~~ 7 ~~
Hermione's Truth
"I've crossed the last line,
From where I can't return,
Where every step I took in faith betrayed me
And led me from my home."
--Sarah Mclachlan
I slide back against the rock wall as my legs collapse beneath me. The constant combination of exhaustion, terror, and cold is very draining. I watch as Harry sends the red sparks to the roof of the cave again and then sits down, leaning against the wall across from me. His eyes land on me for a moment, only to slide past. I am sure that if he for some reason did not before, he hates me now. How could he not? It is my fault that he's been thrown from his home, from the only people who present him with a family. Once again, it is me who is destroying his life.
Yet somehow, he does seem to forgive me. For if he didn't, why would he have walked out, agreeing with Ron's second term? He could easily have kept his place in his group by ordering my death. He had not. I sigh. I simply am not capable of understanding Harry anymore. But the frightening part is, he seems perfectly capable of understanding me. In just two and a half days' time, he's managed to access the secret parts of my mind, the parts I've kept hidden from everyone for two years. I am not sure how he does it, which frightens me further. Who knows what dark secrets he'll manage to dig from my past, secrets I've been desperate to keep hidden for so long?
We are back in the cave. It is fully dark now, but the wind still whips and the snow still spirals. The cave is so cold in comparison to the cabin we just left. Harry has deemed this the best place to hide for now. He doesn't bother sending up green sparks this time, telling me there is no point. The others of his group will not come to help us.
It is a few moments of awkward silence between the two of us until Sirius appears. This time he has company: Professor Remus Lupin. I have not seen him since third year, when he taught our Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but I remember how I liked him, and feel shame weigh me down further. How many more people will I have to face?
Professor Lupin looks at me, and then turns his attention to Harry. His face is passively blank, so I am not sure what he is thinking, but it cannot be good. "What is it this time, Harry?" asks Professor Lupin gently.
For the first time, I notice the bleak, weary look on Harry's face. It is not a look that comes from a few days of hardships, but from years of them. He's lost all his confidence that life can contain anything more than heartache. I can see it in the depths of his emerald eyes, which are no longer bright and curious as they always had been. Now they are dull, without any of the old twinkle. Immediately, my heart goes out to him. I understand that look exactly-because it is the look I have myself. I am unsure of how I have managed to miss it for so long. It is another painful blow, realizing that I am the cause of his looking that way.
Harry sighs. "They've kicked me out," he mutters. "They had me choose between her and them."
"You chose her," says Sirius simply. He looks at me, but now there is a pleading in his eyes. I understand what he is begging of me-things like: Harry trusts you again-don't betray him. And: He's risked everything for you-don't let it be in vain. And the message that scares me the most: He's done enough for you-you at least owe him the truth, Hermione, whatever that may be.
Harry nods and I can see that his eyes are now alight with a belligerent look. A challenging look. "Yeah," he says simply. His gaze dares them to argue that his decision was anything but correct.
Sirius just nods. Professor Lupin scratches his thinning, mousy brown hair and sighs. "Harry, that might not have been the wisest of choices." Seeing the look on Harry's face, he hurries to add, "Not that I don't trust you, but abandoning them at a time like this . . . they'll suffer without you. And you will suffer even more without them."
Harry shakes his head and glances at me. There is some unidentifiable gleam in his eyes as he meets my gaze. "I won't. And I'm not abandoning them; they're abandoning me. I'm not saying I don't intend to go back someday, but right now, with all my heart, I believe that Hermione isn't what she appears to everyone else. As soon as I can prove that to my thickheaded best friend, I'll go back. But not without her."
I stare at him, my eyes wide, and a stunned feeling overcomes me. He has risked the entire life he's managed to rebuild, all for me-the one who destroyed it in the first place. How can he be so trusting? How can he be so caring? After all I've done to him . . . the very idea seems foreign. If roles were reversed, I can't say I wouldn't be reacting like Ron is. It makes me feel lower than ever.
Remus nods dejectedly and Sirius speaks up. "We can't bring you to our hideout. It's too much a risk. But we can cast a Repelling Charm around here, along with a spell that will make the cave warm. We'll bring you some blankets. You'll have to stay here for now."
