A Different Kind of Darkness

Chapter Eight: Dark Deeds and Deception

Hermione shifted slightly beneath the soft white sheets, not wanting to disturb Harry who was clinging tightly to her in his slumber; unwilling, even as he slept, to let her go. She, on the other hand, was unable to sleep, despite her aching tiredness and the late hour. She stared into the darkness, the moonlight dancing around the edges of the drawn curtains providing a little lighting, her thoughts whirling as she reflected upon the eventful day, what had just happened burned into the forefront of her mind.

It hadn't been as bad as she had expected. Harry was a skillful lover. Probably due to all his practice, she thought sardonically, and he had seemed to be as concerned with her pleasure as much as his own. Perhaps that would have meant something to Hermione, had his caressing touch not left her cold, if his ardent kisses didn't make her feel strangely hollow. If the entire ... experience hadn't left her empty.

She blinked back prickling tears as she held up and examined her now bare left hand in the pale light - her engagement ring was safe in the drawer of the bedside table in the quarters she had been assigned. Claudine had tentatively suggested that she take it off and Hermione had reluctantly agreed, seeing the logic in the suggestion. She'd felt a chill of foreboding as to how Harry would react to the news of her and Ron's engagement, and was now glad she had followed the older witch's suggestion. Still, she felt naked without the ring, the first gift Ron had chosen completely on his own, without any additional help from Ginny, Angelina or Hannah. She flexed her bare ring finger, wondering what Ron was doing now, if he was thinking of her as she thought of him. Tears trickled down her face, escaping silently onto the silky pillow her head rested upon; she already missed him so much! Yet she hoped he wasn't planning anything rash. Knowing Ron, though, he would probably have immediately started to plan a way to rescue her. She smiled sadly, torn between the two possibilities, and hoping that he wasn't plotting anything, for his sake. And desperately hoping he was, for her own.

Harry shifted slightly, loosening his hold on her. Hermione held her breath, praying he wouldn't wake and demand something more of her. He continued to stir restlessly, murmuring incoherently. Hermione didn't dare glance over her shoulder at him, as she lay on her side, frozen. He finally settled after a few moments, and she took the opportunity to pull a little further away, turning her thoughts to the days when she and Harry had still been a couple.

Despite the rumours that had dogged the latter part of their ill-fated romance, with headlines such as 'Hermione Granger's pregnant?!' and 'Potter prefers ménage-a-trois!!' frequently flashing across the tabloids, they had never actually consummated their relationship, much to Harry's displeasure. Hermione knew that she had been the one that had prevented them from taking those final few steps. It wasn't that she hadn't loved Harry - she had, very deeply - but after they had become a couple, she had quickly discovered that her affecton towards him had been that of a sibling, not lover. However, she had never been able to tell him. How could she break his heart like that, after he had already lost so many people he cared for? On a more pragmatic note, she had pinned her last hopes for Harry's salvation on their relationship, as, by then, she and Ron had started to notice changes.

It had been little things at first, things which seemed insignificant at the time, like throwaway comments about defeating Voldemort and then on the reorganisation of the government, or him losing his temper and resorting to violence in the smallest of matters. These seemingly isolated events had been dismissed with barely a second thought by her and most of the others as well, chalked up to stress, circumstance, exaggeration. She had been in Vienna when rumours about McGonagall, Moody, Trafford and Tonks leaving had reached her. Harry had given a vague explanation about stress and holidays and she had foolishly believed him, assuming Harry would have informed her had something important happened.

All of a sudden, it seemed, Harry had transformed so radically, so cruelly, that she barely recognised him. She and Ron had tried to endure it - after all, the three of them had already endured so much together. They had desperately tried to temper Harry's behaviour, but to no avail. Finally, they could no longer stand to be a part of his tyrannous actions. She and Ron had both talked to him, asking, then begging - finally warning him. In the end, when he had become determined to declare himself a prince, they'd had no choice but to leave.

She had broken off the relationship only weeks beforehand, which had driven them apart further still. Still, in all the time they had been together, especially during the revelation of Harry's dramatic change, she hadn't been able to stomach going all the way with him, always holding him somewhat at arm's length - a fact that Harry was clearly determined to make up for now.

