Shades of Gray
I use to think everything was black and white. Anyone who joined Voldemort was evil. Ron and Harry would always be right. And Voldemort could never triumph over me. But my old philosophy was far from the truth. I have now learned that everything is a shade of gray.
My story begins about five years after our graduation from Hogwarts. Or was it six? It is hard to recall, now. Anyway, the battle against Voldemort was fierce and bloody. No one could deny his existence anymore, for it was as clear as the blood that stained the streets. Even Cornelius Fudge officially apologized. Before he was killed.
Constant fear ruled our lives. We were always scared what the next battle would bring. Wondering, as we lay awake far into the night, if perhaps we would die in the next fight, and join countless others who have already gone.
I was just one person, who made one decision. I don't know if it was good or bad, very cowardly, or very brave. But it is over with. And I live to tell you about it. So here it goes…
Hermione was setting the table for dinner when the attack came. The little cottage she barely managed to keep was unusually clean. This was to be a rare night of laughter among old friends, so she used her best china (she inherited it from her mum after her death three years ago. Another statistic of breast cancer).
She felt the cold air rush in before her ears registered the soft creak of her front door swinging wide open. "Hey, you're little early. Well, come on in-" she cut off abruptly as she turned around and spotted the figure in the door.
It wore black robes, and it's pale and sunken face held a smirk of victory. It raised its wand. Hermione barely had time to duck as a hex flew over her head. Quickly, she rolled under the table and dug her wand out of her robe pocket. She pointed it at the feet of the intruder, and aimed a curse at them. But as soon as she said the words, the feet disappeared.
She stared around the floor in confusion. Had he disapparated? That soon, and without much of a fight? Not likely. Then he was still here. And she had no idea where. Shills danced up her spine as she slowly backed out from under the table. She warily looked around. No one in sight. She took a step toward the door.
Suddenly, someone jumped on her back, grabbing Hermione around the neck. She made a gasping sound as she fought to maintain her balance. So much for magic, she thought as she jabbed her elbow into his eye socket. The man whaled and let go, clutching his eye.
Hermione didn't hesitate a second, she was out the door and running through the snow as fast as she could possible run. He lungs were already burning as she ran into the woods, thinking only to get away. The sun had set minuets before, and the woods, dark even by daylight, seemed pitch black after the light of her cottage. The snow stung her bare legs, and branches with thorns tore her robes and ripped her skin as she passed, but she paid no heed.
She kept on running. She knew, she just knew, that the thing was following her. And she was right. A whishing came close behind her. She chanced a look back. The man was silhouetted against the sapphire-blue sky, flying through the air! And without a broom! Hermione was sure she could make herself do that, but her panicked mind could not think of the charm.
Hermione had let her eyes linger behind her a second too long. With a smack, her foot caught on a branch, and she fell to the ground. She immediately sprang to her feet and ran on, but the fall had cost her dearly. The man was now much closer behind, and Hermione's ankle had been hurt. Gasping, she grabbed a tree and tried to keep on her feet.
The man flew right down and shoved into the snow. She picked her face up and tried to flip her body around to fight, but her ankle hurt, and she was bleeding all over. The snow was quickly turning blood red.
This is it she thought. I'm going to die. I lasted longer than most. I hope Harry and Ron are ok… things were growing dim, but whether from nightfall or her own loss of blood, she wasn't sure.
Suddenly, she heard two voiced yelling a hex. She felt the heat of a spell rushing through the air. She closed her eyes and prepared to die.
But death did not come. Instead, she felt something hit the ground next to her. Someone was coming over. It was shaking her. "Hermione! God, are you OK?"
She opened her eyes. Two green ones stared back at her. "Harry?" she questioned groggily.
"Harry," a third voice said originating out of her line of vision. She recognized it as Ron's. "We better get her out of here. There might be more Death Eaters on the way. Besides, it's cold, and she's hurt."
Hermione felt herself being lifted up off the ground. The chilly air stung her flesh made cold from the snow. "Put me down," she muttered. She was not going to let them carry her.
