AN: I'm trying to get this done for NaNoWriMo 2011, but I've never written anything so long, especially in such a short space of time. I have not abandoned Haunted, I'm just having trouble deciding where to go next. Don't forget to leave a review, although you lovely readers already know that. Lyrics are from Hand of Sorrow by Within Temptation.
-Ophelia
Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling. Harry Potter is hers, I'm just a lowly fanfiction author who borrows her characters and settings for my own devious plots.
So many dreams were broken and so much was sacrificed.
Was it worth the ones we loved and had to leave behind?
So many years have passed, who are the noble and the wise?
Will all our sins be justified?
It all started with one word, whispered in the darkest of nights. She thought no one could hear her, that she was alone. She was, truly, adrift in the vast and empty world, but not in that room. That tiny, quavering syllable, spoken as if by a frightened child, that changed everything. The girl often wondered how things would be different if that pitiful voice had fallen on deaf ears, as it had been intended to.
May 3, 1998. The day dawned bright and cheerful, the very weather celebrating the Order's victory. It was just like a children's story; good had triumphed over evil and the country was at peace once more. The struggle had cost the Order dearly, but they had reached a point where there were simply not enough tears left to keep crying over the dead. The sun shone brighter than it had for months - no, years - and the ferocious wind of the night before had died down. They went down to the lake, the three children suddenly made adults, as they always had done in times of peace. The young witch watched her closest companions amble down to the lake with an ease that she had almost forgotten. They could relax at last.
Ron threw himself down below their usual tree, stretching out to lounge in the shade. A gentle wind had sprung up, tousling his already messy hair. Hermione walked over to sit beside him, but stopped when Harry shook his head urgently, gesturing exaggeratedly between an unsuspecting Ron and the lake. The redheaded boy, as always, noticed nothing, having closed his eyes as though to take a nap. It would not be the first time he rested beneath this tree, but for once it would not be in an effort to avoid his ever-growing pile of homework, and for once Hermione would not be overcome with the burning need to get him back to work. This was to be a long overdue day of rest for the trio.
"So, Hermione," Ron began lazily. "Don't you reckon three's a crowd? Doesn't someone here seem like they don't belong?" He opened his eyes to stare pointedly at Harry, but was met by a sudden deluge of lake water, courtesy of his best friend. It had been a long time since the young witch had laughed, and she didn't hold back now, watching a soaking and spluttering Ron chase Harry around the tree.
Hermione took a deep breath, feeling like an enormous weight had been removed from her. Everything was as it should be. Harry and Ron were goofing off and laughing like brothers, while Hermione kept an eye on their antics. She had a new book begging to be read, the sun was sparkling off the surface of the lake, and the ominous threat of Lord Voldemort was removed. She smiled wide and breathed in deep, feeling refreshed as though the very heavens had been cleansed with the death of the evil wizard.
As the afternoon wore on, the sun began to descend towards the horizon, restricting the Gryffindor's precious reading light. Harry and Ron, both asleep under the tree, were not affected, but Hermione found it harder and harder to make out the words until she was forced to concede defeat and return indoors for proper light. She stood and stretched, feeling at ease with the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore and the first of the stars struggling to make themselves known in the steadily darkening sky above. Upon turning towards the castle, however, her satisfaction was torn out from beneath her. In the distance, a tall female figure made its way briskly towards the lake, unmistakably headed for the three teenagers. She looked strong and proud, her silhouette framed by the ruins of the familiar castle looming behind her. It gave the impression of great power, as though she had destroyed those ancient walls herself. Hermione found herself growing afraid of the figure despite herself, but this war taught her to conceal such emotion and to spring into action quickly. The young witch forced her expression to turn blank, locking away any outward trace of weakness.
"Boys," she hissed, pointing at the approaching woman. They awakened at once, drawing their wands solemnly, slipping automatically back into war mode. They stuffed the laughter and childish happiness back inside themselves so quickly and thoroughly that it might have not existed at all. They held their ground and their breaths as the figure drew closer.
