False Confessions
"The Aurors hauled Draco Malfoy in for questioning about Ron's murder." Harry Potter said, eyeing the brunette across from him, over the top of his newspaper. Hermione Granger's golden brown eyes snapped to Harry's emerald ones.
"Wha-what?" She stammered. "I thought they had no leads, they said they didn't even know the spell used to-" she swallowed hard, unable to say the word. Harry shook his head sympathetically as he folded up his paper and reached across the table for her hand. It had been almost a year since Hermione came home to find her husband dead on the living room floor and she still could barely talk about it.
"It's okay 'Mione," He said gently. "One of the Unspeakables was able to identify the spell. Word around the office is that it's a nasty one and would've been untraceable, but the witch had stumbled across the spell's weird magical signature before."
"Why haven't I heard about this?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing. Harry shrugged.
"Well, technically, I'm not suppose to know, but Dean and Seamus are on the case and passed on the information, off the record of course."
"Well, okay, but how did they connect the spell to Malfoy?"
"They were pretty vague, seems there's not a lot to go on, but I think they figure that it was a nasty, reclusive dark spell that killed Ron, and Malfoy's a nasty, reclusive, dark person." Harry shrugged again. "He was bitch boy for the most evil wizard of the last centaury."
Hermione glared at him.
"That's not exactly a smoking gun," Harry rolled his eyes, sometimes Hermione's sense of justice was too much, like 4th year and S.P.E.W. Next thing you know she'll have 'Draco Malfoy is really a misunderstood, but upstanding man,' buttons or rather something shorter that would actually fit on a button.
"It's only questioning, it's not like their charging him with murder or anything." He said, going back to his paper, missing the look of panic on Hermione's face.
"Harry!" Hermione shouted two weeks later, bursting in through the front door of Number Twelve Grimmuald Place. "Harry!"
"Ssh ssh," Harry hushed her urgently as he sped down the stairs, thankful for the thousandth time that they had finally been able to get rid of that portrait of Mrs. Black. Having that old bat screeching when he had a newborn upstairs would not do.
"Look!" The distraught woman cried, pushing the morning paper into his hands.
"Let's go into the kitchen," Harry said, frantically shoving her from the front hall and out of earshot of his week old daughter and exhausted young wife.
Moments later, Harry was sitting at the table reading the article posted on the front page of the Daily Prophet.
DRACO MALFOY ARRESTED FOR THE MURDER OF RON WEASLEY!
"How could they possibly have enough evidence to arrest him?" Hermione asked as she paced the length of the kitchen.
"Says here they arrested him after a search of Malfoy Manor tuned up 'incriminating evidence'." Harry read.
"'Incriminating evidence'? That could be anything!" The woman exclaimed. "How do they even know it was his and not his father's?"
"Says he admitted to possessing the item in question." Harry continued, before looking up. Hermione had begun to pace, again. "Sit down, Hermione, I'll make you a cup of tea."
Unconsciously, she did as she was told.
"I just don't get it, how can they arrest him? How can they be sure?" She wondered aloud.
Harry sighed as he filled the kettle with water.
"They're Aurors, Hermione, if they didn't have some kind of evidence on him, they wouldn't have been able to arrest him." He put the kettle on the stove to heat up and came to sit across from his friend. "Look, his trial is set for next Friday, we'll go and see the evidence for ourselves."
Hermione looked up at Harry her eyes swimming.
"Thank-you, Harry," she whispered. "For everything." The raven-haired man hugged her to him willing her to use his strength. The last several months had not been easy on the young woman and he hoped that soon, it'd all be over.
The morning of the trial dawned bright and cheery, a harsh contrast to the stormy emotions whirling inside Hermione. She dressed carefully, choosing a smart dark dress robe, and pulled her wild hair into a tight bun. She wore no make-up and slipped on a pair of sturdy shoes before leaving the bedroom Harry had given to her when she moved in with him and Ginny after Ron's death.
Harry and Ginny were already in the front room, talking quietly. Hermione cleared her throat, announcing her presence. Harry looked up at her and gave a poor attempt of a smile that more resembled a grimace. He too wore a somber set of dress robes and his raven locks, though still tangled, looked as if he had tried to get them to lie flat.
"Good luck," Ginny said quietly, hugging Hermione, the new mother had opted out of the trial, choosing to remain home with her baby instead. Hermione couldn't blame her; Ginny took it hard enough when Ron was killed, no point in reliving it.
Harry kissed his wife and he and Hermione left. Once outside the pair headed down the street, not even giving a backward glance as the house disappeared. Harry led Hermione to a secluded spot where they could apparate to the entrance of the Ministry of Magic. With twin pops the pair were gone and soon found themselves in another alley, a block from the telephone booth Harry and Mr. Weasley had used his 5th year.
"Ready?" Harry asked. The witch beside him took a deep breath before nodding. Harry searched her face for a moment before deciding that there was no turning back now. The raven-haired man turned and led the way to the entrance of the Ministry of Magic, taking them closer to the trial of Draco Malfoy and whatever end awaited him.
