Categories > Books > Harry Potter > The Wishing Well
Where to Hide the Body?
0 reviewsDeathly Hallows AU. Even with her extensive research, Hermione still cannot figure out how to destroy horcruxes. Maybe a certain wishing well will help her...
1Exciting
Author’s Note: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please review!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including – but not limited to – Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The wishing well in this fic is a real place in the UK, but I don’t own that either.
The Wishing Well
Where to Hide the Body?
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The locket that rested heavily over her breast was practically vibrating – purring – as Tom Riddle moved closer, pressing himself tightly against her back with his wand against her throat. “Judging by your reaction, it’s clear that you understand the significance of that locket,” his smooth voice reverberated over the shell of her ear.
Oh you wouldn’t believe me if I told you… Hermione thought, gripping her wand in her hand. From this angle, it was hard to get a clean shot of him – she knew that so certainly that she didn’t even dare try it – so she did the only thing she could think of-
Destination – Determination – Deliberation!
They were spinning, being squeezed through a long tube, until they landed in a moss-blanketed forest. Squeezing her eyes shut again, they disappeared with a ‘crack!’ Apparating in quick succession made the sensation progressively worse, the dizziness overwhelming, but she kept it up. Over and over again.
Hogsmeade.
Brighton.
London.
Bristol.
Edinburgh.
Elgin.
Like perpetually being squeezed through drinking straw, twirling in a frenzy. The pressure of it threatened to burst her skull. Bile rose in her throat.
Cardiff.
Divitiacus. The wishing well.
Riddle broke away from her as they both fell onto their arms and knees, emptying the contents of their stomachs all over the leafy – blood soaked – ground. The sound of their gasping heaving breaths cut through the frigid night air and they stared at each other, eyes meeting fiercely.
Wiping off her mouth with her sleeve, Hermione scrambled to her feet just as Riddle stood dizzily, swaying as he nearly tripped over the goat carcass.
“Nice try,” he gritted out, breathless and furious and dazed.
Without warning, he lunged at her drunkenly, his hand clasping around the locket at her breast. Her body grasped at him on instinct and she felt the sickening lurch of apparation once more, spinning endlessly – oh god the pressure.
It was as if she was being squeezed through a hallow needle, thin and long and tight and excruciating.
Her ears popped and sounds were dulled as they landed in a heap on cool hard pavement. She gagged, forcing up anything she had left in her stomach – it was all acid and burned her throat. The back of her neck was raw from him gripping onto the chain of the locket, causing it to bite into her skin.
Coughing and dry heaving, she felt throbbing pain in her fingers and found that the tips of her nails had been splinched down to the raw, tender skin. Riddle was bleeding from the back of his wand hand, a strip of flesh splinched away from the apparation.
“You idiot,” Hermione growled, her throat sore. She lifted her head to look at him, sprawled out next to her trying to catch his breath. A puddle of sick was splattered on the ground by his head and her vision was swimming. “We could have lost our heads!”
At least she had the decency of knowing when to stop!
Bloody hell. They were in no shape to even lift a wand at this point. Her stomach gurgled unpleasantly and she laid her feverish cheek back down onto the cold pavement. What she wouldn’t do for a Vertigo Cure right now. This was unbearable.
Her body ached and felt drained and bruised all over. And she needed a drink.
“Where did you get that locket?”
Merlin, he was persistent. Hermione glared at him even if he couldn’t see it. “Borgin and Burkes,” she answered, the lie slipping past her lips with ease.
It didn’t really hit her until then that she was in the future with a person from the past – Tom Riddle of all people! – and she suddenly wanted to blast that wishing well to smithereens for getting her into this predicament. You must not be seen. Damn that to hell. He seemed to have apparated them right in the middle of a dingy Muggle street from the looks of it. Not only were they defying the Time laws but also the International Statute of Secrecy.
“Why do you want to know so badly?” she asked, feigning curiosity and not bothering to hide her disdain. Her body tinged in agony as she attempted to get to her feet. It would have helped if her clothes weren’t absolutely soaked. Riddle was doing the same and failing just as poorly.
One apparation too many was dangerous business. If she hadn’t been used to it – due to the past few months – she probably would have been much worse off. It was shocking that Riddle faired almost as well as her.
“It’s mine,” he responded simply, catching his breath and gripping his wand. Even from their crouched and pathetic, pain-ridden states, he aimed it at her. “Rightfully mine.”
She kept her wand trained on him as much as humanly possible, watching him carefully. “I’ll have you know that I paid good money for this locket; I’m not about to give it to you,” she bit back, keeping up the façade.
