What Once Was Golden

It was a few weeks later that things at Grimmauld fell into a sort of routine; one month exactly since the day Hermione had first sat in front of Dumbledore and listed her demands. Harry was antsy, as he always was in the weeks leading up to Halloween. They’d done little since her arrival, and made no progress in identifying, hunting, or destroying horcruxes.

In fact, all Hermione had done since her talk with Harry a few weeks back was study. It was almost reminiscent of her days at Hogwarts, in which she would sequester herself in the library for whole days while she devoured book after book. Excepts this was not the Hogwarts library full of textbooks and ministry-approved spell books; this was the Black family library, and it was stocked to the gills with the personal grimoires of some of the most mad witches and wizards the world had ever seen.

She’d spent a lot of time with Sirius the last little while. He would allow her to pepper him with questions and interrogate him on methodologies with the patience of a saint. And when her magic got restless they would duel. Sirius was an ideal duelling partner, allowing her the opportunity to practice the dark magics she’d been studying without the gawping and the judgement.

Hermione’s magic was restless a lot. Her and Sirius duelled almost daily, until they were bloody and bruised and too tired to raise their wands anymore.

“Kreatcher” Sirius panted from where he lay on the floor of the library. The carpet around him was singed in several places, along with his t-shirt and a good portion of his abdomen where his shirt had been completely incinerated. Hermione wasn’t much better off; her wand hand was completely purple from a blasting hex, and the rattle she felt when she inhaled indicated skele-gro was on the menu for her shortly.

Kreatcher popped into existence not six inches from Sirius’ head, looking down at him with a hilarious -to Hermione- combination of disgust and concern on his wrinkled face.

“Master Sirius will have to be waiting for the healing potions” Kreatcher stated flatly, his eyes roaming the destroyed area belatedly. “Missus Hanah Abbott says they be needing to cool from the cauldrons for 10 more minutes before they’re safe to drink.” Sirius nodded without opening his eyes or moving from his position on the floor.

“That’s fine Kreatcher, will you please bring some tea and lunch with you when they’re ready?” The wrinkled elf nodded and disappeared with a pop .

“He’s much nicer now than I remember him being.” Hermione observed absently, trying to focus on breathing so that her ribs didn’t shift any further out of place before they could be healed.

“Hmm” the older wizard agreed “he mellowed out once we got my mother’s portrait off the wall, once her influence was gone he became a whole new elf. I swear he cooks better now too.” She couldn’t resist the laugh that bubbled up at the prospect that Kreatcher had previously been cooking poorly to spite Sirius.

“ Ah” Hermione regretted the laugh immediately as pain radiated from her side, her hand instinctively coming up to hold onto her abdomen. The movement drew Sirius’ attention, and she saw his eyes instinctively trace the path of her scar. He couldn’t actually see it of course, Hermione never left the safety of her room in anything less than a thick turtleneck that hid the entire monstrosity.

“You know,” she began “I don’t know if I ever properly thanked you for saving my life that night, when you got me out of the Department of Mysteries. I remember Madame Pomfrey saying that even five minutes later I could have died.”

“No thanks necessary Kitten” Sirius had pulled himself into an upright position at some point, Hermione wasn’t sure how she hadn’t noticed. “Luna told me if I hadn’t have helped you that night I would’ve died, so I guess in a way you saved my life too.”

“And you believe Luna? She wasn’t even in the same room that we were that night.”

“You forget that I went to school with her mother, and I can count on one hand the amount of times both of them have been wrong about the woulds, coulds, and shoulds of life.”

Hermione couldn’t help but scoff.

“Can I see it?”

“What? Why? No.” The words came out of her mouth fast, too fast. They were defensive, and they showed her fear.

“I won’t touch it, or tell anybody.” Sirius told her reassuringly. “I just, I think about the fact that they sent you to Azkaban with an open wound. I remember what that place is like still. Fuck, it haunts my dreams most nights. It’s a bloody miracle you didn’t die of sepsis.”

“O-okay.” Her traitorous voice shook, as did her hands as she peeled the sweaty jumper off of her body. It was awkward, and a hiss of pain seeped through her lips as she twisted. And then too soon she was sitting in front of Sirius Black in too large joggers and her sports bra.

There was nothing sexual or inappropriate about this moment though, despite Hermione being half naked. Sirius’ eyes were wide with horror as he followed the path of her scar across her hip and her stomach, between the swells of her breasts and over her shoulder. He could see the finger-like bits that came around the front of her throat, so she turned so he could see the way it snaked up and around her neck as well as into her hairline.

“How did you survive this Kitten?” His voice was raw with unspoken emotions, and something like pity flashed in his eyes.