BANG BANG BANG
The lead judge's spelled wand broke through the chatter of the packed courtroom, as he tapped it on the bench.
"Take your seats, this meeting of the Wizamont is now in session." The wizard called, his voice magically amplified to carry through out the room. "This committee has been called here to examine the case of Draco L. Malfoy, accused of the murder of Ron B. Weasley." He peered over his rectangular eyeglasses at the chair in the center of the room. "Is that right, Mr. Malfoy?"
Following the judge's question came the metallic clinking as Draco stood, the sound of his chains that bound his hands and feet was like a morbid lullaby as they shifted. Hermione had to cover her mouth to prevent her gasp of shock at the sight of the Malfoy heir. He had only been in Azkaban for a month and already the pull of the place had taken its toll.
Always a slight man, the once trim, lithe, young man, was almost skeletal. His bones stuck out at odd angles, as his skin was pulled tight over them. His once shimmering white-gold locks, now hung in filthy, unkempt strands. His smooth, strong jaw though set in anger and determination was shadowed with golden whiskers, equally as dirty as the rest of him. His designer robes had been replaced by a ragged pair of inmate clothes that sported numerous holes from too much use. And the man stunk. Badly.
However, despite the change in his appearance, Draco stood straight, his head held high. His every move screaming confidence and arrogance. Hermione had always admired that about him. Sure he could be a pompous git, but Draco Malfoy always knew what he deserved and he never settled for less. It was that attitude that had drawn her to the man.
"Correct," He addressed the judge, his voice clear and cool.
"And, it's true, is it not that you posses a series of contraband reading material, one tome in particular containing the spell in question?" He rose a stark white eyebrow, daring the blond to refute the claim.
"Family heirlooms" the bond replied flippantly but Hermione could hear the tension in his voice.
"Mm," the judge said leaning back in his ornate chair, surveying the young man over his steeple fingers.
"But, Mr. Malfoy, what say you about the conspicuous lack of duct on the book that contained the spell that killed Ron Weasley?" A female judge, two seats down on the left, demanded shrilly. Her oval face was flaming red, her dull brown eyes slightly budging. She was clearly affronted by Draco's seemingly calm façade.
"It had been used recently." Draco said, matter-of-factly. The woman's mouth hung open in surprise. She obviously had expected him to say something else, probably a denial.
"Are you confessing, Mr. Malfoy?" She asked incredulously, but obviously pleased.
"Why no," he said, feigning shock. "It's just apparent that due to the lack of dust on that exact tome must mean that it had been used recently, which I'm sure is why you brought it up. I, however, never said, it was I who had used it."
The witch sputtered in outrage, several strands of lanky brown hair escaping from the severe bun atop her head, but before she could get a word out, the head judge spoke.
"Now, Mr. Malfoy, just to clarify, you deny having used the book recently?" His low voice sounded almost bored.
"That's correct," Draco, answered stiffly, all joy at antagonizing the woman fleeing,
"Hmm," he said, peering at a stack of parchment before him. "Tell me, what's your relationship with Mr. Weasley's wife, Hermione?"
"What?" Draco asked, surprised cracking his mask of cool indifference. The judge looked up, a malicious smile on his face, apparently enjoying catching the reserved Malfoy heir, off guard.
"Mrs. Granger-Weasley," He repeated. "Seems the two of you were spending quite a bit of time together recently."
Images began to flash in Draco's mind. He saw he and Hermione eating take- out by candle light, them huddled close together as they went through old boxes and he'd stop and stare at her, wondering if her skin was as soft as it looked.
"She was helping me," He said, confusion written all over his face, he wasn't sure why Hermione was brought into this.
"Oh?" The judge asked, his eyebrows rose in question. "Please, Mr. Malfoy, explain to me why she would do that? Weren't you childhood enemies? Not to mention you were a central, though acquitted, Death Eater, where as she was and is the best friend of Mr. Potter, your enemy, why would she help you?"
Anger flashed in Draco's eyes, turning them to molten mercury.
"I do not know, your honour," he sneered the title. "You would have to ask her." The judge didn't appear ruffled by Draco's tone, though the female judge reddened in rage, however the head judge spoke before she could.
"All right, Mrs. Granger-Weasley," The judge turned to Hermione.
"Your honour?" She squeaked in shock.
"Could you shed some light on the situation?" He asked kindly.
"Oh, of course," she swallowed nervously. "Um, well I work as an Unspeakable for the department of Mysteries. My specialty is old magical relics and ancient tomes." She said. "Mr. Malfoy approached me about aiding him in cataloging some family heirlooms, relics, amulets, old spell books, that sort of thing. It was very interesting work, the Malfoys have loads of items that belonged in magical museums, loads of junk too."
"Yes, yes, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, but why would you agree to work for Mr. Malfoy?" He prompted.
"Because he asked." She said with a shrug. "School was a long time ago, and in the war he was more political than a solider. In face, he was quite inept as a solider, I believe that was the grounds for his acquittal." She smiled softly and Draco couldn't help but be mesmerized, Hermione smiled so seldom these days.
