Disclaimer: Please, please, don't forget that the Harry Potter series does not belong to me (Boy, I wish!), it belongs to the amazing J. K. Rowling. This story does not belong to me either. It belongs to Parvati-Blossom, who kindly allowed me to translate it so more people could get to read her wonderful universe.
Warning: Some chapters may contain strong language. Torture is a common occurrence in the Dark Side, please keep that in mind.
Thanks you so much for all the comments! I'm glad you are enjoying the story! And I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!
Chapter 10
Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix
September 24th, 2004
Time: 9:30PM
She felt heavy and exhausted. The world seemed to focus on her and was not letting her breath, crushing her. Physically, everything in her body burned, with more intensity on some areas. Her entire skin was covered in marks of unmistakable and excessive abuse, and of immeasurable hatred.
Nothing made sense. Everything turned around her in infinite pain and confusion that did not let her think of her Reality.
She had lost the notion of time. She had lost the notion of herself; the notion of the external world.
She could not distinguish between Dark and Light. At that moment, they were two things so similar, so intertwined, that she did not understand why there were two terms to describe it, if one was enough.
She could have easily let herself be guided by either of the two, and Everything Would Have Been Fine.
Later, she was able to detach herself from the space. Heat and cold lost meaning; pain, agitation… they were all far away feelings, prior to a past that in her pointless world had never existed.
It was not necessary to explain that not even her pointless world had existed. Everything was a game of her mind, a game of images that looked to express themselves without restrictions, and each one of them was trying to exit in the most painful way… without signs, intentions, objectives… Going beyond her and taking control.
Perhaps everything was because they were reorganizing the basic functions in her brain; creating and stipulating that everything she valued remained. Her mind was being manipulated by an illusion, powerful and fathomless, that modified her entire being so nobody could doubt her; so nobody could notice the farce…
So nobody would suspect everything was part of a plan…
So she would forget and would not imagine she was a victim of it…
So that even she believed the pain was real, that every wound was proof of an unquestionable Past; that in that moment, they only thing she had to do was hold unto the images, her beliefs thrown aside, and try to recover from all that Confusion…
Just to Recover. Just to Survive.
She closed her eyes, consumed by suffering and tempted to lose herself in unconsciousness.
She would soon be safe… soon her wounds and ideals would heal… soon everything would be cleared… everything would be peaceful again…
Soon…
Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix
September 25th, 2004
Time: 7:15AM
The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had not seen such movement for several months. If a member not aware of the events entered and saw the coming and going of people, some with desperate faces, others with relief, and some just indifferent, they would have thought a new attack had taken place. However, reality was far from being so dreadful.
Cailean Austen found himself in the center of one of the rooms used for general meetings, being interrogated with techniques even the Unspeakables would envy. Nevertheless, few things seemed to come out of his statement. Some aurors seemed disappointed, as if they had expected everything to be more complicated, or because they wanted a reason to not give credit to a foolish death eater. But nobody could object anything. Cailean Austen had managed the impossible; he had rescued a prisoner from the Fortress where the Dark Lords themselves lived. And he had done with such effectiveness, caution, and cleverness that, even if there were mistakes, like Voldemort discovering the identity of the traitor, he had managed his objective.
Saving Hermione Granger.
"I keep thinking that is not the entire story," Lucas De Santos whispered to Dumbledore once the interrogation was over. The old professor observed him with thoughtful eyes, but did not make a comment.
There was too much hope, too much joy in Headquarters, for those thoughts to be discussed objectively; especially if they took into account the estate of the foursome of young people, who had not left their friend's side since they were notified of the rescue. The effect the news brought was amazing. Their tired and demoralized attitude had vanished to give way to a glow of the sincere happiness and joy only young people could enjoy.
A healer walked toward Dumbledore and after a slight nod as a sign of respect, she proceeded to inform him the condition of the young Gryffindor.
Another reaction was shock. Hermione's entire body was full of wounds, some recent, some older, and they varied in extent. There were evident traces of malnutrition, and everyone was surprised that, despite her exhaustion, pain, and loneliness, Hermione had held onto life.
More surprisingly, however, was that Filldeserp had not finished her considering her estate of uselessness, which only caused more apprehension for the members of the Order. What could have been more important that torturing, abusing, and murdering another piece of his long gone past, which he hated and enjoyed destroying? What plans caught his attention more?
Some said that they were giving Hermione too much importance. After all, by keeping her prisoner, Filldeserp would not have found pressure to kill her. He was so sadistic he would have found more pleasure on tearing apart little by little the will to live of his old friend, than with a simple Avada Kedavra.
"Miss Granger remains in critical condition. Most of her wounds have been healed, but the most severe can only be taken care of when she waked up, which could be in hours, days, or even weeks considering her exhaustion. Besides, malnutrition is not something easy to heal. We have given her potions with all the nutrients and proteins she needs, but it will be some time until she recovers some physical normality."
"Have you been able to detect any psychological damage?" De Santos asked with caution.
"We won't know for sure until she wakes up," the healer answered.
"Thank you very much, Margaren. Let me know if anything changes."
The healer bowed again and disappeared through the stairs that led to the rooms. De Santos kept prudent silence after seeing Dumbledore's nostalgic look toward that direction. He would have wanted to question his thoughts in a more direct way, but he had to hold back his questioning about the entire situation.
"Miss Granger is strong, Lucas," Dumbledore said. "I do not doubt her ability to survive this. After all, if her faith in her friendship with Longbottom, Weasley, and Lovegood kept her alive until today, she can use the same psychology to get better."
"I understand the weight each one of the lives of the members of your Order has, Dumbledore, but, why is this girl kept in such high esteem?" The old man smiled softly and placed a hand on the shoulder of the Spanish.
"Hermione is a very perceptive and smart girl, a great auror. However, what makes her a priority at this time is not only that, but also because she is part of our golden group od five, as they have been baptized by some older members…"
"I understand they are very famous in the Order," De Santos said raising his eyebrows.
"Yes. Three aurors and two healers. They have a spirit that gives hope to the rest of the members, and even to the Magical Community in general. With the loss of Hermione, that spirit seemed to be fading. How is that muggle phrase…? 'All for one and one for all…'"
"But," De Santos added, "didn't they use to be a group of six? One would assume they would be used to losing members…" Dumbledore's face lost some color to his words. "Especially with the member they lost then… a leader, a hero… the 'founder' of the group, even."
"It is not relevant to the case," Albus objected. "Each one of them holds an individual value, no matter what made them come together in the first place."
"I think you underestimate Harry Potter, Albus," De Santos muttered with a hint of mockery in his voice.
"What do you mean, Lucas?" Albus questioned with a frown.
"Harry Potter was more than a traitor," Lucas answered, turning his eyes toward the other side of the room. "He was more than a leader, than a hero… but you still keep only looking at him that way…"
"I would have thought you shared our opinion considering everything he has done to you…" Dumbledore whispered.
"I am not blinded by the events. This is a war, Albus. There are no rules in time of war, there is no justice… we're only left with the bitter taste of death, the thirst for revenge and an endless web of failures and triumphs bathed in blood."
"Was Sara only that for you? A death, a failure…?"
"No. In the same way that Harry Potter is not only a traitor or a hero…" De Santos smiled with woe. "Do not misunderstand me, Albus. There is nothing I long for more than killing him, hopefully in the same way in which he killed Sara, but that does not distance me from forgetting who was Harry Potter; from understanding the meaning of Granger's life or even the importance you give to Longbottom."
He sighed with some anguish and longing, and walked away from Dumbledore, not wanting to continue that conversation.
