Tears of the Phoenix

~~ 3 ~~

How Could You?

"A hundred days had made me older

Since the last time I saw your pretty face.

A thousand lights had made me colder,

And I don't think I can look at this the same."

--Three Doors Down

As I walk, my strides are quick and determined, yet wary at the same time. The sky is clear here, with stars twinkling down innocently upon my head. My feet move deftly through the snow and underbrush, rarely making a sound. I am almost there, at Hogwarts. I am still considering just how I will get Hermione's attention. And even if I do, what can I possibly say to her? Though my movements are confident, my brain is far from being so. My heart is beginning to pound from nerves and with each step my courage falters a little more. Can I really do this? Should I do this?

I reach the edge of the forest. It is just past midnight now. I am staring out over the frozen lake towards old Gryffindor Tower. I look up at the window in which I'd seen Hermione earlier--if I think very hard I can get a picture of the layout of the tower and remember that it was the window of a girls' dormitory. The light is on. I consider walking closer and yelling up, but realize quickly just how bad an idea that is. Perhaps I can throw a rock if I get close enough. The chances are slim that my aim is that good, but the years of Quidditch have helped. I kneel down and brush away some snow, searching for any decent-sized rocks that may lay beneath. I collect about ten and stand up again. I glance around uncertainly. This is risky. I am jeopardizing my entire group by doing this and for that I feel terrible. Some leader I am. However, this is something I must do. If I do not, the thought of Hermione will torment me for the rest of my days.

I step out into the open and pause. I half expect sirens to blare and dementors and Death Eaters to swoop down on me. Only silence comes. I let out a sigh and begin to advance toward the base of the tower at a quicker pace. My heart is pounding again. What if she sees me and goes straight to Voldemort? Something within me argues against that--no, she'll talk to me. Even if she turns me in afterwards, she'll talk to me. I am not sure which side of my brain I believe and that uncertainty frightens me. I have learned from my experiences never to go into something unless you are sure it isn't a trap. This is not a pre-set trap, but I could very easily be trapping myself.

I reach the tower and stare up. It seems so much higher while standing below. The light is still flickering. I bite my lower lip. This is my last chance to walk away. I am teetering at the fork in the roads. The easiest path is the path back towards our base--the path that will lead me away from the traitorous Hermione Granger forever. The harder one lies in throwing the rocks and seeking her attention. And whatever path I choose, I cannot go back and change my decision if it is not to my liking.

I clutch a rock in my fist and feel its smooth texture. My eyes are trained determinedly upward. I wind my arm back and throw it. It falls short by about two floors. I don't hesitate to throw another. My choice was made in that instant and I have no more doubts. I hurl rock after rock. None seems to reach. My arm begins to ache as I refuse to stop or slow. I stoop down to collect some more rocks and throw those, too. Finally, I make it. The rock goes straight into her window. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. Now is the moment of truth. What will happen?

***Hermione***

I sit on my bed, staring at the wall in front of me. I've hardly moved all day. Since I saw Harry, I've been in an odd type of stupor. The walls I'd built around my emotions and memories have fallen and I have spent the day lost in their depths. It took me several minutes to accept it was actually him I had seen. For a moment I'd assumed I was hallucinating. Then I'd seen Ron run out to Harry and I realized that I was imagining nothing.

Seeing them was like a slap in the face, like a bucket of ice water being poured over my head. My two best friends who hate me. I knew they had a right to hate me, of course--I hate myself, after all. I harbor no bad feelings toward them for what they feel for me. However, I do miss them, and it does hurt to know that they loathe me so. It's hard to remember that what I did was in their best interest. I haven't managed to see the good side of it all yet. Certainly, they are alive, but their way of life doesn't appear to be much better than mine. And keeping someone alive to live this kind of torture is not kindness--it is cruelty.

Ron's expression when he saw me is indelibly etched in my mind. His expression of pure anger was enough to send shivers down my spine. Harry did not appear angry, simply startled and horrified and . . . unless I'm much mistaken . . . hurt. His expression was far more painful than Ron's. Once they'd retreated, I had collapsed on my bed, crying.

I had not intended to live to see this hour of the day. Had Harry not appeared when he had, I'd be dead now. Death is still painfully tempting, like I am a dog with a steak being dangled in front of it. But now this dog is chained once more, with the steak just out of reach. I do not intend to retrieve the knife. Perhaps it is my own way of punishing myself for what I have done, or perhaps I still hope that one day all this will end. I'm not sure why, nor do I care. Seeing them has changed everything. It is some kind of an omen. Good or bad, I cannot tell you. I just have a deep feeling that something new is coming. That something grand and huge has been set into motion and I must be here to see it through.

Then the rock soars through my window.

It lands at the foot of my bed. I stare at it dumbly for a few moments, unmoving. All is silent and still. Then I move. I stand and walk over to it. I pick it up. It is small and round. Someone has thrown it in here. Who?

