---

You carry your blues behind your eyes

Don’t flatter yourself, I will survive

So carry your blues, your own denial

Your feathers are gone, you’ll never fly

--Nine Days, “Bitter”

It came into view with a sense of foreboding, a dilapidated stone castle set amongst the dark clump of trees that was Godric’s Hollow. It didn’t look as if it belonged there. While the forests radiated a kind of warming fear, the castle was just cold. Cold, dark, and vividly evil.

Merinah stopped at the foot of a dirt path that winded haplessly up the gently sloping hill of artfully swaying grasses. Her hands were on her hips and her curly black head was cocked to one side, almost as if summing up the scene. Her lips were pursed thoughtfully and her eyes were blue slits hidden under long, luxurious lashes, so long that they cast small shadows across her face in the slowly receding sunlight. The metallic clouds that haunted the coast of the northern sea that held the island named Azkaban seemed to have followed their progress, shielding away the buttery, friendly sunlight that had precede them. But the sun had been slowly slanting down in the sky, and would have been gone anyway, even without the clouds, as night was slowly falling over the land.

Harry stopped as he reached the edge of the cover he had that was the trees, a horrible feeling washing over him that so resembled ice water being dropped over his head. His breath caught in his throat and he shook his head wildly, disbelieving everything. “Oh God… No…” he moaned softly. He turned around and saw that the trees that had protected him had blurred together so that they formed a solid wall around them.

His heart had already attempted running away a few moments before so that it had felt as if it would pop out of his chest. It stopped now, though. It stopped completely as realization fell over him.

See, that old castle that was plopped down on that comfy little hill? That was Voldemort’s castle. That was his humble abode, his sanctuary. Harry had been there many times, always feeling a soft fluttering of fear inside him, but never something as violent as this that threatened to wrench out his heart and soul.

That comfy little hill? That was the place on which Harry’s parents’ house had stood. That was the place where Harry had grown from a little egg in his mother’s stomach to a rampaging one-year-old who yearned to walk. The one-year-old who had supposedly saved the word twenty-two years before. And hadn’t.

His hands clenched into fists and he bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, as he remembered who was with him: Hermione. She had to get away. She had to Apparate away or something. She had to run. He’d die, no doubt, but there was no way he was going to let her die.

He whirled around to find Hermione standing right in front of the wall the trees had become, a skeptical look on her face; her face which had housed the most frightened look Harry had ever seen about twelve hours before.

The whole thing was dawning on him very, very slowly, very, very carefully, and very, very painfully.

Merinah had led them into a trap. She had led them to Lord Voldemort. And she was standing idly in front of him, back to him in an almost challenging way.

The person Harry loved more than anything stood behind him, arms crossed and eyes sharp and determined. The skeptical look had melted away in seconds to challenge.

Voldemort was inside his castle, which had somehow moved from a cold, forgotten island in the Norwegian sea to the very last place Harry’s parents had stood alive. Where Voldemort had killed them.

A pain shot through Harry head and he almost just gave up to sink into the fluffy grass around him. Why face it? Why realize the facts? Why not just die here and now?

And, most of all, why had he been so stupid?

He felt the warm weight of a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Hermione’s face very close to his. He could smell her, feel her warmth…and he suddenly understood why he didn’t just die.

No, he had to save her. He had to get her out of this alive before he died. Yes. The last act. He had to save her.

“He’s in there,” came a voice from Hermione’s mouth that sounded too deep and throaty to be her own. She cleared her throat. “We’ll face him together. We’ll face her together. She’s taunting us, you know. They both are. Notice how her back’s turned? She’s telling you to go up and try and kill her. As if that’d be any help.”

“How could I let us walk into such a trap?” whispered Harry weakly.

To his surprise, a slight smile tugged the corners of Hermione’s mouth. “It was unavoidable. The only way to save you from a lifetime in Azkaban and the dementor’s kiss is the vanquish Lord Voldemort, Harry. And in order to do so, you have to conquer her. Or else she has to conquer herself. And if neither happens as planned, I have to die in order to conquer them both.”

