A Different Kind of Darkness

Chapter Five: Contemplations and Preparations

Harry stood at one of the large bay windows in his study, staring vacantly down at the formal Palace gardens beyond. A large, circular flowerbed, teeming with brightly coloured tulips and a softer rim of daffodils, was surrounded by a wide walkway paved with white-washed stones. Five similar paths led off from the main promenade, separated from each other by thick box hedges, evenly trimmed to about waist height. Harry watched as a couple walked around the central garden, his thoughts soaring further still from the petition on his desk that had been presented to him that morning by a pair of Gringotts goblins on behalf of P.R.A.T.S, the Party Representing the Alley's Traditionalist Shopkeepers, requesting more security for Diagon Alley. He had been unable to focus properly ever since the dramatic scene in the audience chamber when Hermione had finally returned to him. It was oddly unnerving that he could remember every detail from the beginning of the ordeal so clearly.

He had been elated yet nervous at the prospect of seeing Hermione again and more than satisfied at the idea of extracting a painful revenge on Ron and his lackeys. Harry had even been generous enough to spare McGonagall's life after she had given up such priceless information. Of course, she had revealed the information neither knowingly, or willingly, but he had been in a benevolent mood. He grimaced; he had taken no delight in having McGonagall tortured, which had come as an unpleasant surprise given that he had wanted to take his revenge for her betrayal - her backing of Hermione and Ron after all that had happened during the war against Voldemort had been a stinging affront, one which had quickly mutated into searing rage.

Harry shook his head, deliberately turning his thoughts away from McGonagall and back to the preparation of the mission. The meticulous planning had taken an unusually long time, primarily because absolute secrecy was necessary, but also because Harry had at first insisted that he would go personally, only reconsidering after his bodyguards expressly forbade him to go - these rebels were dangerous criminals, after all. Then the briefing had been extraordinarily tiresome, as he had thought it necessary to repeatedly make it absolutely clear to the soldiers that Hermione was not to be harmed.

Harry had been anxiously pacing the audience chamber only moments before the prisoners had been brought in, vaguely wondering if he should have worn a different set of robes, perhaps green ones to match his eyes. In the end, though, it hadn't mattered, for almost everything else had been wiped from his mind as soon as he had laid eyes on her for the first time in three years. Time had not been unkind, but the war had obviously taken its toll with shocking results - she had grown so thin and looked tired, while her tangled hair had been cut shorter than he had ever seen it. Yet, although she had looked far from her best, it had cost Harry much of his self-control not to simply sweep her into his arms, reminding himself sternly that she had chosen another cause, and another man, over him and no amount of wishing would change that. Even so, he could not believe that he had almost condemned her to death.

Again, he shook his head, lightly brushing the sea-green curtains as he leaned against the window frame. He had once thought that killing another person, any other person, was an act beyond him, beneath him even, like in his third year when he had saved the life of that pathetic traitor, Wormtail. For so long, he had firmly believed that his first and only kill would be Voldemort; perhaps a few Death Eaters who got in the way as well, but that was the absolute limit. He would do what was expected of him, what was necessary, but it would be quick, clean and simple. He hadn't thought there would be anguish. He hadn't imagined the engulfing regret. And never in his wildest dreams had he conceived that his first kill would be ...

Harry found his hands were trembling, and gripped them in white-knuckled fists. No, he refused to think about that. Those innocent daydreams about absolute morality were from and in the past, before he'd needed to maintain order, before so many people had been entrusted to his personal care - before he had discovered that even old friends couldn't be trusted.

Hermione. His thoughts turned back to his newly-recovered love, a small smile upturning his mouth - he could never have really killed her. He had been longing for her to come back ever since she had left that dark night a lifetime ago, it seemed. He was always in desperate need of her presence, and advice ... and her touch. He almost hated her for leaving him when he clearly could not function properly without her - almost.

An abrupt rapping on his study door intruded upon his reverie, and he reluctantly pulled his thoughts back to the present, turning to face the large double doors.

