A/N: This chapter was supposed to come out yesterday with Chapter 2 but I kinda forgot to write so… /shrug/

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Chapter 3: Le dragon (The Dragon)

'So, what's the Golden Girl doing with a Death Eater like me?'

His voice was gravelly. Hoarse. His attitude and underlying arrogance, though, was pure. His eyes still displayed the silver flame of the Malfoys though they were squinted. Even jailed he still had the aroma of control.

'Isn't it obvious? I'm either your lover or your long lost sister; why else would I stand up to a bully like you?'

Malfoy chuckled. 'Sarcasm suits you, Granger. Unfortunately, I'd rather return to my cell than talk to the likes of you, so let's dispense with this dancing and head straight to the jugular.'

'The likes of me? A filthy little Mudblood?'

Malfoy scoffed. 'No, a Gryffindor. Just like the two morons here three weeks ago. Something about testifying in my favour.'

Hermione leaned back and crossed her arms. 'Let me guess, one had red hair and the other had a scar on his head?'

Malfoy nodded. 'Mmhm. Why couldn't you Gryffindors find another cause than redeeming a Death Eater? How far will you go? Will you testify for my beloved father several floors above me as well? Though, there is something curious.'

'Which is?'

The trademark smirk of Draco Malfoy was plastered on his face. 'Scarhead and Weasel never said you'd be testifying. In fact, the Daily Prophet has run numerous articles regarding your "disappearance". I thought Rodolphus had kidnapped you somewhere. Do they even know you're here?'

'No, and I don't intend to let them know.'

'Ah, the rumours were true then. The Golden Trio are on the outs, all thanks to the actions of one red haired Weasel.'

'Shut up, Ferret.'

Malfoy laughed boisterously, filling the room in his arrogant guffaw. 'There it is, the Hermione Granger I know and despise. How I enjoy riling you up, Mudblood. What was your plan today? Talk me into accepting some sort of deal? Well, you can forget it. I'll only say to you what I said to Scarhead and Weasel then: Fuck. Off.'

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Though the rotting scent of Azkaban dominated, Hermione could still smell traces of citrus and cologne. 'I'm not going to say much, Malfoy, I'm only here to deliver a letter.'

'A letter? You could've sent it, you didn't—'

'From your mother.'

Malfoy seized. For a moment, his hard eyes turned soft. The white flame still burned, though it did not burn for hatred, but for love. The flame yearned for love, not domination. His face, normally schooled in arrogance, was now of desperation. Though, it was only for a moment. Hermione blinked, and the broken man in front of her had already disappeared, replaced by the bully who tormented her for years.

'You're bringing my mother into this? That's low, even for you. You're going to fake a letter from her? Really? Just because you lost—'

'She told me many stories about you, Malfoy.' Hermione turned to the white window. In the monochrome shade, an image of her and Narcissa wafted into reality. 'She told me how her and Professor Snape taught you Occlumency. She told me how you would come into her room and cry every night after you got the Mark. She told me a funny story about you sneaking into your family closet to fly. You flew above the Manor but fell to the ground, scraping your knee. Your father berated you for hours. She said you learned never to cross your father afterwards.'

She glanced at the man sitting opposite her. Tears fell from his eyes. The white flame of hatred burned something else now: longing. His mouth was slightly agape, rapid breaths drying the pink of his lips. His gaze was empty, pointing to the table. The mask had fallen. What was in front of her was not Draco Malfoy the Pureblood Heir, not Draco Malfoy the Bully, not the Draco Malfoy the Death Eater, but Draco Malfoy—the boy without a choice.

After seconds of silence, he whispered, 'It's really from her, isn't it?' with a trembling voice.

Hermione nodded. 'Yes.'

She pulled the letter from her jacket and slid it to him. He glanced from letter, to Hermione, and the letter again. He lifted his trembling hand, hovering above the letter before gracefully putting his fingers on the letter, and pushed it back to Hermione.

'C-Could you read it for me?'

Hermione's mouth opened to reply a long tirade, but all she could muster was a whispered, 'Why?'

'Pro-prolonged use of the Cruciatus damaged my eyes. I can't see close things, they're… blurry.' His eyes turned to Hermione, locking her gaze. He then uttered a word so familiar to her but so foreign coming from him. 'Please.'

Hermione nodded. 'Okay.' She grabbed the envelope, opened it, and looked at Narcissa's beautiful handwriting. She felt like intruding in an incredibly private moment between a mother and her son, but she had to stay strong.