Harry opened his mouth to vehemently protest, but she covered his lips with her hand. “No. Don’t say it. We do what we have to. I accept it.” She paused, lowering her eyes for a moment before meeting his again. “When we set foot on the path there’s no turning back. We can always just stand here forever and ever until we die, but what will be succeeded?” Another beat of silence. “So let’s say our final words before we go march off to a deathly war, shall we?”

“Hermione…” He cleared his throat against the odd collection of tears forming in it. “How—how do you—?”

“I don’t know how I know, frankly,” she said softly. “If that makes sense. I just know and I’ll just accept it.”

He stared at her with a type of amazement he’d never shown anyone. It was at a level beyond just wide eyes and open mouth. It was so strong it made his appearance seem neutral.

“I love you,” said Hermione in a normal, clear voice. “More than anything.”

A warm feeling that he’d only felt when he heard the phoenix song rushed over him. He forced a slight smile for Hermione’s benefit and answer, in the same loud, sure voice, “I love you too.”

There was another pause, the comfortable kind that fell from a general agreement and satisfaction.

Harry turned slightly so he faced her and, with a trembling hand, tilted her chin up so she looked straight at him. He bent slowly, savoring what might be the final image of her face from this vantage point, and gently yet surely cover her lips with his own. Soft, gentle, loving at first until they hit the wall that they hadn’t yet climbed with a new surge of passion that broke down all solid defense, sending them plunging into waters they’d always wanted to swim in but tried to avoid.

His hands slid softly down he body until they stopped and wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her closer than humanly possible. He pulled back slightly to catch his breath as her fingers slid through his wild mop of hair before tumbling back into the kiss that seemed to break down everything else in the world but them.

Harry had never kissed anyone like this, and he’d had lots of experience. All those gorgeous women who’d followed Voldemort and his troupe around wherever they went. Harry supposed they’d had more fun seducing him than the rotten man that Voldemort was, so Harry’d had lots of experience.

He could have stayed this way forever; he wanted to so very much. Hold Hermione this close to him and explore her mouth like this, feeling the tingling that became each kiss in a way Harry had never felt before; he didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to let her go. She molded into him perfectly, like a piece to a puzzle, all the more convincing him she was really the only one for him, now and always. Don’t let go. Don’t let go…

“Okay, break it up, you bundles of raging hormones.” The voice shattered the wall between them and the rest of the world and they pulled their faces apart, though Harry still held her tightly to him.

There stood Merinah, rolling her eyes and looking disgusted. Her eyes weren’t sapphires anyone: they’d turned to chips of ice that could freeze anyone up.

“The Master calls you,” she said, her tone sounding the most clipped and formal Harry had ever heard from her.

The haze that had formed in his mind to hide the pain and worry of moments before while he’d kissed Hermione was slowly receding, revealing, with sharp clarity, what stood before him.

He broke his embrace of Hermione, but reached down and kept a firm grip on her hand, lacing his fingers through hers in a commanding way.

The Master was, of course, Voldemort. That was what Harry had called him through his five years of service towards him. It was blatantly vain, really. But Harry hadn’t thought so five years before. No, no, the Master was omnipotent and deserved such a status!

He almost laughed at his own stupidity, but Merinah had turned with a final gaze of daggers, and started prominently up the path, obviously indicating them to follow her.

There was that ice water again, dashing away that warm tingling Hermione’s lips had left in him.

He felt her squeeze his hand, and when he looked down at her, she gave him a heartfelt smile. “Love, Harry,” she whispered for his ears only. “Just love me, and I’ll love you, and hold my hand, and we’ll be okay. Just let the love hold you, not the hate. It’ll protect you as well as anything.”

With determination, he stepped onto the path, feeling a sudden wrench in his legs, as if stapling him into place. Hermione was right. They could not go back now.

He felt Hermione’s warm, slender hand woven into his own, how it felt perfect and smooth and in place…and he let the love hold him. Not the hate.

Hermione was far beyond feeling nervous at this point. Oh yes, she’d skipped over that point ages ago.

