~H~

The next week passed in a blur. Between classes and meals, Draco and Hermione could be found hunched over a desk in the library working on their end of term papers and projects. It was hard to imagine that Christmas was just around the corner, but the proof was in the sheer amount of work they were facing. Slughorn had them working on potentially making their own Veritaserum, and everyone in the class had failed at least once. Ginny's had burned a hole straight through the thick oaken table whilst Hermione's had turned a rather shocking shade of violet. Professor Slughorn had merely tutted at them and reassured the class that making a perfect Veritaserum was virtually impossible the first time around simply because it was so complex. Severus Snape was the only one of his students to ever manage it, he had told them. Well, Severus Snape and Lily Evans.

"Wonder if Snape gave Harry's mum pointers?" Ginny asked as they walked out of class. Hermione laughed, but considered it possible.

Perhaps Lily Potter's potion making abilities were due to her friendship with the young Severus. Snape's dedication to Lily certainly would have suggested it. Hermione shrugged, not particularly caring. A man who loved a woman beyond reason, then treated her only child as appallingly as Snape had treated Harry, was not a good man.

Harry was converted to the Dumbledore reminiscent way of thinking when it came to Professor Snape's inner goodness, but Hermione still thought he was a louse.

A warm hand slipped into hers and threaded fingers through her own. Hermione smiled up at the blonde framed face, blushing as he kissed her forehead. During their Sixth Year, Draco had taken to wearing his hair slicked back, similar to the way he'd worn it when she'd first met him. This morning, she had woken him up by mussing his hair, then telling him how dashing he looked with his tousled bed-head look. He apparently had taken her comment to heart and left his hair as it was for the rest of the morning. Smiling up at him, she accepted another kiss.

"Mind if we sit at Gryffindor for lunch?" Ginny asked. "Neville bred my pygmy puff, Arnold, with Luna's and promised to show me one of the pufflings. They've been staying down near Professor Sprout's and Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Apparently they enjoy the seeds, or some rot like that. I don't much care, I just want to see my little Arnie as a Papa Puff."

Draco rolled his eyes, but acquiesced. Hermione smirked.

While Ginny pestered Neville about the state of the pufflings, Hermione ate her cottage pie slowly, focused more on the weekend meeting than the savory gravy produced by those poor house elves below. Even the promotion of S.P.E.W. had fallen to the wayside between the demands of school, a budding relationship, and the disaster that was her fallout from the War. Perhaps it was time to bring S.P.E.W. back into the limelight. Dobby had recovered, finally, from the devastating knife wound he'd suffered thanks to Bellatrix's ability with a knife (a skill Hermione knew well), and she was certain that the Elf Who Lived, as Ron and Harry had taken to calling him much to the elf's delight, would be more than willing to speak on behalf of his kind.

Where would she go after S.P.E.W. didn't require her to baby it anymore? That was anyone's guess. Hermione supposed she'd go to work for the Ministry, likely in a place that would allow her to promote the welfare of other creatures who were underrepresented in the Ministry, such as centaurs, trolls, and werewolves. Overcoming the reputation of someone as repugnant as Fenrir Greyback would be difficult, but Merlin knew that if anyone could show the worth of werewolves, especially bitten victims of monsters like Greyback, if was Remus Lupin. Brilliant, well-spoken, humble, stable, a devoted husband and father: Lupin could prove the worth of werewolves in the modern Wizarding World. Besides, word on the street was that a group of potion-masters were already on the job and had nearly eradicated the symptoms of lycanthropy from Egypt. Much needed there, too, since wolves impossibly rare in that area and the attacks required extensive cover-ups by the Egyptian Ministry.

A tap on her leg jolted Hermione back to reality.

"Lunch is over, lovey. Time for Herbology."

~D~

The morning of the meeting went about as well as Draco expected it to.

"I feel awful. I think I'm getting sick. Do I feel warm to you? Perhaps this isn't such a good plan. What if I make him ill! Really, it's in everyone's best interests if I remain here, in bed. Winky can bring me tea, she's been visiting more now that she's sober. Honestly, you should probably go to your room, I wouldn't want you to come down with whatever bit of yuck I've picked up."

"Hermione Jean Granger, get your fanny out of that bed and into those jeans."

She looked up at him indignantly.

"Now!"

She meandered around the room grumbling and cursing incoherently, though Draco thought he heard something about "a controlling prick" and "stubborn as a fat assed mule". Hermione really was charming when she had to get up early on Saturdays. Even when he would stay in bed reading next to her, she'd grumble about how loudly he turned the pages. It made him smile. Something about the pouty face and the wild hair defying gravity as usual and the way he could hear her trying to stomp, and failing, on the cold stone floor.

"We have to go soon, Mione. He'll be waiting."

She paused with her side to him, her jumper pulled halfway down her chest showing one of the longest scars from just below her ribcage to the top of her too-prominent hip bone. Tugging the periwinkle wool down, she harrumphed. Draco knew she was desperate not to attend this meeting, not to walk through her ordeal with a veritable stranger, but it needed to be done. Bellatrix needed to be transported back to Britain to face her charges and inevitable sentence of death.

Getting Hermione to help the Ministry get Aunt Bella back on British soil was going to be traumatic, but Draco was prepared. At least, he was as prepared as one can be for an event such as this. One needed to be centered. Grounded. Willing to be everything and anything the other person required. He loved this bushy haired woman and would move heaven and earth to keep her from pain. As awful as it was to realize, he couldn't shield her from this pain, but he could damn well be there to pick up the pieces and hold her once it was over.