I walk over to my window and look down. Darkness is all I can see. I look toward the ground, though I cannot imagine anyone managing to throw a rock from that far. I squint my eyes through the blackness and manage to see a vague, distant figure standing below. Not for the first time, I pine for my wand. The Death Eaters confiscate it from me except for classes. I am not trusted. As I did not show up for classes today, I did not receive my wand. Therefore, I cannot light it and shine it down.

The person below seems to be thinking along the same lines. In an instant, I go from being unable to see due to lack of light to being blinded by the brightness. A moment later, the concentrated beam of light moves so that I am not staring directly into it. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust and when they do, my heart stands still. It is Harry.

***Harry***

I stare up at her. I can see her clearly, though it takes her a moment to see me. I know when she does, because her mouth falls open and an expression of surprise comes over her face. I motion for her to come down. She doesn't seem to get the idea at first. I have to motion it several times before understanding dawns on her face. She disappears from the window and I feel mistrust and doubt tighten my stomach. Is she coming down or going to betray me?

She is out of sight for at least a minute, then she reappears, startling me. I assumed she'd left. She throws something down at me. I back up instinctively. I don't hear whatever it is land for a long time, so I assume that it is not something that would make sound on impact. I stoop down, using my wand light to search the ground. I see a piece of paper lying in the snow and I pick it up. My fingers are numb and I fumble to unfold it.

Harry,

I will try to come down. I can't guarantee anything, though.

I could very well be stopped while making my descent, and

should I be, I will be led away for punishment. Give me fif-

teen minutes. If I do not arrive in that amount of time, I will

not arrive at all. Leave should this deadline pass.

--Hermione

I stare at the note for several moments. Fifteen minutes . . . that would be plenty of time for her to set the Death Eaters on me. I look back up and she is gone. It is a horribly strange sensation, holding the note, knowing that she had written it moments before and that I will soon be coming face to face with her for the first time in years--if she does not betray me, that is.

I back into the shadows and crouch down. I keep my back to the stone and watch alertly as my mind considers what I will say to her. What is there to say to someone who has done this much damage and pain to you? I will do my best to keep myself under control. I do not want to lose control. I want understand everything that has happened, and going wild on her will not help my chances of that.

I wait for at least ten minutes before any movement is seen. I see a figure moving silently from the front doors. I tense and prepare to move. Whether I am facing an attack or not is a mystery, which spawns fear in me and sends my adrenaline rushing.

A moment later, I recognize the figure to be Hermione and she appears to be alone. I stand and walk cautiously towards her. My wand is clutched firmly in my fist, pointed at her. I do not trust her enough to lower it to my side.

She raises her hands when she sees me with my wand. She stops. I cannot see her face. Lighting my wand, I step nearer. I keep my face blank and emotionless. Looking closer, I can see she is shaking. I look her over. Her face and eyes are dead and hollow looking, much like Sirius's right after he got out of Azkaban. They're no longer the brilliant cinnamon brown they once were--instead they are a dull grayish color. Her hair is shorter, cut to frame her face, stopping half an inch below her ears. She dons green-lined Slytherin robes and appears frightened.

"Nice robes," I comment bitterly. I am unable to stop myself.

She does not reply. She lowers her eyes. "You can put your wand down, Harry," she sighs. Her voice is full of sadness. "I don't have mine."

"I don't believe you," I inform her bluntly. "Why would you come out here unarmed to face me? Just toss it down. Unlike you, I'm honorable--I won't attack you unless you attack me, no matter how tempting the idea may be."

She flinches at my harsh words and makes no attempt to defend herself. "I don't have my wand except for classes. They don't let me keep it."

I snort. "Sure they don't. A loyal Death Eater like yourself deprived of your wand? I doubt it. However, if you wish to keep it, go ahead. I will not lower mine." I glare at her. "Before we say anything more, I want to make a few points. First, I am nothere to give you any type of a second chance. You are the biggest traitor the Light side has ever seen and I will never forgive you for everything you've done to hurt us all. Secondly, I don't trust you. If you intend to attack me, or betray me, I suggest you tell me now. I will kill you if you betray us a second time. That is not an exaggeration. I promise you that I will hunt you down until you are dead if you betray anything we say here tonight to one of your Death Eater pals." I am panting now as I finish. My breath is coming out in short, angry gasps and I can feel the red heat in my face. I am losing the composure I'd promised myself I'd keep.

Hermione is staring at the ground. She looks close to tears and says nothing.

"Well?" I demand. "Isn't there anything you'd like to say? Come on, defend yourself, I know you're dying to." My words are harsh and bitter and I know from her expression I am hurting her more with every word. Perhaps the worst part is that I am glad. That I want to hurt her. Don't I have that right? After all she's done to us, a little verbal torture isn't out of the question. And why should this hurt her anyway? She's the cool, composed Death Eater traitor. It's her own fault I have these things to throw at her.

