A/N: My sincerest apologies for the long delay in updating. Many thanks to all of you for the continued support, especially the reviews. I can not adequately express how much each and every one of them means to me :)
Special thanks to guest reviewer Jimmy P for reminding me to get off my lazy butt and update this. And a very special shout-out to SpencerHastings2011 for all the encouragement. She helped remind me just how wonderful & supportive this community can be and how much I appreciate having this place to share my writing.
Sincerely, every dear soul who has offered some sweet words of encouragement, know that each of you are a true treasure, you are a voice of kindness and positivity in a world full of snark and bitterness. You are the reason fanfics exist at all, you are the reason we write.
I hope you all are doing well & I hope you enjoy this chapter. Take care & Happy Sunday :)
"Trust your heart if the seas catch fire,
live by love though the stars walk backward."
― E.E. Cummings
Pressure, it can yield incredible things. Given adequate time and the right circumstances, moderate pressure can change a lump of coal into a diamond. Something worthless can be made precious. But when faced with inordinate pressure and little time, even the strongest substance can be compromised, even ruined, their fissures and weaknesses laid bare against an unrelenting force. This is the moment when the feeble are separated from the formidable.
With only a single day to launch an effective defense for one of the wizarding world's most notorious criminals, most would have buckled under the intense pressure, giving up before they even got started.
But Hermione was no ordinary witch. When faced with an insurmountable limit, she only dug in deeper, summoning strength and resiliency seemingly out of thin air. For in the course of twelve short hours, aided by her dear friends, Hermione had done the unthinkable; she had culled together enough evidence to create a seemingly effective defense strategy, with close to a dozen witnesses lined up in support of the notorious Severus Snape.
The day flew by in a flurry of planning, gathering of witnesses and conferencing with Harry, Luna, Neville, McGonagall, Remus and Sirius, all packing themselves into the Grimmauld kitchen until late in the night. After going over the battle plan one last time, gathering her many notes and documents, Hermione felt sufficiently prepared. They were ready for battle.
As they neared the midnight hour, they all began heading home for some much needed rest. Luna and Neville departed for Hogwarts while Remus checked in on Teddy, who had been sleeping peacefully for several hours. Sirius began straightening up the kitchen while Minerva sat quietly chatting with Hermione.
"Thank you so much for all of your help today, Headmistress. We could've never lined up so many witnesses without your considerable influence," Hermione said with a smile despite the pure exhaustion that plagued her.
"Think nothing of it, dear. I'm happy to help such a worthwhile endeavor," the older witch said graciously.
"Headmistress, I know it's late and you need to return to school, but I wanted to wait until we had some privacy. There is something I wanted to ask you before you left," Hermione said, looking suddenly nervous.
"Dearest, I do believe you can call me Minerva now," she offered with a warm smile. Hermione smiled at the offer.
"Very well... Minerva," she said, the name feeling so very foreign on her tongue. "If you don't mind me asking, how was Professor Snape today?", her eyes wide with worry.
Although they had spent the entire day talking about the past actions of Severus Snape, there had been no time to discuss how he was fairing in the present. Her head focused solely on gathering testemonies and witnesses, Hermione had dutifully shut out all worry and concern until she had a handle on her defense strategy. Sitting here now at the end of the long day, feeling prepared and mostly ready to face the Wizengamot in the morning, Hermione finally allowed herself the luxury of worrying about him and was anxious to hear how he was actually doing since she left him that morning.
"Poppy said his body is healing, doing remarkably well, in fact, given the strain it has been put under. But his legs and right arm are still quite weak. She believes he'll need some physical therapy coupled with some more advanced muscle and bone strengthening potions in order to regain full use of his limbs. It'll be a long road to recovery. A road that I hope to see him traverse. With your help tomorrow, Hermione, I believe we will be able to do just that," Minerva said with a genuine smile.
"I hope that as well, Minerva, I truly do," Hermione offered in earnest. "Has he said anything today? He was quite...upset when I left the infirmary this morning," Hermione remarked, still anguished at having seen him brought so low.
"He's refused to speak to anyone. Poppy tried several times today as did I, but he simply ignored us. Stared straight at the ceiling. But that's simply Severus. He's always been a bit reserved, as I'm sure you can imagine," Minerva with a sad smile.
Hermione nodded sadly, having hoped for some better news but had been expecting that answer, nonetheless.
"What did he say to you when he awoke this morning?" Minerva asked.
"Just that he didn't want his memories used in his defense and that he didn't deserve to be alive let alone go free. He seemed quite resigned to live out his remaining days in Azkaban," Hermione stated sadly as Remus returned to the kitchen to help Sirius at the sink.
"Typical Severus. Refusing all offers of help, preferring to suffer in silence rather than rely on someone else. Honestly, though, I'm not surprised he feels the way he does. He must carry quite a bit of guilt, not only for the loss of Lily Potter but also for Albus. That's a lot for one soul to bear," Minerva said sadly.
"I truly can't even imagine everything he's been through, all that he has sacrificed. He blames himself for so many things well beyond his control. It's no wonder he feels so dejected," Hermione said looking anguished.
