Manipulations

Albus Dumbledore observed Ronald Weasley closely as he staggered, feet on autopilot, making his way back to the Gryffindor common room.

Albus had debated with himself on whether what he was about to do was completely necessary. He felt a stir of misgiving rise from within his very core, but he pushed it aside and continued with his mantra. For the Wizarding World.

As they both paused outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, the Headmaster stared deeply into Mr Weasley's blue eyes and paused for a millisecond, feeling a stab of penitence; however, he focused on what he must do.

A silent "Legilimens" later, he entered the schoolboy's mind. Memories of Miss Granger were already filling the boy's head, making what he was about to do all the more straightforward. He wordlessly added extra images to the boys genuine reflections – one of himself gazing into the Pensieve and swiftly following that with a quick glimpse of the deceased body of the former Head Girl. As he presented these sequences of his deception into the mind of the unknowing Mr Weasley, he uttered a silent secrecy charm, the Rem Celare, which would prevent the boy from speaking about the demise of Hermione Granger to anyone who was not similarly bound, or within the presence of those who were not to know. He would become tongue-tied, unable to mutter even her name.

As he felt the boy before him relax ever so slightly, Albus withdrew from his mind to gaze at the youngest of the Weasley males. A look of deep comprehension passed for a flickering moment across Ronald's face, and he nodded his head briefly, overwhelmed, and attempted to hold himself upright.

Placing an old and weary hand on the boy's shoulder, Albus steadied him as he turned him around to face the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was looking on at the strange display before her. There was a gleam in her eyes as if she were bursting to spread her newfound gossip around the castle as soon as both wizards had disappeared. Albus gave her a knowing glance that spoke volumes, and she went red in the face as she immediately dropped her gaze to the corner of her portrait. Ronald mumbled the password in a daze as he crawled into the hole, not once looking back; he therefore missed the dark frown that marred the headmaster's face.

Albus sighed. He truly despised doing this to the young man, but he could see no other way around it. Harry and Ronald both had to believe that Miss Granger had paid the ultimate price in the war against Voldemort so they wouldn't be tempted to rush off like would-be heroes to save her. Instead they would stay focused on the tasks that still lay ahead of them. It pained him to have to jettison Miss Granger, or any of his students if he were truly honest with himself, but he hoped that the noticeable loss of his friend would make Harry more determined than ever to give this war all his undivided attention. He made a mental note to speak to Harry alone, later that night.

Walking as quickly as his weary old legs would carry him, he made his way from the tower, down the endless staircases, and back to his office. Mentally, he added that which he had done to Mr Weasley to the long line of regrets he had in his life; however, it was as inescapable as his growing years.

***

Ron entered the Gryffindor common room feeling utterly sick to his stomach. Hermione was dead. Harry was falling apart. He too, felt as though he were moving underwater, but he went through the motions nonetheless, as he knew that Harry would need him to be the strong one.

He saw Harry sitting on the window seat, staring out at the grounds of Hogwarts. The other Gryffindor students were in their first lessons of the day and he would not be disturbed from what he had to do now.

Taking a deep breath in, he walked unhurriedly over to the seat where Harry sat and laid a shaky hand on his friends shoulder.

"Right there, mate?" Ron asked, his voice holding none of its usual spark.

Harry jumped, obviously startled by Ron's touch, as he whirled around to face him.

"Get away from me!" he all but growled out, his face scrunched up, a look of fury etched there.

Ron recoiled. Never had he seen Harry look so enraged, not even after Sirius' death when he was constantly yelling at everyone within range.

"Just wondering if you were all right?" Ron asked in barely a whisper.

"Oh, everything is just peachy," Harry said as he raised himself up from the seat, clenching his fists into a ball. "Haven't you heard yet? Everyone that I allow to get too close to me winds up dead. First my parents, then Sirius, now Hermione. You'd better watch out or you'll be next!"

"Come off it, Harry, listen to yourself for just a moment, and you'll realise how mental you sound."

Glaring at Ron, Harry slowly shook his head.

