A Different Kind of Darkness

Chapter One: The Bargain

The astounding news spread throughout the Royal Court of the Lightning Prince like wildfire, sparking discussions and debates throughout the Palace. Owls hailed down, bombarding the many courtiers, as gossips from all over sniffed out shreds of the recent, extraordinary events, and demanded to know every scrap of detail from friends at Court. Their requests, however, could only be answered with insignificant scraps and speculations that had carefully been scrounged together, as practically all the members of the Court enthusiastically were taking part in their favourite activity - gossip. However, despite innumerable memos fluttering hurriedly between eager recipients, no one seemed to know the entire story, and those few who did know the truth of the reports were not about to reveal it. The secrecy of the situation had most imaginations working overtime as rumours flew about thick and fast, while the same baffling questions were asked over and over again by the same prying people.

Is it true? Have they captured key members of the Phoenix Resistance? Does that include its infamous figureheads? What does His Highness have to say about it?

The answers to these urgent questions soon came in the form of a small group arriving at the Palace gates, where a large crowd had gathered in high anticipation. They jostled each other roughly, straining their eyes for a proper glimpse of the attraction.

A dozen members of the Lightning Prince's Elite Guard, dressed in their distinctive red uniforms, complete with an insignia of a stylized lion hurling a bolt of lightning embroidered on the breast, marched in. However, the cause of the astonished exclamations were the five prisoners the guards flanked, each with their hands bound in front of them in Muggle manner. Whispers buzzed excitedly around the courtyard as, one by one, the prisoners were recognised and identified.

Look, the Weasley twins! And Angelina Johnson - I'd heard she was dead ... Goodness, it's Ronald Weasley! His Highness will be most pleased! He's wanted Weasley captured ever since he lured ... Merlin's beard! Is that Hermione Granger?!

The murmurings grew steadily louder as the procession made its way from the courtyard through the tall archway which marked the entrance to the Palace proper. The restless crowd of workers was kept outdoors, much to their disappointment, but their inquisitiveness infected various senior ministers and their lackeys, who the guards at the archway allowed passed as they trailed the procession, gathering numbers and volume as it progressed. The prisoners clearly overheard everything that was said, but held their heads high nonetheless, pretending not to hear a word.

Hermione Granger! Did you hear what happened? She broke the Prince's heart when she ran off three years ago. Had apparently already broken off the romance, but then betrayed him and helped establish the Phoenix Resistance! Scuttlebutt says that he's still in love with her ...

There was a crescendo in the excited squeals and harsh bursts of laughter as the gossips continued to trail behind the procession, like a pack of hungry wolves pursuing its prey.

As they neared the main audience chamber, the guards and their charges passed a tall, sandy-haired man leaning against one of the white marble pillars to the side of the enormous ante-chamber, his features set in a stony expression. He barely spared a glance at the prisoners and their guards as they passed; his shrewd gaze was fixed on the following crowd. Stepping forward between the two groups, he folded his arms and regarded the pursuing mob coldly.

'Show's over,' he announced, his gentle Irish lilt not softening his tone in the slightest. A disappointed murmur fluttered throughout the crowd, but no one dared contradict him. Given no alternative, they all craned their necks for a final look before slowly dispersing, still whispering urgently to each other about what they had just seen.

Ron glanced over his shoulder, vaguely recognising the forceful voice, but was roughly shoved onwards by one the guards and quickly faced forward. With the dissipation of the crowd, silence reigned, broken only by the staccato echoing of their heavy footfalls as they approached the entrance of the spacious audience chamber, freshly emptied of its usual occupants of ministers, advisors and hangers-on. The fact that the leaders of the Phoenix Resistance were widely considered to be extremely dangerous was the official reason given for the mass exodus. However, it was whispered by several of the regular occupants of the chamber that the Prince deliberately wanted to keep the audience private. Given the rebels involved, the latter explanation seemed much more plausible in their eyes.

The captives were pushed through a yellow-tinged force-field - an anti-magic protection spell barring the use of any sort of magic in the room - and into the chamber itself, which was majestically decorated with dark, oak panels lining the walls and a rose-coloured marble floor. Six large, square windows faced out onto manicured gardens, and on the opposing wall there were six mirrors positioned strategically opposite each window, reflecting the light evenly and making the already large room feel even bigger. Adding to the ceremonial feel of the chamber was the enormous woven tapestry adorning the back wall, which was embroidered with the Lightning Prince's famous gold coat-of-arms on a red background. The crest itself consisted of a large golden lion under an arch created by two wands on either side joined together by a bolt of lightning as a canopy, all of which was underlined by the motto: Alea Iacta Est.

