A Different Kind of Darkness

Chapter Nine: The Royal Court

Harry stretched his arms above his head, yawning widely as he watched the sunrise from the balcony attached to his apartments. He drew the silk dressing gown around his body a little tighter against the chill of the clear morning, breathing in the fresh, dewy air that evoked memories of early morning Quidditch practices. Running a hand through his tangled hair, he admired the soft pink-orange colours of the dawn for a moment longer before turning and re-entering his bedchamber.

Quietly sliding the glass balcony door shut, he padded silently over to the bed, leaning against one of the elaborately carved posts of the four-poster bed. The mellow sunlight was slowly inching up the cream-coloured blankets, caressing Hermione's small form. She was still asleep, curled in a small ball near the edge of the bed, a gauzy curtain of brown hair hiding much her face. Harry now regularly watched her in the early morning. He enjoyed watching her sleep - she seemed at peace, something that was utterly lacking when she was awake, especially when she was conscious of his presence.

He licked his dry lips as she stirred. It had been almost a week since they had made their deal and though he had freely acknowledged to himself that it would undoubtedly be awkward at first, he had not expected that Hermione would be so impeccably detached.

He had done almost everything within his power to make her happy, with little to no effect. He had bestowed upon her extravagant pieces of jewellery from the finest jewellers in Diagon Alley, and she had thanked him, each time grazing his cheek with a requisite, reluctant peck, like six-year old being compelled to embrace her musty-scented grandmother. He had also allowed her free reign throughout almost the entire Palace, including access to the extensive library. Yet she obstinately kept to her quarters, emerging only in the evenings, at his command.

He was disappointed to say the least. He had thought the library in particular would have taken her fancy - he'd had bookshops all over the world scoured by many assistants, spending a small fortune expressly to stock his own shelves with books he was certain she would find fascinating. However, it had been little use, as she remained in her chambers, reading only specific books she requested Nelly find for her. Harry had been especially frustrated when he had presented her with a rare, first-edition of Hogwarts: A History that he had personally sought out and purchased. Hermione had glanced at the cover briefly and thanked him offhandedly, but handed the leather-bound book back to him, explaining in a neutral tone that she had already read it.

Harry persistently tried to engage her in conversation over private candle-lit dinners, desperately trying to sound knowledgeable on subjects that didn't interest him in the slightest, but was certain would appeal to her, like art and history. Yet she showed about as much interest as he felt, responding politely, but shortly and never attempting to extend the conversation herself. Even when he had taken her to bed, she had never responded to his kisses or caresses, but merely lay there, probably reasoning within herself that Harry could have his way with her whether she allowed him to or not. However, it was her eyes that really disturbed him. He had been annoyed that first time when she had closed them but now thought it worse when they were open - brown eyes that were eternally blank, staring at the canopy of the bed. He wished he hadn't listened to Percy about 'immediately asserting his dominance', as the Prime Minister had put it, and given Hermione more time to adjust before taking her to his bed. Her continued reservation, verging on coldness, frustrated and infuriated him and his resulting dissatisfaction with their lovemaking now meant that, although she slept most nights in his chambers, they had not made love since her second night in the Palace.

However, Harry did not wreak his frustration upon Hermione, nor upon Percy. He knew exactly what, or rather who, was the cause of the problem: Ronald Weasley.

Harry clenched his jaw, recalling his failed attempts to paint his former friend in a less-than-favourable light to Hermione - thinly veiled references to his betrayal, snide comments about his poverty, and even dark observations about the damage the Resistance attacks had had on the Wizarding community. Each time, Hermione's eyes had narrowed just noticeably and her body language had become very tense. She had, however, responded neither negatively nor positively, and Harry had decided to give it up. For the moment, was that she was inextricably linked to Ron, so any slight on him was an insult against her as well. Harry would simply have to try again later, when she no longer felt any allegiance to the Resistance. Harry was quite determined to eradicate her absurd, rebellious ideas.

He sighed to himself, silently admitting that Weasley wasn't the root of the entire problem; Hermione had always been mildly aloof, even during their past romance. He remembered that she always had some sort of reason when he raised the question of them consummating their relationship, even when Harry had been ready and longing to. It had frustrated him no end, but eventually he had grudgingly accepted her flimsy excuses, fully aware that he would never, could never, feel for any other woman what he felt for Hermione.

A ray of dazzling sunlight slanted through the large windows, its sudden brightness causing Harry to squint. He moved around the bottom post and sat on the edge of the bed, shifting his body so the sunlight was on his back. Only inches from Hermione's feet, he stared at her for a moment without really looking, lost in his thoughts.