His black eyes looked aroung the room, not seeing anything in particular.
Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix
September 28th, 2004
Time: 8:00PM
Agglutinated in the main room of the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, all the middle rank members had been invited to attend that meeting. However, many seats were empty, either because of disinterest or a mixture of both.
"Welcome, my friends," Dumbledroe greeted them with his typical kind smile that most reciprocated, some as a reflex and others because they truly shared his joy. "Today we will have a very special meeting."
It was not necessary to clarify that almost everyone present knew the topic of discussion. Nevertheless, for those who had not heard before, the headmaster explained.
"The news that pertain us most is the rescue of one of our members from right under the noses of the Dark Lord and his heir."
"How is that possible?" Asked, full of disbelief, a woman whose name Neville believed to be Megan Jones, though he was not sure. After all, she was part of a secondary section of the Order, which made her be only present during the more general meetings.
"One of our spies, whose name we shall keep confidential, was assigned as for the sector where Hermione Granger was kept. Throughout these months he planned his strategy of rescue without even consulting us in case there was a leak of information," Dumbledore narrated with calm. "He took advantage of times when neither of the Dark Lords were present in the Fortress to practice with several kinds of portkeys, until he found the right one…"
"Found the right one…" Fred Weasley asked.
"The central magic of the barriers that protect the Fortress is dark, as we knew. The portkeys are in essence white magic, which is why their use inside the Fortress affects the barriers and warns Voldemort of any intruder or escape. As such, our spy had to play with the basic structure of the portkeys, disturbing their source energy, and searching for the ideal variable to stop the alarms."
"I thought only experienced wizards could create portkeys. Not to mention modify them…" Francisco Garcia pointed out. Next to him, Martinez shared his look of disbelief.
"That is correct. Our spy is an expert in magical theory and is in training in the Department of Mysteries…"
"And how is it possible you know that?" Megan Jones said, apparently disturbed by the idea of such information. "The Unspeakables never allow their identities known…"
"It is a special agreement between the Ministry and the Head of Department," Dumbledore shared, without any intention of giving away more information. "The Unspeakables are not outside this war. Being such experienced wizards we asked for their cooperation since the war began to slip from our grasp."
"How is Hermione?" Ron asked, leaning forward on his chair. The rest of his friends, Neville especially, imitated his gesture of anxiety. On the other side of the table, the Spanish made gestures of exasperation to the sudden change of topic.
"She has recovered consciousness, which has allowed the healers to finish treating her wounds. I was even able to speak to her this morning," Dumbledore said with honesty, knowing his words would calm the four of them.
"Does she remember anything?" De Santos asked.
"Mainly, she remembers the night of her kidnap and one of the sessions of torture, where Voldemort examined each of her memories. She admits that her later memories are confusing as she lost all track of time and of her own mind. She fears that Voldemort's Legilimency attack affected something more than her memories…"
"Did Filldeserp ever… visit her?" Neville questioned with a pale face.
"Yes, although she only remembers one occasion with clarity." Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. "It does not provide us a lot of information on the movements of the Fortress. They only cared about torturing her and humiliating her, and locked inside a cell she did not notice much, much less in the estate in which she was. The important thing now is to wait for her recovery and be alert. I doubt Filldeserp or Voldemort will take well this escape…"
"Can we trust that the testimonies of the death eater and Granger are truthful?" De Santos said with a frown, leaning back on his chair.
"What are you talking about?" Ron said with anger. "How could we doubt Hermione?" He said with great emphasis on the last word.
"I just find the entire situation very suspicious," the Spanish continued. "Even if Granger's testimony is authentic, she said it herself: she doesn't know if they have played with her mind. At this very moment she could be controlled by any of our enemies… Even if the testimony and intentions of the death eater are true and his own, we shouldn't rule out that Filldeserp or Voldemort perhaps allowed him to accomplish his task. Granger could be more useful alive than dead; and perhaps knowing that this particular death eater is a spy…"
"That is absurd," Ron muttered standing up.
"Calm down, Mister Weasley," Dumbledore asked softly. "Lucas is only trying to make an observation. Personally, I also do not lean toward that possibility, but Lucas has my respect and I will give him the opportunity to investigate his hypothesis." The Spanish nodded, pleased.
"Changing to less cheerful subjects, it is expected for a series of attacks to take place in the next few weeks. A such, I trust the investigation of such and the organization of the defense to you, Misters Weasley and Longbottom."
"But…" Ron wanted to object, but he was interrupted by Francisco.
"You weren't expecting some time off to take care of your friend, were you, Weasley? Your judgment and duty as an auror are still needed, even if your children were in critical condition in Saint Mungo's. Cruel, but I believe in time of war there is no free time. Sacrifices must be made."
Ron opened his mouth again to give his opinion, but he was smartly silenced by Ginny. Neville leaned back on his chair carefully, trying to mask his interest in the best way possible, and was able to notice the exchange of looks between the three Spanish.
Sacrifices must be made.
He smiled with grief. He knew that motto very well…
In a glance, and only for an instant, his amber eyes found those of Ginevra Weasley.
Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix
September 25th, 2004
Time: 10:00AM
She observed the canopy of her room with an empty expression. She felt stunned, resigned to everything happening around and inside of her. It was as if the emotions used her body as a channel, not staying in it for long… not leaving trace; only a painful grief that condensed over her, making it harder to breath and every action to take twice the effort.
She grimaced at Nothing. After a month of longing to see her friends, honoring her judgment, and keeping her ideals, she was once more at 'home…'
Too bad it did not feel like it anymore.
She could not believe that her stay with Filldeserp had changed her so much. Sometimes, she did not want to think about him, she escaped from his image in her mind… she escaped from the echo of his words, from the abyss of the memory of his smile, because she could not tell, much less identify, the incredible range of feelings inside of her. Away from the influence of the Fortress, ironically, everything seemed darker.
She did not know who she was anymore. She did not know what she felt. She did not know what to think. She could not control her life because she did not know where to go. He heart was split in two; her mind confused… her unskillful and tired body under the effects of the glamour. She felt like prey between two big predators. She did not know which was better. She did not know how to be free from them…
She did not know how to be free from the commitment of her soul.
A tear went down her cheek. Lonely, lost, and sad. Everything would be easier if Filldeserp had never existed or at least, if he had never been a part of her life. But in the same way, she could not imagine herself not knowing those emerald eyes; not sharing her teenage years with him; not living those adventures or learning from him the meaning of friendship, courage, hope…
She remembered well who she was before Hogwarts. A girl whose social life had been almost non-existent; whose only hobby had been books; whose face did not often change from the seriousness that hid her sorrow. She had lived trapped inside herself; trapped in a world that had only oppressed her, limited her to a lonely existence and a meaningless survival.
Loneliness. She barely had any friends in primary school. Her classmates had only been concerned in making her feel like a freak, a being without human value, thanks to her know-it-all personality and the magical accidents that occurred around her without her consent or recognition. She had adopted a mask of indifference, of self-sufficiency, and had survived…
Hogwarts had not assured her a change, not that she had not wished for it. She had tried because of her mother's insistence to be appealing to her classmates on her first day. The result was a complete failure, so she went back to her inner world.
The difference lied in the fact that she had been born and raised in the muggle word. She knew it as well as herself: its conditioning, its system, its freedoms, culture, and history. However, the magical world was completely unknown and she felt like a foreigner in a country where she did not know the language. So out of place. She had even considered the idea to forget her magical gift and return to the muggle world, where she was assured a calm life.
