There was a shocked, horrible silence, in which Hermione felt as if her heart had truly stopped beating. She knew then what had taken place. In order to go into such protected hiding, the three of them had had to choose their own Secret-Keeper, someone they had all thought they could trust.
"Neville ratted us out," Ron hissed in fury.
"Not quite," said Lucius, and his thin lips tightened. "To his credit, Longbottom was not forthcoming with information. Alas, all it took was fancy footwork- and of course, a bit of pain- to pry the secret from him. He was never a very smart boy, was he?"
"What did you do to him?" Ginny sounded horrified.
"Don't you dare talk that way about Neville!" Hermione was surprised at her own ferocity.
"Perhaps next time, Miss Granger-- oh, do forgive me, it's Mrs. Weasley now, isn't it? how charming-- perhaps next time you should select your own Secret-Keeper more carefully. Don't you think?"
"We'll never tell you where Harry is," Ginny spat viciously. Lucius moved fluidly to the tight little knot they made, bending down a bit.
"Of course, you'll never tell," he said reasonably, as if Ginny were three years old. "If Potter's true Secret-Keeper had had the chance to get away, as you did... well, really, I don't think I need to say any more."
There was another silence.
"Oh, Ginny," said Hermione finally, dismayed.
"I wasn't going to leave you behind!" Ginny defended herself, realizing her obvious mistake and trying to hold back her tears. "I told Mum and Dad to go. Your parents were hurt-- they would have been killed if they'd stayed another minute--"
"Enough." Draco Malfoy's voice was cutting and cruel. "We've got work here, and I'm tired of spinning it out. I want Granger."
"Mrs. Weasley," Pansy corrected with a snigger, but daggered looks from both Malfoys shut her up. Lucius stood from his half-crouching position and studied his son with a critical eye.
"Very well," he said finally. Hermione was surrounded by Death Eaters, her arms and legs pinned in their viselike grip, while they lifted her and dragged her toward the fireplace at the other end of the room. She lashed out, kicking and biting, doing everything she could to inflict damage without her precious wand. She realized in a panic that she was nothing without it, that she knew nothing about defending herself unless it was with magic. Magic fights magic, she reminded herself. You can't do anything now. Just wait it out. Wait for your chance.
She could hear Ron shouting and wrestling against the Death Eaters. He seemed to be having better luck than herself-- she heard a satisfying noise as Ron's fist connected with a man's jaw. The man sprawled on the floor, completely unconscious, but the rest of the Death Eaters quickly subdued Ron, who was yelling and bellowing the entire way.
"Silencio," said Lucius Malfoy lazily, flicking his wand. The vulgar words ceased to float on the air, but Ron's mouth didn't stop forming them.
"Now,"
Lucius continued. "We know that one of you here is Potter's Secret-Keeper.
There isn't any use denying it, is there?"
"You've got it all
wrong," said Hermione acidly. "If you're so certain of Voldemort's
power, why are you so afraid that Harry will come back?"
Lucius's wand hand whipped down, and Hermione flinched, steeling herself for the spell. There was none. A stinging blow landed on her cheek, whiplike, and she could feel the skin split open, the long welt spilling blood down her face. It was somehow more humiliating than a spell could ever have been; she felt as if she were no more than a dog to Lucius, that he couldn't waste his breath with a curse for her. Looking into his cruel mercury eyes, she knew the insult that was implied, and she felt hatred stir inside her.
"We fear no one," he hissed into her face, so close she could feel his breath, cold upon the fresh blood-tracks on her cheek.
"You're afraid of Harry," Hermione spat back. "You're afraid because of the prophecy. You're afraid because Voldemort's power could be jeopardized in an instant if Harry decided to fight again."
Don't think about it, Hermione, don't think about it... if they only knew... they can never be allowed to know! They can never know they've already won. Oh, Harry...
Lucius's eyes narrowed, and for a brief second, Hermione knew that he was afraid; indeed, that all the Death Eaters were afraid. They no longer had a will of their own. It was almost as if they were a hive-mind, with Voldemort at the center, knowing every move they made, every step they took, and ordering their lives to his tastes. The marks upon their forearms were nothing but a brand of hatred, a brand that bore nothing of respect and love but of fear and loathing. A master that cannot be loved is no master at all, Hermione thought, and Albus Dumbledore sprang into her mind. She felt her chin tremble. Oh, Professor, what should we do? They mustn't know, they can never know our secret.
"What is it?" Lucius whispered, studying her eyes. They had never broken their contact with Hermione's own gaze. "There is something in you. I can see it in your eyes. You guard a secret, Mudblood."
