Chapter 37:

"I want this to be the front page, Skeeter. I am paying you thrice your standard rate to ensure this happens," Narcissa Malfoy told the curly-haired reporter, handing her a coin bag. "Half now, and half after the story runs, with the appropriate content."

Rita Skeeter laughed falsely and shook her ringlets about. "My dear, it would take a troll not to see the changes your son has undergone since he's fallen head over heels in love with the Golden Trio's very own Princess."

Hermione glared at the witch. "I entrust you remember precisely where you'll end up if things don't go according to our plan? Except, perhaps this time, I'll forget to poke breathing holes in the lid."

"There's no need for thinly veiled threats, Miss Granger. I'll do the job required, for the amount agreed upon," she bit out, all niceties tossed aside.

"Very well," Narcissa began, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Let us not dawdle. Draco has spent enough time in that godforsaken place."

Skeeter dragged her eyes from Hermione's and flipped open a pad of loosely bound parchment, licking the end of her Quick Quotes Quill to activate it. Hermione crossed her arms at the sight of the quill and she smirked in response. "Not to worry, Miss Granger. It's only enchanted to accurate take notes. No fanciful exaggerations."

"I would like you to begin by listing some of the reparations Draco has paid this year, charities he has donated to. He's donated to the Muggleborn Relief Program, The Magical Creatures Care and Comfort Effort, and countless funding has been poured into the temporary orphanage at St. Mungo's."

"Yes, but that last one was merely because his sister resided there, correct?" Skeeter asked hungrily.

"Keep to Draco. This story is not about my daughter," Narcissa warned, her tone stern and her eyes piercing.

Hermione hated discussing Draco while he was not present—it felt as though she were writing an obituary, rather than a mere article of character. She had not been able to run her fingers through his hair in nearly four days, had not been able to speak to him in just as long. She ached with the thought of him in Azkaban—even just in the holding cell, far from the icy grasp of the dementors. The witch worried for what must have been the millionth time about his psyche and his wellbeing. He would surely be feeding off of the negative energy that surrounded the place, making himself sick with dismal thoughts of inferiority, unworthiness and possibly even suicide. The last bit made a shiver slide down her spine as she clamped her teeth around her bottom lip.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Narcissa paused in her dictation to place a hand on Hermione's knee.

The younger witch's eyes filled with tears and she cleared her throat. "I just want him out."

"That's what we're hoping to accomplish with this article—to get the community's support," Skeeter mentioned, looking entirely put out at Hermione's emotions.

"I want you, of course, to mention our engagement. We were engaged over the holidays and the story has not run yet," Hermione told her, flashing the Black Family ring in her face so she could accurately describe it.

"Because your journalist has gone missing?" Skeeter asked, her quill scratching away furiously.

"Clearly. His disappearance is the only reason Draco is still in this predicament," Hermione told her coldly.

"Am I to understand that the Aurors, French and British alike, are searching for this photojournalist?"

"Yes," Narcissa told her. "He was supposed to meet the Bulgarian Quidditch Team not long after he left us, but he never made it to them."

"Curious, isn't it? That you are the last people to see him alive?"

"There is nothing to show that he is dead," Hermione retorted angrily.

"Of course not. I'm sure they'll trace Draco's wand and this will all be a misunderstanding," Skeeter nodded with pretend sympathy.

The false airs and cordiality being put on was driving Hermione slightly mad. Draco was sitting in a holding cell at Azkaban, and she and his mother were sitting here, bantering with Rita Skeeter. "I need to get out of here. Make sure she mentions the orphanage and about how close it is to being completed."

With that, Hermione rose and Narcissa gave her hand a quick squeeze. "I'll meet you at the villa soon."

Hermione nodded and swiftly left the room. Only when she was in the corridor outside of Skeeter's office was she able to finally breathe. It took several breaths of air filling her lungs for her to feel as though the world around her was not crushing her slowly. With her back against the wall, she put her head against it with a dull thud and closed her eyes. In the four days since he had been removed from Hogwarts, she and Narcissa had been in Kingsley's office nearly nonstop, the barrister in tow threatening to take down the crooked Ministry from the inside. Hermione had nearly made herself hoarse the day before, ranting and raving uncharacteristically as panic began to set in.

