4

Risking it All

"All your purposes are gone

Nothing's right and nothing's wrong

Nothing ventured, nothing gained

Feel no sorrow, feel no pain."

--Three Doors Down

I don't make it back to our hideout until close to four a.m. Ron and Hagrid confront me angrily as I enter, demanding to know where I've been. I have no patience for their questions, and I tell them as much, pushing past them and heading off to try to catch at least a bit of sleep before the dawn.

My intentions are not carried out. Every time I close my eyes, images flash beneath my eyelids, sending me tossing and turning. The worst come when I manage to fully doze off. No longer are they mere images—they've transformed into full-fledged nightmares. Seeing Hermione has brought them back in full force. I haven't had nightmares to this particular degree in a long while. Worst of all are the memories of the day Hermione turned traitor, the day Ron and I realized she'd been using us for Merlin knew how long. I saw her standing before me, at Voldemort's side, head held high and proud as Voldemort rounded up the whole school, killing so many of my classmates, one by one. . . . I'm nearly sick at the memory. Oh, how I'd clung desperately to the belief that she was under the Imperius Curse. All along, though, I think I knew that she was not. Then the disbelief had vanished, replaced by a burning anger that had held out until just yesterday. Until I saw her again. And now I don't know what I feel.

I give up after about an hour of attempting to sleep, knowing my efforts are wasted. If I'm to lay awake for the rest of the night, I might as well make something out of the hours. Running fingers through my unruly hair, I step out of the room I share with Ron, Fred, and George. The other three have not been in here since I came back. I venture to the kitchen and see Ron sitting at the table, his head in his hands. A mug of coffee sits in front of him, appearing untouched as steam rises from it slowly.

"Hey, mate," I say softly, stopping in the doorway.

Ron's head snaps up and he looks at me. I'm not sure what I expect to see on his face—anger, probably. Anger at me for running off without telling anyone, jeopardizing us all, and then returning only to tell him rudely that I didn't want to talk about it. His face contains no anger, though, just a deep, reminiscing sadness. I can tell that he's allowing himself to consider the past and the possibilities had Hermione not betrayed us. He doesn't do it too often anymore, and when he does you know he's really upset. I have a terrible feeling that I've brought on this particular attack of nostalgia and I feel my stomach knot with guilt.

"Hello," he says, his voice hoarse.

I walk over and take the seat across from him, studying him silently.

He motions at the coffee mug. "Want some?"

"Yeah," I agree. "After the night I've had, I'm not going to be sleeping."

He says nothing to me, instead getting up and pouring me some of the coffee. It's black, but I don't care, simply happy for the caffiene. The steaming liquid burns my tongue and throat, but I take no notice. Ron is still not looking at me and I'm beginning to feel even worse about how I've behaved this evening.

"I'm sorry for the way I acted earlier," I say finally. "I just took off on a whim. I'm the leader here—I have no right to up and leave with no warning. It was wrong of me. And I'm also sorry for being so short with you when I came back."

Ron just shrugs and shakes his head. "No big deal. You're back, that's what counts." He is silent for another long moment, then looks up. I can see the pain in his eyes. "I thought they'd captured you, Harry. Call me paranoid, but I was positive that's what happened. I went a little nuts. Ask anyone around here. I've already lost my parents and Percy; I've as good as lost Bill and Charlie for all the help they're doing us over in Romania; I've lost Ginny, Fred and George in the sense that we're all so divided anymore; and I've lost Hermione in the worst of ways. Thinking I'd lost you too . . . I really lost it there, pal."

And there it goes, the truckload of guilt that has been threatening to tip has poured over onto me. I wonder exactly how it was that Ron lost it; I'll have to ask Fred or George later. "I'm sorry," I say again, though I'm aware of how horribly inadequate it sounds.

Ron shrugs again. "Don't worry about it. I'm just sort of out of it right now." He looks up, directly into my eyes. "Though I am interested in knowing exactly where it was you took off to. You look like you've aged about a hundred years since we last saw you. What happened?"

I don't know how Ron will react to what I've done. He hates Hermione with a blazing passion the likes of which I've never seen. Will he see my actions as a betrayal to him, to this group? Will he hate me? I consider how to break it to him, because I know that no matter how he may react, he deserves the explanation.

