A Different Kind of Darkness

Chapter Two: The Prime Minister

Two guards watched Hermione suspiciously as she sat with her head resting limply in her rope-bound hands. She was trying to block out the memory of Ron's wretched eyes, and the haunting farewell he had so desperately shouted to her as he'd been dragged to the freedom she had purchased for him. But it was in vain.

Harry had not spoken to her after Ron and the others had been released. When she had gathered the courage to face him, he had been staring at her, as if unsure whether she was real or not, before summoning four more guards, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, to escort her from the main audience chamber. She had allowed a pair of them to firmly grasp her upper arms and lead her away. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Harry speak quickly with the remaining two guards before he disappeared through a doorway hidden behind the giant tapestry, the giant lion swaying in his wake.

Her guards, on the other hand, had propelled her to a door on the left hand side of the chamber, which opened onto a wide corridor that seemed to go on forever in both directions. The other pair of guards had joined them as she was led across the corridor to a door directly opposite, which was unlocked to reveal the small, but lavish room where she was now. It was furnished in a peach colour, and contained no furniture except a high, round marble table in the centre of the room, which held a large vase of light pink snapdragons, and several upright chairs leaning against the walls on the left and right. While she had been guided to a chair on the left by the first two guards, she had barely noticed the other two watching the door very carefully, before they suddenly snapped to attention and exited the room, pulling the door shut as they left. The remaining pair had paid no attention to their comrades, focusing entirely on their charge.

Hermione shut her eyes tightly, breathing deep, ragged breaths. It was taking every ounce of self-control she possessed not to give into her welling despair and burst into tears, something that she refused to do in front of Harry's underlings.

She didn't know how much time had passed, when the door opened once again, this time with the slightest of creaks.

'Leave us,' ordered an authoritative voice from the doorway. Hermione started, tensing immediately as she recognised the voice. She composed herself only as the guards departed hastily, closing the door firmly behind them, and the figure strode impressively across the room. She looked up, trying to bite back a flush of rage.

'Traitor,' she hissed vehemently, standing up so abruptly that her chair fell over with a loud clunk. Percy Weasley did not look impressed. He approached her with his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes never leaving her face, even as he bent down and righted the fallen chair.

'I could say the same of you,' he responded darkly, towering over her as he straightened. 'Hello, Hermione - how nice to see you.' He flashed a false smile.

'Get out,' she said in a rancorous undertone. 'I don't want anything to do with you.'

Percy smiled mildly, disregarding, or perhaps slightly amused by her hostility. 'Tut tut, Hermione,' he admonished, as though she was a troublesome toddler.

Bubbling rage spilled over as Hermione glared at him in return. 'How could you? His Prime Minister? Percy, how can you keep playing a part in this charade after everything he's done?' she spat viciously.

Percy didn't respond as he picked up the ornate chair next to Hermione's and placed it opposite her. He sat down easily, ignoring her furious glower. 'Sit down, Hermione,' he said, gesturing to her chair.

She set her mouth in a thin line, remaining on her feet. 'And against your own family,' she growled coldly.

Percy folded his arms. 'It is my family who has set itself against me, not the other way around,' he responded coolly.

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. 'Like they did when you abandoned them to support Fudge?' she asked snarkily, not waiting for a response. 'No; they're setting themselves against the tyranny you help perpetuate -'

'The 'tyranny' you helped to create, you mean?' Percy interrupted, his eyes narrowing. 'I seem to remember that you were part of the group who helped His Highness establish rule after the war with the Dark Lord was over,' he said, his voice growing icy; the comment about Fudge had clearly hit home.

'This was supposed to be a temporary measure - you know that!' she exclaimed defensively.

'We move and adapt with the times, Hermione,' Percy replied. 'Now, sit down,' he ordered forcefully. Hermione paused, quite prepared to defy him again, but the look on his face coldly indicated that he was in no mood to suffer her stubbornness; it was clear that he could force her to obey his command, regardless of her wishes. Clenching her jaw, she slowly sat down, refusing to concede completely. Percy gave a half-smirk of victory, which only served to rile her further.

'Is this what you think your parents, and Bill, and Charlie died for? For you to end up fighting your brothers and killing your own sister?!' she asked frigidly.

The smile was wiped from his face as his eyes darted to his right, towards the small, unlit fireplace built into the back wall. Hermione followed his gaze, but didn't see what had drawn her old friend's attention. She felt her heart lift, thinking she had finally pierced his unbreakable resolve. Percy shook his head slowly, his gaze returning to Hermione, and her hopes deflated.

'The Lightning Prince only wishes to maintain order. Those who choose to set themselves against him are rightfully punished,' he retorted tonelessly, as though he had recited the response a thousand times before. 'They know exactly what they are getting themselves into when they set out to make trouble with the government.'

