Samsara's Curse (Drarry Slowburn)

DIVIDED

At the 12 Grimmauld Place checkpoint, Harry made sure they had everything they needed before leaving. Well, the only thing he cared about was the Cloak, but Draco insisted on checking that the silver dagger was still in his pocket.

In addition, Hermione suggested bringing the rune-carved chest for transit purposes. "Merry mentioned that we needed to bring something linked to Samsara," she explained. She assumed that the Hârrik meant something other than Draco. Inevitably, they had to track down the former contents of the chest, having misplaced three of them while decoding its runes. They found the lock of hair on the rug, the vial of vampire venom under the couch, covered in lint fluff, and the ivory talons wedged between two couch cushions (how those got there was anyone's guess).

They opened an iridescent portal with the Spiral Key after restocking the chest. Their footsteps echoed on the hard marble floor of the mansion as they entered.

Merry stood in the center of the mosaic swirl, waiting patiently for their arrival. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show," she said solemnly. "Come. We have much to do."

"Sorry for the wait," Hermione apologized. "We had to find the item you requested."

Merry's interest was piqued. "And what might that be?"

"Well, we figured it would be better to have back-ups, just in case one didn't fit the bill," Hermione expounded, going on a bit of a tangent about preparedness as they re-entered the study. "Would any of these work?" Hermione held the chest wide open, revealing the items inside.

Merry didn't even look inside the box, scoffing lightly, "That's not something I can answer." She located the Pentacle Key hanging from the wall and turned it in midair.

Closing the chest in disappointment, Hermione followed after her through the forest portal, "Why not?"

The trees were covered in silky dew from last night's torrential downpour. Every so often a leaf would shift in the zephyr and drop a pocket of rainwater on their heads.

"I can tell you what won't suffice," Merry elaborated regally, "but the only person capable of knowing what will is the querent."

Hermione knitted her brows, her disgust for anything divination-related rearing its head, "Querent? Like in tarot readings?"

Merry took no offense. She picked a sturdy stick off the ground and held it in her hands like a scepter, stabbing the wet ground as she walked. "Yes, but in this case, it's the person which the ritual is being performed on."

"So Draco, then?" Harry asked, looking over to the wizard. His blond hair glowed yellow around the edges in the evening sunlight.

Merry nodded, not turning around, "Precisely."

Draco wrinkled his nose. Wizards didn't do rituals like this, despite what Muggle literature claimed, so this wasn't exactly an area he specialized in. "Why would I know?"

Merry sighed like a very tired babysitter who had just seen a child eat paint. "I'm getting to that," she stressed, leading them across the clearing which bore no grass. The dirt was malleable, causing the heels of their shoes to sink every time they took a step. Strangely, Merry didn't sink at all, and she left no footprints.

She used her arm as a barricade when they reached the crystal-cored pillars, "No one move past this point."

Hermione, Harry, and Draco remained still, watching as the Hârrik dragged her stick through the clay-like earth, scoring the ground methodically and encircling the pillars in a ring. She then moved within the circle, connecting adjacent posts with straight lines, forming a full pentacle once she finished.