"He's carried such a heavy burden, and to think that he has borne it alone. I should've never doubted him," Minerva said softly, with tears glistening in her eyes.
"We didn't know he was innocent. Given what we knew, how could we?" Hermione said softly, trying to allay her mentor's guilt and grief.
"Ah, but you knew, didn't you? You trusted him all along. Otherwise you wouldn't have saved him," Minerva offered, eyeing her student with such pride and respect.
"Well, he certainly saved me many a time," Hermione said with a small smile.
"Tell me, dearest, honestly, why did you save him? You couldn't have possibly known he was still on our side," Minerva asked, her voice dropped low, curiosity clear in her eyes.
Hermione cast a worried glance at Remus and Sirius, but the pair were busy chatting and cleaning, not paying the women the least bit of attention.
"I...it's hard to explain," she said quietly, leaning close to the older witch. "I simply felt...drawn to him. Deep down, I knew he was inherently a good person. Seeing him wounded, bleeding to death in that filthy shack, my mind was overcome with everything he did, every single time he saved me, especially when he didn't have to," Hermione uttered softly.
"Despite the demeanor he always publically presented, I always felt like I saw these little glimpses of humanity in him and that was what informed my true opinion of him. Even after he killed Professor Dumbledore, I couldn't let myself really believe he was that evil man, the monster that everyone believed him to be. I guess... as silly as it is to say, it was my heart. My heart just knew better," Hermione said honestly, trusting her mentor enough to be truthful with her.
Minerva nodded, inherently understanding and believing in the depths and wisdom of the heart. Although defying logic and reason, the heart was the very seat of soul, the truest compass anyone could ever hope to have. It did Minerva good to see her brightest pupil heeding the wisdom and truth of one's intuition rather than relying solely on the edicts of the mind.
"Well, I suggest you always listen to your heart, my dear. It hasn't lead you astray thus far," Minerva said with a smile.
Hermione smiled at the sentiment and felt true gratitude to have this wise and comforting witch as a confidant and friend.
"It's hard to believe you're really all grown up. My, how the time has flown by," Minerva said softly, giving her a wistful smile, tucking a curl behind Hermione's ear.
Wiping a small tear from her eye, and recovering her usual composure, the headmistress noted the late time and said a bit louder, "Well, I should really get going. Poppy will eat her bonnet if I dare stay out much longer. Will you be returning to the castle with me, Hermione?"
"No, I think I'll stay and review just a bit longer. Sirius said I can stay here this evening, so I'll turn in for some rest shortly and we'll plan to meet at the Ministry at 11 a.m. sharp," Hermione said.
"Very well," Minerva offered. "Do you plan on speaking to Severus before the trial tomorrow?", she asked.
Hermione offered a small shake of her head.
He was finally awake, had been so all day and yet she hadn't been by his side. It tore her apart to not be with him, but she knew she couldn't return to him until she had slayed this last foe on his behalf, even if he had asked her not to.
"No. I would very much like to check on him but I don't want to come back to him empty-handed. No," she said resolutely, "Not until I have some good news to tell him. Hopefully we'll have some for him by this time tomorrow," Hermione said, her eyes filled with both hope and uncertainty.
"I believe we will, my dear. I believe we will," Minerva said as she patted Hermione's hand with motherly pride.
Just then the pair heard the Floo activate from the library and in swept an obviously irritated Poppy Pomfrey, her black orthopedic heels clicking out a fast, angry beat as she entered the kitchen, her face like thunder.
"Minerva! Just what in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing staying out this late?!", Poppy spat, her eyes wide with indignation.
Remus, Sirius and Hermione all looked at Poppy with surprise, for the diminutive witch rarely raised her voice and had never once done so to the headmistress. But if Minerva was shocked by the outburst, she didn't show it. She merely met the irritated gaze of the mediwitch with a sigh and a soft smile.
"I'm sorry, Poppy, I did not mean to cause you any worry," Minerva said with a small smile.
"Well, I have been worried, it's near midnight!", Poppy snapped.
"I must've lost track of time. I simply wanted to help Hermione prepare. I've been so useless these past few weeks, recuperating while everyone else does the heavy lifting. I just wanted to help," Minerva said kindly, hoping to temper the mediwitch's obvious anger.
"You have not been on holiday, Minerva! You were severely injured, you've needed that rest," Poppy said hotly, taking the empty seat near Minerva while Remus and Sirius exchanged an amused look.
"At least she's not yelling at me for once," Sirius whispered to Remus, which elicited a small chuckle from the wolf.
"I heard that, Sirius Black! You just give me a reason and I'll happily lay into you as well!", Poppy barked, her eyes bright with anger.
Sirius wisely remained silent as he raised his hands in surrender and retuned to silently cleaning the dishes. Remus snickered at the exchange which earned him a swift kick in the arse from his fellow marauder.
"Now, now, Poppy, don't yell at the children, it's not their fault I stayed out so late," Minerva offered in a conciliatory tone. "I should have owled you earlier but I honestly feel fine. You have enough patients to attend to without mollycoddling me," Minerva offered with a smirk, slowly rising from the kitchen table on weak legs, leaning heavily on her cane for support.
