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'm sure that if for some reason he didn't before, he hates me now. How could he not? It's my fault that he's been thrown from his home, from the only people he could a family. Once again, I'm 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. 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'm 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're back in the cave. It's fully dark now, but the wind still whips and the snow still spirals. The cave is bitterly cold in comparison to the toasty 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's no point; members of his own group will not come to help us.

It's a few moments of awkward silence between the two of us until Sirius appears. This time he has company: Professor Remus Lupin. I haven't 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, then turns his attention to Harry. His face is passively blank, so I'm not sure what he's thinking, but it can't 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's not a look that comes from a few days of hardships, but from years of them. He's lost all confidence in the idea 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're dull, without any of the old spark. Immediately, my heart goes out to him. I understand that look exactly—it's the look I have myself. I'm unsure of how I've managed to miss it for so long. It's another painful blow, realizing that I'm the cause of it.

Harry sighs. "They've kicked me out," he mutters. "They had me choose between her and them."

"And you chose her," says Sirius simply. He looks at me, and now there is a plea in his eyes. He is begging me not to let Harry's choice to stand by me have been in vain, and reminding me once more of what he said earlier—that I owe Harry the secrets I keep.

Harry nods and I can see that his eyes are now alight with a belligerent and 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'll suffer even more without them."

Harry shakes his head and glances at me. There's 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 thick-headed best friend, I'll go back. But not without her. What other choice do I have anyway? I won't kill her, Professor."

I simply stare at him, at a loss to understand his reasoning. He's 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 of 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 fine—but we're also rather hungry."

As he says this, I realize for the first time that I'm truly famished. I havn't 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 first attempted suicide, I'd lost my appetite. Over forty-eight hours without food. My stomach seems to grumble in an angry, reprimanding way.

"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'll improvise, like always. 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 will be nearly impossible to enter. Remus casts a spell that makes heat remain in the room, no matter what the temperature 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 still stood and such colors were the some of the proudest—the days when I wore those very colors. At Puerclades—it's 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. 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 can't rob them of it all.

Harry looks up at me. I can't tell his expression by the dim lantern light, but from what I can see, it's blank again. To my best recollection, I can never remember Harry having such a completely unreadable face. I suppose it's 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. Talk. That can only mean one thing: he wants to know the truth. Deep down, I know and understand that he deserves that much after all I've done to him, after all he's done for me. 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, is it possible for me to bring myself to speak of it? People say that if you hold a secret inside for long enough, it's like a fizzy bottle of pop—it pushes upward, waiting for its chance to explode. That isn't really true, though. 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's possible to do so.

Harry continues, not acknowledging my silence. "I've risked a lot for you. 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, you can't help but get frustrated and walk away, eventually."

It's as though there's some sort of a painful lump blocking my throat. I can't 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 desperate to prove to him that I'm not the evil person everyone thinks me to be. I want to prove that he's right. But is he? No, I didn't betray them in the way they think, but what I've 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'm its murderer. Is there any excuse for that? Is there any way to make that right? I can't 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.

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 spoken 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's all my choice and that he doesn't 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 have to tell him.

I put my head 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 I've kept quiet for so long.

"It all started on Easter holiday in 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—while I believed it was an accident at the time, I now believe it to have been deliberate. I dropped all my potion bottles. None broke, because I protect them with an unbreakable charm, but several rolled down Knockturn Alley.

"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 snippet or two of what they were saying, something about 'the Dark Lord's plans' and 'Harry Potter and his friends.'

"I tried to move, to run, knowing that as they had 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 never have noticed me, probably."

I shake my head. It feels as though I am reliving the whole thing over again. I can remember that day perfectly, as most people remember the day in which their lives change forever. Suddenly, I'm no longer in this dingy cave, telling Harry this tale by the dirty lantern light. I've traveled back two years in time, and landed right in the middle of that crowded street.

I'm frozen in place. Harry? Ron and I? Voldemort? Words stream through my head, connected in a million possible ways. I've lost all sense of time

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 of Dark wizards, their heads turned in my direction. Though I can't see their eyes, I'm sure they're fixed upon me. My heart begins to pound. Here I stand, alone, helpless, down Knockturn Alley, confronted by several large men who have just been speaking of plans Voldemort has that concern me. This has to be one of the worst predicaments I've ever found myself in. "M-me?" I gasp. I'm surprised anything can be forced past the lump of terror in my throat.