Pulling himself up to his considerable height, fearing he might detonate like one of Fred and George's fireworks, Ron stated with all the resolve he could muster, "Do you honestly think you can push me away like this? Hermione was more than a friend to me, Harry, you know that – and now she's gone. I don't know how I'm going to get on without her, but don't you dare try to tell me that I'll be more at risk by your side where I belong. I'm involved in this war too, even before I was a thought in my parents' minds – or do you forget that Mum and Dad were part of the original Order?"

Harry blinked. He opened his mouth, the perfect retort poised on his lips, but no words materialised. He thought hard, snapping his mouth closed as a frown etched across his forehead. When had Ron grown up? He looked down at his own hands, as though they might give him the answers he sought.

"Were you even listening to what Dumbledore said?" Ron asked, barrelling on as though he were building up momentum with each new question he asked. Harry's head snapped back up to face Ron as his hands fell to his side. "Hermione is dead!" he half choked out as the implication of speaking these words out loud brought the truth home to him and he slowly started to sway on his feet. "Dead," he whispered more to himself as his eyes glazed over and he stumbled backwards.

His mind travelled back to what he had just witnessed in the headmaster's Pensieve. Hermione's broken and battered body, her hair a tangled mess with blood and dirt over her face, her clothing lying in tatters and her eyes, those brilliant, shining eyes, now open and staring lifelessly back at him. Dead. Lost forever. He wanted to retch then, had wanted to reach out and touch her, if only to prove to himself that she was truly beyond his help.

Ron's eyes suddenly flashed back to Harry's face, and Harry was reminded of the first time he had met him on the Hogwarts Express, a scrawny little eleven-year-old with a smudge on his face. Tears welled up in his eyes as he remembered those carefree days, the days before he really knew how truly evil Voldemort was.

"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you too, Harry," Ron stated in an almost inaudible whisper as he leaned heavily against the settee that he had stumbled into moments before.

***

How the hell had it come to this? Harry thought ruefully. First his godfather, now his best friend. Gone. Forever. Never to return. He would never see either of them again. Harry wanted to pinch himself to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. How did this happen? More importantly, how had he let this happen? How many more of them would die before this war was over? Would it ever truly be over?

Wasn't it only two weeks ago that Hermione was nagging him to do all of his set assignments whilst at the Burrow with Ron? He had waved her off in typical fashion and told her to lighten up. Oh, how he wished he had hugged her more fiercely now, told her he loved her, listened to her more, asked her to come with them to the Burrow, though he knew she desperately wanted to see her parents. He had taken her for granted for too long. He had thought she would always be there by his side, fighting right next to him when the time came to face Voldemort. But that wasn't to be. Would never be.

The many 'what ifs' circled around his head. What if he had never befriended Ron and Hermione in the first place? What if he'd listened to the Sorting Hat instead of arguing and been Sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor? What if they had never gone to the Ministry at the end of fifth year? What if Sirius was still alive? And Hermione?

These thoughts, and many others, raced around his head all day long. What Ron had said was true. However, he couldn't help but think about running away and leaving the wizarding world behind. Going to a different country where no one had even heard the name Voldemort spoken and where there wasn't constant fear for his life.

But no, he couldn't do it. He couldn't just ignore the destiny that was his, one way or another, and leave his friends to pick up the pieces. He wouldn't, couldn't do it to all the self-sacrificing Order members. What would become of them? Would they be hunted down and killed one by one because he was too much of a coward to face his own destiny?

Harry had been despondent all day. Going through the motions and appearing to work; but Ron knew him better than that. Harry had not truly been there since he had heard the news of Hermione's death. He would be lying to himself if he said that his own behaviour had been normal, but he figured that someone had to keep Harry together. As he was the only other student who knew what had happened to Hermione, he was in the best position to keep a watchful eye on his friend.

Ron had to do something, anything, to rouse Harry from his worsening depression. As he looked over to his dark-haired friend, he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Do you think he had anything to do with it?" Ron whispered to Harry while seated at the Gryffindor table. Neither of them was particularly hungry, so instead they picked at their food, pushing it around their dinner plates.

Ron was about to repeat the question as Harry's silence stretched out, making Ron feel uncomfortable. He had wanted to shake Harry out of his self imposed silence.

"Who?" Harry finally asked.