Now she just felt relieved. She was finally doing it. Finally facing it. Her feet hit the dusty path with good, solid determination each step of the way, her hand holding Harry’s tightly. Yes, that was what would protect them until Merinah came back. If she came back.

See, if there was one thing the Dark Lord and his disciples couldn’t stand, it was love. It ate away at him. He couldn’t touch it without breaking out in hives and welts.

Love was palpable around her and Harry. It seemed to radiate from the point in which they held hands, circling around them and covering them, shielding them both from any spells thrown at them for the time being. It would stand for a while.

It was spell Hermione had invented as they’d traveled through the forest to their destination, Godric’s Hollow, inspired by an aching need of protection and a burning type of fear in her heart. It had popped into her mind, maybe under divine influences from above, maybe from her own mind, but it had come, and it kept repeating itself over and over in her mind:

The mercury skies, the deadly poison in her eyes;

The careful lie, the crows that fly, a heavy sigh;

And the innocents that die.

It had worked, it was working, she knew it. It was tangible. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but it seemed every bit of it was coming true.

The skies were mercury above her. Merinah had that deadly, seething poison in her eyes. The careful lie… She’d told Harry they’d be all right; the truth was, she wasn’t so sure of this. For something that would turn out fine and dandy, there was an awful lot a weight and presentiment inside her.

The crows that fly? No sign of that yet. A heavy sigh? She felt one coming on. And, this thought sending a chill through her, the innocents that die.

That would obviously be her.

She jumped slightly as a loud burst of squawking issued, as a torrent of a sound that resembled birds taking flight came from behind her. She turned her head slightly and looked up, only to see crows streaking across the sky.

“The birds of death,” a soft voice came from beside her. Harry’s grip tightened on her hand. He heaved a heavy sigh.

A lump formed in her throat.

One more to go… The innocent that dies…

She somehow didn’t feel reassured by this fact as they reached the arched, open entrance hole that led into oily blackness.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to memorize how it felt to hold Harry’s hand, trying to memorize how his lips felt against hers, how it felt to have his hands run down her body, how it felt to be held by him…

A small portion of her mind awoke from a deep sleep to say, Love. Never dies, never stops, always there. Love, Herm. Hold tight to it.

Nothing seems to change

Let alone you won’t forget my name

Just don’t lose what you know

Just don’t lose what you know

When you’re so far away

--Nine Days, “So Far Away”

The cold and damp blankness seemed to envelope Merinah as she set foot inside. She’s been here before, when she’d been held prisoner in the basement. Where her memories had been wiped and her personality changed. Where she’d become a prisoner in her own mind.

Not a pleasant memory.

She knew who she was now. She was Merinah Gattes, twenty-five, the completely innocent and carefree daughter of Marian Gattes. And she was being held captive in the back of her mind by another person, Erina Riddle who was a mere yet evil five-year-old. Erina had never matured to adulthood. She was still that spoiled little brat, and she was strong, pushing her older, good self away.

Life was a huge bundle of confusion for Merinah Gattes.

She’d tried to fight, she’d tried to break free, but she couldn’t. She could only stand silently by while Erina had led her friends to their deaths; stand there and ache and cry and beg.

Now she just sat and stared blankly ahead through the eyes that were once hers but were now like two tiny TV sets with blurred images.

She’d gone mad. Totally and complete insane.

Erina led Harry and Hermione through a dank, dark corridor littered with puddles of water, dyed red with rust and mud. The air was chilly, both physically and mentally, and the smell was that of damp stone, much like the air near a mountain creek.

A light was visible at the end of the hallway, unnaturally white, and it seemed to beckon her. A voice seemed to resonate from it, calling her, “Come, my daughter, bring them to me and you’ll be greatly rewarded.”

Merinah, sensing these thoughts, immediately retorted with, Go into the light, go into the light. This is like a cheap horror film, you know that, Erina? Poltergeist, you know?