"Oh, really, Minerva? And I suppose you've always walked with that limp and we're all just now noticing it?" Poppy volleyed back, crossing her arms in annoyance.
"Oh, you're just being overprotective, Poppy. Calm down," Minerva said, rolling her eyes at being treated like a child.
Turning to Hermione, Minerva asked, "Since my curfew is evidently up, would you kindly walk us to the Floo, Hermione."
Hermione smiled and rose and took Minverva's left arm, while Poppy flanked the right, offering additional support as Minerva leaned upon her cane. The trio slowly set off for the library Floo, with Remus and Sirius offering their good-byes from the kitchen.
Hermione held her mentor's arm with a gentle grip and was surprised to see and feel just how weakened the older witch was. Her gate was slow and careful, the hard bones more obvious and in sharp relief against the soft and pliant muscles. Gone was the wiry, muscular frame of her youth and middle age. The battle had taken a greater toll on the aging witch than most had realized, including Hermione herself. The fierce lioness, the proud Gryffindor, was finally showing the strain and wear of a lifetime spent fighting. The simple, irrevocable march of time, and the toll it naturally took as payment for a life lived, saddened Hermione more than she could say.
"You're still healing, Minerva," Poppy said irritably, as the trio headed slowly down the hallway. "You can't push yourself this hard, you need plenty of rest if you want to fully heal. You can't just stay out till all hours, you should be asleep by now. You're not some spring chicken anymore," Poppy offered angrily.
"Thank you for that not so subtle reminder that I'm ancient, Poppy," Minerva said with pursed lips. Poppy halted Minerva's forward momentum with a warm hand on her arm.
"Minerva... I simply want you to take your recovery as seriously as I do," Poppy offered, her harsh tone softening, her eyes meeting the headmistress' with worry and concern.
"I know, Poppy. I know," Minerva said softly with a smile, her pale, wrinkled hand coming up to cup the mediwitch's face.
Poppy let out a weary sigh at the tender touch as a single tear gently fell from her tired eyes.
"I just...I want..I need you to get better, dearest," Poppy said softy, her anger finally ebbing away as Minerva smiled and tenderly wiped away her tears.
Minerva leaned forward then and gave her love a sweet kiss on the lips, causing Hermione to nearly swallow her tongue from shock.
Pulling back slightly, Minerva said to Poppy, "I'll take better care of myself, I promise."
Poppy smiled at this and once more took her lover's arm. This time bringing her own body right up against Minerva as the pair leaned into one another for affection and comfort. Hermione still held onto the left side, but now sported a warm smile, feeling inexplicable happiness in the knowledge that these two women, each brave and fierce in their own right, had one another as a refuge, a safe port in the storm.
As they reached the library, Minerva said to Poppy, "Why don't you head home and I'll follow shortly. I just want to discuss one more thing with Hermione."
"Very well," Poppy offered a bit reluctantly. "I'm giving you ten minutes and not a single second longer."
"If you keep her longer than that, Miss Granger, you'll have to answer to me," the mediwitch offered with a stern frown.
"Absolutely, ma'am. You have my word," Hermione said, knowing she would rather fight a horned-tailed dragon bare-handed than tangle with an angry Madam Pomfrey.
As Poppy disappeared in a woosh of emerald green flames, Minerva turned to Hermione with an apologetic smile.
"You'll have to forgive, Poppy. She's always been a bit overprotective."
"No, no, it's fine, really," offered a smiling Hermine who was still processing this new development.
"I'm so sorry I kept you so late. Please tell Madam Pomfrey that I'm sorry as well. And thank you, once again, for helping me today. I couldn't have prepared this all without you," Hermione said honestly.
"My dear child, you've done this. All of it. Saving him, defending him. This is all your doing and I'm so very proud of your brave, beautiful heart," Minerva murmured as she pulled the young witch in for a warm, tight hug.
"Thank you, Minerva. Your faith, your vote of confidence, it means everything to me," Hermione said sincerely, smiling as Minerva gave a warm smile in return and disappeared into the flames.
As Hermione returned to the kitchen to gather up her papers, she found Sirius and Remus both stationed at the sink, Sirius washing and Remus drying, the pair a perfect study in harmony and efficiency.
"Did you two know about them?" Hermione quietly asked, shock and wonder still apparent on her face.
"What?," asked Sirius turning slightly from his spot, his arms still elbow deep in soapy bubbles.
"You mean Minerva and Poppy? Oh yeah, they've been an item since well...forever I suppose," Sirius said casually, turning to Remus for confirmation. The wolf offered a nod.
"Yeah, at least since when we were in school. They've mostly kept it under wraps, though. The wizarding world isn't as progressive as the muggle world about those types of relationships," Sirius said with a sad shake of his head. At this, Remus opted for silence, drying the dishes with his eyes downcast.
"Still," Sirius offered, "a few knew about it. In fact, I caught those two snogging in the infirmary once," Sirius offered with waggled eyebrows.
"What!? You did? You never told me!," Remus gaped, snapping his friend with a wet dish rag. This only elicted more chuckling from the animagus.