Harry agrees. "I figured you'd say that. Sounds perfectly agreeable. But we're also rather hungry."
As he says this, I realize for the first time that I am truly famished. I have not eaten in a long time . . . I struggle to remember just how long. Not today, certainly, and after everything that went on yesterday with Harry and my attempted suicide, I'd lost my appetite. Over forty-eight hours without food. My stomach seems to grumble in an angry, reprimanding response.
"What are you going to do, Harry?" questions Sirius, who is clearly having severe misgivings. "Live in this cave until you find some evidence you may never find? It's risky to stay here, so close to Hogsmeade, let alone for an extended period of time. Just answer me this-what do you intend to do?"
Harry sighs and shakes his head. "I dunno at this point. But I'll figure something out. I'm skilled in the art of improvising. Just give me a few hours to work something out. Right now, we need food, heat, and somewhere soft to lay. If you can give us that, we'll handle the rest."
Sirius nods. "Okay. I'll give you twenty-four hours to work out something substantial. But if you can't . . . I'm intervening. Deal?"
"Okay, okay . . . deal."
We work in silence for the next half hour. Sirius and Remus Apparate back and forth between the cave and their hideout, gathering sleeping bags, lanterns, oil, and a great deal of food. Once such things have been positioned, Sirius performs an advanced charm on the cave so that it would be near impossible to enter. Remus casts a spell that makes heat remain in the room, no matter what the temperature is outside. Finally, weary, the two men bid them farewell and Apparate back to their home. Sirius gives Harry one final warning: "Twenty-four hours, mate. No more."
Finally, Harry looks around. In the back of the cave, there are two cushy red sleeping bags with yellow lining. As I look at them, I remember the days when the House of Gryffindor stood and such colors were the some of the proudest. The days when I wore those very colors. At Puerclades-it is an insult to think of that torturous place as Hogwarts; it may be the same building, but it will never be the same school-you can try as hard as you can to find even a speck of either color, but you never will. Everything there is black, green, and silver. Four bright lanterns are placed at strategic points around the cave, giving off dull, but effective flickering light and casting moving shadows. We have a bag full of food in the center of the cave, near where we stand.
"Well," says Harry, looking somewhat awkward, "let's eat, then."
And we do. We sit down around one lantern, pulling out heaps of food and devouring it. Finally, after much starved scrambling, we settle down, our bellies content. Harry is picking the last bits out of an apple, and I'm swallowing the final bite of a granola bar. Though I can eat more, I understand that we must conserve the food. We'll need more tomorrow, and Sirius and his group must need it as well; we cannot rob them of it all.
Harry looks up at me. I cannot tell his expression by the dim lantern light, but from what I can see, it is blank again. To my best recollection, I can never remember Harry having such a completely blank, unreadable expression. Another unfortunate characteristic he has acquired since we parted ways in the most violent of manners two years ago. I look down, his gaze more than a little unnerving.
"Hermione," he says finally. His voice radiates like a gunshot into the silence I'd grown so accustomed to. "I think it's time we talked."
I nod, but say nothing. I do not move, except for my head. Talk. That can only mean one thing: he wants to know the truth. In the pits of my soul, I know and understand that he deserves that much after all I've done to him. But will he understand my side? Could he ever, without experiencing it himself? He didn't care about what I'd hinted happened to me at Puerclades until he witnessed it-and a rather mild time, in retrospect. How can he understand something so much bigger? And even if he can, it is possible for me to bring myself to speak of it? People say that if you hold a secret inside for long enough, it is like a fizzy bottle of pop-it pushes upward, waiting for its chance to explode. That isn't true, though it is at first. After a long period of time, it just weighs you down, but you grow used to carrying it. And when faced with the opportunity to release it, you hold back as much as it is possible to do so.
Harry continues, not acknowledging my silence. "I have risked a lot to trust you again. All I've been going on is my own instincts and a trust that formed from our friendship so many years ago. I need more than that now, Hermione. You owe it to me. If you make me carry on without knowing anything, I can't say I won't give up on you. That's no threat; it's just a fact. If you put your trust in someone for long enough, but they offer you no reason to do so, you can't help but get frustrated and walk away, eventually."