"What?"
"I said, 'put me down,'" she stated more clearly. Harry obeyed, and then Hermione was on her feet. That was better. Her vision sharpened and her muscles tightened, ready to walk.
Slowly, the trio made their way through the woods back to Hermione's little shack.
When they arrived, and made sure no one else was there, Hermione was bandaged and her sprained ankle was wrapped tightly until they could get to a healer. Then they sat down around the table half-set with china.
"Oh, wait!" exclaimed Hermione after a few seconds. "The stove! I left it on!"
"Don't worry, I turned it off," Ron said, trying to calm her down. He sighed. "So much for dinner, huh?" he said with a little grin. Hermione smiled, it hurt her ankle to laugh.
"Well, we could have the salad, I suppose."
"I'll get it," Ron volunteered. As they ate the greens, they talked about the attack.
"Are you sure it was a Death Eater?" Harry asked through a mouthful of lettuce.
"Positive," was the reply.
"That's bad, Hermione," said Harry. He swallowed and looked her directly in the eye. "If Voldemort sent an attacker after you it means he sees you as a particular threat. I know." His eyes glazed over in an unrecognizable emotion. "I've been getting them since this bloody war began."
"I've never gotten a personalized attack." Ron seemed to take this almost as an insult.
"I'm sure you'll be getting one soon enough." Hermione knew the extents of Ron's jealousy.
"Just watch you back. Your in much more danger now." Harry sighed and took another bite of salad. "Let's try to have a good evening, ok? No more talk of Voldemort."
They tried, but everyone's mind kept wandering back to the topic that had plagued them day and night.
***********
The next battle occurred on an overcast Saturday afternoon. Dumbledore received word that Voldemort was building a new dark camp in a little valley in the North. Troops were rounded up immediately, and they set up their own little temporary camp a little south of the rumored Dark one.
Among the wizards and witches at the camp was Hermione. As she crawled out of her damp, little tent the morning of the battle, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was not right. Why would Voldemort choose a valley? Far too unprotected for an efficient base. And why up here? In the frozen North? There was nothing useful here. No, Voldemort was smarter than that. So something else had to be going on.
Hermione sloshed her way through the snow to the planning base. Little more than a large tent, it had held up throughout the war, and continued to be the spot where Dumbledore, Harry, and all the other key people met to plan a course of action.
The guards let her through, and Hermione walked into the tent hoping for a little warmth. But the tent was just as cold as the bitter outdoors in this godforsaken land of ice. Dubmbledore, Harry, Ron, Lupin, McGonagall and others were gathered around a table in the center. Hermione went up and looked at it. It was a magical map, showing patches of the Dark camp. The missing patches were probably protected magically.
"…where we'll attack. Their protection is the weakest at that point. Once we're inside, we'll attack the heavily-guarded sections," Dumbledore was explaining. Hermione looked at the map. The valley was actually quite small, a fact that worried rather than calmed her.
As the others discussed battle tactics around her, Hermione's thoughts turned to the lead that had somehow settled in her stomach. So they would be going into battle. As soon as possible, it seemed. Why, why did she always feel this way before one? She had been in Gryfendor, so she must be brave. She had been in countless other battles, so she must be tuff. She had seen torture, and blood, and curses enough to make anyone hard. But despite all of this, she still felt soft and weak.
Oh, she would still go into battle all right. She would probably attack, bloody, and kill others herself. But she could never shake that maddening doubt that accompanied every fight. Especially this one. Something was still not quite right….
People were beginning to stand up. Hermione looked at her watch. It had been an hour! A whole hour had passed. She was sixty minutes closer to battle. Oh, where had that precious, peaceful hour gone?
Oh, where had her precious, peaceful life gone?
***********
Less than three hours later, Hermione was standing on top of a small ridge, overlooking a snowy valley. She was in attack unit Alpha-12, along with ten others waiting the command to attack.
She jumped as someone came up behind her, startling her. Oh, it was just Ron.