“Yes you will.” Riddle was standing now and bearing down on her as she winced to move fully upright and scramble backwards. His hand was dripping blood, all the way down to the tip of the bone-coloured wand. He stalked toward her, staggering only slightly and somehow still managing to be graceful about it.
The tip of his wand flicked upward and she screamed whatever spell she could draw from her mind. “Incarcerous!”
His shield blocked it flawlessly and he tutted in the back of his throat, his brows furrowing as he looked down upon her. “None of that,” he said softly, though it still held as much power as an order. “Now, give me the locket.”
Hermione held herself defiantly, her shoulders squared, even as she felt her back press against an iron gate. “No,” she sternly replied, lifting her chin. The gate groaned as her weight pressed against it.
For a mere second, Riddle’s gaze wandered away from her face and he seemed to freeze on spot, blinking back at her. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Hermione pounced and sent him flying onto his back, ‘Expelliarmus!’ spewing from her lips.
His wand clattered noisily to the side and she slashed her wand at him, wrapping him up in invisible ropes.
“This wasn’t where I meant to… It’s different. Everything is different.” Riddle seemed far more concerned with his surroundings than his captured state and Hermione perplexedly looked around at where they landed.
Then she discovered the massive problem. Standing not-so-proudly behind her was the dilapidated and abandoned orphanage where Tom Riddle had grown up. Wool’s Orphanage – she knew it was Wool’s from her own personal research, but the lettering that once formidably outlined the top of the gate was gone, crumbled from vandalism, age, and neglect. Why had he taken her to this place? Why not someplace like Hogsmeade or Hogwarts? Even Knockturn Alley would do!
Ugh, she should have known better than to mess with the ancestors of druids!
Heaving a great sigh, Hermione cast an extra incarcerous spell on Riddle to keep him still and picked up his wand. As she placed a Notice-Me-Not charm on them, he demanded answers and tried prying into her mind when she accidentally glanced into his eyes. Since he was without his wand, it wasn’t too hard to get away from it, but for a sixteen-year-old…
She hated to think of what the Lord Voldemort of this time could do without a wand.
Largely ignoring him and anything that came out of his mouth, Hermione levitated the young Dark Lord by her side, her mind whirling with thoughts on what the bloody hell she was going to do with him. Every time he started squirming – even just a little bit – she’d layer on another incarcerous. He was slippery and she couldn’t afford to go through another ordeal like the one that took to catch him. Her body wouldn’t be able to take it; it had already been through a few bouts of initial apparation, goat sacrifice and wishing well-diving, two instances of time travel, more apparation, and then she lost count when she started apparating them all over the blooming country.
And all of that for what? A sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle. Yes. Genius, Hermione.
However, Divitiacus did give her that stone with the time sand… which she had dropped next to the goat carcass and the wishing well that had gotten her into this trouble in the first place.
Incarcerous.
Hermione glared down at Tom Riddle, who was staring back at her silently – watching. “Where are you taking me?” he asked, the acrimony in his voice as thick as pea soup.
“I don’t know,” she honestly replied, staring resolutely ahead as she traipsed through the back alleys of London with Riddle levitating at her side. She had to get her bearings back. Maybe, then, she could apparate them somewhere.
To where, she had no idea. Her beaded bag was left back in the warded tent with Harry and Ron, which meant that camping was out of the question. She had a bit of pocket change to spare, but not a lot to do anything substantial. The wizarding world was at war so that left out any place that would attract that sort of attention.
It couldn’t be any place incriminating either, due to the time traveller that she currently had in her possession.
Incarcerous.
There were Muggle hotels, but that would be incriminating. Most hotels had television sets and other things that weren’t built in the 1940’s. And she definitely couldn’t bring him back to Harry and Ron. One of them was bound to kill Riddle and ruin the very fabric of time, sending them all into chaos. Having any knowledge that Harry existed was also incriminating. Riddle couldn’t know of anything about the future.
The future… Her mind debated over the idea that suddenly hit her. Did she dare mess with it again? It was certainly possible that she could sacrifice another goat and ask Divitiacus to take Riddle back to where he came from. Technically, that was a viable option, even if she loathed the idea of animal sacrifice and consorting with druid ancestors, given her recent experience with them.
But she was getting a little desperate…. Bloody Riddle.
Incarcerous.
How did that adage go? Fool me once, shame on you – fool me twice? Hopefully, it would go better this time.
