The Longest Night

Chapter Four - The Circle is Broken

And so the wheels of some great, monstrous machine began to turn, slowly, inexorably, with no purpose other than to crush and destroy. The earth shuddered as the behemoth stirred, vast fissures opened up across the land, and the wind scattered the ashes of the dead far and wide. The world was blanketed in shadow as light was swallowed up by darkness.

Amazing, really...the sheer chaos one unremarkable little letter can unleash.

Oh, I was blissfully ignorant at the time. As we sat down for dinner on that Christmas Eve I had no concept of the far-reaching chain of events I had so carelessly set in motion. Five long days had passed since my visit to Hogsmeade, and the interminable silence from the world outside remained unbroken. There had been no news, and I plunged headlong into the depths of despair as I was struck by the unwelcome thought that Percy might ignore my information altogether.

Surely he wouldn't?

He couldn't!

But what if he did?

My carefully tended plans, lovingly nurtured like exotic, venomous blossoms, would wither and die without bearing fruit.

"Patience," whispered an otherworldly voice. I remember Ron once told Harry that hearing voices, even in the wizarding world, wasn't a good sign. But I had grown so accustomed to listening to this one during the past few months that I had begun to think of it as an extension of myself.

"Patience," it counseled. "Wait and watch. Wait and listen. Wait and see. It will come."

Hadn't I already waited three months for justice? Wasn't that time enough? How much longer did I have to endure? I picked morosely at my dinner, lost in thoughts of my parents and the long, lonely vista of future holidays without them, when Professor McGonagall suddenly appeared at the table.

"Harry," she said in an unusually gentle tone of voice. "The Headmaster needs to see you in his office immediately."

Harry appeared unconcerned by the summons and grinned at Ron as he stood up. "Probably has something to do with Snuffles. See you in a bit."

He strolled off, visions of clandestine family reunions undoubtedly dancing in his head like holiday sugarplums. Harry, of all people, should have known better than to succumb to the siren song of hope. He should never have expected good tidings from Dumbledore, not even at Christmas. For when did a visit to the Headmaster's office ever yield anything other than grief for Harry Potter?

I studied Professor McGonagall as she watched Harry walk away. She had a tight, strained expression on her face. It reminded me of the way she had looked when she told me of my parents' murder. And then it struck me - she had called Harry by his first name. She never did that; her strict professionalism wouldn't allow for familiarity with students. But there were times, and I suspected this was one of them, when something happened that broke through her reserve and tapped into a great wellspring of emotion. I felt a thrill of excitement, which was quickly tempered by a queasy apprehension. The game was afoot...the pieces were moving...and I knew suddenly that it was too late...for me, for Harry, for all of us.

My suspicions were confirmed moments later when a post owl swooped in carrying a special edition of the Daily Prophet. With a mixture of foreboding and anticipation I opened the paper. The banner headline screamed the news:

SIRIUS BLACK KILLED IN STANDOFF WITH MINISTRY OF MAGIC!!!

Earlier today in a dilapidated shack on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, one of the most exhaustive manhunts in wizarding history came to a dramatic close. Sirius Black, who once murdered thirteen people with a single curse and who was the only known prisoner to escape from the fortress of Azkaban, was cornered by highly trained Hit Wizards from the Ministry's Magical Law Enforcement Squad.

Faced with surrender and his imminent return to Azkaban, where his well-deserved fate was a Dementor's Kiss, Black opted instead for death. Much like his previous run-in with the Ministry after the Dark Lord's defeat at the hands of young Harry Potter, Black lashed out indiscriminately in an effort to wreak havoc on the society he so thoroughly betrayed fourteen years ago.

The Shrieking Shack, a favorite haunt of Hogwarts' students, was completely destroyed in the ensuing battle. Several Ministry officials and innocent Hogsmeade residents were injured in the melee, but when the smoke cleared there was only one fatality: Sirius Black.

"Of course we're very pleased," said Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge. "The Ministry has been pursuing Black for some time, and today's confrontation is the culmination of months of hard work and determination. I am thrilled that this dangerous lunatic no longer poses a threat to the magical community."

Minister Fudge would neither confirm nor deny the strange rumors that have been circulating about an anonymous tip that led them directly to Black's lair. However, an unnamed but credible source informed the Daily Prophet that a low-level Ministry bureaucrat in the Department of International Magical Cooperation received a letter just days ago that broke the case wide open.

There was more, but I didn't read any further. I had all the information I needed. Trying hard to contain my elation, I showed the article to Ginny and Ron.

"Well," I said, a small smile playing about my lips, "it looks like Harry was right for once. Dumbeldore probably did want to see him about Snuffles."

They both looked horrified, but I don't know if their reaction was a result of the newspaper headline or my flippant remark. I never realized until that moment that it was actually possible for freckles to turn green and I watched in fascination as the color drained from each of their faces, changing the golden flecks that swept across their cheeks into a sickly shade that reminded me of pea soup.

