Tears of the Phoenix

by Aradia17

They use my name in the Light rebel camps sometimes, but when they do, it is uttered as a curse, a filthy name to be spat rather than spoken: Hermione Granger, traitor to the Light side. But they don't understand. No one does. No one can. HHr

9. Breaking Bonds

9

Breaking Bonds

"This is my life

It's not what it was before

All these feelings I've shared

And these are my dreams

That I've never lived before

Somebody shake me 'cause I

I must be sleeping."

--Staind

Fear is eating me alive from the inside out, but below the terror that pounds through my veins lies a force equally powerful: excitement and hope. For the past two years of my miserable existence, I have envisioned the moment when my hands would lift that wretched Sphere from its crystal perch and hold it high above my head. I would throw it to the ground and watch as a shower of crimson shards filled my world. It would be the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. No matter how many times I saw it in my mind, I never tired of it. But deep down, I'd never expected that moment to actually become real. Now here it is—a chance to live out a dream that has sustained me for so long. A chance handed to me by the last person I'd ever have suspected—by someone whom I don't deserve to receive anything from. By a friend I've betrayed in more ways than I can easily count.

As I stand here next to him, it's still too far beyond me to understand his thought processes. How can he forgive me so completely? Certainly he still has his doubts about my loyalty, but for him to even place this much faith in me is unbelievable after all I've done to him. Now he's willing to risk everything he's been fighting for to help me, when he wouldn't have to be fighting so hard for anything if it wasn't for me in the first place. I feel a headache coming on just trying to reason it out. In all my dreams, no matter how far-fetched, forgiveness from my friends was something I never hoped I could earn. And yet I've gained it from Harry—with no understanding as to how or why.

I suppose he sees my conflicted expression and mistakes it for worry, because he walks closer to me and, after a moment's hesitation, copies my earlier sign of reassurance—he grabs my hand and gives it a quick squeeze before releasing it. "We can do this," he says softly, full of confidence.

I consider correcting him, telling him that I'm not worried, just confused. In the end, I decide against it. "We seem to have switched places," I say instead, smiling faintly. "A moment ago I was reassuring you."

"We all need reassurance sometimes," he replies. He says no more, walking further into the cave and leaving me standing at the entrance by myself.

The silence gives me time to think everything through. I begin to realize that I'm dwelling far too much on the best aspect of it all—destroying the Sphere of Truth. In order to attain that goal, I first must survive the much harsher and more frightening elements of this plan. For the first time, I understand the full caliber of what I've agreed to. I'm going to allow Lucius to capture me. I have told Harry to do nothing to help me, to focus only on getting the Sphere. Lucius has tortured me to the brink of death for far less than this. I shudder to think what I will have to go through. Will I even survive? What if he doesn't even take me to his office—what if he takes me directly to Voldemort himself? These new doubts send shivers down my spine. This plan has so many holes, so many ways for it to go wrong, that it's really nothing short of madness. And yet it's all we can do. I can't back down now, no matter how strong my apprehension is. I deserve whatever I get, anyway.

Still, my worries present a notable thought which we have both somehow overlooked in our exhaustion: "What if he takes me right to Voldemort?"

Harry turns to look at me, brow furrowed in thought. "We have to make sure you get into the office," he says slowly. "It would be too easy for him to drag you off somewhere else if you just walk in the doors and announce your arrival. We need to rework this." He thinks for a few minutes, then says, "You don't know the password to Lucius's office, do you?"

"No. If I did, I daresay this would all be quite a bit easier."

"Everyone else in the castle has less authority than Lucius, right? He holds the highest position?" Harry questions.

"Yes, he's in charge, except on the rare occassions when Voldemort is in the castle. Why? What are you planning?" I ask.

"Well, if you were captured by someone other than Lucius, then that person would take you right up to his office, I'd assume? They'd defer to their superior." I nod. "Okay. Then Lucius would be likely to keep you in there for at least a little while if someone brought you right to him. So we need someone else to catch you and deliver you to him. One of the professors, not a student."

"Snape," I pipe up instantly.

Harry scowls, as though the name puts a bad taste in his mouth. "Snape! The bloody traitor! I always knew Dumbledore was wrong in trusting him. Should have known he'd still be there." He goes on to call Snape a variety of colorful names. "So why exactly do you want him to catch you?"

"Hard as it may be for you to believe, Snape's the kindest person in that school. No, don't give me that look, Harry, I'm serious. All the other professors are . . . horribly cruel. It's not even right to call them professors—they're just Death Eaters. They use the Cruciatus Curse on you if you get an answer wrong. They've used it on me before because I got too many correct. Detentions are … well, suffice it to say that detentions at Puerclades consist of things even Filch would have found to be awful. Snape's never hurt any of us. He's been surprisingly nice to me. Not to say he's ever been supportive, but he never forces me to answer questions, or picks on me in class like he used to. He's not given me one detention since this all began. And certain times when I've been unable to complete the assigned work for . . . various reasons, he's never marked me down. He's the only person who I can practically guarantee won't try to hurt me."

Harry grimaces in sympathy and lays a hand on my arm. I shrug him off and he retracts it. I swear that for a moment I see something that looks almost like hurt in his eyes, but he breaks eye contact a moment later and continues on the conversation as though none of this has taken place. "Okay, then he's our best bet. Snape it is."

"How do we get all the way down to the dungeons without being seen?"

"The same we're getting in without being seen—the Invisibility Cloak. We'll both use it to get down there, then you'll go out and I'll stay hidden." Harry bites his lip. "We'll need to work up an excuse as to why you'd present yourself to them, though. They'll anticipate a trap if you just walk in without an explanation."

"I doubt it," I argue. "Ever since that Howler you sent me—which exploded in front of everyone—they all know that you hate me. They'll just suspect what they always have—that I tried to return and was shunned, so I've come back to the only people who'll keep me. The only one who'll doubt that is Voldemort himself, and if luck is with us, we won't have to meet up with him."

Harry's expression is pained. "Hermione, I'm sorry—"

"Don't be," I cut him off, knowing that he is referring to the Howler. "I don't want your apologies. I don't deserve them." I turn away, clearly indicating that this particular strain of conversation has ended. "So that's the plan, then."