Hermione had lain back passively on the bed after he had rapidly stripped her of the carefully selected dress, shedding his own clothes just as quickly, and casually placing his wand on the bedside table. She had been painfully conscious of the protesting voices in her mind shouting at her to make a grab for the wand, or at least to resist or retaliate somehow. But she knew that she no longer had a choice.

Long ago, she had been trained in the techniques that aided a person in resisting torture, involving the separation of mind and body. Thus, as Harry had easily stripped her of her silky white undergarments and started to explore her naked body with eager hands and hungry kisses, she had simply allowed him to do so, locking her mind away, and enveloping it with thoughts of Ron. It was strange; it wasn't the images of the 'big' occasions, like the day he proposed to her, that had run through her mind. Rather, it was the smaller, day to day things that she had taken for granted, like the way his ears reddened when he was embarrassed or the way he made her not take herself so seriously. All those memories had simultaneously made the reality both easier and more painful. The situation had seemed so surreal when she had reflected on how much Ron made her laugh, how his slightest touch was electric; how she had fallen in love with him. How Ron had once told her, gently stroking her cheek and smiling into her eyes, that there was only one thing in the world that he had that Harry didn't, and as long as he had her, Harry could keep the rest of it. How he, Ron, would have despised this - his worst enemy straddling his adored fiancée. How she was betraying him.

Her attention had been pulled back to the present as Harry had paused to discard his trademark glasses, and to make passing commentary. 'My, my, Mione,' he had purred, tracing a finger from her neck to her navel, 'you're even more beautiful than I remember.'

She had nodded her acceptance of the compliment, such as it was, not bothering to tell him how she had come to despise that name. She had never really been a nickname person, but there had been a kind of sweetness to "Mione", Harry's pet name for her during their previous relationship. Now, however, it was almost an insult, like the name for an over-pampered fluffy poodle. Still, she said nothing, swallowing all objections along with her pride. She had been certain that Harry would have everything exactly as he wanted, regardless of her own desires. In fact, having him call her by that name almost made it easier - as if the real Hermione Granger was nestled away in a safe place, and could be reserved exclusively for her beloved. "Mione", in all her naïve foolishness, could shoulder the responsibilities in relation to Harry.

If only it were that simple, she had reflected despondently, shuddering inwardly at the sensation of Harry's touch upon her.

Raising his head from working the nape of her neck with his mouth, he had met her gaze. Hermione had squeezed her eyes shut, shaken by the almost manic desire glazing his eyes, but Harry had immediately paused in his activities and commanded her to open them again. She had naturally complied, briefly meeting his eyes once more before turning her head away.

As he had moved in for the kill, she had steeled herself and tried not to look at him, tried to block her ears against his moans of pleasure and her own involuntary gasps. She had wished that she could shut her eyes against it again, but knew it would anger him. Instead, she became determined not to meet his eyes again and not to react to him in any way. It was her own petty, useless rebellion - she would not give him the satisfaction of a response, although she knew it made little sense. Her gaze had darted about desperately, until she just stared at the canopy of the four-poster bed, red as the fires of Hell which, she was sure, could not be worse than being forced into the arms and bed of a man she did not love.

No, she thought to herself now, brushing away spidery tears, it hadn't been as bad as she had expected. But it had still been horrendous. It had taken all her self-control not to burst into tears or cry out Ron's name. She had allowed Harry to take what he wanted, like a common whore. How could she ever explain this to Ron? How could Ron ever forgive her?

When Harry had finally finished with her, she had rolled away, facing outwards towards the empty moonlight-lit chamber, willing herself not to release the heavy sob building in her chest, but shuddering every now and then with the effort.

Behind her, Harry had shifted onto his side and brushed his fingers through her hair, before hefting a possessive arm over her torso. 'Mione,' he had murmured contentedly, having sated his lust for the time being. He had fallen asleep almost immediately, leaving Hermione alone with dark thoughts and pale moonlight.

Now, she huddled as far away from the slumbering Harry as she could get without disturbing him, suddenly frightened by that name. Mione. My own. His own.

She wondered with horror what she had done.

* * *

'You did what?!'

Ron was back in living room of the safe house, slumped in the armchair he had flopped into upon returning from the Wailing Woods, not even having bothered to remove his cloak. Hannah sat at the table, reading through a report of some sort, though she was gripping the parchment very tightly. Angelina, Maggie, George and Lee, however, were seated around Ron, and had been listening intently to his announcement before Angelina had started yelling.