"I never hated Draco," she said, causing several people to stiffen in surprise, including Draco. He had never really understood why Hermione had agreed to work for him, other than the money. "It was always Ron and Harry that had the problem. Sure, he called me names and his beliefs were against me, but I always saw him as a little boy trying to live up to his father's ideals. I felt sorry for him. So when he came to me a year ago, asking me to work for him, and offering me an exorbitant amount of money and the opportunity to work with object not seen by any one other than Malfoy eyes, I figured 'why not?"
"Thank-you, Mrs. Granger-Weasley." The judge said, "just a few more question, if you will." Hermione nodded her consent. "So, am I safe in assuming that your husband was unaware of your arrangement with Mr. Malfoy?"
"Uh, that's correct," Hermione, said, willing her voice not to shake. "Ron is the jealous type and as I said, he never really got along with Draco."
"Ah," The judge said, raising his eyebrows, "so you entered into this agreement with Mr. Malfoy without your husband's consent, without even his knowledge?"
"Correct, your honour," She whispered. "We needed the money and I saw no harm."
"All right, Mrs. Ganger-Weasley," He said, taking up a quill and making a note on the parchment. "So you said you worked with old spell books, did Mr. Malfoy ever show you the book in question?" He held up a photo taken by the investigating Aurors of a small black book with a scuffed cover and yellowed pages.
The woman swallowed.
"Uh, we were primarily in the basement, we never ventured into the family library." She said. "All the items Mr. Malfoy wanted me to catalog were in the basement."
"So you never spent time in any area of the Manor, besides the basement?" He asked, not looking up from what he was writing.
"The bathroom," she said lightly. "The dining room, no where else."
"And did Mr. Malfoy give you a tour of the Manor?" He asked, looked up.
"Once, at the start, but not extensive." She replied.
"Okay, so could you please explain to me, -Weasley, how you knew that the book in question was in the family library, if you never seen it before nor had you ever, according to you, been inside the room?" Hermione's heart stopped. She stared at the judge, speechless.
"Mrs. Granger-Weasley?" He asked, after a few moments of silence.
"Uh, I- Well," She stammered, unsure of what to say. She turned to look at Draco, Hermione watched as he tensed slightly, and she knew that in that instant, he had pieced it all together. The change in his demeanor was so slight, that only someone who knew him as well as she did would pick up on it.
"I give up," He said, his voice icy cold and crystal clear. "I did it, I murdered Ron Weasley."
"NO!" Hermione shouted, jumping up. Why was he saying that, he knew it wasn't true?
Sit down, came Draco's voice in her head. He was using Legilimacy on her, a trick she never could master, and her mind was always too busy to be able to make it go blank enough to be able to use the mind magic.
"No," Hermione said again, this time directed specifically at the blonde man.
"Mrs. Granger-Weasley, please sit down," The head judge demanded, indignantly, his face red and his proverbial feathers obviously ruffled. But the witch didn't even bother to glance at him. Instead she continued to stare at the back of Draco's head, the man refusing to turn around and look at her.
"Draco didn't do it," She said. "He didn't kill Ron."
"Now, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, I really must insist that you sit down, or I will hold you in contempt of this court." The head judge cried, his bush white eyebrows rose so high they almost disappeared beneath the brim of his wizard's hat. The man had gotten the confession he was after, and he wanted nothing or anyone to interfere.
"Hermione," Harry hissed, under his breath, tugging on her sleeve, trying to get her to sit down. "He's confessing," Hermione wretched her arm from her friend's grasp.
"No, Harry, I can't let him do this," She shouted.
Hermione, stop, Draco's voice sounded again, sounding almost desperate. Hermione covered her ears, trying to block out all the noise.
"I did it!" she finally blurted. "I killed Ron," It took only seconds for her words to sink in and for Hermione to realize that the room had gone deathly quite.
"Hermione," Harry said, an odd tension to his voice, she didn't know if he was warning her, or if he was shocked. The brunette looked at her friend.
"I'm sorry, Harry, " she whispered, her eyes welling with tears. "I'm so sorry,"
"But no-Hermione-" Harry cried. A sob escaped the woman as she hugged herself.
"You don't understand, Harry," she said, shaking her head sadly. "After the war Ron was, different." She stared at her feet, refusing to look into Harry's inquisitive gaze, and unable to look at the Weasleys at all.
"He took his brothers' deaths hard." She began, her voice tentative. She had never told anyone what she was about to say. "He began to drink-a lot. And when he did…" She left off, struggling for the words.
"He was a mean drunk." Came Draco's cool voice. Hermione's head snapped up and her eyes met Draco's. "He beat her, Potter, a lot."
"You knew?" She gasped. The cold gray of Draco's eyes ignited into molten silver.
"I do now," he said, his voice almost a snarl, and Hermione could sense that at least a portion of his anger was directed at her. "You really think that if I had known, I would have let him continue?" Hermione lowered her eyes, unable to met his fierce gaze.
"I didn't want you to know," she whispered. "I didn't want anyone to know."
"Merlin damn it to hell," The blonde howled, his voice harsh with pain. "I could have helped you, Hermione. I could've kept you safe, and it would never have had to come to this. Why didn't you trust in me?" Hermione looked up, surprised.