However, the prisoners didn't have time to admire the opulence of the chamber, as they were hurried up to the far end, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous hall. There, flanked by several bodyguards and lounging in a comfortable, ornately carved throne positioned on a raised dais, was the Lightning Prince himself - Harry James Potter. His features were set in an unreadable expression as the prisoners were brought forward and shoved roughly onto their knees before him, each grunting sharply from the force by which they hit the ground. The twelve guards who had accompanied them surrounded the five hunched figures.

'Hey, this is great,' Fred tried to quip lightly. 'Front and centre, no waiting! We ought to get captured more often.' He was quickly backhanded across the face for his comedic efforts by one of the escorting guards. His comrades darted concerned looks towards him, but did nothing, warily eyeing the menacing guards. Fred himself winced, touching a hand as best he could to his mouth, checking to see if the stinging blow had drawn blood. It wasn't anything new - they had each already received their fair share of bruising blows during the capture, with the exception of Hermione, who the guards had handled firmly, but had curiously never struck.

Harry's intense gaze roved over the group of rebels, studying each of their sullen expressions briefly before finally settling on Hermione. She, in turn, bowed her head, refusing to meet his gaze. She could still sense his eyes upon her and it unnerved her somewhat.

'Well, well, well - the prodigal children return,' Harry finally spoke, his tone acidic. 'It's been a long time.'

'Not nearly long enough,' George muttered under his breath. 'And who are you calling 'children'?' While Harry didn't hear the aside, the guard positioned closest to George did, and he received his own a slap to the face. A red mark in the shape of a hand bruised his already swollen cheek, but he bit his lip, refusing to surrender to the sudden shock of pain and cry out.

Harry didn't bother to acknowledge him; his piercing gaze was focused entirely on Hermione. He smiled almost victoriously.

'Hermione, it has been too long. How are you?' he asked pleasantly, as if she were a casual dinner guest. She didn't respond, or make any sign that she had heard him at all; her focus remained on the floor in front of her.

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. 'Will you not look at me?' His voice grew softer, yet more dangerous.

She remained silent, her features schooled into a mask of perfect calm, as she had trained herself to do long beforehand, although inside she was caught between white-hot anger and icy fear. She stared intently at the white patterns snaking through the rose marble of the floor, refusing to give into either emotion. An amused smile played at Harry's lips.

'Nothing to say? Funny, you never used to be the strong, silent type,' he taunted, abandoning all pretence of civility. Ron, incensed, responded in her stead.

'We all change with the times,' he put in bravely. 'Though, I see that you're still going with the 'tyrannical git' image. It's lucky that you carry it off so well.' Ron tensed as the nearest guard, a short but burly woman, prepared to deliver him a punishing blow for his blatant insolence. But Harry stayed the guard's raised hand with a lazy wave of his own. Straightening in his throne, his amused expression transformed into a sneer.

'Brave, Weasley. Foolhardy ...' He nodded his assent to the waiting guard, who swiftly sent Ron half-staggering on his knees with a harsh blow to the face. '... but undeniably brave. A true Gryffindor to the last,' he added snidely.

Ron quickly recovered, lifting his head up haughtily, although his vision was swimming nauseatingly. Harry waved his efforts away with an imperious flick of his hand.

'Enough of this, we have business to discuss.'

'We have nothing to discuss with you,' Ron responded coldly, still swaying slightly. 'Unless, of course, you'd like to abdicate, and face trial for murder, tyranny and number of other things.'

Harry regarded him with a seemingly amused expression. He leaned back into his chair and once more regarded the five prisoners shrewdly. 'Not today, Weasley. However, I would advise you not to be so quick to throw away the last chance you may have to save your insignificant little life.'

Ron opened his mouth to give an angry retort, but before he could, another voice, previously silent, spoke up.

'What do you want, Harry?' Hermione's words cut sharply through the almost tangible hostility between the former best friends. She finally looked up, her brown eyes focused but full of restrained fire as she made eye contact with Harry. Harry's eyes widened slightly in surprise and he regarded her for a moment before continuing.

'Call off your rebellion,' he said simply.

'Call it off?' Angelina spoke up incredulously. 'Sure! And why don't we call off the Owl Post, all shopping in Diagon Alley and ... hell, why not Christmas, while we're at it?!' She cried out in pain as the guard next to her sprang into action and delivered a swift kick to her ribs. Angelina doubled over, gasping in pain. A scuffle suddenly broke out as Fred launched himself at the guard who had attacked her. However, he was quickly placated as three of the guards forcefully drove him to the floor beside Angelina. As the soldiers resumed their original, flanking posts, Fred groaned softly through a possibly broken jaw.

Harry's dispassionate gaze flicked from the injured Angelina, to Fred lying on the floor, to George and Ron, who looked as though they were barely restraining the urge to lunge at the guards themselves, and back to Hermione. Her body language betrayed her own tense apprehension.

'Are we finished with the heroics?' Harry asked sarcastically, addressing the question to them all. 'As much as I'd like to indulge your love of drama, I haven't got the time.'

