June & July
Hermione woke suddenly with the book pressed to her chest. She blinked confused in the bright light before recognizing the handful of things that she had set around her room. She began to repeat to herself every morning when she woke up with a start.
- The War is over.
- You are at the Weasley’s, in a little cabin that you helped build. Harry is in the next room.
- You fell asleep reading, again.
She groaned gently then settled in the bed deeper. Then peeled the book off of her chest and blinked blearily at the sentence she had highlighted the night before. “Don’t punish yourselves for people’s ignorant reactions to what we all are. Don’t let ignorance win. Let love.”
She had doodled a little heart next to the word love, too. She had fallen asleep wondering how much longer she could keep this secret about herself secret.
Harry knocked on her door. “You okay?” he asked through the bit of gnarled and earthy wood. Secretly, Hermione pressed her nose into the door and inhaled deeply whenever she could.
“Yes… come in, if you’d like.”
Harry opened the door. The past year Molly Weasley had made it her personal mission to feed the two of them until they had little pouches for stomachs. Hermione didn’t mind after spending the previous year watching in horror as her skin sucked to the ribcage. Now when she laid in bed, she would press her fingers over her stomach and watch it happily as it rose and fell. She could still see her hipbones, but progress was progress.
Harry somehow barely gained any weight which frustrated Molly. Although, Ginny swore up and down that his cheeks filled out more. “G’morning.” he grinned.
“Morning.”
“Surprised you’re not up already.”
“Why’s that?” she squinted.
Harry tapped a bit of toast to his left wrist.
She stared and checked her wrist. “Fuck.” She muttered and scrambled out of bed and dashed to her closet.
Thankfully she had set out her clothes the night before. Black pants that hugged her ankles and curves, a vanilla cream-colored blouse, and her brown dragonhide boots.
Harry dutifully turned around his back away as she changed. “You have ten minutes. Should I make you a cuppa?”
“Coffee, please. I spent the last night reading like an idiot.”
“Never would use that word to describe Hermione Granger, but okay.”
“Would you like to know what I’m reading?” Hermione asked, struggling to reach the tiny zipper at the back of her blouse.
“Do I ever want to know?”
Hermione chortled. “Zip me up, please.”
Harry took a bite of toast and held it in his mouth. Turning around, brushing off the crumbs on his dress shirt that he had probably borrowed from Percy. He and Percy were the closest in size. It was a royal blue linen shirt with creamy pearl buttons. Hermione squinted at the buttons. “Are those flowers embroidered onto the buttons?”
Harry looked down and rolled his green eyes. “Yes.” he said around his toast and motioned for her to spin around.
She did so and felt his warm fingers zip her dress up to her mid-back.
“Why?”
“Borrowed it from Percy. Fuck if I know. I was hoping they weren’t too obvious.”
“They’re… multi-colored, Harry,” Hermione said biting back a smile.
“I know. But it was the only color that I liked and Perce said that the linen was breathable so here we are.”
Hermione snorted and stalked out of her room and into the bathroom to brush her teeth.
“Do you reckon it’s professional enough for court?” Harry shouted while pouring her a cup.
Hermione laughed after spitting out her toothpaste. “No!”
“Well… bollox.” Harry muttered and Hermione breezed in, grabbing the mug.
She checked her watch as she took a large slurp of coffee. Two lilac sugars, a healthy splash of milk. “Too bad we don’t have time.” Her stomach grumbled.
Harry took out his wand and Accio-ed his shoes to him and he shoved them on as Hermione and he stepped out of their cozy cabin.
Ron was standing by the alpaca enclosure. Fists in his pockets.
“What’s wrong with him?” Hermione asked.
“Ahh… he had another episode last night,” Harry muttered.
She scrunched her nose but hid it in her coffee. “Why didn’t you come to get me?” she asked, pretending to make a long gulp of her coffee so Ron didn’t see that they were talking about him.
“He made me promise not to.”
Hermione hummed angrily. “Bollox!” She gasped and spun around, yanking her wand out of her boot, and wordlessly called for her journal to fly out of the cabin window and into her waiting arm. It sloshed her coffee, but after a quick clean-up spell, once more wordlessly, she, Harry, and Ron were ready to go.
Ron held out his hand, Hermione finished gulping down the scalding coffee and levitated the mug back to the cabin. She grasped his hand and smiled. “Good morning, love.” she greeted and stood on tiptoe to kiss his jaw.
Ron just nodded, looking exhausted and pale.
Harry grasped Hermione’s shoulder and the three of them apparated to the front steps of the ministry.
“What floor did Arthur say the cafeteria was on?” Harry asked.
“Second,” Ron muttered as they walked in through the glass doors hidden by thousands of notice-me-not-muggle’s charms.
“Hermione didn’t get a chance to eat, she woke up late.”
Ron nodded.
Hermione squeezed his hand. “Are you okay, dear?”
He swallowed and shrugged. “Nerves.”
Harry procured a pastry for Hermione and as she munched on it gratefully, they walked to the lifts.
“It’ll be fine,” Hermione assured Ron.
Ron looked down at her, eyebrow raised.
“We just have to tell the truth.” Hermione reasoned.
“Right.” He nodded.
“The truth is, your honor, Draco Malfoy is a bleeding git, but we don’t think he deserves any time in Azkaban,” Harry muttered leaning against the wall of the elevator.