"That's the plan," Harry echoes, a look of apology still on his face.

It's another ten minutes before Sirius returns, holding a folded, silvery bundle in his right hand. Harry takes the cloak from him and nods, letting it run over his fingers, looking almost like liquid as it flows over his hands. Looking up at Sirius, he says, "Thanks. For everything."

Sirius puts a hand on Harry's shoulder in a fatherly way. The affectionate moment ends quickly as he looks to me. I force myself to find the courage to meet his eyes and not look away. Sirius walks closer. My courage disappears at his close proximity, and I turn my attention to my shoes.

"Harry trusts you, Hermione," he says quietly. "I personally don't understand why he trusts you so much, but he does. I'll go along with his decision. I really hope he's made the right one. He could use someone like you—or someone like he thinks you are, depending on whether this is all still an act. He lost a big part of himself the day you turned traitor. He's never been the same. I'd really like to see that part of my godson restored. All I can do is beg you not to betray him again." Once he's finished saying this, he raises his voice so that Harry can hear as well. "Harry, you know the way to the emergency safe house? You know where it is and what spells it takes to get in?"

"Yeah."

"Go there once you're done at Puerclades. It'll keep you safe for the time being." Sirius looks at me pointedly as he adds, "Go there no matter what happens."

I understand what he means by this—he is telling Harry to go to this safe house, with me if I prove myself loyal, or alone if I ultimately end up a traitor. His distrust is like a painful stake through my heart, but at least I can understand it. I know why he doesn't trust me and I expect it—I almost welcome it. Harry's behavior, while so much kinder, is so much harder to assess, and therefore harder to cope with.

Sirius continues. "I would like to help you, as would Dumbledore. Unfortunately, we all agree that it's too risky. We can't risk the lives of our entire resistance on this battle when it has no real point in the overall war. I wanted to come to help you myself, but Dumbledore forbid me. But if you need me . . . if you want me . . . I'll be there, Dumbledore's orders be damned."

Harry smiles gratefully but shakes his head. "No worries. I understand where you're coming from. If things were reversed, I'd make the same decision. I wouldn't let you help if you wanted to—and I don't want you to defy Dumbledore my sake. You've helped enough. We'll contact you once it's done." I notice his emphasis on the word 'we'.

"Best of luck," says Sirius, embracing Harry tightly. I can see the deep worry written in his features. He still considers himself responsible for Harry and still blames himself for Lily and James's deaths. He is obviously worried that he will soon have another death on his conscience.

And now we're on our own, Sirius departing without another word or warning. Harry fingers the cloak again, staring at it with an unreadable expression. Finally, he sighs and glances up at me. "I guess it's time, then," he says without expression.

"I suppose," I respond softly.

"So what's the best time to go in?" he asks.

"After classes have ended, but before dinner if we hope to catch Snape alone in his office. The Death Eaters all have meetings after dinner, so we couldn't catch him later."

"Then we'd best start out now."

The walk is long and silent. The only sound comes from the crunching of the snow beneath our feet and our increasingly ragged breaths. The air is bitterly cold, so harsh that it turns our throats raw and sensitive within minutes, making every breath a painful venture. Our silence is heavy and tense. Both of us are dealing with our own demons about this plan, fear keeping us from putting our worries into words. After a while, my throat stops working properly and I can hardly swallow. My fear has far surpassed terror, and ventured into an unnamed level of fright. I'm shaking, and not entirely from the cold. The more I try to keep my mind on the moment when that Sphere will break into a million shards of glass, the harder it seems.

It's a long and biting trek from that cave to the edge of the Forbidden Forest around Puerclades, but for me, it's over far too soon. In what seems like seconds after we set off, we are kneeling in the snowy bushes and looking out at the entrance of a place that built my life at one time, and ruined it at another.

Harry speaks for the first time in over an hour. "What time do classes let out?"

"Around four in the afternoon. Then the students have two hours before dinner for homework."

"What's the day today?" he asks, considering this for the first time. "Is it a weekend or a weekday?"

I think hard. So much has happened recently that I've lost track of time. I never really paid much attention while I was trapped in Puerclades anyway. I've learned that the more attention I pay to the time, the harder it is to continue on each day. "I think it's Sunday," I whisper. "I'm not certain, though."

"We're going with that, then, because my calculations say it's Sunday as well," says Harry, nodding. "We might as well check, because if it's a weekend, we don't have to wait. If we're wrong, we'll just slip back out. It can't hurt, can it?"

"Yes, it can," I say grimly. "But I suppose it's all we can do."

Harry unfolds the Invisibility Cloak with a few graceful shakes, sending it gliding and shimmering through the frigid air, its color complementing the ivory snow. Harry pauses me, giving me a look that clearly lets me know this is the last chance to back out. Knowing that he's only sending this message for my benefit, I step forward and allow him to throw the cloak snugly about our shoulders. As Harry's grown quite tall, he has to duck down to make sure the cloak covers us entirely.

It's much warmer under the silky material. Our breath, which has been freezing and turning to mist, is now trapped in the cloak with us, adding extra warmth. Despite this, I'm shivering more fiercely than ever, and I can feel that Harry is experiencing a few tremors of his own, but I say nothing. For a moment, we both seem content to stand here in silence, staring up at the castle with trepidation. Finally, Harry sighs and takes a step forward. I follow and try to keep my steps even with his as we make our way through the snow and up to the castle. If either of us falls too far behind while under the cloak, it'll come off entirely, which is not something we want while standing out in the middle of an open, snowy courtyard.

I look behind me just before we reach the treeline. "Stop," I hiss to Harry, and he instantly complies.

"What is it?" he asks, looking around us warily as though someone is standing there listening.

"Our footprints," I mutter. "Don't you think that footprints appearing in the snow with no one to make them must look a little weird for anyone that happens to be peering out of their windows right now?"

Harry winces. "Yeah, I didn't think of that. . . . Okay, you face forward and take steps when I tell you to. I'll face backwards and clear the footprints as I go with my wand. We'll have to go slow so as to keep the Invisibility Cloak over new footprints, because seeing a footprint appear mysteriously in the snow, then vanish a moment later must look even weirder."