It was unlike her to reject her gift. Her greatest wish was to understand it and handle it in the most efficient way; to use her talent for useful things; to become someone with that language, never abandoning who she had been. Any tool that fell in her hands had to be used, and that was why the idea of leaving Hogwarts made her miserable. She had endured until that Charms class, when the words of a Ronald Weasley made her burst into tears in the girls bathroom.
She smiled with nostalgia when she remembered the troll. Without intending to, Voldemort had indirectly created the golden trio. Without even understanding, Voldemort had created in them feelings of loyalty, bravery, and even compassion just by showing them against what they needed to fight, and with whom to be in the meantime.
… In the same way that, without understanding, Voldemort had pushed Filldeserp to that feeling he hated so much, and toward the wrong person. An enemy; an enemy who had weakened him to such extent she achieved freedom with just some words.
It had not been intentional. However, fate had led them there for a reason…
She was startled when a warm hand touched her cheek, wiping her tears. She had not noticed Neville's presence next to her, and by his position on the chair, he had been there for some time.
Not much had changed in Neville during that month. Hermione could only notice the many emotions evident in his eyes, but nothing else. His body, his gestures, everything… was the same.
She could not say the same about her.
"It's been a long time since I last saw you cry," Neville said in a nostalgic whisper; guilt, impotence, and stubborn determination present in his voice.
Hermione grimaced. She had missed the feeling of trust and peace she felt when she was around Neville. It was because of his calm personality, his amber eyes that irradiated trust, his unconcerned stance…
Every movement of his body tried to give her a message of "everything will be alright."
Hermione doubted it was true, but in honor to a friendship of so many years, she would allow herself to believe for an instant in his friend. She closed her eyes and relaxed, leaning on the pillows on her bed and almost seeing how the weight over her shoulder moved in order not to cause her so much stress. Neville's arms surrounded her and in his nervous embrace she noticed fear; a fear that was beyond what had happened and would happen; that was beyond either of them.
"I thought you were dead…" He whispered in his ear.
"Me too," she thought.
"I'm so sorry, Herm… I should have protected you as I told myself that day… I should have detected Malfoy's trap…"
Making grotesque noise, the rats began delving into his skin, not only on his legs, but also on his arms. Draco's painful moans evolved into screams and he lost control of his body, beginning to convulse. He fought, kicked, begged, but the rats did not give in, and neither did Filldeserp.
The rats stopped digging and they began eating. Slowly, enjoying every bite of the delicious flesh, of the flavorful blood. And between every bite, Draco's screams could be heard, though only by those inside the room. And there was nobody there who could stop it… Nobody… except for her.
"We really thought we had lost you…" Neville held onto her hand, as if he wanted to make sure she was still with him. "We had hope… but hope is nothing when you can't hold it with facts…"
"Was it not Hope what made people believe in me? What happened to that 'Hope'?"
"As much as we looked, no death eater knew anything about you; not even if you were still alive. Absolutely nothing during a month of search…" Neville's eyes clouded. "Forgive me, Hermione, for not having tried enough…"
"Nev…" Hermione sat on the bed and leaned toward her friend, taking his chin and raising his face until their eyes met and thus, be completely honest. "You forget who your enemies are. If they didn't want anything to be known about me, it's logical nothing got to you. Do you remember the fear Filldeserp inspires in death eaters? Do you remember his skills to manipulate information? It wasn't your fault, Neville… actually, I was the fool. Only I would think of going to a cemetery in the evening… and even if it had been daylight, what would have been the difference? They were set on capturing me. One way or another, I would have ended in the Fortress…"
"No," Neville contradicted her. "If we had known the risk we were taking, we would have been better set for battle. The five of us could have come up with something to stop them from even laying a finger on you…"
"We had no idea of their intentions, Neville. In fact, we still don't know. I don't understand why I'm still alive. I don't understand what they got from capturing me and torturing me other that information about the Order they knew already…"
She took a deep breath.
Suddenly a warm feeling traveled throughout her body. Without having thought about it, she continued her speech, not thinking about what she was saying… not knowing why she was saying it. Not even knowing if she was the one saying it.
"I'm afraid, Nev… I'm afraid they did something to me I am not aware of. And I don't mean psychological or physical damage… but that they might have done something that makes me a weapon…"
"What do you mean, Herm?"
"They might use me, Nev… they might possess me…" The auror's eyes opened wider and he held Hermione's hand more tightly.
"That's not true, Herm. You know that the healers have looked for residuals of potions or charms with such effects, and the result has cleared you…"
"We're talking about Filldeserp and Voldemort, Neville. Don't you think they know enough about healing magic to hide the effects of some potion?"
The hands of the girl played with her blanket without her intending to. Neville observed in silence her anxiety for a moment. He was then wrapped in an aura of resolve and his smile made Hermione's heart feel relief… although she did not know why.
"Don't worry about anything, Herm… everything will be alright. You'll see. We'll move on from this, as always, so long as we stay together. Do you understand? It doesn't matter if there's a potion, ritual, or curse… you're still our Hermione. Not even Filldeserp can change that…"
She would have wanted to run away and cry to those words. She would have wanted to kick and shout, but the only thing she could do was swallow her impotence, her pain, and return Neville a vague smile, feeling how she recovered control over her body again.
"Nobody touches what belongs to me."
The Medallion. That was where that warm feeling had come from…
The words. The gestures. It had all been an act to make her alibi more convincing; to make no one doubt that she had been tortured, treated worse than an animal, and that she now felt useless, and above all, insecure because she feared something in her could betray her judgment…
Of course Filldeserp would help her stop the Truth from being discovered. Of course.
If she could, she would find great satisfaction from removing the cursed medallion and throwing it away, stepping on it a thousand times and then casting curse after curse to remove all value from that jewel. She was sick of the lies; sick of the manipulations; sick of looking Neville in the eyes and feeling like a traitor and a coward. Sick of not being able to feel at peace or belonging at either place…
Sick that despite the distance, Filldeserp was still taking care of her and upholding his title as her Protector… Sick that her heart was beating faster to the idea that he had taken so many precautions to stop the Order from condemning her… and that if she were to choose to distance herself from the war, she could do it in peace and without a sentence on her back…
Sick of believing she loved someone who was far from being worthy of that feeling…
"Why, if you believe so much in the power of our friendship, are you so afraid of Filldeserp?" She asked in a whisper, lowering her gaze.
"What are you talking about, Hermione?" Neville said frowning, not understanding his friend's intentions.
"Why, if you believe in the power of love, are you so afraid of Filldeserp? Why do you allow that power be manipulated, spoiled, by that fear?"
"I still don't understand, Herm…"
The girl raised her almond eyes and set them on Neville, who was astounded by their indescribable glow. There was so much suffering and confusion in them, mixed with the same fear that every day set in the heart of the young man… and that at the same time, seemed so unblemished, so pure, that it was impossible to think it was being influenced by negative streams.
"Why have you not talked with Ginevra, Nev? How much longer are you waiting?"
Neville looked at her with surprise and his cheeks took an adorable red color. His amber eyes looked around the room, as if he was looking for an alternative exit or a distraction. After not finding one, he turned to Hermione and sighed, showing his pain and exhaustion.
"How can I put her life in danger because of a whim?"
"It is not a whim, Neville," the girl answered. "It's more than that. Or do you think you only desire her?"
"No!" Neville yelled with indignation. "How could I only like her because of her physical aspect? She is beautiful, but more beautiful is her spirit, her personality…"
"And why haven't you told her?" Hermione asked, suddenly feeling very nosy; a sort of undesirable cupid.
