Disclaimer: This story and characters do not belong to me. The characters belong to the amazing J. K. Rowling, and the story originally belongs to Parvati-Blossom, who has wonderfully agreed to let me translate it. If able, you should really consider reading the original version in Spanish.
Warning: Some chapters may contain strong language and images. Torture is a common occurrance in the dark side, please keep that in mind.
Thank you for reading! I hope you are enjoying the story! And thank you to those who left reviews!
Chapter 3
"Neville! Oh, Neville!"
Hermione ran quickly toward the kneeled young man, who watched her with his eyes filled with a mysterious glow. They reflected his disappointment and confusion. He felt guilty that his ability had not risen to the occasion. He had barely managed to touch bloody Potter, who had dared to mock him in the worst possible way: by showing his weakness before the community and crushing their illusions.
The arms of his friend surrounded him carefully. He heard her sob for a few seconds, holding onto him as if she was afraid he would fade away from her arms. Neville did not complain, although his wounds were asking desperately for medical attention. The rain kept falling, calmer than before.
"Ron, are you okay?" Hermione let go of Longbottom suddenly to focus her attention on the red hair, who nodded with a weak smile on his face.
"Don't worry, Mione. Let's take Neville to headquarters; Ginny can take care of him there." Hermione agreed immediately.
Ron and Hermione put a hand each on Neville's shoulders and focused their thoughts on the image of the headquarters. They knew that the disapparation barriers around Diagon Alley were destroyed before the death eaters escaped. They would not be useful there anymore, now everything depended on the healers available to help out the public. They did not doubt there would be many dead, as in any key attack.
Seconds later, they apparated in the main room of the headquarters, where healers and other members of the Order were waiting for them. In an instant, five healers went straight to Neville. Both Hermione and Ron refused medical attention, arguing that their friend was a the priority. Thus, they walked to the meeting room, where they were told that Dumbledore had called for the rest of the Order to measure the consequences of the attack.
The Hogwarts headmaster observed them solemnly, his blue eyes twinkling in sorrow and worry when they walked into the room. The two Gryffindor sat sluggishly on their usual sits around the long table, and Hermione could not help but think about what Harry had said about the old wizard.
After all, if he was truly as kind and powerful as people said, why did he never come to the attacks? What was he afraid of? If Albus were to die, they would lose their great leader, but… was it really worth it to hide from the storm when this one would fall over you inevitably, sooner or later, having taken before thousands of lives that had nothing to do with the war?
"How are you?" Asked them Albus, examining them with his eyes and noticing in them the pain and despair.
"They got their way, Albus. Bodies and more bodies…" Ron whispered tiredly. Albus read in his look that something more serious than usual had occurred.
"Where is Neville?" Hermione hesitated before answering his question, he knew the impact it would cause.
"He's being seen by the healers."
"Neville?" Albus could not help but show his surprise. Hermione nodded silently. Neville was the one who always managed to avoid serious wounds, only ever carrying superficial ones. Though he had never faced Potter before. "What happened?"
"We came across him…" Ron muttered with tension noticeable in his voice.
"Him?" Questioned Dumbledore, confused. Hermione look down to pay attention to her hands when she answered.
"Harry…" Warm tears came out of her almond eyes and made their way down her face softly. Too many events together were blurring her reason and she could not hold back anymore.
"Filldeserp?" Dumbledore said, exchanging alarmed looks with Ron. "He is back in action?"
"That's what it seems." Weasley wanted to extend a hand to place it above Hermione's, but she avoided the touch. She did not need to be comforted.
"He is so different… He is not Harry, he isn't…"
"Hermione…" Began to say Ron, but he was interrupted by Dumbledore.
"You had not seen him like this before, Hermione. Your shock is understandable. Not many had seen him up close…"
"His eyes…" Hermione muttered, apparently without listening to Dumbledore's words. "Not even in his worse times at Hogwarts had I seen them so cold, so… indifferent. And when… when… he was about to kill Neville… no…" She hid her face behind her hands, drowning her words. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled dangerously.
"About to kill Neville?" The old man now paid his attention to Ron, who heavily nodded.
"Let me tell you, Albus."
The professor and the two aurors raised their heads and looked at the door, where a sickly looking Neville was smiling at them warmly, as if nothing had happened. He was more pale than usual, although his clothes were no longer drenched in blood. He stumbled slightly when he gave his first steps toward Ron, who stood up in an instant and helped him sat next to him.