"Please, stop," she begs, her eyes meeting mine. I can see the pain in them. "I know what I did was horrible and wrong. I know I've done unspeakable things. I don't expect your forgiveness or trust . . . I could never expect that after all I've done. But you don't understand the whole story . . ."

"Well that's why I'm here tonight, Hermione!" I cry, laughing bitterly and spreading my arms wide. "To understand. So why don't you help me with that?"

Hermione groans and looks down. She shakes her head and her trembling voice says a moment later, "Harry, I can't. I can't tell you certain things . . . many things. What they'll do to me if they ever found out . . . what they'll do to me just for being here tonight . . ." She shivers and for a moment I wonder just what it is they would do to her. Then I put the thought from my mind. She's going for sympathy. It's all an act. Besides, what do I care if the other Death Eaters hurt her? She deserves what she gets. She's put herself where she is now--she's put everyone where they are now. But still, in the back of my mind, I wonder . . .

I let out another humorless laugh. "Of course you can't. Can't betray your people, can you? Of course, it was so easy for you to betray Ron and I--the two people who were your friends beyond condition, who would have sacrificed their lives for you. The three of us went that deep, you know, even if you never felt it. I'd have stepped in front of any curse for you. Ron would have done the same. We assumed you'd do the same for us. Then you did the exact opposite--you ruined our lives." My anger is beyond control now. "You know who you're like, don't you? You're just the same as Wormtail, going against his friends and betraying my parents--getting them killed. You've done just the same to Ron and I!" I spit.

I can see Hermione flinching at my every word. "Harry, please . . . I know what I did. But you don't understand everything."

"Then tell me!" I cry. My anger vanishes and instead is replaced by desperation. My mind is begging her to give me some excuse, some reason to justify what she's done. I know I will not believe it, but I want to put my mind to rest somehow, even if it is with lies. It's so hard to imagine her as the traitor she is, even after all the time that has passed. "Hermione, I want to know. If you didn't do what it appears you did, then justify yourself."

She just shakes her head. "I can't . . ." she whispers.

And with that my anger returns. My voice rises as adrenaline and hatred flow unchecked through my boiling veins. "Well, then why don't I explain some things to you? You want to know the effects of this mess you've put us in? I'll give you the more personal ones. Molly and Arthur Weasley? Percy? Guess what--they're all dead! Bill and Charlie are stuck in another county! Ron and Ginny and Fred and George have been hurt beyond belief. You have noidea what this has done to them. If you think I hate you, you should see what Ron would do if he saw you. He wouldn't give you the chance to escape--he'd kill you without hesitation. And I can't say that he wouldn't be justified in doing that. Professor McGonagall? Flitwick? Madam Pomfrey? All dead!"

Hermione is sobbing openly now and begging me quietly to stop. Somewhere deep within me, I can hear my reasonable side call out to me to do as she is asking. Calling out to me that I've hurt her enough--that I don't have to keep this up. However, I am too far into my anger. I have one last ball to throw her, the most painful, and I cannot help but hurl it at full speed.

"By the way, have you thought much about your parents?" I ask bitterly. She bites her lip and I know I have her. "You want to know something about them? Voldemort killed them himself. You probably already knew that, though, right? But did you know that he tortured them to death? I'm not sure why myself, as you did him such a great victory, but he did. You didn't try to stop him, Hermione? Did you even care about them?"

I was right in thinking that she didn't know this. Hermione collapses to her knees in the snow and covers her mouth with her hand. Her eyes are large and glassy. She is positively trembling. Her sobs are the only sound echoing into the night as I try to reign my anger in. I am beginning to regret using such a harsh tone. Not all the pain she appears to be in is an act. Hermione was never a great liar or actor. She couldn't pull this off without some reality seeping through.

"I think it's time I leave," I say after a long moment. "I hope you have a nice life. You sacrificed an awful lot to get it." I turn and begin to walk away calmly into the night, intending to leave her there without looking back, just as she left Ron and I without looking back. But her call stops me.

"Harry!"

I turn around. The pain on her face is almost unbearable to me. Much as I may deny it, I still have some subtle feelings deep down for her--enough for me to care whether she is alive or dead, hurt or well. I had not been lying when I'd told her I was once willing to die for her. A bond that deep takes a long time to fully break. "What?" I ask coldly.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, looking away. She's still sobbing. "I really am."

"Then you'd do something," I say, my voice not bitter, but sad. "You wouldn't have allowed all this to go on as long as it has."

"I'm scared!" she cries. "Every day I live in terror. You can't understand the way it feels."

"I think I can," I say in a low voice. "I live in terror, too. I never know whether or not Voldemort will come after us each day. We live in constant fear."