Our progress up to the castle is quite tedious. I'm lucky to get as far as ten feet in sixty seconds. One would think that I would be relieved at the slow pace—that I would be grateful for every instant I have before actually reaching the castle. In all honesty, I wish we could just get there and put the plan into motion. Sitting here with my heart thudding painfully and my body shivering in terror is not in any way ideal. My stomach is twisting in painful knots that, at different intervals, make me switch between feeling near tears and close to throwing up. I'd rather just get it over with than stand here and put up with the nerves for any longer.

Even considering these musings of mine, when we finally do reach the doors of the castle, I can't say I feel relieved, or at all different from the way I've felt since we left the comfort of the cave. I pause on the top of the steps, allowing Harry to vanish our most recent footsteps. Finally, he turns to me and raises an eyebrow. It's clear that he's attempting to look prepared and determined, but I can read the fear in him.

"Ready, then?" he asks.

"Harry, I'm beginning to get impatient with your constant desire to turn me away from this," I say in a slightly irritated tone.

"I just don't want to see you hurt. I still … I still care about you." I read in his expression that saying these words is a trial for him. He's uncertain of how I'll take it, and isn't even fully sure he means them. But I can also see that he does not regret them.

"I don't know why you would," I reply softly. He opens his mouth to retort, but I've tired of the conversation. I push open the doors to the Entrance Hall and he's forced to fall silent.

My heart pounds as I take the risk of opening the doors wide enough to step through. What if someone is in here and they see the door mysteriously open by itself? What was I thinking, opening the door without being sure the Entrance Hall is empty?

Unfortunately, my suspicions that someone might be within are correct. Once Harry and I have stepped inside and the door is gliding silently shut behind us, we notice two fifth year boys standing some distance away in a dark corner. They're watching the door through narrowed eyes. For a moment, all is still, including Harry and I. Then the boys exchange a glance and pull out their wands, beginning to advance toward the doors uncertainly.

I feel Harry raise his wand next to me and mutter, "Stupefy!" twice, aiming once at each boy. The spell connects, and they don't even have time to wonder what hit them before they fold limply into a heap on the floor.

I expect some sort of a reprimand from Harry for being stupid enough to open the door, but it doesn't come. Instead, he begins to walk silently toward the fallen boys, and I have no choice but to follow in an effort to keep the cloak over us both. He looks down at them and raises his wand again, aiming a couple of dueling hexes at each of them. The final product is the taller boy sporting an assortment of nasty looking, acid green pustules across every bit of visible skin, and a shock of hair in patches of different colors; and the shorter boy, whom I vaguely recognize as being one of the professors' sons, having a great deal of white hair coming from his nostrils and teeth large enough to rival a beaver's. I raise an eyebrow at Harry, questioning why he bothered doing this.

Harry shrugs, a small sort of smile playing on his lips. "Two reasons. One—if anyone finds them, it'll just look like they were in a duel. No one will suspect anything odd. And two . . . well, I couldn't resist hexing the future Death Eaters of the world."

He knelt down and grabbed the wand out of the limp hand of the boy with the green pustules, handing it to me. "Here. So we're both armed."

I nod shortly and clench the wand tightly in my fist, thankful for it. It's a terribly vulnerable feeling to be wandless.

We set out again, with a closer eye toward caution. We pass many students talking in the halls, which confirms our suspicions that this is indeed a weekend, for had it not been, all of them would have been in class at this time. We have a couple of close run-ins—namely, almost running into a group of girls when I stumbled over the bottom of the cloak; and almost revealing ourselves when Harry attempted to dive at Draco Malfoy as we passed him—but we reach the corridor to Snape's dungeon without too much interference.

After what seems like far too short a time, we are standing in front of Snape's classroom. I stare at it with apprehension, the full caliber of the insanity of this plan hitting me. Am I really just going to walk in? What will I say? What will Snape do? Can I really do this?

Harry seems to sense my doubts and grabs my hand. I look at him, not bothering to conceal my fear. "This is madness," I whisper, managing a small, weak laugh.

"That's an understatement," he replies in an equally soft voice. "Look, you said it yourself that Snape won't hurt you. I'm going to be standing just out here in the shadows. I'll be with you the whole way. You won't be able to see me, but never doubt that I'm there. I won't leave you."

"What happens if you don't manage to slip up to Lucius's office with me? What if you miss your chance and I'm alone and don't even know it until I make my move?" I ask, a sudden desperation to turn back grabbing me.

He squeezes my hand before releasing it. "That won't happen. Even if I miss the chance the first time, I'll hear the password. I can open it again and slip up. But that won't happen. Now go on. I won't come inside because I don't want to risk being seen, but I'll be right out here. Okay?"

I nod, my throat clenched too tightly to say a word. I take several deep breaths before ducking out from under the cloak.

I feel so vulnerable without the cloak to protect me. Being out in the open is a terrifying feeling, and all I want is to conceal myself once more. Not being able to see Harry doesn't help. I know he's there, but that doesn't stop the feeling of abandonment that strangles me.

Harry's voice whispers encouragingly, "You can do it, Hermione."

If this were a fairy tale and I was the heroine, Harry's words would have been enough to fill me with a sudden feeling of certainty and confidence, and I would have strode through the doors to confront Snape proudly, my head held high. But this is not a fairy tale. Harry's words do nothing to stop the pounding of my heart and the terrified tremors racing through me. It helps me a little to know he's still with me, but the extent to which his words help pretty much ends there. Nevertheless, I force my shaking hand to reach for the doorknob and twist it.

The hinges of the door creak loudly, and the sound echoes imposingly. The room is empty, and there's no sign of Professor Snape or anyone else. I force myself to take one more step, then another, and another, toward the desk beyond which lies the Potions Master's office. I make no effort to hurry, but even so, it doesn't take long until I can see through the window in his office door. Sure enough, Severus Snape sits at his desk, scribbling fiercely on a piece of parchment, the look on his face annoyed enough for me to guess that he's grading a truly horrendous student paper. The door is open and he's facing me, but he's focused on the paper and doesn't seem aware that I'm here.