"Yeah, it was in our fifth year. You and Jamie were in detention with Slughorn, Peter was off doing Merlin knows what, and I felt a bit bored. So I tried to sneak into the infirmary to steal a bit of Felix Felicis for our game against Slytherin the next week. I was under the cloak so no one could see me, and when I walked in, there they were, snogging against Poppy's desk," Sirius said with a grin.
"I don't believe you! You must be making this up", piped up Hermione.
"Just ask Minerva, she'll tell you. Caught me red-handed when I tried to boost the potion from the medicine cabinet," Sirius said.
"What?! You still tried to steal the potion with them in the room!?", she asked, her eyes wide with wonder.
"Of course I did. They were quite busy, if you catch my drift and I didn't think they'd notice," he said nonchalantly.
"You didn't think they'd notice a couple of bottles of potions magically floating trough the air?", Remus asked, clearly amused by his friend's plan of attack.
"Looking back now, I can see the flaws in my thinking, I'll admit it," Sirius offered with a grin.
"You see, this is what happens when you try to pull off a plan without my brains," said a smiling Remus.
"Oh, please! We got caught plenty of times when you were the brains of the operation, Moony. So don't act like you never got pinched," Sirius said with a teasing scowl.
Remus chuckled softly while he eyed his oldest friend with warmth and happiness dancing in his eyes.
"I never said I was perfect. I just can't believe you never told me!", said Remus as he finished drying the last of the dishes.
"Well, I didn't tell you because I'm a gentleman," Sirius offered with a smirk, wiping down the kitchen counters.
"Oh, is that so, Mr. Black?", asked a disbelieving Remus with a smirk and a teasing tone.
"Yes, it is. Well...that and Minnie might've threatened to shrink a certain appendage of mine if I happened to let it slip. So I wisely chose to keep it quiet. Didn't you ever wonder why Minerva always let me off so easy?", the pure blood asked his oldest friend.
"I don't know, I never gave it much consideration. I honestly thought she just liked you. It's no wonder James and I were always getting detentions while you got a simple slap on the wrist," Remus said with a smirk.
"Yep, ol' Minnie owed me one," Sirius said with a wink.
"I prefer to think that she simply was entranced by your legendary charm and wit, Mr. Black," Remus offered with a warm smile.
"Well, yeah that too, of course," said a smiling Sirius.
As the last two marauders reminisced and joked, Hermione felt a genuine smile spread across her tired face. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she saw Remus looking so happy. His deep, hearty laugh filling up the whole kitchen with warmth and joy, his face lit up bright as Sirius recalled many an embarrassing tale from their shared youth.
Wrapped up in happy memories, Remus looked ten years younger, the troubles and sorrows that usually clouded his heart, temporarily kept at bay by the musings and laughter of a certain raven-haired gentleman. Remus looked so content, so very much at home with his dear friend by his side. It warmed Hermione's battered heart to see him slowly healing, his heart and soul reawakening once more to all the joy that life still held. If Remus could heal, after all the loss and heartache that plagued his short life, then there was hope for the rest of them.
As Sirius finished the dishes and a particularly amusing story involving James accidentally sprouting a donkey tail for a solid month, Teddy awoke, his gentle whimpers bringing Remus back to the here and now. The werewolf bid Hermione a good night, the smile still very much present on his rugged face as he took a warm bottle of milk to soothe his hungry son.
Alone in the kitchen with Sirius, Hermione silently stacked and organized her notes, worrying her lip with a gentle bite, while her eyes scanned her notes for any potential holes. Sirius saw her worry and placed a warm arm around her shoulders.
"You've done so well, love. We're already so proud of you," he said sincerely.
"Do you think we've done enough? Do you think we'll win?", she asked, worry clear in her voice.
"You know, if life has taught me anything, it is that I don't know very much," he said with a smirk, causing Hermione to chuckle.
"But what I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, is to never, ever bet against Hermione Granger. She'll surprise you every time," Sirius said with a genuine smile, offering her a sweet kiss on her forehead.
"Your old room's all ready, love. Go get some rest, we've got a big day, tomorrow," he called over his shoulder as he left to turn in for the night.
"Thank you, Sirius, for everything," she softly called, her brown eyes full of gratitude.
"Anytime, love," he offered with a wink as he disappeared up the creaky stairs.
Finally alone, Hermione drew a deep breath and she felt a small twinge of hope float through her, soft and steady, like her very own heartbeat.
Beneath the tide of exhaustion and anxiety, Hermione felt that small semblance of confidence and it gave her strength. She finally felt prepared and ready to battle on behalf of her potions master. There was just one last piece of the puzzle she needed. And first thing tomorrow morning, she would have it.
~~~~0000~~~~
Draco Malfoy stood staring listlessly out at the rather abysmal weather, his melancholy thoughts were as clouded and turbulent as the dark sky above.
Drinking his tea in the front parlor of his ancestral home, he tried with all his might to block out the noise and chatter that echoed throughout the manor.