"Perhaps because my feelings put her at risk?" Neville said, exasperated. He stood up and began pacing around the room. "I don't have any right…"
"You don't have the right to decide for her, Neville. She is waiting for you to decide what you want to do… do you want your life dominated by war, without any other objective? Or do you want to live in the mean time?"
In her mind, Hermione saw Harry at 17, his eyes lost on the Quidditich field, showing sadness and loneliness, clouded by a mask of pride and confidence. He had become a weapon of war, a mere tool without any other function in the middle of a battle of influence and power…
She closed her eyes with sorrow. Where had Harry been led after years of only living for war? To a war that had claimed him as its own from his first year of life, and which had condemned him to a life of misery, disappointment, guilt, and impossibilities?
Neville needed a purpose in his life; beyond war; beyond the Order; beyond vengeance and justice. He needed to have a parallel life; a life to hold on to. A new life where there was no war, nothing more than he and the people he loved… so that, when the war ended, he did not feel like an old tool; so that he did not feel useless… and could be able to continue living with glory in his veins.
"Where is this coming from?" Neville asked, trying to change the subject.
"A month in a cell, without any other company but a couple of bodies and rats… that changes the way you see life," Hermione muttered, this time she, and not the medallion, saying the lie.
Even if her physical condition had been far from that description considering the luxury of her chambers in the Fortress, psychologically she had felt that way in the beginning. Locked, alone, subjected, horrified. She had grown used to it and had found some pleasure in her routine, but she had not stopped reflecting on reality; Filldeserp would not have let her done otherwise with his intense conversations.
"I realized the many things I had missed by focusing on the war," she muttered, turning her eyes away from Neville's and gazing at the canopy. "It would have also been wrong not paying any attention to it. Selfish, even. But… what am I fighting for? What is that which makes me wake up every day and keep going? Is it just an abstract idea of justice? My vow as an auror? The dead in my past? The things that I've lost and will never get back, no matter how much I fight? What are we fighting for, Nev?
"I fight because I don't want anyone else to suffer. I fight because I want to live in peace with my friends. I fight because I don't want to keep regretting or feeling sorry about the spilled blood. I want my dead to rest in peace once and for all. I fight because my heart beats, and I want it to keep beating, for everything that makes me happy; everything that makes me be me, and not a pawn in a game of chess. I fight because it would be sad to lower my arms and stop living… that's why I fight, Nev. Because I have you, I have the promise of a better life. The promise that one day, everything will be alright…
"And what do you fight for, Nev?"
Neville remained static by her side, watching her carefully. After a few minutes of silence and deep meditation, the young man smiled at her and nodded, to indicate he understood. He then walked to the window and leaned on the frame, getting lost in the landscape.
"I fight because I don't want to lose my friends. I don't want to lose any more loved ones for an unfair cause. I fight because only that way I can defend who I am, only that way I can face reality with my head held high, and honor those who have fallen behind me. I fight because I want to defend this world that I live in… to enjoy it, and to share it. To change it. I fight because there's no greater objective than the hope that one day… one day…" He took a deep breath, as if he needed all his strength for what he was going to say next." That one day I can tell Ginny how I feel, and love her without hiding it… and sharing it with her without fear…"
Hermione set her eyes on the blanket and let a sigh out of her lips… the same lips that had kissed Filldeserp the day before. She smiled with sadness and touched her lips with her fingers, remembering the warmth of his touch and how many emotions they had exchanged at that moment.
She felt as if a part of her had been taken from her at that moment; as if Filldeserp had taken part of her soul, which he would not let go, and would always make her return to him because she was his. At the same time, the thought that she had also taken a part of him… something more precious, more infinite, than his power, his mind, or his ideals…
She did not know what encouraged her to talk to Neville in such way. She had seen his loneliness, the pain born from a sacrifice too great to be justified. The longing she had suffered as well that entire week, of not knowing what to do, how to control what she felt, how to escape everything… Fearing what relentlessly belonged to her, what she was.
Unlike Hermione, Neville knew her feelings were real. And even if she knew Ginny reciprocated them, she respected her friend's decision not to take the relationship further, even if his cowardice infuriated her. Hermione knew Neville needed that; he needed Ginny, to keep going, to expose the best of him, to keep his hope alive…
And Hermione had fulfilled her promise of keeping the flame alive. They just needed a push in the right direction and both would stop thinking about sacrifices, about war, about death…
"Don't be afraid, Nev…" She said, smiling. "Together you won't have to fear anything. Even if only risks await you… it would have been worth it. It would have been worth everything…" Neville returned his smile.
"You sound like one of those romantic idealists…" He laughed. "Our always logical Hermione letting herself be ruled by her feelings… Tell me, Herm, is there someone in your mind?"
Hermione shared his laugh at the same time uncertainty ate her insides.
"If only you knew, Nev…"
Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix
September 29th, 2004
Time: 6:15PM
Since his arrival at England, Lucas de Santos had not stopped questioning if it had been the right choice. Even more when he met the highest members of the Order of the Phoenix, and was only disappointed of the results. He had almost understood why Harry Potter had chosen a different path. What kind of life was that?
He had already taught two classes on defensive magic and had concluded that the first thing he would do if he ever ran for Minister of Magic would be to make sure that the Auror Academy followed his syllabus word by word and trained those useless students so he could trust the effectiveness of the defenders of the community.
Although he could not entirely blame the Academy; one could not find gold in an iron cave, in the same way incredible talents could not be found in the inept wizards who shaped the community.
De Santos admitted he was not gold either, but he could at least say he was bronze. The mistake was not in his reflexes, not even in his techniques, or knowledge, but in the attitudes other aurors had toward him. They did not have a notion of caution, or even strategy. They could work well in a group, until one lost focus or failed, and everyone fell with him.
He remembered a part of the speech Filldeserp had said at the Spanish ministry, where he had used a particular expression to describe the clumsiness of British aurors: Gryffindorks.
"It is a derogatory term that Slytherins use toward Gryffinfors," he had said with a smirk when the minister had asked him the meaning of the word. "It makes a general allusion to their extremist personality; always taking risks, without a concept of survival in their minds. Brave, though impulsive. And that explosive temperament…"
"Aren't you also a Gryffindor?" The minister had asked with some curiosity. Filldeserp had given him a dangerous smile.
"There was a time when you would not have found a better example of a Gryffindor than me, minister. But things have changed. They have been fixed in a way that everything turned out the way it should have been… I am now the Slytherin the sorting hat suggested I should be."
"That does not erase the fact you were a Gryffindor," De Santos contradicted him. "We cannot deny from where we come."
"But we can stop it from affecting us," Filldeserp said with cleverness. "In the same way that the blood running through my veins does not matter, and neither do the skills I have; it is I who decides who I am at the end of the day. Choices. That is who we are."
"Wise words, Lord Filldeserp," the minister praised him. A smirked crossed the face of the Englishman.
"Oh, they are not mine, minister. They belong to an old mentor… who is not enjoying the way I am interpreting them," he chuckled with immense coldness.
De Santos suspected that mentor had been no one else but Albus Dumbledore, and he conceded a point to Filldeserp's comments. The old man was not at all happy with the path his golden boy had taken. Of course not. He had joined his parents' killer, become his child. He had ignored the legacy of nobility and justice that ran through his veins, transforming it in an inheritance of evil, destruction, and hatred.
Harry Potter had chosen to cleanly change where he came from; to change all prophecy, fate, and future that had been thought for him. And of course, condemning him, Lucas De Santos, to lead a pathetic group of aurors…
And to the loss of all hope.
He took a deep breath, chasing away all those pessimistic thoughts from his mind.