"I do trust you, Draco, more than anything." She exclaimed. "I was just embarrassed. You know, it never was suppose to be this way, Ron and me. We were supposed to live happily ever after." Draco rolled his eyes, but before he could speak, Harry spoke up.
"Hermione, what happened? What made you resort to…this?" He asked, unable to say the word 'murder'. The witch risked a glance at her friend, and more tears spilled from her eyes, dark with pain.
"I had to Harry," She said. "After what he did."
"What? What did he do?" he asked, desperate to know what had happened to push such a sensible person, over the edge.
"He killed my baby."
It was late when Hermione eased open her front door. The house was dark as she slipped into it, turning to ease the door shut, soundlessly, but as she did, a soft click, sounded behind her, and the room was flooded with light as a lamp was turned on. Hermione whirled around so fast that she lost her balance a bit and bumped into the door behind her. She clutched at the wooden barrier, trying to keep herself upright as her heart hammered in her chest.
"Ron," she gasped. "You scared me," She chuckled nervously, her hands fluttering about her chest, as if to try to still her poor heart. Sitting in an arm chair positioned a matter of feet across from the door, the illuminated lamp on a table beside it, was her husband, and the redheaded man definitely looked worse for the wear.
Ever since the final battle and the many deaths of his brothers, Ron had taken to drinking. He drank, a great deal, but tonight it looked like he had hit the firewhiskey bottle harder than he had in months. His blue eyes were glassy and bloodshot; his hair dirty and sticking on ends, his face had a gray-green tinge to it.
"You're late," he said, his voice harsh and rough, this throat having been ravaged by the hard liquor Ron had been pouring down it for hours. As if it wasn't enough, he took a swig from a clear bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn't even flinch as the liquid seared its way down to his expanding gut. Hermione resisted a shudder; his lack of reaction was not a good thing.
"I had to work late." She said cheerily, easing from the door slowly. Ron watched her, and she wasn't sure what he was thinking. Though she wasn't exactly lying, she wasn't telling the whole truth either. She jumped when he moved his hand with the bottle to his mouth again, and then cursed herself for acting like a scared rabbit.
"Hmm, why so jumpy, luv?" He asked, his eyes boring into her.
"Not jumpy, excited," She replied, her smile not entirely fake. "I went to the doctor's again today," she slipped her gloves off her slightly trembling hands, though not leaving the doorway.
"Oh?" he asked, his voice flat and disinterested. However, Hermione was too happy to let it get to her.
"She says I'm four months along, and in about another few weeks I should start feeling the baby move." Despite her trepidation about Ron's inebriated state, Hermione couldn't help but grin, and caresses her belly lovingly. Oh how she longed for a child, a precious baby all her own. Her husband shifted in his chair again.
"Well, come give us a kiss than," he said placing the firewhiskey bottle on the table beside him and opening his arms to her. Though Hermione's gut told her not to leave the safety of the doorway, and the only exit of the tiny apartment, she knew better than to refuse him. She walked toward him slowly, trying to keep her breath from shaking and her pulse from throbbing so violently.
Once she reached his chair, he grabbed her, causing her to jump a little in fear, but his grip was gentle as he pulled her to him. Hermione eased herself onto his lap and Ron began to nuzzle her neck, his whiskey laced breath ghosting over her pale skin. Hermione closed her eyes and let her body feel the sensation as his lips began to send tingles through her. She let her mind forget the past year of their marriage, all the fights and the violence, all the pain she had suffered at the very hands that were sending the most delicious sensations coursing up her spine, and pretend that they were like other couples. She just wanted to be a regular wife, one who didn't have to live in fear of her husband and his violent temper.
As Ron slowly began to remove her clothing she could almost believe that her fantasies were real. All of a sudden, Ron stiffened. Hermione's eyes snapped open and met a pair of flaming blue orbs.
"R-Ron?" She questioned, unsure of what had caused the shift in his mood. It happened so quickly that she could still feel his arousal pressed against her thigh.
"You fucking little slut," he hissed, his voice low and gruttal, almost animalistic. In one quick motion he flung her from him, she fell from his lap and hit the wood floor. Hard. "You think you could step out on me, and I'd never know? You think I'm fucking stupid?" He roared.
Hermione stared up at him in wide-eyed fear.
"Ron, luv, what's the matter? What did I do?" She cried. He leaned down, grabbing the front of her blouse, pulling her terrified face to his enraged one.
"You come into my home, reeking of another man's scent, probably carrying his bastard, and have the nerve to try to pass it off as mine?" He let her drop to the floor, her head hitting the surface with a loud crack. Bright starts burst before her eyes.
"No, it's not what you think," she said, desperately. But Ron wasn't listening to her, he was too far gone, his rage and the alcohol consuming him. He kicked her in the stomach.
"I wont let you make a fool of me," He shouted, as he kicked her again.
"No," Hermione howled, trying to twist her body from him, protecting her stomach with her hands. Ron's fist came at her, making contact with her head with a loud smack, more stars and a heavy blackness developed at the edge of her vision. Hermione fought to stay conscious, struggling to protect her stomach and the developing baby in her womb, from her husband's violent assault.