"I think she heard us," mutters another one.

My heart races even faster. I have to run, and I try. I drop my potion bottles—they no longer matter. I begin to make a dash past them, desperate to get back into the safety of Diagon Alley. If I can get there, someone will help me. I don't 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. They drag me to a large old buiding building with a worn 'For Rent' sign propped in the window and shove me inside.

I've never been so terrified in my life, although I try my best not to show it. Certainly, I've been in tight spots in the past, but I almost always have had Harry or Ron at my side. This time, I'm terribly alone. While two of them hold me, the other two go about systematically closing blinds and locking doors. I have the sickening feeling that they've done this before. The building is empty except for some old, decrepit furniture lining the walls, clearly left there by whoever last used this building. One of the men grabs a rickety chair and despite my vicious struggles and screams, they get me into it and use light ropes from their wands to bind me there.

The four of them stand around me, gazing at me from the impentetrable gloom of the shadows of their hoods. That I am unable to see their faces scares me even more.

"I didn't hear anything, I swear! I don't know what you're talking about!" My pleas are desperate and my voice high-pitched. I know I mustn'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 shudder involuntarily. The man continues to look me over and finally says, "Don't kill her."

"What?" one of his companions demands.

"This isn't just any girl. This is the Mudblood friend of Harry Potter." He laughs, a chilling sound that makes my blood turn to ice. "To what do we owe this pleasure, dear Mudblood? I think the Dark Lord will enjoy meeting you."

I suddenly find it hard to breathe. Oh, Merlin, they're taking me to You-Know-Who himself! 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's 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 given 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 deeper into my skin the more I struggle. I slowly stop my fighting. 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 forward. "Do you deny your identity as Hermione Granger?"

I know that lying is futile. "No," I whisper.

"And do you deny that you are the friend of Harry Potter?"

"No."

The Death Eater nods and comes closer. He breaks my 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 can't see for the film of white before my eyes. I'm so dazed that I barely feel them dragging me out the back entrance of the abandoned shop. My nausea only increases as I feel them pull me along with them into the process of Apparition.

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 covered in intricate carvings of serpents and skulls. The lighting overhead is dim and tinted orange, casting frightening shadows everywhere, and making the doors' carved adornment appear almost bloody. Without a doubt, I know who is behind those doors. My head pounds from the blow I've just taken, and my vision is blurry. As I watch one of the Death Eaters raise his fist to knock, I feel more like I am watching this happen to somebody else rather than living it myself. It has all happened so fast. One minute I'm buying Potions supplies, the next I'm 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 creak. The room into which we step is even more dimly lit than the hall had been. I can just barely make out a figure sitting behind a table some distance away. A high voice commands, "LumosGrandai!" The room fills with a bright white light so intense that it makes me squint my tearing eyes. The light seems to come from the walls themselves, emanating from everywhere and nowhere at once.

And before me, more terrifying than I could ever have imagined him in my wildest of nightmares, stands Voldemort. His black robes billow around him in an almost elegant fashion, his hood pulled down to completely reveal his hideous visage. Against my will, I whimper as I struggle against the man who holds me. He laughs and pushes me forward, releasing me suddenly so that I fall to my knees. Suddenly, I'm on the ground looking up at Voldemort, a far scarier vantage point from which to observe my situation. As horrible as it is, I simply cannot tear my eyes away from him. His skin is sheet-white, his skull bald, too inhuman for hair to belong anymore. His eyes are that of a snake's, no more than menacing crimson slits. A serpentine 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 comes to stand directly before me, and I can feel his eyes burning into my body, but I can't look up, can't make my eyes meet his. I'm shaking harder than I knew a person could shake. My breathing is erratic. I'm desperately fighting back the urge to cry—I will not give him that satisfaction, much as I may want to. Suddenly, I feel his hand on my head, and so unexpected and horrible is it that I gasp and fall backwards, ignoring the Death Eaters' laughter. 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 won't 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 felt 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'm 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 with cold simplicity, pointing his wand at me.