The photojournalist, Gaspard Minuet, had gone missing—seemingly right after he had left them. Harry and Ron, as well as two French Aurors had collected unsurmountable amounts of evidence and random artifacts from his home the day before and were painstakingly going over it as she stood in this stifling corridor with ugly, chipping wallpaper.

Vowing to make herself useful, she pushed away from the wall and stormed to the floo to make her way back to the Ministry. When she stepped through into the Atrium, Harry was making his way in her direction already. "'Mione! I was just getting ready to head to the Malfoy's French house to find you."

"Have you got anything, Harry?"

"We found photographs in Gaspard Minuet's flat. I want you to take a look at them," he told her, taking her hand and leading her to the lifts.

"Harry, you traced his wand. You know he did not do this," Hermione pleaded uselessly.

Never in her life had she felt so hopeless, so full of despair. Even when they searched for Horcruxes and the darkness threatened to close in on her, she had sought comfort in watching Draco in her scrying mirror. She thought about her mirror, tucked into her top drawer at Hogwarts, and silently cursed herself for not putting it into her bag before she left. Hermione could really use the relief seeing his bright future would bring her. She knew he would make it out of Azkaban, but she was impatient and wanted him in her arms now.

"Look, I know your worried—"

"Terrified, more like," Hermione corrected Harry.

"I know you're terrified, but there's not much he can be held on, except this missing photographer. And that may be falling apart quickly, as well. I know you're planning a huge story, to rally the community against the Ministry," Harry remarked, rubbing the back of his neck, "and as much as I hate that since I, you know, am employed by the Ministry, I think it'll help."

"You don't think people will fight to keep him in there?" she questioned quietly as the lift brought them up to stories and back a hundred meters.

Stepping out of the lift, Harry led the way back to where the Aurors had set up an investigation room. "Of course, there will be a few—people who still blame him for killing their loved ones—"

"He never killed anyone—"

Harry put his hand up. "I know this, Hermione. You know this. But the War ended less than a year ago, and they have to blame someone. But the article about your little stunt at the Quidditch game was a huge hit. They ran it on Valentine's Day in Witch Weekly, as some 'beacon of hope in the face of adversity,'" he finished with air quotations.

"Did they really?" she asked, not having read the gossip rag specifically to avoid mentionings of she and Draco.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'd tell you to open your eyes, but I rarely pay any attention to articles about the 'Chosen One's Love Life—or Lack Thereof."

He opened the door to the conference room and Hermione's eyes grew wide. The long table was covered with thousands of photographs. "Harry. He only took a few photos of us…I don't know what you're trying to accomplish with having me look at all of these."

"Some of them are…rather disturbing, I'll admit. And I probably shouldn't be showing them to you. But Kingsley told me to be straight forward with you—I think yours and Narcissa's incessant need to yell at him about his incompetency as a Minister is wearing him thin," Harry said with a dark chuckle.

"Well, he is incompetent. Allowing this to go on as long as it has," she bit back, feeling a pang of guilt as she thought about how well she had got on with Kingsley Shacklebolt at one point.

"He is under pressure from Parkinson's mother and this whole photojournalist-gone-missing aspect is certainly not helping," Harry told her, trying to defend his boss' position.

Hermione sighed once more, knowing he was right. But Draco had been gone four days now, and the aching, wretched feeling in her chest was spreading into her entire body, including her mind. Her temper was a quick trigger, just as it had been in her youth as they drew nearer to final exams. Hermione had lost control, not a feeling she was accustomed to dealing with often, and her love for the redemptive ex-Death Eater was clouding her ability to reason.

Her hands began to shake, and she shoved them into the pockets of her hooded jumper. With a crease between her brow deep enough to cause a permanent indentation, she worried her lip between her teeth once more, biting hard enough to draw blood. Harry gave her a sympathetic look. "I think these photos are the key to Malfoy's release, Hermione. I really do."

With that, he put a hand on her back and prodded her forward. Hermione took a few steps to where he was pointing, and she saw the engagement photos they had taken in the vineyard. "That's us, obviously."

Harry lifted a photo from the table and turned it over to reveal a plain white backing. He tapped it with his wand and words began to appear. April 11, 1999. "That was Saturday's date."