Uncertainty grips me. Oh, what do I do? Possibilities of how to start off the conversation run through my mind, each as unlikely and ridiculous as the next. "Hello, Professor, how're things? Anything new since I've been gone?" and "Oh, is that a test I missed? Can I take it once Malfoy is done torturing me for running off?" Under other circumstances, such musings might have struck me as funny, but now they only serve to frighten me more.

In the end, Snape saves me the trouble of deciding on anything. Finally finishing his writing, he looks up while he dips his quill in a bottle of ink, and his eyes fall on me. I breathe in sharply as he stares at me in what is apparent disbelief for several moments. His stupor does not last nearly long enough for my tastes, and he stands up with a grimace, striding around his desk and out the door. There is another desk in the main portion of the classroom, facing out over the dungeon, and he comes to stand on the other side of this one. He slams his palms down on the wooden surface and leans forward, glaring at me. "What do you think you're doing?" he demands angrily.

My mouth opens and closes several times before I manage to utter anything vaguely resembling words. "I—I—I don't understand what you mean, Professor." My voice is choked and filled with shock. I hadn't expected this sort of a reaction—but then, I'm not too sure what I did expect.

"I would assume my meaning is perfectly clear, Miss Granger. What are you doing back here, you foolish girl?" he hisses.

I'm quite surprised, and begin rambling a response without much thought. "I went back . . . to Harry and Ron, and they turned me away, like I guess I should have known they would, so I . . . I came back. What did you expect me to do?"

Snape let out a growl, his cold black eyes flashing. "Miss Granger, I'm sorry to say that I've overestimated your intelligence these past years by a great margin. They turned you away—that does not matter! Surely there is someplace out there where you could have stayed hidden? You finally get a chance to escape this place, and you return to it?" His voice is full of incredulous sarcasm.

"I didn't know where to go," I lie. "I just . . . I just thought . . . I don't know . . ." I trail off, feeling completely lost.

He sighs in exasperation, and meets my gaze with a penetrating one of his own. "Tell me, Miss Granger, do you enjoy being the Death Eaters' punching bag? Or do you have some deep, underlying interest in the Dark Arts? Because I'd have thought that you'd have the sense to get as far away from this wretched place as you can while you had the chance!"

"Of course I don't like what they do to me!" I snap furiously. Who does he think he is? "And I'll die before I'm loyal to the Dark side!"

"Then answer my question—what has brought you back?"

I feel like kicking myself. I've just turned a perfectly good excuse. I lied and claimed that I have become interested in the Dark Arts—it isn't as though I care about Snape's opinion. The whole idea is to get him to take me to Lucius, and apparently he needs an excuse before he'll do that. Arguing in my own defense isn't helping. I've backed myself into a corner, and now I'll have to find a lie of my own—a lie more substantial than the one about Harry turning me away. In the end, though, Snape's penetrating glare gets the better of me, and my mind remains blank.

"I . . ." I say, trailing off with a shrug of uncertainty.

He doesn't say anything, but nor does he stop boring his eyes into me. I focus my gaze on the stone floor instead, unnerved but desperate not to show signs of weakness.

"Of course," he whispers, sounding as though an idea is dawning on him. I look up in confusion and he asks me harshly, "How did you get in without anyone seeing you? The whole school's been on alert since you took off, warned to capture you at any given opportunity. You could not possibly have made it down here without someone grabbing you."

Oh, Merlin, he knows! I realize desperately. I'd been a fool to assume we could trick him! He is staring at me expectantly, and I mutter lamely in a futile effort to delay the inevitable, "I was . . . lucky . . . I guess . . ."

"Lucky. Of course," he murmurs silkily. He knows, I can see it in his eyes. I can feel my fear rising, and before I can decide on a more sensible course of action, I turn, intending to run for the door and hoping that Harry and I can make it back out before we're trapped.

Snape's reflexes are simply too fast. He lunges across the desk and snags my arm in a bruising, vice-like grip. I cry out in horror and pull the wand Harry gave me from the pocket in my robes, aiming it at him. Once again, he is faster. He knocks the wand from my hand and it flies through the air, landing on the ground some ten feet away. Snape grabs my other arm and I begin to struggle violently. It's over, I realize with a sense of dreadful defeat. It's really over. I just hope that Harry has the sense to get out without me.

"Miss Granger, calm yourself!" Snape orders harshly. "I am not going to hurt you! I am simply attempting to keep you from running out the door or hexing me—I will release you once it seems likely that you will not do either!"

"Oh, certainly, I believe you!" I snap, attempting to punch him in the jaw when he wasn't expecting me to be aiming my hands in that direction. I miss.

When he speaks again, his voice is choppy with the effort of restraining me, but it's uncharacteristically sincere and calm. "I ask you—since Hogwarts was turned into Puerclades, have I ever harmed you?"

I unconsciously begin to stop my struggles, though I don't stop tugging at my arms every now and then. His tone and his words reach me. True, as I told Harry, he's never hurt me or harassed me since everything changed. My fear has not subsided, but I'm beginning to listen to him, and truth be told, struggling was doing me very little good anyway.

"Good girl," he mutters as I cease my attempts to escape. "If you make a run for the door, I will stop you, but you may retrieve your wand." True to his word, he releases me.

I don't move for ten whole seconds, staring at him in shock. Despite the fact that I'd stopped struggling, I hadn't expected him to let me go. I can feel a dull, throbbing ache where his hands had been wrapped so tightly around my arms, and I know that it's only a matter of time until the skin there bruises.

"Well, are you going to get it or will we stand here all night?" Snape demands with a scowl.

I nod slowly, stepping away from the desk and walking over to where the wand landed. I never take my eyes off him, fearing he might attack me from behind, though I can see no logic in such action. Once my hand closes around the handle of the wand, I leap to my feet, pointing it straight at him. He makes no move to pull out his own. I realize for the first time that he didn't once bother pulling out his wand—he'd let me struggle when there were dozens of curses that could easily have stopped me.

He sighs in exasperation. "Lower the wand, or I will be forced to confiscate it from you, which I'd rather not do."

"Why should I?" I ask daringly, not yet willing to put away my best means of self-defense.