'Come in,' he commanded almost tetchily, brightening slightly when he saw it was Percy, who briskly entered the room, closing the doors firmly behind him.

'Your Highness,' he said hurriedly, bowing respectfully.

'Have a seat, Percy,' Harry said, motioning to a chair in front of the mahogany desk to his left, before seating himself comfortably in the large leather chair behind it. 'I've been meaning to congratulate you on your performance with Hermione this morning.'

Percy shrugged unassumingly, sitting down on the carved chair. 'I was initially concerned that she would detect your presence despite the invisibility cloak, Highness,' Percy admitted modestly, although clearly pleased, and relieved, at his ruler's approval.

Harry shrugged. 'Obviously unfounded concerns,' he replied. 'She really does think that I'm some sort of despot, doesn't she?' he commented heavily.

Percy frowned. 'With all due respect, Highness, I think we figured that out when she founded a resistance group whose main aim is to bring down your reign,' he stated matter-of-factly.

Harry sighed, ignoring Percy's less-than-polite observation. 'Yeah, I know. But I'd always thought that ... oh, I don't know,' he finished perplexedly. 'Your brother's one of the leaders - I'd always thought ... or even hoped ... that she'd just been caught up in the tide ...'

Percy remained silent for a moment, clearly unsure of what to say. Tactfully, he took a deep breath and changed the subject. 'Your Highness, I'm sorry to interrupt you while you're working, but there's a fairly urgent matter that has just come to hand. Several Dementors have been sighted near Bristol.'

All thoughts of Hermione were wiped from Harry's mind; he frowned. 'How many? And how did they escape the purges?'

'We can't be sure, Highness. However, the real questions are where they have been hiding for eighteen months, and if these are the only ones that survived.'

Harry nodded forcefully, his gaze straying out of the window once more. His eyes glazed over darkly as he recalled all those times he had been faced with the remains of a Dementor's handiwork. 'You're right, Percy, those questions must be answered - and without delay. I will not allow those soul-sucking atrocities to meander about at will. We'll make them wish that they had died during the purges,' he vowed viciously. His gaze returned to Percy, focused and smoldering. 'Send a detachment of the Elite Guard,' he commanded. 'I want those abominations caught and destroyed by nightfall.'

'At your command, Your Highness,' Percy replied briskly. He rose and bowed slightly, then turned to leave the room.

'Percy?' He stopped and swiveled around immediately at the sound of his ruler's voice, which had calmed considerably. 'You didn't really come here just to tell me about some stray Dementors, did you?' Harry asked in a bored tone.

Percy stood very still before responding in a slightly choked voice. 'It's an extremely concerning -'

'You came,' Harry interrupted calmly, his voice growing louder as he stood and walked around the mahogany desk, 'to discuss Hermione. And not just about her hostile attitude towards me either.' He cocked his head to the side, looking Percy up and down in careful appraisal.

Percy hesitated. 'Yes, Highness,' he said finally, nodding in admission.

'Well, come on then,' Harry prompted, folding his arms. 'Out with it.'

Percy drew himself up proudly. 'Highness, again with all due respect, it would be an enormous breach of my duties as Prime Minister if I did not tell you that I believe that Hermione Granger -'

'Should be in the North Tower, under Doyle's tender care?' Harry interjected again, his voice acquiring a slight edge.

'- is a security threat of the greatest measure,' Percy continued, although his eyes widened just noticeably at Harry's interruption. 'I don't believe for a moment that the Phoenix Resistance will simply accept this situation as it stands. They will try and rescue her, using whatever means they feel are necessary.'

Harry laughed nastily. 'Let them try. They don't have the numbers to take on the Palace, and they know it. And if they think I'm giving her up without a fight, they're very much mistaken.'

Percy nodded, faltering for a moment before speaking once again. 'And, as you have mentioned, there is the matter of what she can tell us in relation to the operations of the Resistance.' Percy braved Harry's glare and went on. 'She should at least be interrogated - she is one of the primary leaders, after all. With what she knows, we could quite possibly bring down the entire organisation, once and for all.'