Of all the noise that surrounded the young Slytherin, it was the laughter that was truly getting to the young pure blood. Muddy boots thumping across the hand-cut, marble floors, idle chitchat about the Chudley Cannon's newest seeker, orders being shouted gracelessly across the home to organize and move furniture. All of it merged into a dull, pitch-less white noise that he could tune out if he focused hard enough. But that damn, horrendous laughter, that was a whole other story.
Uproarious and boastful, it seemed to fill every inch of Malfoy Manor and it was unnerving the young man far more than he cared to admit.
A quiet, prim mansion to begin with, the laughter would have been out of place at his home at any time, but this particular laughter was truly astonishing in its origin because it was emmenating from at least two dozen aurors and ministry officials.
Bloated, arrogant windbags, the lot of them. Traipsing about Malfoy Manor as if they owned the place, which technically-speaking, they soon would.
For weeks now, the aurors had been a permanent fixture at the manor, searching every nook, cupboard and corner for any and all items deemed "in violation of Ministry Decree number 1146 prohibiting ownership of items containing or pertaining to dark magic." At least that was according to the parchment that arrived but a single day after the defeat of Lord Voldemort.
Family heirlooms, art, furniture, books, among other things, were tagged and stacked haphazardly in the front foyer all purportedly full of dark magic, and all being seized by the ministry, by order of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister of Magic.
Draco knew it was pure bullshit. All of it. The dark lord had lost and now his known followers and their families, those that had narrowly escaped prison time, were being severely punished for aligning themselves with such darkness. This was to be expected, really.
His pensive melancholy was temporarily broken as his mother swept into the room looking severe as always. The constant strain and stress of the previous weeks was beginning to wear on Narcissa Malfoy, in both obvious and subtle ways, her son noted with some sadness.
Her once effortless elegance and grace was beginning to fray at the edges. Deep worry lines etched into her porcelain white skin, framing her mouth in a tense frown, that seemed to heighten her already severe appearance.
Her once beautiful dress robes were beginning to show signs of wear and disuse, as well, marred with slight smudges and dirt, small threads coming loose at the seams. The Narcissa of old would have sooner crawled naked through Diagon Alley than present herself in anything less than the finest fashions. But with their bank account frozen and indefinitely seized by the ministry, she couldn't afford such friviolities now. Besides, fashion was the least of her concerns at the moment, for she now had more pressing matters to attend to.
"Draco, dear," she called, a parchment clutched tight in her pale hands, her thin lips set in a tense frown, "it seems that Aunt Persephone will not be able to accommodate us as we had originally planned," she stated with some false cheer, but he could clearly hear the crackle of despair in her prim voice.
"I'm sorry to hear that, mother," Draco stated resignedly, setting down his now cold tea, still staring out into the rain.
Out of the dozens of living relatives on both the Malfoy and Black side, not a single one would deign to host Draco and his mother in their homes. It seemed no one wanted known death eaters as house guests, not in the current political climate, anyway.
"Well, these things can't be helped. Everyone is seemingly busy at the moment. Aunt Persophene and Uncle Alastair will be traveling extensively and...well. We will make due somehow," she offered rather airily, painting a rather disingenuous smile to her face.
"Mother, our home and assets are being seized. We're not heading out on holiday. We're about to become homeless," Draco spat, finally looking pointedly at her, his anger flaring at her nonchalance.
Narcissa's features darkened only momentarily before resuming her aggressive, fake cheer.
"Draco, dearest, you mustn't let this upset you," she stated with a tight smile, smoothing her hair back in a vain attempt to control some small thing in her quickly crumbling world.
"This will all be cleared up in due time. This is temporary, son. The ministry is just trying to save face against the public backlash. They can go over our accounts with a fine-tooth comb until they are blue in the face and I can assure you, they will come up empty-handed. Your father was very discreet with his business dealings, they will find absolutely nothing untoward on that score."
"Besides, what do you expect when the ministry is being run by a bunch of half-breeds and blood traitors," she uttered loudly as several aurors carted off the ancient Black Family piano, banging and scraping the exquisite instrument as they hauled it through the front door, causing Narcissa to visibly wince at the sound.
Draco groaned inwardly at his mother's naiveté. Forceful optimism was the order of the day, it seemed.
Noting her son's stooped posture and heavy sigh, Narcissa stepped forward to place a warm hand on her son's shoulder, her frown softening ever so slightly at the despair that hung heavy around her only son's neck.
Draco placed his hand atop his mother's and turned to face her. The look of pure anguish passing between the pair silently. Standing in the empty room, devoid of all the comforts and luxuries they had once taken for granted, they realized that they were truly alone. All they had left was one another.
"The freeze will be lifted on our accounts soon and our home will be returned to us in due time, we simply have to play their game, love," she offered quietly.
"We still have eachother, dearest. As long as we have eachother, everything will be fine. We're going to make it through this. I promise," Narcissa said softly, her warm hand cupping her child's face.
He felt a small swell of hope at her words. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe these things just needed time to resolve themselves. Their family had suffered slings and arrows before and they had always survived. Maybe optimism wasn't such a foolish thing after all.