"It's different," she protests. "You're frightened at the possibility and the hardship. My fear is a lot more solid. Do you know what everyone here thinks of me? You assume they hold me in such high regard. They don't--you'd understand why if you knew everything that had really happened. Any chance they get, they'll hurt me." Her eyes are haunted and tortured as she continues. "Do you know what punishments consist of here for me? Beatings, pain, torture . . . Harry, what they've done to me in the past, what they'll inevitably do to me in the future . . . if you'd lived through it too, you'd know what I was talking about. It's really hard to gather the courage to do anything here, knowing that if it fails then your life will plummet even farther down the trail of misery in unimaginable ways."

I am listening to her avidly, my emotions confused. So they really do hurt her. Or possibly it is more of an act to win my sympathy and trust. But the look of terror in her eyes cannot be faked, not by the most talented of actors.

She continues. "Then, this morning I finally manage to take the step necessary to try and end all this. And then . . ." She looks at me. "I see you. And now nothing's changed. Again. Goodbye, Harry. And know that I really am sorry for so many things. I hope you have the strength to change the things I'm too cowardly to try to alter."

She turns and walks away. I do not call after her, momentarily stunned by the power and sincerity in her words. Is it possible that everything she's said tonight is the truth? Or am I still just hungering desperately for some last shred of goodness left in her?

She disappears back into the castle and I stand frozen for a moment. Finally, I sigh and turn, intending to walk away. My foot plummets into a hole in the snow mound I am standing on and sinks a few feet down. I claw at the snow and pull myself back up. Once I'm standing on solid ground again, I glance down and see something glittering in the moonlight that has been dislodged from the snow bank. I reach down and pick it up. It is a knife--a dagger, really. This must be what Hermione had dropped this morning.

Suddenly, I consider what she last said to me. "Then, this morning I finally manage to take the step necessary to try and end all this . . ." My eyes widen as I realize the full meaning of what she'd said. She had been intending to kill herself. My legs feel weak and I collapse to the snow. All the things I said to her, about her parents and the teachers and Ron . . . if she'd managed to find the strength to avoid killing herself before, I doubt she will hold out now.

And for the first time in a long time, I truly and deeply care.

~~ 4~~

Risking it All

"All your purposes are gone,

Nothing's right and nothing's wrong,

Nothing ventured, nothing gained,

Feel no sorrow, feel no pain."

--Three Doors Down

I do not return until close to four a.m. Ron and Hagrid confront me angrily as I enter. I have no patience for their questions and demands. I tell them harshly to leave me be and return to my room, intending to get some sleep.

My intentions are not carried out. Every time I close my eyes, images flash beneath my eyelids, sending me tossing and turning. The worst come when I manage to fully doze off. No longer are they mere images--they have transformed into fully-fledged nightmares. Seeing Hermione has brought them back in full force. I have not had nightmares to this particular degree in a long while. Worst of all are the memories of the day Hermione turned traitor openly. The day Ron and I realized we had been being used for Merlin knew how long. I saw her standing before me, at Voldemort's side, head held high and proud as Voldemort rounded up the whole school. I am nearly sick at the memory. Oh, how I had clung desperately to the belief that she was under the Imperius Curse. All along, though, I think I knew that she was not. Then the disbelief had vanished, replaced by a burning anger that had held out until just yesterday. Then I had seen her. And now I do not know how anything stands.

I give up after about an hour of attempted sleep, knowing my efforts are wasted. If I am to lay awake for the rest of the night, I might as well make something out of the hours. Running fingers through my unruly hair, I step out of the room I share with Ron, Fred, and George. The other three have not been in here since I came back. I venture to the kitchen and see Ron sitting at the table, his head in his hands. A mug of coffee is in front of him, steam rising from it slowly. It appears untouched.

"Hey, mate," I say softly, stopping in the doorway.

Ron's head snaps up and he looks at me. I'm not sure what I expect to see on his face--anger, probably. Anger at me for running off without telling anyone, jeopardizing us all, and then returning only to tell him rudely that I didn't want to talk about it. His face contains no anger, just a deep, reminiscing sadness. I can tell it is one of the times that he is allowing himself to consider the past and the possibilities had Hermione not betrayed us. He doesn't do it too often any longer, and when he does you know he's really upset. I have a terrible feeling that I have brought on this particular attack of nostalgia and I feel bad for that.

"Hello," he says, his voice hoarse. I walk over and take the seat across from him. He motions at the coffee mug. "Want some?"

I nod. "Yeah. After the night I've had, I assure you I'll be getting no sleep. I already tried and it didn't work out too well."

He says nothing to this comment. He simply stands and pours me some. It is black, but I do not care, simply happy for the caffeine. The steaming liquid burns my tongue but I take no notice. Ron is still not looking at me and I am beginning to feel more than a little guilty.

