermione. We came because we wanted to," Harry whispers.

‘I cannot trust you to keep any confidence, can I?’ Hermione thinks angrily. The book in Harry’s knapsack is quiet, ashamed at having passed on Hermione’s thoughts to Harry.

Their journey ends at the finely wrought gates of a small cave hidden behind some brush. It looks as if no one has gone inside in years. The only curiosity is a green rock that sits beside the doorway, almost equal in size to the cave itself. When they get closer, odd sounds emanate from behind it.

“What is that?” asks Pansy, and for once, Hermione is glad that the other girl has spoken up.

“The Madam’s summoning stone. It’s how we call her,” Patrick explains.

“I hope you know what you’re doing. I’ve got a bad feeling about this woman, “ Ron says, pointing towards the remains of some unfortunate creature lying a foot away near a tree.

James shrugs. “We don’t have much choice, and she isn’t all bad. She just believes in reciprocity.”

“So we’ll owe her for giving us refuge?”

James shakes his head, and lays a hand on the rock. “No, she’ll demand it immediately.”

“So much for getting to keep any of that gold,” Pansy says, nudging Ron in the side. “Weasley here could have used some of it-“

Pansy is interrupted by the sound of metal grinding, and the gate creaking open. They brace themselves as something scurries towards them, stopping only inches away from the Imps. She is small, and Hermione guesses correctly that she is an Imp.

When the old Imp smiles, it makes Hermione more nervous than any scowl she has ever seen. It’s neither kind, nor understanding, but it’s painful. Her eyes cut into them.

“Madam, I did you a great service once, and I’d like to ask for a favor in return. Though it is more than anyone has asked before, I’m afraid,” James says.

The Madam watches them with vague interest, never gracing Hermione with more than the briefest of glances.

“Then my payment shall be equally as great,” she says, motioning for them to follow, the gate creaking shut behind them.

“My God, that thing is so old she actually creaks when she walks-“

The Madam turns to face Pansy. Two other female Imps scurry up beside her, and tug on Pansy and Hermione.

“Hey!” Pansy says angrily, “get off of me!”

James motions for her to calm down. Harry feels for his wand, and Ron steps up beside Harry.

“You will bathe these two, “the Madam commands the other female Imps. She runs her hand over Pansy’s leg, and Pansy flinches. “Bathe this one twice,” she adds imperiously.

The servants tug on Hermione and Pansy, and they reluctantly follow them. Harry and Ron give James a concerned look, but Patrick, Max and Imran are already scouring the hallway as another three or four female Imps come out to greet their new ‘guests’.

Dinner is a bizarre occasion. Pansy and Hermione both submit to their baths, and have allowed themselves to be dressed in long garments that were quickly sewn together to fit them, both women being nearly twice the size of the female Imps. The plates on the table are square, and there is a large stone in the center that turns towards whomever is speaking. A female Imp is screeching, although Harry suspects she is singing, and Pansy rudely grimaces at every note.

Madam sits at the head of the table and flirts shamelessly with James, who, much to his credit, is polite, despite an undercurrent of repulsion Harry senses from him. Max and Patrick have long since disappeared, and Imran sits in the corner negotiating with a female Imp who is wearing a pretty dressing gown and some ornate jewelry around her neck.

“Your friends would do better to let themselves be killed. The King will not stop seeking them until they are found,” she says, biting into a crispy piece of flesh. Ron’s face begins to turn green as he watches the old Imp suck down the meat. “But I will do you this favor, James and allow them refuge …for a fee, of course.”

Imran interrupts the conversation with a fit of nervous giggles, the female Imp of his choice cooing on his lap and tickling his sides. The Madam does not seem perturbed by this, but instead, grins wider.

“We’ll do as you ask, Madam,” Harry says, looking down at his own plate. His hunger is greater than his reluctance to eat the unknown.

“For certain, you will.”

Ron downs his drink, some sort of juice, in one gulp.

They all jump as a knife suddenly appears in the Madam’s left hand. She turns around and tosses it towards a rat who is sulking in the shadows of the corner. There is a brief swish in the air, the cackle of triumph from one of the other Imps, and the rodent falls, writhing. Madam smiles, her small teeth gleaming in the firelight.

“It looks like we will also be serving breakfast.”

Ron looks away, groaning.

“That is hospitable of you, Madam, “ James says.