"I …will… not…be…made…a …fool." He grunted, accenting each word with a resounding hit to the brunette beneath him. At his last word, Hermione lost her battle with the darkness and fell into blissful oblivion.
"I woke up the next day in the hospital." She said, her voice echoing in the silent courtroom. "The doctors told me that I had lost the baby and they had done all they could just to save my life, I had lost a lot of blood." Hermione stared sightlessly at the wizards before her.
"They told me that my insides had been mangled beyond repair. I would never have a baby." Some light came to her eyes as her anger burned. "That bastard stole my child from me and any chances of ever having another. He told the hospital that I had fallen down some stairs, and the idiots believed him, he was a war hero. No one suspected it was him who had put me there, him who had killed my baby."
Hermione turned to look at the man beside her. Harry looked at her with eyes wide in shock.
"How could I let him live after that?" She asked so quietly, but it came out as if she shouted in the soundless room. "They released me a few days later and I drugged Ron to fall asleep." She turned to look at Draco. "That's why I came by your place that day. I didn't have any last minute business, not with you, anyway. I just wanted access to your books." Her eyes watered.
"I never thought that they'd be able to trace the spell to you. I never meant to involve you in this. I just needed to get rid of him. Needed him to be gone." Her voice was so raw with emotions, so broken. "I found a spell that was suppose to be untraceable, something that would turn all his evil back on him, I wanted him to feel it all, to know the pain he caused me, and my baby, before he died. But something went wrong, I mispronounced something, I'm not sure, and the Unspeakable were able to find out what it was and where someone could gain access to it."
Hermione stopped talking and retreated into herself, almost as if to wonder what had gone wrong.
"Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry. I didn't know." Harry said, standing beside her. "How could I have not known?" Hermione looked at him.
"I was embarrassed, besides, I didn't think anyone would believe me. So I healed the wounds, applied glamour charms when needed, and hid all evidence. I never even told anyone I was pregnant. I guess a part of me feared something like this would happen all along." Hermione flinch when a hand settled on her shoulder. She turned slowly and met Mr. Weasley's sad blue eyes. Neither of them said anything but that look was enough, he forgave her.
Hermione swallowed thickly against the raising emotion and nodded at him.
However the head judge clearing his throat interrupted the scene.
"-Weasley," he said, and Hermione took a deep breath before turning to meet his cool eyes. "This court finds the story you just told us enlightening and are therefore calling for a short recess so that we may discuss how to proceed from here." The judges rose and each nodded to her before filing out of the courtroom.
Hermione sighed and sat heavily back on the hard bench. Harry sat beside her and put a comforting arm around her.
"Why did you do that?" Draco snarled coming over to the half wall that separated the specters from the accused. "I confessed! They would have believed me!" Hermione looked up at him in shock.
"How was I suppose to let you confess to something you didn't do?" She cried, a spark of anger igniting inside her. How dare he yell at her, when she saved his ungrateful soul from the dementors? She stood up; towering over him slightly due to the elevation of the seating area versus the ground he stood on. "Besides, why would you confess, Draco? You know you didn't kill him, in fact, I think you figured it out. You knew it was me, but you still confessed, why?"
Draco's narrowed his eyes at her.
"Of course I knew," He said, his voice rough with anger and emotion.
"But you confessed," She said again, confused. Draco's eyes bore into hers.
"And you really can't think of why," He asked, his tone slightly condescending. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, a habit he had picked up since he had left school and chose to wear his hair loose. "I'm in love with you, Hermione."
The brunette witch couldn't help the gasp that escaped her at his words, and the way he said it, like it was a fact, one that she should've known, also threw her for a loop.
"Wh-what?" she stammered. She had never expected to hear those words from anyone again, especially Draco Malfoy, and she wasn't entirely sure how she felt that they would come now, when her fate was pretty much sealed. Draco looked at her, his eyes sad.
"How could I not?" He said, his voice as soft as velvet. "Just being around you made me feel like a better person. You're so good, so generous, so self-less, always helping others and putting them before your self. I wanted that. I wanted to be a part of that type of world and the more I was, the more I realized that it wasn't just Gryffindors or the Order that was that way, or made the world seem like a brighter place, it was you."
Hermione felt her cheeks warm at the lovely words. No one had ever said such things to her, and she wasn't entirely sure how to respond. Luckily, Draco didn't seem to need one, as he continued.
"If I had known what Ron was doing, if I had even suspected that you were in danger or even unhappy, I would've taken you away. I would have protected you and given you everything you ever wanted." He said so earnestly that Hermione's heart broke. "You never said, never even hinted, and I knew how Ron was, I had seen him in the pub a couple of times, and it wasn't pretty, but you never said."
Big, crystal tears fell from her large brown eyes.
"How could I?" She whispered. She didn't even bother to refute his claims of love, because she knew the feeling all to well as it coursed through her own veins as well. She loved the blond man before her and it hurt her that they would never be together, not now. "What was I to say?"