He rolls his eyes skyward as I remember seeing him do so many times in the past when Neville turned a potion so unbelievably wrong that it was hardly conceivable. However, when he speaks, he keeps his voice even and low, without its usual growl. "I didn't tell you to put it away, Miss Granger, just to lower it. My wand is in my office. If you'd like to verify that, summon it to you and hold it. I already told you that I don't intend to hurt you."

While summoning Snape's wand is most likely the sensible thing to do, for some reason, I refrain. I'm confused. A minute ago I'd been completely convinced that he was going to torture me or expose my plan to Lucius, or both. Now I don't know what's going on. I lower my wand slowly to my side and step closer to the desk. I stay just out of his reach, watching him in wary curiosity.

Snape gazes at me with an unreadable expression. "I don't suppose it's necessary to ask you to confirm my suspicions after that episode, but for the sake of being thorough, I'll make sure that I'm completely correct. You snuck in under Potter's Invisibility Cloak? And I suppose Potter and Weasley are lurking around here somewhere as well, still hidden? Come for some daring plan, I anticipate?"

I don't bother to deny it—to do so would be pointless, and would gain me a worse punishment, depending on what he intends to do with this information. He'd still believe what he does, and I'd look like a fool. But even so, I don't mention that only Harry and I are present, and that Ron is probably off somewhere wishing me dead. "How did you know?" I ask softly.

"Do not take me for a fool. It may have taken me a moment, but it was the only thing that made any sense. Why else would you have returned? Why else would you have presented yourself to me without even a decent excuse as to why you are here? How else could you not have been seen and dragged away long before you reached this classroom?" Snape asks rhetorically. His logic is unbeatable. Why didn't Harry and I anticipate this? It should have been obvious that Snape would figure it out.

"What are you going to do to me?" I whisper.

"I'm shocked that our brightest pupil could possibly be so dense. How many times must I repeat the fact that I do not intend to hurt you?" he says waspishly.

"Then what are you going to do?" I press. "Tell Malfoy about all of this?"

He studies me intently. "No, Miss Granger. I will not tell Malfoy a thing."

I frown for a moment, about to demand why, when I finally catch the thought that's been eluding me, and the last puzzle piece snaps into place. I blink, feeling startled that I had not considered it before. "You're still with Dumbledore, aren't you?"

"Bravo, she gets it at long last," he says scathingly. "Indeed, I am. I've not had much chance to speak with him in the last two years, with the exception of a couple of brief informational exchanges, but I remain loyal to him. I've known that you were not responsible for this, as Dumbledore thought you to be, but I dared not pass along that information. To do so would have been asking for death. I was only able to pass small, seemingly useless bits of information to him, because I'm monitored closely.

"I don't intend to hand you over to Lucius Malfoy, but I'm afraid I can't help you. I have a cover to maintain. Therefore, I will give you one chance to go out, find Potter, slip back under his cloak, and then you can abort your little mission and leave. No one will ever know that any of this happened here today."

For a moment, I consider agreeing and thanking him, consider running back out to the corridor and telling Harry we can't do this. But this urge is small and fleeting, and using some reserve of courage that I didn't even know I possessed, I shake my head. "I can't do that, Professor."

"Gryffindor courage may be useful in some situations, but you are misusing it in this one," says Snape in disgust. "If you decide to stay, I will have no choice but to take you to Lucius. I must maintain my cover. I won't tell him what we've spoken of, but I'll have to follow his orders and deliver you to him. If he finds out you were here and I didn't bring you, Dumbledore's only spy within this school will be compromised, and I am not willing to risk that for your foolish attempt at heroism. Last chance, girl—get out and save your life."

For a moment, I consider telling him that the whole point of this was to get him to take me to Lucius in the first place, but decide against it within a millisecond. The less he knows, the better. I shake my head again. "It's too late for second thoughts, sir. I'm staying. You do what you have to—I understand. But I'm not leaving."

Snape is clearly disgusted with me. Without a word, he turns and strides into his office, grabbing his wand and returning to me. He nods to the door. "Get going then, Granger."

I turn and begin to walk back to the door. This entire confrontation has been so much different than I'd imagined. The pure madness has kept me from contemplating what still lies ahead, but now, as our footsteps echo throughout the dead air of the dungeon, my throat is beginning to constrict again. I'm going to face Lucius now, but I haven't a shred of confidence that this plan is going to work. Up until this point, we've been finding loose ends lying everywhere, and it's a miracle we've made it this far. Luck can only carry us so much further.

Once we're out in the corridor, Snape stops, and I turn to look at him. "Last chance," he mutters in a low tone. "Once we're seen by even one person, you can't change your decision."

"I don't want to change it," I say resolutely, though my voice quavers as I speak.

Snape points to the end of the corridor, indicating that I should start walking again. I hear him sigh softly behind me once I've begun moving, and I turn around just in time to see him casting a furtive glance around. I suspect that he's looking for Harry.

We—or should I say I—get many startled glances and jeers as we walk through the upper corridors. I struggle to keep my eyes lowered and look passive and meek, which I must admit is not hard. Fear is racing through me at a speed faster than light. I'm praying silently that Harry is behind me, keeping up. I want nothing more than to look back and see, but to do so would be foolish. It would give the impression that I'm looking for something should anyone be watching me too closely, and I won't see him even if he is there. In the end, though it's a struggle, I manage to keep my attention focused forward the entire time.

The corridor leading to the Headmaster's office is deserted. Snape and I stop in front of the gargoyle, neither of us saying a word. As Snape moves forward, aiming his wand, I'm sure that I hear a soft footfall somewhere behind me. This belief is reinforced when Snape spins around quickly, apparently having heard it, too. No one is there—the corridor is still apparently empty. I feel relief wash over me in that instant, and I'm sure some of it shows on my face. Harry is indeed still behind me, lurking under his Invisibility Cloak. Snape is looking at me, and I'm sure he knows that Harry is there, but he turns back to the gargoyle and raises his wand without a word.

