Title: Prisoner of the Light

Summary: There has been a great betrayal against the Light. An antidote to those Azkaban stories.

Disclaimer: See Prologue

Notes: I warn you, this will cast a few characters that I like a great deal in a rather unfavourable light. Also, as this is a little darker, or meant to be, I've tried in some bits to write in a slightly different style than is my inclination. I'm not sure how successful that has been. You tell me I guess.

Yes, it has been a while. I wanted the new chapter of 'The Early Years' (I really hate that title...) to be my next post, but I'm finding it impossible so here's this instead.

Chapter 2- Ooze

Four years later on, it was Hermione who finally got it. She was working as a full time Order member, mostly doing research. Hermione was competent in battle when she had to be, a powerful, resourceful and highly knowledgeable witch, but she didn't have the same adrenalin fuelled natural knack for it that you needed to be a field operative in the Order, or the killer instinct. Hermione was a pacifist at heart, so she stayed at home and probably ended up doing more good for the Light in her work there than five top Aurors.

Ron actually had become an Auror, but Hermione hadn't spoken to him properly in a very long while. Despite the rather non-platonic relationship Hermione had had with Ron at the time of Harry's arrest, and Harry's almost third wheel status in their group by the end of his last year, he turned out to be the glue that had held them together. The stress of not having him there to offload onto and give them something to calm down for coupled with the horror of their best friend's betrayal had been the greatest test for Hermione's and Ron's relationship, and they had failed. So Ron was an Auror and Hermione did not speak to him, though there was no animosity on her side, just the sad feeling of a missed opportunity. Hermione got the feeling from their sparse communication that Ron was not exactly happy, despite the status of the job he'd always wanted. Ron was above average for the normal wizard, but frankly mediocre in the Aurors. He and most of the Order knew that he did not quite deserve the post, having ridden in on a combination of Harry-fame and Harry-sympathy. This fact had only served to widen the distance between him and Hermione.

The War had been dragging on for longer than anyone wanted, and luck seemed to be on the wrong side. Remus Lupin was dead, killed by a Deatheater who, rather tragically, had actually already been captured. The Deatheater had broken from his bonds and killed Remus before turning on Professor Snape, who managed to hit him with Avada Kedavra a little too late for Remus. The Order had all used body binds or stronger restraints since. Percy had died in a final, meaningless rebellion against the Order, refusing to leave the Ministry building before it was attacked, despite the warnings of his parents and Dumbledore and still warring with his family. Ginny had been raped by a Deatheater and conceived a child, retreating to the American muggle world to raise it in the relative quiet there, bitter and angry but unable not to love her own daughter. Neville had been eaten, in very mysterious circumstances, by one of his own plants, one the whole Order knew he was perfectly capable of controlling. No trace had been found of his body, other than some blood and tissue on and in the plant. Most blamed it on stress and passed on, not seeing it as a great set back to the cause. They were hardened to loss. Hermione alone missed him, both for the rather excellent plant ingredients he could always provide for spells, and for his company. Several Order members had simply disappeared without a trace, Professor McGonagall among them.

To be quite frank, it was not a good time.

This night however, they had managed to capture a Deatheater, which was pretty much as good as it got. Not a particularly high-ranking one, but a Deatheater nonetheless. Hermione and Tonks were starting in on the Order's standard illegal questioning under veritaserum, routinely performed on any prisoners they caught before turning them to the Ministry, if they did so at all. Pulling off the white mask, and thinking of the muggle Scream movies as she always did at the Death Eater's traditional garb, Hermione recognised Marcus Flint. Unsurprised, she held out her hand to Tonks for the veritaserum when Flint gave a sudden almighty heave, unable to break from the chains that held him but succeeding in tipping his chair over. He cracked his head painfully as he did so but also knocked the vial of serum from Tonks' hand so that the potion spilled and the glass container cracked.

"Drat! That was our last one," cursed the Auror, "What now?"

"See if we have any alternatives," said Hermione calmly, placing Flint under the full bodybind and leaving him on the floor.

Tonks returned a few moments later with a new potion, in a mug this time, and carefully Hermione poured some into Flint's mouth and compelled him to swallow with a simple medical spell, still not setting Flint upright. "What potion is this?" she asked Tonks as she stood back up. The name Tonks told her was familiar, but Hermione quashed the surge of memory with only some difficulty and proceeded to question Flint. An hour or so and judicious use of some of the milder pain curses soon revealed that he knew nothing of use, and Tonks stunned him in disgust as they gave up. She dragged him to the corner and began cleaning up while Hermione spread the notes she had made on a nearby table.

Hermione could no longer hold back the flood of the past as the distraction of the Deatheater disappeared. Memories flashed through her mind- the incredulity of the Order when they first learned of the charges, the confidence on Harry's face as he took the stand, the disbelief of Dumbledore's as his favourite student practically confessed to the unforgivable, the clatter that rang through the courtroom as the goblet of potion fell to the floor and the leftover potion pooled like blood on the cold stone floor, the- Hermione was shocked out of her thoughts when Tonks tripped spectacularly over nothing at all and flew forward, abandoning her hold on the mug of potion to stop her headlong descent. The mug crashed down on the floor as Tonks hadn't, the potion still inside splashing onto Hermione's notes as it flew overhead. Quickly Hermione gathered up her papers out of the way of the rapidly spreading potion. She looked around for a cloth and mentally cursed as she noticed the potion dripping onto the floor as well then froze. Hermione's memory jarred. Tonks' frantic apologies faded out as Hermione stared fixedly at the floor, a previous memory appearing once again in her mind's eye. Something wasn't right. Something wasn't right at all.

"What potion did you say this was Tonks?" she asked, cutting effectively through the ongoing babble from her friend. Tonks looked uncomfortable as she repeated the name. Hermione didn't look up. "That was the one they used at Harry's trial." It wasn't a question. Something was very, very wrong.

Tonks shifted from apologetic to sympathetic as Hermione murmured, "This isn't right. This wasn't the way it was."

"I know Hermione," Tonks put on her most soothing voice, "None of it was. But sometimes you just don't get people, you never really know what is going on in a- "

"No," said Hermione, "No, that's not what I mean at all." She raced from the room.

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