Marked

The Dosage

Chapter 11: The Dosage

"Well," Hermione said, pursing her lips. "This is definitely the lost diadem of Ravenclaw."

Ron opened his mouth to correct her and she cut him off swiftly. "You can stop making that 'found diadem' joke, Ronald," she told him loudly. "You're the only one who thinks it's funny."

She watched as Harry nudged Ron, giving him a tiny apologetic smile. "It's kind of funny," he whispered to him.

Hermione sighed loudly. They'd retrieved the diadem from the Room of Hidden Things earlier that day to little fanfare and had chosen to bring it into their iteration of the Room of Requirement, deciding it was best to transport the object within the reach of Hermione's library rather than the other way around - which, logistically, might have taken days.

It wasn't a particularly long verification process. For one thing, the item they'd produced from the Room of Hidden Things matched the only known likeness of the diadem, a hand drawn image that was buried within the many yellowed pages of Hogwarts: A History, and for another, the phrase "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure" was very clearly etched into the metal. If that were not enough, there was also the lingering unpleasantness of a distinctly disturbing air to the object. It seemed to be making a wailing noise, as though the forces trapped within it were not sitting particularly well together, and Harry had sworn he'd heard a woman's voice emanating from it. They'd all quickly come to the agreement that they collectively did not feel the need to take a closer listen.

"Okay," Malfoy said uncomfortably. "Now that we've found it, what are we supposed to do with it?"

"How dangerous is it?" Ron asked uneasily. "I mean, are we going to all end up with decaying body parts like Dumbledore, or - "

"Maybe just avoid trying on the diadem, Ron," Harry said wearily. "Not sure if you were planning to, but I advise against it - "

"Well for fuck's sake, Potter," Malfoy said, pouting with bitter disappointment. "I was fine before, but now I want to see him wear it."

"Moving on," Hermione interrupted, putting her hands up to circumvent whatever nonsense would surely come of that exchange, "Let's talk about how to destroy it. You know, something productive," she reminded them, sniffing primly.

"Right," Harry said, frowning. "Well, I was hoping we would be able to use the sword, since that's what Dumbledore used, and presumably why he left it to me - "

"Bit of an issue with that," Malfoy said smugly, collapsing into one of the oversized chairs and propping his legs up on the arm. "None of you Gryffindors seem to have done anything brave in a while. Pity," he added unconvincingly.

"Yes, because hiding out in this room has really presented us with a lot of opportunities for that," Harry snapped. "Believe me, I'd rather be able to move freely." His expression darkened ominously. "I'd like to finally be able to make something happen."

"I'd be careful saying things like that," Hermione said anxiously. "Once we leave here, we may never have a place this comfortable again."

She and Malfoy instinctively met eyes from where they were sitting. It was a sentiment that she'd already mentioned to him the night before, a rare fearful moment in the midst of her cloud of contentment. He'd had his arms around her, nuzzling his face into her neck, when she'd finally said out loud what she'd been thinking.

"Are you worried about what it will be like, once we've left here?" she'd asked nervously. "I mean, what are the chances we'll be able to be alone together like this?"