Her raven-haired best friend nodded emphatically. "I know. Every photo on here has a date on the back. We could not locate Minuet's camera, but these appear to be a marking of some kind that the camera leaves behind."

Hermione looked at a few other photos near where she stood at the end of the table, ones nearest to their engagement shots. The one in the very corner of the table was distorted and not at all as crisp as the others. The motion on it looked as though it was taken as someone was falling, capturing a pair of legs and shoes. Black trousers on legs far shorter and stumpier than Draco Malfoy's and boots made of a material she did not recognize but looked strangely akin to armadillo shell. "That's not Draco. He only wears expensive Italian leather and dragon hide," she pointed out unnecessarily. "It's also not Minuet—he's taller than Draco."

Harry nodded and lifted the photo, tapping his wand to the back. April 12, 1999. "This was taken on Easter. Harry—you traced Draco's wand. We left the villa early in the morning and returned to Hogwarts on Easter. We studied for NEWTs in the library that night! Other students saw us there!"

"I know, Hermione. I know."

"So, why is Draco still in Azkaban? Let's go get him!" she urged, making for the door.

"Hermione, it's not that simple. We have to meet with the Wizengamot this afternoon and have them make an official ruling. But this is golden. There is no way he could have been in Minuet's flat when this was taken—did you notice the clock on the wall?"

Hermione lifted the photo to better examine it once more. Sure enough, as the photographer fell a clock, unfocused but clear enough to be read, came into focus. 11:38. There was bright sunlight in the room, so it was clearly morning. "At 11:38 we were on the train back to Hogwarts."

Harry smiled triumphantly. "Exactly. He'll be out tonight, Hermione. Now it's nothing more than formalities in getting the case against him dropped."

"I thought he wasn't under arrest, Harry," Hermione argued, though she was fighting a smile.

"He wasn't—officially. But Wells has been trying to get him on this photographers' disappearance for two days. He's built quite the case against Malfoy. I can't wait to shove this in his face," Harry told her.

"I want Wells demoted. And Narcissa will ensure that happens, mind you. Once Draco is walking free."

"Please, don't tease me with a good time," Harry shrugged. "He's a prick and talks down to us trainees like we're niffler dung on his shoes."

Hermione could feel her heart swelling within her. Her wizard would be out by the end of the day. "Should we stop the article from running?" she voiced.

"No," Harry replied shortly. "But it'll obviously have to be amended to reflect his release. The community should still know how much Malfoy has changed and should be outraged that this type of prejudice is still happening, despite how hard we fought for equality among all magical beings."

Hermione nodded her agreement. The wizarding community should understand the difficulties that Draco had overcome and the changes he had made in his life in the last year. The problems within the Ministry's ranks should also be addressed and informing the public of these splinters would be the best way to get that task started. "Will it affect you? You are training to be an Auror."

Harry shrugged again. "It doesn't matter, even if it would. Aurors like Wells need to be weeded out now and Kingsley needs to see the problems facing those under his command. He has a lot on his plate to deal with in the aftermath of the War. Some of his duties have fallen by the wayside and his iron grip has become lax."

Hermione moved along the table, her heart heavy at the thought that this type of injustice was still happening, even in the post-War world. A photo caught her eye and stopped her dead in her tracks. Pansy Parkinson, cold and lifeless on the cobblestone street between two buildings. "Harry—are these photos taken by the Aurors?"

Harry shook his head, his mouth turning down in a frown. "No, that's the other aspect of this that is bizarre. These were all taken with the same camera, presumably by Minuet."

"When were you going to tell me that Minuet was a suspect, instead of Draco?" she nearly shrieked.

Harry grimaced at her tone. "Hermione, Minuet's place looked ransacked. Like someone was searching for something. But his wand was there, sitting on the kitchen table. What wizard do you know that willingly leaves without his wand?"

"Harry, none of this makes sense. Why would Minuet have photos of Pansy Parkinson's body if he wasn't the killer?"