It is as though there is some sort of a painful lump blocking my throat. I cannot swallow or speak. My eyes are stuck on the floor.
Harry sighs in a dispirited way. "All right then, Hermione. If you don't want to tell me, then don't. Maybe Ron is right and I'm seeing something that isn't there." He shrugs and shakes his head. I can tell this is no ploy to get me to talk-he is truly uncertain and disappointed. "I hope I'm right, but it could go one way just as easily as the other at this point."
He begins to stand and I suddenly feel a desperation to prove to him that I am not the evil person everyone thinks of me as. I want to prove that he is right. But is he? No, I didn't betray them in the way they think, but what I have done is just as bad, isn't it? Only a few Light survivors left, and those that do remain have hearts full of bitterness and hatred. Happiness has died and I am its murderer. Is there any excuse for that? Is there any way to make that right? I cannot see one. I may have been trying to do the best, but it turned out for the worst anyway. So that's just as bad. Despite that, I swallow the lump at long last and say, "No, Harry, wait."
He looks down at me, hope in a distant corner of his eyes but weariness etched in his every feature. "What?" he asks in a melancholy tone. The lanterns are lower now and the shadows make this entire scene eerie.
I sigh. Saying the next sentence will commit me to something I may not want to be committed to. Last chance to bail out, Hermione, I tell myself. You can still save yourself. But I don't. "Okay. I'll tell you." There. It's out. The words I've avoided saying for so long have finally been said and my heart thunders in painful anticipation. Harry sits back down, his face still blank.
"If you want," he says casually. He tries to make it appear as though it is all my choice and that he does not care one way or the other. It is my choice, I suppose, but he definitely cares, and is interested beyond words to hear what I will tell him.
I put my forehead in my hands and think. Where to begin? Over the years, the story has become so tangled in my mind that it will take work and effort to sort out. And once I do get it all straight, can I keep myself composed while I explain? Can I simply narrate the tale without begging him to believe me?
Harry is patient with me. He watches silently, not pushing me, not annoyed. Finally, I look up and sigh. I begin telling the tale that has changed my life in the worst of ways. "It all started on Easter holidays of fifth year. As you know, I went home then. My parents dropped me off in Diagon Alley about three days before the week was over so I could get some things and refill my Potions supplies. The Apothecary is positioned on the verge of the entrance to Knockturn Alley. I got my Potions supplies and left, but I was right along Knockturn. Someone slammed into me and I dropped all my potion bottles. None broke, because I protect them with an unbreakable charm. Several rolled down Knockturn Alley, though.
"I had no choice but to go after them. It was extremely discomforting, surrounded by mysterious witches and wizards talking about Dark things. Several gave me odd looks, the prejudiced sort, you know. What was I, a fifteen-year-old Hogwarts girl who always stuck to Diagon Alley doing venturing into their world? I couldn't find the last bottle, but I was beginning to get very scared because of some of the things people were saying. I was ready to turn around and buy another one just to get out of there, but then I spotted it, halfway down a small alleyway in between two shops. I went down to pick it up and as I was heading back out, I heard a group of cloaked men talking. I couldn't see their faces, as they had their hoods down so low, but I heard a sentence that stopped me dead:
" 'Harry Potter and his friends are needed for the Dark Lord's plans.'
"I tried to move, to run, knowing that as they said 'friends', I was included. I knew that I was in a bad position being so close to them. But it was as though my feet were glued to the street. I was practically right next to them. Had I just kept walking, they'd probably never have noticed me." I shake my head. It feels as though I am reliving the whole thing again. I can remember that day perfectly, as most people remember the day in which their lives take a whole new turn. Suddenly, I am no longer in this dingy cave, telling Harry this tale by the dirty lantern light. I have traveled back two years in time, and landed right in the middle of that crowded street.