Hermione’s lips quirked in a grin.
Once they arrived, they immediately were separated in different rooms, and in the silence of her own room about sixteen paces wide and twenty paces long, Hermione took out her notebook and sat at the little chair pressed against the wall. She gently tugged out the picture she had tucked securely in the pages.
In February, when the story broke, Hermione only allowed herself to cut out one picture from The Daily Prophet. Even then, it wasn’t a picture, it was more of a drawing. It started with a blank square, and eventually, the jury was filled in. Twelve wizards and witches sat as the jury. Darkly colored in to disguise their faces and physical attributes. Next to them sat Kingsley Shacklebolt in the center of three judges. He was the most obvious with his famous purple robes. To his right, Hermione supposed it could’ve been Dedalus Diggle (who else with that massive top hat?). To his left, Elphias Doge. In front of them sat the clerk, a mousy small witch that Hermione struggled to remind herself was not Nymphadora Tonks. Finally, facing away from the picture completely were seven people. Two on the far right of the drawing were no doubt the prosecution and the lawyers.
The two in the middle were easy enough to figure. One had long blonde hair that Hermione once remembered as baby soft and fine, Lucius Malfoy and his lawyer. He had his face turned to look at the third table on the far left.
The first man was the lawyer, Hermione guessed, because the other two, there was no doubt who they were. The man that sat in the middle had short blonde hair, that matched the one in the center table, had to have been Draco Malfoy. The artist had drawn his sharp features in such a way that made him look like an Edwardian Orphan. Every time she looked at the picture, her heart stopped for reasons she couldn’t explain just yet. Draco was looking away from his father, and instead at a man with red hair, and threadbare clothes and glasses. Arthur Weasley had his hand grasped on Draco’s shoulder, reassuring.
This was the only photo that was to be taken during The Malfoy Trial. Even then, it wasn’t a photo, it was a drawing. The only reason why Shacklebolt had allowed it to be printed was that it was a drawing, nothing more.
The article from the Prophet read:
What has been dubbed as the trial of the century has been met with pushback. No media, no newspaper, or wizard radio is to be allowed during the proceeds of this specific trial. Many say the reason why it is private is to protect none other than Draco Malfoy. Young Mr. Malfoy was only overage during the second wizarding war, and the jury is to consider him a minor.
Notably absent from the trial is Narcissa Malfoy. Inside sources say that her trial has been postponed pending the results of Draco Malfoy and Lucius Malfoy’s Trial. Those close to Mrs. Malfoy say she has been distraught and barred from seeing her husband or her only son.
However, notably present in the trial is one Arthur Weasley, who was asked to be an advocate for Draco Malfoy. According to a law, that states that if an underage wizard or witch’s parent could not be present, he or she is assigned an advocate. Friends of the Weasley’s are tight-lipped, but whispers are surrounding that Arthur Weasley was convinced by one of the judges in the case, Minister Shacklebolt.
Friends of the Weasley’s were tight-lipped because any attempts in asking Arthur were met with either stony silence or a brisk change in topic. Once Hermione overheard Arthur telling Molly late one night as she and Ginny were washing dishes.
“Molls… we… I had no idea. It was so bad.” He whispered.
Which prompted Ginny to unceremoniously walk in on them in the laundry room where the two of them were speaking and ask loudly what was so bad.
Molly was crying. Arthur looked furious. Then Arthur looked distraught, and Molly was furious.
This was three weeks ago, and nothing else had been said. This week, Harry, Hermione, and Ron had all been called to give testimony and cross-examine. It started today, the three of them were going to be sequestered and then take an oath to not speak about the trial for a number of years.
Her thoughts wandered back to Ron. They had lasted a total of three whole months after The Battle of Hogwarts. Before popping off to reintroduce themselves to Hermione’s parents, Ron and she had a row about marriage. Hermione wanted to wait at least two years and have a steady job before she and Ron got married. Ron wanted to jump right in. Harry was just excited to go on holiday for his birthday. The three of them went into Hermione’s parents' house, and they were struggling to come to grips with the fact that their only daughter had erased their memories, and then shipped them off to Australia without even asking. Hermione was showing Ron around when he brought it up in her childhood bedroom, and the two of them shouted so loud at each other that Harry and the Granger’s thought that someone had broken in.
They opened the door to Ron and Hermione breaking up.
Harry teased Hermione much later, that it was probably one of the worst birthdays he had ever had, and he had seventeen of them at the Dursleys. Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly at him. Harry learned his lesson with Ron, and never teased him about it, as Ron became dramatic, and lamented for at least half an hour.
Shortly after the ceremony they had at the new halls of Hogwarts to remember those who had fallen, Ron and Hermione agreed to give it another shot.
They had been together for a total of four whole weeks at this point, and Hermione had figured they would be in the sunshine and rainbow stage still if it weren’t for the first major hurdle. Truthfully, Hermione stumbled a little on it.
On a lunch date, Ron and she had decided to pop into Weasley Wizard Wheezes to deliver lunch to George. George hated this time of year with a passion, which was understandable, so both she and Ron figured he could use some cheering up. It had worked and Ron and she watched the shop for a few hours while George took a well-deserved break. When she passed the love potions, she studied them carefully. They now smelled much different than how they used to, and Hermione mentioned it aloud. Ron quickly turned inward and grumpy, and had remained that way for the next few weeks.