'And you think she'll actually give us that information willingly?' Harry asked sardonically.

Percy grimaced. 'No, of course she won't, but -'

'Then the matter is closed,' Harry cut him off coldly. 'She's not here as a leader of the Resistance, she's here as my personal guest.'

'That does not deny the fact that she is a leader of the Resistance,' Percy replied boldly.

Harry glowered at him. 'Was, Percy,' he corrected him. 'She was a leader of the Resistance. She's no longer with them.' He paused, folding his arms as he leaned back on the desk. 'I'm telling you now, Percy, I will not allow politics to ruin my relationship with Hermione again. The Phoenix Resistance will be brought down - but it will be done without any further involvement of Hermione. That decision is final,' he said resolutely.

'Yes, Your Highness,' Percy submitted in a tense voice, restraining himself from saying anything further. But Harry was obviously not satisfied with his Prime Minister's response, unfolding his arms and pushing off from the desk. He slowly approached Percy, his voice lowering to an arctic rasp.

'Don't forget, I was there this morning, Percy,' he growled. 'I saw you raise your hand against her. You're damn lucky you didn't decide to go ahead and hit her, because if you had ...' Harry trailed off, clenching his teeth. Percy swallowed nervously, opening his mouth to utter some sort of apology before Harry cut him off yet again. 'Hermione is to be accorded the courtesy and respect due to my chosen companion. If I hear anything to the contrary, I will be seriously displeased,' he warned icily, his eyes gleaming. He dismissed Percy with a short flick of his wrist and turned back to the window and his contemplations.

Percy bit his tongue and bowed deferentially. 'As you wish, Your Highness.'

* * *

Claudine, Diane and Joy had made themselves comfortable in the plush armchairs around the fireplace while they waited for Hermione to finish bathing. Nelly had returned briefly, nodding respectfully to the women, but not stopping to chatter as she lit a magical fire in the grate to chase away the approaching cold of the evening. In the meantime, the women talked in low voices about the newly arrived addition to the Court.

'I'm just saying, she's not what I expected,' Diane said defensively, leaning back in her armchair.

'Well, what were you expecting?' Joy inquired. 'Some incredible, rebellious, romantic figure you've built up in your over-stimulated little brain from all the embellished stories you've heard about her?'

Diane looked faintly surprised. 'Well, yes actually.'

Joy drummed her immaculate nails on the arm of the chair. 'Honestly Di, she's a person, not some pathetic character out of some second-rate drama novel. Do you believe everything you read in the papers?' she asked disgustedly.

Diane nodded vigorously. 'Of course I do - it makes for better gossip. Anyway, admit it - she's not what you were expecting either.'

Joy rolled her eyes, shaking her head as Diane burst into peals of delighted laughter. 'Ha! I knew it!' she exclaimed happily. 'So don't get on your high horse with me, Joy Wells!'

'Hush, ze both of you,' Claudine said firmly, brushing an imaginary speck of dirt from the sleeve of her robes. ''Oo she was and 'oo she eez, zis eez not our concern. We are 'ere to 'elp 'er prepare, not to speculate on 'er past liaisons.'

'Oh, come on, Claudine!' Diane whined. 'It's Hermione Granger - the girl who broke the Lightning Prince's heart! You have to be at least a little bit interested.'

'All right, I must admit,' Joy broke in, 'I am a little curious about how they ended up on opposing sides, when they were best friends and lovers for so long.'

Diane smiled victoriously and glanced back expectantly at Claudine, who was now unconsciously picking at her chipped fingernails. Glancing up, Claudine fixed them both with an unimpressed look. 'La Voix du Peuple, ze primary wizarding paper in France, does not report such matters. I 'ave 'eard few stories of zere romance, such as eet was, and I 'ave no desire to know ze details.'