"It's kind of creepy, isn't it?" he said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stood beside her. "You can't see a damn thing out there."
"I hate this. Not knowing. And I hate the Dark magic that keeps us from seeing the camp until we're almost on top of it. I feel sick every time one appears in front of me."
"Yea. And you can't even pause for a moment because curses are being fired all around you."
"And you see the bodies of your friends…"
"And you see the bodies of the ones you've killed…"
"And it makes you wonder, if only for a moment, if it's all worth it. Then you think of all the hate Voldemort's caused, and it just makes you hate him more. It's a vicious cycle." Hermione closed her eyes and leaned her back against a tree. "Ron, if it weren't for this war, what do you think you'd be doing. Right now."
"Sleeping in my nice, cozy, warm bed," he said with a grin. Hermione laughed.
"But seriously, what do you think you'd be doing?"
He sighed and looked at the frozen ground. "Oh, I don't know. The Ministry, maybe. Or perhaps I'd still be desperately trying to get a spot on a Quidditch team." He paused, and then looked into her eyes. "Why all this reflection?"
"Don't you ever wonder what's happened to us? We used to be happy. I used to be a scholar. I haven't even read a book since the war. Unless you count war reports."
"But you can't change the past, Hermione. What's done is done. It's best to do what you have to do, and try to live to see the next day."
"I know. I'm not doubting the cause of this war, I know it's just. I guess I'm merely mourning my potential. I mean, I could have been something. Now, I'm nothing but a soldier."
"Oh, that's not true! Sometimes, you're the only one who holds us together," Ron smiled. "History will thank you, I promise."
Hermione was about to say something more, but just then the word was received. Attack unit Alpha-12 was to proceed into battle.
*************
The cold North wind stung the wizards' faces as they ran down the sides of the valley, ready to take on the Dark camp that waited. Hermione was one of the first ones on the scene, and one of the first to realize something was wrong. By now, they would have passed the visible barrier. They should be seeing buildings, tents, and Death Eaters. But there was nothing. Only snow and silence greeted them.
Hermione immediately pulled her communication mirror out of her pocket. "Harry!" she said impatiently as the glass swirled. After an eternity, Harry's face appeared. "Harry!" she said to the image in the mirror. "There's nothing here! It must be a trap of some sort! Don't send in any more attack units, and send the word to pull out!"
"Are you sure?" The real Harry was still in the planning base and knew nothing of anything that was going on.
"Positive! You have to act now!" Hermione practically shouted into the mirror.
After a second of contemplation, Harry told her hastily, "I'll make sure no one else goes out. Can you get the people already in the valley out?"
"Yes," she said without thinking. Harry taped his mirror, and his image disappeared. The organized part of Hermione took over, shoving the questioning and frightened part out of the way.
"OK," she screamed to the thirty-or-so people in the valley. "EVERYONE MOVE OUT!" They didn't need to be told twice. The people were already sensing something was wrong. The exoduses from the valley was relatively calm. Despite Hermione's dread that Death Eaters would suddenly appear on the ridge and fire into the crowd, no Dark activity was going one.
Or so they thought.
Hermione was the last one to leave, and as she took one hurried glance around, she saw two stragglers standing in the middle of the valley. It was starting to snow heavily, and their figures were strangely warped behind the milky whiteness.
Muttering about stupid people with no sense of danger, Hermione ran over, yelling for them to get out of the valley. But they stood there still.
By the time Hermione reached them, that lead feeling had settled in the bottom of her gut. Something was not right. What was it?
She got her answer when the figures grabbed her roughly by the arms. While one knocked her out cold with a curse, the other apparated the trio away.
***********
Hermione sat up and rubbed her eyes, feeling very groggy. What happened? She moaned with the effort it took to remember.
They had to get out of the valley. Two had stayed behind. She tried to warn them, but they grabbed her instead. One used a curse to knock her out, and then she knew no more.
No longer sleepy, she sat bolt upright and ascertained her surroundings. She was obviously in a prison, but not a normal one. According to the rumors, the Dark Lords prisons were worse than Azakaban. Filth, rats, and torment were supposed to be everywhere.