Someone stuck their head in. “Miss Granger? We’re ready for you.”
Hermione blinked confused and checked her watch. Ron had gone first, and it had only been a few hours. Nevertheless, she stood and gathered her things.
She nearly lost her mind when she stepped into the witness box. Directly in front of her, just like the picture she had tacked up in her bedroom, were the two lawyers for the ministry, Lucius Malfoy and his lawyer, Draco Malfoy’s lawyer, Draco himself, and the man she saw as her father figure, Arthur Weasley.
Draco looked thin, much thinner than he had in a long time. She saw why the artist depicted him as an Edwardian orphan now, he looked small and meek. Pale and exhausted with dark rings under his eyes. Those steel eyes had red-rimmed around the edges, and a thought occurred to her. Draco Malfoy had been crying.
Arthur next to him looked like he wanted to scream, but when he caught Hermione’s eye he nodded once and smiled at her reassuringly. He wore his usual threadbare robes that had leather patches on the elbows, and his shirt a blood orange.
The ministry’s lawyer stood. “Please state your name.”
Hermione blinked at him, registering he was speaking to her. “Hermione Jean Granger.”
“Thank you. Miss Granger, how do you know the Malfoy family?”
“I…” She remembered to look at the jury. “I went to school with the youngest member, Draco.”
He nodded, and Hermione found that she couldn’t exactly focus on what the lawyer was wearing or how he looked. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure the lawyer was a man. She briefly wondered if there were charms on him, or her, to protect him from later scrutiny.
She had missed the question while trying to focus.
“Miss Granger?”
“Sorry. I…”
“Miss Granger if you could please address the jury when I ask you a question.”
Lucius Malfoy let out a loud snigger and whispered something to his lawyer who also smiled cruelly.
She glanced at Draco, and her heart slammed in her chest. Their eyes met. His eyes were soft, frown carved into his face like marble.
Hermione tore her eyes away before she began to analyze him. She faced the jury and found that she couldn’t really focus on any of them either. They all were shrouded in darkness. Once more, she suspected that it was to save them from later scrutiny.
“Miss Granger, would you like to answer the question?” The lawyer asked.
“Could you repeat the question?” She requested.
“Fine. Miss Granger, please detail what your relationship with Mr. Draco Malfoy was like in school.”
Hermione took a breath and pressed her lips together, she looked over the heads of the jury. “He… in short… was a bully.”
“Please go into detail.”
“He… made fun of me… called me names. Mocked me.”
“Did he ever speak of his home life?” The lawyer asked.
She shook her head. “No.” It was a mild lie by omission. He spoke of his father quite frequently during their time at school, but that wasn’t his home life, that was his father.
“Your witness.” The lawyer said and Lucius’ lawyer stood.
“Miss Granger. Thinking back to your fifth year. You and Draco were in the same level, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Anything out of the ordinary?”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Could you be more specific?”
“Fifth year, is that not specific enough for you?”
“Sir, he who must not be named had returned, the ministry saw it fit to place a wildly incompetent teacher as the defense against the dark arts teacher, said teacher then placed a near five hundred rules for the students to follow, meanwhile no one seemed to be concerned that the wizarding world’s darkest wizard in a near fifty years was alive again. My friends and I started a club that went directly against unjust school rules. Then my friends and I then broke into the ministry. That’s only half of the things that happened during my fifth year… you’ll have to be more specific.” Hermione chattered.
A snort. She whipped her head around to see Draco and Arthur both ducking their heads. Laughing quietly. They glanced at each other rather than away, their smiles wider.
She fought a smile.
“Miss Granger, in regard to Draco Malfoy. What had changed?”
She blinked at the lawyer. “Nothing of note. Possibly a little taller. He wasn’t bullying my friends and me that much anymore. However, when he became a part of the head inquisitorial squad, he was insufferable.”
Draco put his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking.
Arthur was holding his breath.
“Moving along to sixth year…”
Draco dropped his hands and looked at Hermione, smiling.
Hermione tilted her head at him as if to ask ‘Why are you laughing?’ She cleared her throat. “He was different.”
“How so?”
His smile dropped.
Hermione searched his face. “He… he was much thinner. He was… sad.”
“Did Draco Malfoy tell you he was sad?”
“Well… no.”
“Did any number of his friends tell you he was sad?”
“No.”
“Did a teacher step out of bounds and tell you that he was sad?”
“No.”
“Then Miss Granger, how do you know he was sad? Speculation?”
“No.” Hermione shook her head.
“Was he crying in the bathroom?”
She blinked then glanced at Draco. He gave a nod, a barely-there nod.
“Yes.”
This gave everyone pause.
“Maybe he had a bad day.” The lawyer asked.
Hermione shook her head. “I didn’t think so at the time.”
“What did you think?”
She took a breath and glanced at Draco and Arthur, then turned to the jury. “I thought… something had happened to him. Something that made him sad, he was distracted in classes, got poor grades, and didn’t speak to many people. He lost a lot of weight, which I know is indicative of depression. He withdrew, which is also indicative of depression. He was angry, more angry than usual, which is also…”
“Indicative of depression?” The lawyer drawled lazily.
“Yes.”
