Pity The Living (Dramione)

Chapter 14: The Underground Resistance

 The air inside Malfoy Manor was suffocating, thick with tension and the weight of unspoken truths. Hermione sat in her dimly lit room where she was moved to, after her confrontation with Voldemort. The walls around her feel more like a prison with each passing day. The ornate furniture and lavish decor did little to ease the knot in her stomach. She had been living in this house, surrounded by enemies, and yet, the most dangerous enemy might be the one within her mind.

 She had been grappling with a truth so dark, so twisted, that it threatened to unravel everything she had ever known about herself. The memories she once held dear now felt tainted, like shadows of someone else's life. She didn't know what was real anymore. The Order had given her false memories—memories that had shaped her identity, and a sense of self. And now, she had to confront the horrifying reality that the man she once despised as the epitome of evil, Lord Voldemort, might be her father.

 She couldn't keep this to herself any longer. The weight of it was too much to bear alone. She needed answers, needing to understand why the Order had lied to her and why Kingsley, a man she had trusted, had done this to her. But more than anything, she needed to decide who she was, and where her loyalties lay.

The only way to do that was to speak with the remaining members of the Order.

 Hermione rose from her bed and moved to the fireplace, her hand trembling as she reached for the small pouch of Floo Powder hidden within her robes. She knew it was a risk, contacting them from here, but she was running out of options. With a deep breath, she threw the powder into the flames and watched as the fire turned emerald green.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," she whispered, her voice barely a whisper above the crackling flames. The fire roared, and within moments, Kingsley's stern face appeared within the flames, flickering and wavering like a ghost.

"Hermione?" Kingsley's voice was laced with concern. "Are you all right? What's happened?"

 She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. But there was no turning back now. "I know," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "I know what you and the Order did. The false memories... everything. And I know who my real father is."

 Kingsley's expression darkened, his usually calm demeanor giving way to a mixture of guilt and fear. "Hermione, I... we did what we thought was necessary. To protect you."

"Protect me?" she hissed, her anger boiling over. "You lied to me! You let me believe I was someone I'm not. You let me hate someone who—" She broke off, her voice trembling with emotion. "You made me believe I was fighting for the right side. How could you do this to me?"

 Kingsley looked away for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. When he met her gaze again, a deep sadness in his eyes. "Hermione, the truth... it was too dangerous. If Voldemort had known who you were, he would have used you and manipulated you. We had to make sure you never found out."

"But I did find out," she shot back, her heart pounding in her chest. "And now I don't know who to trust. I don't know what side I'm on anymore."

 Kingsley sighed, his shoulders slumping as if under a great weight. "Hermione, listen to me. We are your family. The Order—"

"Family?" Hermione cut him off, her voice laced with bitterness. "You're not my family. You're just more people who've lied to me and manipulated me for your own ends. How am I supposed to believe anything you say?"

 A silence fell between them, heavy and oppressive. Hermione could feel the walls of Malfoy Manor closing in on her, the dark, cold corridors whispering secrets she wasn't ready to hear.

"You're right to question us," Kingsley said finally, his tone softer, almost pleading. "But remember this: the Order has always fought for what's right, for the good of everyone. Voldemort... he's dangerous, Hermione. He's not someone you can trust, no matter what he says, no matter what you feel."

 Hermione clenched her fists, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. "And what if I'm just as dangerous? What if I'm more like him than I want to admit?"

 Kingsley's expression softened, his voice filled with a quiet conviction. "You're not him, Hermione. You've always fought for justice, for what's right. That's who you are. Don't let anyone take that away from you—not even yourself."

 Hermione wanted to believe him. She wanted to cling to the image of herself as a Gryffindor, a member of the Order, and someone who stood for something good. But the truth was, she wasn't sure who she was anymore.

"I need time," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Of course," Kingsley replied, his voice gentle. "But remember, we're here for you. Whatever you decide, we're here."

 The connection between them flickered, and Kingsley's face began to fade. But before it vanished completely, Hermione spoke again, her voice firmer this time. "I'll be in touch."

 And then the flames died down, leaving Hermione alone in the cold, dark room once more. The silence pressed in around her, and for the first time, she realized now how alone she truly was. 

She had no one to trust, no one to turn to.

 As she sank back onto her bed, she could feel the weight of the decision she had to make. The truth about her parentage was a burden she never asked for, and the choice between the Order and Voldemort was one she never thought she would have to make.

 But now, she had to decide. And whatever path she chose, it would change everything.

 Hermione Granger, daughter of Lord Voldemort, had to choose which side of the war she would fight on.