Just then a tawny owl swooped through an open window, carrying a red letter in his talons, and Draco sighed audibly, for he knew what it contained. Several times a day these unwelcome red enveloepes arrived. Usually they were intercepted and disposed of by one of the many house elves, but this one managed to skirt by their attentiveness.
The owl dropped the letter on a near-by desk and the envelope rapidly unfurled and immediately sprung to life, spewing a litany of obscenities, filling the previously quiet room with harsh, vulgar screeching.
"Your family is utter garbage and I hope your father rots in that prison until the end of time! Your kind have no place in our society! You and all the other scum that bare the despicable Malfoy name deserve to burn in hell until...", the angry voice bellowed until Draco drew his wand and muttered a quick, "Incendio!"
He watched with some grim satisfaction as the letter burst into a ball of bright red flames thus bringing the spewing vitriol to a merciful end.
But the damage was done. As Draco turned to see his mother, Narcissa stared at the ashes and swallowed thickly, her eyes suddenly filled with unshed tears.
"I'm sorry, mother. I know how you hate them. You mustn't listen to them," he utter softy, truly hating to see his mother so distraught.
"They're only being honest, dearest," she offered with a sad smile, catching his gaze and looking so very lost and helpless at that moment.
Drawing a deep breath, she quickly schooled her features into the usual impassive mask of cold indifference. It never paid to dwell on the past, the only option now was to move forward with purpose and grace, something that Narcissa was well-practiced at.
"Yes, well...I will owl my third cousin, Lucinda, and see if she can accommodate us for the time being," she said, confident once more as she swept from the room, leaving Draco alone once again with his woeful thoughts.
Feeling utterly adrift and useless, he resumed his silent vigil by the window as he watched teams of ministry hacks apparate from the front lawn, toting off his family possessions one by one, all laughing and sporting the same smug look of victory at playing a small part in dismantling the once noble house of Malfoy.
"Vultures," he muttered darkly.
As the last auror disapparated, he caught sight of something glinting in the mud. Looking more closing he realized it was his father's waking cane, discarded on the wet, verdant grass, like a piece of worthless trash. Seemingly forgotten by the inept ministry employees as something not even worth bothering with.
It was a polished obsidian cane, with an alabaster snake head for a handle and sparkling emeralds encrusted as the beast's eyes. He didn't know how exactly his father came in possession of the cane and honestly could not recall a time with out it. It was as permanent a fixture in his childhood as his father himself. He could recall hearing the familiar thump, thump of the cane tapping out over the polished floors, the gentle noise comforting the young boy. Whenever he ventured out into the great, big world with his father, the elder would let his son hold the cane while he conducted business. As a child, Draco could remember how important it made him feel to hold it, as if the cane itself could imbue him with the same authority and power his father seemed to effortlessly possess. He could even remember his father promising to give it to him upon his wedding day.
He could remember lying awake in his bed at night, awaiting his parents return from a formal ball or dinner, and he would breathe a sigh of contented relief when he would hear the familiar sound of his father's cane thumping across the polished floor, like a heartbeat.
He marveled at how much that sound, and indeed his father's presence, had once comforted him, giving him a sense of peace and protection, feelings that he suddenly realized he could no longer associate with being Lucius Malfoy's only son.
That cane had come to be a symbolic extension of his father; tall, rare, imposing. His father always carried it with him and it never failed to give him an air of aristocratic, regal power. With it, he seemed impervious to any harm. And now it lay in the mud, a forgotten relic of a once prominent man.
Draco's blood would've boiled at the sight if his heart weren't so full of sadness and grief at the thought of his once proud family brought to their knees, their once pure name besmirched and sullied. His father rotting in prison once more, his mother begging family and friends to take them in.
He laughed mirthlessly at how he had once defended his family name, as if it were inherently noble and worthy of defense. The purest of families, the very best of the best, as his father had been so fond of saying.
And yet here they found themselves, reviled, penniless pariahs, soon to be homeless. He quietly marveled at just how truly pathetic and pitiable the house of Malfoy had turned out to be.
His whole world turned upside down, Draco now understood just how little he knew about the real world. A lifetime insulated by wealth and privledge had left him ill-equipped to handle the daunting task of taking care for not only himself, but also his emotionally fragile mother, in a world that now viewed him and other pure bloods with distrust and contempt.
His mother was wrong, this wasn't going to simply go away. Public vitriol of this magnitude wasn't simply something that would disappear in a few months.
One thing he knew for sure though was that their family would never, ever recover from this deadly blow.
Staring at the cane, he suddenly realized he should have gone out to fetch it. He could have even ordered a house elf to bring it in, but staring at in the mud, he now seemed incapable of recalling just why that cane had meant so much to him in the first place.
No, for once, Draco Malfoy made a conscious decision. He left it in the mud, right where it belonged.
Gripping the window sill for strength, staring out at the storm clouds ahead, he quietly muttered, "What else can possibly go wrong?"
At this, there suddenly rang out three crisp knocks on the front door, the sound echoing throughout the now cavernous mansion.
Ask and ye shall receive, he thought darkly.
"Agnes!" Draco wearily called out.