“Do not be fooled, my solicitous friend.”

Harry looks to James, and then to Hermione and Pansy.

“What are your demands in exchange for temporary shelter?”

The Madam orders one of her female Imps to gather up the carcass of the rat. Then she turns to Harry, her eyes two narrow slits.

“You will retrieve something for me in the morning. It is something many have failed to do. The box contains something belonged to my father, and it's very precious to me. You ‘ll likely die trying, but it will be better than dying at the hands of the King.”

“With all due respect, Madam, I’d prefer not to die at all. In the morning, I’ll go looking for what it is you seek.”

“We’ll go looking, “Ron says. Hermione nods.

“Oh for God’s sake, can’t we just give you some money? Must everything lead to another damn quest?” Pansy moans.

It’s as if time remains the same, replaying the same long, desperate hour. Edred can’t sleep. He sits instead, gravely listening, assailed by gusts of wind, and still stunned with disbelief. He thinks he smells her on the wind, but he is disappointed to only come across a garment of hers, long since discarded. The flames in his throat are now burning him from the inside. This is a natural condition, one that he has learned to live with. He knows he must retake his other form, this one leaving him unable to rest for very long.

The change comes quickly, his body relieved to be ridding itself of the fire. Edred cannot seem to bring himself to return home just yet. He will sleep under the sky. He knows it is a risk, but returning to his home now would signal momentary defeat and his pride will not allow him even that.

He lifts his horn to his mouth and blows a long, low sound from it, signaling those loyal to him with this. He waits. He listens.

He hears them murmur, and a messenger finds him in a matter of minutes.

“The reward, “he says, “to anyone who finds my Queen and her companions will be more wealth than they can imagine.”

The messenger nods, and hurries into the night. Enthusiastic voices extol the declaration all around him, as he sits and tries not to think of her. There is an unfamiliar ache in his chest, and his legs feel heavy. He tries to remember her face, the way her eyes grow wide and dark when she is afraid.

He watches the brush in front of him, waiting for the shadows to move, the shadows to shift from darkness into light and point him toward where she is hiding. But they don’t. He realizes then that he has let himself feel for this creature. He must not think of her this way.

She will be nothing more than a meal.

It is the lack of movement, the way things are too quiet that keeps Harry awake. Hermione is on his left, her steady breathing assuring him that she is asleep. He thinks about waking her, but decides she needs the rest. Ron is in the corner, and Pansy is against the wall, having found a comfortable spot near the fire. Even Pansy looks innocent in that light.

He takes a stomach tightening breath, and looks into the cracked mirror hanging against the door. The person who looks back at him seems so in control and unafraid.

Harry wonders why it is that mirrors always fail to reflect the truth.

“Harry?” Ron whispers, “if anything, you should at least try to sleep.”

He turns towards his friend. “I’m just thinking about tomorrow. I’m not sure I trust the Madam’s word.”

“Neither do I, but it isn’t like we have many options. Besides, we’re still alive now. That’s something at least.”

“I have a feeling that the hardest part isn’t over yet. We don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

Muted laughter comes from the room beside them. “At least the Imps are having a good time, “Ron mumbles.

Another laugh. It’s Max. Harry thinks he hears Pansy mumble something, but when he looks over, her eyes are still closed tightly. He is surprised to see Hermione’s eyes are now open, and staring up at him.

“I’m sorry, Hermione, “ Ron says, “we didn’t mean to wake you.”

Hermione sighs, and sits up. There is a few nervous shuffles coming from the other room, but it soon dissolves into nothing. For a while they talk, their conversation almost too casual. Hermione doesn’t seem to mind that she can’t join in, and she smiles when Ron tells her of how they ended up with Pansy. Soon, their chatter grows quiet, their words further and further apart. Ron is the first to give into sleep again, and then Hermione lies back down.

- She wants to know why you won’t rest- says the book..

‘‘I’m not tired”, Harry says out loud.

- You’re lying-

“Yes, I’m lying,” Harry answers. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a hero. I help save you only to lead you somewhere you might end up dying anyway.”

- You’re her friend- the book explains – She says that you're not her knight in shining armor, and that you’ll help each other-

“Well, that’s true enough,” Harry whispers. Hermione smiles, touches his hand. Harry instinctively looks over at Ron, who is fast asleep.

