A Decision

CHAPTER THREE: A Decision

"Miss Granger, tell the Wizengamot what you were doing with this amulet."

Snape turned to address her, holding the real amulet out in front of her. It swung lightly, and she inspected it for a brief second; it was the exact amulet he spoke of. The one she'd had on her person during the ordeal. A bit terrified to speak, she swallowed and inhaled shakily. "That was one of the last Horcruxes," she replied, voice grainy and unsure of itself.

"One of the last?" he repeated, one brow rising smoothly. "Many say that it was the last. Do you disagree?"

Hermione watched him, feeling as if she would cry; he didn't seem to be helping her at all. She wondered if he'd only taken on this civic duty in order to make her sentencing more decisive by digging her into a deeper hole.

"I do," she replied, nodding slowly.

"Then what was the last Horcrux, Miss Granger?" he asked, leaning down to speak more softly, to watch her rather intently. She almost admired him, almost approved of his role as lawyer -- he certainly was intimidating enough. But now, now she hated him for what he had made her say aloud.

"Harry."

The crowd collectively gasped again, and Hermione hung her head low in shame. She hated that she was facing these demons here, now -- in front of all these people. However she didn't have to speak again, at least not immediately, as Snape turned to address the Wizengamot as he pulled out something else. It was a small vial of glimmering solution. A potion? She wasn't sure. Peering closely at it, she could see an almost threadlike substance swirling about in the glass vial.

A memory. Whose, though?

"I obtained this, after much persuasion, from a Mr. Ronald Weasley," Snape declared, sneering lightly at the mention of the redhead. "He has refused to be in the hearing on this day, but I believe you'll find the evidence within to be nearly sufficient to release Miss Granger. Interrogators?" He paused, holding the vial up and waiting for their response. The men in purple robes consulted for a moment before the Chief Warlock stood and gave a nod to a few guards at the edges of the room.

Immediately, plans were set in motion to view the contents of the memory; Hermione could only assume that this sort of evidence was presented often, as a Pensieve was placed on the long desk, directly in the center. Another guard carefully took the vial from Snape's hand and handed it over to the Wizengamot, where it was then poured into the basin.

Hermione didn't need to see the memory to know exactly what it contained. It was close to the tale that Draco had woven for his audience, but not quite. He'd twisted it into a horrible story of betrayal, when it was far from that. They had all been in Hogsmeade, as he'd stated, but they'd known nothing of a possible ambush. He obviously had, as he was one of the Death Eaters' little rats. Of course he'd be in on it, wanting a piece of the action -- but not for their side of it.

Earlier that afternoon, the group had set out to a small place just outside the all-wizarding village; it was a smaller, more close-quartered forest that bordered on the edge of the Forbidden Forest that skirted along the Hogwarts' grounds. Harry had received word from Hagrid to venture there and find the centaur Firenze. He supposedly had something to help Harry on his continued quest for destroying the Horcruxes.

It had taken a long while, but they'd finally found the centaur and had a short exchange with him; pleasantries from the humans, riddles from the creature -- nothing terribly unusual about it all. When he'd handed over the amulet and said that it was to be the last Horcrux, Hermione was entrusted to pocket it until they could properly destroy it, using a small ceremony that Dumbledore had left to Harry in a long letter delivered postmortem; it was supposedly the only way to destroy items that had been made into Horcruxes and usually required some sort of injury or sacrifice on behalf of the one destroying the item. They had then continued on back to Hogsmeade, eager for a celebratory drink, when Hermione had drifted away from the group to inspect the amulet.

Having done far too much research on the Horcruxes and their origins, she'd made a startling discovery just outside the pub. The amulet was in fact the very amulet that R.A.B. -- Regulus Andorian Black -- had supposedly destroyed. Yet it was still intact, still active? Hermione had been confused for a moment, until she'd heard the scuffle of the Death Eaters approaching the pub. Hushed voices told her more than she needed to know, told her that they were there to not take the amulet, but to take Harry and not harm him. And one particularly idiotic Death Eater had added a sound, 'Right, because he's the last one,' before being shushed and scolded.

The last one. The last Horcrux.