Draco knew the truth of her words, but still a part of him was angry at her for not telling him, not letting him help and another, larger part was angry at himself for not knowing. All the times she had come to their meetings, visibly upset, stinking of magic, and he never made the connection to health potions and glamours to hide residual bruising. The potions' expert never placed the smells of herbs and other magical ingredients that make up the more common healing draughts. How blind was he?
"Ahem," The head judge cleared his throat, interrupting the exchange. Hermione flushed, she had been so wrapped up in Draco's confession of love, that she had not noticed the Wizmount's return. "As touching as this all is, we are holding a trial here." The man glared at everyone over top of his glasses. Once satisfied that all parties were properly chastised, he turned to address Draco.
"Mr. Malfoy, under the circumstances, it is this courts decision to acquit you of all charges regarding the murder of Ron B. Weasley." His dark eyes bore down on the young man, obviously wishing that they had just cause to hold him. Draco smirked at him, enjoying the man's ire at having to release someone like him. Hermione gave a sigh of relief, causing the judge to turn his attention to her.
"You, however, -Weasley, have a lot more to answer for." He said, his voice loud in the harsh silence. Hermione started, she wasn't sure what she had expected from her confession, but she feared the worst now. Would the Wizamont truly convict her, would they really send her for the Kiss? "After calling in the chief Auror, this court has been given the go ahead to arrest you for the murder of Ron Weasley. However, due to your status as a war hero, they have done you a kindness and instead of awaiting your trail in Azkaban, you will be placed under house arrest at number twelve Grimmuald Place."
Draco felt bittersweet relief wash over him. He knew at her confession that the courts would not let her off so easily and he had feared the worst. However, they had chose to be lenient and save her from Azkaban, at least for the moment.
It only took the Wizamont a week to call Hermione's trial. It was pretty cut and dry. They read her confession, asked if it was correct, she said it was.
"Is there anything else you'd like to say, -Weasley?" The head judge asked.
"No," Hermione said. The judge nodded.
"Alright, than we will take a brief recess to deliberate."
However, the break was anything but brief. The tension in the courtroom was almost stifling and Hermione was too stiff with fear and anticipation to even accept the comfort of her friends. Draco struggled against his own anxiety, resisting the urge to fidget.
An hour and a half later, the Wizamont filed back into the courtroom.
"It is the decision of this court, that Hermione Jane Granger-Weasley, is guilty of the murder of Ron B. Weasley and will therefore be sentenced to pay for her crime by Dementor's Kissed." The head judge said, his voice was painfully loud in the silent courtroom. However, moments after his announcement the room erupted into chaos, protest and cries of outrage rang off the rounded ceiling.
"What?" Harry howled.
"You can't do that!" Mr. Weasley cried, not wanting to see his beloved daughter-in-law turned into a soulless zombie, even if she did murder his son. The only two people who didn't speak a word aloud were Draco and Hermione.
Why couldn't you just keep your mouth shut? Draco hissed in her head, his fear had always served him best when turned into anger. He could handle the cold, choking emotion, and preferred the white-hot rage that prickled his senses.
What was I too do? Allow them to Kiss you for something you didn't even do? She answered, much to Draco's surprise. What a time for her to finally get the hang of Legilimacy.
Better than you! No one would miss me. You have a life a future! He cried, not entirely clear on what he was saying but he was so damned desperate.
Draco, shut up. I did it, okay. I killed him, and I'm prepared to deal with the consequences.
The room suddenly grew cold and dark as the dementor entered into the side door. Draco panicked at the sight of the hooded figure and leaped over the half wall. A huge Auror grabbed him before he could even take a step toward the woman.
Hermione, No The blonde's voice sounded weak and shaking and the creature advanced on the young woman.
Draco, it's okay. But before they do this I want you to know that I love you. Her voice sounded faint and weak as the creature advanced on her, lowering it's hood. Hermione turned to look at the blond as he lay on the floor, the weight of the Auror pressing down on him. Her brown eyes bright and full of so many emotions. She never took them off of him as the dementor leaned forward, it's black, soulless face coming within inches of hers.
As the monster took a deep breath, Draco watched helplessly as the bright lights in her eyes, went out.
"Good Evening, Mr. Malfoy," Kirby, the night guard greeted the man as he entered into the lobby of the Azkaban prison. The blond man nodded stiffly in response. The overweight man stepped out from behind his desk as Draco neared it, taking out his wand. Draco spread his arms apart as Kirby ran his wand over him, checking for any concealed weapons, including his wand, which the blond had to leave at the front desk, or any other items that were on the prisons' prohibition list.
"All clear, sir," The young man confirmed with a nod, stepping aside to let Draco pass.
"Thank-you," Draco said, his voice rough and cracked, like old leather, as he eased himself past the guard. As the man made his way down the darken halls of the prison, avoiding looking into any of the cells he passed. The only sound was his and Kirby's footsteps, ringing off of the walls.
Finally, they stopped at a cell at the end of the hall. Draco pulled a chair from against the wall and set it near the bars, the scrap of the metal legs against the concert floor, made his teeth rattle. Draco slowly lowered his body onto the uncomfortable chair.