He does a series of complex wand movements, accompanied by a long password that is interrupted by more wand movements. Lucius's password is a far cry from the simple sweets that Dumbledore used. Sometime during this, when Snape's attention is focused on the process of gaining entrance, I feel a hand on my shoulder. My head snaps to one side, and I see only air, but the hand is still resting on my arm. I give the apparently empty space next to me the smallest of smiles. I dare not speak to Harry, though the temptation is great. I'd rather Snape doesn't have confirmation that he's here, and we're far too close to the headmaster's office to assume we're not being overheard.

The gargoyle slides back, revealing the spiral staircase heading up to the headmaster's office. Never before has that fleet of steps looked more imposing. I hear soft motions next to me and Harry's hand leaves my shoulder. The footsteps continue, and I assume he's moving into a position to follow me closely. I shuffle about in an effort to hide the small sounds he's making.

Snape looks at me. "I'll need the wand you're carrying. Lucius will expect me to have taken it from you. I must." He holds out his hand. With a great amount of regret, I give up my only weapon. Things just became harder. Now Harry's going to have to find a suitable time to pass me his wand without his presence being realized, or without his wand ending up in Lucius's possession as well.

Snape nods and tucks the wand away in his robes, gesturing up the stairs. I begin to move forward, and when my foot hits the first stair, I feel sure that I hear him whisper, "I'm sorry, Miss Granger."

Blood is pounding in my ears, giving me quite the splitting headache. My stomach is doing advanced gymnastics inside my belly, doing nothing to tame my queasiness. The walk up that staircase is the longest and most painful trek I've ever made. When at long last I come to a halt before the wooden door leading into the office, my hands are shaking, and it's all I can do not to allow the rest of my body to break out in violent tremors.

Snape moves past me to knock on the door, and when his back is turned, I feel Harry's hand come into contact with my shoulder again. His presence, while helpful and relieving, isn't enough to calm my terror.

"Lucius! I've with me someone you'd be interested in seeing," calls Snape through the closed door.

"Enter," says the cold voice of Lucius Malfoy. Snape turns back to look at me. For the first time in the seven years I've known the man, I see something resembling pity in his eyes. Not giving me long to consider it, he turns and opens the door, stepping in before me.

I can't see Lucius through the small opening between the door and the wall, but I can still hear him. "So who is it you've brought, Severus? I don't have time to wait around."

"Girl!" Snape calls. "Get in here!"

I raise my head and step into the office with as much dignity as I can muster. Harry's hand doesn't leave my shoulder once, which is a comfort. However, he removes it the moment we're both inside, moving away, presumably, to a safer area where there is less risk of someone running into him unintentionally.

Lucius's cold gray eyes narrow at the sight of me and I narrow my own back at him. "Well, well, well, what an unexpected surprise," he murmurs. "So they turned you away, did they? How unlikely." His voice is full of furious sarcasm.

I say nothing. My throat isn't working well enough to allow me to force any words out.

"Severus, leave us," says Lucius without turning his eyes away from me.

"Of course," Snape says with a slight inclination of his head before ducking back out the door and closing it softly behind him.

Lucius walks slowly around his desk, his eyes sweeping me up and down, not saying a word. I fight to keep my expression proud and undaunted, but it's becoming more difficult by the second. The one thing that keeps me from full blown panic is the knowledge that Harry is here. Out of sight, perhaps, but here nevertheless.

He doesn't stop until he is so close that I can feel his breath on my face. I notice for the first time the wand he holds in his hand, which he is now pointing at me. Before I can react or step away, he hisses in a voice barely more than a whisper, "Crucio."

Some people might think that being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse many times would lead you to become used to it, to some degree. I can tell you that this is not the case. The pain is never any easier to handle, and you can never, with any amount of practice, manage to keep a right state of mind when you are put under it. You can learn not to scream, not to cry, not to completely break down, but it never becomes easier.

Lucius doesn't let up for what seems like forever. I find myself on the floor when he does, with no clear memory of having gotten there. I don't make a motion to get up. Why bother? He'll most likely just knock me down again, and my knees are far too weak to be stable. I've managed to hold back tears, and I'd rather not show any weakness, but I simply can't find the strength to pull myself to my feet. He's spinning his wand in his fingers with a thoughtful expression, and I have a horrible feeling that he's contemplating what horror he will subject me to next.

I force myself to keep my mind focused. The only way out of this is to do what we came here to do. The first task I must complete is getting him to admit that the Sphere was created unfairly, and that I never agreed to betray my friends. This is a necessary step in proving to Harry that I'm innocent.

"So tell me, Mudblood," he says softly. His arrogant eyes are cool enough to have been carved from pure ice. "Who was it that turned you away in the end? One of the Weasleys? I'm sure they hate you for giving us the opportunity to destroy their family. Or perhaps Dumbledore? I don't suppose he's quite so open to second chances anymore. Or was it even your precious Potter? I'm surprised he bothered saving you. Waste of time, wasn't it? To save you and then turn you back to me? Do tell me what the point of that whole ordeal was?"

I don't respond. He's baiting me, trying to trigger me into yelling at him or breaking down. Eye on the prize, Hermione, I say firmly to myself. You've got your lead-in to the desired conversation. Use it!

"It's all that bloody Sphere," I say, my voice shaking. "It ruined my whole life."

Lucius smirks. "It was your own foolishness that led you to be trapped in the deal. Only a Gryffindor would be idiot enough to think that they could successfully make a deal with the Dark Lord."

I'm not sure if that's enough for Harry. Lucius's words are vague, and don't say all too clearly what I want them to. I press further, trying to get Lucius to say in a more obvious manner that Voldemort had tricked me into it.

"It didn't make sense," I whisper, trying to sound delirious. "I didn't think I'd agreed to anything. I didn't think … how did he do it?"

Lucius's eyes flash coldly. "You are far too curious for your own good," he hisses, pulling me up by my arms, which are already sore from where Snape had grabbed them earlier. I cry out. Lifting me off my feet, he throws me unceremoniously into the chair on the other side of his desk. My head snaps back so fast that my neck is cricked painfully.

