Led Away Into Captivity to Suffer Shame

Led Away Into Captivity to Suffer Shame

The attack came at ten in the morning.

Snow was sheeting down outside the castle, cloaking the Forbidden Forest and the grounds in a pristine white blanket. It was the start of Christmas break, and most of the school was gathered in the courtyard to wait for the carriages that would take us down to the Hogwarts Express. Laughter filled the pine-scented air, cutting through the haze of snow. Under the prefects' watchful eyes, energetic little bundles of wool bounced from one group to another, giggling their goodbyes.

No one could have foreseen how permanent those goodbyes would be. Except, perhaps, for Professor Trewlaney, who I later learned had been predicting Harry's death with particularly urgency. But as this had been a regular occurrence in Divination class since third year, no one had paid any attention.

The courtyard quieted somewhat as the first-years somehow tumbled their way into the carriages and rolled off. Form by form, the students disappeared, until finally only the seventh-years and a queer sort of hush remained.

Grinning, Ron elbowed me. "You can stop scowling now," he said. "You don't have to behave like the Head Girl all the time, you know."

"Honestly, Ron," I said, exasperated. I feel terrible about it now, of course, because my only excuse what that all the noise had given me a headache. "Just because you don't take your position seriously doesn't mean I don't. The professors are all down at the train station, so -"

Ron turned away. He had just spotted Malfoy, and couldn't resist a final taunt before the holidays. "Happy Christmas, Ferret. Oh, it won't be, will it? Not with both your parents rotting away in Azkaban."

"Ron!" I said, pulling on his arm. "Come on. We'll miss the train."

Draco went very still, one foot in the last carriage. He fixed his cold eyes on us and sneered, "Just goes to show you still have no clue, Weasel." His eyes flicked to me. "Enjoy what time you've got left with your Mudblood girlfriend. It won't be very much."

Ron turned red, and while he was distracted coming up with an appropriately nasty response, I managed to wrestle him into the coach ahead, where Harry had already withdrawn into a corner. He was staring out at the snow and rubbing his forehead. He seemed very tired.

As the carriage lurched into motion, I pulled a book out of my bag. Euripides's Hecuba, I think it was. I looked at him anxiously. "Don't worry, Harry. We'll be at Grimmauld Place soon."

"Not soon enough," he muttered. "I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore. It's never hurt this much before."

He must've been desperate to say so. We all knew that since the Department of Mysteries incident in fifth-year, his relationship with the Headmaster had been just a tad strained. Not to mention that he detested Grimmauld Place. It constantly reminded him of Sirius, but it was the only place that was safe enough for him to be outside of Hogwarts.

"Oh, Harry," I said. Somewhat self-consciously, I took his hand. He let me.

No one said anything else as the carriage rattled through the Hogwarts gates. The scowl hadn't left Ron's face. I expect he was still trying to come up with an insult for Malfoy. Harry remained in the corner with this face pressed against the glass. I opened my book, but found myself too distracted to concentrate. I read the same passage over and over, unable to absorb it.

Suddenly Harry cried out, clutching his forehead. Alarmed, Ron and I looked up, but he quickly recovered and reached into his robes for his wand. "He's here," he hissed. There was no doubt in any of our minds who he was.

I realized that my own wand was already in my hand. I wasn't even conscious of having pulled it out, but I suppose I should thank years of training in the D.A. for making my reflexes faster than they used to be. My heart was hammering. Harry's scar gleamed, white and strained, in the grayish half-light. Ominously, the carriage ground to a halt. It was very quiet.

"Well," Harry said grimly, "better to find trouble than let it find us."

"Harry," I said nervously, "Malfoy and his goons are in the carriage behind us."

He nodded, then slid over to the door and pushed it open. We jumped out right behind one another and crouched down low, backs to one another and using the carriage as cover. We'd practiced such maneuvers before, but I'd never been so aware of Ron and Harry's bodies. Their solidness was comforting, somehow.