"Thank-you, Kirby," He said in dismissal once he was settled in the chair. The guard nodded and Draco listened to his retreating footsteps. Once the man was gone, he turned his attention back to the cell and the dark figure huddled in the corner.
"Hello, 'Mione," He said, forcing pleasantness into his voice. His gray eyes sad as the woman he loved did not even flinch at the sound of his voice. He sighed and for the millionth time, he asked himself why he was there.
It had been five years since the dementor had taken Hermione's soul, and she became just a shell of whom she once was. Ever since, Draco came to visit her every night. He knew that a part of him, somewhere, hoped that one day she would look at him and recognize him, but it was a false hope. Not once had she even looked at him. The women sat huddled in her corner, unmoving, except to scarf down the offensive gruel they served to her. She never looked at him, never even acknowledged him, it was almost as if he wasn't there at all.
After every time, Draco told himself it would be the last time, that he wouldn't put himself through it again. But he knew, each time, that he was lying to himself. There was no way that he could abandon her to this place. Draco knew the statistics. Most of those who had been Kissed, die within the first six months, others, after no more than two, the rest, in three. Hermione had beaten those statistics and had made it longer than any one else. Draco felt a perverse pride that even without her soul, Hermione was still exceeding expectations.
Draco knew that he entertained the idea that maybe, just maybe, it was him that had kept her going this long. It was his visits that kept her hanging in there. But he knew the truth. She had no idea he was there, and the only reason he kept coming back was the guilt at not being able to save her, to protect her, that, and he loved her.
The blond man strained his eyes and was able to see a few of her features in the flickering torchlight. Her classic frizzy brown hair was plastered to her head with dirt and grime and her skin was pale and cracked from the muggy air of the prison and the lack of sunlight. However, Draco still found her as beautiful now as he had all those years ago.
Sadly, Draco took his eyes off her, unable to look too long at her like this. Her eyes wide and vacant, her mouth hanging slightly open, her hair sticking out in so many directions that the overall effect looked as if she had been struck with a static electricity spell. He stared at the dank cement wall, letting his mind drift.
Draco found these visits very therapeutic. He used this time to talk to Hermione about anything that was on his mind, anything that he just felt he needed to talk about. She's a great listener he thought darkly.
"So, luv, remember how I was telling you about that one client of mine, Mr. Kalamack? Well, now he's really gone and done it….
"Mr. Malfoy? I'm Nurse Alice, from the ICU at ST. Mungo's Hospital." Draco looked over at his fireplace, among the green flames was a head. The blond put down his paper. "It's -Weasley."
Draco's shoes tapped smartly against the linoleum floor of the hospital. He didn't understand how Hermione could be sick, he had seen her just yesterday, and although she didn't exactly look 'fine', she looked the same as always. How could she suddenly be in intensive care?
"I'm here to see Hermione Granger-Weasley." He gasped at the receptionist behind the front counter.
"Are you family?" She asked in a bored tone. Draco's eyes widened, how could she be so flippant when someone's life was on the line.
"No, but I am her next of kin," He said desperate to get through the young woman and to Hermione.
"Room 221" She said, snapping her gum. Draco didn't waste time to tell the girl what he thought of her professionalism as he hurried past her down the hall. He frantically scanned the numbers by the doors, muttering them to himself. "218, 219, 220, there, 221"
He grasped the cool metal handle in his hand and a sick feeling settled in his gut, with a breath to strengthen his resolve, he eased the door open. The room was cast in a gray haze, the curtains drawn and the lights off, only the afternoon sun shining behind the thin cotton drapes provided any light to see by. Draco searched the room, the only furniture was a desk of drawers, a chair and a hospital bed.
Draco could make out the shape of a body on the bed, her body's vitals glowing above her. The blond glanced at them, but was unable to understand the medical jargon. As he made his way to the bed, he noticed another person in the room.
A nurse with a clipboard looked up at the sound of his footsteps.
"Can I help you?" she asked as she eyed him suspiciously. Draco didn't look at her, he couldn't take his eyes off of Hermione on the hospital bed. It had been so long since he had really seen her that it was a shock to see the extent of what Azkaban had done to her. She looked like a child, so small on the narrow hospital bed. Her body nothing but skin and bones, emaciated by years of a soulless existence.
"How is she?" Draco asked, his voice thick with the emotion that was rising to choke him. His beautiful, vibrant Hermione had been reduced to this, and now she was dying.
"She's stable, for now," The nursed said with a sigh, looking upon the woman in the bed with pity. "To be honest, it's a down right miracle she's lasted this long. Most of those who have been Kissed don't survive past the first year or so. The struggle to live when you have no will too, it's a heavy burden. She must've really been something."
"She was," He croaked, fat crystal tears blurred his vision. The nursed clucked in sympathy.
"I'm so sorry dear, how thoughtless of me. I'll leave you two alone." She patted his shoulder as she made her way to the door.
"Wait," Draco called after her. He turned to look at her, hardly taking in her drab uniform and her gray streaked hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail. She had a kind face with nondescript blue eyes and a pert little nose and a rotund figure to match. "How long?"