"I went back to Hogwarts," I say finally. I offer no more of an explanation, waiting to see if he fits the puzzle pieces together himself. I don't dare look at him, but I can sense his eyes burning into me. I feel as though we've switched places—now I'm the one hiding my eyes whilst he watches my every move.

"Oh?" says Ron, almost nonchalantly. Any of his acquaintances would have taken this statement as being calm and casual. I, however, know Ron much better than most other people. I can hear the distinct undercurrent of bitter anger in his voice. In that second, my head snaps up. He knows. He's known all along that whatever I've been up to had to do with Hermione.

"How much do you know?" I demand suspiciously.

Ron just shrugs, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. "Not much. I didn't really fit it all together until you came back. What we talked about before you left . . . how you reacted when you saw her back at Hogwarts . . . I figured you'd gone to see her again." The smile is gone now, and his eyes are burning deep into mine, searching for any hidden truths. "Tell me, though—why did you go back to see her? What could possibly be so important that you had to go to her?"

"She's the only one I could go to, Ron," I explain, aware my own words weren't making much sense. "I just had to talk to her. I've been needing to since this whole thing began, you know? I couldn't put my mind to rest until I did."

Ron nods and I can see in his eyes that he understands. I'm beginning to feel glad that I've caught him in a mellow moment. At times when he's not so calm, a proclamation like this would have had us shouting at one another.

"So, did it help?" he asks.

Having already spent a good deal of time asking myself this question, I'm quick to respond. "No," I say softly. "I don't think it did."

"Why not?"

"I was expecting her to be cold and mean and . . . deceitful. I just expected her to be a monster. I figured she'd insult me, tell me off for being ignorant enough to believe her or something. Then I'd turn and walk away and I'd know that all these hours I've spent wondering whether or not she might still be our friend were wasted. That she was evil all along. It would have put my mind to rest. I could have put her behind me, in some sense. I would have been able to move on, knowing once and for all that she is and always will be a traitor." I stop and shake my head, taking another sip of my coffee and massaging my temples. "It didn't turn out that way. She was so . . . upset . . . and emotional . . . and. . . . Ron, she seemed to be in so much pain. As it turned out, I was the one that lost it. I started screaming at her. I actually threw it in her face that her parents were tortured to death."

I see Ron wince. I know he's thinking of his own parents, and thanking Merlin that at least they didn't die by torture.

"Yes, well, she deserved it. What did she do, shrug and walk away?" His words are harsh, but I cannot help remembering that I'd assumed she'd react the same way.

I shake my head. "No . . . she started crying. I don't think she knew . . . she was so upset that I started to feel sorry for her. She kept telling me that I didn't know the whole story, but she was too afraid to tell me. Kept going on about the punishments the Death Eaters would give her. She made it sound like she was some sort of a prisoner."

"Sympathy," says Ron calmly. "She's playing you again, Harry. Of course she's not just going to be blunt and tell you off. She'll want to entwine herself around you again, get more information, and capture us. Don't fall for it."

Of course this explanation makes perfect sense, but I'm not so sure. Perhaps it is as Ron says, and I am falling into her beautifully laid trap once more—I've certainly considered the possibility myself. But that doesn't stop my doubts. I explain about the knife and my suspicions of her attempted suicide.

Ron just shakes his head. "She wasn't going to kill herself, Harry. She's probably planting it all as evidence to trick you and get more sympathy. And besides, even if she did kill herself, I'm not going to be losing any sleep over it." He stands and stretches. He pours his half-drank coffee into the sink and wanders toward the door. "I'll see you later. I want to see if I can't get an hour or two of sleep before morning."

Ron disappears out the doorway and I suddenly feel quite alone. Watching Ron retreat, a voice begins nagging at me once more, telling me that none of them support me. Of course they're my friends—I know that without question. But they don't feel what I do when it comes to Hermione. I can see why they don't—they didn't see her and talk to her. Even if they had, after what she did, I can't say I'd blame them if they still turned away. But I can't do that. Going to see Hermione has put me right in the middle of this mess. I can't just leave it here. There's more to all this and I won't stop until I get the whole story. Yet no one else seems to be behind me in this.

I sigh and stand, leaving my coffee on the table and not caring that Ginny, the biggest neat-freak of us all, will most likely bite my head off for it in a few hours. I take a seat on the old couch in front of the fireplace. The cushions are ripped in many places and springs poke up in certain areas, but it's warm and soft. I sit staring into the flames. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that light is beginning to color the sky outside the window.