With a swift movement that look so natural and at ease it wasn’t questioned at all by Harry or Hermione, Erina reached up and smacked the side of her head, scattering the real Merinah across her mind, scurrying to pick up the pieces so that she could rest and gather strength, and maybe, maybe fight it.

Erina laughed a mirthless laugh aloud, shaking her head. “You cannot fight me, Merinah. I’ve been forced to sit at the back of your mind for the past twenty years. I’ve pulled my resources together so that I am now too powerful for even your petty magic.”

Any Muggle, or any witch or wizard for that matter, would have considered this woman mad. They would have considered this scene mad. They would have tried to stop it, tried to help her, tried to get her to a shrink.

But there was no one there but Merinah, Erina, Harry, Hermione, and Voldemort, and neither would move to help her, all caught up in their own pain.

She’d have to help herself. But hadn’t she always? Through her whole life, she’d had to save herself. Every step of the way.

Merinah calmed down her worries and settled in the back of her mind, closing her mind’s eye and trying to focus on her own force of will and the magic inside her that Erina had no way of touching. Yes, she had to gather strength. She had to fight when the time came to fight, not a second earlier. Maybe she could save them. Maybe she could save herself.

But she would fight. She would fight until she died trying.

The sense of clarity and lack of fear within Harry was almost startling. Moments before he’d been on the verge of collapse. Now, facing his old master once again, walking through this corridor once again, the strength and numbness he’d held upon himself for the last five years returned. But this time he wasn’t falling inside of it. He wasn’t letting it consume him.

Hold tight to the love. Hold tight, and never let go.

He was strong again. But he wasn’t cold. He was strong and warm and he knew if he didn’t survive this confrontation, at least it might save him. It may be the last thing that could tug him from the hole that still held him, the hole that Hermione had helped him climb out of, the hole that Merinah had pushed him back into…and maybe the hole that, strangely enough, Voldemort would pull him out of once again.

As they approached the light at the end of the hall, it revealed itself as an archway Harry knew to lead into Voldemort’s chambers. That would be where he would wait for them. That would be where he would punish Harry for leaving his services and utterly betraying him.

When Voldemort, years before, had learned that his wand could not battle Harry’s, he brought it upon himself to turned Harry evil so they’d be on the same side and wouldn’t have to duel. But now it seemed that they were in the same places that they’d been last time. It would have seemed hopeless for Voldemort, except for the fact that Harry no longer had his wand; the dementors had taken it at Azkaban. So he was approaching Voldemort unarmed and unprepared, so weary that he doubted he could even light a fire without his wand.

He watched as Merinah strode purposefully through the doorway, doubling back so that she stood by the frame like a security guard to check them in. She faced them and a blast of frozen air shot out from her eyes as they met Harry’s.

He paused, gripping Hermione’s hand tightly so she won’t go on without him. She halted next to him, giving him a quizzical look.

Harry narrowed his eyes and Merinah glared back into them, strong and daring him to question hr. But something flickered in them. A film of gray covered over the icy blow, the gentle gray that Merinah used to help people, before the frozen blue returned.

“Tell them to enter,” a high, cold voice came from within the room.

Merinah, still not breaking eye contact with Harry, jerked her head in the direction of the room, indicating them to go in. Harry didn’t budge.

“Merinah,” he whispered softly. “You’re not Merinah, are you?”

Her eyelids shut so low that her eyes were slits, and she glared icily at him. He jumped as her voice came out British and cold. “I am Erina Riddle, Potter, and don’t worry yourself over Merinah Gattes. She’s dead. You’ll do right to call me by my true name.”

He returned her glare with his own version of it, reaching inside himself to pull out the old aura of evil he’d possessed as a Death Eater. It covered him in a demanding way, but the hand holding Hermione’s still carried warmth so that she wouldn’t be frightened away.

He held his head up and tugged at Hermione’s hand to show he was ready, and they stepped simultaneously into the room.

Not before he saw the flicker, through. Not before a bit of the real Merinah peeked out at him.

Hermione’s heart was pounding wildly as she clung to Harry’s hand surreptitiously.