Ron was taken aback by the force of Angelina's reaction, but refused to show it, masking it in an air of unconcern. 'I asked Neville to arrange a meeting with Trafford and Moody. He said he'd get back to me,' he repeated calmly, as if he were talking about organising a last-minute social gathering.

'Ron -' Angelina started again, but she was interrupted by Fred, just returning from tending to Amelia, who had woken once again at Angelina's yell.

'What the hell possessed you to do that?' he demanded hotly. They heard a whimper from the next room, and he made a concerted effort to lower his voice 'They rejected us three years ago! We don't need them,' he hissed.

'We do need them,' Ron replied, raising his voice before a sharp look from Angelina stopped him. 'We all need to band together,' he reasoned softly. 'We have the same -'

'We have the same nothing,' Angelina interjected coldly. 'They rejected us; said we were exactly the same as Potter. Maybe you'll forgive that kind of thing, Ron, but I won't!'

'Shh!' Fred hissed. 'The baby!' The room was silent for a moment as they listened intently for distressed whimpers before continuing in low voices.

'So what do you want me to do, call the negotiations off before we even know if they're on or not?' Ron hissed angrily, resuming the argument as though there had been no pause. 'I'm sure that that would really improve our standing with the Underground.'

'Maybe you haven't got this through your thick head yet, Ron,' Fred said, glaring at his younger brother, 'but we don't really give a damn what the Underground thinks.'

'Then you're a couple of fools,' Maggie said calmly from her armchair. All eyes swivelled to her as she met Fred's disgusted gape with a cool look.

'Maggie -' Angelina began, but the older witch cut her off.

'You were counting on my support, Angelina? Tough,' she said matter-of-factly. Ron hid a pleased smile behind his hand as Maggie continued. 'Ron's right; we're gradually being picked off, and if it keeps up like this, there's no doubt that we will lose this war,' she stated evenly. 'The Underground has the same aims as us; it's just jargon and stubborn pride that separate us.'

Angelina stared into her lap, biting her top lip broodingly. Fred regarded Maggie shrewdly, angry, but clearly affected by what she had said. George and Lee shifted uneasily in their seats, while Hannah had long ago abandoned all pretence of reading, and was watching the older witch intently.

Maggie uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, shaking an accusing finger at Ron. 'But that doesn't mean that I approve of what you've done.'

The looks of surprise spread across each face quickly transformed into confusion as they took in her last sentence. Ron stared at Maggie, his jaw dropping a few centimetres.

'Hang on a second,' he said after a moment's pause, 'if you don't think the Resistance should ally itself with the Underground then what was the point of that last little lecture?'

'The point of that "last little lecture", Ron,' she responded steadily, 'was to say that I do think the Resistance should ally itself with the Underground. But I also think that that decision was not yours alone to make.'

Ron snorted in frustration, standing abruptly. 'You're upset that I didn't ask your permission, Maggie?' he asked sarcastically.

'Don't be a prat, Ron,' George interjected, 'Maggie has a point. Last time I checked, this was a democratic organisation.'

'You too, George?' Ron shot back hotly, whirling around to face his brother. 'What the hell did you expect me to do, hold open polling?'

'Well, at least asking us about it would have been nice,' replied Maggie. She still spoke very calmly, but was clenching her fists rather tightly, her face pale. 'If you're going to arrange negotiations to form an alliance with another group, then you should consult your leadership team first! That is what makes us different from Potter,' she added coldly.

Ron blanched at the statement, almost an echo of Neville's earlier accusations. He released a hiss of air, exasperated. 'This had to be done as quickly as possible. There was no time -'

'No time to say, "Hey, what do you think about this?"' Angelina rejoined coldly, glowering at him. 'Pull the other one, Ron. I specifically asked you where you planned to get numbers from, and you avoided the question. You knew that we wouldn't support this, and that's why you didn't run it by us first.'

Ron glared at her coldly at his opinionated sister-in-law, but didn't reply, knowing there was some truth in Angelina's argument. He moved towards the fireplace, staring at the leaping flames, an aching weariness encompassing him not for the first time that evening. While he had known that several of them wouldn't be thrilled by the idea of joining with the Underground, the thought that they would feel so strongly about him not checking with them beforehand had honestly never crossed his mind. He felt a weight sinking in the pit of his stomach.

