Categories > Books > Harry Potter > The Wishing Well

How to Outsmart a Druid in One Easy Step

by andafaith 0 reviews

Deathly Hallows AU. Even with her extensive research, Hermione still cannot figure out how to destroy horcruxes. Maybe a certain wishing well will help her...

Category: Harry Potter - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama,Fantasy,Humor - Characters: Hermione,Tom Riddle - Warnings: [!!!] [V] [?] - Published: 2014-07-12 - 2327 words

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone for reading, rating, and reviewing! I appreciate every single one and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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 yet another thing I do not own as well as Divitiacus, Casticus, Dumnorix, and Orgetorix, who are all historical druids/tribesmen/part of the Gallic version of the triumvirate during the 1st century B.C.

The Wishing Well
How to Outsmart a Druid in One Easy Step


“Do you do this often?” Riddle inquired while she sliced out the still-beating heart of yet another goat and tossed it into the wishing well. He was stiffly propped up against said wishing well, so many layers of invisible ropes biding him that he seemed to be floating six inches away from the circular stone wall.

The goat carcass fell lifelessly next to the previous one and the vortex within the well started swirling. “It’s gradually becoming a new hobby of mine,” Hermione said as she latched her fingers onto Riddle’s invisible bindings. The locket round her neck kept purring the closer she got to him; it was such a bizarre sensation.

“You do understand that you could get a twenty-year sentence in Azkaban for this,” Riddle dryly replied.

“And you’d be there for life for killing three Muggles,” Hermione retorted. “Now, hold your breath.”

They were drawn down into the water, sinking quickly. She could feel Riddle squirming at her side and she fought against it, trying not to breathe while keeping a firm grip on the young Dark Lord. As soon as the well spat them out into the chamber below, Hermione shot another bloody incarcerous at him.

Riddle was gasping for air – he didn’t listen to her when she told him to hold his breath.

“Greetings again,” the voice of Divitiacus sounded through her head.

“Hello,” Hermione said, shifting on her feet.

“Did the last wish I grant leave you unsatisfied?” The bastarding druid had the gall to sound amused.

Staring sternly at the walls of the chamber, Hermione replied, “Yes, in fact. I was wondering if you could please take him,” – she gestured toward Riddle, who was staring at her as if she were mad – “back to where he came from.”

“I’m afraid that I cannot, Hermione Granger.”

Well shitification.

Hermione glared at the wall in front of her. Riddle glared as well, though confusedly.

Divitiacus continued, “Once a wish is granted it cannot be undone; however, I have provided you with the tools necessary to fulfill that particular wish.”

“The stone,” she clarified thoughtfully, running her fingers over her pocket where it resided. “Right. That is slightly problematic.”

I have no idea how to make a time-turner of any sort, she thought, hoping the ancient druid would hear her. She didn’t want to mention time travel in front of Riddle.

Then, suddenly, a book appeared out of thin air, landing on the dusty ground with a hallow thud. “No need,” Divitiacus said. “Perhaps this will provide you with an answer.”

Perhaps…” Hermione repeated slowly, picking up the giant tome and reading over the title. The Traveller’s Secrets by Casticus, Dumnorix, and Orgetorix. Her mind whirled, thoughts of what to do plaguing her. “That leaves me with the problem of where to keep him for the time being.”

“I apologize. I may only grant one wish per entrance.” Divitiacus’ voice reverberated through her mind.

“But I didn’t wish for this, Divitiacus,” Hermione said, a small grin creeping over her lips. “You offered this book to me willingly.”

Divitiacus seemed to mull over that and the lighting in the chamber grew brighter. “Yes,” he said in a sibilant whisper, “very clever of you to point that out. When you leave this world, may I suggest that you tell your family to place your remains here? You have the potential of making an excellent addition to our council.”

Hermione’s brows rose. “I’ll consider it, but I still need a place to keep Ri-erm –” she glanced down at Riddle, who was staring at her intensely, “– him.”

“Where is it that you wish to keep him, Hermione Granger?”

“Can you replicate things perfectly?” she asked uncertainly, her mind providing her with an idea. It was the most acceptable one that she could come up with.

“Anything of the material world.”

“Then I wish for my beaded bag, with the undetectable expansion charm, and all of its contents – including the magical tent – to be replicated and given to me right at this moment.” She tried to be as thorough as possible so there were no loopholes to go around. Pesky druid ancestors.

If she would have known…

“Yes, you would make a fine addition,” Divitiacus said as her beaded bag was dropped into her arms, on top of the massive leather-bound book.

Hermione smiled, checking to make sure everything in her bag was there and stowing the book away. “It’s a very flattering offer, Divitiacus. Now, how do I get out of here? I’ve quite a few things to do before dawn.”

“Straight up, of course,” Divitiacus answered and Hermione felt the connection to him in her mind sever as she looked at the swirling mass of water above her. How was she going to get Riddle, herself, and her beaded bag out of there?

Conjure a ladder and then swim?


That would be a bit… tricky.

With a sigh, she pointed her wand into her bag and accio’d Harry’s Firebolt. “You,” she said sternly to Riddle, opening her bag wide as possible and brandishing her wand at him, “are going to have to be put in here, okay?”

“Why bother to ask me if you’re just going to do it anyway?” Riddle said with a snort, rolling his eyes.

She cast an extra tight incarcerous on him and shot a temporary blindfold around his eyes. It wouldn’t do for him to see everything she had in the beaded bag – some of it didn’t exist in Riddle’s time.

“There’s no need to be rude,” Riddle drawled and she could tell that he was glaring at her behind his blindfold from the rest of his expression. Then he recovered as she levitated him over the bag. “So, what did you wish for the last time you visited this place?” he asked casually, smirking. “The locket, perchance?”