"Lucas," Longbottom greeted him when he walked by. He nodded, returning the greeting. "How is your investigation going?" He asked, almost sarcastically.
Filldeserp had forgotten to mention the excessive trust they had toward those who were part of their herd.
"I would prefer to wait some time before I gave you my report, Longbottom," he answered.
He knew Neville and he had gotten along during the time they shared in Spain. But many things had changed since then. Neither of them were who they used to. They had sacrificed too many things, lived terrible experiences, and seen too many injustices to be the same charismatic and illustrative young men.
"You're wasting your time," Neville muttered. "Hermione is not infected in any way. If you knew her, you would know."
"I have the fortune not to," he replied. "I can judge the events objectively. Or at least, I can get to know this new Hermione."
"There's no new Hermione," Ronald Weasley said appearing out of nowhere and entering the conversation without a care. "She's the same Hermione as always."
"You can't know that until time passes," Lucas muttered. He then stopped to scrutinize both aurors. "Shouldn't you be in the Ministry, working the attacks?"
"We're on our way," Neville said. He pulled Ron from his arm as he seemed willing to continue their argument with the Spanish. "We'll see you later, Lucas. Good luck with the training." And after a smirk, they left the room as suddenly as they had entered it.
He looked at his watch. He had ten minutes before he had to train a group of incompetents. He sighed, regretting that his life had become so depraved.
"Would you mind if I observe this training?"
He turned startled to see who it was, and cursed that Gryffindor tradition of entering without being announced. Although the new interruption was not as badly received as the two before. In fact, Hermione Granger had just given him the perfect opportunity to evaluate her and begin his investigation.
The young woman was not particularly attractive. For Lucas, she did not have any appealing feature; brown hair that after a month without caring had turned bushy, and did not favor the pale and thin face of the girl. Her eyes had a shadow that hinted at showing something more, but nothing that compared to the eyes Lucas longed to see again.
What did call his attention was the delicacy of her gestures and the intelligence behind her innocent look, besides the perseverance and strength her stance showed. Miss Granger was strong, as Dumbledore had underlined for him. He wondered if perhaps he had found the only member of the Order worthy of training…
Which only increased his suspicion of a possible trap.
"Of course not," Lucas said. He allowed himself a moment of irresolution to keep his façade and continued. "Are you Hermione Granger?"
"Mhm," she answered. Her eyes examined him with reserve. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that I am known… can I ask your name?"
"Lucas De Santos." He smiled. He really enjoyed good challenges.
"Hmm… you're not English, right?" The girl deduced quickly. She then smiled with amusement, "Spanish, aren't you?"
"Is my accent so obvious?" He was really surprised of being discovered in less than ten words. The girl, nevertheless, only smiled mysteriously.
"And what are you teaching them today?" She asked with curiosity. "Neville told me these trainings are doing a lot of good for the spirit of the Order. We needed it. Merlin knows how many times I've told Albus we needed to refine our skills a little more…"
"I've tried defensive magic, but…" He shook his head with resignation. "I think I'll teach some magical theory; that way they'll handle very useful techniques in the battlefield…" Hermione nodded, showing her agreement. "How much do you know about magical theory?"
"I believe magic is will," Hermione answered. "Even if I need a lot of power and intention behind it, I can do certain things that don't require spells." Lucas raised his eyebrows with incredulity.
"You have elemental genes?"
"I don't know." Lucas examined every detail of the expression on her face looking for some sign of deceit. He found none. "I guess some, otherwise I could not be so familiar with magic…"
"So you can do wandless magic. And non-verbal spells," the Spanish concluded. Hermione nodded.
There was a moment of awkward silence.
"Hmm…" The girl seemed to hesitate, but she then decided to continue. "Do you think magic can like people like Voldemort or Filldeserp?"
Beyond the oddity of the question, what surprised Lucas was the courage the girl had when pronouncing the names of the two people who kept her captive for a month. He knew many people who could not even name them, and who were not even close to their acts of evil. Granger deserved his respect for having faced reality with such strength, and with an amazing recovery.
If such recovery even existed.
"Magic is something abstract…" he whispered, almost with care. "If we are guided by the facts, the answer is affirmative. If we consider our principles…" He sighed.
"We would be outraged that something so pure could be alive inside of them…" Hermione said as if she was reading his thoughts.
Her brown eyes looked away, almost guiltily.
"What would happen if… if magic had not sterilized them of it because it still thinks they're worth it?"
"What do you mean?" He asked, disturbed by such theory.
"Perhaps magic is giving them the opportunity to change… or just, it doesn't care about what they do. Dark magic, blood sacrifices… all of that, after all, are part of Magic as such. Perhaps, for the Old, haven't innocent lives been sacrificed during times of peace and prosperity? And haven't they… perhaps, accepted those sacrifices?"
"Are you trying to justify them…?"
"No! No way!" The girl yelled. Something in her stance made Lucas be on alert. She was not being completely honest. "But one questions if… if they are not defending their own way of living, a way to see magic different than our own…"
"Whatever it is you're defending¸ it doesn't justify the killings," Lucas muttered, his cheeks taking some color, a result of his anger and indignation. "They are murderers…"
"Haven't we killed as well?" She countered. "Is there really a Dark or Light side? Isn't everything just an infinite variety of shades?"
Lucas stopped to observe her. Opposite to her previous calm, her features now showed desperation, as if she needed Lucas to agree or deny her theories in such an extreme way that her life depended on it.
If it was possible, his mental indicator of risk had reached its limit.
"There's no Light, or Dark. Not even shades, Granger," he whispered. "There isn't anything so poetic. The only thing we have is power… not only in the magical sense, but in ability. Those without power, without opportunities, without hope, are dominated. Just like primitive towns are replaced by superior civilizations… because they have greater potential, greater reach. More possibilities of survival.
"Sometimes is not even about power. Luck has its main part as well… What made Lily Potter's sacrifice greater than that of other mothers? Lily Potter was not the first or the last to invoke that old magic… however, nobody else was able to survive the Avada Kedavra. Why?" Lucas continued, hiding his own anger to such injustice after such a passionate speech.
Granger's expression turned dark. She lowered her gaze and Lucas was able to see tears in her eyes.
Why was she crying?
"I doubt to ever believe in sacrifices that are based in the life or freedom of people," she whispered. "I acknowledge that they exist and are sometimes necessary, but… there's always some other way to save people. They are relative, subjected to the ideologies to which they are judged…"
"I partially agree," Lucas said, feeling a knot on his throat. "But sometimes there's not time to find a logical exit. You just… see the possibility of saving someone, especially a loved one, you take it." Granger raised her eyes.
"And if you choose sacrifice having the time… is that right or wrong?"
"You said it yourself: it depends on the circumstances, the subject… so many things…" He bit his lower lip. He would have to add discussing forbidden subjects to his list of Gryffindor defects.
"What if there was a small chance to lower the amount of deaths, of creating a new world… but you had to sacrifice everything that is yours, material and spiritual… would you do it?"
"I've done it already."
"It depends on the circumstances," he repeated. Hermione pursed her lips, but nodded with determination.
"Thanks, De Santos. I needed to talk about this with someone," the girl smiled.
"Any special reason?" He asked, focusing again on his mission.
"Sometimes is hard to see what is right from what is wrong…" Granger's smile grew wider. "But I know I will continue to be loyal to myself, even if it's the harder path, even if I have to sacrifice everything… I will, as I've partially done already, because I would die condemned if I didn't give it my all. Even that which doesn't belong to me…" Her eyes seemed to be observing a parallel reality that Lucas could not reach.