'You lied to us, Ron,' he heard Maggie say in a disappointed tone.

'I never lied,' Ron protested weakly, leaning against the dusty mantelpiece above the fireplace. 'I never told you anything that was untrue.'

Maggie's nostrils flared as she pursed her lips in disapproval. 'You lied by omission,' she insisted. 'You deceived us, not telling us where you were off to, or how you planned to get the numbers to carrying out your plans, and meeting Neville without consulting us.'

Ron swelled with frustrated anger. Didn't they know how hard this was without facing mutiny from within his own ranks? He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, but it barely cooled his simmering impatience. He turned back to face the others. 'Fine,' he said abruptly. 'Is that the way you want to do this? The negotiations aren't set, so we're committed to nothing at the moment,' he said, frowning darkly. 'So, if this is the way you want to do it, fine. What do you all think about it?' He folded his arms stubbornly, staring at each of them. 'Maggie, why don't you begin? You seem to be keen enough to defend the democratic rights in the Resistance, which I have so tyrannically repressed.'

'Ron,' George said in a warning tone, 'you're missing the point. We know you're upset about Hermio-'

'Shut up, George!' Ron snapped vehemently. 'This is about the Underground, nothing else,' he added, trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. 'Maggie wanted a chance to voice her opinion - here it is. Maggie?' he prompted sharply.

Maggie gave Ron a long, measuring look. 'I think that George is right,' she responded, 'you've missed the point completely.' Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Maggie continued without giving him the opportunity. 'That aside, I think the negotiations are a good idea, as I have already said. I know that Minerva would approve as well.'

Ron simply nodded, but the victory left a bitter taste in his mouth. He turned to Fred, seated in the armchair next to Maggie's. 'Fred, what do you think?' he asked tightly.

Fred regarded Ron coolly a moment. 'You know what I think, Ron,' he said. 'We don't need the Underground, and they won't accept us anyway - they're probably already laughing at us for trying to crawl back to them,' he added sullenly.

There was silence as all gazes in the room travelled to George, who finally declared that, despite his reservations, Ron had his full support. Next, Angelina said firmly that maybe they had a better chance fighting the war with the Underground, but as long as they could make it on their own, they should stay on their own. Lee cocked his head to the side, his mouth set in an unusually grim line, before he admitted that he agreed with Angelina.

There was a pregnant pause as they each mentally tallied the votes and came up with an even scorecard. Ron belatedly noticed that he had been clutching his biceps very tightly and loosened his grips as Fred suddenly spoke up, turning his intense gaze towards the table in the corner. 'Hannah, what do you think?'

Hannah was completely taken aback. 'Oh no,' she said, shaking her head, 'you're not dragging me into this. A fight within the leadership team stays within the leadership team.'

'You're a member of the Resistance,' Angelina cut in, staring at the younger aide-de-camp, 'you have a say as much as the rest of us.'

'I'm an assistant, and I don't want a say, thank you very much,' she said firmly. 'I'll watch this debate from the sidelines.'

'Typical Hufflepuff gutlessness,' sneered Fred. Before anyone else could react, Lee jumped out of his chair and threw himself at Fred, shouting 'You take that back, you bastard!' as he hauled Fred to his feet by the collar of his robes before loosing several powerful punches to the face.

'You slimy little...let go!' Lee hollered as Ron and Maggie pulled him off Fred, who by now had been thrown to the floor by a well-placed right hook. Angelina quickly knelt beside him, gingerly touching Fred's right eye, which had been on the receiving end of Lee's punch. Fred, however, was in no mood to be tended to, instead, cursing and jumping to his feet, only to find George blocking his path.

'Get off!' Fred bellowed, alternatively being pushed by his twin and yanked back by his wife. 'C'mon, see if you can take me on when I'm ready!' On the other side of the room, Lee was yelling back, barely restrained by Maggie and Ron, who were trying to calm him down. They continued to scream threats and insults at each other for a few moments longer until they were interrupted by a booming voice.

'SILENCIO!'