"I'm sorry for the way I acted earlier," I say finally. "I just took off on a whim. I'm the leader here--I have no right to up and leave with no warning. It was wrong of me. And I'm also sorry for being so short with you when I came back."

Ron just shrugs and shakes his head. "No big deal. You're back. That's what counts." He is silent for another long moment, then looks up. I can see the pain in his eyes. "I thought they'd captured you, Harry. Call me paranoid, but I was positive that's what had happened. I went nuts. Ask anyone around here. I've already lost my parents and Percy; I've as good as lost Bill and Charlie for all the help they're doing us over in Romania; I've lost Ginny, Fred and George in the sense that we're all so divided anymore; and I've lost Hermione in the worst of ways. Thinking I'd lost you too . . . I really lost it there, pal."

And there it goes, the dump truck-load of guilt that has been threatening to tip has poured over onto me. I wonder exactly how it was that Ron lost it. I'll have to ask Fred or George later. "I'm sorry," I say again, though I am aware of how horribly inadequate it sounds.

Ron shrugs again. "Don't worry about it. I'm just sort of out of it right now." He looks up, directly into my eyes. "Though I am interested in knowing exactly where it was you took off to. You look like you've aged about a hundred years since we last saw you. What happened to you?"

I am unsure of how Ron will take what I have done. He hates Hermione with a blazing passion the likes of which I've never seen. Will he see my actions as a betrayal to him, to this group? Will he hate me? I consider how to break it to him. Because I know that no matter how he may react, he deserves the explanation.

"I went back to Hogwarts," I say finally. I offer no more of an explanation, waiting to see if he fits the puzzle pieces together himself. I don't dare look at him, but I can sense his eyes burning into me. I feel as though we have switched places--now I am the one hiding my eyes whilst he watches my every move.

"Oh?" says Ron, almost nonchalantly. Any of his acquaintances would have taken this statement as being calm and casual. I, however, know Ron much better than most other people. I can hear the distinct undercurrent of bitter anger in his voice. In that second, my head snaps up. He knows. He's known all along that whatever I was doing had to do with Hermione.

I call him on it. "How much do you know?" I demand.

Ron just shrugs, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. "Not much. I didn't really fit it all together until you came back. What we spoke of before you left . . . how you reacted when you saw her back at Hogwarts . . . I figured you'd gone to see her again." The smile is gone now, and his eyes are burning deep into mine, searching for any hidden truths. "Tell me, though--why did you go back to see her? What could possibly be so important that you had to go to her?"

"She's the only one I could go to, Ron," I explain, aware my own words don't make much sense. "I just had to talk to her. I've been needing to since this whole thing began, you know? I couldn't put my mind to rest until I did."

Ron nods and I can see in his eyes that he understands. I am beginning to feel glad that I have caught him in a mellow moment. There were other times with a proclamation like this would have had us shouting at one another. "So did it help?" he asks.

I consider. Finally, I shake my head. "No," I say softly. "I don't think it did."

"Why not?"

"I was expecting her to be cold and mean and . . . deceitful. I just plainly expected her to be some evil, callous, uncaring monster. I imagined our encounter to be brief and filled with anger. I figured she'd insult me, tell me off for being ignorant enough to believe her or something. Then I'd turn and walk away and I'd know that all these hours I've spent wondering whether or not she might truly still be good were wasted. That she was evil all along. It would have put my mind to rest. I could have put her behind me, in some sense. I would have been able to move on, knowing once and for all that she is and always will be a traitor." I stop and shake my head, taking another sip of my coffee and massaging my temples. "It didn't turn out that way. She was so . . . upset and . . . emotional and. . . . Ron, she seemed to be in so much pain. As it turned out, I was the one that lost it. I started screaming at her. I actually threw it in her face that her parents were tortured to death."

I can see Ron's wince. I know he is thinking of his own parents, and thanking Merlin that at least they didn't die by torture. "Yes, well, she deserved it. What did she do, shrug and walk away?" His words are harsh, but I cannot help remembering that I'd assumed she'd react the same way.

I shake my head. "No. She started crying. I don't think she knew . . . she was so upset I started to feel sorry for her. She kept telling me that I didn't know the whole story, but she was too afraid to tell me. Kept going on about the punishments the Death Eaters would give her. She made it sound like she was some sort of a prisoner."

"Sympathy," says Ron calmly. "She's playing you again, Harry. Of course she's not just going to be blunt and insult you. She'll want to entwine herself around you again, get more information, and capture us. Don't fall for it."

I am not so sure. Perhaps it is as Ron says, and I am falling into her beautifully laid trap once more--I've certainly considered the possibility myself. But that does not stop my doubts. I explain about the knife and my suspicions of her attempted suicide.