Harry tapped on the photograph's back. April 12, 1999. Hermione furrowed her brow once more, her head beginning to pound. "I think the real killer—whoever's legs those are," he pointed to the last photo on the table, "was trying to frame him. But he didn't know about the camera's neat little trick. We know Pansy had been dead since late afternoon on Saturday—the death detection potion told us that much. This photo was taken on Sunday and look how bright it is. We received the letter with Malfoy's initials at nearly eight o' clock. I have theories, but they sound a little barking right now."

"What are they? Out with it," Hermione demanded, the crime's puzzle swirling in her mind and clouding her senses.

"I think the photographer was Imperiused off and on, possibly for months. I think his attacker found him on Sunday and threatened him, and he snapped the photo of the legs. He then took a photo of Parkinson's body and after, still under the Imperius, penned the letter to the Ministry."

"But why?" Hermione questioned seriously.

"Someone wanted to ultimately frame Minuet," Harry told her.

"Don't you mean to frame Draco?"

Harry shook his head. "No, think about it. The real murderer wanted to dig at Malfoy, hence the use of his initials in the letter. But he knew he needed an actual pawn, someone out of the public eye who wouldn't be so closely monitored by the Ministry, to do his bidding and to pin the murders on. I just don't think he realized, in the skirmish at Minuet's flat, that Minuet managed to take a photo of his lower half—the photo was underneath of the couch and with it being daylight, the flash probably would not have gone off."

"So, someone is setting up Minuet—to frame him for murder?" she asked skeptically.

"I think that is exactly what is happening. And, look," he moved down the row and there were pictures taken of Pansy when she was still alive, walking in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley.

There were also photos of a female she recognized as the Selwyn witch. "Harry, someone wants to make it look as though the photographer is killing these witches."

"There's even more, Hermione. See this girl?" he pointed to a few photos of a redheaded witch of about seventeen. "Irena Karkaroff."

Hermione was staring at the three girls, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together in her brain. "All three of them are relatives of Death Eaters?"

Harry snapped his fingers as a smiled broadened across his face. "Yes! Someone is targeting the family members of Death Eaters! Probably some rogue vigilante with a need for revenge."

She was not so quick to buy into Harry's theories. "Harry, what if the photographer snapped this after he was attacked by his next victim. What if the man in the boots is not a man at all. Look how short the legs are—that could be a tom boy. Or, if it is a man, he may have only attacked witches so far but is going after the member of each Death Eater's House most likely to get a rise out of the family. Male or female."

"I hadn't thought of that. But…why would he leave his wand behind?" the wizard questioned, knitting his brow together. "To stage an attack?"

"That's exactly what I think he did, Harry. And I think Minuet is still out there and could possibly attack another witch—or wizard—at any time. Think about it, he had access to at least three different wands. He probably staged a ransacking of his home and then left his wand on the table. Think about it—why leave it out in the open? He wanted it to be found."

Fear prickled through Hermione as she stood, rooted to the floor of the conference room in the Ministry of Magic. She was a loved one of a Death Eater, no matter how reluctant Draco had been to play a part in the War. Harry seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he looked at her sadly. He covered her hand with his where she was bracing herself on the back of a chair. "I want you to be extra careful, Hermione. Don't go anywhere in the castle by yourself and if you leave Hogwarts, I want you to have Malfoy with you, at the very least. The more people you have with you, the better honestly. At least until we figure this all out."

Hermione nodded solemnly, turning away from the photos of the missing or deceased girls. Her ears were ringing with the new revelations and possibilities and she felt lightheaded and uneasy. Harry put an arm over her shoulders as she hugged herself and her head rested on his chest as they stood in the corridor outside of the conference room. "Come on. Why don't you let Ron and I take you to lunch?"

o-o-o

Hermione stood outside of the double doors leading into the courtroom. Draco had been brought in—unshackled, she noted with a relieved sigh—a half hour prior. He had flashed a nervous glance in her direction but had not smiled at all. He feared his mental state was worse than she had previously guessed, and his physical health seemed to have declined somewhat in the last few days. He had dark circles around his eyes to rival the sixth year Draco and he looked slightly thinner.

The witch could only imagine what morbid and deprecating thoughts had been running through his mind over the past four days. Hermione knew instinctively that this had set his progress back mentally. He would begin to worry about their future, mainly for her protection. She drew a heavy sigh as she leaned against the wall. Narcissa was pacing and wringing her hands in an uncharacteristic manner. Usually cool and collected, the Malfoy matriarch was clearly nervous.