It was then when the aurors under Lucas mentoring entered the room, ready for training, not realizing what they had interrupted. The Spanish cursed his luck for the fifteenth time that day, although he also smiled to the test ahead of him.
He would analyze his conversation with Granger a thousand times on a Pensieve if he had to until he found the Root. The girl would not escape him, even if she was so sly as to introduce subjects that had thrown him off balance. Yes, Hermione Granger would prove interesting; as complex, sharp and strong as Albus had mentioned.
Even if at that moment he could not take his mind out the image of Sara and her sacrifice…
Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix
October 2nd, 2004
Time: 10:43PM
He knocked softly on the door. A stream of emotions running through his body, all of them contradictory; worry, anxiety, impotence, fear, and a joy that overcame them all and made him feel relieved, free, and brave.
It had been a week since Hermione had been rescued. Due to the constant attacks, Ronald had not been able to visit his friend until then. He had only seen her one time since she had woken up, but it had been really late at night and the girl had been sleeping so peacefully that Ron did not have the heart to wake her up.
He entered the room and gave it a quick look. Hermione was sitting by a small light, reading a book that stood out because of its thickness and its specific subject. Ron smiled with longing. At least, there was something about Hermione that had not changed, with or without torture.
The young woman looked up when she heard the door and when she saw him, she smiled with some weakness, putting her book aside and standing up to welcome the warm hug Ron gave her seconds later. He remained buried in the hug, smelling his friend's characteristic fragrance and enjoying the feeling of having her there, next to him; her warm touch, her comforting smile, her almond eyes glowing so innocently…
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to come to see you before, Hermione…" Ron whispered, finally releasing her from the embrace.
"Neville has told me about the attacks. So it's okay, Ron," Hermione said. Moments later, she smirked at him. "Who would have thought… Ronald Weasley, head of Department and leader of our defense…" He pretended to be hurt by her comment and gave her a light punch on the shoulder.
"Hey!" His face was calm and his eyes showed his worry. "How are you, Herm?"
"Better," she answered dryly. "I doubt I'll ever be who I was before this… but at least I won't let it stop me from keep on living."
"I'm glad to hear that." He took her hands and smiled at her. "You have my full support, Herm… anything you need…"
"Thanks, Ron." For a moment, the voice of the girl broke and she turned her eyes to the window, where only a starless night could be seen.
Ron took advantage of those minutes to observe her with more attention. Some scars marked her face, and he was sure that there were many more hidden under her clothes. She clenched his fists and his cheeks took a red color. How could have Filldeserp dared to do that to Hermione?
Her almond eyes were as pure as always, but there was something corrupting their usual energy; a sadness, suffering, so deep… In her movements there was something different, though he was not sure if it was caution or fear. There was also something different in her presence, but Ron was not able to identify what it was.
"There were moments in which I wished to join my parents…" She whispered and turned to see him. In her eyes an emotion burned that Ron was not able to classify. "Those moments when the pain did not make sense… was it worth it to fight for that? Was it worth it to keep believing?" She grimaced. "And it was then when I remembered you guys… my friends… it didn't matter if I never saw you again, but I wouldn't give up. Even if I had to take that torture for a hundred years, I wouldn't betray you…"
Ron did not make a move. Something in Hermione's words had thrown him off-balance in a way he did not know how to react. What comfort could he give? What could he say?
And why did he have the feeling that there was something behind his friend's speech?
"What do you say, Ron? Would you do the same for me?" The girl asked, not noticing his daze; her stance showed her hope and expectations.
Ron let his eyes observe the room while he tried to put his emotions under control. He did not know why, but all those questions, all those words, disturbed something deep inside of him, at the bottom of his ideals. The air of the room seemed to condense as he began having trouble breathing, and an unnatural cold overwhelmed him.
He was startled when Hermione walked toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"What's wrong, Ron?"
His eyes were irritated and a tear ran down his face. He lowered his gaze to the floor and took a deep breath. Then, suddenly, he grabbed on to Hermione's arm and raised his eyes to stare straight at hers. On an impulse, he hugged her and let out his sorrow.
"Forgive me, Hermione… forgive me…"
The girl smiled, but the red-hair did not see it.
"What are you saying, Ron…" She took a step back and locked eyes with him. "There's nothing to forgive."
Weasley returned her smile, although he was not able to put his relief into words. He did not know if he had really been forgiven, but there was something in Hermione's eyes, those eyes that were similar to the windows of her soul, so he could not doubt the words of her friend, or found the strength to do so.
He only knew this time he had done something right, after years and years of denying realities, spreading guilt, and never reaching repentance; after years and years of reiterating wrong choices and not realizing his mistake, or ever attempting to correct it.
After years and years, a weight on his shoulder had vanished…
Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix
October 5th, 2004
Time: 8:46AM
It had been a week and a half since her non-official reincorporation to the Magical Community. However, she felt as if she had been locked inside of Headquarters for at least a month. She was not an idiot and had immediately noticed the cautious looks most members gave her. Every time she left her room, other than for meals or a meeting, someone unusually appeared to interrupt her.
She questioned why she was not angry about such underestimation. After all, she was Hermione Granger; clever, intelligent, and honest. Had they not realized they were being too obvious in the way they investigated? She did not need to be too smart to see the signs. She was a professional auror, who excelled particularly on investigation cases more than in those of action.
Perhaps there was no self-criticism because they did not have the capacity to see their mistake. After being a month outside of such environment, studying very different techniques to those she now faced, and with two people she still did not know how she felt about; she now had the ability to see. In her time, perhaps she had been as obvious. She probably still was. The difference lied in that she was trying to change, while they continued their routine, with their deplorable techniques…
She sighed, rubbing her eyes and resigning herself to not being able to focus reading the Prophet. She had avoided thinking for eleven days about her reality, her choices, only partially approaching the subject. Even if she wanted to maintain her promise to change and improve, to grow up and be stronger, only knowing the truth about herself; she had to face those things that she had kept at the back of her mind.
Filldeserp had told her he would not push her to choose; that there was no deadline. Despite that, the moment news of her rescue were made public, several families supporting Dumbledore were attacked. There was even a small attack at a secondary Ministry building, where some of the most experienced advisors were killed, and the grandson of a member of the Order was kidnapped.
It was probably not to lose prestige despite the news of her rescue; to show the angry attitude expected from her escape from the Fortress. Besides, several other movements had taken place to show there was an intense search on the identity of the traitor.
Nothing that directly forced her to make her choice; nevertheless, she felt horribly guilty. All those attacks, murders, spy movements, were done so she could have an alibi; to take the attention of everyone who could suspect it all was a lie. Everything would be unnecessary if she was not oscillating between sides; if she had not been given the opportunity to choose.
Why her? Why among so many, only she had that freedom? It was unfair. If it was not because she was obligated to do so, she might reject it. She would have stayed in the Fortress, not knowing if she was a prisoner or not; if what she felt for Filldeserp was real or not… Nothing gave her that right above everyone else. So many kidnapped, and they all had died… not able to keep their honor, not able to defend what they loved…
Nothing gave her that right… except the privilege of being loved by Filldeserp.
She put her hands on her face, trying to hide the tears that ran down her cheeks. She felt like a blessing and a curse at the same time. Everything she ever wanted was found in him, but also everything she hated. Her fate was bound to him, but he had given her the opportunity to escape…
Had she not expressed on those loose parchments that everything currently happening was a product of the desire to escape that all members of the golden trio had professed?