Harry was facing downhill, toward the train. Ron was overlooking the cliff above the frozen lake. I was looking back toward where the empty castle would be, but I couldn't see it through the veils of snow that swirled around us. I could hear nothing but the wind in the branches, smell nothing but the icy snow. I couldn't believe that a battle was happening so close by.

Once again, Harry clapped his free hand to his head. "Voldemort's happy. He's dueling Dumbledore. He's winning..." He trailed off, his voice filled with disbelief, grief, and... was it fear?

"Oh, no," I heard myself say. My voice sounded much too high and shrill. "No. That's not possible. You-Know-Who must be putting things into your mind again." But I remembered how old and frail Dumbledore had looked at this year's Welcoming Feast, and I was afraid.

"We've got to get down there," Harry said tightly.

He started to move and I turned with him. "Harry, stop!" I said frantically. "We can't just go charging down there. We need to plan!"

I felt his shoulders tense. "There's no time, Hermione!" he said angrily. "The professors need our help, and they need it now! The younger students can't even begin to hold off full grown Death Eaters!"

"A surprise aerial attack!" I was babbling, I think. "Use your brooms! They'll get you there faster too!"

"Brilliant, Hermione!" Ron said, looking impressed. "They won't expect it at all!"

In no time, the boys had Accioed their brooms, but of course I, not being on the Quidditch team, had never gotten one. Harry rubbed his forehead wearily and came to a decision. "You can't ride with one of us," he said. "It'll slow us down. Take the thestral to Hogsmeade and Floo for help."

It was clear that he thought the battle was desperate. It was clear that he thought he was sending me away to safety. I shook my head emphatically. Besides, I remembered the last time I'd been on a thestral, and the memories were far from pleasant. Even Buckbeak had been more fun to ride. "I'm going with you," I added for good measure.

"Hermione, we need reinforcements. Someone has to get the Aurors. We don't have much time, and we'll be counting on you."

I opened my mouth to ask why we couldn't send one of the first-years from the train, but seeing the look on his face I reluctantly backed down. How was I to know that by then it already didn't matter? "Alright, Harry. But you'll have to unharness the thestral. I can't see it."

A little voice in my head added, Yet, anyway. I squashed it.

Even Harry could see the logic of that; he moved off. I shifted to guard the downhill approach. Suddenly I noticed that the storm had spent most of its fury. The wind had died down, the snow had subsided, and a wan light had begun to filter through the clouds. All of which made clear the full horror of the scene below us.

So many dark spots lay motionless on the white snow, a stark contrast to the earlier activity in the courtyard. Here and there I could see discern blots of color: a pair of yellow Wellies, a green and silver scarf, a blue coat, and red. There was red everywhere, hot and bright and reeking of death. I imagined I could see tiny red tendrils leaching into the snow, melting rivulets into the pristine powder. Over the Hogwarts Express, a shadow arced high and unfurled like a deadly blossom: an enormous Dark Mark, a skull swallowing a serpent, gloating and triumphant.

"Harry," I began tentatively, unsure how to tell him the battle was already over. Then I realized I didn't need to. He was already gazing down at the wreckage. His face showed nothing, but his eyes were bright - I couldn't tell whether it was with tears or with anger - and his hand stayed motionless over the last buckle.

"Hermione," he said. I'd never heard him sound like that before. Like he'd lost all hope. It was awful. "You're the best at charms. Disillusion us, starting with Ron, and get over here. Hurry!"

My heart was breaking, but I complied. Afterward, I felt rather than saw our warm bodies huddling near the thestral. Harry was murmuring something about flying to London when Ron stiffened.

"Malfoy's getting out," he hissed. "That can't mean anything good."

Draco's sneering drawl cut across the cold. "Where do you think you're going?"