"Are you okay, Neville?" The unmistakable and obvious question, a trend in those times.
"The healers said that my body is just suffering from shock because of the attack and because of some blood loss… They say that I will be weak for a couple of days and that I should rest, but I don't think that's convenient right now…"
"Health first, Neville." Reprimanded him Hermione, forgetting the grief she had been feeling seconds before. "You should not risk a relapse; there could be serious consequences long-term."
"I won't. Not again, Mione. I will not let him feel victorious again…"
The eyes of the auror shined in disdain, decision and humiliation. Because that was how he felt: an idiot for letting himself be defeated so easily. He had been cocky, and something had gone wrong…
"I have the feeling that I missed something substantial." Said Albus, looking seriously at the three aurors. The information he was receiving was too scattered and he could not tell the facts easily.
"I dueled with Potter." Dumbledore looked at him with shock and consternation.
"What were you thinking, Neville?!"
"I wanted to see if he was as good as rumors said. And I must say that rumors fall short once you can see what he can do… Half of the spells he threw at me I'd never heard of before, and he was exceptional in his use of magic and when brandishing that blade."
"His agility is enviable." Ron commented with defeat. "Neville was barely able to graze him with his spells and he is one of the best among us…"
"I suspect he can also control the elements." Muttered Hermione thoughtful. Nostalgia was still noticeable in her voice, but she had begun to calm down, as was fitting.
"What makes you say that, Mione?" Asked Ron, frowning.
"Did you see when he disarmed you, Neville?" Suddenly the auror's facial expression showed understanding and he nodded.
"It's possible. Nevertheless, there is something that worries me more… Do you remember Albus that before Snape's true loyalties were revealed to us by Potter, he mentioned that in some interrogations it seemed as if he handled Legilimency perfectly, perhaps even better than the Dark Lord himself?" Albus nodded thoughtfully. "I don't think it's just that."
"What do you mean?" Asked Dumbledore and Ron at the same time, disconcerted. Neville sighed in resignation.
"It's deeper than that. He must have trained in some kind of dark magic that he can do with his eyes, because when he was pointing at me with his dagger, he looked at me in the eyes and I felt as if I was falling asleep, I could not resist."
"If what you are saying is true, then we have more problems than we thought." Muttered Dumbledore, with his hands clasped together. He leaned back on his chair with an expression of indecipherable tiredness.
"Everything would have been better if he hadn't decided to join the Dark Lord…" Hermione muttered nostalgically.
"What did we say about saying 'would have been,' Mione? It doesn't matter what could have happened." Ron answered back. "He is now Voldemort's pet. Not even a hint of regret when he saw us…"
"Did you not feel any regrets, Ron?"
"What kind of question is that, Hermione? I didn't do anything that I need to be ashamed of!"
"When I asked him whether he felt ashamed of himself, he denied it and answered that it was our stupidity what was disgraceful." Commented Neville, lost in thought. "Do you think that was some sort of insinuation?"
The doors opened suddenly, letting see a disturbed Kingsley Shacklebolt who ran quickly toward them. Hypothetically, that small meeting was not to be interrupted, but something serious must have happened. The auror was really pale and by the look of the bags under his eyes, he had been without resting well for a while, as most employees at the ministry. His auror uniform looked a mess and his wand was always in sight, fastened to his belt.
"Kingsley? Is something wrong?" Asked Albus, frowning and thinking of what else could have happened that night.
"You are the ones in charge of looking into the attack to the muggle town, right?" The newcomer finally looked at the trio of aurors, who nodded baffled because of the sudden mention of a subject that was far from being a priority at that time. "Cor… Cornfoot has been assassinated."
"WHAT?" Ron stood up, suddenly recovering all the color he had lost that evening.
"Impossible!" Hermione exclaimed, following the example of his friend. "Nobody can enter without having an auror's license from the ministry!"
"Nobody entered the prison under the identity of an auror. In fact, if we go by what the barriers identified, nobody entered. However, it is impossible that Cornfoot committed suicide."
"Why?" Neville stared at Kingsley frowning, and he shuddered when he remembered something.
"I was asked to find you three so you see it in person since you are the ones in charge of the case… But given that we were under attack just now, it would be understood if you can't go and…"
"And have you clean up everything without us investigating before? No, of course not!" Interrupted Neville. Hermione turned to see him, angry.
