CH12: That's the Thing About Betrayal

August 30th

2:12am

English Countryside

Voldemort

For a thousand years the English agricultural powers had farmed the land. Crops, livestock, genetic modification; they'd done it all. In a single night, they would lose it all.

Voldemort, cloaked in the oppressive shadows of the night, stood on a hillside, his crimson eyes narrowed as he observed the chaos below. His Death Eaters had set fire to the eastern livestock farms, the thick cloud of smoke rising into the sky marking the beginning of a famine unheard of.

As he surveyed the burning farms, Voldemort knew that his nefarious plan was unfolding as he had envisioned. With agents inside the British muggle government, it was all too easy finding the data necessary to craft a plan that would cripple the nation's food supply. He had dispatched his loyal followers all over the country to ignite farms, store houses and production plants as well, ensuring that all efforts to reconstitute the supply chain would be fruitless.

The group that had attacked the farm in front of the Dark Lord climbed the hill which he stood upon, bushels of wheat and sacks of grain trailed behind the two death eaters, suspended in mid air. 'Crabbe and Goyle managed to cast incendio, impressive…'

Crabbe and Goyle Senior, the brutes, kneeled before their Lord. "I am honoured to serve at your behest Lord," the former spoke, "this and the surrounding farms are destroyed."

"Rise, Crabbe and you Goyle." Voldemort motioned with his hand and a bushel floated towards him. "Yes," he uttered appreciatively, "how the little lion will squirm when the snake chokes the life from him."

Goyle couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. "My Lord," he dared to inquire, "Why are we bothering with this slow starvation tactic? Why not storm Hogwarts and take hostages? We could force Potter's hand."

Voldemort's crimson eyes glared icily at Goyle, his patience wearing thin. "Foolish Goyle," he hissed, "how many aurors are in the loyalist army?"

"Uh… I do not know my lord," Goyle replied stupidly.

"And tell me, is there anyone alive who could claim to know Hogwarts' own walls better than Harry Potter?"

"I do not know my lord," he replied again, this time Voldemort could hear the fear behind the mask of his unsophisticated follower.

"Indeed," Voldemort scornfully remarked. "Say we attack Hogwarts, avoid a protracted siege and snatch the few children at the school that are not already under Potter's refuge." The Dark Lord's wand came to bear and an angry red curse burst towards Crabbe who convulsed violently as he screamed. "Then Potter and Greengrass and all the aurors take back the ministry and we're vulnerable to attack."

Voldemort's reasoning silenced Goyle, who lowered his head in submission. The Dark Lord was not one to be questioned lightly, and Crabbe had paid the consequence of such audacity. "Have you fools so quickly forgotten the near disaster that Bellatrix's infiltration was? Our actions have forced the International Confederation of Wizards' hands, we must capitalise."

Crabbe's groans and Goyle's apologies faded away as they dismissed themselves. 'Imbeciles, they forget only I am beyond death.' Voldemort twisted a ring on his finger and portkeyed back to his personal study in Malfoy Manor.

Coiled up in a lavish upholstered chair was his trusty Nagini, the only subordinate that never questioned his orders. "Slifai," he hissed, telling the snake to leave. Nagini promptly complied, slinking away to some dark corner as Voldemort sat down.

'They'll be hard pressed to keep the peace now,' Voldemort thought with sinister satisfaction, 'how simple it should be when stomachs empty and madness reigns.' This was the decisiveness that he had needed early on, it may not be swift, but his victory would be absolute.

To Goyle's credit, he had considered simply drawing Potter out by attacking Hogwarts. It might have worked too, but with Greengrass in charge…

'There is a coldness to that girl one can appreciate.'

There was little doubt in Voldemort's mind that Greengrass would use his attack to strike an equally devastating blow to his own forces, setting back his conquest by decades.

However, the unspoken truth that weighed heavily on Voldemort's mind was his uncertainty about Severus Snape, his most useful. 'Only Severus has the knowledge necessary to facilitate Potter's escape, even though the boy is capable, he could not have managed it alone.'

For now, Severus was still acting Headmaster. With the Carrow twins missing, he'd sent Dolohov, crippled as he was, to watch over the potion's master. For all intents and purposes, Snape was still his most loyal, cracking down on any rebellious action with extreme prejudice. None, not even Bellatrix, could claim to have given the Dark Lord no reason for doubt and it was that very absence of doubt that made him ponder more.