'Government?' she jeered. 'This thing that you call a 'government' is an illegal joke! Anyone who even thinks against it is branded a traitor and shoved into Azkaban to rot. Without trial,' she added bitterly, her voice falling to a disgusted whisper. 'How could you?'

Percy gave a long, measuring look that Hermione couldn't quite decipher, before shaking his head once more. 'I won't be drawn into a pointless debate with you, Hermione,' he declared. He stood abruptly, looming over her and drawing a long knife from his belt. She cringed in fearful anticipation - a glint of malice was plainly evident in his eyes - but he only sliced the ropes from her hands. She began to massage her bruised wrists as he returned the knife to its jeweled scabbard, hanging from a belt concealed by his black robes.

'Thank you,' she said through gritted teeth; she hated feeling any obligation to him.

'You're welcome,' he responded briskly, sitting in his antique chair once more. 'Are we done with the pleasantries?' he asked, regarding her pointedly. She focused on rubbing her rope-burned wrists, refusing to rise to the goad; he continued. 'You're to be with us for quite a while, I understand - I have already ordered the preparation of your chambers. His Highness has ordered that anything that will make you more comfortable is to be done.'

'Fine, then,' she said shortly, 'I want my wand back.'

Percy snorted derisively. 'Not a chance.'

She glared at him. 'I've promised to stay. What more do you want?'

Percy seemed to consider the question for a moment before replying. 'How about a public oath swearing allegiance to the Lightning Prince, and an open condemnation of the Phoenix Resistance, the Auror Underground and the Pureblood Alliance? Make a clean sweep of the major rebel groups. After that, we'll talk about returning your wand.'

'Oh, so sometime after hell freezes over?' she asked scathingly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Percy raised his eyebrows and took off his glasses, cleaning them slowly with the sleeve of his robe.

'You've been spending far too much time around my brothers,' he commented dryly, fastidiously replacing his glasses.

'You haven't been spending enough time with them,' Hermione retorted, her voice rising. Percy got to his feet, his eyes narrowing in annoyance as she referred to his less-than-loving relationship with his brothers.

'Oh yes, because everyone is always gushing about how wonderful my dear brothers are,' he said sardonically. 'I even heard that you actually fell for the dubious charms of the youngest one,' he added, eyeing her carefully.

Hermione blushed faintly, but was determined not to allow him to taunt her into revealing any weaknesses. However, he already knew this one well, and continued to press the point.

'Honestly, Hermione. You could do so much better than Ron,' he sneered. 'For example, the Lightning Prince himself has mentioned that your charms have a ... certain allure.' The sides of his mouth tweaked with cruel amusement.

She flushed red as hot anger flowed through her, but didn't respond until she was certain she could control her voice.

'Oh, I'm so glad you're giving me the benefit of your experience, Percy. We all know that you're so well versed in this area. How is Lucy, by the way?'

Percy paled but said nothing. His eyes flashed darkly as Hermione climbed to her own feet, giving an exclamation of mock horror.

'Oh, that's right - she left! Gee, I'm so sorry, Percy. Did you know? Or did one of your minions forget to send you the memo to let you know that your own wife couldn't stand the sight of you?'

He drew back his hand to slap her, but paused, once again darting an almost unnoticeable glance towards the fireplace and tensing even further. Hermione didn't flinch; instead, she glared at him with righteous anger. He reluctantly lowered his trembling hand, rage spilling from his eyes, which focused on her once more.

'Don't you dare ever mention her again,' he warned icily. 'My life is not up for discussion; we're here to talk about you.'

She nodded slightly, holding his gaze evenly; a small smile of victory upturned the corners of her mouth.

'As I was saying,' he continued, trying to regain his former coolness, 'I cannot understand why someone as brilliant and ambitious as you could be so foolish as to choose my brother over His Highness.'

'Blind ambition is not only overrated, it comes at a great personal cost. You forget to be a warm-blooded person,' she said pointedly, deliberately overlooking the jibe about Ron.

Ignoring the obvious insult, Percy continued. 'The Lightning Prince has loved you for years. He's been pining for you ever since you left.'

'Really?' she asked dryly. 'It wasn't all that obvious, seeing all those photos in the Daily Prophet of him changing female arm decorations - oh, excuse me,' she apologised with false dismay, '- companions, every other week.'

Percy once again shrugged the barbed comment away. 'Nevertheless, he has missed you. And ...' he hesitated a moment until he was sure that he had Hermione's full attention, '... you're expected to go to him tonight.'

'What?!'

She stared at him, eyes wide. Her mouth was as dry as desert sand. This could not be happening.

