Chapter Text
They had the locket. They had the sword. The plan hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but they had done it. Sure, Ron had gotten hurt, and wearing the locket hadn’t been a good idea. He had gotten angry and left, had abandoned them for weeks. Meanwhile, they had nearly been eaten by Nagini ; but that hardly mattered anymore, because now he was back and everything was fine. They would be fine, they had done it. With the diary long dealt with, the ring destroyed and the locket in their possession, they were halfway through their hunt. Only three more to go.
When Hermione had seen him, looking like a wet rag, and Ron trailing behind him, she had been livid. Furious. The last time Harry had seen her express such violence had been when she had punched Draco Malfoy in the face so hard he had nearly cracked his skull open on the rock behind him (at least that was the way Harry remembered it ; Hermione said it was bullshit. “it was merely a slap, Harry, nothing else!”). Slap or not, it hadn’t prevented her from seizing Ron’s bag and hit him with it. Harry had thought wise to let them have it out and had went back to the tent.
Now, having calmed down, they were more focused on what to do with the locket. Should they destroy it ? After all, they now had the sword. However, they still weren’t sure whether or not Voldermort would feel it ? Would he know that a part of his soul had been destroyed, or was he too far gone to feel it ? In the end, it was the mention of the locket-shaped scar on Harry’s chest that decided for them. They didn’t want a repeat of that, they didn’t want to have to continue wearing the blasted thing.
It had to go. There was no other way around it.
Perhaps they were making a huge mistake, but they wouldn’t know if they didn’t try ; and they were desperate enough. Ron had gained a few pounds ever since he had left, but Harry and Hermione grew thinner by the day. They hadn’t had a real shower in ages, and Harry had nearly forgotten what actual warmth felt like. No matter what amount of heating charms they set on the tent, on their beds or cloths, nothing could stop the freezing air to claw at their very bones ; and even though they didn’t speak about speak about it, Harry had seen Hermione clutch her stomach often enough to know that the constant cold was making her period cramps worst. Apparently, her cycle was fucked up, whatever that meant. Hermione had let it out one evening while crying over her roasted mushrooms, and Harry hadn’t asked.
The point was, they were just days away from cracking. It was only a matter of time before one of them lost it, and they had to accelerate things. They had to destroy the Horcrux. It wouldn’t bring them closer to the next one, but it would be good. A worry gone, a weight they wouldn’t have to carry. It would be the first one they destroyed together. It would prove that they could do it, that Voldemort wasn’t indestructible. It would bring them hope, Harry knew it.
So destroying it was what they were going to do. Right then.
They stepped out of the tent, threw to goddamned thing between the leaves of the forest floor.
“I’ll do it,” Ron prompted.
Neither Harry nor Hermione argued. The locket had done Ron the most damage : he deserved to be the one to get rid of it. Harry handed over the sword, opened the locket – his first use of Parseltongue in ages – and waited.
It took longer than expected. When Harry had destroyed the Diary back in second year, he had been so desperate to get rid of Tom Riddle and to save Ginny that he hadn’t struggled much, but Ron did. The locket fought back with everything he had. It spat heinous things to Ron, showered him in lies. It was like being face to face with a boggart, except the boggart was trying to anger you out of your wits more than to scare you to tears, and it was working.
Anger and hatred emanated from Ron like the cold around a Dementor, his fist getting tighter and tighter around the handle of the sword. Harry wanted to scream at him, to tell him to fight it and to just stab the bloody locket, but he knew it wouldn’t help. Instead, he let Hermione grip his arm and dig her nails through his sweater. He didn’t mind, he couldn’t feel it anyway. He was way too focused on Ron.
“Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter… Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend… Second best, always, eternally overshadowed…”
Harry was definitely screaming now, though he couldn’t hear himself. All that mattered was Ron. Ron, his best friend, his brother, his family. He couldn’t possibly be thinking anything Riddle’s soul was spouting. It was all bullshit. Ron was brilliant, he was brave, he was strategic ; and Molly didn’t prefer Ginny to him. Molly had the greatest heart Harry had ever seen, with enough love to spare for children that weren’t even hers. Ron hadn’t, and would never go a day in his life unloved.
Ron was so good, so loyal. So loved, so loved..
Harry must have screamed the last part out loud, because Ron suddenly didn’t look half as miserable anymore. He raised the sword with determination. The locket must have been fighting with all it had ; he could practically feel it buzz from where he was standing. He couldn’t hear what it was saying, now. He was actively filtering it out, all his focus on Ron, on his hands gripping the sword with all his might. He watched it go down, down, down, all the way until the blade hit the locket in its center.
Nothing could have prepared him for the blast that followed.