* ~ * ~ *
I am frozen in place. Harry? Ron and I? The Dark Lord? The Dark Lord needs Ron and I? The words are so alien to me, so unwanted, that I am having a difficult time processing them. I've lost all sense of time. Sound is dead to me. My ears hear only silence and my mind is racing.
Then that moment of confusion is broken by a single voice. "Hey, kid, what are you doing?"
My head snaps over to see the group, their heads turned in my direction. Though I cannot see their eyes, I am sure they are fixed upon me. I begin to shake. This has to be the worst predicament I've ever been in. Going down Knockturn Alley all alone . . . what in Gryffindor's name was I thinking? I say nothing, hoping with some futile desire that perhaps if I don't respond they will turn their attentions away from me once more.
"I think she heard us," mutters another one.
My heart begins to pound. I have to run! And I try. I drop my potion bottles. They no longer matter. I begin to make a dash for the entrance back into the safety of Diagon Alley. If I can get there, someone will help me. I do not account for the other people in the street, all of whom hate me for simply wearing the Gryffindor crest on my Hogwarts robes. They stop me, shoving me backwards and in no time, those four men have me. They pull me down the street, to the laughs and jeers of the other people. Finally, they reach a large, 'For Rent' building and shove me inside.
I have never been so terrified in my life. While two of them hold me, the other two go about systematically closing blinds and locking doors. I have the sickening feeling that they have done this before. The building is empty except for one chair in the middle. Despite my vicious struggles and screams, they get me into the chair and use light ropes from their wands to bind me to it.
All four turn to me now. The fact that their faces are shrouded by bone-white masks frightens me even more. "I didn't hear anything, I swear! I don't know what you're talking about!" My pleads are desperate and my voice high-pitched. I can't sound very convincing.
"Shut up, girl," commands one of them gruffly, pulling out his wand and aiming it at me. My heart skips several beats. Is this how it will end? At the hands of vicious Death Eaters all because I had to wander down Knockturn Alley for my fallen potion bottles? I can almost hear Ron's voice in my head: "I always told you Potions was hazardous to your health . . ." Oh, how odd are the things that come to you in the ending moments of your life . . .
"Wait," says another, and I look over. He steps forward and looks me over. I begin to tremble under his gaze. I know that the Death Eaters enjoy torturing their victims before they kill them. This thought only serves to make me surrender my last bit of dignity, and I whimper involuntarily, my shivers increasing in intensity. "Don't kill her."
"What?" demands the other man.
"This isn't just any girl. This is the Mudblood friend of Harry Potter's." He laughs, a chilling sound that makes my blood turn to ice. "No wonder she was listening." I can feel his eyes upon me, burning holes of ice into my soul. "To what do we owe this pleasure, young Mudblood?"
A shorter, stockier Death Eater looks to the man who has just identified me. "Imagine the rewards we'll get when we show up at the Dark Lord's doorstep with this one," he chuckles.
I suddenly find it hard to breathe. Oh, Merlin, they're taking me to see You-Know-Who! I begin to realize that perhaps it would have been better if they had just killed me, for my identity as Hermione Granger will only put me in a much worse predicament. The other Death Eaters have gathered together and are talking in hushed whispers. No one seems to be looking right at me, though it is impossible to tell. I begin to struggle against the light ropes, but I know even as I do that I will make no progress even if I had a century to work with them. Light ropes are known to be impossible to break and ones made by Dark Magic are even tougher. I can feel them pressing into me deeper the more I struggle. I slowly stop my struggles. The only reason I'd tried in the first place, knowing what I do of my bonds, was to feel as though I were doing something to help myself. For a few seconds, that helped give me a purpose. But as I cease my struggles, I realize again just how helpless I truly am.
The Death Eaters break apart and one steps toward me. I can't tell which one, as they are all dressed identically. "Do you deny your identity as Hermione Granger?"
I know that lying is futile. "No," I whisper, my eyes downcast.
"And do you deny that you are the friend of Harry Potter?"
"No."
The Death Eaters share nods and one steps forward. He breaks the light bonds and pulls me to my feet. I attempt to break free of him and run, but he elbows the side of my head. My skull explodes in hot pain and I cannot see for the film of white before my eyes. I am dazed and barely feel them dragging me out the back entrance of the place. My nausea only becomes worse as they Apparate me.
