You had always been too guileless. You spoke too much. I remember that SPEW campaign, the incessant raising of hands in class, so close to endearing. This was usually considered somewhat of a virtue of yours but in this new game, this darker game, the key was not to know what to say, not knowing the right answer, but knowing when to keep your mouth shut. Silence meant you could observe. Silence meant you could be trusted. Silence meant you lived. Hermione, you never could stay silent.
Harry had died, that was when all hell broke loose, as much as I hate to admit it. He fell, our side fell and in the desperation for survival many turned and chose the safety of Voldemort's embrace. Ordinary witches and wizards, individuals, are only interested in the well being of themselves and their families. If sacrificing freedom for food, shelter and safety is their only option then they will choose to lose that freedom so prized during peacetime. Better the devil you know afterall.
Only a few die-hard fighters remain, buried under false identities and scattered across the globe they lie hidden and scared and useless. They too are retrieving their lives from the ruins. I remain by His side. To turn tail now would prove men like Lucius Malfoy right, and I have my pride to think of. Besides, what do I have worth salvaging?
You, you decided to become the hero. You were never cut out for that sort of thing, I mean really. Researching, decoding, learning that was your skill, it was clear right from the start that you were meant to stay backstage aiding those with a greater role to play. Underapreciated, perhaps, but nonetheless not a warrior. Who could dissuade you? Not I. Now only you and I remain, behind enemy lines, no man's land a hub of enemy activity. Two academics forced to take the places of soldiers. No surprise then that we make a complete mess of it.
I make my excuses and leave the hordes of robed figures downing liquor and waiting with wetted lips for the next bout of carnage. Malfoy slips me an exaggerated wink. He knows I am headed for the room where you are situated, waiting for passers by.
Merlin only knows how you made it this far. Your drugged body lies sprawled underneath me. From below, the sound of reveller's stamping their feet shakes the walls. For a long time I have thought of how I would do it. There was never any question of not doing it, but how, when? Under this cover, I think, no one will hear. Perhaps I can even persuade myself that I do not hear either. I take a moment to brush a stray hair from your brow.
You are tired, almost drifting into sleep. I reach for a pillow resting to one side of your tousled curls. You murmur with pleasure, moving slightly underneath me, lost in some dream or perhaps just lost in your role of 'sexy little Gryphindor turned bad'. Did you never realise that you were just a toy? That you never heard anything of use despite your protestations? That they laughed at you? That being a spy is not just some exotic mask to be put on and off at will, nothing more than an exciting game? I must stop these thoughts or else my will be swayed. Inhaling deeply I look to one side, Merlin help us all if it has come to this.
I place the softness over your face and push down gently. However, you struggle and I have no choice but to pin your head down to the mattress, hold the pillow hard against your face. I didn't want it to be this way but you forced me, can't you see? If only you had listened to me. Your head twists and turns, you might cry out but noise from below muffles your words. Stop struggling, dammit! This is taking too long. Should I stop now, while I still can? I debate too long, your strength fades.
I remove the pillow. My eyes clear and I can see again. A ruckus reaches me from downstairs. There are some shouts of joy and the clinking of glasses. I smile slightly and close your eyes.
Shifting my weight from off of you I roll to the other side of the bed and pull the covers up and over. Your mouth remains slightly open as if in protest. I suppose some things never change.
Not lingering, I return downstairs. My mask never slips, and soon I am again immersed in the dark colours and sounds around me. I wonder for how long I have stemmed the flood of evil. I do not wonder whether it was worth bothering.
AN: title taken from Keats. Thankyou for reading if you made it to the end! Sal xxxx