“I survived because I had to.” Hermione snapped, fisting her jumper in her hands in lieu of lashing out. She didn’t want his pity, nor did she need it. “I survived because Harry still needed me, he still needs me now. I survived so that I could destroy Riddle’s fucking horcruxes and I survived so that one day I will get to watch as the life drains from Antonin Dolohov’s eyes under my wand.”

There was a moment of tense silence in the room. Only a moment though, their shared trauma had formed a bond between Sirius and herself that was not so easily tested.

“Right well, still no luck on the horcrux research then?” 

“No” she groaned, flopping back against the wall behind her. “We’ve got no leads about the locket which is the only one we know for sure, and the others are all still guesses at this point.”

“Well go on, show me what it looks like again.”

Without much real hope, Hermione conjured an image of the hideous locket and set it to project a bit like a hologram in the middle of the room.

A pop indicated Kreatcher’s return, and then there was the sound of his tray clattering to the floor as the old elf dropped what he was holding in shock.

“Master Rugulus’ Locket?” Kreacher croaked disbelievingly, his voice cracking over the name of his former master. Kreacher did not speak of Regulus Black, nobody did unless they wanted to end up on the wrong side of Sirius’ wand.

“What?” Sirius turned to stare incredulously at the wrinkled elf, shaking his head as he turned back to the projection. “You’ve lost the plot this isn’t a Black heirloom, it belongs to Voldemort.”

“No, no, no, NO!” Kreacher began shouting the word over and over like a chant, trembling as he wrapped his hands around his large ears and yanked them over and over. Hermione watched horrified, wanting to stop the creature before he hurt himself, but unsure that her magic wouldn’t just do more damage.

“Kreacher stop!” Sirius commanded, the elf froze immediately as his eyes welled up with fat tears. “The locket is not Regulus’, it belonged to Lord Voldemort once but its been lost. We want to find it so that we can destroy it.”

“Master Sirius means to destroy Master Regulus’ locket?” Before Sirius could correct him, Kreacher was gone in a crack of apparition. Sirius looked over at her bewilderedly, Hermione was sure that her expression was a mirror of his.

“What the fuck-” was all she managed to get out before another crack signalled Kreacher’s return.

Except the elf wasn’t empty handed.

No, as the smell of dark magic permeated the room it became clear. Kreacher had just returned with a fucking horcrux in hand.

– 

Twenty minutes of shouting, swearing, and general chaos later; Hermione stood in a semi circle consisting of herself, Ron, Sirius, Remus and Harry. Across from their little band was a very sheepish Kreatcher who was gripping on to Tom Riddle’s horcrux so tight his weathered knuckles were white as parchment.

Sirius was arguing with the poor elf, who refused to hand over the necklace unless Sirius promised to destroy the thing.

Sirius, in turn, was spluttering helplessly as he tried to get Kreatcher to explain why the elf claimed the locket belonged to his long dead death eater brother.

Hermione sighed in annoyance as the pair started over the same argument they’d had three times now. It was only when Harry looked at her pleadingly that she finally pulled her wand out and threw a silencing spell at the both of them.

“That is enough!” She snapped, her ribs reminding her with a stabbing pain that she still hadn’t gotten around to a healing potion yet. “I am going to remove the silencing spell off of you both now but nobody speaks until spoken to.” She lifted the spell with a wave of her wand.

“Kreatcher-” Hermione cut Sirius’ words off with a low growl and a glare.

“If you would please Kreatcher” Harry started, eyes cutting to her to make sure he wouldn’t also be receiving her ire for speaking. “I promise that I will destroy the locket no matter what you or anyone else says, but I think Sirius would really like to hear the story of why you called it Master Regulus’ locket, and how you came to have it.”

It amazed Hermione how Harry was still capable of being so soft to the small wrinkled elf, even after all these years of being battle hardened. Godric knows she no longer possessed that ability.

Kreatcher nodded frantically, practically throwing the horcrux at Harry’s feet while he tumbled into his story. 

A story that nobody saw coming. 

A story of a young man who found himself trapped in an underground cave of inferi and nightmarish potions, intent on stealing a horcrux that belonged to his master; all because of a brother on the other side of a war and an elf who was the only creature who ever showed him love.

When Kreature was finished his tale, Hermione was the only one in the room with dry eyes. Sirius was sitting now, knee to knee with his elf whom he pulled into a vice-grip hug as they both cried onto one another while they grieved the long-dead Regulus Black.

Harry’s eyes shone with unshed tears and determination, the green glittering emerald as he held his hand out to Ron.

“Give me the sword Ron, we’re getting rid of this thing now.”

“Harry are you sure?” Remus was the voice of reason, his eyes locked on his distraught best friend who still hadn’t moved from his embrace with his house elf.