- It’s too quiet- the book says.

“It may be the last quiet night we have for a while, but it does make me nervous.”

Harry decides to let his body rest, even if his mind can’t. Hermione lays down beside him, closer than she was before. Her breathing is broken up like his own. He is surprised by the warmth of her hand when she intertwines it with his. He can understand her, even without words. Slowly and gently, he pulls her into his arms and she rests her head on his chest.

‘Tell him not to worry,’ Hermione thinks.

The book relays the message, and Harry lets his hand tangle in her hair.

“We’ll make it out of this place, especially now that we have you,” Harry replies with a bravado he does not feel. He is surprised when she rolls over, letting his body have all of her weight, her chest against his. Her face is near his face, then his lips against hers.

It feels like a dream. His whole body sweetly aches, as they kiss again. When she lifts her head up for a moment, he can make out the hesitant expression on her face. She touches his face, traces the outline of his mouth. Indecision, want…need.

Deciding for them both, he pulls her to him again. He does not want it to end, and for a few moments more, it doesn’t. They kiss until his mouth burns, and every nerve in his body is alive. When she finally pulls away with a gasp of air, he regrets the loss of sensation. She settles back against his chest, and he can feel her breathing against him. After a few minutes, his arm grows numb from lying so still, but he does not mind much.

Edred awakens from his slumber quickly, as if someone has set off a firing pistol inside of his head. His eye-blink brief night is enough to restore his energy.

He buckles his belt around his waist and dismisses the servants who have gathered at his side. He detests their weakness, but is grateful for their loyalty.

Over the hill, he can see birds soaring high in the air, peering down into the thicket in hopes of capturing the prize. A squinty eyed Goblin with sparse lips is screaming at her spouse to hurry and follow them, so that he too can be rewarded.

There is that unbearably rich, fertile smell of humans hanging in the air like a taunt.

His hairs stand on end when he hears someone laughing. Trolls, laughing; low voices and higher ones. “Invincible, Ha! Humans escaped him!” “I wonder what he’ll do if he doesn’t find them.”

There is doubt. Doubt about his power, his reign. He will resolve it.

He races through the wood towards the voices. They are startled, and fall to the ground before him. The one that speaks first is the voice he had heard from afar. The one who had laughed at him.

He reaches for it by the throat, and lifts the creature into the air.

“I am your King, and you mock me?!”

The creature begs, pleads. He considers letting it go, but his claws are already sinking into its skin. The force of it sprays the ground with red droplets; a murderer’s morning dew.

Edred tastes it. He cannot help himself. As he steps away from the scene, he watches them fall upon the body like a swarm of ants.

Madam touches the muddy wall in the back of the cave. They step back when it cracks, and opens up into a dank tunnel. They look down the long hole, guided by the light leaking in from above ground. There is a reptile sitting daintily on top of what looks like a small trunk.

Pansy laughs. “That’s it? That’s what you’re afraid of? It looks like a baby alligator. I could turn that into a nice handbag.”

The Madam ignores Pansy’s remark, and orders one of the female Imps to fetch something from the kitchen. The Imp returns with a small bird, and hands it to the Madam.

“What you see is a Gharadian. The cursed creature can not go beyond the borders of the first tunnel it digs shortly after birth.”

Madam tosses the bird into the tunnel, and the creature stands on its hind legs, suddenly at attention. There is a sound, a piercing squeal, as the reptile’s body twists and writhes through the tunnel, so fast that to their eyes he is nothing but a blur. There is a whir of feathers, another scream, and the unmistakable crunch of bones.

“Things aren’t always as they seem,” Madam says, glaring at Pansy. “You’d be foolish to underestimate its power.”

Harry breathes deeply. “So we’re going to have to kill this thing?”

“Your goal is to retrieve the box. Gharadian’s are immortal. “

“Is there money inside?” Imran says. Patrick kicks him, and Imran draws his sword.

“No, there is something far more valuable. I dismissed someone from my dwelling, and was stupid to spare her life. She took vengeance upon me by throwing my possession to the Gharadian. She wasn’t aware that she would follow it only hours later. A Gharadian never leaves its dwelling, so they have quite the appetite. They survive only on unfortunate beings who wander inside.”

“Or out of work whores who are tossed inside,“ Pansy snipes.

Madam shrivels up her nose again.