Her eyes darted furtively around this new chamber, taking in everything. But there wasn’t much to take in. It was a plain, stone room, not even a rug to give it color. The only thing within it was a throne set in front of them, in the center, encrusted in silver and green velvet. Windows set high above them in the highly vaulted room cast a murky light across the man who sat upon it, giving him an eerie, glowing quality.

She swallowed hard as she followed Harry to stand before him. Red, catlike eyes stared down at her over the slits that were his nose. He seemed to be missing his lips; his mouth appeared to be a gashing hole under the slits. Skin so pale it looked translucent stretched out across his bony face, and thinning black hair that looked like it had been tossed precariously there sat on his head. He wore black, satin robes, hemmed with green and silver, and his long, thin fingers splayed across the velvet and oak that cover the arms of the chair he sat on.

So this was Lord Voldemort/Tom Riddle.

As she and Harry came close, his slits dilated as if he were sniffing them for traces of something—Hermione didn’t know—and horrible smile stretched across his lipless mouth.

“Ah, my not-so-faithful servant’s finally returned,” he said quietly in a strangely high voice.

Hermione felt as if she’d swallowed a cube of ice.

“And he’s brought a little friend too, eh?” He stood and Hermione stepped back. “Could this be the reason he’s left me?”

Hermione cast a sideways glance at Harry and saw him staring stoically back at Voldemort, surprised to feel him radiating the type of coldness he’d had while serving evil. Her stomach turned. Had he gone back to the darkness?

But then, as if reading her thoughts, he squeezed her hand without looking at her, giving her some warmth and strength, telling her to hold on.

Voldemort caught both of these movements, eyes keen from years of looking for traitors. “Don’t tell me you love her, Harry,” he said in a coldly amused voice. “I’m appalled. I thought I’d really saved you from such emotions.” He shook his head sadly. “Alas, you’re now tainted again. Now I must make a choice, Harry, do you realize that? Shall I kill her, so that anger and hate will consume you again, and trust you to remain my right-hand man again, or shall I kill you both and take my daughter as my right-hand woman.”

Harry couldn’t remain silent any longer. “Daughter?” he croaked in shock.

Voldemort smile. “Ah, yes. You didn’t know?” He beckoned across the room to Merinah and she came from the door to stand next to him. “My lovely little girl, yes. Harry Potter, meet my faithful servant, Erina Riddle.”

His grip on her hand loosened, and as Hermione watched, his mouth fell open in shock and his eyes grew unnaturally wide. “But—but—”

“But what, Harry?” asked Voldemort, in a voice obviously meant to be fatherly.

Harry turned to Merinah. “Merinah?” he squeaked.

She smiled that same seductive smile. “Harry?” she replied, mocking his unnaturally high-pitched voice. “Did I not tell you I was Erina Riddle? You really are stupid, aren’t you? Erina Riddle. Hmm. What could that mean, Harry?”

Hermione had suspected something of this sort all along, so shock didn’t come over her the way it did Harry. She’d gotten over that feeling of betrayal, and had accepted it, as she had accepted her death.

She pulled together all the strength she could muster and gave Harry’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

He glanced cautiously at her, his green eyes flashing a bit of confidence to her, before turning back to Voldemort. She saw his back straighten, his eyes narrow, and felt the cold coming from him again.

“So, Harry,” said Voldemort conversationally, taking his seat again (Merinah took the stool on his right), “you decided to leave me? Leave your master? You do realize the penalty for that is severe, no?”

Harry said nothing, and neither did Hermione.

Voldemort clucked his tongue at him, raising his wand. “Crucio,” he said lazily, expecting Harry to collapse in pain and screams of anguish.

It seemed to be in slow motion. A purplish light flashed from his wand tip, racing towards Harry, headed for his chest, but as soon as it touched it, it ricocheted off and shot up and through a window, shattering glass.

There was a stunned silence from both parties. Hermione felt Harry’s grip on her hand tighten.

Voldemort shifted in his seat. “You have a defense up? I’m impressed, Harry. I truly am.” He rubbed his chin. “You mean I don’t get to have fun before I kill you?” He paused, seeming to consider something, before a wicked grin spread across his face and he sat up straighter.