Hermione lifted her chin in defiance. They mustn't know it was Ron. They mustn't find out. She had to buy them time, buy herself time to think. She remained silent, but she flexed her fists, her arms tight in the grip of the two men that flanked her.
"She will not speak," Lucius said, straightening up, and his frozen glare never left her face. "She will not speak!"
A murmur rippled through the gathered Death Eaters. They were smiling-- a frigid, eerily-identical smile that made Hermione shiver down to the marrow of her bones. Ginny looked terrified, while Ron had clenched his jaw muscles so tightly that Hermione thought she could hear his teeth grinding together.
"Finite Incantato," Lucius murmured, brandishing his wand at Ron, but Ron kept his silence. Then, with a sharp, jerking motion of one gloved hand, Lucius summoned his son. Draco looked proud of himself as he stepped forward, proud he had been chosen for this task. Hermione did not think that he felt the fear yet... he seemed too fresh, too new to being a follower of Voldemort. Or perhaps he did not feel it because it had been a constant in his life, from the day he was born. Perhaps he didn't know the difference. He spoke in a dulcet tone, almost as if suppressing his glee.
"Crucio!"
For a moment, Hermione didn't know what had happened. Her body had tightened its every muscle in preparation to receive the Curse of Pain, but it did not come.
Ron was screaming. She had never heard anything like it. If his body had been split open, his heart drawn from his chest still beating, she knew that his screams then would not equal those of now. She felt as if she might go mad; mad from hearing such screaming, from knowing that it came from the person she loved dearest in the world.
She wanted it, desperately. She wanted the pain, to take it away from Ron, to bring the attention away from him. She cried out to him, pleading with him to hold on. Ginny's own begging chimed in, though Hermione knew Ron could hardly hear them over the pain racking his body. Death-pains that would never end in death, but could go on forever if needed. They would go on, those screams, for eternity, echoing in her head, always reverberating, driving her insane...
"Crucio!" Draco commanded again.
"Stop!" Hermione cried. "Stop! Stop hurting him!"
"He'll never tell you!" Ginny was laughing and crying simultaneously, a wild look in her eyes. "None of us will! You'll never know who the Secret-Keeper is!"
They'll break him, a voice whispered in Hermione's head. No one can stand this.
"You can, Ron!" Hermione fought against the human bonds that held her, shouting. "Don't give up! Hold on! You can, Ron, you can! Listen to me, hold onto my voice!"
"Crucio!"
"They're killing him," Ginny said in horror, that terrible flame in her eyes raging.
Ron was writhing on the floor, limbs twisted at grotesque angles, following the jerking and twisting of his muscles. A circle of Death Eaters stood round him, at a good distance, allowing him room to seize and sprawl whichever way he would. Hermione could not turn her eyes away, though her ears were numb and ringing from the howls that poured forth from Ron's mouth. Draco lifted his wand again.
"No!" Hermione screamed, just as Ron's voice formed into coherent words.
"It's her!"
He was pointing at Hermione.
"Finite Incantato!"
Abruptly, the room was silent. Ron lay on the floor, tears streaming from his eyes, though he did not sob. Hermione's throat was closed. Ginny had dropped to the floor, simply staring.
Don't do this. Don't do this. Don't do what I think you're doing.
"Such a betrayal," Lucius said sadly. He came to Hermione, plucking the flowers from her hair and twirling them between his fingers. He turned back to Ron. "Your wife. Is she the Secret-Keeper?"
There was a long, excruciating silence. Ron's pained gaze travelled to Hermione, locking with her eyes. He was crying, and she began to sob. She felt as if she would split into a thousand pieces, flying into all corners of the world, never to come back together again, and she didn't care. Without Ron, she didn't care. She pleaded with her eyes, her breath ragged in her throat, her body numb... but she knew there was nothing she could do. He had made up his mind, and she could see the resolve in his haggard face. Tears poured down his cheeks like rivers as he watched her, his gaze like a caress on her cheek. She shook her head, begging him once more not to do it, panic taking her over. It didn't have to be this way.
"Don't," she managed to say, though it was hardly more than a rustle through the sobs that wracked her. Ron closed his eyes and turned his head away in shame.
"Yes," he said very quietly.
Ginny gasped.
"Very well then," said Lucius brusquely, and the room erupted into motion. Hermione gave into her panic.
"Ron, don't! Don't do this!"
"It's the only way, Hermione!" His voice was just as frantic as her own, and Ginny was crying as the Death Eaters lifted her from her position on the floor, hoisting her between them. Ron was being jerked to his feet and pushed toward the other end of the room.
"No! Ron, please... please!"
