Chapter Two

“Get up,” Said
Rookwood, forcing Harry to his feet. “You've gone and done it,
you've ordered your friend to die. Now why don't you go sleep on that
and tell us how you feel in the morning.” There was laughter, high,
triumphant laughter, the laughter of men who had won. “As a special
treat, we'll even throw the girl in with you, so you can hold
emergency therapy sessions for each other.” Right on cue, Hermione
was thrust into Harry's arms. He caught her numbly, holding her up.
She was weeping, stumbling weakly as the sobs racked her slender
frame. Harry pulled her forward with him as Rookwood pushed them
along, smiling and nodding to fellow Death Eaters at their success.

They left the room
with the iron door, Ron's body still lying within.

Harry and Hermione
were thrown into a room with a single window, which lit the whole
place in an eerie silver glow. As soon as Hermione hit the floor, she
curled up into a ball, bursting into louder and louder tears every
few moments. Harry knew how she felt. His mind and body were
completely numb, but with the same realization that looped in his
head over and over like a defective film strip. Ron's dead. Ron's
dead. Ron's dead.

And I killed him.

After many
agonizing hours, the room fell into silence again. Hermione's sobs
had turned into whimpers and then into nothing, as she had exhausted
herself into sleep. Harry, on the other hand, could not sleep, and
merely hovered between the brink of passing out and and staying awake
forever, hearing the same words in his head. Ron's dead. Ron's dead.
Ron's dead.

The next morning,
the Death Eaters left them alone, though Harry knew they were
watching. At some point during the night he had sank into a restless
fit of exhaustion, wherein he kept seeing the same image flash
through his mind, the image of Ron in his final moments, before his
consciousness began to return and then went under again, as the wave
of images continued to drown him, beating his mind and his body until
he was sure that all his bones would be broken in the morning and his
brains would be spilled onto the floor.

No such thing had
happened when he awoke, unfortunately. Hermione was still sleeping,
looking oddly serene in a world that had just been turned on its head
and bashed over and over again. Harry had to wait about an hour
before she awoke.

It was slow and
beautiful, for a moment. She looked around the room, taking in the
sun-dappled patch of floor where the light from the window hit it.
She did not see Harry, not immedaitely. And then her eyes fell back
upon the patch of floor again, and her body went oddly still.

And then she
screamed.

Harry jumped to his
feet, sure the Death Eaters would be coming in to curse her to
oblivion, but no footsteps sounded. She screamed again, still staring
at the patch of floor, her face completely white, her eyes wide and
frightened.

“Hermione!”
Harry said, falling to his knees, trying to get her to stand up, but
her eyes fell upon his face. For a moment they stared at each other.
Her mouth fell open a bit, and her eyes pooled with crystal tears.

And then she was up
in a flash, grabbing hold of his collar and forcing him against the
wall. “YOU SHOULD HAVE KILLED ME!” She shrieked, tearing into his
hair and her own, gripping his shoulders, crumpling into his chest
and then drawing back as if burned. “YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME DIE,
RON WAS THE ONLY THING LEFT IN THE WORLD!” Her eyes took on an
oddly glazed look and she gagged for a moment, before twisting to the
floor, landing hard on her knees, and promtply vomiting. Harry
reached down on impulse to help her, but she smacked him away. He
fell back against the wall, his cheek stinging.

Hermione retched
again, before struggling to her feet. She turned away from him, her
shoulders shaking, every part of her body broken and trembling. Then
it stopped, and there was a moment of quiet.

Hermione's ensuing
scream pierced the air, and she rounded on Harry, punching every inch
of him that she could reach, kicking at his chest and his legs,
screaming with rage every time she took a swing. Harry, too shocked
to move, took the assault, hardly even registering the blows. He
stood there numbly for a moment before Hermione kneed him in the
thigh and he buckled, coming to his senses as he tumbled toward the
ground. He rolled out of the way before she could swoop down on him,
catching her fists as they made their way determinedly toward his
face.

“Hermione,” He
panted, struggling to hold her as she tried to continue her attack.
“Hermione, stop, stop, this isn't you, you need to stop, it's going
to be okay, stop, please, stop!”

Hermione paused for
a moment, her fist centimeters from Harry's glasses, and her eyes
scanned the damage she had caused. Breathing hard, she seemed
momentarily confused, which was enough of an opportunity for Harry to
pull her off and half-carry her toward the most shadowed corner of
the room, where she allowed him to lean her upright. Her fists fell
away into limp fingers, which twitched as she stared at Harry like
she could hardly remember where she was.

“Ron's dead,”
She whispered, her eyes staring beyond him, into a world he could not
see. It seemed a statement that was best left unanswered, so Harry
did not speak at this, but instead left her lying there, and
retreated into the opposite corner, watching the sunny patch of
floor, waiting for it to turn as dark as he felt.

At about five in
the evening, the door creaked open and Rookwood entered. He took one
look at Hermione, who did not stir at his arrival but merely gazed
onward with glassy eyes, and at Harry, bearing Hermione's marks with
considerable soreness. He smirked.

“It seems you've
had quite the day.” Neither moved nor spoke in the slightest in
response to this. “We thought it might be considerate of us to let
you know that Ron's body has been incinerated by Macnair.” Hermione
gave a strangled noise at this, but when Rookwood looked over at her,
her face was as blank as ever.

“Also, the
Ministry has sent out an official search party and reward for both of
you. The same for us. They believe the two events, our escape and
your capture, are linked somehow. But of course, that's
preposterous,” Rookwood said, his smile growing ever wider,
“Because you were both found maddened and crazed with the death of
your friend, collapsed against a riverbank, unable to tell the
Ministry what ordeals you suffered, except that your friend is dead
and you, Harry Potter, made the decision to have him die.”

Harry and Hermione
did not react. They continued to stare onward, not acknowledging
Rookwood, both perfectly in tune to what he was saying. They were
going to be addled with the Memory Charm. They were going to be
driven insane. Or maybe just further insane.

Rookwood's smile
had reached its limits now. He looked like an overlarge toad as he
loomed in the doorway, his black robes billowing in the draft.
“Expect to be up early tomorrow. I'm afraid this is the end of your
stay.” He shut the door with a bang, leaving a still and dreadful
silence in his wake.