I hear a loud crack, and a moment later, I stand in a long, dark hall before a pair of ebony wood double doors. The doors are carved intricately with serpents baring their fangs and several renditions of the Dark Mark. The lighting overhead is dim and dismal, casting frightening shadows everywhere. The carvings on the door look as though they will leap into life at any moment. Without a doubt, I know who is behind those doors. My head pounds in pain and my vision is blurry. My hearing is distorted and as I watch one of the Death Eaters raise his fist to pound on the doors, I feel more like I am watching this on television than actually living it. It has all happened so fast. One minute I am buying Potions supplies, the next I am confronting the most feared Dark Wizard of all time. This all has to be some horrible, realistic nightmare, of course. What else could it be? I just can't accept that anything so bizarre and terrible could happen outside a dream.
The doors swing open slowly with a loud, ominous creaking. The room into which we step is even dimmer in the way of lighting. I can just barely make out a figure sitting behind a desk some distance away. A high voice commands, "Lumos grandai!" The room fills with light so intense it makes me squint my tearing eyes. The light seems to come from the walls themselves.
And before me stands the Dark Lord. His black robes billow down around him in an almost elegant fashion, but he does not wear a hood. His face is completely revealed, and as I see it, I shrink back in terror. I whimper as I struggle against the man who holds me, as he laughs and thrusts me forward. He releases me and I fall to my knees. Suddenly, I am looking upward at Voldemort. It is so much scarier from this vantage point. His skin is sheet-white, his skull bald as though hair has never touched it. His eyes are that of a snakes, no more than menacing slits of red. A snake nose separates the eyes from a maliciously smiling mouth. Just seeing this man could inspire a fear in you that you would never forget.
"May we present you with the Mudblood friend of Harry Potter's, Hermione Granger?" says one of the Death Eaters as they all bow respectfully.
The Death Eaters do not stand until Voldemort commands, "Rise." He walks forward until he is right in front of me, staring down. I cannot look up, cannot make my eyes meet his. I am shaking harder than I ever have in my life. My breathing is erratic. I am desperately fighting back the urge to cry-I will not give him that satisfaction. Suddenly, I feel his hand on my head. I gasp in terror and fall backwards, ignoring the Death Eaters' laughter ringing out. I am desperate to escape his touch. He laughs softer than anyone, but his voice alone stands out. He looks down at me and because of my position, I must look back. I blink rapidly, hoping in some distant corner of my mind that if I do it enough, the picture before me will fade into nothingness.
"Intelligent. The wise know to fear me. The ignorant die because they do not." He kneels in front of me and I pray he will not touch me again. Never before have I felt such a touch. The moment his fingers brushed my skull I could feel a terrible chill of terror and pain run through me. It feels almost like walking through a Hogwarts ghost, only so much worse. "Do you want to live, Hermione Granger?"
I am too afraid to utter a single syllable. On top of that, I am unsure of what I should say. Of course I want to live-but what if saying that angers him? In the end, I do nothing, focusing instead on holding back my tears.
"You will answer me," he orders, pointing his wand at me.
I let out a faint whimper and nod, knowing I cannot speak.
He laughs softly again. "Good. I may just give you a way to save your miserable life, if you're a good girl." He looks up at the four cloaked Death Eaters, still hovering over us. "Leave us. You shall be rewarded for you efforts at a later time." None of them hesitate, scurrying from the room quickly and gladly, closing the door on their way out with a final, resounding click.
My fear has reached new heights. It is so hard to fight back the tears of terror, and my stomach feels as though it has been twisted into a thousand painful knots. I pray for some way out of this. I can't be meant to die like this. Though the Death Eaters are definitely terrible people whom I hate, it is somehow more terrifying now that they are gone and I am alone Voldemort. I have a new respect for Harry, having faced this man so many times in the past. I am beginning to doubt my ability to survive even one encounter.
Voldemort stands and walks closer to me. "Stand up," he tells me. I cannot move. He reaches down, grabs my arms, and pulls me to my feet. Again the combined sensations of ice water, panic, and pain flow through me, blocking out everything else. I am barely aware of my surroundings again until he releases me.