After Sirius' death, he had shut himself off from the rest of the world. No; it had started with Cedric's death, all that time ago in fourth year, though he only really acknowledged that now. Icy voices chanting kill the spare had haunted him incessantly, numbing him against reality.

Yes, he had been angry - with himself, with his friends, with the unfairness of the world. However, it had only started to take him over after Sirius had fallen beyond the veil, taking a part of Harry's soul with him. After that, and his ensuing conversation with Dumbledore where he learned that he, a mere boy, was destined to kill the most powerful Dark Wizard in a century or be killed himself, his increased fury at the hand that fate had dealt him had been tempered by the terror of the expectations placed upon his shoulders.

Harry had tried to protect himself the only way he knew how-the way he had cloaked himself from hurt during his miserable childhood. He tried to stop feeling beyond a small, exclusive circle, refusing to be hurt, or have others hurt because of him. If he didn't care about people, maybe there wouldn't be quite so much pain, or the complete emptiness that was so much worse when they were inevitably taken from him. But even the members of his close-knit group were eventually picked off, one by one, as he had so pessimistically predicted - Hagrid, Cho, Luna, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Remus, even Dumbledore; all dead, one way or another. Their deaths had pushed down upon him a great, heavy emptiness, which solidified into an emotional barrier between him and the rest of the world, and forcing him to cling ever tighter to those who remained in his desperation to protect them or himself - he was no longer sure which it was.

Hermione had been the logical choice for a partner - strong, intelligent, perhaps not blindingly beautiful but not unattractive, and most importantly, within his safe sphere. She knew him better than he knew himself, and he had been certain that she would never hurt him. He had thought they were happy together, so when she had broken off their relationship for no concrete reason, it had hurt him more deeply than he cared to admit. He had never guessed she was planning further deception. What a naïve fool he had been!

He stared at her sleeping form, catching the faint scent of her vanilla perfume, resentful rage mounting within him. She had betrayed him. He had only ever wanted to protect Hermione - Weasley too for that matter. And in return, they had deceived him, both politically and personally.

When he had discovered their betrayal, it had almost destroyed him. It had especially galled him when his spies had reported two years ago that Hermione and Weasley had become lovers. A wild tornado of jealous anger had whirled up within him, and he had spent days, then weeks, searching through photos, journals and letters; theirs, his own and those of others, feverishly trying to find clues to reveal just how long his supposed best friends had been deceiving him, searching for their secret inner thoughts, a captured ardent glance, or even just a carelessly written word that would show him the full extent of their betrayal. But there had been nothing.

Harry balled his hands into fists, still glaring at the slumbering Hermione. She should have been ruling at his side all this time, allowing him to protect her, but she'd chosen to debase herself instead. He was still at a loss to believe that Hermione had degraded herself with him, when she could have - when she should have been with Harry.

But now she had returned to him. Harry felt his jealous anger cool as she turned once more in her sleep, her foot grazing his thigh. She was once more his. And this time, he thought, clenching his jaw determinedly, he would never let her go.

* * *

A brisk tapping on the door of the chamber caused Hermione to start and glance up from the book she was reading, as she sat in the armchair closest to the fireplace. Ever since her arrival at the Palace, apart from the initial meetings with Percy and the women of the Harem, she had only had contact with three people - Nelly, the maid, who was responsible for bringing Hermione anything and everything she requested (except her wand, books on hexes and several other items, which were the only things that Hermione truly wanted), Russell, Harry's bodyguard, who came to fetch her each night, and, of course, Harry himself. None of them bothered with the courtesy of waiting for an answer to their knocking. Thus, this was the first time that somebody had knocked on her door and then waited for a response from within. She regarded the door almost suspiciously as the unexpected caller rapped upon it again, this time more insistently.

Placing the book on the arm of the chair, Hermione cautiously called out, 'Come in,' and stood to greet her visitor.

The door swung open, admitting Joy Wells, her trademark sly smile in place. 'I've come to break up your sulking and show you around the Palace,' she announced without any inconvenient preamble, such as a greeting.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Hello to you too, Joy,' she said tonelessly.

Joy waved away Hermione's obvious lack of enthusiasm. Hermione noticed that her perfectly manicured nails were painted the exact same colour as her stylish lavender robes. 'I know, you want to thank me for breaking the monotonous cycle that is your life at the moment, Hermione, but you can't express it. I understand,' she said, completely failing to keep a straight face.