I hear footsteps behind me and close my eyes, wondering who it is that will disrupt my solitude. I turn my head and see Hagrid walking over to me. He's so tall that he has to duck his head a little to walk through the house, because of the low ceilings. He sits down beside me and I can hear the couch screech in protest. He doesn't seem to notice.

"All righ' there, Harry?" he asks me quietly. I nod and Hagrid continues. "'Cause yeh gave us all quite the scare there earlier. And yeh don' look so good right now."

I say nothing and make no attempt to respond. It's not that I dislike Hagrid's concern, but I'm simply not in the mood to talk. Hagrid, however, seems determined to start a conversation and his next comment gets the desired result.

"I heard you an' Ron talkin' abou' Hermione in the kitchen."

I look at him, not particularly surprised. The house is small; people can't help overhearing things sometimes. "Eavesdropping, then?" I tease weakly.

"Not intentionally, I swear ter it. I jus' walked by an' happened ter overhear her name. I paused ter listen." He gives me an apologetic smile. "I think I heard most everythin'."

I nod again. "So go ahead then—read me the riot act. I expect to get it by every single person in this house before the morning's over, so get your turn over with now."

Hagrid sighs. "Harry, I ain' here ter yell at yeh, or ter criticize yer decisions. I trust yer judgment. But I can' say I trust Hermione. An' I don' think yeh should get involved any deeper with her. Yeah, a large reason fer my sayin' that is our safety, but I also don' wan' ter see yeh get hurt again. She's a great con artist. We all fell fer her. We all wanted so badly ter trust her fer a while there. But that time has passed. We know she's bad. If yeh feel sorry fer her, she'll be able ter use that ter gain yer trust—an' then she'll betray yeh again."

I wince at his final words and put my head in my hands. "I know. Believe me, I know. I don't know what to think about her, Hagrid. But you didn't see her! The way she looked . . . I just can't believe it's all an act. Maybe part of it, yeah, but when she was talking to me about being afraid all the time, and whatever it is that the Death Eaters do to her, the fear in her eyes and in her voice was real. That much I can swear to."

Hagrid's face takes on a look of sadness. "So yeh think they bin hurtin' her?"

I take a moment to consider, then nod. "I guess so. I don't see what else could cause such a reaction. And Hagrid, I know she's caused us enough suffering. I know what Ron would say—I know he'd be happy to let her be tortured to death at the hands of the Death Eaters. But I couldn't live with that. I still remember the old times and . . . maybe all along she was just acting, but I still feel like at one point we really were friends. And if I'm right about that, then … I just can't do nothing!"

Hagrid stares out the window silently for a moment before meeting my gaze steadily. "Harry, I know where yer comin' from. If she were ter die fer wha' she's done . . . I could accept that. She'd deserve it. But she doesn' deserve ter suffer as much as yeh suspect she is. Ter say tha' she did deserve it would be ter sink ter her level. I feel the same way you do—traitor though she is, she was once a friend, an' we should at least try ter prevent her from sufferin'. Ron an' his siblin's have lost more than any of us. It's no surprise he wouldn' be willin' ter see this the way we do. I can' blame him fer that."

"No, I can't either," I agree. "So what am I supposed to do?"

"I'm not sure, Harry. Jus' remember—whatever yeh decide ter do, do it with the knowledge o' the group and make sure yeh aren' jeopardizing any of us. Like it or not, yeh are our leader, and we need yeh. Yeh can' go riskin' yerself foolishly." Hagrid stands and pats my shoulder with one of his large hands, then wanders back down the hall. I stare once more into the dying flames of the fire. Now what?

Somehow, my nighttime excursion manages to stay between Ron, Hagrid and I. Ginny, Fred, George, Neville, Katie, and Angelina show no signs of knowing anything.

I can't help but watch the group at breakfast. Such a small, pathetic band of rebels we are. These are the only people Ron and I had managed to get out of the Gryffindor common room and down the secret passage to safety before the Death Eaters took us all. I know where Sirius is—he's hiding out somewhere with Dumbledore's group, more of our allies. We don't know specifically where they're located, a security precaution in case one of us is ever captured and fed Veritaserum. Likewise, they don't know our exact location. Their group consists of Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus Lupin, the real Mad-Eye Moody, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, and a few Aurors and other Ministry personnel. They call themselves the Order of the Phoenix. We've always been too busy trying to stay alive to bother coming up with a name for ourselves.