He is regarding me with an unreadable expression. "I know what you feel when I touch you. Are you curious as to why?" I honestly could not care less, but I nod to appease him, keeping my eyes trained firmly on the floor. "You are a Mudblood. My blood is the purest of the pure. Certainly, my worthless father was a Muggle, but over the years, I've managed to purge his blood from my veins through a series of complicated processes. My power, hatred for people of your kind, and purity of blood will not allow me to touch you without giving you such a feeling. Much like your dear friend Harry could not touch me." He smiles maniacally. "Of course, that does not apply any longer."
"Harry is a greater wizard than you'll ever be," I find myself snarling, my voice shaking, but firm with belief nonetheless. I am not even conscious of thinking the words, let alone deciding to say them. The moment they are out of my mouth, I regret them.
His eyes narrow and his sense of morbid amusement vanishes instantaneously. He raises his wand and for the first time in my life, I feel the power and agony of the Cruciatus Curse. It is truly the worst of all magic combined in one. The pain is so near unbearable that I find myself wishing for death. It feels as though white-hot knives are being plunged into every inch of my flesh, only to be twisted painfully. It does not end for what seems like hours. At long last, I am left panting and sobbing on the ground. I later realize that it was even worse because of the man behind the curse. No one else can use it to the extent he can.
He steps forward and kicks me in the side, which does nothing to help my struggles to stand. I fall back and gasp for lost breath. "Never say that again, Mudblood. You will show respect to me, not to the fifteen-year-old boy who has no more than mere luck on his side. Do you wish to disagree with that?"
I don't know where my sudden burst of rebellious courage comes from, but I find myself snapping, "Why does my saying that I respect Harry-which I always will-bother you so much? Because you know that he's stronger?"
Again it comes, longer and with more force this time. Even after he stops, the agony lasts. I know from reading that repetitive use of the Cruciatus Curse is deadly-if you're lucky, simply maddening. I struggle to remember after how many times it becomes dangerous-two? Three? I've lost all sense of logical thought at this point, my mind numbed by the lasting pain.
He stoops down and grabs my shoulders tightly. The pain that comes from this is no longer even worth paying attention to. "Do you disagree with me?" he asks warningly.
I yearn to yell that yes, I do disagree. That I will never show him respect, even if it means my death and that I will never turn against Harry. But the pain has chased away all my belligerence and has left me hollow and terrified. I can't take that again and I know it. I shake my head, desperate to make it all end.
He lets me go and I fall back to the ground, letting the tears run freely now with disregard for his satisfaction. "Perhaps I should just kill you. You don't seem to willing to save your own life. It's a pity, because you could have saved the life of your precious Potter and Weasley. Ah, well." He stands and points his wand at me again.
What he says reaches me. Save Harry and Ron? True, he could be lying, but I have to at least hear him out. "Wait, no!" I cry.
He looks at me and I can tell this was the reaction he'd wanted. "Good, you are feeling more willing now?" I nod, feeling shame that I allowed him to break me. "Then stand up."
This is something I'm not sure I can do. I force myself to my feet. My legs are shaky and I feel ready to collapse. My head pounds and makes me feel nauseas, as though the room is spinning. The pain returning, along with the fear and nausea, is just enough to make me get sick all over the concrete floor. Weakened from this, I fall once more to my shaky knees with a disheartened sob.
"Up, Mudblood!" Voldemort hisses, his voice full of dangerous and malicious warning.
I force myself to rise a second time, and this time I fight off the wave of nausea, though it is a narrowly won battle. He pulls out another chair across from his desk, which he orders me into. I sit down and immediately two snakes bind my arms to the chair. I cry out at the sight of them. Real snakes, holding me tightly to a chair. I jerk my arm and the snake hisses, baring its tiny fangs. I pull my face back as far as the back of the chair will let me.
"My pets," says Voldemort, taking his seat once more. "They will not bite unless I order them to. Or unless you try to escape. And yes, their venom is deadly. Nagini!"