'"Go to him?"' she repeated incredulously. 'You have got to be joking!'

'Not at all,' Percy responded evenly. 'He will be expecting for you to join him for supper this evening.'

She shook her head violently. 'I never agreed to ... to that,' she said uneasily, although, deep down, she knew that she had. That was what had so terrified and angered Ron when she had bargained herself for their lives. He had known the full repercussions of her actions; so had she, for that matter. She had simply not been able to fully accept the awful truth. And now, there was no going back.

Percy obviously knew or guessed this as well, and was in no mood to let her play dumb. 'You agreed to stay,' he snapped sharply. 'You knew what that would entail!'

'I never agreed to be his ... his personal whore!'

The word hung between them in the ensuing moments of heavy silence; Percy stared down her anger with an indifferent calm. A soft tapping on the door interrupted them.

'Come in!' Percy called out, swivelling around to face the newcomer. The door opened once more, and a cheery looking woman with faded brown hair in a neat bun, and dressed in a black and white maid's uniform, appeared.

'Excuse me, sir,' she said reverently, bobbing a curtsey to Percy, 'but you asked me to inform you when the Lady Hermione's chambers were ready.'

'Thank you, Nelly,' he replied, dismissing her. Nelly stole a sideways glance towards Hermione as she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Percy turned back to Hermione; she had brushed past him, her thoughts almost suffocating her, and walked over to the high marble table. Feeling lightheaded, she tried to grapple with her enraged disbelief at Percy's statement. She barely comprehended anything of what the maid had said to Percy, as she leaned heavily against the table, unsure that she could continue to support her own weight.

'I'll take you to your rooms now,' Percy said brusquely. 'I will have some of the women from the Court come to your chambers to help you prepare yourself for the Prince this evening,' he added, turning to lead the way.

'My cage, you mean,' she corrected him in a bitter voice, spinning to face him, but still leaning on the table.

He whirled back to face her, advancing quickly and grabbed both her shoulders in vice-like grips.

'What?' he demanded sharply. Hermione winced as his fingers dug further into her flesh.

'You're taking me to my cage,' she repeated, her voice shaking despite her best efforts.

'Perhaps you would prefer to discuss this situation with the chief interrogator - in the North Tower?' Percy snapped maliciously, sneering openly when she trembled in response. The North Tower was the infamous prison reserved specifically for members of the primary rebel groups, though it had only been set up after Hermione and Ron had founded the Resistance. Throughout the British Wizarding World, the torture that occurred within was spoken of in horrified whispers - it was the stuff of chilling nightmares.

Percy continued. 'Wake up, Hermione,' he said in a low, poisonous voice, his fingers clawing further into her shoulders. 'This situation is of your own making. Deal with it.'

He released her roughly, pushing her backwards, and headed towards the door, arrogantly motioning for her to follow. She scowled at his back, but followed nonetheless. He stopped abruptly before the door and half-turned to face her; she only narrowly escaped colliding with him, in her hurried attempt to catch up.

'You will be here for a quite a while,' he reminded her in a softer tone. 'He's wanted you back for a long time. Perhaps it's supposed to be this way - I'll admit, it hasn't been the same without you.' He paused before continuing. 'Perhaps ... you belong here.'

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. As she responded, her voice and accompanying glower were laced with venom. 'I belong nowhere - and to no one,' she stated with finality.

They glared at each other with stubborn resoluteness.

'No, Hermione,' he responded decisively, opening the door for her. The guards outside snapped to attention, the sound echoing in the cavernous corridor. Hermione looked up and saw that the door opposite, leading into the main audience chamber, was open, and she briefly glimpsed, through the distortion through the yellow veil of the protection spell, a short, middle-aged man and a young woman with cropped hair, obviously awaiting the entrance of their Prince. Percy followed her gaze and gestured with his head towards the audience chamber, 'now, you belong to him.'

* * *

Ron tried to curl himself into a protective ball as he was flung to the hard ground. He, George, Fred and Angelina had been hauled through the Palace, and then outside to where the large crowds had initially greeted them with inquisitive rancor. The area was now deserted, and they had been dragged about a hundred metres beyond the large gates at the entrance of the Palace grounds, beyond the stares of the nosy courtiers.

Ron landed heavily on the rocky ground, the wind knocked out of him, leaving him gasping for air. He was vaguely aware of his companions close by being half-dragged, half-thrown down near him. He tried to pull himself upright, but one of the guards loomed above him and struck him brashly across the face, sending him sprawling on the ground once more.

'Your little friend isn't here to protect you now, Weasley,' he sneered, slicing the ropes from Ron's hands before moving back to join the rest of the attachment a few metres away.