“Yes. Everyone out.” His voice left no room for argument, and Remus, Sirius and Kreatcher all made their way to the door. Ron lagged behind, hesitant to leave Harry. Hermione made no effort to move.

“Why do we have to-” she started to ask, but Harry cut her off with an answer before the question was all the way out of her mouth.

“Horcruxes fight back when they know they’re being destroyed. I know what to expect after the Diary and seeing Dumbledore’s memory of the ring. I don’t want anyone else getting caught in the crossfire.”

Ron had made his exit while Harry was talking, but Hermione made no move to leave. 

“I’m not leaving you in here to destroy this thing alone, especially if its dangerous.” It was her turn to leave no room for argument now. She crossed her arms over her chest - despite how it made her ribs ache and her breath catch in her lungs- and levelled him with a look that communicated just how serious she was.

“Fine” he said resignedly, evidently too eager at the thought of finally getting to destroy another part of Tom Riddle to put up much of a fight.

–

It took them a while of Harry hacking at the locket with the sword of Griffindor to realize that they would have to open the blasted thing before they could destroy it.

It took them even longer to realize that they’d have to open it with parseltongue.

Harry had barely hissed at it before the latch on the locket practically exploded outward, a cloud of inky black smoke shooting upwards from the open necklace. Before he could bring the sword down on it tho, the smoke seemed to pulse outwards before Hermione felt it latch onto her.

The world narrowed down to a tiny speck around her as the smoke took the form of Harry. Except this wasn’t the Harry that stood beside her now. No, this was 16 year old Harry. This was the Harry from her trial, the lights of the courtroom bouncing off his glasses just as she remembered. His deadened eyes focusing on her with so much vitriol that Hermione flinched away from them.

“How could you do this to me Hermione?” Horcrux Harry spat at her, his lip curling up in disgust in a way she’d never seen before. “You were supposed to be my best friend, you were supposed to be there for me.” Every word felt like a shard of ice was being driven into her heart.

Hermione was vaguely aware of the real Harry shouting at her, but Horcrux Harry was so much louder.

“I took you in in first year, let you be my friend even though you were an insufferable swot. I trusted you and this is how you repay me? I never loved you, Ron and I used to laugh about how badly you needed us when we barely tolerated you. Look at you now” Horcrux Harry sneered at her the way a young Draco Malfoy used to “you’re disgusting. You’re a monster .”

Horcrux Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could spit any more cruel words at her, a sword sliced down the middle of his figure and crashed into the locket on the floor with a crunch. The smoke dissipated to reveal the real Harry, sword in hand and face red with exertion.

It was only then that Hermione realized that her own chest was heaving, and hot tears were drawing tracks down her cheeks of their own volition.

“Are you okay?!” Harry’s voice was frantic when he caught sight of her. “I’m so sorry Hermione, the other ones weren’t like that. I don’t know what happened all of a sudden the smoke just swallowed you and I couldn’t hear or see anything!”

She was still crying. Sobbing, to be exact. Her chest was racking as she sucked in choppy breaths and fought to keep her vision straight behind her tears.

“What did it say to you Hermione?” Harry asked, his voice gentle as he stepped up to her. One of his hands came up to rest on her cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears that ran down it.

Her own hand came up to grip his wrist like a vice, desperately latching onto something she knew was real.

“It -you- called me a monster.” She hiccuped between her subsiding sobs.

“I don’t think you’re a monster ‘Mione.” Harry smiled at her then. A true Harry smile that was full of pearly white teeth and a little lopsided. The real reassurance to her though was his eyes. Harry’s eyes weren’t flat and dull like Horcrux Harry’s had been. This Harry’s eyes were warm and vibrant and she could see her reflection in the blacks of them.

Before she could contemplate the consequences, or worry about what his reaction might be, Hermione closed the space between them and sealed their lips together in a kiss.

The kiss wasn’t slow and gentle, there were no tender touches or hesitancies. This kiss was fire. They met in a clash of teeth and tongue as they both battled for dominance. The sword clattered to the floor as Harry’s other hand came up to grasp her face in a grip so hard Hermione was sure to have a bruise.

Not to be outdone, Hermione fisted her hands into the front of Harry’s shirt as she pressed her body flush against his.

It wasn’t until Harry backed her forcefully into a wall that they were brought back to reality. The force of her spine colliding with the plaster caused the pain in her ribs to flare with a vengeance, the moan that was building in her throat escaping as a pained gasp.

As though she’d burned him, Harry ripped himself away from her. One hand flew to his lips as he stared at her with an expression that Hermione thought she could interpret as horror. 

Without another word Harry turned on the spot and fled, leaving her staring dumbly after him as she clutched her aching side.