Stigmata

Chapter Three: Scylla and Charybdis

Seated near the front of the courtroom, Hermione Granger struggled to hold back tears as Harry's monotonous voice continued to drone. The words seemed endless, forming a list of thoughts, actions, and events that would no doubt doom Harry to life in Azkaban, if not death itself. But still, she couldn't bear to believe it.

The smile that Hermione could not help but allow past her lips was a horrible one, as the Wizengamot practically pounced on Harry the minute he spoke of the Half-Blood Prince. Breaking from his narrative to answer questions, Harry identified that the person in question was indeed Snape, and that he had used Snape's old Potions book throughout the year. The Wizengamot probed at Harry's memories of the book, asking questions that might have proven that the book had bewitched him. Harry fended them off without expression, explaining that Hermione had felt that way too, and had checked the book thoroughly for such things when she learned that he had planned to use it.

The Wizarding World so wanted Harry to be innocent, Hermione realized. They wished for any excuse to once more call him their Savior. Were Harry in his right mind, and not drugged with Veritaserum, he could have used that to his advantage. But time and war had taught the Wizarding World not to trust accounts of previous Death Eaters unless they could be sure, through magical means, that they were telling the truth. Not that Harry was a Death Eater - or had ever been. No; as the Wizarding World was finding out, word by word, he was much worse.

Yet, she knew of Harry's guilt. She had been there when he had betrayed them... betrayed her, and Ron, and every other good wizard or witch in the world. She'd seen him choose Draco Malfoy over those who had stood by him for so long. She'd watched as the war had progressed, watched as everyone around her changed. They all aged so quickly. Ron had been forced to take on more duties and responsibilities than anyone his age should have. But he was the closest link to Harry that the aurors had, and thus he was called on to predict Harry's next move as well as he could. It took a long time before they truly realized that Harry had changed so much that no one but himself, and Draco, could have known what was going on in his mind. Still, Ron was too entwined in the war to back away, and that had left scars that only Hermione seemed to see.

Even she had not escaped the war completely unscathed. She knew what was said about her, how she was unable to speak to others now. She could speak, she was able to, but she just didn't want to. She had spoken before, during the war, in tactical meetings. No one had listened. And, now, she just did not have the will to speak to them. Only Ron seemed to understand. He was the only one who didn't push her to speak again, didn't try to make her 'snap out of it'.

Only Ron and she seemed to see Harry in Lord Scylla. Even now, with such treacherous words spilling evenly and calmly from Scylla's mouth, all she could see in him was Harry Potter. Harry Potter as he had been... as he had been before...

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The hallways of Hogwarts were empty as Harry made his way down toward the Slytherin Common Room. It was well past curfew, and all the students were either sleeping or hanging around in their house's respective Common Room, if they were smart. Any stragglers out this late would soon be caught by Snape, Harry thought to himself as he clung to the shadows in the hall. Of course, they didn't have the help of an invisibility cloak, the Marauder's Map, and a teacher who'd been adamant that he learn to walk soundlessly and invisibly, even without the two. After eons of walking without sound in Voldemort's dream-state, having to force his footsteps to make noise on the stone floor was an interesting experience, and an annoyance.

The guard for the Slytherin Common Room opened silently to Harry's whispered, "Stoicorum Ratio" (lit: stoicism), and Harry entered the dungeon. If anything, the Slytherin Common Room was colder than the hallway outside, with the fire apparently having gone out long before. It hadn't changed in decorum from his second year, either, except that the few festive decorations that had been present over the Christmas holidays were nowhere to be found.