“So, do we have a plan yet, Harry?” Ron says.

“Only one of you will be able to enter at a time. I will close the tunnel as soon as someone sets foot inside, and they will not be able to exit unless they have my possession. I would choose quickly, the creature doesn’t stay satiated very long.”

“Just one of us? Why only one?“ Ron says.

“It wouldn’t be very sporting otherwise, now would it?” Madam laughs. “When one of you gets eaten, another will make the attempt.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Ron says angrily.

Harry balls his fists at his side. “I’ll go” he declares, just as Hermione steps inside of the tunnel. Madam closes the cave behind her, before Harry can object.

‘Can you hear me?’ Hermione thinks. She read about these creatures once. She only hopes what she has will be enough to distract it.

- Run, run away now- something inside the cave says.

‘I cannot run. I have to get the box’, she replies.

- I’m useless to you – the box replies.

The lizard-like creature eyes her curiously. He won’t attack her until he is hungry again, but he will fight in defense. If she goes after the box now, he will rip her to shreds.

‘I don’t wish to use you. I wish to return you to your rightful owner,’ she says.

The small Gharadian’s ears twitch. Then he sneezes once, twice. She can hear the faint sounds of Harry and the others calling to her from outside of the cave. The Gharadian makes a rumbling sound deep in his throat, and the end of his tail flicks. Hermione steps carefully to the other side of the cave, and sits, never taking her eyes from it. She is trembling, but confidant. The creature doesn’t move. Feathers are still sticking out from its mouth, and its head only makes small, jerking movements, swallowing them down.

Hermione reaches for the shiny clamp on her robe, holding it up towards the trickle of light coming from the crack above. The Gharadian’s eyes widen. His tail lashes against the wall, bringing down a spray of small pebbles and dirt. He is powerful, for his size. With an air of petulance, he shakes the dust from his scales and moves towards it. Hermione tosses the object towards him, hitting him between the eyes. He snarls at her, enraged, but keeps his eyes on the shiny metal, deciding whether he will go after it before ripping her apart. He grabs the clamp, holding it between his teeth, and then emitting an all too familiar sound.

Laughter. Glee at this oddity he now possesses, this rare ‘jewel’ he has been given.

Hermione takes a cautious step towards the box. Her feet, well rehearsed in stealth after living with the King, make no sound on the floor.

-Quickly then- the box says – you are clever, now be quick –

‘Now,’ Hermione thinks, and lifts the box in her arms, racing towards the mouth of the cave. She knows it will open when she touches it, but whether it will open fast enough is the real question.

She sprints as fast as she can towards the entrance, and the Gharadian, momentarily stunned by this daring move, hesitates a few seconds before dropping the clamp and racing after her. She pushes against the cave wall, and several small boulders dislodge behind her, slowing down her predator. The Gharadian throws his head back and screams with fury.

Hermione opens her mouth in a silent scream as the razor-sharp edges of his claws sink into her leg, but she reaches for the entrance anyway, and touches the wall. The Gharadian snaps at her feet, as another boulder comes crashing toward them. Hermione can feel the blood dripping from her leg, but she takes scant notice of the pain as the cave begins to open.

Writhing, the Gharadian pulls her to the ground, but she grips the box between her arms and throws herself towards the opening. Managing to get one hand through, Madam takes the box from her and squeals with delight as Harry and Ron pull her towards them. The Gharadian screams, holds her firmly as he rips into her thigh, shaking her in his mouth, refuses to let go.

Hermione sinks her fingernails into his nostrils, and holds on firmly. It releases her, crashing backwards against the wall, as Harry and Ron pull her completely through. The walls tremble, and Hermione looks up at Harry. She feels wet, soaked with something sticky.

“Oh God, Hermione,” Harry says.

Then everything is black.

The smell, as always, astounds him. A stew of stale breath and sweaty armpits mixed with the excrement of whatever creature they had managed to slay. He hates moving among the trolls, but their size is useful to him. They are also not very smart, and he needs creatures he can easily control. The ever greedy, ever stupid, always willing trolls.

Edred cannot get her face out of his mind. Two nights have almost gone and still, he cannot find her. Most of his victims were quick, easy, and forgettable. He doesn’t fool himself into thinking that she will be any of those things.

He knows that she must have found an unplottable spot, somewhere protected even from his eyes. Such places exist, he knows that, but surely she would not know where they were. She and her rescuers had to have help.