"You cannot push yourself; you have to stay in bed, Neville…"
"Hermione, they just murdered a death eater under the nose of the ministry. This had not happened since they found Pullman dead in the sports department about four months ago… That means that we were right, he knew something that he cannot tell anymore!"
"Dammit. What are we waiting for? Come one, Herm… We cannot let this go." The girl nodded with little conviction to the request of the red hair.
"I will go with you." Dumbledore said, standing up as well. The trio looked at him, astonished. Dumbledore never interfered in their investigations. "My instinct tells me there is something I will find interesting there." They look at each other; nonetheless, they did not say anything back.
London, August 1st, 2004
Time: 1:00AM.
The members of the ministry were submersed in troubling silence. Even if it was a day of mourning, it was too much for a simple attack that was repeated daily. Those who were visiting the ministry that day noticed that something else was wrong, but there were no clues in the press. What the community did not know, although not with certainty, was that the most substantial and disturbing news were censured for several reasons…
Hermione had only gone down a few times to the dungeons of the ministry; the task of watching prisoners was not part of her division. Nevertheless, she knew very well the conditions that must be fulfilled for the daily watches to be successful: absence of wands (or to have the covetous authorized ones), or dangerous objects, to possess the distinctive of a ministry auror, and the special object that the ministry provided to the guards to be guided in such darkness.
She felt unprotected without her wand. At any instant, one of those horrible prisoners could devise a way to escape between the thick bars in some twisted way and attack her from the back without her being able to see him or avoid it. Something like that had never happened, but… There was a first time for everything, and she hoped that day would not be the case. Besides, the hallway bustled as aurors came and went with solemn expressions. Some with consternation and horror carved on their faces.
The trio of aurors and Dumbledore soon understood the reason. They arrived to the cell in which Harry, hours before, had brutally murdered Cornfoot. There still lay the corpse of the traitor death eater. On the floor were several clues marked that the killer had left while other people were taking pictures of every detail in the scene of the crime.
Both Ron and Neville watched with bewilderment the dry blood that stained the floor and the shape the body of Cornfoot had taken after the torture. Hermione, however, felt some pain when imagining how everything had happened based on the expression of suffering in Cornfoot's face. Dumbledore, instead, calmly observed the scene, paying special attention to the striking details of the murder.
"How long ago did he die approximately?" Dumbledore asked Kingsley, who was right behind him.
"Two hours and a half at most… The intruder was here just moments before the beginning of the attack to Diagon Alley." Answered the auror, distraught.
Hermione kneeled next to the body, attempting to examine it, although the repugnance inhibited it significantly.
"How can someone be so cruel…?"
"Keep in mind, Mione…" Neville said, getting closer to hear. "That if Cornfoot had spoken, we would have acquired a great amount of information… His betrayal meant a lot to Voldemort. Plans that had been in the work for months could have perhaps been ruined with the statement of the death eater."
"It is obvious he did not commit suicide." Commented Ron.
"How could have Cornfoot managed to break most of his vital bones and excessively increase his blood pumping on his own? While suffering periodic cruciatus, not least…" One of the healers close to them said. Hermione shuddered to the list of tortures.
"The cause of death was stabbing." Deduced Hermione noticing the deep wound that Cornfoot had on the chest.
"How did the intruder manage to sneak in a knife?" Ron asked, frowning. "As I understand, there are many extremely powerful spells here against that."
A significant amount of dark magic was employed." Dumbledore pointed out after using a series of verification spells inside the cell. "Very advanced. Concealing charms could have been used…"
Hermione observed the vanished expression on Cornfoot's dark eyes. There was no doubt that he had recognized the killer before his life had been taken away. The fear in his expression was related to that. But, who could make him feel such extreme fear? As if the Dark Lord in person had been in the Ministry… The mere idea made her shiver… It must have been some very important member that he must have inside the Ministry…
Suddenly, she found a very feasible hypothesis for the identity of the murderer… Who had she seen act very suspiciously that same day, when she was leaving the Ministry to have a meeting with the Order, and whom she strongly suspected was a death eater…?
Draco Malfoy.
"Malfoy." She muttered to her friends and the Hogwarts headmaster. Neville and Ron exchanged confused looks first, until they understood what she was referring to.