"The Greasy Git and his pet, Ferret Boy," Ron proclaimed.

"Don't call him that," Harry mumbled as he looked once more to his plate.

"What?" the redhead asked, "Ferret Boy?" he sounded truly puzzled at Harry's words; hadn't they always called Malfoy that since their fourth year?

"No," Harry said sighing quietly, "I don't mean him, I mean Professor Snape." He mumbled the name of his hated Potions professor.

"But why? We've always called him that."

"She never did," Harry said in a low voice, turning away from Ron as he felt his eyes starting to fill. He blinked rapidly and swiped at his eyes under his glasses hastily. He was sick of tearing up at the slightest thought of Hermione. She was dead, and crying would accomplish nothing, it could not, and most definitely would not, bring her back.

Ron shook his head at his best mate's behaviour. It was true that Hermione never showed anything but respect to all of her teachers, even the Greasy Git, but that was just it. Hadn't they always hated the man who made their life a living hell? He had belittled their efforts at every turn, raising his Slytherins up onto a pedestal, whilst penalising the rest of the houses, especially Gryffindor.

"I guess," Ron answered as he grabbed a bread roll and started to pick at it, pulling at the harder outer crust and tearing it into tiny pieces. He was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice his sister sit down on the other side of the table.

"Aren't you going to eat that?" Ginny asked as she swung into the seat across from Harry.

Ron jumped in his seat and both he and Harry looked up at her question.

She frowned at Ron, who immediately dropped the roll onto his plate. Then her expression softened when she looked at Harry, whose eyes were red rimmed.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Concern shadowed her voice, all previous thoughts flying from her head.

"Nothing," he mumbled back to her as he hung his head once more and pretended to eat his meal.

Ginny sighed. "Well, if you're not going to tell me, then at least do me the courtesy of not ignoring me, Harry." She looked over to her brother, who just shrugged his shoulders and picked up the bread roll from his plate. He began picking at it once more, letting the crumbs fall onto the plate and the surrounding table.

Ginny made an inarticulate noise in the back of her throat and concentrated on serving herself some dinner.

***

Hermione was dreaming, tossing and turning on her bed. Trembling with the glacial temperature, she opened her eyes and was stunned that she could actually make out the tiny cell. She saw her breath coming out in little puffs of smoke. Rubbing her hands over her body for warmth, she stood up to look around. She was in a stone cell and there was no window, no escape, except for the wooden door that stood out against the stones that made up her prison.

She knew it was her obligation as a prisoner to try to escape. Knowing that her captor probably had his own means of spying on her, she made a tactical approach towards the door, slyly trying to feel for any uneven stones along the way that may be a means of opening it. Of course there was nothing; this door was spelled shut, well and truly and without her wand to help unravel the charms, she knew she would have no hope against them.

Breathing out a sigh, she walked back to her tiny cot. Sitting down, she closed her eyes for a second, taking in a deep calming breath. Opening her eyes again, she was startled to see Lucius Malfoys face hovering above her. That hauntingly beautiful face of his was snarling in disgust.

Petrified, she tried to turn away but saw there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and so she instead looked at the man standing before her. Eyes held wide, not daring not to breathe, lest she make too much noise, she continued to stare at him as though mesmerised by his icy glare.

He walked further into her cell. Hermione was stunned to see her two best friends, Harry and Ron, strolling in behind him. She attempted to open her mouth, but no sound emerged as she looked on in panic.

Looking down at herself, she realised she was naked and hastily tried to cover herself up with her hands. She peered up at them, a blush burning on her face and making its way down her body.

Harry's face wore a look of revulsion, making his soft features twist into an ugly snarl. He turned around so he didn't have to look at her any longer Stung by Harry's reaction, Hermione quickly turned her eyes to Ron to see the identical look on his face.

"She's nothing but a Mudblood whore, Harry," Ron said, his voice filled with loathing. "You were right, Lucius," he stated, turning towards the blonde who nodded his head in understanding.

With that, Ron turned his body away from her and grasped Harry's arm as they walked slowly from her dungeon prison.

"Wait," she shrieked and attempted to push past the blonde wizard in her haste to stop both Harry and Ron.

