Subpoena

1:31 pm in the Wizengamot Chamber 

November 18th in the real world 

“That was a stupid fucking move Black,” Draco hissed, shoving his client through a door near the end of a black marble hall. 

As Sirius’ eyes adjusted he could make out that they were in a designated prep room, meant for members of any Wizgenmot proceedings to reside in during a recess. The room was small and square; empty apart from a chalkboard, run down beige couch, and standing table that had a small selection of sandwiches on it. It reminded him of the empty classrooms on the third floor when he had been at Hogwarts.  Sirius crossed the room and leaned against the right side corner, glaring at his representative. 

“That chamber has stood trial for some of the most depraved crimes against wizard kind. It’s not a place where delicatices,” Draco sneered around the term, “are taken into consideration. I don’t care how sensitive your tastes are.” 

“It’s not about my tastes, Malfoy,” Sirius’ voice was flat. He crossed his arms. 

“Oh? Then what is it? You just want to fuck up months of work?  Felt like tossing your freedom in the shitter?” Draco’s words were falling from his mouth quickly now; he grabbed a piece of chalk and snapped it in half. 

Sirius’ face darkened. “Of course not.” 

“Don’t give a damn about your name-or mine, for that matter- being raked through the mud?” Draco said, volume rising as he abandoned his abuse of the chalk and rounded on the wizard. 

“Couldn’t be bothered to give a rat’s arse about the future of wizarding law- a future which, may I remind you, will be determined upon the outcome of your case?”

The Gryffindor was starting to feel a flame spark in his own chest. “No, it just-“

“It's just what, fuckhead?”

“It just was too much. Your memory alone was more than enough-“

“More than enough? I’ll let you in on a little secret, Black. A thorough, tight knit argument is exactly what will give us the edge in this sort of tri-“

“THAT'S ENOUGH, MALFOY!” 

“You don’t get to decide what’s enough-“

“Like fuck I don’t. Like fuck I don’t. It’s my life, it’s my freedom, you dick.” Sirius said, beginning to pace the length of the wall.  He glowered at Draco with clenched teeth.  “We’re going to do this the right way.”

“I’d agree if that were the real reason you did it.”

Sirius jolted, stopping in a dead halt. 

“What did you say?”

“I’d agree, if that were the real reason you called off Hermione.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She lingered in the chamber long after everyone had filtered out. With the drama of the proceedings disrupting the flow of the trial, the Minister had called the first recess of the court.  Meddling with time was a funny thing- it would be the first time anyone had eaten all day, yet it would also (assuming her math was correct) be the first time anyone had eaten in well over two weeks. Of course, Hermione thought bitterly, there wasn’t much of a point in her joining the recess. It wouldn’t matter if she went to lunch or stepped into the bathroom- regardless of where she went, Hermione was certain she would be met with hushed conversations suddenly stopping at her arrival. 

I knew what I was signing up for, she said to herself, slinking into the shadows beneath the bleacher style thrones the members of the Wizengamot sat upon. She crouched to the floor and placed her head in her hands, breathing deeply and counting to eight.

She had told Harry, very briefly, what had happened to her at Malfoy Manor over a year after the war ended. With the first detail she provided (all things considered, being chained to the fireplace was one of the minor horrors that transpired that evening) Harry’s face showed such mania that she brushed over the rest of the account, never doing more than alluding what Greyback had done. 

No matter how he asked, she couldn’t share even that much with Ron, which is why- she suspected- the redheaded wizard never did more than half heartedly admit his affection towards Hermione before moving on. The distance Hermione kept other people at was her decision. She wasn’t comfortable with intimacy, wasn’t alright with anyone knowing the details of her trauma. 

Not that I had a choice about Draco. 

Until today, Draco had been the only person who knew, really knew, what she had gone through in the parlor of his childhood home. He had apologized more than once, the frequency only increasing after the night they spent tending to Sirius.

 His risk had gotten them all out alive, and for that she had forgiven him before the war had even ended. But still, he had known. He had known what it would mean for her to testify, and he asked anyway. And she said yes. And now the details of it would be documented in a very public trial. Her pain meant securing the future. Sharing her darkest hour with the world was a selfless act. 

And I’m alright with it, because I knew what I was signing up for. 

She touched a hand to her chest and started tapping, willing the aching to stop, trying to push down the feeling of despair that was threatening to claw its way out of her.  

I knew what I was signing up for. 