Diane snorted. 'Yeah, but like you said, you haven't heard the story from the beginning like we have,' she reasoned. 'They were Witch Weekly's hottest couple for ages!' she continued eagerly. 'I don't care what either of you say, I want to know all the gory, complicated little details about their break up.'

'Actually, it's not all that complicated,' a voice commented casually. Each of the witches swivelled around guiltily to see Hermione standing in the doorway, dressed in a white bathrobe and rubbing her wet hair with a fluffy towel. Diane had the good graces to look abashed as Hermione entered the room and seated herself on the arm of a vacant chair.

'No, it's really quite simple when you think about it,' she said in the same conversational tone that was contradicted by a deep sadness in her eyes. 'He became a power-hungry megalomaniac, and I left to help to establish a resistance force against the tyrannical reign that he has imposed upon us all.' Hermione shrugged nonchalantly.

An astonished silence fell thickly across the chamber as the three women took the blunt statement in. Suddenly, Joy piped up.

'You know, saying "we grew apart" would work so much better,' she quipped slyly, her mouth twitching. Diane smirked slightly, and even the corners of Claudine's mouth were raised in minor amusement.

Hermione shook her head tiredly, rising from the armchair and sitting once more on the end of the large bed, suddenly fighting an overwhelming urge to cry. Joy's playful words had hit her like a slap across the face. There was more truth in them than she cared to admit, and they awoke the familiar, guilt-tainted speculations as to whether Harry would be travelling the same path if she and Ron had done something else, something more, to save him from himself.

These dark thoughts, combined with her desire to see Ron, and the twins, and everyone else she loved, weighed her down, and she was finally pushed over the edge of the precipice. She tried to brush the escaping tears away surreptitiously, ashamed that she hadn't been able to contain them or at least cry in the privacy of the bathroom.

'Oh, 'ermione,' Claudine said sympathetically. She moved closer to Hermione to place a comforting arm around her shoulder, but Joy blocked her path.

'No, Claudine,' she said with surprising firmness, before turning to Hermione. 'I honestly don't understand you.'

Hermione looked up at her, surprised, but held back an almost reflexive argumentative response. I have to get into the practice of that, she thought privately. I'll do what I must to survive here. Over her silent instructions to herself, Joy ranted on.

'You're on the verge of fulfilling the fantasy of an obscene number of witches - and not a bad number of wizards, I'll bet,' she said exasperatedly. 'He's handsome, rich, powerful, and generous. Even as a member of the Phoenix Resistance, you can appreciate the first and last traits.' She paused, firmly planting a hand on her hip. 'Give me one good reason why you aren't swooning like any normal, red-blooded witch.'

Hermione stared at her for a moment before slowly raising her left hand, exhibiting her ring finger. A tiny diamond, set in a band of silver, glistened in the soft firelight, like the tears now freely marring her cheeks. An engagement ring.

'Because I'm engaged to someone else,' she finally responded, her voice choking from the tears. 'Because I'm in love with someone else. Because,' she gestured to the finery around her, 'despite all these nice-looking trappings, this place is a cage for me.' She bowed her head, twisting the ring around her finger, and bit her lip against a fresh flood of tears, mortified that she had let her emotions get the better of her again. She desperately tried to regulate them, firmly berating herself with reminders of who these women served.

Joy stood frozen as Claudine deftly sidled around her to sit by Hermione's side, only to have her comforting hand shrugged off.

'I'm all right, I'm all right,' Hermione said dismissively. 'Just give me a moment to gather myself.' She wiped the tears away with a sleeve of the bath robe.

Claudine took the opportunity to stare sternly at both Joy and Diane. 'Everything zat occurs in zis room stays in zis room,' she said in a tone that left no room for argument. Diane bowed her head in immediate submission to the order, while Joy's features remained impassive as she nodded.

Hermione took a deep, ragged breath as she turned to Claudine. 'Thank you,' she said softly, wishing she could be sure that the witch's kindness was genuine. Claudine's eyes were full of compassion, but Hermione continued in a matter-of-fact manner. 'Now,' she said undauntedly, allowing a surreal emptiness to overtake her senses. She had vowed that she would survive this, and if that meant swallowing her pride and accepting customs that should have gone out with witch-burning, so be it, 'there are some rules that I need to learn?'