Gripping onto Riddle’s invisible bindings, Hermione spun on spot, disappearing with a ‘crack’ and spiraling off toward her new destination.
}{}{}{
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including – but not limited to – Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The wishing well in this fic is a real place in the UK, but I don’t own that either.
The Wishing Well
Where to Hide the Body?
}{}{}{
The locket that rested heavily over her breast was practically vibrating – purring – as Tom Riddle moved closer, pressing himself tightly against her back with his wand against her throat. “Judging by your reaction, it’s clear that you understand the significance of that locket,” his smooth voice reverberated over the shell of her ear.
Oh you wouldn’t believe me if I told you… Hermione thought, gripping her wand in her hand. From this angle, it was hard to get a clean shot of him – she knew that so certainly that she didn’t even dare try it – so she did the only thing she could think of-
Destination – Determination – Deliberation!
They were spinning, being squeezed through a long tube, until they landed in a moss-blanketed forest. Squeezing her eyes shut again, they disappeared with a ‘crack!’ Apparating in quick succession made the sensation progressively worse, the dizziness overwhelming, but she kept it up. Over and over again.
Hogsmeade.
Brighton.
London.
Bristol.
Edinburgh.
Elgin.
Like perpetually being squeezed through drinking straw, twirling in a frenzy. The pressure of it threatened to burst her skull. Bile rose in her throat.
Cardiff.
Divitiacus. The wishing well.
Riddle broke away from her as they both fell onto their arms and knees, emptying the contents of their stomachs all over the leafy – blood soaked – ground. The sound of their gasping heaving breaths cut through the frigid night air and they stared at each other, eyes meeting fiercely.
Wiping off her mouth with her sleeve, Hermione scrambled to her feet just as Riddle stood dizzily, swaying as he nearly tripped over the goat carcass.
“Nice try,” he gritted out, breathless and furious and dazed.
Without warning, he lunged at her drunkenly, his hand clasping around the locket at her breast. Her body grasped at him on instinct and she felt the sickening lurch of apparation once more, spinning endlessly – oh god the pressure.
It was as if she was being squeezed through a hallow needle, thin and long and tight and excruciating.
Her ears popped and sounds were dulled as they landed in a heap on cool hard pavement. She gagged, forcing up anything she had left in her stomach – it was all acid and burned her throat. The back of her neck was raw from him gripping onto the chain of the locket, causing it to bite into her skin.
Coughing and dry heaving, she felt throbbing pain in her fingers and found that the tips of her nails had been splinched down to the raw, tender skin. Riddle was bleeding from the back of his wand hand, a strip of flesh splinched away from the apparation.
“You idiot,” Hermione growled, her throat sore. She lifted her head to look at him, sprawled out next to her trying to catch his breath. A puddle of sick was splattered on the ground by his head and her vision was swimming. “We could have lost our heads!”
At least she had the decency of knowing when to stop!
Bloody hell. They were in no shape to even lift a wand at this point. Her stomach gurgled unpleasantly and she laid her feverish cheek back down onto the cold pavement. What she wouldn’t do for a Vertigo Cure right now. This was unbearable.
Her body ached and felt drained and bruised all over. And she needed a drink.
“Where did you get that locket?”
Merlin, he was persistent. Hermione glared at him even if he couldn’t see it. “Borgin and Burkes,” she answered, the lie slipping past her lips with ease.
It didn’t really hit her until then that she was in the future with a person from the past – Tom Riddle of all people! – and she suddenly wanted to blast that wishing well to smithereens for getting her into this predicament. You must not be seen. Damn that to hell. He seemed to have apparated them right in the middle of a dingy Muggle street from the looks of it. Not only were they defying the Time laws but also the International Statute of Secrecy.
“Why do you want to know so badly?” she asked, feigning curiosity and not bothering to hide her disdain. Her body tinged in agony as she attempted to get to her feet. It would have helped if her clothes weren’t absolutely soaked. Riddle was doing the same and failing just as poorly.
One apparation too many was dangerous business. If she hadn’t been used to it – due to the past few months – she probably would have been much worse off. It was shocking that Riddle faired almost as well as her.
“It’s mine,” he responded simply, catching his breath and gripping his wand. Even from their crouched and pathetic, pain-ridden states, he aimed it at her. “Rightfully mine.”
She kept her wand trained on him as much as humanly possible, watching him carefully. “I’ll have you know that I paid good money for this locket; I’m not about to give it to you,” she bit back, keeping up the façade.