Hermione turned sharply to her companions, shooting them an uneasy warning glance. They each nodded sharply, silently agreeing they wouldn't let Harry bait them, with the exception of Fred who was only just starting to struggle off the floor,

Harry was unperturbed, arching an eyebrow at Hermione before continuing along the original line of conversation. 'Do whatever you need to get rid of your little rebellion. You're the leaders of the damn group - denounce it, disband it, or something. The Phoenix Resistance has caused enough problems. I'm sick of having to deal with it.'

'Thorn in your side, Your Highness?' Ron inquired spitefully, unable to hold his tongue.

Harry turned to Ron, his face a coldly impassive mask once more. 'Nothing I can't handle, Weasley, never fear,' he responded frostily. 'But the propaganda campaigns are distracting and the strikes against my military are starting to get annoying,' he said, his eyes narrowing. 'On top of that, your audacity has emboldened other rebel groups. I won't put up with it any more - you will order your members to give themselves up, along with their ridiculous cause.'

'Even if we could disband the Resistance, why would we?' Ron challenged. Hermione shot him a look of warning, but he didn't notice; his glare was still focused on the seated figure ahead of them.

'Because,' Harry replied silkily, 'if you do, I might be merciful and only imprison you for life. Or perhaps, exile you from the kingdom.' Ron snorted at the word 'kingdom', but Harry ignored him. 'And I'm always willing to listen to pleas for clemency,' he said, his gaze darting once more to Hermione, who had resumed her study of the marble floor, but was listening carefully. Her stomach tightened as she realised that she and her friends were backed into a corner.

'Not a chance,' Ron snarled. He took a quick look around to see what the others had to say. Harry looked mildly amused by the action and gestured that the guards should let it continue.

On Ron's right, Fred and Angelina, both carefully nursing their injuries, chorused a fervent 'No!', while on his left, George shook his head slowly but determinedly. Looking beyond George, Ron finally met Hermione's eyes. There, he perceived her defiance, but also her terror. He knew well that her worst fear was not of dying, but of her friends suffering. Fear flooded through him. What was she planning to do? His eyes widened and his breath suddenly caught in his throat.

'Hermione?' Harry's hurried prompting interrupted their silent communication. 'What is your decision?' He cocked his head to the side, waiting impatiently. Hermione turned from Ron and faced Harry, meeting his probing look with a clear gaze.

'No,' she said, her defiant response ringing throughout the deserted hall. She continued to stare directly at Harry.

Harry's eyes narrowed, all amusement wiped from his face. Clearly, this was not the outcome he had anticipated.

'Very well,' he said finally. 'As you refuse to co-operate, you leave me no choice.' He paused dramatically. 'There's only one acceptable punishment for rebellion and high treason.' His mouth was set in a grim line as he motioned to the guards surrounding the prisoners, who sprang to immediate attention. 'Take them a-'

'Wait!' Hermione interrupted urgently. She attempted to stand, only to be forcefully pushed back to her knees by the guard behind her. She recoiled as he raised his hand, violent distaste clear in his eyes.

'Stop!' Harry commanded hastily. 'Don't touch her!'

The guard lowered his hand immediately, stepping away from Hermione and coming to attention once more, although he still glowered at her from behind. Harry had stood in reaction to Hermione's sudden outburst, and now moved lithely down the steps from the throne platform, his dark robes billowing in his wake. His bodyguards exchanged a glance and began to move forward with him, but Harry waved them back, not even bothering to look at them. His eyes were locked on Hermione.

'You wish to beg for your life, Hermione?' he asked carefully, standing directly in front of her; she could feel his hot breath on her face. 'You only need ask and I will spare you.' He traced a finger around her jaw line, especially enjoying the affect this action had on Ron, who was shaking in almost uncontrollable anger. Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione shot him a look that silenced him instantly. Turning back to Harry, she shook her head slowly, swallowing hard as she searched for the courage and audacity to save her friends.

'Let them go,' she whispered, closing her eyes and bowing her head so she wouldn't have to observe their reactions.

A stunned silence fell heavily across the chamber. Harry blinked in disbelief, while Hermione's fellow rebels stared at her incredulously; even the guards seemed to have momentarily forgotten themselves, gaping openly. The quiet was broken suddenly by a sharp bark of laughter.

'Your negotiating skills are legendary, Hermione, but not even you are that good,' Harry commented, still laughing as he turned his back to the prisoners and made his way back to the throne.

'Let them go and I will stay.'

Someone to Hermione's right gasped sharply. Harry spun back rapidly, his eyes wide with surprise. Ron tried to push his way towards her.