Like a snake striking, Lucius grabbed her face and dragged her by the arm to the centre of the room. She struggled against his brutal grip, but his grasp did not falter as thick chains wound themselves around and around her body, cutting off her ability to suck oxygen into her lungs or cry out. Tighter and tighter they kept on winding around her until she thought that they would crush her to death.

Waking with a scream on her lips, a shrill noise invading her ears and a dim light pervading her eyes, she sat up quickly. Her breath coming out in short pants, her heart felt as though it would explode from her chest. Slowly, she covered her ears with her still shaking hands, and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. It did no good; the reverberation was so piercing it defeated her feeble attempts to shut it out.

She was not sure whether she was shaking from the after-effects of the dream or if it was from the coldness that encompassed the room and reached into the recesses of her soul.

Get a grip, Granger! she scolded herself, but the vivid dream that had just shaken her was not so easily forgotten. Harry and Ron had been there, in this very cell, and they had turned away from her and had let her captor do what he would to her.

It was just a dream, she chastised herself. A vivid dream, but a dream nonetheless.

She shook her head and pushed her feet to the floor.

She could make out that the table across from the cot she was currently occupying was laden with an arrangement of food and drink, and she blinked several times, rubbing at her eyes until they had adjusted to the unusual brightness. Although it was dim, she was not used to seeing light emitting from the sconces unless he was coming for her.

That sudden thought caused her to look around wildly. Hands still pressed over her ears, she took in the emptiness surrounding her. Stomach grumbling in protest, she hastily glanced once more to the table.

It had to be some sort of trick, her mind supplied as she guardedly got up off the hard cot. She hastily remembered her previous dealing with her lunatic captor and she gazed scrupulously at her shoulder and torso. The only indication of her so-called lessons that she could see were the thin white lines that ran down her mid-section. The place where he had placed the acid had a large vicious-looking red mark, but as she ran her hand over the spot, she felt no raised skin. Her back was next, as she reached around with both hands to feel the raised skin that was all but healed and caused her no discomfort. Astonished that the blonde demon had mended her body so completely, she stood suddenly and twirled around.

The racket was still deafening, but in her exhilaration she tuned it out. Over the past few days she had been to hell and back, and just a glimpse at heaven was a welcoming experience for her.

She paused in her contented thoughts, coming down from her adrenaline rush and walked slowly over to the table, her eyes darting around, half-expecting the company of her captor at any moment. The smell of food, of something substantial, was too much for her and she quickly snatched a pasty off the table. Shoving it all into her mouth, she barely chewed it before swallowing it down. Coughing racked her body as she keeled over. She dry-heaved before grabbing at the juice and downed that too in record time.

Reaching out a shaking hand, she placed the glass back onto the table.

Eat slowly, chew everything, she admonished herself as she reached once more for a piece of fruit. It tasted bitter to her mouth, but she sucked at the sliced orange greedily as the juices flowed down her chin.

Unexpectedly, the piercing noise halted as the sconces slowly flickered and went out. She was left there, sitting on the floor in total darkness, her breathing uneven and an unpleasant ringing in her ears.

A sense of foreboding settled deep within Hermione as the remnant of the orange she had been eating suddenly fell from her slackening hands. She felt wilted, used up. She knew she could not continue like this – Gryffindor or not, she just wanted this nightmare to end, though she was not naive enough to think that Harry and Ron would suddenly burst through the door and save her. That thought had long since fled her mind, as the days turned into weeks without sight of another soul except for her deeply disturbed subjugator.

Her heart sank as she sat there staring into the abyss of darkness. How had her life suddenly come to this? Surely it was all a bad dream and she would wake up any moment from this nightmare, safe and sound in her bed.

She gave a great, despairing sigh that echoed off the stone walls surrounding her. The desolate sound reinforced the full horror of her situation – she would remain here until such time as Voldemort decided that she was of no further use alive. There was no one to save her, and nothing she could do to change her situation.

***

A/N: Thank you to all of my wonderful and thought provoking reviewers.

To my betas, AmyLouise and deathofme, thank you so very much for finding my mistakes, making my writing flow better, and the Latin translation. You both rock my world.