“He was so depressed that he led a small militia to the Hogwarts grounds that killed Albus Dumbledore, is that correct?”
Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. “I suppose when you put it that way.”
“He was so depressed that he set fire to the groundskeeper’s hut, cursed Katie Bell, and poisoned Ron Weasley?”
“Yes.” Hermione shrugged.
“Are you a healer, Hermione?”
“No.”
“Are you an expert at depression, then?”
“Yes.”
“What qualifies you as an expert?”
She took a breath and glared at the lawyer. “I experienced it myself.”
“Oh, so did you poison a classmate? Or did you curse a classmate so horribly that it made them go to the hospital?”
“No.”
“Did you set fire to a house? Lead a small coup to a place you would call your second home?”
“No.”
“So you’re not a real expert at depression, Miss Granger.”
“Depression makes you do funny things, sometimes,” Hermione growled.
“Like?”
“I believe you can list them back to yourself. Depression is not a one size fits all sort of situation.”
The lawyer set his jaw. “Your witness,” he said to Draco’s lawyer.
He stood. “Good morning, Miss Granger.”
She nodded. “Good morning.”
“I’d like to start off with a few questions. In school, in yours and Draco Malfoy’s year… who was typically top of the class?”
“Me.”
“You? Then who was second?”
“Draco.”
“You two were tied, quite frequently?”
“Yes.”
He nodded then turned to his notes. “I’d like to talk a little about April of 1998. Do you mind?”
She shook her head.
“Tell us in your own words what happened the night of April thirtieth.”
She set her jaw and took a breath.
“Take your time.” He nodded.
She ducked her head then turned to the jury. “We had been caught by snatchers.”
“We?”
“Myself, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley.”
“Thank you. Please continue.”
“Thinking quickly, I performed a stinging jinx on Harry Potter to disguise his identity. The snatchers then took us to Malfoy Manor.”
“Who all was there?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, and a goblin named Griphook.”
“Please continue.”
“Bellatrix saw that we had the sword of Godric Gryffindor. She questioned me.”
“How did she question you?”
“She tortured me. She carved into my arm and crucio-ed me waiting for me to give up information.”
“What information?”
“About the sword of Gryffindor.”
“And did you?”
“No. I lied to her.” She shot Draco an apologetic glance. Draco’s lips were tight.
“Miss Granger, there was a moment during your torture, that Bellatrix eased up on you, was there not?”
Hermione nodded, and looked at Arthur whose brows were drawn together. He glanced at Draco, a question on his lips.
“Could you go into detail?”
Hermione took a deep inhale. “Bellatrix and Mrs. Malfoy left the room with Mr. Malfoy and Greyback. They were arguing about something, and they were thinking about feeding me to Greyback. That left Draco.”
Here it came, the big moment that she didn’t speak about. The moment that she didn’t share with the two best friends since she was twelve. It was the great big secret Ron and Harry didn’t know. She saw this, too, as a lie by omission. Neither of them ever asked explicitly what Draco did.
“You two were alone?”
“Yes.”
“Did he do or say anything?”
“Yes.” Hermione didn’t hesitate.
“Please, in your own words describe it.”
Now she hesitated. She glanced at Draco who was staring at a scrap parchment. After this, there was really no going back. She cleared her throat and began. “He looked around the ballroom, to make sure that we were alone. Then he took out a handkerchief and used it to help mop up some of the blood on my… open wound. Using… using his sleeve he dried off my cheeks from the sweat and tears. Then he held my other hand. He… comforted me.”
“And did he say anything?”
“Yes. He said: ‘Hang in there, I’ll try and get you out.’”
“Did you believe him?”
Hermione coughed to disguise a sob. “Yes.”
“Why?”
She wiped at her cheeks. “Because… Draco was never manipulatively cruel. He never toyed with someone to get their hopes up. I’m afraid Lucius did that. Also---” Arthur and Draco straightened at her last sentence about toying with people. “Also… he looked like he wanted to get out, too.”
“Was this out of character for him?”
She paused, then sniffed. Struggling to find a good answer. “Yes… however, it didn’t shock me.”
“How so?”
She wiped her nose. “The conditions at the Malfoy Manor looked… poor at best.”
“ Poor? ” Lucius hissed.
Kingsley coughed. “Need I remind the defendant that there should be no noise from him?”
Hermione looked at Kingsley.
“Go on, Miss Granger.”
“Describe how it looked poor.”
She turned to the jury. “It was dusty, and all the Malfoy family members looked like they hadn’t slept or eaten in days. Like I said… his face told me he wanted to get out, too.”
“Question, cross-examine.” Lucius’ lawyer stood.
Hermione swallowed.
“Did he do anything else?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“When you two were alone, did he do anything else to you? Say anything else, perhaps?”
Hermione shook her head. “No.”
“Miss Granger, may I remind you that you are under oath.”
“I’m aware.”
“And he didn’t give you any other sort of messages.” He demanded.
Hermione’s eyes slid to Draco who was glaring daggers at the lawyer’s back.
“No.”
The lawyer hesitated. “You’re sure?”
Kingsley sighed. “She’s sure. Ask your next question.” He groaned.
“Fine. On Draco Malfoy, did you see any bruises?”
She thought back. Confused, she shook her head.
“What about any cuts or scrapes?”