'Actually,' Hermione answered calmly, 'I was going to say, no offence or anything Joy, but what's it to you?'

Joy arched an eyebrow. 'You're very distrusting, you know,' she observed smoothly.

'It comes with practice,' Hermione shot back. 'What do you care if I'm bored or not, anyway?'

Joy regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. 'To be honest, Hermione, I feel a little sorry for you - you know practically no-one here and of those people you do know, there's the Prince, who's always too busy to show you around; me; Claudine, who thinks nothing is any of her business; and Diane, who is forbidden to see you by herself.'

Hermione frowned, perplexed. 'Diane? But why? There's -'

'Claudine's orders,' Joy interrupted, shrugging as she sat down in the deep blue armchair to Hermione's left. 'Because the first thing out of her great big mouth would be "What are the Prince's apartments like?"'

'It would not!' an indignant voice declared from the doorway. Hermione swivelled around to find Diane standing there, her arms folded. She glowered at Joy.

'What are you doing lurking around here?' Joy asked quizzically, half-turning in her chair. 'You're not allowed here alone,' she said accusingly, her eyes narrowing.

'I might ask you the same question,' Diane retorted, entering the room. She turned to Hermione. 'Hi, Hermione,' she said with a smile.

Before Hermione could reply, Joy cut in. 'I'm not the one banned from being here by myself.'

'Well, if you're here, then I'm not by myself, am I?' Diane reasoned smugly, sitting herself down in another armchair and leaning back happily, tucking a wave of short hair behind her ear. Joy opened her mouth to utter some scathing retort.

'So, how are you, Diane?' Hermione asked, quickly intervening and changing the subject. Joy glanced at her skeptically then leaned back in her chair, her expression that of a hunter denied its prey. Hermione felt her mood lift slightly. She liked the cheery young witch, who was now running a fingernail along the upholstery of the chair arm, and was suddenly glad for her company. And Joy's too, despite her own reservations. She even enjoyed their verbal sparring up to a point, especially after having such limited social contact.

'Great! And you?' Diane asked cheerily.

Hermione slid back into her seat, and picked up her book with deliberate slowness. She considered her response very carefully as she marked her page and closed the volume, setting it on the low table in front of her. 'I've had better weeks,' she admitted.

Joy pounced on this statement immediately. 'Well, that's all about to change!' she said, crossing her right leg over the left and shifting to face Diane. 'I was just about to show Hermione around the Palace, Di. Want to come and give us the benefit of your long experience?'

Diane beamed, missing or ignoring the obvious sarcasm in Joy's tone, Hermione wasn't entirely sure which. 'Absolutely! Let's get going,' she said enthusiastically, leaping up and heading towards the door.

'Hang on a second,' Hermione protested, stopping Diane dead in her tracks. 'I'm quite happy to stay right here, thanks all the same.'

'Yeah, reading and moping around my room are my favourite hobbies too,' Joy mocked. 'Do you really want to stay confined to your quarters, all day, every day, Hermione?' she asked. Hermione hesitated, lowering her eyes.

'C'mon, Hermione - you can't stay in here forever,' Diane chimed in.

That, in fact, had been Hermione's initial plan. She lifted her gaze and met Joy's, which had suddenly turned serious, almost piercing. She again wondered why Joy seemed to care so much.

What has she got to gain? a suspicious voice at the back of her mind asked. What have you got to lose? another, firmer voice demanded. It had a point, although she didn't like to admit it. She didn't have anything to lose - well, except her life but it looked like that would remain intact, at least as long as she remained in Harry's favour. All that aside, she was a little curious to see how the Palace had turned out, as the plans must have been drastically altered to transform it from a Ministry into a Palace.

Hermione released a sigh and finally nodded. 'Ok, I'll come,' she said. 'I suppose I'll need to change my robes?' she inquired in a mocking tone.

Both witches ignored her scornful attitude, each running a critical eye over Hermione's burgundy robes before shaking their heads in unison.

'No, what you're wearing is fine,' said Joy, her tone brighter. 'Let's get going.'

Hermione and Joy rose from their chairs. Diane beamed excitedly at Hermione before turning briefly to Joy. 'And the state of the Prince's apartments was not going to be my first question. So there, Miss Thinks-She-Knows-Everything,' she declared, poking her tongue out at Joy.

Joy looked surprised. 'Really?' she asked, opening the chamber door. 'Then I offer you my most sincere apologies, Miss Kelley.'