"Do you think it was Malfoy, Hermione?" Asked Dumbledore, thoughtful.
"Yesterday I saw him before going to headquarters… To me, he was acting weird…"
"Then, let's find him and have him give his statement." Suggested Ron, who seemed delighted to find a reason to imprison the blond.
"We cannot without evidence…" Albus reminded him.
"Mione's statement is not enough? Besides, he would be called as a suspect, not as a criminal."
"But why do you think it was him, Hermione?" Dumbledore insisted again.
Hermione bit her lower lip, remembering her encounter with Malfoy that same afternoon. Her instinct was telling her so: Cornfoot's murder had something to do with that abnormal attitude that the blond displayed. Her instinct never failed.
"I just know it. He had something to do with it… he might not be the actual killer, but he must know something…"
His smile had been vicious, the kind that Draco never did, full of an alarming mystery. As informing her that he knew something she did not and, as such, he was superior. But he could not explain that to Neville, Ron, and Albus… That was an association that they would not understand.
Time: 6:00AM.
He entered the room with rage showing in one of his movements. He did not care if he was disrespectful, He had been disrespected! How could he have been accused of murdering a traitor death eater the day before, when he had actually been in the Fortress, fulfilling the orders of his Lord, reviewing the strategies for the attack?! Granger must be insane or hate him that much if she was seeing a perfect clone of him, walking calmly around the ministry…
And now his file (the one he had put so much effort in keeping clean to the eyes of those idiots who made up the elite inside the ministry) was stained because of Granger's stupid theory… how dared that mudblood accuse him?! She would pay for it… Everything that she had done in the past and specially that… He would inform his Lord and he… he would add her to the list of future victims… Oh, yes… He would enjoy seeing the insufferable know-it-all scream for mercy while pain shook every part of her body…
But he had to get rid of that image when he raised his grey eyes to face what would be provisional court. Some selected members of the Wizengamot, among them the old geezer, the golden trio of aurors, and some other member from the ministry… Ah, how could he have forgotten about MacMillan! The revered current minister…
Holding back the anger that flowed through his veins, he sat on the chair set for him. No chain tied him to it, only because there was no evidence against him. If he wanted, he could refuse to make a statement, but that would only add to the problems at hand… If he truly was innocent, then the use of Veritaserum on him should not be a problem, right?
It would be… He could reveal the well-kept secret that he was a death eater in front of those accusing and distrusting eyes, who would not hesitate sending him to the deepest prisons in the Ministry.
"Mr. Malfoy, we apologize for interrupting your evening… Surely you had many activities planned in your Schedule…" Began to say MacMillan, with whom he had a qualified friendship.
If Dumbledore and his own paid enough attention, they might have noticed the wink the minister gave him and the amusement hidden in his stern voice.
"There is no inconvenient, I would do anything to help the investigation that our skilled aurors are carrying out, minister." Concealed irony was in his whispering voice.
Both Ron and Neville noticed the mockery and would have replied if it were not for a gesture from Hermione, asking them both to keep civility. After all, Draco was there, being accused without any evidence… The least the blond could do was putting them in doubt and therefore, they had to show confidence and determination.
"Were you in the ministry yesterday afternoon?" Asked Dumbledore calmly.
"No. It was my day off, so I was with my family."
"However, Miss Granger, here present, insists that she saw you on a hallway in the third floor, at approximately six thirty in the afternoon. Is that correct?" Replied MacMillan.
"No."
"Would you allow for the use of Veritaserum?" Requested a member of the Wizengamot.
Draco gave an imperceptible shudder, but he could not refuse. Nowadays, Veritaserum was allowed to be used by the Wizengamot in any case, as insignificant as it were.
"Go ahead."
One of them walked closer to him with a small glass flask that contained the potion, which could have been water by its colorless appearance. Draco drank the few drops placed in his mouth without resistance and began to work on his mental barriers at the same time. As a spy inside the ministry, Voldemort had taught him tricks to overcome the truth serum. Perhaps not completely, but it would protect essential information, like his allegiance to the dark side.
Physically, he mimicked all the symptoms of a well applied truth serum. Inside, he was laughing at the Ministry's stupidity. Both Dumbledore and MacMillan leaned forward with eagerness, and began their questioning.
"Were you in the ministry yesterday afternoon?"
"No."
"What were you doing?"