I think it was Harry who grabbed me and threw me onto the horse. "We'll see you at Grimmauld Place," he whispered. I saw his footprints back away in the snow. Beneath me, the thestral stretched its wings and launched itself into the air. I flung myself onto what I hoped was its neck, and held on for dear life.

Even as the ground fell away, I heard the cracks of people Apparating all around us. Draco must have sent warning that we were escaping. I peered down to see a handful of tall, black-shrouded figures circling the carriage. One pointed up at me, and I belatedly realized that of course Death Eaters would be able to see thestrals. But it was too late. A jet of green light flashed, and my mount fell heavily back to earth. Somehow, I managed to avoid being crushed beneath its body, and rolled away into a snowdrift where I lay, stunned and frankly terrified.

Before I could catch my breath to throw a hex, a bulky Death Eater seized me, disarmed me, and dragged me over to the rest of the group. My charm had already been removed from Ron and Harry, and they were kneeling side by side in the snow, their arms bound behind their backs. Their brooms and wands lay in broken bits behind them, and they looked pale and cold. The Death Eater - Crabbe or Goyle senior, I supposed - marched me over and forced me down beside Harry. Someone struck me over the head, and when a warm feeling ran down my neck I knew that I too was visible again.

Harry bit his lip. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"Silence!" one of the hooded men said dangerously, kicking him. "The Dark Lord has not given you permission to speak."

Harry looked mutinous, but then another crack sounded in the shadow of the Hogwarts gates. The Death Eaters prostrated themselves before this new arrival. "Master, master," they murmured as he glided toward us.

I caught a glimpse of red eyes as he passed and stopped in front of Harry. For many long moments, Lord Voldemort savored his victory silently. At last, he said, "Harry Potter. We meet again, you and I. And this seventh time, I think, shall be the last. Did you think a simple Disillusionment Charm would fool the Dark Lord?" His voice was surprisingly high-pitched. Not so surprisingly, it was as cold and cruel as a winter storm.

"Why not?" Harry said defiantly. "You've never been particularly clever before. In fact, I think you and your Death Eaters have been downright stupid."

"Boy," Voldemort hissed, seizing his unruly hair. "Do not try my patience and I may give you a quick death. You have been lucky up until this point, but now your precious Dumbledore is dead. Who will protect you now?"

"You're not getting him without dealing with us," Ron growled. A jerk of his head indicated him and me.

Voldemort laughed. I thought my blood would freeze with the chill, but I lifted my chin and piped up, "We love him too."

"A Mudblood and a Mudblood lover?" Draco's gleefully contemptuous voice carried from the fringe of the circle. He was quickly hushed.

Harry's eyes flashed. "Hermione's the best witch at Hogwarts, and you know it!"

The red eyes turned to me for a moment, and under the scrutiny I thought my mind would be flayed raw. The passage I had been reading earlier floated before my eyes, perfectly recalled: "All those my sons are gone from me, and I, their mother, am led away into captivity to suffer shame, while yonder I see the smoke leaping up o'er my city."

That high, cold laugh sounded again, and Voldemort touched my cheek with one icy finger. "But you are not their mother. Not a mother's love, not a mother's protection. And still you would sacrifice your life?"

"There are worse things than death," I answered, refusing to look away.

I was beginning to hate his laugh, and I tried to draw some courage from that small defiance. But he only turned away from me, still amused, and addressed Ron. "Traitor of your blood," he hissed. "There is only one way to deal with you. Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of green, and Ron slumped peacefully to the snow. I felt curiously calm and detached, as if I hadn't just seen one of my best friends murdered before my eyes, as if I were not about to join him. I suppose one's brain acts oddly when confronted with one's imminent demise, for all I could think about was Professor Trewlaney's misty voice crying out, "Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"

It was then that I saw the light go out of Harry's eyes, and at that moment, I knew he'd given up the fight. What was there left to live for? I couldn't bear to watch him any longer. I turned away, only to throw myself back with a yelp. There, huddled in a snow bank only a few arms lengths away, lay a monstrous black shape, its leathery wings unfurled like some overgrown bat.

