2

Out of My Mind

"So many questions

I need an answer

Two years later

You're still on my mind."

--Mandy Moore

I'm shivering where I stand. It doesn't help matters that my feet, wearing tattered and hole-filled shoes, are buried in a bank of snow. More snow is drifting down from above, steadily coating my dark hair, a convenient natural camoflauge. The silence of the snow is eerie. Rain comes down and pounds on things; you can hear it—you know it's there. Snow is quiet. If you don't look, you won't ever know of its presence. Standing in the forest that borders the place I've had nightmares about for two years now, listening to the silence of the snow, shivers run down my spine. It feels like a nasty omen.

But now, I'm not aware of any of this, though just a moment before it was foremost in my mind. Now I'm frozen where I stand, unable to move or take my eyes away from the figure in the window of what once was Gryffindor Tower. My breath is caught in my throat. It's a ghost from my past, a person I'd never imagined I'd ever have to see again: Hermione Granger, my one-time best friend who betrayed me in the worst of ways. I hate her so deeply it frightens me sometimes. I wonder how it's possible to go from loving someone to hating them so utterly. Then all I have to do is remind myself of all the pain she's caused the entire wizarding world—her two "best friends" most of all—and I have no more questions.

But seeing her is different. It's so simple to remember old times and pick them apart, looking for any little clue of her deception, of her darkness. It's easy to let my hatred fill me. But when I see her, even from such a great distance, it's all so much harder. Instead of feeling simple anger, a flurry of emotions overcomes me: regret, sadness, things I've long since stopped feeling.

"Harry, move it!"

I hear Ron's voice in the back of my mind, but it's distant, as though coming from very far away. I don't move. I watch as Hermione lifts something to her hand. I can't tell what she holds because of the distance—I can barely tell that it's her—and then she looks up. Our eyes meet. The oddest sensation overcomes me, a powerful mixture of desires. Part of me is desperate to confront her, while the other part wants to run in the other direction. Whatever she's been holding drops from her hand. It's small and glittery and it falls the seven floors to the ground, where it is buried in a snow bank.

"Harry!" Ron yells again. He's right beside me now, shaking me violently. I finally look over at him. My face must give away my emotions, because he frowns. "What is it? We have to move if we don't want to be caught!"

I can only shake my head. I look back up at the window to where Hermione is still as frozen as I am. I can't see her expression from here and I wonder how she feels as she's confronted with the aftermath of her diabolical actions of long ago. Is she feeling regret? I doubt it. If there is one thing I've learned over the past couple of years it's that people like her, people who can so effortlessly betray the ones they love, have no regrets—and you can have none where they're concerned. Perhaps she feels elation; the very idea nauseates me.

Ron turns to look at what holds me so fixated. He squints for a moment before his eyes grow very wide. "Merlin," he whispers. Still staring, he pulls me back a step. "Harry, let's go! She'll betray us in an instant! She's already proven that. We've got to get out of here!"

The urgency in Ron's words reaches me. While I have heard everything else he's said, nothing has really had any meaning, but these last words do. I turn away. Ron's right—Hermione will turn and run to Voldemort the second she moves away from the window.

We run back into the forest and Ron calls out our signal to abort the mission. Our meager forces are spread out wide over an area of about half a mile. I have come out of my shock by now and am back to playing my role as leader of the group. I attempt to appear indifferent and unaffected, but I don't fool myself. Seeing her has shaken me deeply. It's all I can do to hold it together so that I can lead my group safely out of the forest.

I don't remember the trip back to our hideout. I think Ron took over leading the group about halfway through, but he hasn't brought up anything since. I do know that he was the one that led the group Apparition once we were back at the safe point.

We are currently residing in an old, abandoned Muggle cabin deep in a forest in the countryside. We'll probably move soon—we have to every month or so, or Voldemort and his forces will track us down too easily. It's relatively easy to find places to stay; most of the country is in ruins. Voldemort controls everyone, Muggles and wizards alike. Most Muggles are dead, for Voldemort has no use for them. He's massacred them. Many escaped to foreign countries, but it was a hard thing to accomplish. He has control of most of Europe now. I don't know what has become of the Dursleys, nor do I particularly care. The main leaders of the Light side have been killed. There aren't many Light supporters left who have not finally given in to the Dark side, been forced into slavery, or been killed. Some of us are being held in Azkaban, which was emptied of Death Eaters and filled instead with some of the members of the most notorious rebel groups. Our particular group has not lost a single member to imprisonment or death. We've been lucky—but there's no telling just how long that luck will last.