But in Hermione's cell, the stone was cold, but clean. There was even a little stone bench on the far corner. Brightly burning torches lit the small window-less room. The only way in or out appeared to be a heavy wooden door.
It's happened Hermione thought. I've been captured. They'll probably torture me for information before they kill me. She leaned against the wall and sighed. Somehow, she had always pictured perishing bravely in battle. Not forgotten and bitter in a lonely prison cell.
She started shivering uncontrollable. Hermione's robes were already damp from the snow, and the cell was very cold. She stood up and paced back and forth, trying to draw just a bit of warmth into her frozen body.
Hermione did not know how long she was held capture in the stone prison. There were no windows to look out of, and her watch was gone. She probably lost it in the battle. So, maybe ten minutes, maybe ten hours, maybe ten days later, the door to her cell creaked open, and Voldemort himself stepped into the chamber.
"Hello, mudblood," he spat. "Enjoying your stay?" Hermione remained silent. She would not play his little games. She would not give information. She would die bravely and honorably.
"We can improve these surroundings, if you like," he continued. His voiced was so unnatural, Hermione wanted to cringe. "But you have to agree to talk to me."
"You might as well kill me now, because I'm not going to tell anything." Hermione kept her eyes focused on the floor. She didn't know if she could stand to look into the blood red eyes of- of- that thing that had caused so much suffering.
"I don't want information from you. I want you to listen to me."
Against her better judgment, Hermione found herself asking, "What do you want?"
"You have an extraordinary amount of power. Many of your so-called friends tried to pass it off as bookwork. They though you could do those things so well only because you studied. Only Lord Voldemort was able to look past all that. You would be an excellent servant."
Hermione was stunned. Did Voldemort actually expect her to go to his side? After all the battles she had been in, all the ties she had with Harry? Aloud, she said, "What would you want with me? My parents are muggles. I'm a mudblood."
Voldemort walked slowly until he stood right in front of her. "You have, I'll admit, unfortunate relations. But I myself had a father as muggle as they come. Your power more than makes up for your muggle heritage."
"And you expect me to just join you."
"Of course not, but I have my ways of persuading people." He snapped once, and unnoticed Death Eaters emerged from the shadows. With a blow to her head, Hermione was knocked out cold.
***********
Harry was the one who found Hermione, lying frozen in the middle of the snow-covered valley. He was the one who lead the search, insisting it was his fault she had disappeared. He was the one who had told her, and her alone, to get everyone out of the valley.
Her lips were blue when Harry found her, and she had an ugly welt on the back of her head. He wrapped his cloak around her and brought her to the camp, where people were already packing up, too eager to get back home and away from this frozen wasteland.
************
It had been two weeks since her capture. Hermione had been asked all the usual questions. Did they torture you? Did Voldemort reveal anything to you? Did you find out anything at all? And, how on earth did you escape?
Hermione had tried to answer as best she could. No. No. No again. I didn't. They knocked me out, and when I woke up, I was at the camp.
The interrogations were obviously exhausting, so they dropped them. She had no valuable information, anyway.
So Hermione went back to her normal life. Or as normal as it could be, anyway. Life had always revolved around the war, and it still was. On to other battles, more death, more blood. It would all have been normal, except for the dreams.
They started about three days after her capture. She had woken up absolutely horrified, not remembering what the dream had been about, but knowing it had been terrifying. The next night was worse. And the mornings after the dreams were agony. Especially if she could remember the dream.
Always, it had Voldemorts shrieking face. Telling her this war would go on for years. Centuries, even, unless she joined him. Then he would bring a quick and merciful end to this hell. Then came the visions of battles, ten times more terrible than any she had experienced. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Dumbledore, Sirius, Lupin, anyone she had ever known, all dead. And again, Voldemort appeared, triumphant. Laughing. Shrieking. And Hermione would shriek with him. She would scream and scream and scream until the yells woke her, shaking and sweaty, from the nightmare.