"Tonight, maybe the morning, not much past that." She replied before turning and leaving the room. When she left, it was like she took all the oxygen out of the room and Draco struggled to breath as he made his way to the bed. The silence of the room oppressed him, weigh on him like it was a tangle able thing.
"Hullo 'Mione," He whispered once he reached her bedside, easing himself into a chair. She stared at the ceiling, her brown eyes dim, as if there already was no life left in them. She didn't even stir at the sound of his voice. "Oh luv, how did it come to this? So many years and still I'm not ready for you to go." He put his head down on the mattress close to her hand, his tears wetting the sheet.
"Please, please don't leave me." He cried softly. A few moments passed and Draco felt as if a breeze was blowing the strands of his hair. He lifted his head to try to decide where the wind was coming from and was shocked to find that Hermione was looking at him.
"Hullo, Draco," She rasped, her voice soft and rough from disuse. The blond couldn't speak, he could only stare. For the first time in years, the witch's eyes were bright and she had acknowledged him.
"Her-Hermione?" He gasped. His mind flooded with what to say, what to ask, what to do. Hermione was lucid and talking!
"I know, love," she said as if she was reading his mind. "But there's no time. I haven't got much time left."
"No," Draco shook his head, "no don't say that. Don't, don't say that!"
Hermione looked at him with sad eyes. It broke her heart too.
"I'm sorry love, I'm sorry it took me so long to come back to you." She whispered. "I heard you, everyday, but it was like I was in a tunnel and no matter how long, far or fast that I ran, I never could reach you." The blond just looked at her, to overcome with a sickening mix of joy and fear, resulting in leaving him speechless, and a bit nauseas.
"There is so much I want to tell you, so much I want to say, but I haven't the time." She let her fingers twitch, a few strands of his silken hair twisting around them. "Hmm, I always loved you hair, so soft and smooth. So many times I had to restrain myself from touching it. If only I had known you would've welcomed the attention."
"Hermione," He said, putting so much longing and pain in that one word that it nearly split the witch in two.
"Draco, I wont make it through the night, I can tell. My body is just too worn down." She said, speaking faster, as if afraid her body would give out on her before she was able to tell him what she wanted. "The only reason I last this long was you. If you hadn't come see me everyday, I don't think I would have survived past the first week. It was so hard, to just stay alive. Every breath was a chore, one I had to force myself to take. But when I heard your voice, and I knew you hadn't forgotten me, and you still loved me, it made me keep fighting. Fighting for you." Draco clasped her hand.
"Than keep fighting, Hermione, please," He cried, fat tears spilling from his eyes. In all his life Draco had never cried, but the man couldn't help it, he couldn't stop it.
"Draco, there's nothing left. I wish I could keep going, I wish I could stay with you, but I can't." Small tears slid out of her eyes, sliding down her cheeks and into her hair.
"Hermione, please," he begged. The very thought of life without her was enough to cause Draco's heart to want to stop beating.
"I love you, Draco, and oh how I wished I had said it earlier, how I wish things had been different. I would've left Ron and you and I could've shared our lives together." Her eyes began to lose their focus as she stared up at the ceiling, and Draco began to panic.
"Hermione!" He shouted, and was relived when the brunette turned to look at him. She smiled.
"It's okay, Draco, I'm still here." The blonde man clutched her hand, her fingers frail and weak and almost brittle in his hands. "I'll stay as long as I can."
Draco crawled into the bed with Hermione, pulling the small woman to him. The night passed too fast for the blond as he lay in the hospital bed holding on to the woman he loved. The pair talked quietly, exchanging words of love, regret and sorrow.
Just as the sky turned pink with the approaching dawn, Hermione drifted off. Draco clung to her, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest. He nestled his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, committing it to memory, along with the feel of her in his arms. The slight rasp of her breathing and the steady beat of her heart eventually lured the blond to sleep.
Draco was awaken what felt like moments later by a blaring alarm. The vital signs that hovered over the pair were flashing red and a team of nurses came scrambling in the door. Draco was quickly removed from the bed as they set to work, easing the bed down so that they could better access the woman with their wands. A few moments later a man entered the room dressed in a green outfit. Draco figured he was the doctor.
Draco sat heavily in the chair that had been pushed against the wall, he was dazed and his head was spinning.
Draco? A voice came through his jumbled thoughts. The blonde looked up and was shocked to see Hermione standing before him. He looked from the opaque woman before him to the body on the bed and back again.
"Hermione?"He whispered, both because he was chocked with shock, and not wanting to call attention to himself.
" Draco, I've got to go now," She said, looking sad. "I love you,"
Draco looked at her, taking in all of her as he could. She looked like she had that day in court, full of life, and vibrant, not like the shadow of herself that was dying on the hospital bed a few feet from him. Draco didn't try to argue or beg her to stay, he knew that she couldn't and that this was it.
"I love you too, Hermione," He said. "I've always had." The brunette came closer to him and he felt a slight tingle on his lips as she touched her incorporeal ones to his.
"Goodbye," She whispered, and was gone. Announcing her departure was a steady hum of the vital spells as Hermione Granger- Weasley died.