They all turned, astonished and suddenly silent, towards Hannah, half-forgotten at her table in the corner. Only now, she was standing, flustered and furious, and brandishing her wand.

'Now that I have your attention,' she began calmly. Having recovered from their initial shock, each of the silenced occupants began to wave at Hannah and each other, but Hannah ignored their gesticulations, turning to Angelina. 'At a wild guess, I'd say we've disturbed Amelia,' she said calmly as screaming wails from the next room filtered through. Angelina looked horrified and hurried away to calm her crying daughter.

Hannah looked fiercely from Fred to Lee. 'Sit down, the both of you,' she said in such a formidable tone that they both complied immediately. Ron, George and Maggie also sidled back into their seats, keeping their eyes on Hannah as though hypnotised. Hannah folded her arms across her chest, staring at the floor, her lips pursed. When she had composed herself a little, she looked back up, her expression full of fire.

'Just look at yourselves,' she said in disgust. 'Look at what you're doing.'

Fred stared at the floor in shame, but Lee jerked his head upward, opening his mouth to defend his actions, forgetting he was voiceless. Hannah cut him off without preamble. 'Don't you dare give me that "I was defending your honour" rubbish, Lee,' she warned coldly. 'I'm quite capable of standing up for myself, without you beating an apology out of one of your best friends.'

Lee opened his mouth again before closing it once more and leaning back into the couch and staring at his bruised knuckles. Angelina returned to the doorway of the room, nursing a churlish Amelia.

'Fred,' Hannah said. He looked up, tentatively meeting her gaze, 'you can call me whatever you like - a coward, a half-wit, whatever. I don't really care,' she said evenly, gesturing with her hands for emphasis, 'I'm not the one who is arguing here for the sake of wounded pride,' she said, looking at him pointedly. He turned away, and Hannah's gaze passed over to Maggie. 'Or the one complaining about being left out, like a spoiled child who didn't get their way for once...no matter how justified the criticism may be' she added fiercely, forestalling any possibility of a silent retort. 'And I'm certainly not the one who is worried about battles over internal trivialities, when we have enough problems and enemies without creating more with in-fighting!' She paused, looking around her. Every single leader of the Phoenix Resistance was looking at least mildly ashamed of themselves.

Hannah took a deep breath, waving her wand once more. 'Afforion,' she said, removing the Silencing Charm, though the room remained completely quiet. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some real work to do.'

Ron saw that she was trembling as she squeezed past Angelina and escaped the room. The six of them stayed very still for a few moments, before Fred finally stood up and took his daughter from Angelina without a word, whispering to the baby as he walked into the next room. Angelina swept the others with an unreadable glance, before following her husband in silence.

Maggie said something vaguely about checking in with an informant, before excusing herself with icy politeness and Disapparating from the lounge room. Silence reigned, as Lee was too ashamed, Ron too tired, and George too shocked, for words.

George recovered first. 'Well,' he said, looking from Ron to Lee, 'that was ... interesting.' Ron slumped deeper into his chair as Lee finally spoke up.

'I just ...' he trailed off, as if unsure how to articulate his thoughts. 'I couldn't just let him insult her, could I?' he asked of no one in particular.

Ron ran a hand through his hair, belatedly realising that nothing had really been resolved by the argument. The entire confrontation was pointless anyway; he wondered if it was simply a way for everyone to vent their anger and frustration with the day's events - it was obvious that the loss of Hermione and the resulting setbacks had shaken them all. Though, perhaps they were truly angry as well, the pent-up frustration merely magnifying their reaction. Ron could almost feel the anger and resentment simmering, ready to boil over once more. He sighed, trying to remember the last time he had slept. 'What she said made sense, though,' he said quietly, a bemused smile creeping onto his face as an absurd idea occurred to him. 'It's almost like she was just channelling Dumbledore -'

'Or Mum,' interjected George, raising his eyebrows.

'- or both of them,' Ron finished, strangely amused by the idea. 'Although, considering she didn't mention lemon sherbet or anything about wearing clean socks, I think it's fairly safe to assume that it was just a very angry Hannah.'

'And given that demonstration,' George concluded grimly, 'I think it's important that she doesn't get that angry with us ever again.'

'Agreed,' Lee said heavily, slouching further into the couch and sending a wistful look towards the empty doorway.