To escape all responsibilities, all expectations. To escape from the shadows, from jealousy. To escape from reality, guilt, and regret. To escape from what made them people. To escape from what made them animals. To escape… without looking back, without worrying what could happen with everyone around them.
Would she escape again?
No.
A bitter smile crossed her face. At least she had discarded one of the options; the one she already knew she would not choose, because it was an empty and barren choice.
The Order of the Phoenix or the Dark Order? My friends or the man who I hate and love at the same time? Death or death? Hope or hope?
Every side offered her things in particular, but there were circumstances that were the same. In both she could die or cause the death of others. In both she could keep providing hope, though in different ways…
Certain ideals were different. Her function in the structure was different. Her reason to fight would be different. Who would fight next to her would be different.
However, she was not sure her fate would be different.
Someone knocked on the door. Feeling relieved and disappointed that her meditation time had been disturbed, she voiced her conformity with her visit and invited the person to enter.
She was surprised to find Albus Dumbledore at the door, with his peaceful and understanding gaze, his blue eyes twinkling with their usual mischievousness. She had seen him several times during her time at Headquarters, but she only had a deep discussion with him once: the day she had woken up. Since then, she had not heard from him again. And she would have wanted another week without him, at least.
"I hope I am not interrupting anything important, Hermione," he said looking around the very organized room.
"Of course not, Albus. Please, take a seat." She pointed at the chair in front of her, intended for her visitors. In contrast, Hermione was sitting on a comfortable armchair, with the Prophet on her lap. "What can I do for you, Albus?"
"Not so fast, young lady!" Albus laughed, in a poor attempt to relax the atmosphere from Hermione's perspective. Or perhaps she was used to the direct and straightforward approach that Voldemort and Filldeserp used. "What if I order some tea for us to enjoy while we talk?"
"Of course," she gave in with a fun smile. The quirks of an old man.
Dumbledore snapped his fingers, asking for the services of a house-elf to whom he kindly asked for the beverage. A moment later, the cups appeared, fuming an inviting scent that relaxed Hermione; a very opposite effect to the coffee at the Fortress, which Filldeserp often requested for their sessions.
She mentally smiled to both of those situations. Perhaps they were not only different in their ideals and their way to achieve them, but also in their taste and the way they treated guests. As much as she tried, she could not stop a giggle after her fist sip of tea.
Dumbledore observed her with his eyebrows narrowed, although sharing her smile. He was probably used to people laughing at his quirks.
Hermione put the tea on the small table between her and the professor, being perfectly aware of the odd feeling burning in her throat and that she could not place. She set her eyes on the tea and felt a stab on her stomach.
Veritaserum.
Dumbledore did not trust her enough, even knowing that if he had requested it, she would have taken the potion willingly, trusting his good intentions. The deceit, the betrayal clinging on her… she felt helpless and exposed, under an undignified and humiliating act of manipulation, as if she had fallen on a trap.
She closed her eyes with heaviness. What would Filldeserp say if he could see her? What would he say when he saw she had ruined the freedom he had granted her? That she had wasted the present he had given her, sacrificing even the disappointment of his father, which had certainly earned him a direct ticket to the torture room?
But it was more important to know how she would survive. Dumbledore could ask her everything he wanted and she would respond easily, betraying even the information that even if she chose to return to the Order, she would not have revealed about Filldeserp. Betraying all the trust and hope she had shared with him for a moment…
Her thoughts faded, losing sense and being at the disposal of her interrogator. She focused her brown eyes on his, feeling an abyss under her feet and not understanding why.
"Who are you?"
"Hermione Jane Granger."
It was an understandable question. She could very well be an impostor, although Neville, Ron, and most would have noticed any odd behavior; even when healers had checked for glamour spells and potions, without results. Even when there were.
"What do you do?"
"Auror for the Ministry of Magic and a member of the Order of the Phoenix."
And Filldeserp's lover.
"What happened during your stay at the Fortress?"
Unconscious anxiety shook her insides.
"I was tortured, subjugated…" She hesitated.
"Relax, everything is under control," a voice said in her head.
Suddenly everything was clearer and she was able to take control of her thoughts.
"Now it is your turn to fight against the effects of the Veritaserum," the Voice said, this time with slight amusement. Hermione mentally smiled. She would remember that voice even if everything else in her mind was erased.
"Did you expect Dumbledore would do something like this?"
"I would have been more surprised if he had not. In fact, I am disappointed he waited this long. Under my control, I assure you that whatever I would have planned for you and the Order would have happened the second night."
"And how is it you're in my head?" She heard a laugh.
"I am not in your mind. We are just communication through the medallion. Clever, isn't it?" She could almost hear the sarcasm in his words.
"And why haven't you tried to communicate before?"
"I did not want to influence your choice. I only intervened when, if you had given the wrong answer, you could have signed your own sentence."
"Did you have any contact with Voldemort or Filldeserp outside those sessions?"
"If only the old geezer knew," Filldeserp laughed.
"Where are you now?" She asked, curious.
"In the Fortress, organizing another fake attack."
"How did Voldemort react?" It was not necessary for her to ask about what.
"As I told you, I was able to handle it," he said obnoxiously.
"You haven't answered my question."
"I am not sniffing around your activities with the Order, am I?"
"No."
"Do you know if they put you under a spell or gave you a potion to control you?"
When Hermione opened her mouth to dismiss the question, Filldeserp whispered: "say yes."
"Are you insane?"
"Yes, but that's not the point? Say yes, I know what I am saying."
"I still don't understand why I trust you," she answered with resignation.
"Yes." With expectation in his eyes, Dumbledore leaned forward on his seat, focusing his eyes on Hermione, as if the truth would be revealed that way.
"What spells or potions?"
"Now say none," Filldeserp commanded her.
"What? You're contradicting yourself!"
"Trust me, Hermione, I am not. I find it odd you are not playing along, but… I guess it is because of the numbing caused by the Veritaserum," he said mocking her.
"None," Hermione said, still not completely believing it was the best way to deal with her interrogation.
Dumbledore observed her with confusion until seconds later, finally, a glow of understanding appeared in his eyes, realizing the mistake in his questioning. Hermione could almost see him clucking his tongue as a sign of his irritation with himself.
"One would think that after so many years of experience, the old man would know how to question someone under Veritaserum," Filldeserp said with disdain,
"I still don't understand your technique."
"Very simple, my dear Hermione," he said with amusement. "It is a wording game. The first question was about whether you did or did not know. The second was what you knew. According to your recent statement, you are sure you did not take anything hurtful. Dumbledore has no more reason to suspect you. Those answers also include your magical subconscious, as such, if you had something, you would have answered you did not know what, but that there was something."
She mentally smiled to Filldeserp's cleverness. There was a reason why he was the Dark Lord and not her.
"I think I need to thank you for this round."
"Do you have something in mind?" He asked suggestively.
"You wish," she whispered a little tense, although she could not ignore the warm sensation the conversation had caused in her.
"I believe you should let the old geezer know you have recovered consciousness. It has been long enough for someone who is aware of Veritaserum," he suggested slowly. "It is also time for me to go back to my planning."
"Thanks for the help."
"Someday you can return the favor."
In the outside world she blinked several times and recovered her stance, with an overacted expression of confusion.
"Have you learned everything you needed, Albus?" She said, not showing any antagonism or submission, just interest.
"One more question before you leave… how much longer do I have?" There was such silence that Hermione thought Filldeserp had already closed his mind. Nevertheless, he answered after some hesitation.
"You know that your alibi will probably not last longer than November. By then, a death eater from the Fortress would have probably opened his mouth while drunk."
