8

Tentative Hope

"All my instincts, they return

And the grand façade so soon will burn

Without a noise, without my pride

I reach out from the inside."

--Peter Gabriel

I hold the weeping Hermione in my arms and think hard of what she's told me. I've watched her face the whole time she's been relaying her tale, and I can't claim that she looked anything but truthful. But she was so good at decieving us before . . . can I really believe my eyes? I'm desperate to do so, but despite the sacrifices I've made, I'm still unsure. It takes a long time to regain trust in someone who committed such a betrayal.

If she is telling the truth, then Sirius was right—this changes everything we few survivors have believed. This could change the tide of the war. Perhaps it would give the despairing people back some hope—hope spawned from the idea the Hermione Granger, long-called traitor, is really just a teenager who made a mistake and got herself trapped by the Dark Lord, like so many before her. Hope coming from the idea that there had never been a willfull betrayal at all. Perhaps that hope would be enough to stir up a revolt that could start a true war again, rather than mere scattered rebellion. And if we're in a war, then at least there will be some hope for success, however meager and unlikely.

Or maybe it will do nothing.

Maybe this is all one big lie, and there's no use in having fantasies of a positive future.

I sigh. There really are too many 'maybes' to do anything. I can't tell this to anyone yet. No one will believe me, and chances are that Hermione will forbid me to say anything anyway. I need proof before I bring this to anyone, with the exception of perhaps Sirius. Ron is definitely low on my list of potential confidantes. It will take him heaps of evidence to even begin to look at the possibility she's not a traitor, and a whole lot more than either of us can give to convince him. So looking at the prospect of evidence, I consider what it is I will do.

Finally, Hermione pulls away from me. Her cheeks are tear-streaked and her eyes red and swollen. The pain and apology in those eyes steal my heart. How could she fake that? Still, that irritating voice nags me not to trust her. I'm torn between loyalty to a one-time friend who says she needs my help and loyalty to my instincts. What do I believe? Can I even make such a decision?

She opens her mouth as if to say something, but lets out only a quivering breath. She's still trembling, but her composure is returning. Her eyes travel to the floor once more as I study her. While she looks pretty much the same as she did in our years at Hogwarts, she's a completely different person. The difference is in her eyes, which tell of the secret, untold horrors she's experienced in our time apart. She's lived many more than her seventeen years; so have I. The sad thing is, that fact is what keeps us separated.

"Hermione," I begin slowly, trying to gather the words. I'm not sure what I intend to say, but I feel I must say something. Now I'm drowning in a sea of words—or rather, diving into a shallow pool in which there are not enough to halt my fall. Finally, I give up the search for the right thing to say, instead just saying whatever I can.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the things I've said to you the past few days. I'm also sorry for saying what I'm about to. You know I've been all for giving you a chance, and if anything, I'm much more so now. But I can't put all my trust in you—you have to understand why. I'll do my best to get some evidence that you're telling the truth, but until I have it . . . I can't promise anything more than an alliance between us. I just . . . can't trust you. It's not even that I don't want to, because I do. You don't know how much I do. But after everything that's happened, even forgiveness can't rebuild that trust so quickly."

I can see her flinch, but she nods. "I'd expect no less," she whispers. "I don't deserve your trust. Merlin, I was so stupid, to make the decision I did. I can hardly believe it myself. I can't see you trusting me even if you had proof I'm not lying."

"If I have proof, I'll do everything I can to get you a place in our group," I say fiercely. "Because if you're being truthful, then you never meant for any of this to happen. You were trying to do the best you could for people, while up against Voldemort as he tortured you. He's baited and manipulated thousands of people. You're not the first. And you're not at fault."

"Whatever you say, Harry," she murmurs. I know she doesn't believe me, but I say nothing more on the subject.

Silence reigns as I contemplate what to do from here. I need a plan soon or else Sirius will do as he has threatened. I know I need evidence to prove Hermione's telling the truth, but what could possibly provide such evidence? Unless . . .

"Hermione," I say suddenly. "Do you know where this Sphere of Truth is kept?"

She nods. "Yes . . . I've seen it a million times in Lucius Malfoy's office . . . Dumbledore's old office. He keeps it in this glass case." She frowns, and there is a flicker of anger burning in her eyes. "He takes great pleasure in reminding me of my stupidity every time he forces me in there."

I nod slowly. "Good," I mutter. She looks perplexed, but rather than addressing this, I add, "I think I have a plan."

We sleep badly that night. I lay awake the whole time, considering my plan, altering it and adding to it. I can hear Hermione beside me, tossing and turning throughout the night and by her breathing, I know she's not resting. I believe I hear soft sobs at one point, but I can't be sure.