"Don't be afraid!" She couldn't see him any more, through the throng of Death Eaters. She could only hear his voice, strong and resolute. He knew what was going to happen, he knew what they were sacrificing. Ginny was next to him now, she could see as the crowd parted, their bright heads aflame in the sea of dark robes.
"Ron! Ginny! Don't!"
"Hermione, don't be afraid." It was Ginny this time, and her voice was soothing. Hermione simply sobbed.
"Virginia Weasley," one of the Death Eaters intoned. "For the crime of being found in Muggle company and for trafficking with Muggles, shall on this day, the fourteenth of July, be put to death."
There has to be another way!
"Ronald Weasley," the Death Eater continued. "For the following crimes: trafficking with Muggles, marrying a Muggle-born, and intending to bear impure children, shall on this day, the fourteenth of July, be put to death."
"No," Hermione tried to shout, but it was barely a whisper.
It all seemed to slow, to draw itself out agonizingly. The mass of Death Eaters drew away from Ron and Ginny, leaving a wide space clear around them. Draco and Lucius Malfoy stepped forward, robes flowing about their feet, their steps purposeful and predatory. With their backs to Hermione, they raised their wands.
Ginny's chin was high, her gaze otherworldly, no longer landing upon anything in the room. Hermione knew she was thinking of Harry.
Ron's face was pale, and he raised his eyes once more. He fixed them on Hermione's stolidly, bravely, and she knew without a doubt that he wanted her face to be his last earthly memory. I love you, Hermione, his voice echoed in her head.
"I love you," she whispered, and she knew they both heard.
They smiled.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Ron and Ginny lay in two quiet heaps next to one another, unmoving, unbreathing, unblinking. Hermione was perfectly still for a few moments, and then she slumped to the floor numbly in a rustle of satin. She could do nothing but stare... at the lifeless bodies of her dearest friends and newest family. Of her sister... and her own husband. Yes. Ron was her husband. Hers. Hermione's. They, Ron and Ginny, were her family.
Voldemort killed my family.
"Let's not draw this out any longer, hm?" Lucius said, putting his wand away, his tone businesslike. Hermione did not look at him. Perhaps if she watched closely enough, she would see Ron's chest rise, or see Ginny's eyelashes flutter... but there was nothing.
"Where is Potter?" Draco demanded hungrily, a strange light burning in his eyes. "You saw how Weasley writhed. We can do that to you."
"I don't know," said Hermione dully.
"Don't play games!" Draco snarled, and the rest of the Death Eaters began to look impatient. There was something like greed in Draco's manner, something despicable and horrifying. Hermione realized dimly through her pain that this had somewhere become more than a childhood rivalry, more than a schoolmate's grudge. Draco hated them all. Draco wanted to see them dead. Lucius, however, was watching Hermione with a different air... one of sharp attention.
"I. Don't. Know. Where. Harry. Is." Hermione said it slowly, every syllable ringing, every word filled with naked hatred. Draco's eyes sparked, and he strode forward, his wand raised, but Lucius seized his wrist and stopped him. Quietly, he came to crouch before Hermione. A cold, contrived pity entered his eyes as he reached out to stroke her cheek. His voice was soft, almost awed.
"You are broken. You have nothing left to live for now, do you? Nothing but a lost cause and a cowardly, weak hero. Is there anything to live for, Hermione? Anything for you, or for Harry? Hand him to us... hand him to us, and there will be peace. There will be no more fighting, no more killing. Don't you want to rest? To stop all this unnecessary pain?"
Hermione raised her glassy eyes to his face, finally taking her gaze from Ron and Ginny.
"Yes," she said hoarsely.
"Then tell us where Potter is." Lucius's voice was still hypnotic, still soft. His gloved fingers glided along her hairline, then along her jaw, and raised to repeat the pattern. Over and over. Hermione stared into his eyes, and a strange expression came over her features. Gathering all her remaining strength, she spit full into his face.
"I won't tell you," she said defiantly, as Lucius leaped to his feet in fury, drawing his wand. Her next words stopped him.
"I can't tell you, because I don't know. Eight months ago, I helped Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Severus Snape perform a Fidelius Charm. I then asked to have my memory altered. Dumbledore asked me to go into hiding because he knew you would suspect me. Because I was always the smart one, I got top marks, I'm the cleverest witch anyone knows of... but Harry didn't choose me."
"She's lying!" Draco growled, but Hermione could see in his face that he knew it was the truth.
"He chose loyalty over brains and over love. He chose loyalty over me, and over Ginny Weasley." To everyone's surprise, she smiled then... a pained but victorious smile.
"He chose Ron."