This went one every night. Finally, she stopped sleeping at all. But then visions would come. Flashes of battles on the window panes. A dead body seen for an instant in her mirror.
She was falling apart, and she knew it. But everyone else was so caught up in the war to notice or care. Or so she thought.
Hermione woke up from an afternoon nap, sweaty, trembling, and screaming. She had been having the usual dream, and the effects were no less intense than the first time. She was about to get a drink of water, when she screamed as a figure appeared in her chair.
She noticed it was only Harry just in time to stop herself from firing a curse. "Oh, Harry," she breathed. "I almost killed you. Don't sneak up on me like that," she laughed. But instead of laughter in Harry's eyes, there was only concern.
"Hermione, what's the matter?" he asked.
"Nothing, I- I just had a nightmare?"
"A nightmare? You call that 'just a nightmare'? Damn it, you looked like you had seen the true end of the world. And the way you screamed." He shivered. "It was scary." He paused. "You haven't been sleeping at all, have you?" he asked as he stared at the heavy circles under Hermione's eyes.
She quickly turned away and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. No matter what, she was not going to tell him. He had enough troubles of his own. He did not need to worry about her.
"I know something's going on. You never talk to anyone anymore. You just show up for a battle, kill, and leave. You don't stay to help the injured like you used to. You haven't even spoken to Ron or me in forever. What happened the day you were captured?" Harry asked from the living room.
"Nothing," Hermione told him from the kitchen.
"That's not good enough, Hermione," Harry said as he came into the kitchen. He walked right up to her and forced her to look into his eyes. "He made you an offer to join his side, didn't he?" Harry asked softly.
Hermione stood still out of shock for one second. Then she slapped his hand out of the way, shouting, "Where did you get that idea? Of course he didn't! That's ridiculous!"
"No, it's not." Although Harry's voice was loud, he managed to keep it even. "That's what he does, Hermione. First he attacks, and if he can't bump you off, he tries to get you to join his side. I know. It's all happened to me."
"Nothing happened! Why can't you people believe that? It's like you wanted something horrible to happen to me. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but nothing even remotely interesting went on!" Hermione half stated, half screamed.
Harry shook his head. "You're a horrible liar, Hermione."
Her eyes narrowed. Who was he to think he knew everything. Just because he was famous Harry Potter, he thought he was an expert on everything and everybody. Well he was wrong! He knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about her. "Get out of my house," she snarled.
Harry, disbelieving, said, "What?"
"I told you to get out of my house!" Hermione said louder.
"Wait, Hermione, I can help you! You don't have to fight him alone!" Harry half said, half begged.
"You can't help me! NO ONE CAN HELP ME!" she screamed. "I CAN MANAGE ON MY OWN!" Both paused for a second. Then Hermione shouted, "I TOLD YOU TO GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
Harry sighed. "If that's what you really want. But send an owl anytime. Really. Anytime." He looked at her face, eyes red and face puffy from anger and lack of sleep. "I guess I'll see you, well, I'll see you at the next battle. Whenever that may be." He disapparated, leaving Hermione alone in the kitchen.
With a great sob, she slid to the ground. The image of Voldemort appeared by her side. "See what kind of friends you have?" It hissed in her ear.
She batted at it weakly. "Go away," she sobbed.
"Oh, no," the figure said. "Where ever you go, I'll follow you. I will always be with you. Until you join. But, you can end this torment! All you have to do is declare devotion to Lord Voldemort. It's easy."
Hermione wanted to tell it to go away again, but dry sobs racked her body, and she had no energy to speak to something that wasn't even there.
"I'll be watching you…" the shadow hissed.
*************
The following battles were the most severe. Hermione fought her hardest in each, but each one felt empty, hollow. The causes and justifications seemed removed, and all that was left was the bodies and blood.
But the absolute worst thing was that no one would fire on Hermione. Although she was in plain sight, an easy target, she was forced to watch as everyone around her fell, and she was left unscratched.