Ron just shakes his head. "She wasn't going to kill herself, Harry. She's probably planting it all as evidence to trick you and get more sympathy. And besides, even if she did kill herself, I'm not going to be losing any sleep over it." He stands and stretches. He pours his half-drank coffee into the sink and wanders toward the door. "I'll see you later. I want to see if I can't get an hour or two of sleep before morning."

Ron disappears out the doorway and I suddenly feel quite alone. Certainly, I'm alone in the kitchen; I'm on my own a lot and it does not bother me. I'm not alone in that sense. However, watching Ron's back retreat, I have a terrible feeling of being on my own in the sense that no one supports me. Of course they are my friends--I know that without question. But they don't feel what I do when it comes to Hermione. I can see why they don't--they didn't see her and talk to her. Even if they had, after what she did, I can't say I'd blame them if they still turned away. But I can't turn away. Going to see Hermione has put me right in the middle of this mess. I can't just leave it here. There is more to all this and I will not stop until I get the whole story. Yet no one else seems to support me in this decision.

I sigh and stand, leaving my coffee on the table and not caring that Ginny, the biggest neat-freak of all of us, will most likely bite my head off for it in a few hours. I take a seat on the old couch in front of the fireplace. The couch is ripped in many places and some springs poke up in certain areas. I sit staring into the flames. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that light is beginning to dawn outside the window.

I hear footsteps behind me and close my eyes, wondering who it is that will disrupt my solitude. I turn my head and see Hagrid walking over to the couch. He is so tall that he has to duck his head a little to walk through the house, because of the low ceilings. He sits down beside me and I can hear the couch screech in protest. He doesn't seem to notice.

"All righ' there, Harry?" he asks me quietly. I nod and Hagrid continues. "'Cause yeh gave us all quite the scare there earlier. An' yeh don' look so good righ' now." I say nothing and make no motion of response. It's not that I dislike Hagrid's concern, but I am simply not in the mood to talk. Hagrid, however, seems determined to start a conversation and his next comment gets the desired result: "I heard you an' Ron talkin' abou' Hermione in the kitchen."

I look at him, not particularly surprised. The house is small; people can't help overhearing things sometimes. "Eavesdropping, then?" I tease weakly.

"Not intentionally, I swear ter it. I jus' walked by an' happened ter overhear her name. I paused ter listen." He gives me an apologetic smile. "I think I heard most everythin'."

I nod again. "So go ahead then--read me the riot act. I expect to get it by every single person in this house before the morning's over, so get your turn over with now."

Hagrid sighs. "Harry, I ain' here ter yell at yeh an' criticize yer decisions. I trust yer judgment. But I can' say I trust Hermione. An' I don' think yeh should get involved any deeper with her. Yeah, a large reason fer my sayin' tha' is our safety. But I also don' wan' ter see yeh get hurt again. She's a great con artist. We all fell fer her. We all wanted so badly ter trust her fer a while there. But tha' time has passed. We know she's bad. If yeh feel sorry fer her, she'll be able ter use tha' ter gain yer trust--an' then she'll betray yeh again."

I wince at his final words and put my head in my hands. "I know. Believe me, I know. I don't know what to think about her, Hagrid. But you didn't see her! The way she looked . . . I just can't believe it's all an act. Maybe part of it, yeah. But when she was talking to me about being afraid all the time, and whatever it is that the Death Eaters do to her, the fear in her eyes and in her voice was real. That much I can swear to."

Hagrid's face takes on a look of sadness. "So yeh think they bin hurtin' her?"

I take a moment to consider, then nod. "I guess so. I don't see what else could cause such a reaction. And Hagrid, I know she's caused us enough suffering. I know what Ron would say--I know he'd be happy to let her be tortured to death at the hands of the Death Eaters. But I couldn't live with that. I still remember the old times and . . . maybe all along she was just acting, but I still feel like at one point we really were friends. And I just can't let something like that happen."

Hagrid shows no reaction for a moment, then looks at me. "Harry, I know where yer comin' from. If she were ter die fer wha' she's done . . . I could accept tha'. She'd deserve it. But she doesn' deserve ter suffer as much as yeh suspect she is. Ter say tha' she did deserve it would be ter sink ter her level. I feel the same way you do--traitor though she is, she was once a friend, an' we should at least try ter prevent her from sufferin'. Ron an' his siblin's have lost more than any of us. It's no surprise he wouldn' be willin' ter see this the way we do. I can' blame him fer tha'."

"No, I can't either," I agree. "So what am I supposed to do?"

"I'm not sure, Harry. Jus' remember--whatever yeh decide ter do, do it with the knowledge o' the group and make sure yeh aren' jeopardizing any of us." Hagrid stands and pats my shoulder with one of his large hands, then wanders back down the hall. I stare once more into the dying flames of the fire. Now what?