When I dare look up at him again, he's watching me through half-closed eyes. "Inquiring in things that are not your business is a dangerous thing, Mudblood. You must remember that curiousity killed the cat." He grabs my face in one hand and makes me look him in the eyes, clearly searching me, wondering if there is something more behind my questions than simple rambling. At last he pushes me away, apparently satisfied that I'm up to nothing. "It's not as though it was hard, I'm sure," he finishes. "Foolish little girls are easy to trick."

I'm still not sure if that will be a satisfactory amount of information for Harry, but I dare not press it farther. To do so would be asking for far worse than I've already received. I am trembling fiercely. I know that I now must focus my attention on getting the Sphere. I can see it from where I sit, perched in its glass container on the bookshelf across the room. Sitting on a silver staff in the center of the hollow glass cube, it glimmers in the dim light. Most people would consider the way it catches the light to be mesmerizing. I see it as menacing.

Lucius is twirling his wand again. He has not made a motion to move out from in front of my chair. The Sphere is on the other side of the room. I haven't a hope of getting to it if he doesn't move.

Without warning, Lucius's hand darts out and catches me around the neck. His fingers tighten to the point where I cannot breathe.

"I've tired of this conversation," he says in an almost bored tone. "I hope you enjoyed your moments with your old friends, because the vacation's over. And you're about to realize that it's not a good idea to cross me."

I claw desperately at him with my hands, but it's futile. By this point, I can feel my eyes rolling back into my head. My lungs are burning desperately for air, and just as I'm beginning to think that I will not survive, he releases me. I slump down into the chair, coughing and gasping for breath, my vision distorted and fuzzy. With each inhalation, my lungs sting sharply. As I breathe, though, the stinging begins to subside. That's more than I can say for my head, which is throbbing something awful.

"You didn't expect me to kill you that soon, did you?" he taunts. "No, I have much more in store for you. You'll soon be seeing death as a luxury—one you won't have the pleasure of experiencing." He aims his wand at me and I close my eyes, preparing to feel the torturous pain of the Cruciatus Curse again.

This time I can't hold back my scream, and I'm sure that I'm going to pass out from the pain when he lifts the curse once more, laughing softly.

"How does that feel, Mudblood? Does it feel better or worse than the rejection of your friends? Do you think they'd enjoy watching you suffer right now? Do you think they'd want to help me?"

Even knowing that Harry is standing in this very room, risking his life to help me, Lucius's words cut me deeply, and against my will, a tear falls from my eye.

"Oh, don't cry yet!" Lucius cackles. "We've only begun." He aims his wand again and I brace myself for the pain.

It doesn't come. Instead, an ear-shattering alarm splits the air like a banshee's shriek. The crystal around the Sphere of Truth is suddenly pulsating with red light, and I realize that the alarm must have been set off.

Lucius spins to look toward the glass case, and seeing my opportunity, I force my pain-numbed limbs to leap upward and pounce onto his back. Lucius, not expecting this, topples forward. However, it's a lost battle from the start. I'm weak from the lasting effects of the Cruciatus Curse and a lack of air, and he's as strong as ever, also armed with a wand. He has me pinned in ten seconds, and when I try to struggle, his fist lashes out, crushing my nose. A moment later, I can feel my hot blood running down my face. The pain is awful—I doubt my nose is broken, but it certainly feels like it. Through it all, the alarm still howls.

And then, just as quickly as this entire thing began, Lucius's weight is no longer atop me. I hear his angry cry of, "POTTER!" and I open my eyes. Harry, apparently having abandoned the Invisibility Cloak, is now wrestling with him fiercely. I realize that Harry must have touched the glass in an effort to set off the alarm, as I told him that contact with it would. He's giving me the chance to get to it.

"Hermione!" Harry yells. Although it takes every last bit of my strength and then some, I push myself to my feet and look to him. The moment he sees he has my attention, his wand spirals toward me through the air. "Get it!"

The wand soars past me and lands on the ground some distance away. I stagger over and grab it, making a run for the Sphere. Behind me, Lucius is making every effort to get past Harry, but Harry has somehow managed to relieve him of his wand, making it quite a bit harder on the older man. However, it is obvious that Harry is still losing. Lucius is hitting at him furiously, and even as I watch, the Death Eater's fist connects with Harry's eye. I know he won't be able to hold his own for much longer.

I grab the glass and am instantly filled with pain. I gasp and release it, only then remembering that Lucius has imbued it with the Cruciatus curse. This time prepared, I force myself to take the it—I can't waste time looking for a counter-spell. The pain is awful, and it's all I can do to keep myself from passing out, weakened as I am from my first two rounds with this Unforgiveable Curse and my own vain struggles. My pain resistance is worn down and I can hardly take it. Despite this, all seems to be going well until I realize that I cannot pull the glass container from the surface it's sitting on. It's as though it has adhered to the wood. I let go of it again, panting for breath and leaning on the shelf in an effort to remain standing. I puzzle quickly over which spell is being used to bind the glass to the wood.

"Hermione, hurry!" Harry is calling with a definite note of panic.

All the sound is beginning to take its toll on me—the shrieking alarm, Harry's calls to speed up, Lucius's yelled threats. It's increasing the pain in my skull to a near unbearable level, making it almost impossible to think coherently. I know that I have to figure out which binding charm has been used, then find the counter-spell, but I just can't make my mind work . . .

Somehow, I manage with great difficulty to focus on the task at hand. Is a Permanent Sticking Charm being used? No, that wouldn't make sense—then Lucius wouldn't be able to remove it either. So then which, out of a spectrum of different levels and intensities of bonding charms, is being used?

I vaguely remember an extra credit assignment I was working on in fifth year for Charms class, about binding charms. How was it that you could tell a higher power charm from one of a lower power? I have to know, for each has a separate counter-spell. I close my eyes in an attempt to block out my surroundings and remember. After several seconds of rifling through my memory, it comes to me—I must run my finger along the place where the two bound objects meet. If I feel a surge of magic upon doing this, the charm is of a higher intensity.

My eyes snap open and I quickly run the tip of my finger along the very bottom of the glass where it meets the wooden shelf. I immediately receive the customary shock of pain from the glass, but I force myself on anyway. I feel an odd tingling sensation that has never before accompanied the pain from touching the glass. It has to be the aftereffects of a magical surge.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I raise Harry's wand, praying that I am right. "Exonoro!" I say firmly. I watch as a small, barely noticeable blue light runs along the bottom of the glass, finally fading once it has touched every place where the glass is bound.