I force myself to nod, knowing I can't speak.

His soft laugh echoes 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." No one hesitates, scurrying from the room quickly and gladly, closing the door behind them.

My fear has reached new heights. It's 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 this way. Though the Death Eaters are definitely terrible people whom I hate, it's somehow more terrifying now that they're gone and I'm alone with Voldemort. I have a new respect for Harry, having faced this man so many times in the past. I'm beginning to doubt my ability to survive even one encounter.

Voldemort stands and walks closer to me. "Stand up," he orders. I can't move, so 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'm barely aware of my surroundings until he releases me.

"I know what you feel when I touch you," he murmurs. " Are you curious?" 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, and along with it, every last bit of impurity to ever taint me. My power and purity of blood will not allow me to touch someone of such filthy heritage. Much like your dear friend Harry could not touch me." He smiles maniacally. "Of course, that no longer applies."

"Harry is a greater wizard than you'll ever be," I find myself saying, my voice shaking, but firm with belief nonetheless. I'm not even conscious of thinking the words, let alone deciding to say them. The moment they're out of my mouth, I regret them.

His eyes narrow and his sense of morbid amusement vanishes instantly. He raises his wand and for the first time in my life, I feel the power 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. It does not end for what seems like hours. Finally, I'm left panting and sobbing on the ground.

He steps forward and kicks me in the side, which does nothing to help me as I struggle 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 bother you so much? Because it's true that he's stronger? Because you know you'll never beat him"

Again it comes, longer and with more force this time. Even after he stops, the agony lasts. I know from my reading that repetitive use of the Cruciatus Curse is deadly—or if you're lucky, simply maddening. I fear that I'm dangerously close to the breaking point, for surely I cannot take that pain much more. I've lost all sense of logical thought, my mind numbed by the lasting pain.

He stoops down and grabs my shoulders in a vice-like grip. The sensation of his touch pales in comparison to the Cruciatus Curse, and I hardly even notice it this time. "Say that Harry Potter's power is nothing compared to mine. Say it, Mudblood, or else we can continue our game."

"N-Ne-ever …" I gasp, shutting my eyes as though hoping that if I will myself away from here, the pain I know is coming won't reach me.

And this time the pain is so great that I feel as though I would do anything to end it, anything to make it stop, to get just some smidgen of relief. I feel as though I'm being torn apart, hacked into pieces, still alive to feel every blow …. As the curse lifts, I'm barely conscious, fluttering between blessed blackness and awful life, and I can feel how this would drive someone mad, I know that anymore of this will surely push me into insanity …

Voldemort kneels before me again, grabbing the collar of my shirt and pulling my limp head up to face him. "This is your last chance, Mudblood. Do you disagree that Harry Potter's power pales in comparison to mine?"

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, hating myself for my weakness.

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 too willing to save your own life. It's a pity, because you could have saved the lives of your precious Harry and his Weasley friend as well, but I suppose it's no matter." He stands and points his wand at me again.

What he says reaches me. Save Harry and Ron? Certainly, any word that comes from Voldemort's mouth must be taken for a lie, but if there's any chance at all that he's offering me valuable information, I have to hear him out. "No," I gasp.

He looks at me, pleased that I have reacted as he'd hoped. "Good, you are feeling more willing now?" I nod, ashamed by how he's broken 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 nausea twists my stomach as the room spins wildly around me. I can't avoid it; I get sick all over the concrete floor. Weakened from my retching, I fall once more to my shaky knees with a disheartened sob.

"Up, Mudblood!" Voldemort hisses, his voice full of 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 conjures a chair and orders me to take a seat. I obey, grateful to remove the pressure from my wobbling legs, and immediately two snakes appear from nowhere to 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 I can.

"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 he has summoned. A moment later, from behind a table on the opposite side of the room, slides what must be the largest snake I've ever seen. It looks more like some grotesque, legless dinosaur than a serpant. It winds its way toward 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. All these snakes are frightening me even more. They were never something I was scared of, as some people are, but I never much cared for them. Now, as I am held prisoner by three such creatures, I can feel my unease mounting beyond simple dislike and into true fear.