A troll, a particularly vulgar one called Nairam, returns with a wiggling sack and places it before Edred’s feet. It smells faintly human, and for a minute, Edred is hopeful. When he opens the sack, he sees it is only a wolf girl.

“Hu-man” the troll mutters, holding out its hand for some sort of payment. Edred reaches in his pocket, pulls out his knife and chops the limb clean off.

“That is not a human, idiot. It’s only werewolf,” he says angrily.

But a familiar scent comes to him. He can smell the humans on this she-wolf.

“What is your name?” he demands, gripping her by the shoulders.

“Naya, “she says.

One of the female Imps opens the door, and a hot rush of cooking wafts out. She is squinting permanently at Hermione, and the wrinkles on her face worsen when she tries to smile sympathetically. Hermione feels disoriented, and no longer wonders why when she looks down at her legs that are now covered in bandages.

“Hey, “Ron whispers to Harry, “she’s awake.”.

“You’ve been out for a couple of hours,” Harry says.

She looks around, trying to focus. Harry is on her left, and Pansy is lounging in the corner, picking off of a tray someone must have sent in earlier.

“You’re not as smart as I thought you were. Lucky, but not smart, “Pansy says, although the girls tone is less venomous then usual.

-I was so worried, so worried! - the book says. Hermione tries to sit up, and Harry helps her.

“Hermione, do you think you can walk?” Harry asks. His face is anxious. “I don’t think we should stay much longer.”

“I agree,” James says. Max and Patrick shrug, and Imran nods in agreement. “Madam will want to use her new possession. I don’t think any of us will want to be around when she does.”

Hermione looks around. She had never asked the box what it contained.

“Something’s going on. I can feel it. Madam has been quiet and all of her servants are waiting on us hand and foot, “Harry whispers.

‘How long have I been out?’ Hermione thinks.

-Only for an hour or so – the bed answers-

Pansy moves across the room, pulls the covers off of Hermione’s legs.

“I did a healing spell for you, but it will take a while. Potter didn’t think you’d want him to look under your robe,” she laughs. Then she leans and whispers in Hermione’s ears “But I know better, Granger.”

Hermione’s face gets overly warm. Ron snorts. “As opposed to having you look under her robe?”

Pansy tosses her hair back. “I was forced to bathe with her, so I’ve seen everything she has already.”

Ron and the Imps seem to come to attention. Harry turns away so Hermione can’t see the expression on his face.

“You bathed with her?” Max says. “That’s like some sort of dream-“

Hermione is redder then she has ever been in her life. Pansy makes a look of disgust.

“Well, you didn’t think they’d draw us separate bathes, the morons. It was just awful. We had to bathe together in this itty bitty tub made for creatures half of our size-"

Hermione gives Pansy an angry look. Pansy shrugs. “What? Well, it’s true.”

Max and Patrick race to Pansy’s side. “Please, go on.”

Imran falls to his knees. “Anything. We will do anything if you’d continue!”

“Yes, this sounds very interesting- “ James says, smiling at the end of the bed.

Hermione glares at Harry, and then at Ron, who are both suspiciously quiet.

Well, it is sort of interesting – “ Ron says finally, turning crimson himself.

Hermione smacks Ron in the back of his head.

Harry laughs. “Glad to see you're feeling a bit better.”

A female Imp comes into the room with a basket. Some food, some rags and a few other items Hermione can’t make out.

“The Madam is pleased.”

Pansy watches the Imp exit the room. “I say we go tonight if we can. I don’t trust this Madam. She’s been hiding out in one of the back rooms ever since you pulled Hermione out.”

Ron looks over at Harry. “I never thought I’d say this, but I agree with Pansy.”

The cold night air doesn’t penetrate the cave at all. Even the shrieking of the wind outside is inaudible to the Madam. The only sound is from deep within her dwelling. It is a distant whisper, an angry whisper.

The orange glow from the end of the tunnel grows brighter. There is a vaguely sulphurous odor, and she inhales it eagerly.

“At long last, “ she says, holding the glowing ball between her fingers.

To be continued….

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Hush

1. Prologue

2. Into The Woods

3. The Collector

4. The Collector

5. Engagement

6. Hidden Oasis

7. Games

8. Deliverance

9. Of Curses and Madams