* ~ * ~ *

Somehow, my antics the night before managed to stay between Ron, Hagrid and I. Ginny, Fred, George, Neville, Katie, and Angelina were all kept in the dark. I can't help but watch the group at breakfast. Such a small, pathetic band of rebels. These were the only people Ron and I had managed to safely get out of Gryffindor common room and down the secret passage to safety before the Death Eaters took us all. I know where Sirius is--he is hiding out somewhere with Dumbledore's group--an ally of ours. We do not know specifically where they are located in case one of us is ever captured and fed Veritaserum. The same goes for them about us. Their group consists of Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus Lupin, the real Mad-Eye Moody, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, and a few Aurors and other Ministry personnel. They call themselves the Order of the Phoenix; we don't call ourselves anything.

I notice Ron and Hagrid watching me rather closely as I eat, but I do not return their gazes. Many of the others demand to know where I'd gone. When I refuse to speak of it, saying that it did not matter, it only makes them more determined. By the end of breakfast, I have managed to successfully piss off almost everyone with the exception of Ron and Hagrid, as they already know, and Fred and George who plainly refuse to give up and find my determination to be a delightful challenge.

Fred and George tail me everywhere I go until I get fed up with them, yell at them, and lock myself in our room. I climb out the window and sit outside on the tree stump below the window, watching the sun come up and cast it's grayish rays over the white and green trees. I can't figure out what to do about Hermione. Should I follow Ron's advice, Hagrid's, or my own? I'm leaning toward Hagrid's . . . he makes the most sense. But I don't know what to do. The only way I can stop the Death Eaters from hurting her is to take her away from Hogwarts, and that would be putting us in jeopardy. Voldemort would figure out that it was us and he'd hunt us even more viciously. No, I can't do that. But then what can I do?

After a half hour or so of thought, I climb back through the window. I throw on a thick jacket, as I am shivering from the cold. I have decided that I need more information before I do anything--and the only person I can get that information from is Hermione. I unlock the door and am relieved to see that Fred and George aren't determined enough to still be sitting there. I figure that had this all taken place back before Voldemort's takeover, they would have been persistent enough to go outside and climb through the window. Or use one of their own inventions to blast the door in.

Most of the others are sitting in the living room when I walk in. They all stop their conversations immediately and look at me. I clear my throat and say, "I'm going out. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I just have some unfinished business to take care of. I should be back by nightfall. If I'm not back by tomorrow morning, then you can start worrying."

"Are you going back to wherever you were last night?" asks Ginny quietly.

"Yeah. Not everything got taken care of." I dare to look at Hagrid and Ron. Hagrid gives me a small wink and I figure that so far he approves of my course of action. Ron gives me a stare of sadness and possibly even pity. My chest tightens at his facial expression, but I manage to say, "Ron, you're in charge while I'm gone."

"Probably for the best. I'm thinking a lot more clearly than you," he says calmly. I can see the flash in his eyes. His mellow mood has deteriorated and he is growing angry with what he considers my foolishness.

I make no reply to this. I head straight for the door without another word and step out into the frosty, biting winter air. A desolate wind sweeps the snow and the gray blanket of snow clouds overtake the sun. I close my eyes and begin the process of Apparition.

* ~ * ~ *

It is around eleven a.m. when I reach the forest's edge again. It is a long hike between here and the safe Apparition point. I am beginning to wonder why I have come now. I won't be able to make any move until nightfall, when I told my group to expect me back by. I figure I had simply needed to get away from everyone. So I will wait.

I decide that climbing a tree would be safest. I will have a better vantage point and people will be less likely to see me. The trees' trunks are coated in slippery frost and it takes me many attempts and painful falls before I make it to the safety of a low, bushy branch.

The silence of the snow that is beginning to fall around me is relaxing. Uncomfortable and cold as the tree is, I settle back and close my eyes, letting the flakes of snow speckle my hair and listening to the calming quiet.

I must have been falling asleep when I heard the disruption. Suddenly the silence is broken and I struggle up from my near-unconsciousness. I peer over the tree branch and see two figures making their way toward the Whomping Willow. One figure is tall and regal. He has a firm hand clamped on the shoulder of a smaller figure, which has its head bowed. After a moment, I realize that the taller one is Lucius Malfoy himself, new Headmaster of Hogwarts. Of course, it isn't called Hogwarts any longer; Lucius and Voldemort have renamed the school Puerclades. I refuse to call it that. To call it by their name would be to admit defeat. It will always be Hogwarts to me.

I focus on the smaller figure now. It has to be a student. But why would the Headmaster lead a student out to the Whomping Willow? I must squint my eyes through the snow to make out any details on the distant figure. It takes me several seconds, then my eyes widen. It is Hermione.

I watch Lucius take a long stick and prod the knot at the base of the tree. It goes still and he shoves Hermione down into the secret passage below it. He lets go of the knot and jumps in himself.