'You will be tested, old friend, make no mistake, you will be tested.'

But that test would not come at the expense of their entire force. If they attacked Hogwarts prematurely, Snape could potentially betray them to save Harry Potter, or perhaps even to serve his own hidden agenda. No, Voldemort measured his losses and one potential triple agent was not worth catastrophe.

Voldemort sat in that very chair for hours, needing next to no sleep, he was afforded a great deal of time to think. He would cripple the loyalists and crush any treachery in his ranks, this he swore to himself as the early hours of the morning turned to day.

September 3rd

3:30pm

Black Chateau, Isle of Man

Daphne

"Madness," Daphne distastefully muttered, "madness and stupidity."

The natural rise in elevation the front of the house offered was useful for a makeshift stage. Daphne, flanked by Harry and Moody, stood together in front of the large and restless crowd that had gathered, composed of disgruntled parents, anxious friends, and loyal allies. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily upon her, but she knew she couldn't let her resolve waver.

Clearing her throat, Daphne's sonorus enhanced voice carried over the assembled group. "Quiet," she began, her tone firm, "I know these are troubling times, and the threat we face is dire. But we cannot let fear guide our actions. We must stand together, as witches and wizards and face this challenge head-on."

Murmurs of discontent continued to ripple through the crowd as Daphne continued, her words measured and determined. "You've heard the rumours about an attack on the British farmlands by Voldemort and his forces," she paused to steel herself, "they are true."

Chaos erupted. Shouts and cries of unintelligible outrage burst from nearly all who gathered before her.

"Are my kids expected to starve whilst you prattle on about standing together?" A man at the front of the crowd shouted, his voice being louder than the others. Beside him stood two children, eyes as

"No," she answered directly and motioned toward the greenhouses behind the chateau. "The greenhouses will be used to grow whatever we can to sustain ourselves. Some of you know we were already planning for a food shortage due to the ICW lockdown but first and foremost…." Daphne's eyes swept across the crowd, her resolve unyielding. "We must avoid mass panic. Fear is Voldemort's ally. We'll organise patrols to steal back the food, set up protective wards, and work tirelessly to defend our homes. You are not alone in these struggles, no one person will have more than the next, including myself."

With those words, Daphne sensed their righteous fury falter and so she pushed on. "Yet still," she continued with vigour, "it will be the responsibility of you all to keep faith in us just as we have faith in you."

They weren't convinced entirely, that much was obvious. Glares, sneers and muttered curses were still the status quo. But as the less invested started to wander off Daphne knew she had placated them for the meantime.

A hundred turned to fifty then groups split off in different directions. Daphne tracked the groups that seemed to be the most disgruntled with a wary eye. 'Food shortage, horcruxes… last thing we need is dissension in our ranks.'

"Well said lass," Moody complimented as Harry hummed his agreement. The metal boot clacked against the stone steps as he moved to her side. "We'll be facing a lot worse soon enough."

"Not if the herbologists do their job," Daphne stated simply.

"We just need to keep the rest calm until they do," Harry continued, "and we will."

"Indeed." As the stragglers finally dispersed though, Daphne had a feeling all wasn't going to be well. 'People do stupid things when they're scared,' she thought warily, 'and I will be the sole person to blame.'

September 3rd

6:21pm

Black Chateau, Isle of Man

Harry

The dim light of the library cast long shadows as Harry Potter sat at the oval table in the library, his arm propping up his tired head. Open in front of him was Dumbledore's journal, though he couldn't truthfully say he'd read a single word in the past hour. Every muscle in his body felt like it was both numb and burning at the same time, courtesy of his recovery potions and a rigorous training regiment.

'One more week,' he told himself, 'and it couldn't come sooner.'

Not only had he needed to recover from his intense torture but also the effects of Snape's dangerous potions mixing. 'It helped me escape, though I wonder if that was truly his intention.'

Dumbledore hadn't made any mention of Snape's allegiances in the journal which could mean in equal parts that Snape was on their side and wasn't.

'Frustrating me from the grave, imagine my surprise.' Harry flipped the book closed and leaned back in his chair. 'He didn't stop me on my way out of the manor but maybe he thought he wasn't capable… No, he has too much pride for that.'

Sooner or later Snape's allegiances would be revealed, all the way at Hogwarts, there wasn't much the man could do now to aid or inhibit their operations.