When the sun's first rays peek over the distant hilltops, and the light is a tired sort of gray, I shrug off the sleeping bag. It seems so much harder to stay awake while moving. The fatigue is tearing at me and I know that whatever I may plan, I will need rest before I do anything. Hermione is dragging in a similar fashion and we eat our food in silence.

Once we finish, Hermione stands and walks over to the cave's entrance. Instantly, I stiffen. The last time she headed that way was to kill herself. I watch cautiously, knowing that my fear is probably illogical, but unable to stop it regardless. She sits down near the entrance and leans against the wall, looking out, and as she does so, I let out a breath I was not aware of holding. She must hear me, because she glances back at me. Though she attempts to smile, it's an expression full of sadness rather than joy. I walk over to where she sits, my hands deep in the pockets of my pants, my face expressionless as I stare out over the snowy drifts that rise and fall along the mountainside.

"It doesn't look like it's going to snow again at least," whispers Hermione in an offhand voice.

"No," I reply. The conversation is brief and unnecessary, but serves the purpose of breaking through the thin, icy wall we've unconsciously constructed between ourselves this morning.

"You thought I was going to try to jump off the cliff again, didn't you?" she asks after a moment.

I wince, knowing I'm cornered. "I guess … kind of. It was stupid and irrational—I mean, walking to the front of the cave is not really much of a basis for guessing—but yeah, I was scared you were going to try it again," I admit reluctantly.

She looks at me with a pained, conflicted expression. "You were scared? For me?" She sighs, and the breath is shaky. "Why, Harry? Why is it that you alone have managed to look past the façade I've put up when no one else cares to take the time? My intentions don't matter; I still betrayed you. How can you forgive that? It's beyond me to understand anymore."

I contemplate my answer carefully before beginning to explain. "Yes, I was scared for you. Because if you're telling the truth—which I pray with all my heart that you are—then I've gained back the best friend I thought I'd lost. I care about you just as much as I ever did. And I can forgive you because it isn't something you can be blamed for. I, more than anyone, know the tricks Voldemort is capable of. Contrary to your own beliefs, this is not your fault."

"No, I didn't want to betray you," she acknowledges, looking down the mountainside. "But it was my stupidity and ignorance that placed me in such a position. That's just as bad."

"You made a mistake," I argue. "Not even you're perfect."

"Tell that to Ron," she says sadly, looking deep into my eyes. "Tell it to Fred and George and Ginny. To the relatives of everyone I've gotten killed. Tell them that, oh, by the way, I didn't mean it. It was only a mistake." Her laugh is as bitter and cold as the air around us. "Yes, Harry, I'm sure that's the way they'll look at it."

I can think of nothing to say to this. She clearly doesn't expect an answer as she turns her attention away again, and I'm left feeling awkward and uncomfortable. I still don't know where we stand. Just a moment ago I was arguing as though I believe her, but in my heart, I still don't. Not entirely. So what am I to do?

We sit here for at least an hour, shivering in the frigid morning air and lost deep in the confines of our turmoiled thoughts. I watch as the sun rises over the distant, gray horizon and paints the sky. I can't remember the last time I've seen the sun. Clouds have taken over my life, making it so that even when I remember sunny days, they are overcast in my memory. I have a feeling that if I look back on this day, I will view it as gray, too.

A loud crack echoes behind me and I spin around, startled, groping for my wand. I relax upon seeing that it's only Sirius, just having Apparated in, and I stand up to greet him. Hermione glances his way before turning her attention back outside.

"Anything new?" asks Sirius immediately. He never has been one to waste time—it's one of the things I normally like about him. Now, though, I wish he would beat around the bush for just a little while.

"Yeah. I feel . . ." I pause for a moment, considering how to explain my mixture of emotions. I sigh inwardly, knowing that whatever I say now will start me down a path, one I may not be able to retrace should I later find that my faith was misplaced. I shake aside my contemplations. "I feel completely confident that Hermione is our ally."

Sirius's expression is hard to read. He definitely doesn't look pleased, but nor does he seem to be disappointed in me. I can feel Hermione's gaze burning into me as she hears my proclamation, but I don't look at her. I know I don't have the courage. To look at her would mean allowing my mind to twist these words around, allowing me a chance to doubt myself. I don't have time for that right now, not if I want to present this to Sirius in a way that will help him to support me.

"And what are you basing this on?" he asks in the same weary, grim sort of voice that he has used with me since last night. I swear he puts on that blank face and shields his emotion just to drive me mad.