Almost instantly, a small wizened house elf appeared by her master's side.
"Go see who's at the door," Draco asked the house elf who had been with his family since before he was born.
The small, wizened house elf, with a noticeable limp, hobbled to the door and pulled it open with a good bit of weary concern.
There standing at the threshold, drenched from head to toe, was a witch seeking out assistance.
"Yes, hello there, good morning. My name is Hermione Granger, is Draco home perchance?", she asked the house elf with what she hoped was a warm and friendly smile.
The elf only eyed her warily and then promptly slammed the door shut in her face with a loud thud.
That went well, Hermione thought ruefully.
"Master Draco, a filthy mudblood with lots of wet hair is calling, asking for you sir," Agnes said, with apparent disgust dripping from her hoarse voice as she returned to the parlor.
A deep sigh escaped his lips as he realized just who exactly was paying him a visit.
"It's alright Agnes, show the lady in. She is an acquaintance from school," said Draco. "Kindly, bring her to the drawing room," he asked.
The elf complied but not without a good bit of reluctance.
Draco buttoned his black jacket and headed into the drawing room, knowing exactly why this particular witch would be seeking him out. For standing in the middle of the room was one of the very last people he ever wanted to see again.
"Hello, Granger," he said tersely, closing the door behind him as he entered the luxurious room, full of furniture covered in plastic sheets and tagged with ministry labels.
"Good morning, Draco. I'm sorry to arrive unannounced, but you've ignored the two owls I sent yesterday, thus I had little choice but to show up," Hermione said defiantly, as way of introduction.
He blew out an angry sigh, shoring up his reserve of patience to deal with this formidable opponent.
"I didn't answer those letters for a reason, Granger. I'm not helping you. I've got enough problems of my own without sticking my head in the lion's mouth again. My mother and I barely made it out of that courtroom, there's no way I'm heading back there willingly."
"Draco, I know you're facing rough times right now, but...", she offered but was immediately cut off.
"Rough times? Rough times!?," Draco asked, his voice raising several octaves, echoing around the empty room.
"My father is in prison! Again! Our home and all our assets are being seized, indefinitely, by the ministry for our ties to Voldemort! We're a week away from being turned out on the street because we have no where else to go and all of our relatives have suddenly grown consciences and wouldn't dare have scum like us darken their doorsteps. My mother is purely delusional and is probably a day or two away from a complete, fucking nervous breakdown! Rough times!? You don't have a fucking clue about what I'm going through!", he raged, his bottomless reserve of anger finally finding an outlet.
Hermione felt the anger wash over, her own temper rising at his acerbic words but she drew a deep breath and willed her anger to settle on its own accord. She knew she had to remain calm if she was going to be successful in her current endeavor.
"Draco, I...I get it. Believe it or not, I really do. Your life is falling apart. I understand that more than you know," she said softly, her brown eyes full of understanding.
He crossed his arms angrily over his chest and stared out the window.
"Draco, I...I wouldn't be here...I would've never come back here if I didn't really and truly need your help," Hermione said, her eyes darting around the room with a good bit of worry.
It was just then that he turned towards her and saw her shaking slightly, her arms hugging herself tight. He suddenly remembered what happened in this very room.
"Oh, fuck, Granger. I...I forgot. I wouldn't have brought you into this room," he said, his eyes softening at her shaking before him.
He stepped towards her then and Hermione immediately flinched at the sudden movement, her hand instinctively reaching for her trusty wand. He noted the movement and stopped his forward progression, appreciating just how nervous she must feel.
He put his hands in the air in a defensive manner, to show her he meant no harm. She relaxed ever so slightly as she watched him slowly cross the room and open a set of floor length double French doors that led outside.
He turned to face her once more, and silently motioned for her to enter the garden and leave the drawing room and the painful, frightening memories it held for her.
She narrowed her eyes at him, unsure of why he was offering her a way out. But her overwhelming urge to flee the horrible room won out over her desire to dissect his motives. She quickly pocketed her wand and walked towards him, brushing past him quickly. Entering the garden full of lilacs, hydrangeas and roses of every shade, she finally let out a breath, one she had been holding since she entered the manor.
He followed wordlessly behind her and shut the doors, seperating them from the manor as best he could.
The rain had momentarily stopped as the unlikely pair stood under a covered trellis draped with jasmine and hyacinth, awkward silence surrounding them.
"Thank you for bringing me out here, this...this is better," she said, the quaver in her voice disappearing as she breathed in the fresh air.
"Not a problem," he said, eyeing her sadly, swallowing his own disgust at the horrible memories swirling about his cluttered mind.
"I'm sorry," Draco offered softly as his defiant stance melted away, real concern shining in his eyes.
Her eyes popped wide in surprise at the foreign words coming from the Slytherin's lips.
"Pardon me?", she asked incredulously.
"I'm sorry about what happened to you. Bella was a lunatic. She deserved what she got," he said quietly.
"That's...that's very kind of you to say," she offered with a small genuine smile.
"It's not kind, Granger. I'm not a kind person, you know that. It's simply decent. Someone in this horrible family should apologize to you," he said, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, his eyes meeting hers with sincerity.