She would get through this.

He would get her through this.

~H~

There was a man standing in the far corner of the Hog's Head private room where they had been told to meet. From behind, the man could have been a Malfoy: lithe, impeccably dressed in professional-looking grey robes, pale skin, confidently positioned. In fact, the only give away from the rear was the blonde hair perfectly quaffed, more golden than platinum.

When the wizard turned, however, he was all Lovegood. Those brilliant blue eyes, so similar to his brother's, but markedly less manic than the ones which had stared at Hermione during the telling of the Tale of the Three Brothers. These eyes were still bright and shockingly cerulean, however they were bright with intelligence rather than mania. These eyes scrutinized her, making her feel as though he'd peeled back a layer of her armor without so much as a word.

"Ms. Granger, I presume?"

"You presume correctly. Mr. Lovegood, I would guess?"

"Naturally, but do call me Amadeus."

"Thank you, Amadeus," Hermione replied, more confidently than she felt. "This is…"

"Mr. Draco Malfoy. Yes, I am well acquainted with his father's work."

Draco's lips tightened. He was no fan of his father's "work" at the Ministry, as he had told Hermione before. Draco intended to polish the family name and keep all of their businesses on the up and up just as soon as he could obtain the controlling stakes in the family business.

"He's been invaluable to me these last few months. I would not be here today without him," Hermione said, a touch angrily. "He will stay here with me and corroborate my story. If you can not respect him, we will both be going."

"My apologies," the pale skinned man said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I was not aware that the young Malfoy had so integrated himself with the light."

"When you are raised in a world with nothing but darkness, Lovegood, you learn to appreciate the light." Draco grey eyes were steely with challenge, but Amadeus simply nodded.

"He seems like a good man to have in a storm," Amadeus told Hermione.

"The best." She said simply. "Now, how do we do this?"

~D~

It was awful to witness.

Hermione had kept her calm for much of the interview. She relayed the story as simply as she could to the barrister as he jotted down the occasional note and recorded her words with something he called a "tape recorder". Draco had never seen one before, but Hermione appeared to take no notice of it, so Draco assumed it was a Muggle contraption.

The story came out fairly quickly, Hermione's voice explaining everything almost robotically. Draco was proud she made it through from capture to escape with hardly a waver of her voice. His hand reached into her lap and gave her knee a squeeze, which led to her hand gripping his tightly.

And then the questions came.

Clarification after clarification. Requests for more detail. Inquiries as to whether or not there was photographic evidence of the fresh wounds to provide evidence for the jury to see.

The longer the interview went on, the tighter Hermione squeezed his hand. She was stronger than she looked but he took the vice-like grip in stride. She was in hell. The least he could do was hold on to her for the ride.

When Hermione was struggling to speak coherently, Draco held up his free hand.

"She needs a break, Lovegood. Let her take a breather, I'll grab some butterbeer or cider for us, and we can carry on if she's up for it afterwards."

"Fine, fine," Amadeus said, apparently just now noticing how shaken she was. "My apologies."

It wasn't from lack of compassion, Draco thought, but rather intense focus on how best to use this information to sway the Croatian jury who would decide on whether or not to allow the deportation of Bellatrix. Hermione had experienced something terrible, and this man was going to have to determine a way to use it without making Hermione feel used. He was going to have to convince a jury that this was a hunt for justice, not revenge for the war.

As if he'd read Draco's mind, Amadeus continued. "I know going through this isn't easy, Ms. Granger. In fact, I'd hazard a guess that this is the hardest thing you have gone through since it happened. Reliving a trauma can be as awful as the trauma itself, if not more so since you can't try to escape it. But I am not asking these questions to put you through hell. I ask you for these details so that I can present them to a court and get this witch brought back to British soil. There will come a time during the court proceedings when you will be asked by the Croatian Ministry officials about what happened that night. You don't want that to be your first time talking about it. I will address as much as I can, but you will have to testify. The more I know, the more I can help you and take the brunt of the hard questions. I can also help you tell your story in a manner that will get the crucial bits across as succinctly as possible."

Hermione nodded mutely.

"This was never going to be easy, but having helped the Ministry extradite Death Eaters, and seeing the effect it can have on their victims and the victims' families? I've seen how much this can help. It has to potential to give you some much needed closure. Assuming Bellatrix LeStrange is brought back to Britain, which I truly believe will happen, she is going to be tried, found guilty, and executed. You are helping rid the world of one of its most evil inhabitants. And it'll hurt now. But just stay with me and look forward to living in a world without her."

"I can do that," Hermione responded, voice rough. "I want the bitch dead." Her caramel gaze was cold and determined.

"You're not alone in feeling that way, I assure you, Ms. Granger."

Hermione slipped her hand into Draco's. He squeezed it for reassurance.

The meeting ended shortly thereafter, with the most normal of the Lovegoods assuring them that he would be in contact. Draco wrapped his arm around Hermione's shoulders and felt her shiver. He lifted her chin with the tips of his fingers but didn't see any tears, just as he suspected. His brave, beautiful witch was fully back in control and wouldn't let the outside world see her pain. Not here. Not now.

Later in the evening, once dinner was past, he would sit with her and let her work through the pain. He would hold her, make her feel safe enough to let that shield down, and he would be there for her until she had released what needed to be released. Once the tears had stopped falling and the trembling subsided, Draco would wrap his arms around her and thank his stars that this woman was his to hold.