She moved her hands to hold her head, tugging on the roots of her hair. She’d spent so much time slicking it back in preparation for the trial, and now it was just another thing restricting her. Her knees slunk up to her chest, willing her body to keep it together. 

Being around Draco was an eternal tide, pushing and pulling, she knew that. In school it had meant bullying, in the war it meant each doing what was necessary for survival.  In the aftermath it had meant challenging each other to do something no one else had ever done.

In recent days he seemed to be pushing her away from what they had built together, still pulling every last ounce of strength she possessed to use for himself. 

She was choking now, choking on the quick gasps of air her body was forcing her to take. 

Not himself, for the case. The case that I signed up for.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

But that wasn’t what I signed up for.

Quiet sobs shattered Hermione’s chest and she moved her hands from her head to over her mouth. 

She signed up to be a link in a chain in a series of unfortunate events- to present her own argument, to have her experience told from her perspective. Instead, the chain had ended with Draco. The person that pushed her had taken away the opportunity for her to fight back. 

The link had broken with Sirius. The person she pulled out of hell had silenced her, and had taken the opportunity to be viewed as a warrior, as a survivor, away. 

Now, she would be viewed as something pitiful- something too weak to stand up for herself when her life and her honor depended upon it. She would never get to reclaim the narrative.

Healing.  

However indirectly, that’s what Draco had promised her. That’s what Sirius was supposed to allow. That’s what her magic was supposed to guarantee.

Her tears stopped rather suddenly. Her hands were trembling, her jaw shaking just as much. Beneath her skin, Hermione felt her blood boiling. She stood silently, setting her jaw and bunching her hands into fists. 

That wasn’t what I signed up for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grey eyes slid over the blond boy's face. Draco had a look Sirius had seen before. It was the look Remus had given him when he’d asked about Hermione’s scar that day at Forehart place. It was the look Snape had whenever Lily walked to class with James their seventh year. 

“I don’t understand.” Sirius said, heart pounding in his throat. 

“I am certain you do, Mister Black.”

“I certainly don’t, Draco.”

Draco looked pointedly at the couch. Sirius slumped back against the corner of the wall. Draco scoffed. 

“I said, I would agree with your decision if I believed there was even a remote possibility it was made with the best intention for the case in mind.”

“It was for the good of-“

“Don’t lie to me.”

Sirius paused. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed, finally looking Draco in the eye. Grey and green- two would be pureblooded prodigies level at last. 

“Draco, you saw what she looked like in there.” 

“I’ve seen her look worse.”

Sirius growled. “Clearly.”

Draco cringed. “No. Not then.” 

He sighed, sitting on the couch he had been determined for Sirius to submit to just moments ago. He put his hands in his head and shook it slowly. 

“The night you ripped yourself apart.” 

Sirius didn’t respond. Draco pressed on.

“She was scared. That night. Which believe you me, was enough to terrify me. Slytherins are about self preservation- whenever the personification of bravery and tenacity is frightened, it means I should have been running a long time ago.”

“She was scared at the manor,” Sirius muttered. 

“No. She wasn’t,” Draco spat, “She was tortured and traumatized and violated in the worst of ways-and there were a million things I should have done rather than ever allowing that to happen. But she was fierce, right up to the very end. She wasn’t scared.” 

A weight overtook the air between the two men. 

“Semantics. She still shouldn’t have had to relieve it in front of a room full of people at my expense.” 

“She didn’t have to. She chose to, for the good of the case. She knew exactly what that would entail when she signed up for it.” 

“I don’t want her to-“

“It doesn’t matter what you want, Black!” Draco snapped his head up to look at the man, speaking through clenched teeth. “It’s hers to decide what to do with. She decided what she wanted, and you took that choice away from her because you couldn’t handle seeing her upset.” 

“Of course I didn’t want to see her upset!” Sirius bellowed, “Who the fuck would want her to have to go through that ever fucking again?” 

“I don’t want that. I just know she’s strong enough to handle herself.”

“Then why’d you kick her off the case?”

It was Draco’s turn to fumble.

“I didn’t- she was about to testify-“

“As a counselor. I heard the conversation in the kitchen.” When Draco didn’t respond, Sirius added, “I heard all of it.” 

Draco remained silent as he arched against the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling. It felt like ages before he spoke again, so quietly Sirius could have sworn he was imagining the response.

“Because, like you, I couldn’t handle it.”

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