I notice Ron and Hagrid watching me rather closely as I eat, but I don't return their gazes. Many of the others demand to know where I'd gone. When I refuse to speak of it, saying that it doesn't matter, it only makes them more determined. By the end of breakfast, I've managed to successfully piss off almost everyone with the exception of Fred and George, who plainly refuse to give up and find my determination to be a delightful challenge.

Fred and George tail me everywhere I go until I get fed up with them, yell at them, and lock myself in our room. I climb out the window and sit outside on the tree stump below, watching the sun come up and cast its grayish rays over the white and green trees. I can't figure out what to do about Hermione. Should I follow Ron's advice? Hagrid's? Disregard them both and follow my own instincts? I don't know what to do. The only way I can stop the Death Eaters from hurting her is to take her away from Hogwarts, and that would be putting us in jeopardy. Voldemort would figure out that it was us and he'd hunt us even more viciously. No, I can't do that. But then what can I do?

I let out a loud, aggravated growl, startling a few birds in a nearby bush and making them take flight. It's ridiculous that I should be so concerned about her! Here I sit, angering my only friends left in the world, considering risking their lives and my own, all for the person who put us here in the first place. What the hell am I doing? But even as my frustration grows, I can't shake the growing feeling of necessity that plagues me.

After a half an hour of thought, I climb back through the window and throw on a thick jacket. I've decided that I need more information before I do anything—and the only person I can get that information from is Hermione herself. I unlock the door and am relieved to see that Fred and George aren't determined enough to still be sitting there. I figure that had this all taken place back before Voldemort's takeover, they would have been persistent enough to go outside and climb through the window, or to use one of their own inventions to blast the door in, but most of their antics now are for the purpose of cheering up the rest of us, not for their own enjoyment.

Most of the others are sitting in the living room when I walk in. They all stop their conversations immediately and look at me.

"I'm going out," I announce awkwardly. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I just have some unfinished business to take care of. I should be back by nightfall. If I'm not back by tomorrow morning, then you can start worrying."

"Are you going back to wherever you were last night?" asks Ginny quietly.

"Yeah. Not everything got taken care of." I dare to look at Hagrid and Ron. Hagrid gives me a slight nod, a sign that he will back me up. Ron simply stares at me with sadness, and possibly even pity. My chest tightens at his facial expression, but I manage to say, "Ron, you're in charge while I'm gone."

"Probably for the best. I'm thinking a lot more clearly than you right now," he says calmly. I can see the flash in his eyes. His mellow mood has deteriorated and he's growing angry with what he considers my foolishness.

Even as murmurs break out, I don't respond. I head straight for the door without another word and step out into the frosty, biting winter air. A desolate wind sweeps the snow and the gray blanket of clouds overtakes the sun. I close my eyes and begin the process of Apparition.

It's around eleven a.m. when I reach the forest's edge again. It's a long hike between here and the safe Apparition point. I'm beginning to wonder why I've come now—I won't be able to make any move until nightfall, when I told my group to expect me back by. I suppose I'd simply needed to get away from everyone, and somehow waiting here seems a lot nicer than waiting back there.

I decide that climbing a tree would be safest. I'll have a better vantage point and people will be less likely to see me. The trees' trunks are coated in slippery frost and it takes me many attempts, and just as many painful falls, before I make it to the safety of a low, bushy branch.

The silence of the snow is relaxing as it begins to fall anew. As uncomfortable and cold as the tree is, I settle back and close my eyes, letting the flakes of snow speckle my hair and listening to the calming quiet.

I must have started dozing off, because when I heard the disruption, I awoke with a start. Suddenly the silence is broken, and I struggle up from my near-unconsciousness. I peer over the tree branch and see two figures making their way toward the Whomping Willow. One figure is tall and regal, its hand clamped firmly on the shoulder of a smaller figure, which has its head bowed. After a moment, I realize that the taller one is none other than Lucius Malfoy himself, new Headmaster of Hogwarts. Of course, it isn't called Hogwarts any longer—Lucius and Voldemort have renamed the school Puerclades, but I refuse to call it that. To call it by their name would be to admit defeat. It will always be Hogwarts to me.