They'd all thought of the possibility that Harry was the very last Horcrux. He had been prepared to die for the cause, but none of them wanted to accept that it might happen. They'd all been happy when they found this amulet. Harry would live, Voldemort would die, the world would be set to rights once more.

Hermione had swallowed hard, then quickly did the math in her head, counting up all of the Horcruxes. When she had finished, there were two left: the one that was supposedly destroyed by Regulus Black, and Harry himself. She'd held one in her hand, and the other was inside, vulnerable... she had to act fast.

She had quickly duplicated the item, pocketing the orginal that still held the magical properties, and holding the faux in her hand. She had mentally berated the whole idea -- why had Regulus Black not destroyed it? Why had he left a note, claiming that he had? Surely there was a reason, but what was it?

Frowning, she'd ducked back into the pub and handed the fake amulet back to Harry, just in time for the Death Eaters to barge in. That part was a little fuzzy -- she knew there was a lot of violence, a lot of damage. Death, even.

Ginny was the first hit, a Stunning Spell sending her back into a table. Cries of 'Don't hit the boy!' were shouted out in orders to the Death Eaters, and Hermione had suddenly been very afraid of what would happen if they took Harry with them. They couldn't kill him. They wouldn't -- they thought him to be the last Horcrux, since the amulet was believed to be destroyed by Regulus Black. Hermione had known that he wasn't, but that didn't matter. He would likely be kept alive, just barely. Abused, harmed, miserable.. Worse than death, surely? He'd been so prepared to die..

Voldemort may have even formed Horcruxes for Harry, to ensure that they'd both live on eternally -- one ruling the wizarding world, and the other locked away, merely to keep the tyrant alive. It was all so horrible, and it forced Hermione to make a decision instantly.

She'd pointed her wand at her friend. Ron had turned to stare at her, shock on his face as he shouted at her. "What're you doing?" he'd screamed, angry and confused and a bit afraid. Hermione hadn't said a word, but merely frowned as she'd watched Harry.

Harry had seen it all. She could tell, by the way realization had dawned on his face. In the midst of all the destruction, he'd merely looked down at the amulet in his hand, seeing that it wasn't the real one. He'd understood, he'd known. He'd never doubted Hermione's intellect, her prowess of deduction -- he was the Horcrux. He always had been.

"Stop her!" one of the Death Eaters had shouted, and Hermione had known that she didn't have time to hesitate. She'd cast the spell before a large, lumbering body lunged at her and pinned her to the floor, knocking her unconscious.

Hermione wasn't sure how long she sat in the present, contemplating the past, while the Interrogators viewed the memory within in the Pensieve. If it was Ron's, then they'd likely not get the whole picture -- they'd probably merely see her killing Harry. How was that supposed to help her case?!

As the memory faded and their faces turned back down to look at her, she knew that she was doomed. "This proves little," the Chief Warlock stated, shaking his head and pushing his glasses back up on his pudgy nose. "It merely condemns the prisoner further. What is your case, Severus?"

Snape nodded once, rather grimly, before setting the amulets up on the long desk, taking long, thoughtful strides as he paced in front of them. "I was set free with the promise of aiding Harry Potter in the destruction of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," he began, face set in stern lines. Hermione likened his expression to the one he had always worn when giving long lectures. "I had trailed that group through the forest, and when Miss Granger was assaulted, I rallied Aurors to apprehend the Death Eaters that were on the premises before confiscating the last Horcrux and destroying it."

Hermione gasped, audibly. Her wide eyes were fixated on Snape, both angry and amazed. He'd taken the amulet from her and destroyed it. No wonder he was a 'decorated hero of war'!! She was both appalled that he'd finished their work, and glad of it. He'd brought about the final stab to Voldemort, finishing him off for good. Once a loyal servant... now his destroyer. She was slowly becoming more amazed and less angry.

Snape paused, then named off the list of all Horcruxes, leaving off the amulet that they had all thought to be nearer to the top of the list until the very end, as it was one in the same. Knowing how many Horcruxes were needed, that made Harry's death included in the final tally and therefore pulling all of the pieces together.

"She did not murder Harry Potter in cold blood. She destroyed a Horcrux."