Hermione ignored his question and maneuvered him into her bag, muffling any further questioning. She made sure to park him uncomfortably atop a pile of books for good measure.

How in the world was she going to keep him locked up while she returned to Harry and Ron?


She apparated not far from where Harry and Ron were still sleeping in the original tent, behind layers upon layers of wards. The first thing Hermione did as soon as she was set up was strip off her cold, wet clothes and take a shower, while brushing her teeth to get rid of the taste of vomit that lingered in her mouth. She had very little time to figure out how to contain Riddle.

He was still in her beaded bag, hanging from one of the towel hooks and in view from where Hermione was showering. She could hear him speak every so often, but it was muffled through the beaded bag and difficult to hear over the shower. When she got out, she waved a quick drying spell over herself, dressed, and poured two different glasses of water. One for herself. One for him. He was bound to be thirsty.

Using her surroundings, Hermione pulled a chair to the centre of the room and levitated him from the bag. He looked like a drowned cat as she removed his blindfold and sat him down on the chair, binding him to it. Feeling generous, she cast a drying spell on him as well.

“I seem to have missed your name,” Riddle said, obviously trying to be charming. “What did you say it was again?”

Hermione pursed her lips. What did he think? That she was stupid? “That’s too bad. I seem to have missed yours as well.” Picking up the glass of water, she brought it to him and pressed it against his bottom lip. His brow rose and he resisted for a few seconds before finally relenting and sucking down the entire glass.

“Thank you,” Riddle said stiffly, licking the water that had dribbled onto his lips when she pulled the glass away.

“You’re welcome.” They stared at each other from across the short distance. Hermione was leaning against the kitchen counter; he was just a few feet in front of her.

He finally spoke, “You’re quite possibly the strangest woman I have ever met.”

“I suppose it’s not every day that you meet a goat sacrificing witch who consorts with ancient druids,” Hermione muttered, staring off at her surroundings. It was so perfectly replicated – not even transfiguration could have gotten it this good.

“Do you also make it a hobby of kidnapping people who ask about your locket?” Riddle had his eyes narrowed at her and she shrugged.

“Not really.” Unfortunately, she had a façade to keep up so she asked, glancing over at him, “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” Riddle answered, his expression clouded over with mistrust. “Yourself?”

“Eighteen.” She paused, regarding him with curiosity. “How did you get around the trace?”

That was one thing she could never figure out in particular about Tom Riddle’s past and it always bothered her.

Riddle snorted. “Not like it’s difficult.”

“It’s very difficult, actually,” Hermione contradicted. “I mean… unless you know someone who works in the Department of Mysteries-”

Riddle’s eyes flashed briefly and she knew that she hit her mark. He did know someone in the Department of Mysteries! That was how. Ha! So it wasn’t because he was ridiculously powerful and a bloody prodigy like Ron and Harry had thought. He was just well-connected.

“Why did you capture me?” Riddle’s question brought her out of her triumphant reverie.

That was a very good question – one that she wasn’t exactly certain how to answer. She pondered it, pouring herself another glass of water. “Well, you killed three people right in front of me, performed some sort of ritual, Cruciated me, interrogated me and more… Why wouldn’t I capture you?” she asked. “I suppose I could turn you over to the Ministry if you’d prefer.”

“You’re lying,” Riddle accused, his eyes narrowing to calculating slits.

Hermione shook her head. “I can assure you that nothing of what I said was a lie.”

“But it’s not the reason why you captured me, so it’s a lie,” he retorted. “You also went to great lengths to secure this secluded…” he paused, looking around the tent with a sneer, “place to keep me in.”

“Of course,” Hermione replied, taking a deep breath. “Kidnapping is against the law the last time I looked.”

“Yes, but why kidnap me?”

“Why did you kill those three people?” Hermione countered, raising an eyebrow.

Riddle glowered at her from his seat, his mouth forming a straight line. Leaning farther back against the counter, Hermione yawned. She had to get going back to Harry and Ron very soon and, while she had a vague idea of what to do to keep Riddle inside the tent, she only understood the spells she needed for the job in theory.

She already knew that the entire place was clear of any magical objects that he could use and, thinking ahead, she took a few books out of her beaded bag that were published before 1940, setting them on the counter.

Steeling herself, Hermione approached him and levitated the chair to move him aside. “What are you doing now?” Riddle asked impatiently as she started to perform a spell, pointing her wand at the very centre of the tent. An gleaming iron rod bloomed from the floor, sprouting a wispy silver chain that she grasped in her hand.

Riddle struggled in his bindings as she lifted up his trouser leg and snapped the chain around his ankle. The trouser leg fit back down over it, the wispy chain passing through the fabric.

“You’re leashing me?” Riddle growled through his teeth.

“Yes.” Hermione nodded once, checking the quality of her spellwork to make sure it would hold. “I have a few things to take care of and I want to make sure you don’t escape while I’m gone.” She pointed her wand threateningly toward him. “Don’t try anything. I’m sure you know how dark this spell is; the results won’t be pleasant.”

Hermione grabbed her beaded bag and shoved it into her pocket before releasing Riddle from his numerous incarcerous bindings. The young Dark Lord stretched out his limbs as she backed toward the door, her wand trained on him the entire time. “There’s some food in the cupboard and the bathroom is through that door over there. I’ll return as soon as I can,” she said, exiting the tent and warding the closure for good measure.

The moment she got through the wards, she constructed a few extra defenses around the area to ensure he didn’t escape, even if he managed to get off the leash. She looked back at the empty space where she knew the tent was, only because it was her wards that hid it, and her shoulders deflated as she reflected on the past few hours.

Merlin, what had she gotten herself into?

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