'So you should,' Diane agreed with mock arrogance. 'I was actually going to ask if the Prince was any good in bed.'

Hermione blushed scarlet. Suddenly, being alone didn't seem like such a bad idea, but she realised it was far too late to back out now. Diane glanced at her and began to shake in semi-silent laughter, while Joy simply shook her head in exasperated disbelief.

'I take back that apology,' she said with a grimace, motioning for the others to go through the door ahead of her.

'Thought you might,' Diane responded mischievously, leading the way down the corridor.

* * *

It was just after lunch when Hermione, Joy and Diane made their way to the main open-air courtyard of the Palace. Many witches and wizards were lounging about, taking advantage of their midday break and sunning themselves while exchanging snippets of gossip.

From what her impromptu guides told her, and from her own prior knowledge, Hermione came to the conclusion that the Royal Court was an unusual mélange of ministers, advisors, assistants, entertainers, servants, and professional sycophants, none of whom seemed to be quite sure what to make of Hermione. They seemed caught between whether to treat her with the disdain suitable for a rebel leader, or the deference due to the supreme ruler's companion. As Diane went off to greet someone, Hermione noticed that many fervent glances were shot her way, followed closely by hurried whispers. She turned to Joy, cocking her head slightly in question. Joy's smile acquired an even slyer edge in response.

'You seem to have them confounded, Milady,' she said, the prim tones contrasting with her expression.

Hermione nodded, not finding the situation at all humorous, even less so as she realised she would be permanently stuck with the 'Milady' tag while she was in public. She looked around once more, frowning as the crowd all but shied away from her as she met their gazes, still murmuring urgently to one another. The most bizarre thing was that, despite Joy's declaration that Hermione knew no one at the Palace, she actually recognised several people amongst the crowd. She had met them either when she had been Harry's point diplomat, or during the war against Voldemort, or even as a fellow student at Hogwarts. It was these people she knew and who knew her who seemed the most anxious as if afraid she would spot them and walk over to them. There were, however, two exceedingly enthusiastic exceptions.

'Hermione! I mean, Milady! It's so good to see you!' Colin Creevey exclaimed, bursting forward from a particularly thick section of the crowd. He was accompanied by his younger brother, Dennis, who making up for his smaller stature with extra eagerness. Hermione glanced from one to the other, slightly astonished and fully aware that all eyes in the now silent courtyard were still on her.

She took a deep breath and glanced briefly at Joy, who had stepped back a pace, letting Hermione deal with this as she chose. Giving a dazzling fake smile, Hermione turned back to the brothers. 'Hello Colin, Dennis,' she said warmly, touching each of them gently on the shoulder, 'how are you?'

She struggled to maintain the smile as the courtyard once again buzzed to life, and the Creevey brothers simultaneously launched into detailed accounts of their lives from the last time they had seen Hermione over three years ago to this very morning, every so often adding editorial comments about how wonderful the Prince was. They both seemed completely oblivious to the fact that in that period of time, Hermione had helped establish and lead a rebel group whose main aim was to bring about the downfall of their hero's regime. She glanced around at Joy, who looked thoroughly amused by the spectacle. Diane, on the other hand, had melted into the crowd and was nowhere to be seen. Hermione was just hearing about how Dennis had been the youngest ever recruit to the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, when a welcome voice interrupted the discourses.

'All right there, boys - leave her alone.'

The voice came from behind Hermione but the lilting Irish accent was unmistakable. She spun around, not hearing the drone of talk grow louder as she felt the first genuine smile in a week creep over her features. Seamus Finnigan folded his arms, arching an eyebrow at the Creevey brothers.

'Go on then,' he said, gesturing towards the building on his left with a nod of his head. 'You should be getting back to work anyway.'

The brothers nodded feverishly, muttering hurried goodbyes to Hermione, and rushed through the double doors leading into the building Seamus had indicated, presumably back to their offices. Many others in the courtyard seemed to take Seamus' order to heart and the crowd trickled away.

Hermione didn't care anymore; she walked to Seamus in two strides, throwing her arms around his neck in an affectionate embrace. 'Seamus! It's so good to see you!' she declared as he hugged her back. She pulled back, grinning at him happily. 'It's nice to see a friendly face,' she added.

'What am I, chopped dragon liver?' asked Joy, pulling up beside Hermione. 'Director Finnigan,' she acknowledged Seamus, her eyes twinkling dangerously.

'Hello Joy,' he responded smoothly. 'What schemes do you have planned for this afternoon?'