Hermione swallowed, her mouth feeling very dry all of a sudden. This whole ordeal had begun horribly, and she was sure that Snape's assistance would only lead to her damnation. Now, though; now she felt as if she did have a chance at escaping death, escaping the Dementor's Kiss. Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears as she waited, watching the Interrogators lean over and converse with one another very quietly.

What felt like hours passed, but what must have only been minutes. Finally, the Chief Warlock straightened and looked down at the group of people assembled before him and nodded very slowly. "We will review this evidence further, and a decision will be reached regarding your sentence, Prisoner Granger. You may all be dismissed."

Hermione tensed, then looked to her guards with wide eyes. A decision would be reached? Meaning.. she had to go back to Azkaban? This was terrible, far worse than finding out that she was dying now! A horrible fear was filling her, one that was consuming her and making her not want to return to the awful prison. She'd thought that she'd never have to return -- she should have either been dead or free by now! Returning simply hadn't been an option!

Forcing herself to calm down, she looked back to her left, eager to give thanks to her former professor, for he may have saved her -- but he was gone. No longer there beside her, not even anywhere in sight. Crestfallen, she barely noticed the chains about her loosening and disappearing back into the magical chair.

Hermione was returned to her cell, much to her chagrin. She'd tried to walk as slowly as possible, but the guards weren't being fooled; they'd sped her up, knowing she could go much quicker, and thrust her back into the abysmal chamber before slamming the iron bars shut once more, locking her away. She sat there, at the bars, for the next few hours. It was the first time she'd ever really sat there, peering out and waiting, without it being visiting hours. She supposed the one thing to be grateful for was the absence of hissing women and glowering men passing her by.

She knew it was likely hopeless to even think that she'd learn of then Wizengamot's decision so soon -- she should have been expecting a couple of days at the very least.

Unsure of how long she'd been sitting there, staring into the darkening space, a voice startled her.

"I told Ginny," Neville said softly, stepping into her line of vision. She blinked up at him, surprised; how long had he been standing there, just out of her range of sight? She swallowed, not sure if she should speak now or hold her tongue -- it wasn't every day that Neville Longbottom voluntarily spoke to her, after all.

"I didn't want to, but... I don't know. I felt like it was the least I could do. I'm sorry she wasn't there to... to hear it all."

Hermione swallowed, glancing down at the dirty, stone floor. "Thank you," she replied, nodding once. It didn't matter that Ginny hadn't wanted to come. He'd asked her to, she'd known that Hermione wanted to apologize to her, and that was enough. For now, at least.

As if she wasn't surprised enough already, Neville shocked her to the point of gasping when he slowly lowered his body to sit beside her, leaning against the bars and looking at her with an uncomfortable amount of pity in his eyes. He thinks I'm going to die, she thought to herself, unable to form any other logical explanation for that look.

"Careful," she said, voice low and lackluster. "I'm a hardened criminal."

Her words were playful, but her intonation did nothing for the mood. Neville gave a crooked, weak smile before shaking his head. "I should've known better than to think... I feel awful."

Hermione shrugged, knowing that there was only so much anyone could have thought about that situation. She probably would have hated herself, too. "Let's not talk about it," she said, looking across the way at the prisoner in the cell adjacent to hers. He looked intrigued and interested in their conversation, which made her not want to talk about it all the more. It was none of his bloody business.

The quiet was overwhelming at first, but soon Hermione breathed it in with a welcome smile. The ringing in her ears, the distant white noise... it didn't seem so bad when she had someone sitting next to her, unafraid to be so close. It reminded her that she wasn't who they'd made her become. She wasn't a loathesome creature who deserved no eye contact, no exchange of words. She was still Hermione Granger.

She closed her eyes, absorbing the moment and burning it into her memory. Just in case this was the last chance she ever had to feel human, in case the Wizengamot's decision came at dawn in the form of a Dementor, poised to press his gaping mouth to her lips. Just in case.

They didn't speak, even as Neville's hand reached through the cold bars to take hers. They merely sat, silent and still, clinging to one another in a desperate attempt to remember life as it was once upon a time.