Despite the cold, I don't stay inside the cabin once we return. The walls seem to press in on me, suffocating me. I leave the cabin and walk the short distance to the small creek that runs near it. I brush the snow off a large rock and sit down, staring at the rapidly freezing water and the snowy banks. In one area of the creek, where the ice is much thicker, I can see a fish trapped within. I feel an odd kinship with that fish. I can relate exactly to how it must feel—swimming along through life as usual one day, then without warning becoming trapped. Knowing your life is seeping away from you slowly, with all you need to continue just beyond your reach.

My mind is buzzing. Just this morning we were all so excited. We thought we actually stood a chance at striking a real blow to the Dark Arts school. We dared not use the passages marked on the Marauder's Map any longer—Hermione knew of those, and what she knew, the Death Eaters were aware of. Fred and George recently managed to remember the location of a different passage, one not marked on the map. We supposed it had to be very well hidden if my father and his friends hadn't found it and Fred and George had such trouble locating it as well. We'd felt secure in the knowledge that this time we would manage something significant. I should have known better, after everything that's happened. I should have known that in this world, life is never going to cut us a break. We were all ready, in our positions along the forest's edge.

And then she came in.

I find it hard to even say her name. It causes me so much pain, thinking of how she'd once been my best friend, how I would once have done anything for her. Then she'd betrayed us, leaving us in this bleak position. And here again, she's ruined our plans.

My eyes close and the memory I've been trying so hard to keep at bay is finally released from my meticulously constructed barriers: Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy busting down the doors in the front of Hogwarts school, marching in, shooting down anyone in their way . . . Hermione following dutifully behind them . . .

A hand falls on my shoulder and my eyes snap open. I jump to my feet on instinct. I look over to see Ron standing beside me and relax. He's not looking at me, instead staring out over the creek as I had moments before. His face is as blank and expressionless as always.

He's never been the same since Voldemort won the war. His whole life was destroyed, more so even than mine. His parents and Percy were killed. Bill and Charlie are taking cover in Romania and can't get back to England without being killed themselves. Ginny, Fred, George, and Ron are all with our rebel group. All of them are completely different people. Fred and George rarely joke anymore; Ron is bleak and cynical; and Ginny is withdrawn and silent, often prone to fits of tears or bursts of anger with no warning. I guess we've all changed. I don't suppose a person could live through what we have and not have their lives affected, but the four siblings have been through so much more.

"Are you thinking about her?" asks Ron quietly, breaking the silence. He spits out the last word with an intense anger. If possible, Ron hates Hermione even more than I do. He blames her for the deaths of his parents and brother—rightly so, I believe.

I nod.

Ron shakes his head. I can see the frown on his face. "Another plan of ours she's ruined. Don't pay her any mind, Harry, she's not worth it. Believe me, I've spent enough time thinking about her, playing with everything she once did and told us in my head, feeling the resentment and the betrayal. Don't bother with it. All you're doing is allowing her to have control over you. You're letting the memory of her keep hurting you. That's what she'd love. Don't give her the satisfaction."

Ron's words are harsh, but true. I know he's right. I try so hard to block her from my mind, but I simply cannot. I've been trying for the past two years. I can usually keep her tucked away in some distant corner of my brain, but she is never fully gone; I doubt she ever will be. You don't just forget someone who has given you this much grief. Now I can't even hide her away. Seeing her has put me back at square one, where my every conscious thought is centered around her. I don't think it's a good idea to tell this to Ron, though.

We say no more; there's nothing left to be said. The silence between us is not quite companionable, but it's one of understanding. Finally, Ron turns and walks away, muttering something unintelligible about being cold. I don't follow, choosing instead to sit back down on the rock. It's beginning to snow again. I'm no longer even attempting to put her out of my mind. The hours slip away, snow gradually building around me. I'm wearing only a light jacket, but I don't feel the cold—I'm far too lost within my own head. As darkness descends around me, clarity dawns. I know that I will never be able to put Hermione out of my mind until everything is wrapped up; until every last bit of disbelief I may harbor is banished; until I understand. I know she betrayed us—for a long time that was all I cared to know. But now I hunger for the answers to the burning questions that have plagued my mind for years: Why did she do it? When did she go over? Was she ever truly our friend, or just a deceptive liar? The only person I can get these answers from is Hermione herself, and I can no longer deny my desperation to know them.

For the first time, I feel ready to face my past—to face her. With hardened resolution, I stand. I tilt my head back and look up at the sky. Showing through the stormy clouds are patches of deep sapphire, speckled with silver stars. I close my eyes and focus on returning to the safe Apparition point. I am going to see Hermione Granger. I want to put her out of my mind, I tell myself. I want to be able to move on with my life. Yet deep in my head, a voice nags me tauntingly, a voice it takes all my will to ignore: Are you sure you aren't just foolishly hoping she might still somehow be your friend?