Again, she shook her head.
“How close were you two that day at the manor?”
“Close.” Hermione nodded.
“This far?” He asked.
She shook her head. “Closer.”
“Demonstrate to the jury, please, how close you and Draco Malfoy were.”
She frowned looking at Draco then at Arthur. She held up her hand right in front of her face. Her hand was so close, that for her to focus on the lines of her palm, her eyes would’ve crossed.
In the corner of her eye, Lucius sneered.
“So you would’ve noticed or seen any bruises or scrapes?”
She shook her head. “I was being tortured that day, I wouldn’t have remembered that. Besides, Draco was good at spells. He was great at them, really. He could’ve easily cast a glamour spell or two.”
Lucius’ sneer dropped.
“But you didn’t see any that day.”
“No.”
“Thank you.”
They kept her overnight in a cozy little hotel-like room with a short stack of books that had piqued her interest. She frowned when she remembered she couldn’t have taken the book that she had been reading the night previous to the ministry.
Not because of worry of her sneaking anything in, but rather, what the book was about.
Two girls falling in love with each other. Annie and Liza. The wizarding world was currently quite anxious when it came to gay witches and wizards. It was to be expected, as they were about ten paces behind the muggle world when it came to new thinking.
She stared up at the ceiling that night, gently mouthing the words. “Don’t let ignorance win. Let love.”
Hermione had learned this in fifth year, when things really started to take a turn for the worst. However, she hadn’t been able to put it into neat little poetic words until recently.
She turned over in her twin bed and promptly fell asleep.
She was released the next afternoon, along with Harry. Strangely, Ron wasn’t there to greet either of them.
Harry offered her his elbow, and they both apparated away from the ministry, and on the steps of a muggle cafe that she and Harry frequented when one or both of them were having a bad day.
She ordered a cinnamon and hazelnut latte, and a strawberry tart dusted with powdered sugar. Harry ordered a vanilla latte and a chocolate croissant. They sat at a table outside watching the people walk by.
Subtlety, Harry took out his wand and cast a silencing charm around them.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“I… I have something to tell you.” She admitted.
Harry looked surprised. “Okay?”
She gripped her mug tightly. “The day at the manor… There’s something I didn’t mention, and it came up in court.”
He frowned. “Nobody mentioned anything to me…”
She sighed. “Maybe it’s not important.”
He studied her. “Clearly it is if you just… blurted out that---”
“Okay.” she whined and took a healthy swig of coffee. She gathered her courage. “At the manor… there was a moment where Draco and I were alone. He… comforted me.”
Harry studied her his brows furrowed. “How did he comfort you?”
She explained.
Again he studied her, but this time, his jaw slack. “He… he wiped your face?”
“With his sleeve.” She nodded.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“I mean… are you absolutely sure.”
“Yes!” She moaned exasperated.
Harry closed his mouth and stared at a point above Hermione’s head.
She picked at her strawberry tart.
Harry leaned back. “Huh.”
“What?”
“It confirms a theory I had.”
“Which was?”
Harry swallowed. “That night that Dumbledore died. He lowered his wand. He didn’t want to fight anymore. It was only with the rest of the Deatheaters showing up, he raised his wand again. Draco was looking for a way out, but everyone was watching him so closely…”
“That he couldn’t find one.” Hermione finished.
Harry nodded. “Exactly.”
Now it was her turn to stare above Harry’s head. “I wonder… I wonder why he didn’t just say it.”
“It’s Malfoy, Hermione… he’s a stubborn proud git.”
She shrugged. “You’re right.”
They watched a few muggles walk by happily.
“What did they ask you?” Hermione asked, taking a bite from her tart.
He raised his eyebrows at her. “Draco’s lawyer asked me about the Dursleys.”
Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Your aunt and uncle?”
He nodded.
She paused and leaned forward pressing her crossed arms on the small circular table. “I wonder why.”
He sighed. “I have a theory.”
Hermione gazed up at him. “Okay?”
Harry tapped a nail nervously on the table. “You know… the Dursleys weren’t… good to me. Right?”
Hermione nodded.
“I mean… there’s a reason why… Hermione, do I have to spell it out?”
She tilted her head at him. “I guess so?”
Harry looked away and a hand automatically came up and combed through his dark unruly hair. “They weren’t… it wasn’t a good place to live. It’s why I wanted to live at Hogwarts, so I could stay away from them. It’s why I stayed with the Weasleys.”
Hermione inhaled deeply and held it. “Ah. Because they were abusive. But what’s that got to do with… oh.”
“Yeah… oh.”
Draco was abused.
She put her forehead into her hand. “They asked… they asked me if I had seen any bruises or cuts on him.”
Harry stared. “Did you?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t understand what Lucius’ lawyer was after, so I gave him a walk-around answer.”
“Meaning…”
“I said I didn’t see anything because I was being tortured by his aunt, and also he may have glamoured himself to hide the cuts and bruises.”
“He was also wearing long sleeves.”
“Damn. I should’ve said that.”
Harry chuckled.
“Unless… do you think he was lying? To get a lesser sentence?”
Harry raised both eyebrows now then shrugged. “Unlikely.”
“Why do you think that?”
“A hunch.”
“You and your hunches, Harry James Potter.” Hermione rolled her eyes.