“So you’ve betrayed me, Harry, to go back to the people who will put you back in Azkaban in a second? Yes, I heard about the dementor’s kiss. They were going to perform it on you. That’s why I sent Merinah to save you.” His red eyes flashed dangerously. “I’m loyal, Harry. I always get my servants out of danger.”

“So you can kill them later,” said Harry through clenched teeth. Hermione saw his jaw muscles working angrily.

“Hmm, I don’t kill them all,” said Voldemort thoughtfully. “I only kill the ones I can’t save, Harry. I have to punish you for disloyalty, you know. If I didn’t, all my precious Death Eaters would be running feral. I must keep an iron grip on them. So of course I have to punish those who disobey.”

“Yet you’ll kill me,” hissed Harry.

Voldemort smile cheerlessly. “I’d only kill you because you won’t come back, Harry. You’re tainted by love. It would be a real loss, though, powerful as you are. Like a replica of myself.” Voldemort shook his head in a show of great sadness. “Although,” he added brightly, “if you’re suggesting you’ll return to me—”

“Never,” Harry said forcefully.

“So you’ll stay with those who betrayed you when you came back? When you returned to her,” he nodded to Hermione, “when you came back to her, Harry, how did she react? Did she accept you back with open arms? Or did she shun you?”

His jaw was working so hard it almost cast waves across his face. “I killed her parents,” said Harry dully. “I betrayed her first.”

“You admit she betrayed you then!” cried Voldemort. “You’ll die for a world that wouldn’t take you back, Harry? Yet you won’t come back to your master who’s offering you an escape?”

“‘There’s no escaped if love is not there,”” said Harry quietly, remarkably subdued.

Hermione thought that sounded vaguely familiar, and remembered suddenly that that was an exact quote from the book The Witch of Blackbird Pond. It had, of course, been used under different circumstances in the actual book, but it worked so perfectly here that Hermione’s heart jumped and did flip-flops in a surge of pride for Harry.

“Ah, how sweet,” sneered Voldemort. “Shall those be your last words, Harry?”

“Hopefully not,” said Harry easily. “But most likely they will be.”

Voldemort smiled. “Dear, sweet Hermione,” he said, addressing her now, his eyes boring into her own. “I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you, too.”

She closed her eyes tightly, repeating her spell over and over in her mind:

The mercury skies, the deadly poison in her eyes;

The careful lie, the crows that fly, a heavy sigh;

And the innocents that die.

How could it save them now? There was no way her death could actually beat Lord Voldemort. There was no way the love barrier would block Avada Kedavra.

Deep breath.

Maybe they weren’t meant to survive…

Voldemort raised his wand…

Merinah watched the scene, thinking wildly. If Voldemort were to put Avada Kedavra on her, it would first kill her and then rebound on him. Meaning he would die too, because the magic inside her would give it so much strength even he wouldn’t survive.

Biding her time… What to do, what to do?

Were they worth her life? Would her sacrifice work?

No time to consider.

“Avada Kedavra,” Voldemort hissed, green light flying from his wand tip.

No time to think.

Merinah propelled her body forward with all the strength she’d gathered, pushing herself so that she blocked Harry and Hermione just as the green light rushed to them.

“The innocent that dies,” she said softly so that Hermione, with eyes wide and wondering, could hear her. The light hit her smack in the chest, throwing her backwards and knocking Harry and Hermione down.

I want to see it, she begged her dying body, trying to fight off death for a moment. I want to see him die…

The green light jumped away from her, now dyed silver and rushed, fast as lightning, back at Voldemort’s own chest. She saw his shocked look, his body fall, as her own went limp and her heart slowed down.

Harry kneeled beside her, taking her hand. “Merinah?” he whispered, shocked, green eyes wider than golf-balls.

A smile slowly spread across her face, her last ever seductive grin as she forced her eyes shut.

“Yeah,” she whispered to him, taking her last breath and falling down into complete blackness.

Yeah. It’s me…

And then she died.