I focus on the smaller figure now. It has to be a student. But why would the Headmaster lead a student out to the Whomping Willow? I must squint my eyes through the snow to make out any details of the distant figure. It takes me several seconds, then my eyes widen. It's Hermione.

I watch Lucius take a long stick and prod the knot at the base of the tree. It goes still and he shoves Hermione down into the secret passage below. He lets go of the knot and jumps in himself.

My heart is thudding as I grow more anxious. I don't know what's going on, but I know that I don't like it. Whatever Lucius is doing can't be good. It's obvious, even from such a great distance, that Hermione is not going with him willingly. I jump down. I'm going to see what's happening. I'm risking exposure and I know it, but I simply can't wait here and wonder what's happening out of my range of sight.

I jog through the snow toward the tree, praying no one is watching from the windows of the castle. I begin to slow as I near the trunk—I'm a fast sprinter, but the run from the forest to the willow is more than just a dash. It takes me a minute or two to reach it, and by the time I arrive, a stitch in my side is causing me an agony I force myself to ignore. I grab the same stick Lucius used and prod the knot. I try not to make any noise as I descend the steps into the dark, concrete hallway beneath the tree, wishing not for the first time that I'd had the presence of mind to grab my Invisibility Cloak. I dig my wand out of my pocket and walk forward cautiously. There's a blind corner about fifteen yards ahead and I'm certain that I can hear voices from around the bend, although I can't make out what's being said.

My steps are slow and quiet. The fifteen yards creeps by so slowly that I begin to think hours have passed. I'm only halfway there when I hear a voice ring out: "Crucio!"

My eyes widen as I hear Hermione's anguished scream. All thought of caution is lost, and I dash wildly for the corner. I force myself to calm down as I reach it, pressing my back to the wall and craning my neck just slightly around to catch a glimpse of what lies beyond. To my surprise, I see nothing but an empty hallway stretching onward for quite a distance. But I can still hear Hermione's screams and Lucius's laughter. As I begin to wonder if I've been tricked, Hermione stops screaming, and I can hear a footfall and a dull thud.

"How did you like that, Mudblood? I've always wondered if the Cruciatus Curse begins to lose some of its strength after one has been put under it a certain amount of times. What do you think?"

I stay standing resolutely where I am, horrible though it is to hear these things and do nothing. If I listen long enough, I tell myself logically, I may see with certainty where Hermione's loyalties lie. Still, though, I am baffled by the fact that I can't see either of them. I rack my brain, knowing I've heard this somewhere …

A Wall of Invisibility, I realize triumphantly. Ironically enough, it was something Hermione had mentioned to me during fourth year, when we were researching useful spells for the Triwizard Tournament. Now I only have to remember the counter-spell. What was it?

Lucius carries on, his voice fuelling a bitter fire within me. "Not feeling particularly chatty today? That's all right. We can find other ways to occupy the time, I'm sure. Get on your feet!"

What was it, what was it? I think frantically, my panic increasing as I hear Hermione whimper. Claritio, Acclear …

"Move quicker!" Lucius snaps, and there is another dull thud, followed by a cry of pain. It sounds as though he's kicked or hit her. "Now, get up, Mudblood, and address me as 'Master'!"

Sickened, I hear her reply, "Yes, master." Her voice is not full of the loyal ardor of a Death Eater, though, but rather, sounds entirely broken.

At last, it comes to me, and I whisper "Acclaro!"

The Wall of Invisibility vanishes and I can now see what it had concealed. Hermione is struggling to stand, leaning against the wall of the corridor, bloodied and shaking. Lucius stands before her, his back turned to me. The sight causes a powerful anger to erupt within me, but I force myself to hold it back, knowing that doing anything rash will only be to my detriment.

"You tremble in fear … I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be courageous?" Lucius mocks, reaching out and stroking the side of Hermione's face. She shuts her eyes tightly and shudders. Growling, Lucius draws back his hand and slaps her. "But then, Gryffindors aren't supposed to betray their friends either, are they? I guess the Sorting Hat made a mistake with you, now didn't it? You will answer when I ask you something, Mudblood!"

"Yes, it was mistaken," Hermione whispers, keeping her eyes shut tightly.