"This family cannot take any more heartache, Hermione. We just can't," Narcissa told her. "With the War, the trials, Lucius' imprisonment, Draco's probation."

Hermione lifted herself away from the wall and wrapped her arms around the witch. "Harry felt confident—"

At this point, the door opened, and Harry was escorting Draco out. "Dragon!" his mother shrieked, throwing herself at him and knocking him off balance.

"Mother," he replied hoarsely, hugging her back tenderly.

"We are going to handle this, Draco. This—this injustice. There is a story running in tomorrow's paper about you—all of your good deeds and charitable donations, the orphanage, your relationship with Hermione, and everything you've been through these last few days. The community will rally behind you. And that Wells. He's done for," his mother told him, placing her hands on either side of his jaw.

"The community will rally to have me brought right back here," he argued gently.

"I don't think so, Malfoy. Your mother is right. People can see that there are injustices and prejudices still circulating, and I think that you have more people on your side than you would expect," Harry told him.

His mother pulled his face down to her and kissed his cheek before releasing him. "You've done more good this year than you seem to think, little dragon."

Draco nodded, though Hermione could tell he had plenty more to argue about. He turned to her, but kept his eyes downcast. Hermione stepped closer to him and lifted his chin so he would have to look at her. "I missed you," she breathed and pressed her lips to his.

He lifted his arms from dangling limply at his sides to drape over her shoulders. His forehead pressed into hers and she felt him breathe a sigh of relief. "I missed you more than you know."

"Draco, let's go home. You can return to Hogwarts for class on Monday," his mother told him. "We've got houses to look at when you're up to it."

"How on earth did you manage to find houses while also raising hell here?" he asked, his tone weary and exhausted.

"A witch has her ways," was all his mother said as she swept toward the floo network.

Draco rolled his eyes and held out his hand to Harry. "Thanks, Potter."

Harry shook his hand and shrugged. "I did it for Hermione," he replied, though he was grinning crookedly.

"Sure," Draco let out a small laugh and Hermione laced her fingers with his as Harry left.

"Let's go home. I'm sure your mother will make an exception on the sleeping arrangements for one night," Hermione told him, handing him his watch and the signet ring that had been taken upon his arrival at the holding cell.

Draco slid the ring on but turned the watch over and ran a finger over the engraving on the back. Noticing his hesitancy, Hermione placed a hand over the pulse point on his neck in a gentle caress. "Why won't you look at me?"

"I have put you in an insurmountable amount of danger, Hermione. And furthermore, this only proved my point that our lives will not be easy together. I'm sure this is not the last time I will be accused of a crime, simply because of my past."

"I don't care about any of that. I had the chance to tuck tail and run away from you. But I didn't, did I?" she asked, bending to place her eyes in direct sight of his. "No, I fought for you. Each day you were away from me, I was here at the Ministry. I fear I was not very kind to Shacklebolt, and I may need to make amends later, after my anger has subsided."

"You're not listening to me, Granger. This whole thing with the Death Eater's kin…I can't have something happen to you."

"Nothing is going to happen to me, Draco. Because I'm not going anywhere without you," she vowed, resting her forehead against his chest. "Promise me you won't give up on me—on us. We're going to make it in this life. Nothing can change that."

He wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace and put his cheek against the top of her head. "Merlin, I missed you so fucking much. I thought for sure that Wells man would put me away for life."

"Your mother and barrister are going to have him demoted if not removed completely. I'm sure Narcissa has already sent a letter to the Minister detailing as much," Hermione told him with a docile laugh.

She laced their hands and shook his gently. "Come on. Let's go home. We can get you a warm bath and a real bed."

"Perhaps you can join me," he replied, kissing her forehead before he slid the watch onto his wrist with a contented sigh, relishing in the feel of his witch's magic once more.

o-o-o

A/N: Please review! And thank you for all of the support thus far! It is much appreciated. Only 3 more chapters! Eep!

There was a lot going on in this chapter. And I wrote it with the hopes that it would seem rapid fire and distressed. I would suggest reading through it twice, slower the second time, just in case.