"I heard her story," I say, keeping my argument strong and confident, though no two words are less fit to describe the way I feel. "I believe her beyond a shadow of a doubt, Sirius, and I want to help her. But in order to do that—and in order to get proof that she can be trusted—I have to retrieve something."

Sirius runs his fingers through his hair and gives me another unreadable look. "Okay. What is it that you need to get?"

"A Sphere of Truth."

I've clearly caught him by surprise, and his eyes widen. "Er, Harry . . . those are very difficult to find, I'm not sure where I'll be able to get you one, especially in these times—"

"No," I say. "I don't need any Sphere of Truth. I need a specific Sphere of Truth. The one that was used to bind Hermione to an agreement she never actually made. Another bit of deception by the Dark Lord."

"I—I see," stammers Sirius, obviously having a more difficult time concealing his feelings as our discussion progresses. "You want to destroy it, then?"

"Yes. And use it as evidence of Hermione's loyalty."

"Do you know where to find it?"

Hermione speaks for the first time. "In the Headmaster's office at Puerclades," she says. Looking down, she adds, "In Lucius Malfoy's office."

Sirius falls silent. I can see the uncertainty etched in his every feature, can practically hear the wheels turning in his head. He doesn't respond to Hermione's words immediately, instead staring straight at me. His eyes bore into my own, and while I'm desperate to look away, I know that his gaze is far too binding to break. His eyes tell of confusion, mistrust, and worry, but I can also see in them a deep faith—a faith placed in me. He will trust my instincts and my beliefs. During this moment of silent contemplation, I understand that a decision is to be made—a decision that will ultimately be up to me. If I reassure Sirius, then he will, however reluctantly, go along with me. If I don't, then he will never trust Hermione, because I had even the barest hint of a doubt in her loyalty. That doubt will lead him to throw away any thoughts he might have had in her favor, and she'll forever be the enemy in his eyes. Though it's true that my mind is filled with a wide variety of hesitations and uncertainties, I simply can't ignore the voice in my head telling me to ignore them all and trust what my logical mind will not allow me to resolutely believe. I stop this debate and look at Sirius determinedly, not letting a hint of my reserve show in my eyes. I nod once. It is a barely noticeable gesture, but it's filled with a power that will not allow for any arguments. He's defeated and he knows it; I can see this in his every dismal feature, but he accepts it. He turns once more to Hermione.

"Are you're certain it's in Malfoy's office?" asks Sirius with resignation. He puts a derisive emphasis on Malfoy's name, but that's pretty much the only real feeling in his words. I notice the fatigue in his voice; he has the sound of a man who is about to forfeit an all-important battle. In a way, I know he is.

Hermione nods, but offers no more of an explanation.

"How?" Sirius presses. "If someone just told you, it isn't exactly credible information—"

"No one had to tell me," she replies bitterly. "He has a tendency to drag me in there on occasion for one reason or another. It gives him great pleasure to present to me that damn Sphere whenever I have the slightest urge to fight him on anything."

I glance at her out of my periphereal vision. The pain in her eyes speaks to me more than her words ever could. It's during moments like these, moments when she seems to be so vulnerable and wounded, that I cannot help but trust her. It's later that I look back on these times and question whether or not they're a decietful ploy.

Sirius can sense the hurtful memories that it seems he's triggered, but he doesn't apologize. "All right, then. Where in his office does he keep it? And, if you know, under what sort of magical security?"

"He keeps it in a glass case of sorts. It's right on his desk. Aside from having to get into Puerclades and then into his office, there are charms on it that will alert him should someone attempt to breach the glass. The glass itself has been enchanted with a form of the Cruciatus Curse; should the glass be touched before it has been magically released, the Cruciatus Curse triggers. Sort of like a Muggle shock, only far worse. Still, it's bearable if you're determined enough. I don't know what else, but I don't suppose that's all." As she finishes, I notice that she's shifting her weight between her left and right feet in a nervous gesture I recall from our Hogwarts days.

Sirius sighs and runs a hand through his thinning black hair. "Look, I'm not going to sit here and deny that I have my reservations about this. I've always tried to be honest when it wasn't absolutely necessary to lie, and I'm not going to be untruthful now. Harry, I think this is a bad decision. I don't agree with you in any regard. I'm all for giving her a chance, but not for risking your life. Hermione, to be blunt, I still don't trust you no matter what my godson may believe."

He peers at each of us searchingly before shaking his head. "Regardless, I'm going along with all this, because I'm apparently as mad as you are. Therefore, I'm going to say this now—this entire plan looks ridiculous. Getting into the school, getting into Malfoy's office, and getting past the magical defenses? That will be near impossible. And even if you break the Sphere, what will it prove? You can show it around all you like, but no one knows why it was originally instigated, or for what purpose. It won't convince anybody."