That night, Ron came to their cabin door and Hermione met him on the doorstep.
“I… I need to clear my head.” He grumbled looking at his shoes.
Hermione blinked. “Oh?”
Ron nodded. “Yeah. The trial… brought up some not-good things and memories… anyways. I’ll be staying with Charlie for a few weeks. But I’ll meet up with you and Harry and Ginny at the Quidditch Trials.”
Hermione frowned. “You don’t want Harry to go with you? Just to see you off?”
Ron shook his head sleepily. “No. No. I just… need some time to think.”
Hermione nodded and opened her arms out wide for a hug.
He hugged her back gingerly.
“I’ll owl you.” He said picking up his knapsack and throwing it over his shoulder.
“Please do. I’ll miss you.”
He just smiled and backed away, he walked to the line of the property and apparated away.
It was the end of the bright and yellowy June, and now Hermione was in her second read of her book. She padded out of her room yawning, a book wedged between her thumb and forefinger.
“Good morning.” she said and turned the page, and held her place with the thumb and forefinger.
“Morning.” Harry greeted as she sat down at the breakfast table.
“Any news?”
He shook his head.
“Any… letters?”
He shook his head.
“Oh,” Hermione said and set down her book.
Harry grimaced at her sympathetically. “Arthur has the day off, apparently.”
She blinked at him. “From… from the trial?”
Harry nodded.
“Why?”
He shrugged while drinking his tea. “He says it’s a holiday.”
Hermione frowned and shook her left wrist checking her watch. “On a Tuesday?”
Harry shrugged once more.
She sighed, then an idea struck her. It was a snippet from the Prophet written the other day by Rita Skeeter.
Leaving the courtroom today, the lawyers for the ministry had pulled yours truly aside to discuss my latest article. But! Dear readers, that didn’t distract me from catching this little snippet from Arthur Weasley as he and Draco Malfoy were leaving the room. “My office is open whenever.”
Now, what could this mean? My theory is that Draco Malfoy has been looking for a place to hide out. Searching for Arthur Weasley’s office has proven to be a fruitless task, as neither he nor Draco Malfoy was in his office for the near six hours that I had waited outside of it.
“Where is he? His workshop?”
Harry nodded sleepily.
She then walked to the workshop. Jeans catching in the morning dew, she stooped down partway to roll them up above her ankles and opened the workshop door. There she found Arthur Weasley working on a dark blue Ford Aspire.
“Good morning, are you working on another flying car?” Hermione asked.
He looked up and beamed. He finished tightening a bolt of some sort and straightened, wiping his hands on a cloth. “No, no… invisibility.”
She nodded.
“Trouble is, Muggles can’t see it, so they’d run into it. I’ve been thinking about putting magnets on the bumpers, but then my worry is that it’ll crash into another car behind them or ahead of them.”
“Not flying though?”
He chortled and walked to his workbench, he sipped from a large mug of coffee or tea, which Hermione wasn’t sure of. “Molly will sooner divorce me, and kick me out of the house.”
Hermione smiled. Even if he had made the car begin to fly, Molly wouldn’t have ever done that. She simply loved Arthur too much.
“You doing alright, Mione?” Arthur asked, leaning his hip against the workbench.
“Yes. I… I had a question.”
“Okay.”
“Is… is Draco sleeping in your office?” She tilted her head.
His face betrayed no emotion. He didn’t answer. He just sipped from his mug.
“Because… someone at the ministry mentioned that he wasn’t being held in the cells below, and---”
“I’m not going to answer that.” He didn’t say it with any emotion. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t sad. It threw Hermione for a loop.
Hermione worried her lip with her teeth.
Arthur sighed and looked down at his shoes.
“Why?” She asked.
He didn’t look up, just sipped his mug.
“You’re not under oath, and the Malfoy family has been quite horrible to yours and Harry and me. Why?”
He shook his head softly, almost to himself.
“Is he blackmailing you?”
Arthur guffawed, then studied Hermione then laughed. “No. No. Nothing like that.”
“Then why?”
He swallowed then looked away. “I pray that when you and Ron have children, that you won’t ever be put into this situation that Molly and I have been put in. I also pray that if you were to find yourself in this situation, you’d look back and realize why.”
The thought of her and Ron having children didn’t sit right with her, but she understood what he meant. “Molly’s involved, too?”
He let out a thin breath and rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb. Ears were red. “My dear, please don’t worry about this any longer. If Draco wants to tell you, he’ll tell you.”
“He won’t tell me.”
“Then there is your answer.” Arthur shrugged, he pushed himself off of the workbench with a little flourish and walked back to the car. “I hear Molly is making her special peach cobbler for dinner tonight. That’ll be nice.”
On the second Saturday of July, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione excitedly packed a lunch for them that day and Ginny packed Harry’s Firebolt in Hermione’s beaded bag.
They made it to the Quidditch pitch locker rooms, and the three of them sat Ginny down in front of a locker and a mirror. Ginny was a bundle of so many nerves that Hermione could barely braid her hair. “Gin, you won’t even be able to truly play until next season, so could you just…” Hermione lowered her hands down in a gesture that should’ve represented to calm down, but Ginny must have read it as to be extra jumpy and excited.
Hermione sighed.