"Now that we are situated . . ." begins Voldemort, grinning nastily at my terror. "I suppose you would like to hear my offer. First, let us clarify a few things. You would, of course, like to see your friends live?"

I nod meekly, keeping my eyes locked on a bit of his desk where I cannot see him or his snakes but through the most distant periphery of my eyes.

"There is but one way to guarantee their lives: by pleasing 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 say weakly, but with a hint of my temper showing through. "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 nevertheless. Given purer blood, you could have been a great asset to me, but alas, you will simply have to help me in ways more suited for someone of your status."

"Such as?"

"Such as getting me into your school."

My eyes widen. So that's what he wants from me—access to Hogwarts. "Why?" I demand after a moment of contemplation. "Why do you need my help? I'm a fifteen-year-old girl and you're asking my assistance? Surely a powerful Dark wizard like yourself can figure out a way to get inside without me."

His smile disappears and his upper lip curls in loathing. 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 growls, making no move for his wand, much to my relief. "If it weren't for Dumbledore, I'd still be able to. Sadly, 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 up, I am trapped outside. Only Dumbledore can deactivate him, and he would die before he allowed me in. The key to crushing him lies in the defeat of Hogwarts. I must get in." His eyes burn with a dangerous longing, and I get the feeling that he has almost forgotten my prescence talking more to himself than anyone else.

My confusion is enough to curb my terror, if only slightly. I ask, "But if only Dumbledore can undo them, then what help am I?"

His twisted smile is back. "Dumbledore feared that should he die, no one would be able to control his charms. So he secretly bestowed the power to open and close the magical gates to three of his most trusted pupils: 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'm in the hands of the nastiest Dark wizard to ever live, 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 wouldn't have wanted you to know of your own abilities in case you were ever forced to reveal them to me. Sadly, the old fool didn't realize that I have other sources of intelligence. 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 have 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 we will all 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 the first chance I get to kill them."

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 dilemma. 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 to the point of insanity. 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 it 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 thick crystal, with billowy royal purple smoke filling the inside. It looks much like a Remembrall. Criss-crossing silver beams encircle it from the outside, and 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 give your word to someone, it traps your agreement within it. As long as the Sphere remains intact, the commitment cannot be broken. I will keep the sphere with me, for I have no motive to break it and terminate our agreement. To do so would mean that I could kill the boys, yes, but it would also mean that you could betray me, something I would rather didn't happen. Therefore, it is safe in my hands.

"Now, Mudblood," he instructs, "say your name and your side of the agreement."

Knowing I must word my promise just so if I have any hope of warning Dumbledore, I think carefully before I speak. "I, Hermione Granger—" I begin at last.

But Voldemort waves his wand suddenly, his cold voice crying, "Imperio!"

Distantly now, I hear myself speaking even though I'm not forming the words. I hear my voice vow to serve Voldemort and use the power Dumbledore bestowed upon me to let him inside Hogwarts. I hear myself promise not to betray him, not to warn anyone so that they might impede his plans. Finally, when he feels that he has eliminated every last loophole I might have given myself, he lifts the Imperius Curse, and I realize with dread that I've backed myself into a corner.

I watch, my throat and stomach clenching in realization of my mistake, as 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.

"Wait!" I cry accusingly. "You haven't said your part of the deal yet!"

He smiles chillingly. "Dear, foolish Mudblood. Did you really think that any deal struck with me would be one on which you could rely?" His cold laughter fills the room as I watch the Sphere dangle above my head, my words trapped within it, binding me to a betrayal I now wish so desperately I could exchange for death.

As I finish 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 can't 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, having failed to warn anyone within." Finally, I look up, but my eyes are blurred with tears, so I can't 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. I know it's no excuse, and you'll probably think this is all a lie, but I am so, so, sorry for the way things turned out. I hate myself for it. I was just so selfish that I had to find some way to strike a deal so that Voldemort wouldn't hurt you and Ron. I thought any life was better than none." I go quiet for a moment. "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, Harry. I can't actively fight Voldemort. Not ever. 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." 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 does forgive me.

For the first time in two years, I feel relief.