"Looking over some files at my manor." He handled the Veritaserum so as not to say 'looking over strategies in the Fortress.'
"Did you come across Miss Granger?"
"No."
"Do you know anything related to the death of Cornfoot?"
"Absolutely nothing."
All the members of the Wizengamot observed each other astonished. Those were answers that left them without clues to continue with the investigation. Hermione, however, observed Malfoy fixedly. She had no doubt that she had seen him… How could that be? There were many possibilities: Malfoy, handling the Veritaserum, that the person she had seen had not actually been Malfoy, or that she had been placed under a confundus charm at some point…
How could that be?!
"Are you a death eater, Mr. Malfoy?" Asked Dumbledore calmly.
The members of the Wizengamot opened their mouths to object that he could not ask that question in such context, but they kept quiet because of the threatening look that the Hogwarts headmaster gave them.
"Yy… No." The eyebrows of the old man rose with incredulity.
"Are you a death eater, Mr. Malfoy?" He repeated.
"No."
That had been close…
London, August 1st, 2004.
Time: 12:30AM
He smiled boastfully while walking through the hallways of the Fortress. That had been one of the best nights of his life, if anyone dared to ask. Perhaps not the best, but it was among the top ten, certainly…
Seeing Neville Longbottom, the star auror and the golden-boy of Dumbledore, kneeled at his feet. How he wished he had seen the face of the old geezer when he found out of the events at Diagon Alley! He was sure it would not sit well with him. That and the murder of the traitor Cornfoot… They had been left with nothing, just as they deserved. Incompetent. And they still thought they could win the war?
However, he was receiving reproachful and angry looks from many. They were criticizing him for not killing the auror and making them retreat when the enjoyment could have continued. But Harry did not want to win so soon. That had been a slap to Neville, to see if he could be woken up… He wanted a worthy rival, not one who would attack him with first year charms… Next time he would not forgive it… He was giving him Time.
Time… Burns without leaving ashes…
He entered Lord Voldemort's study and bowed. He raised his green eyes until they were at the same level as those of his Lord, in a humble stance, but instead of finding assurance in him, he found rage… Rage that he had never seen in such intensity. And for the first time, it was directed at him. That also made the difference.
Harry knew how to act in those occasions. He lowered his eyes to the floor and remained silence. Silence that lasted what seemed like an eternity and that had as an objective to cause nervousness. However, the young man did not regret or feared anything. He kept his mind blank the entire time, something that made Voldemort know how much his heir had progressed since the last time he had to chasten him.
"Filldeserp. Your performance from last night has come to my attention…"
The Dark Lord's study was a broad room, with book cases on the sides. In the center was the desk, with all those valuable parchments and extravagant utensils on it. There was a warm chimney on a side while right across the room, on the wall, hung the crest of the Slytherin family. The study without its dweller provided both a respectful and intimidating environment. With its dweller… It depended on his mood.
"My Lord, I come to report the consequences of the attack."
"And what are those?" Voldemort looked at him impatiently. He wanted to get to the point of the discussion.
"Six members of the ministry from our list have been captured, while we had a loss of seventeen death eaters from our ranks… Our wounded are being treated in the towers while the prisoners have been placed in the dungeons."
"And what about Longbottom, Filldeserp?" Muttered the Dark Lord in a hiss, expressing his disagreement in his action. Harry swallowed before answering.
"I left him alive, my Lord."
"Can I know why?"
"Longbottom does not know how to fight, Tom. You know how are those who are dominated by Dumbledore, manipulated and all… They have lesser intelligence than us." He said mockingly. "I made sure to humiliate him and deflate him… But… At the last second I decided to leave him alive because… he is the only one left for them. I want to have fun with him on more occasions."
"And why not take him prisoner, Harry?!"
"What would be the fun in that, Tom?" Voldemort looked at him frowning, but he did not object more.
"What about Cornfoot?" Harry smiled viciously, remembering the event.
"Dead." Voldemort's scarlet eyes shined with delight.
"How?"
"I used all the torture spells that we have created." Harry said in an indifferent tone. "Do not doubt he suffered the consequences of his betrayal… By this time, they must be finding his body in one of the security rounds."
"You can leave, Filldeserp."
Voldemort's heir bowed and turned to leave, but he heard Voldemort calling him from his desk. He turned expectantly and found his Lord pointing his wand firmly at him.