"No," Lucius said, realization dawning.
"Yes!" Hermione's voice was growing louder, more confident. "You killed the Secret-Keeper! You murdered the only person who knows where your worst enemy, where your worst fear is!" She felt a crazed pain in her chest that spread through her like a wildfire. Words poured from her mouth almost without her bidding, blind loathing overtaking her. "Give me Veritaserum, torture me until I can no longer walk, take me to Voldemort himself-- but the Secret died with its Keeper, and that Keeper was Ron Weasley!"
"She lies!" Draco repeated desperately, but Hermione would not be stopped.
"You know it's true!" she cried triumphantly, passionately. "Ron was the most obvious, and therefore the least obvious. He was hiding in plain sight... and then you murdered him. You will never find Harry and you will all live in fear for the rest of your lives, following a Lord that is destined to be stripped of every power he has. You will never win."
"Kill her," Lucius ordered abruptly. The Death Eaters were frozen to their spots, and they hesitated, while Hermione looked round the circle, burning their faces into her memory.
"Kill her!" Lucius bellowed, his voice harsh. "She is a Mudblood and a liar! Execute her!"
Before she was shoved to her knees, before the men and women surrounded her, she made eye contact with Lucius. There was a cold blaze of fury in his eyes, and something more. Terror. He was afraid.
The sea of black robes closed around her. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, and her hand found its way to the fine chain on her neck, its tiny golden lion rearing between her fingertips.
You're safe now, Harry. Safe for always. I'm keeping the secret I have to keep. I know you. What's happened won't stop you, it can't. It's your destiny. I know that nothing we ever did was in vain, together or apart. Fight, Harry. Fight for us. Remember us.
"Hermione Granger Weasley," the Death Eater intoned, as Draco stepped forward with his wand raised, a terrible shine in his eyes. "For the following crimes: trafficking with Muggles, becoming a witch though Muggle-born, marrying into a pure-blooded family with the intent to bear impure children, and betrayal and trickery of the law, shall on this day, the fourteenth of July, be put to death..."
*************
America is beautiful, he thought, but this thought, like so many others, was quickly chased out by emptiness.
In the twilight, Poppy Pomfrey stood watching him from the doorway. There was a worn roll of parchment in her hand, and she plucked at its corner absently, biting her lip... and then she stepped forward.
"Harry, dear," she said, her voice light through its grave undertones. She put a hand on the back of his chair. "I've had an owl from Remus Lupin this morning. There's... bad news, Harry."
He did not reply. Jade eyes stared blankly out the window. Poppy's tears spilled over, and she fumbled for her spectacles on their chain. Once they were settled on her nose, she began to read.
"'17 July.
"Dear Madam Pomfrey,
"It is so hard to say what I must, but Harry has to know. We can't be sure he doesn't understand. It will be easier if I write it quickly.
"Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were killed three days ago. Somehow, a gathering of Death Eaters found them. We do not know what took place... but we do know this: they sacrificed themselves for love of Harry, for their belief in him that he will recover and fulfill the prophecy, that he will remember himself and that this madness can somehow be cured. His secret is forever safe; even I do not know where to find you.
"This is an act of blind faith, the greatest act of love and loyalty that has been performed since Lily Potter stood between her infant son and the Dark Lord. The protection of love will be ever stronger in Harry's blood for all time, because of this selflessness.
"Watch over him, Poppy. Guard him with all that is in you. The many that have passed are not the only ones who have faith in his recovery.
"Yours,
"Remus Lupin.
"P.S. Both of you may wish to know that Ron and Hermione were married on the morning of July fourteenth. I have never seen such a smile on either of their faces. -R.L.'"
Poppy finished the letter and wiped at her eyes with a snowy handkerchief. She put the short roll of parchment in his lap.
"Harry," she said. "If you can hear me, if you know what I've just told you... I am so sorry for your loss."
Very quietly, she went away. His fingers slowly closed round the parchment, his forehead frowning. In the gloaming, a single, solitary tear slid down his cheek, half-imagined.
He remembered chess and snow, weak tea and long talks, stony walls and an enormous hall filled with people. He remembered a girl with wide blue eyes and smooth copper hair, with a lightning-bright smile and open arms, who made him laugh. Remembered a girl with a mane of brown fuzzy curls and shrewd dark eyes, a mind like a diamond and a heart like a warm hearth on a winter night. Remembered a boy with lively grey eyes and mussy red hair, with a quick wit and sharp tongue, but with loyalty and courage deeper than any ocean.
The letter fluttered to the floor.
America is beautiful, he thought, but this thought, like so many others, was quickly chased out by emptiness.
He waited.