It was Professor McGonagall.
The relief Hermione felt was sudden and complete. The momentarily terrifying figure was her favorite teacher and the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, a woman who she knew well and trusted. The three would-be warriors lowered their wands as she came closer and beckoned wearily towards the young witch. She looked exhausted, the weakening sunlight casting eerie shadows across her drawn face.
"Miss Granger, I need to speak with you. There is something you need to see." Harry and Ron stepped forward almost automatically; of course they would go together, the Golden Trio off on another adventure. "I'm afraid you two will have to wait for her, she must go alone. I cannot go either," she added sympathetically. The boys were visibly shocked; they never learned to master their expressions as Hermione had.
Ron opened his mouth to protest, but she spoke over him. "Of course, professor. What's happened? Where do I need to go?" Professor McGonagall frowned at Harry and Ron to warn them against any outbursts, causing them to shrink back slightly, then responded,
"The Room of Requirement has been turned into a... prison... of sorts. It is a temporary measure until we decide what to do with the remaining captured Death Eaters. We-"
Ron, predictably, cut across her. "Decide what to do? Kill them. Or chuck them in Azkaban. They would do the same to us if they won. Hell, they lost and they still did that to our guys. They deserve the mercy that they've shown." Harry remained silent but nodded solemnly in agreement.
McGonagall's nostrils flared, a sure sign of danger. "Mr. Weasley, I do not want to hear such a speech again. Revenge helps no one. We simply cannot pass judgment on these individuals until we hear their motives for fighting in the first place. Only then can we rebuild a society in which a war such as this can never break out again. Now, as it happens, when the Order went to interview one of the captives they refused to speak to anybody but Miss Granger." She was livid when she finished, but nowhere near as angry as Ron and Harry.
"No way!" they burst out together.
"Hermione, these people are nuts. Don't bother with them," Ron began.
"They think you're scum, remember? Why would they want to talk to you? It isn't a good idea, it really isn't," Harry continued. They continued to speak over each other, growing louder and more animated. Hermione turned to Professor McGonagall, who watched them impassively. The two witches shared a Look; a Look of understanding, the particular Look of two warriors who understood that sometimes what was necessary wasn't always pleasant.
"I'll go, Professor. I'll be fine." Professor McGonagall nodded tersely and the young witch started across the grounds, ignoring the boys' indignant shouts after her. They died off as she strode through the gathering darkness until she reached the pools of light cast by the torches set on the outer stone walls of the school. The castle was familiar to her, but the ruins were not. Rubble lay strewn across the corridors, dust and blood coated the floor and the paintings adorning the walls were empty and torn. Not even the ghosts showed their faces, and the halls were devoid of any signs of life or habitation. The once cheerful and welcoming corridors were now eerie and haunting, a shadow of the splendor that used to be here. The girl shivered despite herself, knowing that the danger had passed but unable to convince herself fully that all was well in the forlorn wreckage.
Hermione made her way hesitantly through the wreck of a building, forced to take detours and shortcuts at various hallways blocked in by enormous blocks of fallen masonry and shivering in the breeze that floated in through the torn walls, until she reached the Room of Requirement. The tapestry that usually marked its location hung on the wall in tatters, drawing her eyes as she paced before the blank stretch of wall. The door materialized and the witch stood before it, uncertain if she really wanted to enter. The Death Eaters were the ones responsible for destroying Hogwarts, reducing this glorious castle to shambles. Do they deserve mercy? Who was she to come running at their call? The small, lone voice of reason in the young Gryffindor's head reminded her that McGonagall wanted her to come. If Hermione couldn't trust her, she had almost no one.
After taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside before she could stop herself. There was no light within; just blank stone walls like the ones in the dungeons many floors below. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom within, they settled on the one person that she had dearly hoped never to see again.
Bellatrix Lestrange.