Over the next hour, Claudine, Joy and Diane gave Hermione a quick crash course in the traditional court manners they themselves had acquired over their years at Court. She asked a few questions, but otherwise remained in observant silence.

They showed her the dress they had chosen for her while she had been bathing, having selected it from the large wardrobe, and adjusted it with practiced flicks of their wands. They had finally made their decision, after much debate and argument.

'No, no, no. Ze cut is all wrong,' Claudine had maintained. 'It must flatter 'er figure!'

'It should be red,' Diane had argued. 'Red is the Prince's favourite colour!'

'It needs to be shorter - longer gowns are so out this season,' Joy had insisted.

They had eventually compromised on a toga-like dress in a deep purple, which left her arms and upper back bare. Hermione had blanched at the sight of it, but nodded her assent nonetheless, doubting that even her renowned powers of debate could stand against the combined might of these three. Dressed in the gown, there was no way to cover the majority of cuts and bruises she had sustained over the past few months. They were immediately spotted and healed by Claudine, who tutted disapprovingly, before Hermione had the chance to protest. Given the choice, she would have kept them. They may not have looked nice, but maybe they would have given Harry a small indication of what he was doing. A futile, pathetic gesture, yes, but at least it would have been something.

Diane applied generous amounts of Sleakeazy's Hair Potion to Hermione's frizzy hair, sweeping it off her face, while Claudine and Joy argued over the choices of make-up, finally applying small amounts to emphasise Hermione's eyes and lips. Hermione herself was permitted to choose a vanilla-scented perfume, but otherwise she simply sat quietly, and was instructed, brushed and painted, resisting the urge to sigh in frustration at their occasional outbursts.

'Honestly, Hermione, how did your nails get into such a state? I've never seen anything like it!'

Oh, I'm sorry, Joy. Unfortunately, my manicurist doesn't make house calls to rebel camps.

'Your skin is so dry! You must moisturise every day, 'ermione. Zey sell ze products all over Diagon Alley. Did you not know zat?'

Of course I know that. Did you not know that the last time I was in Diagon Alley, I was almost arrested?

Women of the world they may be, but to Hermione, it was obvious that they led sheltered lives compared to her and her friends. She tried to imagine them in one of the Resistance camps, or staying in the Morose Marshes for any length of time, and failed dismally. However, she refrained from commenting cynically, and simply nodded or muttered apologetic responses to their criticisms.

Finally, she stood ready, feeling more like an elaborate gift than a real person. Shades of the old meaning of "harem", she thought to herself ruefully. Even so, she had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that these women had accomplished their intended task admirably, having transformed her from a grubby rebel leader to a companion fit for a prince - on the outside at least - within a few hours.

'You look lovely, 'ermione,' Claudine said, obviously pleased with the effects of her handiwork. 'Turn around for us.'

'Yeah, who knew you'd clean up so well?' Diane joked a little nervously, still mindful of having been caught discussing Hermione's scandalous past earlier. Joy simply nodded her approval, the same sly smile curving the edges of her lips.

Hermione bit her lip, trying not to betray the nervousness she felt. She stiffened involuntarily, eyes wide, as there was a knock on the chamber door.

'Come in,' Claudine called. The door was opened by a tall man who Hermione had seen earlier in the day - one of Harry's bodyguards.

'Russell,' Claudine said, waving him into the room, ''ow nice to see you.'

'Ladies,' he acknowledged with a slight nod of his head, before turning directly to Hermione. 'Lady Hermione.' He spoke respectfully, but she detected a slight glimmer of restrained resentment in his eyes. 'His Highness requests that you join him for supper in his chambers.'

'Requests my foot,' Hermione thought, but kept the remark to herself and simply nodded once again. Shooting a final, apprehensive glance over her shoulder at the other women, she followed the bodyguard out of the room.