I let my argument die in my throat, realizing that he's right. Getting the Sphere won't help prove Hermione's innocence. Defeat pounds at me, but I push it aside. It doesn't matter that much. The fact is that this mission is no longer about restoring my place in my group, or giving others a reason to believe her. This is about me.

"Doesn't matter," I decide. "We're going for it anyway. I don't care if it doesn't prove anything to Ron. Ron's stubborn—it's hard to convince him to believe anything he doesn't want to. Eventually, with hard work from the both of us, he'll come around. But before we even try to convince Ron, I need proof myself." I look at Hermione. "I really believe you're telling the truth, but I need that Sphere to be positive. Aside from that fact, you can be a real ally in our fight against Voldemort—but in order for you to help us, that Sphere needs to be eliminated." I look back to Sirius. "Any way you look at it, we have to destroy the Sphere of Truth. We're doing it." My words ring with a finality that is not to be argued with.

Sirius nods and doesn't attempt to argue with me again. Instead he looks at Hermione, who still appears distant and guarded. "So how do we do this?"

Hermione doesn't seem to realize he's directing this question at her, because she makes no motion to answer. "Hermione?" I say gently, to get her attention.

She looks up at me, then at Sirius. "What, you expect me to know?" she demands after a moment.

"You know the school as it is now better than Harry and I," says Sirius logically. "Neither of us can even begin to make a plan without you. Can you think of any way to get into the school without getting caught?"

She leans against the cave wall and stares at her feet in silence. I can tell she's thinking from the way her brow is furrowed in concentration. Finally, she looks up at me and shakes her head. "I don't see how. None of the passages are safe anymore." She grimaces in shame. "I was forced to tell them."

Something clicks in my mind. "The passages!" I cry excitedly. "The day we were on the grounds, the day I first saw you in Gryffindor Tower, we were trying to get into the school. Fred and George found a secret passage that wasn't on the map. We didn't think the Death Eaters knew about it. I'll bet we can still use it!"

"The passage that's under a floor tile by the painting of those fourteenth century goblin monarchs in the corridor leading to the dungeons?" asks Hermione.

"I don't know where it comes out," I say slowly, my hope beginning to sink. "But you can enter the passage by crawling into an old, blocked up log half submerged in the water along the north bank of the lake. You tap the barricade of the log and say the correct word and it opens."

"Same passage," says Hermione defeatedly, sighing. "Draco Malfoy found that one about a year ago. His father is very much aware of it. There are always guards in that passage, along with the rest."

"Malfoy's still there?" I growl.

"Why wouldn't he be? It's a Dark Arts school. Most of the Slytherins still are there," she confirms.

"I hope I run into him while we're there. Could be fun."

"Right now, the problem is getting into the school, not what you're going to do once you're there," Sirius reminds me. I force my mind away from thoughts of hurting Draco Malfoy and focus once more on the task at hand.

"I suppose we'll have to keep it simple, then," I sigh. "Exercise the old Invisibility Cloak."

"And what, walk right through the front doors?" Sirius asks, sounding alarmed.

I shrug, knowing how dangerous it will be. "I meant simple in theory. Not so much in execution."

"That's mad," argues Hermione. "The slightest slip up and we'll be caught."

"There's nothing else to be done," I reason. "Besides, you definitely can't say they'll be expecting it. They'll be expecting some grander plan, which does give us an advantage."

"All right, then let's look at the next step: getting into Lucius Malfoy's office," says Sirius. "Even if you get into the school, you won't know the password. There's only one real way to get in there, aside from climbing up the side of the castle and into a window: we need him to let us in."

I stare. "What, you think we can just knock, and if we ask politely, he'll open up for us?"

"Not quite," Sirius murmurs. "If one of you were to just accidentally be captured, then there's a good chance that Malfoy would take you to his office, right, Hermione?"

"It depends," she says slowly. "If the prisoner was important enough, he probably would. He'd want to torture them himself." She frowns, looking unhappy. "I suppose I already know the answer, but what exactly are you planning?"

Sirius looks at her pointedly, and she nods, looking resigned. "As I thought," she whispers.

"Not a chance, Sirius," I snap, as I understand what he's saying. "You heard her, he'd take her up there to torture her, kill her even! I won't allow it!"

"It's our only chance, Harry."

"No," I say resolutely.