"Do you trust I have until then? No death eater will get drunk sooner?" She asked sarcastically.
"None would risk before the Congress, I assure you," Hermione did not ask what was the Congress or even if Filldeserp was sharing the real truth.
"Then, you will have proof of my chosen loyalty before November."
"Deal."
She showed a bitter smile to the feeling of emptiness that ending the communication caused.
"I must apologize for the way I began our conversation, Hermione, but you must know how necessary it was for us to be completely sure…"
"I completely understand, Albus," she lied, almost professionally. "Everything for the safety of the Order, for the wellbeing of our community." She nodded vigorously to the speech she had in her mind since her time at the auror Academy. "I would not forgive myself if in an act of selfishness or pride I put at risk the lives of my comrades." Albus smiled, pleased.
"I am glad you are with us again, Hermione."
"Me too." She returned the smile, ignoring the bitter taste in her mouth.
It was no longer a question of choosing between her friends and the man she loved. It was a question of choosing between those who respected her intellect and those who underestimated it, shamelessly hurting her pride.
Voldemort and Filldeserp did not use less honorable methods than Dumbledore, but they did it in a way Hermione did not feel that way; so disappointed, betrayed, and used. They had analyzed each one of her memories; nevertheless, what other treatment could she have expected from the Dark Lords. Instead, Dumbledore was the leader of the Light. Where was his faith in his allies? Where was his well-known obsession with second chances?
The dark side had manipulated her heart, but… they had only accelerated a process that sooner or later would happen. Because there, practically alone in a room in the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, she knew none of her encounters with Neville or Ronald had made her feel anything even close to what she had felt in the short mental conversation she had with Filldeserp…
She had decided to forgive Ron, not only because if Filldeserp had deserved a second chance, the red-hair deserved one as well; but also because she could not remain hostile toward someone who she had always cared for. His innocent and kind nature would not allow it. Even if he was her parents' murderer, a liar, a traitor…
They all were.
She could understand Ron. She could understand Harry. She could understand herself.
Even if there was no real justification for any of their actions.
"Forgive me, Hermione, forgive me…"
At least, Ronald had admitted his mistake and had apologized. Perhaps not knowing exactly why; or even referencing that event, or in an impulse of emotional unbalance… but he had.
She sighed. She figured she would have to wait an eternity before Harry would get close to that.
She felt she could wait until then.
Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix
October 8th, 2004
Time: 11:15PM
After making sure no one was spying on her, she entered the highest room at Headquarters, with the invisibility and silence charms necessary. For someone who did not know where to look, they would find it impossible to get there. That was why they had chosen it as the center for the clandestine operations.
Seating mightily on a wooden chair in the center was Austen, the savior death eater, who only gave a smile to the invisible entity, not being disturbed by it in the least. Even his eyes were focused on a different place in the room, probably on a rat hole.
"I thought you wouldn't come," he muttered.
"I ran across some members of the Order… if I had been rude, they would have questioned my attitude… and I am not entertained by them looking into everything I say." She said, taking a defensive attitude. "By the way… Auribus teneo lupus."
"Lupus in fabula," he answered with a boring tone.
To his right answer, the girl let down the invisibility charms and she took shape in front of the death eater. Hermione stood in front of him, dressed in purple robes that partially covered her face full of scars caused by the glamour spell. They exchanged knowing glances and nodded as a greeting.
They seemed like old comrades with a common goal.
"You better have a good reason to ask me to do this… you know how much we are risking right now, don't you?" Austen said displeased.
"I'm sure the Lord will reward you." She smirked at him. Austen nodded on his seat, suddenly interested in her offer.
Was it possible that all death eaters jumped at the possibility of capturing their Lords attention?
"Have you decided?"
"Yes." Her smile grew to the anxiety in the death eater's eyes. "Does my choice influence yours?"
Cailean observed her with coldness.
"The Dark Lord has always respected my espionage skills. It is most likely that after this mission, I won't be able to fulfill any role in the Order of the Phoenix, so he will probably send me to another country…" His inexpressive eyes were soon full of life, although a hint of insanity scared Hermione. "I live to serve. Thus, whatever you choose, I will remain where I've always been."
"Good," the Gryffindor said. "Do you suggest a date for my triumphant return?"
"Oh." Cailean gave her a dangerous smile, leaning toward her until he has able to whisper on her ear. "Lord Filldeserp would be very pleased if you show your beauty on Halloween night."
"What do you mean?" She asked, surprised. During her stay at the Fortress, she had never heard of a special celebration during that day. In fact, she suspected it was a grieving day for the Dark Order.
"It is the day when the Congress begins," the death eater explained with some anxiety. "All dark creatures and allies of the Dark Lord will be present. And to celebrate, there will be a ball. It is one of the traditions still standing."
"What is your suggestion then?"
"You will come with me, as my guest, dressed as the occasion expects, which I will handle; and well… once there, you can continue your own strategy. My mission is strictly to make sure you get to the Fortress safely. For that, try that your last twenty-three days with the Order aren't too…"
"Revealing?" Hermione finished and Austen nodded.
"In the case you think your alibi is discovered, immediately activate the Portkey in your medallion. Don't expose yourself. Don't think of only you this time, but also that my life depends of your well-being, as much as it pains you."
"Don't worry. I wish to keep living as much as you do." She stood up, knowing that the longer she was out of the eyes of the Order, the more compromised she would be. "Any changes in the plan… or when you have your strategy ready, let me know."
"It was a pleasure making business with you, Granger," Cailean mocked her, standing up and shaking hands with her.
As carefully as she had entered, and after casting again the spells that would keep her from suspicion, Hermione left the hidden room, not knowing until several minutes later that a pair of blue eyes had observed her the entire time.
She walked down the stairs and at the bottom she found Luna Lovegood apparently waiting for her. With a bad feeling, she smiled at her nervously.
"Hi, Luna! It's been a while!" She expressed fake joy.
"You'll leave with him, won't you?" The Ravenclaw asked without any emotion.
Hermione observed her, completely surprised, and felt fear taking over her body. Had she been so obvious? Had she already told Dumbledore or De Santos? How would she escape Headquarters? And if she was captured… she doubted Filldeserp would remain oblivious. There would be a deadly ambush and…
She was not ready to face the situation. She needed a week to mentally prepare for what she was going to do… The betrayal, the resentment… That could not end like that, it could not…
"Nobody else has noticed yet. They don't trust the official version, but their hypothesis will never get close to the truth. None of them believe that, for example, you're acting on your own will; or they think that you've been corrupted and if you join them, it's for greed for knowledge and prestige…" A sad smile crossed Luna's face. "Nobody knows who we really are. Everyone judges and pretends to know us, but… when we speak of our reality, few times do they pay attention. I understand your decision, Hermione. Even if I am a Ravenclaw and in your place I would never behave like this…"
"I think I've finally discovered the reason of why the sorting hat never considered me for Ravenclaw," she joked. Luna laughed out loud, leaving Hermione stunned by her honesty.
"Your secret is safe with me, Hermione," Luna assured her with a serious face. "I hope that wherever you go, you'll find the happiness you're looking for… and that you deserve. Even if perhaps it's not the best path… it is the path you've chosen. And that's what matters."
Not saying more, she turned and was lost in the darkness of the hallway as fast as she had appeared. Hermione remained shocked, with her eyes set on the place the girl had been seconds before, and smiled. She had never been very close to Luna, but at that moment any difference was forgotten to become an analogy.
It is our choices what determine who we are and who we want to be. And so long as they are ours, we will keep honest to ourselves, without masks, without pretenses, without limitations…
Just Us.