"So this does not happen again… Crucio!"
Filldeserp made himself more comfortable on the couch on which he rested, with his eyes closed and his messy black hair all over the place; that was an image of Voldemort's heir that nobody had seen for a long time. It was not a moment of weakness or distraction, merely of rest and of lowering his overworked mental barriers to a minimum. Perhaps, even a moment of meditation.
After all, meditating did not directly entail regret. In fact, it had no connection. He had lost all embarrassment and consciousness in his acts. He did not care anymore whether people died or stopped dying; nor worried about the time it would take Voldemort to rule England. He did not fear the present or the future, he could foresee what would happen and he was ready to face it. Unlike in the past, when surprises and disappointments had been many… When he had felt guilty of the deaths of the people he knew and ashamed of his mistakes… He had been too weak and scared to face the situation with determination, to see everything with clarity and through his own eyes. He had been dominated, a tool, to the full service of Dumbledore.
Most people would say that he was now a tool in the hands of Voldemort. He could be… Nevertheless, Voldemort had helped him grow in many ways that Dumbledore had feared he would develop. He had worked his power in all fields possible (or at least he believed so). He was the heir of Voldemort, not any death eater… As such, his old enemy treated him as an equal, something that was rarely seen.
Harry had benefits that nobody else had; obviously he lived in the fortress, in one of the most luxurious towers. At that moment he was in the main room, where only Voldemort and the odd elf had entered since he inhabited it, which meant… six years. The door of his room was to the right while to his left he had access to his private library; in front of him was the potions lab and next to it, a training room.
Usually, he was training, practicing different potions, or reading some book on Dark Magic during his "free time." When they were preparing an attack, everything intensified and constant amounts of strategic preparation and meetings were added, which lately was very often. Sometimes he went out to fulfill a secret mission, but his strength had and would always be in being in action.
But for the first time, he was not doing his usual routine. He did not tend to stop to rest for a few minutes, however… He was exhausted, perhaps not to the extreme of fatigue, but… he had wasted a lot of energy in the ministry, added to his recreational duel against Longbottom… and now the cruciatus that had settled a little his calmness. Nevertheless, the consequences were terrible: a sharp headache and tiredness he had not felt for a while.
He would need a potion to calm down the pain. Unfortunately, he had not prepared any against this in the last few weeks, which meant he would have to call an elf to get him one from the collective cabinet… Damn, he hated depending on someone else's work, but that was the only way he could continue his routine the next day…
He snapped his fingers and in an instant a house elf attended his call. After instructing him and waiting a couple of minutes for his return, the required potion found itself on the table in front of him. He examined it with his eyes carefully, making sure that the potion was the right one, and he then took the flask and drank in one gulp all its contents. He put the flask back on the table and…
Sleep overcame him.
The wind was blowing strongly, with unnatural frenzy, in the opposite direction to the one he was walking. The ground was completely covered by white snow, full of purity and innocence. But he was indifferent to that cozy and honest air that the landscape wanted to inspire on him. Nothing would blind him again, it was only snow that in the future would be stained by blood…
He cleared that pessimistic thought from his mind while he raised his eyes and found the forbidden forest also decorated in white. There were some young people playing on the snow and laughing naïvely, without a care for the present… or the future. He watched them with neutrality, not letting his disagreement and annoyance be seen.
He walked to the Quidditch pitch, not stopping to greet his housemates who smiled at him as he walked pass them. That heroic image that the magical community had of him had increased in the last few months. Everyone supported him. They felt reassured by his presence and openly showed it. They trusted him just as much as they trusted Dumbledore.
He sat on the empty stands. The pitch was empty and the only noise came from the wind. An absolute calmness buzzed in Harry's ears while he allowed himself to wander in his thoughts.
From there he had an excellent view of the Hogwarts castle, which for many years he had considered a home. How ironic. He sighed with resignation. He could see the castle celebrating another Christmas with joy, all fake… But nobody noticed that small detail, only him. He did not share the feeling and was not blind by it. It was merely another day, another waste of time.
He had lived almost all of his Christmas at Hogwarts. Well… Except his fifth year, but he did not wish to remember that time. His godfather, Sirius, was dead and there was nothing to do about it. Except revenge… Something he was hoping would not take much longer. The pain of his death had left him with the passing of years; however, it was a big part of his past. It had marked his time; it had soothed Harry and had showed him the real world.