"You're very different from your family, aren't you, Draco?"
"Not really," he said with a sad shake of his head, like a prisoner facing an inescapable life sentence.
"I'm just as terrible as the rest of them. My mother and I, we deserved Azkaban, just like the rest. Were it not for my father taking the brunt of the blame, we would've ended up there, too. Missed it only by the skin of our teeth," he said, crossing his arms, looking both shameful and anguished.
"I don't believe that for a second. I think you are different," she said, as if she could see something he couldn't.
"You don't even know me, Granger," he said softly, his eyes downcast.
"You're right. You're right, I don't," she offered, glancing out at the magnificent grounds.
"It's strange, isn't it? I've known you just as long as Harry and Ron and yet, you are mostly a stranger to me, just as I am to you," she said.
"Despite having shared a childhood, we know so little about one another. Only broad brush strokes of eachother, second-hand notions and stereotypes," she said, carefully cupping a bright yellow tulip. Such a remarkable thing of beauty to find in such a place of immense sadness and horror.
"You've thought me a dirty mudblood, an arrogant know-it-all, unworthy of the name 'witch'," she stated matter-of-factly, her voice calm and even, turning her attention to the man before her.
"And you've thought me a conceited pure-blood. Worried only about myself. A coward without principles, a puppet," he volleyed back, his usual sneer and anger curiously absent.
"Was I far off?", she asked with a small smirk.
"Not really," he said with a small smile. She chuckled softly and the tension that seemed to hang between them for seven years lightened ever so slightly.
"I've never given you a chance, Draco. And I'm sorry for that. People deserve more than suffering under the weight of unfair characterizations," she offered.
"You and your mother, you're different than what I had always thought you to be. Your mother spared Harry's life that day, she may have had ulterior motives for doing so, but she lied to Voldemort all the same and that took incredible bravery. I think deep down you have your mother's brave heart."
"I also think you care. I think deep down there's actually a lot more to you than blood status and keeping up your image."
"You couldn't kill Dumbledore. You simply aren't a killer, you...you know right from wrong. I know you do. And you lied about recognizing Harry the night we were brought here. You're braver than I ever gave you credit for," she said honestly.
He swallowed hard at the anguish and grief that sat just below the surface.
"I need you to help me, Draco. Truly I do. You and your mother could offer vital testimony for Professor Snape. He's a good man and he is going to be sentenced to a terrible fate today unless you agree to help," she said, finally laying out what exactly she needed.
"Granger, I just...I can't," he said wearily, hanging his head in resignation, looking from away from her.
"Don't you care about your godfather? He saved your life, you know. You're going to let him suffer a fate worse than death?", she asked earnestly.
"Yeah, well...I am a Slytherin, aren't I?", he sneered, falling back on his usual selfishness to mask his deep shame at letting his godfather twist in the wind.
"So, you don't care what happens to him?", she asked, truly stunned.
"No," he said tersely, failing at hiding his obvious anguish.
"What's done is done. I care about my mother and myself, that's all I can afford right now," he said, his jaw set firm.
"He killed Dumbledore so you wouldn't have to. His soul will forever be marred by that, Draco," her voice raising, trying desperately to shake him out of his pitiful wallow.
"God damnit, Granger, you think I don't know that?!", he yelled, his shrill voice echoing across the garden, causing a flock of ravens to take flight from a nearby weeping willow.
Hermione looked down, properly chastised. Draco audibly sighed at the sight.
"I know, Granger, believe me, I do. It plagues me everyday," he offered more softly, as he sank onto a stone bench, dropping his head into his hands. Tears welled in his eyes and he roughly wiped them away from his flushed face, not caring anymore to hide behind an impervious make of indifference.
She sat down beside him, careful to keep a respectful distance. The unlikely pair sat and took in the gentle sounds of mourning doves, as the rain began to gently fall once more.
"The trial starts in two hours, Draco. I have several other witnesses lined up, but your testimony and that of your mother's, would be the most crucial, it could make or break this for him," she said, laying all her cards on the table.
"Choice is an amazing thing, Draco. We can be whatever we choose. This is your chance at redemption. You can save two souls today. Professor Snape's as well as your own. I urge you not to throw this chance away."
"I'm a Malfoy, Granger. I'm rotten to the core, there's no hope for me," he said sadly.
At this, Hermione did something incredible, something unbelievable. She slowly slid across the bench and took his hand in her own. She held it there, her own warm fingers wrapped carefully around his cold ones, and stared into his deep green eyes with defiance. The stunning gesture shocked the young Slytherin into speechlessness.
"I'm your last hope, Draco. This is it. This is the moment. You can choose to head down the right path and save a good man or you can head right after your father and live a life full of selfish misery. The choice is entirely up to you," she said, boldly holding his gaze.
"Be the man I know you can be, Draco. You're not your father, you never were," she said, giving his hand one last squeeze before releasing it and standing.
"So stop acting like it," she stated firmly, pulling her robes tight around her.
She turned and apparated with a soft pop, hoping against hope that she had done enough to convince a cunning snake to trust a proud lion.
