[fic] Tiny Metal Heart (HP; Hermione, Ron; PG)
Title: Tiny Metal Heart
Author: ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
sundancekid
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Hermione, Ron/Hermione
Word Count: 2,027
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: How Hermione destroyed the Horcrux in the Hufflepuff Cup.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for Deathly Hallows. Title comes from pg. 276, Harry's description of the locket.
After Harry and Luna leave, they all stand around the Room of Requirement, looking at one another. No one is sure what to do, or what to say. All these months, years, and now, suddenly, it seems like the fight is coming, just over the horizon.
Hermione shifts the beaded bag from one hand to the other, her heart in her throat. There are so many things that could be going wrong right now. She turns to Ron and whispers, "Even if we do find the other... thing, how on earth are we going to get rid of it? We still haven't got rid of the cup!"
They stand in silence, both thinking very hard, and then Ron makes a sudden, wild movement, elbowing Hermione in the back.
"Ow, what, Ron," she says, before falling silent. Ron has a strange look on his face... like he's had an idea.
"We need to go," he announces loudly. "Are there -- can we borrow one of those brooms?" he asks, pointing at the corner.
Neville hands the broom over, and Hermione can tell he wants to ask questions, but he doesn't. They are all growing up, she thinks suddenly, out of nowhere, looking at Neville's bruised, bloody face. They are all learning how to fight, how to lead, how to follow.
"We'll be back," Hermione calls over her shoulder as Ron drags her out of the room.
Ron is marching down the hall and down the stairs with a weirdly purposeful stride, and as she asks, "Ron, what--" he cuts her off.
"Basilisk fangs," he says. "The basilisk Harry killed -- it's still down there, I bet, in the Chamber of Secrets."
Hermione stops running, stares. After a minute, Ron notices she's not with him and turns back to look at her. "What?" he asks.
"Ron, that's brilliant!" she says. "Seriously, I'd never have thought of that. Oh, I'm so proud of you!"
Ron's ears turn very pink, but he looks -- proud, and older, somehow, and with a grin he turns back around and keeps going, shoulders squared back a little further.
In the girls' bathroom on the second floor, he shows her the tiny snaked carved into the tap, and Hermione asks, "How do you get in?"
"Well," Ron says, "you have to speak Parselmouth." He stares at the little snake, stares so hard his eyes cross, and hisses.
Nothing happens.
"Try again," Hermione urges. "This is good, Ron."
Ron's ears turn pink, but other than that he gives no indication he heard her. He keeps hissing at the tap, and after a few long minutes, the tap begins to glow white and spin. It disappears, and a tunnel appears in its place.
"We'll slide down," Ron says, "and take the broom back up. Would you like to go first?" He gestures at the tunnel gallantly.
Hermione's never been much of a rollercoaster person, and a dank, slimy slide down into a giant snake's lair isn't really any better. She lands with an ungraceful thud, and, a few seconds later, Ron slams into her.
"Sorry," he says, jumping up. He holds out a hand to help her up, and as she wobbles to her feet, he instinctively puts one hand on her waist to hold her steady. This time, they both turn pink.
"The Chamber's this way," Ron says, pointing. They find it easily enough, and sure enough, right in the middle of the room, there's a basilisk skeleton, great fangs protruding from its open mouth. Ron strides toward it immediately, but Hermione, who remembers what it looked like alive, hangs back, shuddering violently.
"How're we going to get those out?" Ron asks, kneeling to look at the skull. "I'm guessing pulling isn't going to work. Still, might as well try."
"Wait!" Hermione says, and she runs forward to tap Ron's hands with her wand; gloves appear. She does the same for herself. "We can't touch them and risk getting the venom on us."
"Can I have some traction?" Ron asks quietly, holding out his upturned palms. Hermione grips his left hand with her own, and again places the tip of her wand in the middle of his palm, and rubber grips appear, slowly unrolling themselves from the tips of his fingers down to his wrist. She repeats the process for his right hand, and swallows. Even gloved, she can feel the heat from his skin. She gives herself the same grips, and then Ron says, "Thanks, Hermione."
Ron grips one of the fangs in his hand and tugs as hard as he can. Nothing happens. He tries again, and still, nothing.
Hermione hands him a broken-off piece of rock. "Try this," she says, quietly. She feels a little uncertain with this new Ron, who seems to have grown up a remarkable amount in the last fifteen minutes. Even with the sense of imminent danger closing in around them, Hermione is pleasantly, distractingly aware of the breadth of Ron's back as he kneels in front of the skeleton, the heat of Ron's body, and how her own body seems to have risen a few degrees in temperature, too.
"Thanks," Ron says. He hits the skull right between the eye sockets, and it splinters, shatters, and the fangs clatter free.
Hermione pulls the cup out of her bag, and presents it to Ron, but he shakes his head. She keeps hold of the cup, and it feels like the evil little Horcrux inside is thumping harder than ever, like a heart beating a frantic tattoo against the metal.
"I think you should do it," he says. "I already did the locket, and -- it will try to stop you," he tells her. He looks right into her eyes, and says, "It's evil, Hermione. And it'll say terrible things. But it feels damn good to kill it."