"Hear me out before you refuse," says Sirius, holding up his hand, trying to calm me down. I am visibly angry. "This is my idea: Hermione, you walk into the school and pretend to be returning, surrendering. He'll take you into his office most likely, won't he?" Hermione nods, still frowning. "Good. Then, Harry will be following you under his Invisibility Cloak. Lucius Malfoy opens the passage up to his office, and Harry slips in after the two of you. You trigger the right vein of conversation so that Harry can verify that your story is correct. You say Malfoy likes to gloat about how Voldemort tricked you into your agreement, so get him to do it again. When the opportunity presents itself, create a diversion so that Harry can seize the Sphere."

I'm fully prepared to let Sirius have it for his suggestion of making Hermione bait, but she surprises me by speaking up.

"It could work," she says slowly. "It's completely mad, of course, and leaves so much open to chance, but I don't see any other way. If Harry's with me, then I'll do it."

I watch her for a moment and nod curtly, still hating the turn our plan has taken. "My cloak is still back at our old hideout," I remember. "I doubt I'll be all too welcome there."

Sirius nods. "I'll talk to Dumbledore. Give me half an hour." And with that, he disappears, leaving Hermione and I as alone as if he'd never even been there.

Taking advantage of our time alone, I turn to her. "Hermione—" I start.

"Don't try to talk me out of it," she says immediately. "It's my decision to make."

"I know, but I don't want you to feel as though you have to do this, not when it's almost guaranteed to get you hurt."

"Don't you see, Harry? I do have to do this. We wouldn't be in this place if it wasn't for me. This is the least I can do. Yeah, Malfoy will probably torture me some, but I can deal with it. I've dealt with it for two years. I wouldn't be as eager if I were on my own, but if you're there, I think it'll keep me sane." She gives me a small smile and meets my gaze. "I'll be all right. But you have to promise that no matter what he does to me, anything short of killing me, you must maintain your cover. Don't try to save me. Just wait it out until you have a chance to grab the Sphere. That's the most important thing."

I must appear as though I'm about to argue (which I am), because she holds up a hand and gives me a look that is so reminiscent of the old Hermione that I fall silent. "Promise me, Harry," she demands.

"I promise," I relent after a moment of internal struggle. Still, I'm not sure how well I'll be able to keep my promise, depending on what Malfoy does.

"Good," she says, looking appeased. "Also, once you get the Sphere, you have to throw it to me. Voldemort and I, being the ones bound, are the only ones capable of destroying it."

"Do you know how to destroy it?" I ask.

"Yes. I just need you get that Sphere into my hands. And I'll need a wand—they still have mine."

"Do you need your wand to destroy it?" I ask apprehensively.

She shakes her head. "No—any wand will do. It will be harder with someone else's, but it's still possible."

I nod, but bite the inside of my lower lip hesitantly. She seems to sense my discomfort and reaches out to me, taking my hand in hers. For a moment, she looks at me uncertainly, as though expecting me to pull away. When I don't, it seems to encourage her a little and she says, "You don't have worry for me, Harry. I'll be okay."

"I don't believe that," I disagree. "You're telling me that so I won't worry. I saw what he was doing when I rescued you. He'll hurt you."

"It's nothing new," she says quietly. "I can handle it."

"But you shouldn't have to," I argue. "I don't want to put you in danger, Hermione. I don't want to see you hurt. We're doing this to stop the pain and suffering, not add more of it."

"We aren't backing out," she says stubbornly, pulling her hand from mine and turning away to gaze out of the cave mouth, her eyes full of determination. "I don't care what he does to me. Just get me that Sphere, Harry. I want more than anything to destroy it, for my own sake as much as anyone else's. That damn thing has kept me bound for two years and made me do things that are unimaginably awful. Because of that thing, my parents are dead, and you and Ron are on the run. I've had enough of it—I'm not putting up with it anymore. I'm going to smash it to pieces and show Voldemort that he can't hold me down forever. No torture can keep me from succeeding."

I can hear the strength and power in her words, and I can tell how much she truly feels what she's saying. It hits something within me as well. "Okay," I say after a moment, moved by her passion. "I won't fight it. I'm in."

She looks at me and her eyes are full of gratitude. In that instant, I realize that I've made some dream of hers come true. Thinking about it logically, she must have been wishing to destroy it for a long time. For her, this isn't simply a chance to prove herself to me, or to free herself from the Sphere's binding magic, but a chance to eliminate the one thing that has ruined every part of her life. Thinking of it in those terms, I can't help but think that this is the only right decision. We don't speak of it further, but we don't need to—we understand one another perfectly in our silence. For the first time since fifth year, I feel that we are one again, like we were when we were young. We're a team, feeling one another's emotions as well as our own. That sensation boosts my confidence. Hermione and I are partners. She won't betray me again—she never did in the first place. No more games of cat and mouse. This time, Voldemort will feel our wrath. This time, we won't back down.

And this time, we won't lose.