He regretted that his godfather had died for a lost cause, for one that he would be one of the main causes, but… It was what was best for him and where he belonged. He did not want any more burden or remorse. He did not want, again, to be demanded for more than he could give. Hopes were placed in vain on him. It was impossible to win and it was not worth it.
Why was it not worth it? Because he could never defeat Voldemort, an experienced wizard, who knew what he was doing and that in most cases, his actions were successful. Besides… he had found he shared some characteristics with his enemy. Their personalities and their pasts where not so different and… He found his presence gratifying. He treated him with confidence and respect, and he talked with the only truth he possessed, as cruel and crude as it was. There were no lies between them, and that was something Voldemort had learned he must fulfill when dealing with Harry. The boy was sick of hypocrisies, of endless masks.
He leaned back against the stand and closed his eyes with despondency. Nothing was worth it and that idea left him with unexplainable emptiness. Maybe it was because he was not allowing himself to feel any anguish over his coming treason, or simply because he could not find a reason to hold unto life anymore. When fighting, one held to something to not succumb. And that was what he was missing, as much as he supported Voldemort's views and all that, they were not the argument for his betrayal.
What was the reason behind his actions?
"Don't you feel cold, Harry?"
He was surprised and he would not deny it. Actually, he was very startled when he heard that soft voice above him. He turned to connect looks with Hermione, who was standing a stand higher than he was. She quickly walked down and sat next to him, her face showing a cautious and discreet expression, while her eyes betrayed her showing care and worry.
Harry shrugged his shoulder, without directly looking at her. His green eyes looking at the pitch, as if there was a Quidditch game going on that Hermione had not yet noticed.
"Not really."
"I guess you are wearing enough coats, so you must not really feel it." Said Hermione, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes.
It was true. His clothes were very warm and each part of his body was protected from the cold, with the exception of his face. He was wearing a dark blue, almost black, scarf. He was most likely the only Gryffindor that did not wear his house colors with pride. His cheeks had an odd and pleasant scarlet color that contradicted the coldness in his eyes.
Unfortunately, Hermione did not have that luck. She was only wearing the Hogwarts uniform, a scarf with Gryffindor colors and a light coat. Harry quickly deduced that the girl had not expected such cold or that perhaps she had gone out in a hurry… Looking for him?
"Are you cold?" Asked Harry, not able to stop himself from smirking.
"No, I'm fine." His friend lied while she hugged herself. Harry raised an eyebrow skeptic and laughed.
"Come on, Hermione, you cannot deceive me. Besides, it's really obvious." Granger blushed, but did not object. "Why are you here?"
"Am I bothering you? It's just… In the last few days we've barely spent any free time together and…"
"It's because the NEWTs are getting closer, Hermione." Harry excused himself with a lie.
"Do you care more about your grades than about your best friends, Harry?" She did not get a reply. "We love you, Harry, and miss you. Why don't you talk to us anymore? Have we done something wrong?"
"I can't waste my time on trivial matters." Answered Harry harshly. He could almost see Hermione's teary eyes staring at him, but he ignored them. The girl took a deep breath, holding back a sob that was fighting to leave his throat, and faced the situation.
"I don't know you anymore, Harry. What is going on? Ron and Neville think is not such a big deal; but I don't think is something to take lightly. Don't you see we need you?"
Harry looked at Hermione to the eyes for the first time. Those shining almonds, honest and brave, that showed how much pain and anguish the present caused in her. Harry sighed internally. Hermione was the one who deserved his betrayal the least. He had to admit that she was the only person at Hogwarts that truly worried about him; however, she did not have the strength to reach him.
The careless attitudes of Ron and Neville only confirmed his theory with respect to the "friendship" he maintained with them… Hermione was the only one who insisted and believed that Harry's wish to be alone was not just a whim. She believed there were secret reasons, and she was the only one who had the truth on her side. It was unfortunate she did not have a clue to guide her…
"Come on, Hermione, you won't die if we stop talking…"
"Harry…"
"Friendship does not last forever, Hermione. Nothing lasts forever."
"What?"
Harry did not pay attention to his friend's bewilderment and put his arms around her, holding her close to him. She enjoyed the sudden display of affection and, forgetting what he had said just seconds earlier, she smiled at him warmly. He did not smile back, merely closed his eyes, disengaging himself from reality.