The cup is getting steadily hotter; even through her gloves she can feel that it's nearly too hot to hold. "What..." she asks, not sure what she wants to say.
"I'm going to -- I'm going to walk away, just to over there, okay?" Ron says, still looking right at her, more direct than he's ever been with her. "Because you might not want me to hear whatever it is the cup says."
In her cupped palms, the cup is vibrating, making a desperate bid for freedom. She sets it on the floor, looks Ron straight in the eye, and says, "Stay, please."
He hands her a fang and nods.
As soon as the basilisk fang is in her hand, as she raises her arm to strike, the little cup begins to rattle. As she looks down at it, an eye -- a dark, handsome eye -- appears on the bottom of the inside of the cup. From inside the cup, a voice hisses, "I have seen your heart, and it is mine."
"Kill it!" Ron says, but Hermione, struck with horror, only stares at the cup. "I have seen your dreams, Hermione Granger," the cup says, "and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible..."
"Now!" Ron shouts. "Kill it now, Hermione!"
The eye in the bottom of the cup distorts, waves, and out of it, distorted figures of Harry and Ron appear, both handsomer and more dangerous than in reality.
"I wish you had been the one to leave, instead of Ron," the Riddle-Harry says. "Ron is my real best friend -- we've been humoring you since first year, keeping you around so we could copy your homework. It's really just us two, and you just weigh us down."
"No," Hermione whispers, and tears blur her vision, making the Riddle-Harry and Riddle-Ron seem even more distorted, even more dangerous. The cup has looked into her and ripped out the worst parts out to feed back to her, and she cannot look away, cannot stop it.
"I've never loved you," the Riddle-Ron says, his voice colder, more sibilant, than in life. "That's why I've never made a move, not once, in seven years. You're plain and boring, bushy hair and buck teeth and memorized answers. I don't need you -- look, you didn't even think of coming down here for basilisk fangs, did you? You were only good to us for your brains, and look, they've failed you. You've failed."
"Stab it!" Ron shouts.
"You've never been as brave as I am, as Ron is," the Riddle-Harry says. "Beats me why you were ever in Gryffindor to begin with. You're cleverer than I am, sure, but where's that got you? Ron doesn't love you, neither of us even likes you, you broke my wand -- this whole trip would have been better without you. You-Know-Who would probably already be gone if we hadn't had your dead weight." The Riddle figures turn to each other and laugh and laugh and laugh, and then, through the piercing sound of their laughter, Hermione hears the real Ron yell her name.
"HERMIONE!" he says. "It's lies! Kill it! Please!"
And through her tears, though she's shaking and crying so hard she can barely even see the cup, she raises her arms up over her head. With a bloodcurdling scream that's really more of a war cry, she stabs the basilisk fang into the cup. The cup dents, screams, dies, the Riddle figures disappear, but she keeps stabbing, over and over, screaming herself hoarse. When she's finally done, she slumps over, hands pressed against her knees, and pants, staring at the cup as it rusts before her eyes. The room spins slightly, and as she begins to recover, she is shocked and embarrassed and triumphant.
Ron looks at her, the same expression he had back in third year when she hauled off and slapped Malfoy -- like he's seeing her for the first time, like she's better and more dangerous than he realized.
"Well," he says, finally, "I think that cup has learned a valuable lesson about crossing you."
Hermione laughs, weakly, and collapses to the floor. Ron rushes toward her, hovers while she sits on the floor of the Chamber and laughs. After a few minutes, when she feels more under control, she holds up the cup. "I think I killed it," she says meekly.
"Yes," Ron says, nodding solemnly. "I suspect you have."
He holds out a hand, and with his help, she hauls herself to her feet.
Before he lets her go, Ron looks at her and whispers, "You know it was all lies, right? The Horcruxes -- they try to poison you, they take your worst thoughts and spit them back at you. Hermione," he adds, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes, "it was all lies. Nothing the cup said was true."
Hermione nods, trying to keep from crying. "Give me your hands," she says, grateful her voice is shaking only a little. Ron let go of her, holds out his hands, and with four taps of her wand, their gloves are gone. A tear spills out and falls down her cheek.
Ron brushes it away, his hands so gentle it makes her want to cry even harder.
"Come on," he says. "Let's grab these fangs and get back up there. Harry's probably completely lost without us."
Hermione chuckles. Picking up the basilisk fangs, she says, "Let's get going, then."
They walk back to the tunnel, and Ron picks up the broom, straddles it, and waits for Hermione to sit behind him. She gathers the fangs and the dead, mangled cup in her left hand, puts her right around Ron's waist. Ron reaches down, clasps his fingers through hers and squeezes, just for a moment. Then he lets go, grabs the broomstick, and flies them up.
In the bathroom, Moaning Myrtle asks, "What were you two doing down there?"
Hermione smiles up at Moaning Myrtle. "Ron had a brilliant idea, and now we're one step closer to destroying the Dark Lord," she says brightly. "And now we have to go find Harry, and finish the job."
She sets off running, and behind her, she can hear Ron running, too.