I look around to see whom his has summoned. A moment later, from behind a table on the opposite side of the room, slides what must be the largest snake in existence. It looks more like some grotesque, legless dinosaur than a snake. It winds its way towards me and encircles my chair before it stops moving. At my feet it lies, staring up at me hungrily in much the same fashion as Crookshanks eyed what we thought was Scabbers in our third year. My fear is increased by the sight of all these snakes. I've never liked them. Never before have I been frightened of them, but the thought of touching one has always made my skin crawl. And now I am surrounded by them. No longer do I merely consider them as discomforting reptiles, but now I know them to be the ultimate symbols of evil.
"Now that we are situated . . ." begins Voldemort, grinning nastily at my terror. "I suppose you would like to hear my offer to you. First, let us clarify a few things. You want your friends to live, right?"
I nod meekly, keeping my eyes locked on a bit of his desk where I cannot see him or his snakes out of my peripheral vision.
"There is only one way to ensure that they will live-by making a deal with me. Because whether they live or die will ultimately be my decision."
I have grown sick of his verbal baiting and manipulation. "Just get to the point," I snap. "What do you want from me?"
Voldemort's chilling smile does not waver. "You are indeed a smart girl. Foolishly courageous and loyal, but intelligent nonetheless. I'm sure that you can use some of that intelligence to get me into Hogwarts castle."
My eyes widen. So that is what he wants me for-access to Hogwarts. "Why?" I demand after a moment of contemplation. "Why do you need my help? I'm a teenager and you're asking my assistance? Surely a powerful Dark wizard like you can figure out a way to get inside without me."
His smile disappears and his upper lip curls in hatred. I shrink back as far as the chair will allow, fearing I have angered him again and praying silently he will not hurt me further. "There was a time when I could have," he says, making no move for his wand, which relaxes me. "If it weren't for Dumbledore, I'd still be able to. Alas, after my attempt at getting the Philosopher's Stone, he redid the charms guarding the castle. I cannot enter the grounds because of the magical . . . wards, or barriers, you may say. As long as those barriers are closed, I am trapped outside. Only Dumbledore can deactivate them, and he would die before he allowed me in. The key to crushing the Light side lies in the defeat of Hogwarts. I must get in." His fiery eyes are full of a determined fire that frightens me.
My confusion is equal in intensity to my terror now. I manage to gasp, "But if only Dumbledore can undo them, then what can I do?"
His twisted smile is back. "Dumbledore feared that should he die, no one would be able to remove his charms. So he secretly bestowed the power to open and close the magical gates to three of his most trusted students-you and your meddlesome friends."
I am stunned by this. Dumbledore trusts me enough to give me the key to the survival of Hogwarts? And now I am in the hands of the most evil man on Earth, who wants me to betray Dumbledore's trust and open them? I can barely suppress a moan of horror. "But . . . he never told . . ." I stutter.
"No, he never revealed it to you. He probably felt you weren't ready to know. But I can teach you how to unseal them."
"Never," I mutter distractedly, shaking my head. I know that letting Voldemort in would spell the beginning of the end for us all and that's something I cannot allow at any cost.
"Are you sure?" asks Voldemort coyly. "I wouldn't expect you to do this without offering you something in return. My desire to destroy Harry Potter has always been strictly personal. I will spare his life and my grudge if you do this. The same for the Weasley boy-I had no quarrel with him anyway. Trust me, there is no other way to ensure your friends' lives."
I am sickened to realize that his offer tempts me. Save my best friends at the cost of possible Dark takeover, or risk that one day they will be killed? My mind is buzzing. "And if I don't agree?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"Then I kill you, and your miserable little friends will join you at the first possible opportunity."
As I sit in this hard metal chair, held here by the snakes that belong to the Dark Lord Voldemort, I feel that death would be almost welcome in comparison to this moral debate. But could I wish death on Harry and Ron as well? No, of course not. But to let Voldemort in would cause even more fatalities, wouldn't it? How can I sacrifice all of the Light side to save two people? But how can I not do everything in my power to stop the deaths of my best friends?