"Good girl. Obedience suits you," Lucius murmurs venomously. He steps closer to her and reaches out, running his hand along her arm, this time ignoring her shudder. "Now what shall we do with our time? Torture? Or something a bit more … pleasurable?"

I feel myself gag, my stomach tying itself in knots. I've heard more than enough. Readying my wand, I prepare to step out and reveal myself, but before I can, I hear Hermione respond softly, "You've never been particularly adept at either, Master."

A deafening silence follows, and I cannot help the grin that I feel spreading across my face. It vanishes a moment later, though, as Lucius pushes her to the ground and growls, "I'll teach you to hold your tongue, girl, or else I'll rip it from your body! Crucio!"

Rage roars to life inside me as Hermione begins to scream again, and I leap out into plain sight, aiming my wand at Lucius's back and crying, "Expelliarmus!"

Hearing my spell, Lucius barely manages to step out of its path, and spins to face me. Upon seeing me, his face breaks out into a sneer so reminiscent of Draco's that I'm forced to marvel at genetics. Behind him, Hermione has been released from the Cruciatus Curse, but she lies on the cold stone floor, coughing what looks very clearly to be blood.

"Harry Potter," he says, his sneer widening. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Drop your wand and let her go," I warn. "I swear I'll kill you if you don't."

Lucius laughs. "So you care about your dear Mudblood traitor now, do you? What happened to, 'you betrayed us all—I hope the Death Eaters give you what you deserve'?"

I wince inwardly, remembering that those were the words I'd written in a Howler I'd sent to Hermione about a year ago. I grit my teeth and hiss, "Doesn't matter what I think of her actions, I'm not letting you hurt her. Now get away!"

"If you want the girl then come and get her! Let's see just how good a dueler you are. Petrificus Totalus!"

A bolt of purple light sweeps toward me, but I dodge deftly. I whisper quietly, "Furnuculo!"

My own spell, murmured quietly enough so that Lucius doesn't know what I have aimed at him, does the trick. He doesn't manage to dodge my spell in time and angry red boils begin to appear everywhere, coating his face and hands. He roars in anger and hollers, "CRUCIO!"

Again I manage to dodge, though this time it is a much closer call. I see out of the corner of my eye that Hermione is beginning to crawl toward me while Lucius is preoccupied. I hope she gets to me quickly, so that we can get out of here; Lucius is a much more experienced dueler—this game of dodging will be short-lived, and then I'll be in for some trouble. "Stupefy!" I command.

Lucius jumps aside and the curse misses. He gives me a sneer. "Is that your best, Potter? Truly pathetic. How you've managed to evade us for so long is beyond me. Engorgio!"

This time his spell hits. My left arm begins to swell uncontrollably. It's an uncomfortable sensation, and it costs me some of my mobility, but I'm simply glad he missed my wand arm. I raise my good arm and shout, "Reducio!" A moment later, while he's still preoccupied dodging my first curse, I whisper, "Jevelosia!" He successfully dodges my first curse, as I had intended him to—but he has jumped right into the path of the Throwing Hex. It hits him in the stomach and he soars backwards, hitting the far wall. "Expelliarmus!" I howl while he's down and I see his wand flying toward me. I toss it to Hermione, as it's evident that she has no wand, and I pull her to her feet. She's hurt and leans against me heavily. I hear her groan in pain.

"Come on, we have to get out of here, he won't be down for long!" I snap, dragging her along.

She struggles against me and when I release her cautiously, she turns to face Lucius. She raises her wand and yells: "Stupefy!" Her voice is muffled with pain, but the curse hits anyway, and I can see Lucius slump. Hermione falls against me once more and I pull her along down the corridor. She is nearly unconscious and I can see blood on her face, trickling slowly out of the corner of her mouth.

We make it to the steps and climb upward. I can't reach for the stick to prod the knot while at the same time holding Hermione, so I make a mad dash for safety. One of the willow's branches whips my back and slices through my jacket, cutting into my skin. I can feel warm blood, but I don't stop to inspect the injury, allowing myself no more than a slight wince at the sting spreading along my backside.

Finally, we make it to the forest's edge. I collapse onto the snow once we have cleared the first few rows of trees. Hermione is fully unconscious now. I stare up at the gray sky above, panting. Here I lay, holding the traitor that put us in this position, having just basically compromised us all to stop her from being tortured. I've gone against everything I promised my group.

What have I done?