"You aren't cold anymore, right?"
He woke up on the couch restless, with confusion overwhelming him. He had buried his past deeply inside of him, from where memories would not arise, and the last time it had happened was the first summer he lived in the fortress.
The memory had also been very odd. Not only what he had dreamed about, but that it had been one of the last times he had talked directly to Hermione. After that Christmas in his seventh year, he had avoided her as often as he could and had only exchanged a few words because of classes.
He stood up dignified, making sure not to totter, and he walked to his room, where he immediately lay down on the bed. He had only slept a few hours and he still had enough time to recover his energy. Not that sleeping on a couch was recommended…
But the effects of the potion had incredibly disappeared when they were supposed to last for at least three hours straight… Which brought serious problems as he suspected he would suffer from insomnia in the near future, and he could not take another sleeping potion as it would be too much on his system…
Damn. Another night he would spend staring at the ceiling and at the decorations in his room…
His room was spacious and the colors that decorated it were mainly black, green, silver, and red, in their darkest tones. They did not create a sinister environment, but one calm and serene. His bed was large and padded, while his wardrobe had numerous outfits for different occasions; there was no style that differed from the usual four colors.
On one side he had a small bookcase, with his favorite books to read on restless nights. On the other stood out a door that led to the bathroom while on a corner was a small bar, where his favorite drinks were always found.
He stood up as he found no reason to continue in bad and walked to the bar, pouring himself some mead. He set his eyes and his thoughts into nothingness before taking a gulp of his drink. He closed his eyes, disparaging the burning in his throat, and automatically moved the glass closer to his lips. This time the taste was nicer and soothing.
To forget. That is what it was about. It was about forgetting everything and everyone. About forgetting every problem and victory, forgetting all pride and humiliations… It did not matter how many people he had killed or how he was becoming similar to his previous enemy. It did not matter how he had betrayed his closest friend or how much suffering he had gone through in his life because of Dumbledore and his manipulations… How much the magical society had demanded of him, how many illusions were broken when he switched sides… How much pain he caused Hermione…
That was an apogee. He had never thought of one person who had intervened on his past at Hogwarts during those moments when he had felt deficient. Why now?! No, he did not regret it. There was no guilt in his heart. He did not have a conscience for that anymore. Then, why?! Why did his memories insist now, emerging from the darkness?
He squeezed the glass with more strength and it, not resisting the pressure, broke, causing slightly deep cuts on Harry's hand, and blood stains on the polished vert carpet, among the many glass shards all over it.
Harry paid no attention to the mess and observed his hand engrossed. He felt the piercing pain of his wounds, although they lacked importance. He had gone through worse. He was worried about all the turmoil he had suffered in just one day. The incursion to the Ministry, his encounter with Granger, the attack, letting Longbottom live, being tortured by his Lord (something that had not happen since his first years next to the Dark Lord), and that cursed dream/memory, which now threatened to break his mental barriers. Had all those years of training had been for nothing?! He was becoming weak!
Pathetically weak…
He snapped his tongue with skepticism. It was bothersome to feel so vulnerable. He had never feared his memories, but he did fear regret. He feared that something would flourish and that he would come to the realization that everything had been wrong, essentially wrong… He had become a cold and insensitive being toward the world, but he feared that all of it would crumble, that he would recover his senses.
It made him remember that in the dream/memory he had questioned why he had decided to join the Dark Lord… He knew the answer for many years now: He had nothing else to lose. Nothing mattered. He knew how everything would end. Nothing kept him standing. He lived because committing suicide was for cowards. Just that. Nothing made sense and that encouraged him to follow his revengeful instincts and murder ideals. But if suddenly, something were to become logical, his house of cards would fall apart.
And everything would be in vain.
He groaned with frustration while muttering a healing charm on his wounds. After a moment of slight pain, his wounds closed and the blood was absorbed. Nothing remained that would reveal what had happened. Only the glass shards on the floor were evidence of his negligence.
He leaned against the wall behind him and after sighing in resignation, he made the glass disappear. A new mask of coldness and indifference set on his pale features. His thoughts darkened and his feelings were restricted to nothingness. That would not happen again, and he swore it by his magical abilities. Naturally, the heir of Voldemort, the so called Filldeserp and deceased Harry Potter, had to stand by his profession and status.
Nothing lasts forever…