“Yes you will.” Riddle was standing now and bearing down on her as she winced to move fully upright and scramble backwards. His hand was dripping blood, all the way down to the tip of the bone-coloured wand. He stalked toward her, staggering only slightly and somehow still managing to be graceful about it.
The tip of his wand flicked upward and she screamed whatever spell she could draw from her mind. “Incarcerous!”
His shield blocked it flawlessly and he tutted in the back of his throat, his brows furrowing as he looked down upon her. “None of that,” he said softly, though it still held as much power as an order. “Now, give me the locket.”
Hermione held herself defiantly, her shoulders squared, even as she felt her back press against an iron gate. “No,” she sternly replied, lifting her chin. The gate groaned as her weight pressed against it.
For a mere second, Riddle’s gaze wandered away from her face and he seemed to freeze on spot, blinking back at her. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Hermione pounced and sent him flying onto his back, ‘Expelliarmus!’ spewing from her lips.
His wand clattered noisily to the side and she slashed her wand at him, wrapping him up in invisible ropes.
“This wasn’t where I meant to… It’s different. Everything is different.” Riddle seemed far more concerned with his surroundings than his captured state and Hermione perplexedly looked around at where they landed.
Then she discovered the massive problem. Standing not-so-proudly behind her was the dilapidated and abandoned orphanage where Tom Riddle had grown up. Wool’s Orphanage – she knew it was Wool’s from her own personal research, but the lettering that once formidably outlined the top of the gate was gone, crumbled from vandalism, age, and neglect. Why had he taken her to this place? Why not someplace like Hogsmeade or Hogwarts? Even Knockturn Alley would do!
Ugh, she should have known better than to mess with the ancestors of druids!
Heaving a great sigh, Hermione cast an extra incarcerous spell on Riddle to keep him still and picked up his wand. As she placed a Notice-Me-Not charm on them, he demanded answers and tried prying into her mind when she accidentally glanced into his eyes. Since he was without his wand, it wasn’t too hard to get away from it, but for a sixteen-year-old…
She hated to think of what the Lord Voldemort of this time could do without a wand.
Largely ignoring him and anything that came out of his mouth, Hermione levitated the young Dark Lord by her side, her mind whirling with thoughts on what the bloody hell she was going to do with him. Every time he started squirming – even just a little bit – she’d layer on another incarcerous. He was slippery and she couldn’t afford to go through another ordeal like the one that took to catch him. Her body wouldn’t be able to take it; it had already been through a few bouts of initial apparation, goat sacrifice and wishing well-diving, two instances of time travel, more apparation, and then she lost count when she started apparating them all over the blooming country.
And all of that for what? A sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle. Yes. Genius, Hermione.
However, Divitiacus did give her that stone with the time sand… which she had dropped next to the goat carcass and the wishing well that had gotten her into this trouble in the first place.
Incarcerous.
Hermione glared down at Tom Riddle, who was staring back at her silently – watching. “Where are you taking me?” he asked, the acrimony in his voice as thick as pea soup.
“I don’t know,” she honestly replied, staring resolutely ahead as she traipsed through the back alleys of London with Riddle levitating at her side. She had to get her bearings back. Maybe, then, she could apparate them somewhere.
To where, she had no idea. Her beaded bag was left back in the warded tent with Harry and Ron, which meant that camping was out of the question. She had a bit of pocket change to spare, but not a lot to do anything substantial. The wizarding world was at war so that left out any place that would attract that sort of attention.
It couldn’t be any place incriminating either, due to the time traveller that she currently had in her possession.
Incarcerous.
There were Muggle hotels, but that would be incriminating. Most hotels had television sets and other things that weren’t built in the 1940’s. And she definitely couldn’t bring him back to Harry and Ron. One of them was bound to kill Riddle and ruin the very fabric of time, sending them all into chaos. Having any knowledge that Harry existed was also incriminating. Riddle couldn’t know of anything about the future.
The future… Her mind debated over the idea that suddenly hit her. Did she dare mess with it again? It was certainly possible that she could sacrifice another goat and ask Divitiacus to take Riddle back to where he came from. Technically, that was a viable option, even if she loathed the idea of animal sacrifice and consorting with druid ancestors, given her recent experience with them.
But she was getting a little desperate…. Bloody Riddle.
Incarcerous.
How did that adage go? Fool me once, shame on you – fool me twice? Hopefully, it would go better this time.
Gripping onto Riddle’s invisible bindings, Hermione spun on spot, disappearing with a ‘crack’ and spiraling off toward her new destination.
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