It was the worst burden in the world, knowing that she was saved because Voldemort, Voldemort, ordered it. She lashed out with a vengeance. Killed more Death Eater than she ever thought was possible. And still none would take aim.
She wanted to scream out "Look at me! Kill me! Fire at me! Leave the other!" But her cries were lost in the countless screams of others on the battlefield.
**************
It was after one particularly awful battle that Hermione gave in. She was one of a dozen survivors. The air reeked of flesh and dried blood. As crews of wizards arrived to help the surviving and sort the dead, Hermione wandered away. Her robes were torn, her face dirty and red, and she had blood smeared all over. But she didn't care.
She wandered across fields and creeks and roads. She saw trees and cars and little houses snug in the countryside. And at last, when she could walk no farther, and prevent sleep no longer, she collapsed. And she slept.
The dream she had that night was ten times more gruesome, horrible, and terrifying than any of the others. It started with the usual Voldemort shrieking, telling her she must join him, or this war will last for centuries.
And then a battle scene. Blood. Bodies. Everyone killed. Everyone but Hermione. She could see every victim. Every victims' family. Every singe tears shed for them. And their blood flowed and mingled before it was soaked into the earth, leaving the battlefield to reek for centuries to come.
And something snapped in her brain. She simply could not take it anymore. When Voldemort approached her, after the battle, she looked him in the eye for the first time. They held every bit of hate as she expected. But it did not matter. Not anymore. She was broken. To tired and worn to care.
She stood, and turned to face him. With a defeated voice, she whispered, "I will join you."
For once, the Dark Lord did not utter a word. He simply took her arm, and pressed his thumb to it.
Hermione could feel the Evil flowing through her veins. It clouded her eyes and chilled her blood. It conquered her will, and doused the spark of goodness she still had. It pushed out love, but left plenty of room for hate.
Then she screamed one final time, and awoke.
Hermione felt strangely calm. And very different. She felt unkind, cold, and indifferent. She lifted the sleeve of her robe.
Freshly burned into the skin was the Dark Mark.
************
I wish I could live that day over again. I wish I could live my life over again. There were so many mistakes, but so many joys. No more.
Ron, you told me that history would thank me someday! You promised! Well, is history still going to thank me? Is it? Huh? Somehow, I doubt it. Oh, I want to talk to you so bad, but I cannot. I want to scream and shout and ask why. But I can't. It's too late; I can never go back.
And Harry. Oh, Harry! You don't know how much I wish I could've accepted your help. You were willing, weren't you? You could've helped me.
I saw you yesterday. On the battlefield. Your eyes stopped and stared at me, not believing. My face sunken and hollow. The Dark Mark glowing on my bare arm. I stopped and stared at you, too. You looked so tired, but so brave. Never stopping. Well, except to wonder about me.
I was right in front of you! Why didn't you fire? You just looked at me with this horrible sadness in your eyes, then moved on. You didn't fire on me. You could have. I was in clear view. You could have made one more Death Eater dead. Why didn't you? I wish you had.
Now an even more horrible creature than a hallucination of Voldemort follows me. The shadow Voldemort was just that: a shadow. But this new creature is so real, too real. It nags and whispers and keeps me up all night.
It is my conscience, forcing me to remember. I relieve school days at Hogwarts. I remember every kind word, every gesture from my friends whom I've betrayed. I recall the night you saved me from the Death Eater. I remember my conversation with Ron in attack unit Alpha-12. I remember Harry begging me to let him help me.
I remember, and I scream for it to go away. I claw at the invisible creature who is forcing me to examine and recall and relive. And I scream, and I scream, but it won't go away.
I want this war to be over. I want to die. But every day, I live another battle. I live another lie. I live. And it's killing me.
But, as Ron said once, so long ago, What's done is done. It's best to do what you have to do, and try to live to see the next day.
So I try.
And I try.
And I try.
But it is killing me.
A/N Umm… Not much to say. Review please. Thank you for reading. I know it was long, so thanks for sticking with it! Luv to all reviewers!
--Tigerlily :-)