Chapter 22
The Black Lion
Chapter 22
Hermione’s chest tightened at Regulus’s words.
He has to choose to fix it.
But what if he couldn’t? What if he was too far gone, too entangled in whatever had been weighing him down?
Her hands trembled as she reached for Harry’s. His skin was cold too cold. She curled her fingers around his, desperate to do something. She had been powerless before, watching him slip away from her. She refused to be powerless now.
A sharp pulse shot through her palm.
She gasped as warmth bloomed between them, golden and thrumming, like a heartbeat in her veins. A soft wind stirred around her, though there were no open windows. Magic answered her, rising in a way it never had before, like an unseen force responding to a call she hadn’t even realized she had made.
The golden web over Harry flickered and then shattered like glass.
Sirius cursed, stumbling back. Regulus snapped to attention, wand raised. Neville’s mouth fell open.
But Hermione didn’t notice any of them.
She felt something inside her reach out, wrapping around Harry’s fading magic like a thread weaving him back together. It wasn’t a spell. It wasn’t something she had read in a book.
It was her.
She could feel him, his exhaustion, his confusion, the weight pressing on his magic. And somewhere deep inside, a buried spark of recognition.
Hermione?
Her breath hitched.
For a moment, everything else faded the concerned voices, the crackling fireplace, the weight of Regulus’s piercing stare. It was just her and Harry.
And then
She wasn’t in Grimmauld Place anymore.
She was inside something, a space that felt vast and tangled, like a web woven too tightly. Images flickered around her fragments of memories, emotions that weren’t hers.
She gasped as she felt waves of exhaustion, confusion, and a deep ache of loneliness buried beneath layers of frustration.
Then, a presence.
Hermione?
She turned, and there he was Harry, standing before her, his green eyes wide and unfocused, like he wasn’t sure if she was real. His magic crackled around him in unstable waves, tinged with the remnants of something else, something foreign.
Harry? she called back, stepping toward him.
His expression twisted in confusion. What—? He pressed a hand to his temple. Where are we?
Hermione swallowed hard. I, I don’t know. But you’re sick, Harry. I can feel it.
A storm of emotions swirled inside him. He wavered like he was caught between two versions of himself. His mind was a battlefield of half-formed truths warring with something deeper.
Then, suddenly
A flash.
Molly’s voice, gentle and coaxing: You don’t need to worry about anything, dear. We’ll take care of everything for you.
Ron’s muttered complaints: She left us, mate. She doesn’t care about you anymore.
Ginny’s sweet, persuasive tone: You don’t need them. We’re your real family.
Another flash.
Harry, alone in a dark room, rubbing his temples, muttering, Why can’t I think straight?
Hermione clenched her fists. They’ve been feeding you lies, haven’t they?
Harry winced. His magic wavered.
I don’t, I don’t know. I thought. He squeezed his eyes shut. I can’t remember what’s real anymore.
Hermione’s heart ached. Then let me help.
She reached out, instinct guiding her.
As soon as her fingertips brushed his, the golden glow flared again bright, all-encompassing. She felt herself pour into him, her magic weaving through his frayed, tangled threads. Not forcing untangling. Easing. Strengthening.
Harry gasped, his body jerking as the golden light wrapped around him.
And then
The connection snapped.
Hermione was back in Grimmauld Place, gasping for breath as she stumbled back.
The golden glow flickered out. Harry lurched forward with a sharp inhale, eyes flying open. His pupils were blown wide, and for a split second, there was clarity.
“Bloody hell,” Sirius whispered.
Regulus moved faster than anyone, striding forward and gripping Hermione’s arm. His fingers were firm, his expression unreadable but his grey eyes burned with something almost panicked.
“What did you just do?” he demanded.
Hermione swallowed, still dizzy from the sudden separation. “I, I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.” His grip tightened slightly not painful, but grounding. “You connected with him, didn’t you? Mind to mind.”
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “That, that wasn’t just healing magic, was it?”
Regulus ignored him, his gaze locked onto Hermione. “Tell me exactly what you saw.”
Hermione hesitated, glancing at Harry, who was still recovering. He blinked, rubbing his temples, his breathing uneven.
“…I saw them,” she admitted finally. “Molly. Ron. Ginny. I heard them, I felt them. They’ve been… pulling at him. Tainting his thoughts.”
Sirius muttered a curse under his breath.
Regulus’s jaw clenched. “And your magic responded to that.”
Hermione nodded, still shaken. “It, it reached for him. I didn’t cast a spell. It just acted.”
Regulus exhaled slowly, his grip on her arm finally loosening. “…Of course it did.”