Harry coached her. “Remember, you’re great. You’re the best damn Quidditch player in Hogwarts. You can play literally any position they put you in… except for maybe better, but do your best if they ask you to scrimmage for it.”
Hermione craned her neck around the little locker room they had found themselves in getting Ginny ready.
“Still no sign of Ron?” Ginny asked.
“No. But I’m sure he’s just running late.”
Ginny looked up at her sympathetically through the mirror. Suddenly something caught her eye. “Holy fuck.” She whispered.
The entire locker room went quiet.
Harry and Hermione spun around.
They stilled.
Draco Malfoy wore a crisp starch white button-down, the last three top buttons were undone. Over that, he wore a brown corduroy jacket with a short collar. His pale blonde hair was cropped short and tousled gently. His hands balled into his pockets. Since he was sitting when she was testifying, she hadn’t gotten a really good look at him. He was now much taller, at least a couple of hairs above Ron. Next to him, a witch walked next to him chattering constantly. He listened to her attentively, occasionally nodding, but he didn’t look at her, he didn’t look at anyone. He hunched forward because he knew that people's eyes were on him. Gone was the Draco Malfoy that held his head high and shoulders back. This Draco Malfoy struggled to collapse in on himself, making him small. Unfortunately, his lanky frame wouldn’t allow it, his thin frame was akin to a paper cut. Visually, hard to find, but easy to locate the source of the stinging sensation
A photographer took a picture, and Hermione saw for a moment, he winced.
One of the wizards who was trying out stood and stopped Draco in his tracks. The wizard was so much shorter than Draco, in fact, he looked shorter than even Ginny who was the shortest Weasley.
Draco stared down at him with wide eyes.
The wizard spoke rapid-fire French. The wizard was practically shouting. He ended it with a question.
Draco sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Oui, je sais.” He muttered and sidestepped the wizard. “Pardon,” he added.
Ginny stared. “He speaks French?” She asked Harry and Hermione.
Harry shrugged.
“Never mind him, Draco!” The little witch cheered and guided him to the coach's offices.
“Odd, I wonder what that was about,” Ginny commented, looking back to the mirror.
At the pitch, Harry and Hermione took a seat in the bleachers with the rest of the families that were watching their loved ones try out.
“You don’t need to look, he’s behind us,” Harry grunted as he tugged out a bottle of water and sipped it.
“Who? Ron?”
“No.”
“Ah.” Hermione chanced a glance behind her.
Draco sat by himself. Elbows on his knees, his hands knitted together. An eyebrow raised as he watched the Quidditch hopefuls warm up.
“No one is sitting with him.” She muttered.
“Yeah.” Harry nodded.
“Should we---”
“Nope.”
“Harry.”
“I’m thinking of the temper of your boyfriend, my best friend, as if he sees the two of us chatting with him.”
“I’m thinking that that wizard just called him a bunch of ugly names, and got away with it.”
Harry sighed. “When did you develop such a bleeding heart?” He groaned.
“He asked Arthur to be his advocate. There is a reason. The Malfoy’s and the Weasley’s have never gotten along, and now all of a sudden?”
“Leave it alone, Hermione,” Harry warned.
“It’s because he doesn’t have anyone else, Harry. I bet you he’s not allowed to see his mother, and from the looks of it…” she leaned in closer to Harry to whisper in his ear. “He’s testifying against his father.”
Harry sighed and pulled out one of the sandwiches. “He’s got a friend. That witch woman…”
“She’s a coach, or maybe the manager of one of the teams. They’re all up there.” Hermione shrugged her shoulder to gesture backward.
Harry sighed. “We saved him, and Ron made me promise to never save him again lest he kills me first.”
“Ron promised me he’d be here.”
Harry groaned. “Well go up there, only to say hello. That’s it.”
Hermione stood and lifted her beaded bag. “Good. Let’s go.”
“Now?”
“When then?”
Harry sighed and took a bite of his sandwich. “Now.” He stood.
They trudged up the steps and stood on the same bleacher as Draco. Hermione wasn’t sure when he began to watch the two of them, but she was thrown off when they approached with his steel eyes looking up curiously and guarded up at both of them.
“Malfoy.” Harry coughed and stuck out his hand.
Draco frowned and knitted his brows. He stood and shook Harry’s hand. “Potter.” Both Harry and Hermione had to crane their necks to look up at him.
“It’s… nice to see you?” Hermione commented.
His sky blue eyes turned to her, bags were under them. “Thank you. It’s… been a while.”
“I’ll say,” Harry muttered.
“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked.
“Just watching.” He shrugged.
Harry and Hermione nodded.
“The young Weasley is trying out?” He asked, swallowing nervously.
“Yes. Ginny.” Hermione nodded.
“Right. What position?”
“Seeker hopefully, but she can play any position really.” Harry supplied.
He nodded.
“Are we allowed to ask how the trial is going?” Hermione asked.
His eyes met hers, and he suppressed a smile. “Are you wondering why I’m here?”
“No.” Hermione asked at the same time Harry said “Yes.”
His grin widened. Not the sneer it used to be. “It’s the weekend. Mr. Weasley suggested I needed a break.”
“Ah.” Hermione nodded.
“Well… good seeing you. Good luck with your life.” Harry nodded and began to walk down.
Hermione was rummaging through her bag. She pulled out a sandwich. “Here. Ron was supposed to join us, but he might’ve gotten held up.”