Sighing in relief, I reach out and pull the glass casing from the wood. This time, the pain fades as soon as the glass leaves the surface, and the alarm goes suddenly silent, which is a relief to my aching skull. I toss the glass case to one side negligently, where it lands on an armchair by the small, roaring fire. My hands shaking, wondering if I really have gotten past all the barriers, or if more are to come, I reach out and pull the Sphere of Truth from its perch. It is chillingly cool to the touch, and much lighter than I'd imagined. It had looked quite heavy, but is barely heavier then one of my textbooks. I allow myself a smile of grim satisfaction. At long last, it is I who have power over the Sphere, and not the other way around.

The scene does not play out the way I'd imagined it so many times. For one thing, I cannot simply smash the Sphere to the floor—I must use magic to destroy it. I also didn't imagine that I would have blood streaming from my burning nose, nor did I ever picture Harry struggling valiantly behind me to hold Lucius Malfoy at bay without magic. But what is most notably different is that never, in all my dreams, was this moment more stunningly amazing.

I toss the sphere into the air with my left hand and aim Harry's wand with my right. This will be my only chance. In its ascent, the Sphere catches the light and glints. Lucius and Harry stop struggling to watch. Time seems to freeze—everyone is perfectly attuned to the movement of the Sphere. Nothing matters but that, for if I succeed, then everything here is settled.

I raise the wand, praying that my timing is correct. "Finite Invitus Nodus!" I say clearly, focusing all my thoughts and putting all my will into it. Never in all my life have I put such sheer force of will and feeling into a single spell. Even my words seem to be in slow motion.

And then the world erupts in crimson. Not just the glass shards falling, but a brilliant light that washes down, bathing us all in its phosphorescence. I feel as though I'm floating. My strength is growing with each passing instant. A rush of wonder passes through me. I feel something I have not felt in years—that everything is as it should be. Then these floating instants pass and I am back in painful reality, my whole body tingling, listening attentively to the glass rain sprinkling down around me.

I stumble, regaining my balance after the experience. The glass is littered at my feet. A gelatinous liquid is seeping along the floor, apparently released from core the Sphere. Some distance away I can see the golden bars that had once embraced the outside of the now nonexistent Sphere of Truth.

"No!" Lucius cries hoarsely. His eyes come alive with a mad, uncontrollable anger. "You will pay!"

He lunges towards me before Harry can stop him, but before I can even think about it, my wand arm is raised, and the word, "Stupefy!" has left my mouth. He slumps to the floor instantly and I do no more than stare at him and the destruction of the world around us. After all the endless, maddening noise, the silence surrounding me is startling in its potency. My dream has been fulfilled. I'm standing in a moment I'd only before imagined with a passionate longing. I see the glass case on the armchair, and on impulse, I reach out to it. In one swift motion, I slide it over the edge of the seat of the chair and watch as the crystal shatters, mingling with the blood red glass that already litters the floor.

In that instant I understand something that is both wondrous and frightening: it's over now. This most terrible part of my life has ended, opening a door to the next chapter. What lies ahead, unknown and mysterious, is sure to be terrible. But what lies behind is something I've been desperate to escape for a great many years.

I remember Harry's presence for the first time. He's suddenly right beside me, picking his way carefully through the glass and nursing a bruising jaw with his hand. He looks as bad as I must—his left eye is growing steadily darker from where Lucius hit him, and his glasses are dangling limply in his hand at his side, both the lenses shattered. There's a small trickle of blood running from the side of his mouth, as well as another seeping from his hairline. He looks exhausted, but he's grinning wearily. The two of us embrace instinctively. It's a relief to cling to him. In some way, it seems to verify that this all really is happening—that we really did succeed. While I know that so much still awaits me in the future, nothing could be as bleak as what I am now leaving behind. I have Harry. The Sphere is gone. Hope, however small and meager, does lie ahead. And that's enough to give me the courage to continue, and to restore the will to live that I lost so long ago.

"It's over, 'Mione," Harry murmurs softly. "You did it. You were great."

"Thank you," I whisper. "Thank you for everything. For believing in me enough to come with me this far."

"Well, I was right to trust you, clearly. I'm glad I did," he says, stepping away from me and looking around. "We have to get out of here now. Death Eaters are sure to be swarming up here any minute. How can we get out? Back under the Invisibility Cloak?"

"Floo Powder," I say, stepping over to Lucius's flaming furnace and picking some dust out of a dish on the mantle. "But where are we going?"

"Hideout in Diagon Alley," Harry mutters, bending down to grab his cloak from where he'd left it in a corner. He walks forward and takes some powder of his own. "Let's go, fast. Just say 'Resistance sanctuary--Diagon Alley'."

I nod, but something deep within calls to me. I feel a great power within me, waiting to be unleashed. In those instants when the Sphere exploded, a surge of magical power had rushed inside me. I feel strong. Leaving the destruction behind is not enough. I want to leave a message with it. I hold up a hand, telling Harry to wait, and I turn and walk to a suitable position. Then, using a simple spell I'd learned in first year, I begin to mutter an incantation as I move Harry's wand along through the air in the form of letters. When I'm finished, three-feet-high words hover in midair, reading: YOU HAVE NOT WON. I charm the letters to flash between gold and red, and throw in--with the aid of a very difficult charm--a roaring and slashing Gryffindor lion at the side.

With a small grin—the first smile of true happiness that I've worn in a long time—I look to Harry. He, too, is grinning. "Now it's done," I say softly. "Now they'll know that we're still out here, and it won't be as easy as they think to defeat us."

I walk back over to Harry, and for a moment, we are united as we stare at my work. There is something undeniably empowering in seeing that magical lion roar in the air, and a sort of pride overcomes me.

I hand Harry his wand, and something passes between us in that instant. On this day, I have severed an unwilling bond with Lord Voldemort—and at the same time, I have forged a new one with a best friend I thought I'd lost forever.

Leaving the destruction behind us, we step into the flames and are whisked away to a world of spiraling emerald.