My heart is thudding in confusion. What is going on? I am unsure, but I know that I do not like it. Whatever Lucius is doing cannot be good. It is obvious, even from such a great distance, that Hermione is not going with him willingly. I jump down. I am going to see what is happening. I am risking exposure and I know it, but I simply cannot wait here and wonder what is happening out of my range of sight.

I make a jog through the snow towards the tree. I pray no one watches from the windows of the castle. I begin to slow as I near its trunk--I am a fast sprinter, but the run from the forest to the willow is more than just a dash. It takes me a minute or two to reach it, and by the time I arrive, a stitch in my side is causing me an agony I force myself to ignore. I grab the same stick Lucius used and prod the knot. I try not to make any noise as I descend the steps into the dark, concrete hallway beneath the tree. I dig my wand out of my pocket and walk forward cautiously. There is a blind corner about fifteen yards ahead and I am certain that I can hear voices from around the corner, though I cannot make out what is being said.

My steps are slow and quiet. The fifteen yards creeps by so slowly I begin to think hours have passed. I am only halfway there when I hear a voice ring out: "Crucio!"

My eyes widen as I hear Hermione's anguished scream. I no longer bother with being careful. I dash wildly for the corner. By the time I reach it, the screaming has stopped. I round it, my wand out threateningly, but I see nothing. However, I can still hear Lucius's angry words, dull thuds, and Hermione's sobs.

A Wall of Invisibility, I realize and whisper, "Acclaro!" The Wall of Invisibility vanishes and I can now see what it was hiding. Lucius, who has his back turned to me, does not seem to notice my presence. Hermione is on the floor and he is kicking her. She sees me and her eyes grow wide with hope. It is just enough to attract Lucius's attention to me.

He turns and sneer comes over his face. "Harry Potter!" he cries in delight, his wand pointed at me. "What a wonderful surprise."

"Drop your wand and let her go," I say in a warning tone. "I swear I'll kill you if you don't."

Lucius laughs. "So you care about your dear Mudblood traitor now, do you? What happened to 'You betrayed us all--I hope the Death Eaters give you what you deserve'?"

I wince inwardly, remembering that those were the words I'd written in a Howler I'd sent to Hermione a few months after her betrayal. I grit my teeth and hiss, "Doesn't matter what I think of her actions. I'm not letting you hurt her. Get away."

"If you want the girl then come and get her! Let's see just how good a fighter you are. Petrificus Totalus!"

A bolt of purple light sweeps towards me, and I dodge deftly. I whisper quietly, "Furnuculo!"

My own spell, murmured quietly enough so that Lucius does not know what I have aimed at him, does the trick. He does not manage to dodge my spell in time and angry red boils begin to pop out everywhere on his face and hands. He roars in anger and hollers, "CRUCIO!"

Again I manage to dodge, though this time it is a much closer call. I see out of the corner of my eye that Hermione is beginning to crawl towards me while Lucius is preoccupied. I hope she manages to make it soon so we can run. Lucius is a much more experienced dueler--I can't hold out much longer. "Stupefy!" I holler.

Lucius jumps aside and the curse misses. He gives me a sneer. "Is that your best, Potter? Truly pathetic. How you've managed to evade us for so long surprises me. Engorgio!"

This time his spell hits. My left arm begins to swell uncontrollably. It is an uncomfortable sensation, and it loses me some of my mobility, but I'm simply glad he missed my wand arm. I raise my one good arm and shout, "Reducio!" Then, a moment later, while he is still preoccupied dodging my first curse, I whisper: "Jevolosia!" He successfully dodges my first curse, as I had intended him to--but he has jumped right into the path of the Throwing Curse. It hits him in the stomach and he soars backwards, hitting the far wall. "Expelliarmus!" I howl while he is down and I see his wand flying toward me. I toss it to Hermione, as it is evident that she has no wand, and I pull her to her feet. She is hurt and leans against me heavily. I hear her groan in pain.

"Come on, we have to get out of here, he won't be down for long!" I snap, dragging her along.

She struggles against me and when I release her cautiously, she turns to face Lucius. She raises her wand and yells: "Stupefy!" Her voice is muffled with pain, but the curse hits anyway, and I can see Lucius slump. Hermione falls against me once more and I pull her along down the corridor. She is nearly unconscious and I can see blood on her face, trickling slowly out of the corner of her mouth.

We make it to the steps and climb upward. I cannot reach for the stick to prod the knot while at the same time holding Hermione, so I make a mad dash for safety. One of the willow's branches whips my back and slices through my jacket and into my skin. I can feel warm blood, but do not stop to inspect the injury, allowing myself no more than a slight wince at the sting spreading through me.

Finally, we make it to the forest's edge. I collapse onto the snow once we have cleared the first row of trees. Hermione is fully unconscious now. I stare up at the gray sky above, panting. Here I lay, holding the traitor that put us in the position we are now, and having just basically compromised us all to stop her from being tortured. I have gone against everything I promised my group.

What have I done?