As his thoughts about Snape came to a close, he heard heavy footsteps climbing the stairs to his left. His position in the room afforded him the sight of Hermione's bushy hair before she had fully ascended the flight of stairs. He greeted her with a smile as she arrived on the first floor, Hermione returned the smile with a glare.

"Harry," she began, her voice laden with repressed rage, "we need to talk." Hermione looked at him, her eyes searching his, as if trying to discern the truth from his very soul. "About this," she continued, her tone firm and unyielding as she placed his old wand down on the table between them.

Harry's heart sank, he had hoped that if her deductive powers were ever going to fail her it would be on this matter. "I asked to be separated from them."

Hermione scoffed. She twisted her hand causing the library doors behind her to slam shut and lock. She took a deep breath before unleashing her pent-up frustration. "If they so repulse you then tell me why in God's name did you go and make one?"

Harry's jaw tightened as he wrenched his eyes from the wand. He had feared this moment, but he knew he couldn't keep the truth from her any longer. "It was the only way, Hermione. It was the only way to survive."

Hermione's eyes bore into his, her gaze unwavering. "You murdered Pettigrew as the necessary sacrifice," she stated, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and anger. Hermione's fury flared as she accused him further. "You used me, Harry. You used me to translate the ancient ritual texts, to help you perform this dark magic, and you didn't even trust me enough to tell me the truth."

Harry's face contorted in a mixture of regret and annoyance. "I couldn't risk your refusal, as understandable as it would have been," he protested. "Still, if you hadn't translated those texts with Blaise, I would be dead."

Hermione's anger remained undiminished as she countered, "That sounds concerningly familiar, Harry. You're using the same justification he used for his Horcruxes."

Harry shook his head vehemently. "It's not even close to the same"

Hermione leaned in closer, her voice rising with passion. "Are you certain, Harry? You realise you're walking down the same path he did."

"Is my life not worth it?" Harry yelled, his frustration boiling over. "That scum-rat, who got my parents killed, who killed Cedric, didn't deserve his own life. So why not exchange it for mine?"

"And you get to decide that? What gives you the right to execute a man, no matter his crimes?" Harry avoided her gaze hoping to hide his lack of guilt. "You split your soul."

"I didn't split my soul, I ripped the decaying remnant of Voldemort's off of my own." Harry picked up his old wand and keenly felt the loss he still held for it and the cold, the cold crept in. "There weren't any other options, I had to live, so that all of you could too"

Hermione's voice softened, but her resolve remained unshaken. "Protecting us isn't enough, Harry. Being good is not just about avoiding evil; it's about actively doing good. It's about making the right choices, no matter how difficult they may be."

"The right choice is the one that keeps us alive," he retorted with strength. "It's the one that bought us an ally in ex-death eater sympathisers, it's the one that made me strong enough to face Voldemort time and time again and it's the one that got me out of that cell."

Hermione shook her head and began to retort, "the old Harry–"

"The old Harry was weak, he would've stumbled head first into slaughter and, what's worse, he'd have dragged you and everyone else along with him." His reply was harsh, harsher than he intended and he could see that it had hurt her.

She flicked her eyes to the wand, tears threatening to spill out of them, and snatched it from his hands. "I'm going to believe," she started as she placed the wand back in her bag, "that most of that was the horcrux."

"I'm sorry," Harry remarked mournfully, "but it's all the truth."

"I think," sniffled and wiped her eyes free of the tear, "you're so afraid of becoming Voldemort and Dumbledore, you've somehow turned into some unnatural combination of the two. All of their strengths but all of their weaknesses too."

Harry snapped his gaze back to hers feeling a cold fury rise in his chest. "That," he began carefully measuring his emotions, "was uncalled for." Harry could see she was ashamed but the word 'sorry' didn't make it past her lips.

'That's because she isn't… neither am I.'

Harry collected the journal and concentrated hard on the lavish wooden door that bridged the library with the first floor hallway. With a twitch of his hand, he wandlessly unlocked it, stepped around the table and passed the shivering Hermione. He offered her no comfort, despite more than half of him wanting to, and left the library. As the door closed behind him, Harry was sure he heard a sob escape from Hermione and he hung his head low.

'I can't apologise for surviving,' Harry affirmed bitterly as he opened the door to his bedroom, 'and I never will.'