Joy pouted. 'Seamus, you hurt my feelings,' she said in a wounded tone. 'Why do you always assume I'm up to no good?'

Seamus snorted. 'Frankly? Because it saves time.'

Hermione barely suppressed a laugh, wondering just how well these two knew each other. Joy glanced at Hermione and rolled her eyes.

Seamus turned towards Hermione. 'Want to go somewhere a little more private and talk?' he offered, shooting cool glances at the few people who now remained in the courtyard.

Hermione nodded eagerly, happy to spend some time with someone who she still counted as a friend for a change. Seamus Finnigan's allegiances were to the Lightning Prince, yes, but that commitment stemmed from his deep-seated loyalty to Dumbledore and his memory, as well as his genuine desire for peace. He had refused all attempts at coercion when his other friends had tried to convince him to join the rebellions, staunchly stating that he had to serve the best interests of the Wizarding World. Hermione could only respect that, even if she vehemently disagreed with his views and despaired at his naivety.

Joy, however, was not so enthusiastic. 'Sorry, Seamus,' she said, not sounding the least bit apologetic, 'but I was showing Lady Hermione around the Palace.'

Seamus shrugged, ignoring Joy's emphasis on Hermione's new title. 'You'll finish the tour some other time, then,' he said. 'Hermione's going to spend the rest of the afternoon with me,' he stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

Hermione fully expected Joy to protest, but although she glowered at Seamus, she didn't say another word. Pursing her lips in a thin line, she turned on her heel and stalked off, vanishing into a smaller doorway to the right of the one the Creevey brothers had entered.

As soon as Joy left, Seamus turned to Hermione and smiled. 'Shall we?' he suggested with a smile, waving his hand forward.

'How did you do that?' Hermione asked as Seamus led her through an open archway at the end of the courtyard, heading out to the grounds behind the Palace.

'Do what?' Seamus smiled nonchalantly, guiding her to a small, private garden there, sealed off from the rest of the grounds by high sandstone walls.

'That,' Hermione said, waving a hand back in the direction of the courtyard. 'I thought it would take a miracle, or at least a small natural disaster, to make Joy steer off her decided course.'

Seamus shrugged, pulling his wand from the pocket of his robe and pointing it at the broad wooden gate. 'Alohomora,' he said, watching as the gate swung open. He stuffed his wand back into his pocket and gallantly motioned for Hermione to go before him, pulling the gate shut behind them and watching it magically seal itself. Hermione breathed in the sweet scent produced by a variety of roses growing in the concentric beds planted around a bubbling fountain, where a white marble unicorn stood on its hind legs and spurted water from its horn.

'Well?' Hermione asked, cocking her head to the side. 'Did you curse her while I wasn't looking, or something?' She smiled again, feeling almost lighthearted.

'Not exactly.' Seamus responded, the corners of his mouth twitching as he indicated a wooden bench near the fountain. 'My position here is ... ambiguous.' Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. 'I have certain privileges, like access to this garden, and a few other things that anyone else in my official position wouldn't receive. It doesn't hurt that most people around here keep in mind that I'm one of Harry's oldest friends.'

They sat down together, Hermione noting with interest that he still referred to Harry by his name and not his assumed title. She wondered if he still called him "Harry" to his face.

Tilting her head to the side, she looked at Seamus thoughtfully. 'That makes sense. I don't suppose the Director of the Muggle relations departments would have that much influence,' she said.

Seamus brushed a fly from the front of his robes. 'Your Intelligence sources are very thorough,' he commented dryly.

Hermione snorted. 'My "intelligence source" on that one was last month's issue of Witch Weekly,' she replied, thoroughly amused. 'You're the fourth Most Eligible Bachelor in the United Kingdom, you know. The Wizarding part of it, at any rate.'

Seamus flushed crimson. 'You're joking, right?' he asked, utterly dismayed by the prospect. 'Please tell me you're joking.'

Hermione shook her head, smiling broadly. 'Nope. I can't believe you didn't know, you stud muffin, you,' she teased, elbowing him gently.

He smiled, embarrassed. 'I doubt anyone was game enough to tell me,' he said, shaking his head. 'Fourth, huh? Who beat me out for the top spot?'

The smile on Hermione's face suddenly faltered then dissolved completely, her eyes darkening. She glanced over Seamus' shoulder at the looming bulk of the Palace, before lowering her gaze to her hands, which were fiddling in her lap.

