This story was written for the Girl Scout Cookie Challenge! It'll be a two-parter. :)
Thanks-A-Lot: Thanks-A-Lot are shortbread cookies dipped in chocolate that teach you another language. Write about someone trying to thank someone, or write about Ancient Runes class. As another option, you could write about the two sides of a situation.
It wouldn't have been so hard if she hadn't saved him.
But she had, and now he was stuck with a nagging conscience.
He had to thank her.
He hated his conscience.
A few years ago, he would've scoffed in repulse at the very notion of thanking her - her, a mudblood, the very dirt beneath his feet. But things were different now. She was a saint.
She had risen from the ashes of the Second Wizarding War as a shining beacon. She was a light, a hope, an angel, second only to the Boy-Who-Lived. In some ways, she was better than Harry Potter himself. When the Chosen One had fallen into mourning, refusing to appear at press conferences and witness at Death Eater trials, she had taken his place. She rose to the occasion grandly and, a week or so later, had helped Harry back onto his feet. The entire Wizarding World rallied around her, taking heart in her encouraging speeches and embracing her plans for reconstruction. She was the very heart and soul of revival.
He was nothing.
He was a coward. Nothing but a young coward who had thoughtlessly believed the untruths fed to him as a child. He had fought on the wrong side, and now he was feeling the repercussions of his actions.
The day of his trial was the beginning of the consequences of his actions as well as the first day his conscience spoke about her. He remembered the day clearly - the full Wizengamot, the hard stone chair, the cold shackles, the fear for his parents, the remorse for his lost youth, and the threat of Azkaban hanging over his head.
The trial had begun horribly. He was greeted with no lenience, kindness, or mercy. He was positive, halfway through the trial, that the outcome would be final. Azkaban - for life.
Then she had appeared. A door on the side of the courtroom had swung open, and she had scurried in, looking extremely flustered. She had whispered something to the Minister and then, to the Wizengamot's general shock, moved down the steps towards the prisoner's chair. She'd offered him small smile before she turned and addressed the court.
She apologized for her tardiness, then began to list, in simple and no-nonsense terms, why the man sitting behind her was innocent. He was young, he was forced into being a Death Eater - he didn't remember what she said, exactly. What he did remember, more clearly then anything, was Minister Shacklebolt's final decree: "Draco Lucius Malfoy will receive no penalty for his errors regarding Voldemort made before and during the Second Wizarding War."
Before he had time to process the Minister's words, the bindings were snapping off his wrists and she was giving him a smile before exiting the courtroom. He sat in silence for at least five minutes, allowing himself to savor his position. He was free. There would be no Voldemort, no Azkaban. Yes, his conscience agreed. He was free - thanks to her.
Over the next month, he worked on getting a grip on his life. He gathered some of his money, bought a nice flat in the middle of muggle London, and got himself a job at a nearby cafe. He savored every minute of his escape from the life he'd known. He spent his free time reading in the quiet of his flat and trying to ignore the constant buzzing in his ears that murmured, It's all because of her. It's all because of Hermione Granger.
Then something happened that would change everything.