An idea begins to dawn on me. Unless . . . I could warn Dumbledore, and when I let Voldemort in, he'll be met with our forces. We might even be able to defeat him there, if properly prepared! The idea appeals to me and while it is arguably the riskiest thing I've ever done, it appears to be my best and only option. I know that I am basing this plan on the slim hope that Voldemort will give me the opportunity to betray him to Dumbledore, which is foolish. But what else can I do?
I let out a shaky sigh. My mind is reeling with questions. What if I'm making the wrong decision? Before I can contemplate that further, I find myself muttering, "Okay. But how do I know I can trust you? How do I know you won't betray me and kill them anyway?"
"I thought you'd come around," he says, smiling coldly. He picks up his wand and I immediately flinch. The pain of the Cruciatus Curse is not easily lost on anyone. However, he does not point the wand at me. He points it at a patch of air over my head and does a complex pattern of waves, uttering an unintelligible word every now and then. An object materializes in the air over the desk separating us. "The Sphere of Truth," he says.
The Sphere of Truth is truly a beautiful thing. It hovers in midair, spinning slowly. The sphere itself is made of durable crystal, with billowy smoke of a deep royal purple filling the inside, making it look not transparent, but the color of the smoke. It looks much like a Remembrall. On the outside there are criss-crossing silver metal beams that encircle it. It seems to shimmer. I am taken by its beauty. I've never heard of such a thing before, though it could easily have been in the Dark Magic books, which I have never been allowed near.
"The Sphere of Truth is a powerful object," says Voldemort. "As soon as you agree to a deal or contract, or anything to that effect, it traps your words in it. As long as that ball is intact, the commitment cannot be broken. The only people who can destroy the ball, successfully terminating the agreement, are the people who are affected by the agreement. In other words, you or I. I will keep the sphere once you agree to it, but I have no motive to break it. To do so would mean that I could kill the boys, yes, but it would also mean that you could betray me. Therefore, it is safe in my hands." He says another complex pair of words and smiles at me chillingly. "You have already agreed to help me-you said it aloud. The terms are binding. You cannot deviate from the agreement now."
I watch, my throat and stomach clenching in realization of my mistake, my eyes wide. The Sphere of Truth, still suspended in the air, begins to change. The silver metal slowly morphs to a vibrant, glistening gold, and the purple smoke melts into a deep blood red. I can almost feel the energy it emits. I have been tricked into agreeing to do this, I realize, hanging my head. I cannot betray Voldemort now.
I close my eyes and let despair fill me as Voldemort's laughs echo through the room.
* ~ * ~ *
As I tell the story, the vision of that day fades. I can feel the horror of it all over again as I explain to Harry the end of the tale. I cannot bear to look him in the face, so I stare determinedly at the stone floor.
"So I had no choice but to do his bidding," I say numbly. "And then the day came when Dumbledore left for a Ministry conference and I let the Death Eaters through the gates." Finally, I look up, but my eyes are blurred with tears, so I cannot see his face. "Harry, I know you have no reason to, but please believe me when I say I never wanted to hurt anyone! I was trying to do the right thing and it blew up in my face. I know it's no excuse, and you'll probably think this is all a big lie, but I am so, so, sorry for the way things turned out. I hate myself for it. I guess I was just so selfish that I had to find some way to strike a deal so that Voldemort wouldn't hurt the both of you. I thought any life was better than none." I go quiet for a moment. "But that's not true. Death is better than the life I've had to live the past two years. I always thought it was just easier to let everyone else think I had betrayed them in cold blood. That way no one would try to rescue me, or do anything foolish. It was, as I saw it, for your safety. Because that Sphere is still in control of me. I can't do anything against Voldemort. But he can do whatever he wants to you-because he tricked the Sphere so that it only bound me. And that's why he's still hunting you down." I let the first tear fall down my cheek.
"Hermione," he says softly. It takes me a moment to realize that his voice does not contain hatred, or anger-but rather, horror and sadness. He pulls me into his arms and we sit that way for a long while. It takes me almost the entire extent of that time to realize what this all means-Harry forgives me.
For the first time in two years, I feel relief.