Ginny bolted from the table without even bothering to read the article. Undoubtedly she was headed back to the common room to await her shattered hero's return.

Typical.

Ron laid the paper aside. He looked devastated, and for the first time I experienced a twinge of regret. I had forgotten how much he looked up to and admired Sirius.

"This...this can't be possible. He was innocent, Hermione! These kinds of things don't happen to innocent people."

As much as I loved Ron, and I loved him dearly, his black-and-white view of the world caused me no end of irritation. "Open your eyes, Ron," I snapped impatiently. "Things like this happen to innocent people every day. What do you suppose Voldemort's been up to all this time - ridding the world of evil and injustice so the righteous can live forever in peace and harmony? Yes, I see it now...his bold Utopian plan obviously calls for the elimination of the criminal element. My parents must have been targeted because they were evil dentists."

Under normal circumstances a comment like that would have provoked an argument of the finest order. And maybe, secretly, that's what I wanted. Maybe I wanted to distract Ron from the news so that we could ignore the ramifications of Sirius' death and postpone the inevitable discussion. However, much to my disappointment, Ron chose to ignore my sarcasm. He looked distant, almost fearful, as if some dreadful idea had just occurred to him. When he finally did speak, it was in a subdued, worried tone of voice. "What do you think Harry's going to do when he finds out?"

"I don't know."

I successfully fought back the urge to add that I didn't care because that would have been a blatant falsehood. I cared desperately but for some strange reason I was unable to voice it. I longed to confide in Ron, to tell him about the malevolent shadow born in the aftermath of my parents' murder, but I opened my mouth only to find the words lodged stubbornly in my throat. As I struggled to unburden myself an invisible hand, silver sheathed in velvet, caressed my neck in the manner of an affectionate lover and then gradually tightened its hold, squeezing...squeezing until my breath was little more than a thin whistle.

My head pounded as the strident cries of that other filled my ears. "Not yet! You will not speak of it! This night's business is not finished - be silent!"

Bitter comprehension broke over me like a blood-red dawn. I wasn't strong enough to resist; I wasn't brave enough; I wasn't clever enough. And to my eternal shame, exhausted by the relentless clash of wills, I surrendered.

Secure and smug in its victory, the disembodied voice spoke once more, using the soothing tones that had previously served as a soft balm for my shattered nerves. But there was no comfort to be had this time, for it boasted gleefully of dark deeds, of ghastly gifts yet to be delivered, of burnt offerings wrapped in death notices and tied with grisly ribbons dripping blood. Horrified, I wept with knowledge born of recent experience: that we harm each other willfully and with careless forethought. Within our grasping hands we hold the power to destroy those we love best because they give us the means to do so. And much to my sorrow Harry had given me the means years ago.

We waited for Harry in the common room. We waited patiently, somberly, silently, like mourners marking time before a funeral. It would have been wrong to discuss what had happened without him, but the uneasy quiet, full of swirling eddies and undercurrents, made me nervous. I listened to the clink of ice pellets against the windows and shivered, wishing for the thick flurry of snowflakes that usually blanketed Hogwarts during the holidays. I am not a religious person - I lost my faith when I lost my parents - but as I look back to that night I think the heavens opened up and wept great quantities of icy tears on our behalf.

The portrait swung open to admit someone and although we knew it was him, all three of our heads swiveled expectantly. Harry stepped into the Gryffindor common room and just stood there, staring blankly at us, so still and white that he could have been carved from alabaster. He looked so old beneath the aloof mask he wore to hide his emotions from the world, so hurt, so vulnerable. But Harry's hands, clenched into fists and jammed into the pockets of his robes, betrayed him, straining against the fabric in the same manner that the rage must have been straining against his better nature.

His eyes locked with mine and I was shocked by the controlled fury of his gaze. There was such a sense of barely restrained power emanating from him that I was taken aback. At that moment if I had extended a hand to touch him I think it would have been like kissing a lightning bolt. The moment lengthened, spiraling out towards a black infinity. The dancing flames in the stone fireplace cast monstrous, deformed shadows on the walls around us and I began to suspect that those flickering, murky shapes were, in fact, the misshapen thoughts that had been swirling in my fevered brain these past months. I felt strangely detached, as if I were outside of myself watching from a great distance while someone else pretended to be me. A rising tide of emotion threatened to overwhelm me as I stared into the cold, emerald fire of Harry's eyes.

"Too late," cried that mad, hateful thing capering gleefully inside the wreckage that was me. "Too late! Too late! I win!"

"What's going on?" Ron's annoyed voice shattered the silence and I jumped, breaking eye contact with Harry. "What happened to Sirius?"

"Ask her," Harry replied icily, inclining his head in my direction.

"I know Hermione's the smartest witch in our year, but not even she could have this figured out."