He blinked surprised at her. Then with a head tilt. “What kind of sandwich?”
“Ham and cheese,” Hermione answered quickly.
“Thank you.” He nodded and took the plastic-wrapped sandwich.
She nodded and walked back down with Harry to their seat.
“I’m telling Ron if he shows up who you gave his sandwich to,” Harry muttered reaching into her bag to pull out a thermos of tea.
“If he shows up.” Hermione sighed.
Hermione couldn’t sleep that night. So she elected to sit in bed and read. She wanted something mind-numbing to force her to sleep, but nothing was ever mind-numbing enough for Hermione Granger.
She had finally settled into reading a spellbook from a previous year at Hogwarts. Tucked around her were the blankets that Molly and Ginny had taught her how to make. Patchy and cozy, she loved these blankets with such a passion that she was even planning on bringing them during her last year at Hogwarts.
She and Ginny were to be sharing a dorm room with other seventh-year girls, and Hermione was apprehensive. She almost sent several owls to McGonagall to beg her to sleep alone. Not because she felt that she was better than the other girls, rather, she worried that the night terrors that constantly plagued her would disturb the other girls. They already disturbed Harry, and he was just next door to her.
She heard a yelp coming from Harry’s door.
She paused. “Alright?” She called.
No answer.
Pressing her lips together, she drew her wand and slid a bookmark into place.
Walking to Harry’s door, she gently knocked.
No answer.
She sighed happily thinking the worst was over and spun on her heel to settle back into her room.
Then, Harry screamed.
She whipped out her wand, unlocked his room, and pushed the door open. His room mirrored hers but was messier and generally untidy. On the wrinkled sheets, lay Harry tossing and turning. She pocketed her wand and ran to his side. Taking his shoulders she gently shook him.
“Harry, wake up.”
Like one of those zombie movies that Hermione watched as a kid, Harry sat straight up, back ramrod straight. “Her---Hermione?”
“Yes. It’s me. The war is over.” She said gently.
His eyes darted around the room.
“Where?” He panted.
“The cabin that the Weasley’s helped us build.”
He nodded gulping lungfuls of air. “Right.”
Their hands were squeezing the others. “Do you want me to wake Ginny?”
His face broke, just a fraction, and he recovered. “Yeah, please.”
She took out her wand and conjured her patronus. She whispered to the little otter, who dashed off through Harry’s window to Ginny’s room.
“What happened?” Hermione whispered as she turned on the light with a flick of her wand.
Harry cleared his throat. “It was… fourth year… Cedric.”
Hermione nodded and squeezed his hands. “You needn't feel guilty. You did everything you could.”
He nodded and reached for his glasses and shoved them on. “I… the dream.. it was that I didn’t bring his body back, and no one believed me. I had to go back.” His body shook a little.
“You know that Ron and I would’ve never allowed you to go back by yourself. Dumbledore would’ve never let you go in the first place.” Hermione whispered.
Harry nodded.
Ginny burst in. “Hey.” She whispered sleepily.
Hermione stood and sat lower on Harry’s bed. Ginny ran to Harry and hugged him tightly. “I’m here.” She whispered.
Hermione watched as Harry buried his nose into Ginny’s hair. He clung to Ginny as his shoulders began to shake.
“Hermione’s here too.” Ginny muttered.
Hermione reached for his hand and squeezed.
Achingly, she watched her best friend cry, doing everything she could to comfort him, and knowing it still wasn’t enough.
“You’re okay, love.” Ginny whispered.
After a few moments of crying, Hermione stood. “I’ll get a dreamless sleep potion,” Hermione whispered and squeezed Ginny’s shoulder.
Harry pulled back looking defeated. “I don’t think…”
Hermione understood, after a few months on the potion, she stopped taking it altogether. It made her unfocused and fuzzy, and the same for Harry. Ron managed to have one nightly, just to keep it at bay, and even then the odd panic attack hit him.
“It’ll be okay.” Ginny promised him, smoothing back his hair.
“I can go back to sleep without it.” Harry reasoned.
“You’re going to take it, and sleep in tomorrow. What’s tomorrow?” Ginny asked.
“It’s Sunday.”
“Ah! See. Sunday. You’ll just have a lazy Sunday, and Harry freaking Potter deserves a lazy Sunday. Am I right?” Ginny asked Hermione.
“She’s not wrong.” Hermione nodded.
He sighed. “Okay.”
“You’re not admitting defeat,” Ginny said as Hermione left.
She went to their kitchenette and to the potions, the purple liquid in a vial sparkled gently, looking like a grape soda with edible glitter. She walked back to see Ginny on the other side of the bed with Harry holding him close. She was whispering sweet nothing into his ear, and for a moment Hermione’s heart ached. ‘I wish I had someone in my life that did that for me.’ she heard herself think, but then blinked. She did have someone. She had Ron. Granted, Ron was currently dealing with his own things at the moment, and couldn’t hold her until her nightmares were nothing but a little blip in her mind, but he would’ve held her like that.
Harry grimaced and took the vial from Hermione. “You’ll both be here when I wake up?” He asked.
Hermione nodded. “Of course.”
Ginny kissed his cheek. “Of course, you nutter.”
Harry grinned and uncorked the potion and drank it in one swallow.