Hermione reached the door and Harry stretched out his hand out for the knob. And Charlie made a sudden movement — out of startlement, perhaps, Hermione wasn't sure — and knocked the pot from the stove to the floor with a resounding crash.
Slytherin spun around and saw Harry and Hermione at the door. His hand whipped forward, and a jet of blackish light shot from his palm. It was like being hit head-on by a crashing wave, knocking them hard against the wall. Hermione heard more than felt the crack of her head against it, and doubled over, clutching her head in her arms, blinded by pain. Finally her vision cleared, and she blinked the tears out of her eyes, looking up -
To see Slytherin standing over her. He was looking down at her, and at Harry beside her and there was a very odd expression on his face indeed. Not quite satisfaction, not quite hatred, not quite something else.
'Get to your feet,' he said.
Both Harry and Hermione stood. Hermione saw Draco and Ginny standing frozen on the stairs, watching. Draco had his hand on Ginny's arm. And Charlie had crossed the room to stand by Ron. He had a tight grip on Ron's arm and seemed to be preventing him from moving.
Slytherin took a step, not towards Hermione but towards Harry, who was standing very still, breathing hard, as if he had been running.
Slytherin snaked out one white hand, and, to Hermione's astonishment, ran the tip of his finger down the side of Harry's cheek. 'I killed you,' said the Snake Lord softly. 'I watched your blood run out of you and over my hands. And it burned. My cousin.' He took another step towards Harry, who seemed too shocked to move. 'And with your dying thoughts you cursed me.
You well knew the power of the dying curse of one of our blood.
And I had always thought you were stupid.'
Harry winced away from Slytherin's touch, his green eyes gone dark, nearly black. 'I'm not Godric.'
Slytherin took a hissing breath, and dropped his hand. 'I know who you are,' he said. 'Harry Potter. You killed my basilisk, the first of my children, my creation. If you think my hatred for you is any less than my hatred for your forefather, you are much mistaken. You will die like he did, and go down into Hell swallowing curses.'
Harry raised his chin. And then he spoke, but Hermione could not understand what he said — his voice came out on a hiss that sounded like a thousand slithering serpents. He was speaking Parseltongue.
Whatever he said, it struck a nerve with Slytherin. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, he didn't move. Then he raised his hand and hit Harry across the face.
The sound was like a whip cracking in the nearly silent room. It galvanized Hermione; she leaped forward, pushing Harry aside, the Lycanthe in her hand, hurling herself at Slytherin-who smiled at her, and raised his hand again. A flash of blue light flew from his fingers, striking her in the chest and knocking her back against the wall. She heard Harry call out, and knew without knowing how she knew that he was talking to Draco as he had before — silently.
Give me the sword! Harry called.
And Draco's voice. Catch it.
A flash of green and silver. Harry raised his hand, and suddenly he was holding the sword, a little awkwardly, but tightly, in his right hand. She saw Slytherin, his face darkening, saw Harry raise the hand with the sword in it — and pause.
Because Charlie Weasley was suddenly standing in the middle of the room, directly between Slytherin and Harry. His arms were crossed; he faced Harry, almost as if — as if he were blocking the Snake Lord.
'Put the sword down, Harry,' he said.
Harry looked flabbergasted. 'But — Charlie — '
Charlie was pale as death, his eyes glittering darkly. 'Harry,' he hissed. 'You don't know what you're doing.'
He glanced back over his shoulder at Slytherin, who stood motionless, his eyes full of darting shadows. 'Put the sword down.'
Harry hesitated. His eyes flicked to the side, his grip on the sword loosening. And once again Hermione could have sworn that Draco called across the room to him, although his mouth did not move, and no one else seemed to hear. Don't do it.
And Harry replied. But it's Charlie -
You can't trust him.
Of course I can.
Hermione's head suddenly jerked up, and she stared at the clock on the wall. There were the nine hands that indicated each member of the Weasley family — Percy's hand was on 'work', Bill's said 'travelling' and Ron and Ginny's hands were clustered together at 'mortal peril.' But Charlie's -
Charlie's hand just said 'home.'
'Drop the sword before you get us all killed,' repeated Charlie, not taking his eyes off Harry's face. 'Don't play the hero, Harry — is it worth Ron's life, and Hermione's, and Ginny's?'
Harry went white.
'Don't!' shrieked Hermione, scrambling up to her knees, 'Don't listen to him, Harry!'
Harry was breathing as if he had been running. His hands were livid on the hilt of the sword. 'Charlie-I can't-'
And Charlie lunged at him, knocking Harry back into the wall, his hand outstretched for the sword. Harry, looking utterly stunned, twisted sideways -
And Charlie leaped back, clutching the sword in his right hand.
Hermione heard Ron yell out 'Charlie! No! Don't touch it!' as he flung himself toward his brother, knocking him to the ground, the sword rattling out of Charlie's grasp and skittering away across the kitchen floor. Charlie heaved up with his arms, shoving Ron off him, and scrambled to his knees, reaching out for the sword. There was a flash of movement, and suddenly Draco was there, grabbing at the sword. But Charlie, looking panicked, seized