'Hermione?' Seamus asked softly. She looked up, seeing his expression of sympathy. He hesitated, unsure of what to say, but she laid a hand on his arm, not wanting him to say anything that might get him into trouble. Although they were alone, she had long ago taken to heart the saying "the walls have ears", as they sometimes literally did. And if walls could have ears, so could benches, roses and pretty marble unicorns. She gave a wan smile, and he nodded his understanding and quickly changed the topic.

'It's a lovely day, isn't it?' he commented far too casually as she drew her hand back into her lap.

She snorted again. 'Are we honestly at the stage where we have nothing to discuss but the weather?' she asked wryly. They met each others eyes again and laughed shortly at the absurdity - how long had they known each other?

'I was trying for a non-controversial topic,' he reasoned, running his hand through his hair.

'Well, don't,' Hermione said firmly. 'I'm so tired of the double-play, Seamus. Just say what you want to say.'

'Fair enough,' he replied, brow furrowed in thought.

'How's your mother?' Hermione asked. Seamus grimaced slightly before shrugging.

'She's fine,' he said. 'I haven't spoken to her in a month or so, though.' There was another pause. 'How's Dean?' Seamus asked. 'Have you seen him lately?' Hermione blinked, her jaw dropping slightly. Seamus held his hands palm-up in a gesture of innocence. 'Hey, I'm not information mongering,' he said quickly, 'I've just been wondering how he is, that's all.'

Hermione now stared at him, openly horrified. Seamus continued hurriedly. 'It's just that -' he began, but Hermione cut him off, gently placing a hand on his forearm again.

'Seamus, there was...'

She paused, raking her teeth over her bottom lip, searching for the right way to say it. Seamus was stared at her, his wide eyes willing her to not say what she was about to say. She felt a cold wash of realisation - there was no right way to say this.

'Dean is dead.'

Seamus breathed in sharply, like she had physically struck him. 'Dead?' he echoed softly, as if the word was foreign to him. His face completely drained of colour.

Hermione nodded slowly, squeezing his arm a little tighter in sympathy. 'I'm so sorry, Seamus,' she whispered. 'I ... I thought you knew.'

Seamus took in a ragged breath, blowing it out slowly. 'When?' he asked simply, setting his mouth in a grim line.

'A little over a year ago,' Hermione replied, releasing his forearm. Seamus leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands supporting his face.

'The last time I saw him was about two years ago,' he said softly. Hermione noticed he was trembling. 'I said so many things I didn't mean ...' he trailed off, turning away from Hermione and staring blankly at the burbling fountain, his eyes filled with a distant sadness.

'Seamus, I ...'

But Hermione could offer no words of solace to this man who had lost his best friend and hadn't even known it.

He didn't hear her anyway. Seamus stared through the fountain, through the barriers of time, torturing himself with the handful of things that had been spat in anger and should have never been said. Worse still, the thousands of things that he had always carried in his heart but had never said, and now never would.

They sat in silence for a time, quiet falling heavily across the both of them, each wrestling with their thoughts. Hermione watched Seamus until he shook violently all of a sudden as he tried desperately to suppress a heavy sob. Wordlessly, she placed an arm around his hunched shoulders, patting his knee gently with her other hand. He looked at her, tears glazing his eyes as he swallowed hard against the harsh lump in his throat.

'How did this happen?' he croaked.

Hermione felt a rush of pity. 'An Alliance attack - the one in Hogsmeade last year. Dean was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,' she said sadly, watching Seamus shake his head.

'No,' he replied in a stronger voice. Hermione frowned, perplexed, but Seamus went on. 'Not just ... that,' he said, gritting his teeth. 'All of it - all of this,' he said, waving his arm around haphazardly. Hermione's arm slid off his shoulders as he straightened.

'You can ask anyone in the Palace; they all know at least one person working for the Resistance, or the Underground, or even the Alliance,' he said fervently. 'Brothers, sisters, parents, children ...' He trailed off, running out of steam and anger as he was engulfed by an overwhelming tide of grief. He crumpled back down on the bench. 'Friends,' he added finally, in a soft, strained voice.

Hermione blinked rapidly, tears blurring her vision as she embraced Seamus once more. He hugged her back tightly, inhaling deeply.

'How did we come to this?' he whispered, before finally succumbing to the aching sorrow, tearful sobs wracking his body.

Hermione held him, closing her eyes as he cried on her shoulder, wishing that as a member of the Resistance or at least as his friend, she could give him some acceptable answers.

But as she embraced him tighter still, she knew she had none to offer.