Ron cautiously watched him and the rest of the guards leave for the direction of the Palace before carefully crawling towards Fred, who lay closest to him. 'You all right?' he asked in a hushed tone. Fred groaned in response, sitting up slowly and gingerly touching his aching shoulder, bruised by the wrenching grips of the guards. Ron looked beyond him to George, who was vigorously rubbing his wrists and staring warily at the guards, who were talking quietly amongst themselves as they neared the Palace gates. His gaze wandering further, Ron swallowed nervously as he saw Angelina, who was clearly having trouble breathing as she sat up gradually, rubbing the back of her head.

Upon reaching the Palace gates, the guards abruptly stopped chatting. One of them stepped forward, pulling four wands from his belt. He threw them up in the air and watched as they landed about halfway between the two groups, brandishing his own wand before they had even clattered to the ground.

'Now, get out of here,' he called to the rebels in an aggressive voice, waving his wand threateningly. 'And don't try any funny business. His Highness may have said to release you, but I'm sure he'll understand if any accidents occur.' He smiled with vicious pleasure.

Ron's gaze flicked from him to the other guards, who were all standing in a line just outside the gates, where they could dive for cover if needed. Their wands were at the ready. His heart sank as he realised that his choices were severely limited. Not only were he, Angelina and the twins constrained by their injuries, but they were also vastly outnumbered. He cautiously got to his feet, staring intently at the Palace, as though expecting to see Hermione waving at him or yelling a response to his final declaration.

Fred pulled himself to his feet and walked over to Angelina, helping her gently, but firmly to her feet. She moaned in pain, but he whispered urgently into her ear and cut it short. She bit her lip as Fred pulled her arm around his neck to help her steady herself. In the meantime, George got to his feet and moved towards the guards warily, his eyes never leaving the soldiers, some of whom tracked him with their wands, each of their expressions somewhere between a sneer and a snarl. He made sure to keep his hands in full view as he cautiously collected their scattered wands and backed away from the guards towards his comrades.

'Here,' he said hastily, handing Angelina and Fred their respective wands. He turned to Ron, who was still desperately hoping to see Hermione peering out of a Palace window.

'Ron,' George said urgently, all too aware of the hostile gazes of the soldiers. Ron seemed to be caught in some kind of trance.

'Yeah?' he responded vaguely, his eyes still fixed on the Palace.

'Ron,' George repeated more firmly, grabbing his brother's shoulder. 'Earth to Ron!' Ron was shaken back to reality upon seeing his brother's grim expression and his own proffered wand, which he immediately took out of reflex.

'We've got to go,' George said urgently, pulling his brother over to where Fred and Angelina stood.

'I can't go - Hermione's still there!' he said fervently, nodding towards the Palace and unsuccessfully trying to shrug out of George's grip.

'And she'll be there a long time, little Weasley!' one of the soldiers jeered. 'The Prince has got himself a brand new toy - and he's going to have a lot of fun playing with her!' He and the other soldiers guffawed loudly.

Ron snarled, brandishing his wand, ready to curse the man into next year. The soldiers, however, had the advantage of already having their wands aimed. They had them pointed directly at the group of rebels, all of them clearly eager for any excuse to hex each and every one of them.

George put a restraining hand on Ron's shoulder. 'They're not worth it, Ron,' he said quietly, glowering at the figures standing just outside the gates. 'We've to go,' he repeated, slightly increasing the pressure of his grip on his younger brother's shoulder.

Ron gave a final, furious glare at the soldiers, before swiftly turning back to George, Angelina and Fred.

'Where to?' he asked, trying to ignore the harsh laughter behind him as the soldiers continued to goad him; his ears burned scarlet.

'What about that lovely hotel we were at last summer?' Fred suggested quietly, aware that the soldiers were undoubtedly listening as they made their plans. George snorted and Ron knew exactly why. The leadership team of the Resistance had spent most of the last summer hiding within the Morose Marshes, a place you had to be mad to go to in the first place, with the promise to drive you insane if you weren't already. Ignoring his twin's reaction, Fred continued. 'You two go separately; I need to help Angelina.'

Angelina opened her mouth, clearly about to protest that she didn't need any help, but closed it again without comment as she grimaced in pain. She tightened her grip on Fred's shoulder, clenching her jaw. George nodded and looked expectantly at Ron.

'All right,' Ron agreed, taking a final, cool glance over his shoulder at the Palace.

'She won't be coming back, little Weasel!' the same solider taunted, in a final attempt to provoke Ron as he prepared to Disapparate.

Ron listened as several clear 'pop's announced Angelina, Fred and George's departures. He turned around and looked the guard up and down, his fingers tightly clasping his raised wand. 'She will be,' he said evenly, 'and so will I.'

With that, he Disapparated to the Morose Marshes.