I didn't know whether to be angry or amused by Ron's backhanded compliment, but my heart was warmed by a single thought - he was defending me. Ginny, however, who had been little more than a silent witness to the drama unfolding before her, chose this moment to make her presence known.

"Don't be dense, Ron. It's obvious that she had something to do with what happened today."

Ron turned furiously towards his sister. "Stay out of this Ginny! Harry's not interested in you and Harry will never be interested in you. He's not going to change his mind because you took his part in an argument!"

Before she had a chance to respond, I added my voice to Ron's. "Ginny," I said in a deceptively sweet tone, "why don't you go find yourself another diary and leave us alone?"

Ron flinched at my cruel choice of words, but Ginny glared at us both in a manner that would have made Mrs. Weasley proud. "I believe Harry because he has nothing to gain by accusing Hermione," she said in an ominously calm voice.

Harry appeared indifferent to the scene around him as he scrutinized me - he looked at me with the same kind of loathing that he had formerly reserved for Malfoy, for Pettigrew, for Voldemort.

"I saw the letter."

That's all it took - one short sentence full of painful truth - to break the unbreakable. I shouldn't have been surprised. It was only a matter of time before Dumbledore managed to get his hands on the letter and show it to Harry. And Harry, who knew my handwriting almost as well as he knew his own, couldn't help but recognize the penmanship of that concise but deadly note.

"You're not stupid; you never do anything without a reason," he continued in a flat voice. "You may not have signed your name but you didn't bother to disguise your handwriting. You knew that I would see the letter eventually and you wanted to be sure that I would realize you had written it."

"Harry, knock it off!" Ron sounded angry. "This is Hermione you're talking about. She would never betray you or Sirius, would you Hermione?"

I had yet to speak a single word in my own defense. "You will neither confirm nor deny," whispered the voice in my head. I sighed loudly and crossed my arms. "Ron, if you have to ask me that kind of question then you don't know me very well."

All of us have been guilty of ignoring the truth at some point in our lives, especially when it appears most threatening and unpleasant. Perhaps Ron was leery of my wrath in the face of an escalating quarrel, maybe he loved me enough then to accept my word unquestioningly, or maybe he just didn't want to admit to the possibility that I was quite capable of committing such an atrocity. Whatever the reason, my non-answer satisfied him.

"You've made a mistake, Harry."

I was amazed and elated. Although he hadn't said it in so many words, Ron, unbidden, had just chosen me over Harry.

Harry ignored Ron and spoke directly to me. "I don't know you. I never knew you. You are nothing to me, and I never want to see you again."

The blood drained from my face, and with it, the phantom strength of that other. I felt a sudden, internal tug, painless but strong, as if a large rubber band had snapped in my head. I was weak, trembling, disoriented and absolutely helpless in the face of his implacable fury. A single tear slid down my cheek as I realized that I had played a role in the murder of more than one person on this day. The boy I knew and loved was gone forever, and it was my fault.

Ron stiffened beside me. "Hermione said she didn't write the letter and I believe her. Don't force me to choose between the two of you Harry, because you'll lose."

Harry looked from me to Ron and then back to me again. His face was a careful mask, revealing nothing, but his eyes...those remarkable green eyes darkened and for just a moment the mask slipped and I saw his heart break into a thousand tiny pieces. His shoulders slumped as he turned away from us and walked towards the dormitory stairs.

"Fine," he said, sounding resigned. "I can't fight you both."

We watched in silence as he disappeared up the stairwell. My head was spinning and I swayed unsteadily on my feet. I would have fallen if it weren't for the welcome strength of Ron's arms around my waist. And yet, for all my weakness, I felt more myself than I had in months.

Ginny approached Ron, her eyes flashing dangerously. For a moment I thought she was going to strike him. "You great, stupid ass," she said in a contemptuous tone of voice before following Harry upstairs.

A few moments later we heard her anguished cry from the boys' dormitory and hurried to investigate. The windows had been thrown wide open and sleet was pouring in, covering the floor with icy slush. Ginny was curled up in the middle of Harry's bed, weeping as if her heart would break, but Harry was gone. In fact, every single item that had belonged to Harry, everything that bespoke his presence, everything that indicated a boy named Harry Potter had lived and breathed and studied at Hogwarts, was gone. There was no note, no explanation, no goodbye...nothing, except for a crumpled piece of paper lying at the foot of his bed.

"Don't touch it," I started to say, but it was already too late. Ron smoothed out the badly creased parchment - Harry must have dropped it in his haste - and then groaned aloud, staring at me in horrified disbelief. A great roaring, like the sound of thousands of gallons of water pouring over a falls, filled my ears. The floor rushed toward me with alarming speed as a merciful fog enveloped my senses, blotting out everything but my memory of a letter that, by my own hand, had sent Sirius Black to his death.