I fell against Harry, and we tumbled awkwardly into the snow. "The thestral," he said sadly into my ear. "You can see it now, can't you?"

I nodded, shaking, as the Death Eaters pulled us back up. I noticed my knees were wet and cold. I had lost all feeling in my legs and arms. But it would be over soon, I thought. I almost smiled at Voldemort when he came over to me again. He brandished his wand and spoke the Killing Curse once more. I closed my eyes.

How much time would I have before the rush of oncoming death caught me? I suppose I'll never know. The green light shot past me, and I felt Harry fall over, very horribly dead. My eyes flew open.

Voldemort stood there, looking down at me. He whispered, almost kindly, "There are things worse than death, are there not, little Mudblood?"

For a moment I could not react. Then a heavy coldness settled in my stomach, and I leaned forward and emptied my stomach onto the polluted snow. The Death Eaters laughed. I thought that this must be how a pack of hyenas must sound when they find a fresh victim.

Someone pulled me roughly to my feet and cleaned me up, none too gently. As if from far away, I heard Voldemort summon the other Death Eaters. I scarcely noticed when he cast the Cruciatus Curse on Draco for his earlier presumption, or when the Death Eaters began cautiously moving toward Hogwarts Castle.

At the gates, we stopped. In front stood Professor Snape. His eyes flicked to Harry's corpse, which was being dragged through the snow; to Dumbledore's, which someone must have Summoned while I wasn't paying attention; to me. At last he looked into Voldemort's eyes and bowed deeply. "Master," he said silkily. "The wards are down. Hogwarts is yours."

"My Potions Master. How do I reward one such as you?" Voldemort said. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

Professor Snape replied smoothly, "The greatest reward lies in serving you, my lord."

A surge of hatred welled up in me. How could he stand there and say such things, when the man to whom he'd pledged his loyalty lay dead only a few feet away? As if he sensed my rage, Voldemort laughed.

"Severus, truly you speak with the serpent's tongue," he said. Professor Snape smiled thinly, but said nothing. "I know just how to reward your loyalty to me these many years. The 'insufferable know-it-all,' as you call her, is yours."

I cried out, repulsed. Professor Snape merely looked disdainful. "A Mudblood, Master? Perhaps Lucius knows what to do with one such as her, but I have neither need nor desire for such a gift."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Draco eagerly anticipating the windfall. How he would've loved to torture me, to revenge himself for all the petty imagined insults he had suffered during our schooling together! But Lord Voldemort was unmoved. He probably sensed my contempt for Draco, and determined that I would be far more miserable with Professor Snape. "Severus, I insist. Kill her, if you wish, though I suspect you will not. But the Mudblood is yours."

The Potions Master bowed and fell back. As if this were some predetermined signal, the Death Eaters swept forward, through the gates of Hogwarts. I half-expected the very ground to rise up against them, but of course nothing of the sort happened. With Dumbledore and Harry both gone, Professor Snape had seen the writing on the wall and ceded the school. At length he and I were the only ones who remained outside the gates. I glared at him, but he spared me a pitying look. His hooded eyes, dark and unfathomable, hinted at untold anguish. Perhaps it was the only way he knew to mourn the dead.

When he finally spoke again, his words were cold and impersonal. He would not look at me, preferring, it seemed, to focus on a spot just above my left shoulder. "You are fortunate that the Dark Lord has seen fit to give you to me instead of Lucius Malfoy, Miss Granger. He would not be as kind as I. Now come along and behave yourself. You have escaped death today; you might as well make the most of it."

Professor Snape turned and stalked up the hill towards the lifeless, soulless castle, his robes billowing menacingly behind him. I remained for a moment longer to gaze at the darkened tower where Ron, Harry, and I had lived, once upon a dream. "But there are things worse than death, Professor," I whispered.

And then I followed him, into my life of captivity and shame.