'No, Hermione! You can't -'

A ruthless blow to the head, administered by an overzealous guard, silenced him, and he crumpled to the floor, groaning in pain. Fred and George both swore loudly, leaping forward in a desperate attempt to aid their fallen brother, but they were vastly outnumbered. Blinding pain crashed through their skulls as they too were thrown to the floor. Angelina shrieked, but remained frozen in shock, wheezing painfully as she tried to support her bruised ribs, all blood drained from her face. Hermione stared straight ahead at the gold-fringed tapestry above Harry's head, forcing herself to ignore Ron's soft moans from the floor, and her own, almost overwhelming urge to throw herself down and nurse him. Harry, in the meantime, had reseated himself, frowning as he clearly considered Hermione's offer. He motioned to the pair of bodyguards at his side.

'Bring her to me,' he ordered. He watched through narrowed eyes as she presented no resistance against them, as they seized her firmly under the armpits. Ron, on the other hand, yelped some unintelligible protest from the floor as she was propelled forward. As soon as she stood before Harry, she shrugged out of the guards' grubby grips and looked him straight in the face, refusing to concede anything to her current situation. Harry spoke first.

'Why do I need to release your friends, Hermione?' he asked casually, though his eyes betrayed his great interest in the bargain. 'I could have them killed and still make you stay. You're offering me nothing I couldn't already take.'

She stared back defiantly. 'Then why didn't you take it when you had the chance? Why haven't you already taken it?' she challenged, continuing without waiting for a reply. 'Because you don't want to take it. You want me to give it - for me to stay here, with you, of my own accord.'

He leaned back slowly against red velvet cushions, regarding her shrewdly. She returned his gaze evenly, doggedly keeping her inner turmoil from reaching her face. If she failed, they were all doomed. If she succeeded ...

Harry abruptly interrupted her thoughts. 'You will stay,' he said slowly, 'and it will be as it once was - as it always should have been.'

She made no response, but it didn't matter - he wasn't listening anymore. She remained with her back to the rest of the group as he stood again, waving the guards to attention. She could feel her friends' eyes probing her, silently pleading to know what she was doing, to know why she was doing this. She couldn't face them; she wouldn't be able to go through with this if she did, and she knew this was the only way to save their lives.

'I have made my decision,' Harry announced to the room, cutting through her thoughts once again. 'Take these rebels outside the Palace gates,' he said to the guards surrounding the bedraggled group. 'Give them back their wands and ensure that they leave. The Lady Hermione will remain with us.' A satisfied smirk appeared on his face as he observed the reactions of the four remaining rebels.

'No!' Ron's voice echoed loudly in the near-empty room. Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath before finally turning back to see him on his feet once more, and struggling with several guards who held him back in vice-like grips, their faces as red as their tunics from the exertion.

'Hermione, no! Please! You can't stay here! Not with him, not like this!' he cried out desperately, almost oblivious to the blows the guards were raining down upon him. Hermione's composure finally broke upon seeing his desperation. What had she done?

'Ron,' she called out, her voice cracking. She started forward, only to be restrained by a strong hand on her shoulder. She glanced back into Harry's cold, impassive face, his eyes burning the same colour as the mist of the Killing Curse.

'She's made her choice, Weasley,' Harry said silkily, watching Ron struggle with a grim smile. 'Now go, before I change my mind,' he added in a dangerous tone, although his smile acquired a triumphant edge, showing his pleasure with the way events had unfolded.

The guards began to haul the prisoners out. They each resisted fiercely - there was no way they were going to leave Hermione behind! But it was ultimately in vain. There were too many guards and the small group was easily overpowered. Upon realising the futility of their struggles, they each shouted farewells to their friend and saviour.

'Hermione, we love you! That will never change!' Angelina cried out, wincing as a guard brutally squeezed her bruised torso.

'You're still one of us, Hermione!' George shouted. 'You always will be!'

'And never forget it!' Fred added.

'You shouldn't have, Hermione! My life is not worth your soul!' Ron still frantically tried to fight off his captors, bucking viciously as he desperately tried to find some way out of their grips. Harry snorted at Ron's dramatic speech.

Hermione stood mutely as her beloved was dragged from the room, her tongue and heart too heavy to give a response to his final, echoing words.

'I will come back for you, Hermione! I love you! I always will ...'

The heavy doors at the entrance of the chambers closed with a reverberating clunk that resonated in Hermione's heart. They were gone, and she was now alone.

She looked down and found that she was standing on the rose-coloured marble in front of the dais once more, although she didn't remembering clambering down the steps. She raised her head and stared at the oak doors, her eyes shining with repressed tears that she hurriedly tried to blink back as she heard Harry's measured footsteps move towards her. With deliberate slowness, she turned to face the man who she had loved like a brother for a decade, and fought against in a deadly cat-and-mouse game for the past three years - the man who had been hunting her for years, and had just purchased her for the price of four lives.

A/N: Alea iacta est: the die is cast. Julius Caesar uttered this when making the decision to cross the Rubicon in 49 B.C. Generally used when a bold and irretrievable decision has been made.