My Dragon,

I have no words to explain what I am feeling. I truly don't. I was not raised to be forthright in my opinions and feelings. I was not raised to confront my emotions. I was not raised to voice my feelings, let alone write them to eternity. However, I am willing to learn. I am willing to forego my upbringing. I am willing to pour forth my heart into this letter. For you. For your sake. For your life.

When I fell in love with Lucius in my fifth year, I was euphoric. When he reciprocated those feelings, I was ecstatic. It was like there was no obstacle I couldn't overcome without him, no problem too great. He was a Malfoy, I was a Black; we were the oldest pure-bloods, and we believed in the supremacy of pure-bloods over half-bloods and Muggleborns. However, as liberating as love was, I now recognise how it made me oblivious. It made me oblivious to the Muggleborns suffering during the First War. It made me oblivious to the hatred that spewed from my lips. It made me oblivious to the rhetoric my parents exulted. At the end of the day, it made me oblivious to my family, specifically my sister, Andromeda.

I lost her, my Dragon. I lost her. I remembered the letter she wrote to our parents. About her love. About her elopement. About her beliefs. The love I bore for her turned to hatred. Hatred for her, for her Muggleborn husband. I used to believe she was lured away, Imperiused, tricked, anything that doesn't make me consider the fact that our ideology was wrong. It was… unfathomable. Illogical. I've hated her so long and publicly spat on her name. She was my best friend, my Dragon, my best friend. There was nothing I didn't share with her and she was always there to give a shoulder to cry on or advice, yet I had betrayed her so publicly and greatly. I still believed in the pure-blood cause but I did not think Muggleborns should be destroyed. If I had, I would have thought about destroying my own sister. I can't do that — I could never do that.

I wasn't close to Bellatrix—rather I wasn't as close to Bellatrix as I was to Andromeda. Even so, all three of us were close, and it was especially difficult for her. In her view, it was her fault that Andromeda managed to become tricked. She was the eldest, she should've done more. It increased her fervour to the Dark Lord, and made her marry Rodolphus Lestrange. He had already been marked and was a loyal follower. Through him, she proved her mettle and gained his favour. I should have noticed that I had lost her to power.

I thought we were glorifying the Pure-blood cause. I thought we were fighting for glory. We didn't. We hadn't been. In the War, I lost my parents to the fighting. I lost my elder sister to prejudice. I lost my eldest sister to power. Lucius was in court, clutching at every excuse he could to avoid prosecution. I was 26, only a quarter of a century. You were only two years old, still in need of help and care. I had nothing. Nowhere to turn, no one to turn to.

When Lucius came back, I was disillusioned. So much has been shed, and for what? So many losses for nothing. I did not want the same to you. I didn't want what happened to me to happen to you. You were my Dragon, my sun, my fire, my love, and I could not do that to you. I still loved Lucius, and I always will, but you were my priority. You came first. I vowed this. And I failed. I failed you, Draco. I failed to keep you safe. I failed to be a good mother to you. If there were a Time Turner that could return me to 1971, I would use it wholeheartedly.

This is why I am writing this letter to you. The Second War has ended. You're only 18, so much younger than I was when my War ended. I know how you feel, the terrible sinking feeling inside of you, and I know all you want to do is put on your mask and put on a strong face to the world, just like you were taught. All I'm asking from you, Draco, is to not put it on. I know you've not believed in the cause ever since your sixth year. You have your whole life ahead of you. Do not let the mistakes of your youth define the rest of your life. Listen to your heart, not your pride.

The First War made me lose everything in life. I don't want the Second War to make me lose you. I don't want the Second War to destroy you. Please, I beg of you, Draco, do not be prideful. Humble yourself, because I can not live knowing I've helped in condemning my child to Azkaban.

With love and hope,

Narcissa Vinda Malfoy.

Hermione folded the tear-marked letter inside the envelope and sealed it. Though it was meant for Malfoy, it embodied Hermione as well. A part of her wanted to hear those words from another's lips. In reading the letter, it reminded her of the lack of parents. The lack of warmth. The lack of reassurance. The lack of advice. Solitude.

Hermione's thoughts were disturbed by loud sobs opposite her. Draco Malfoy, the epitome of arrogance and stability, was breaking down. He wasn't a man, not at that moment, but a boy. In that moment, they were one and the same: children missing their mothers.

'H-How… How is she? Where is she?'

'She's well, Draco. She's tired but she hides it well. I'm not telling you where she is. Not until you listen to what I have to say.'

Malfoy glanced at her with wary eyes before closing them. He nodded. 'Go.'

Hermione took a deep breath. 'You're only a child during all of this, Malfoy, we all were. Despite that, you still took the Dark Mark and participated in various Death Eater crimes. Kingsley—Minister Shacklebolt—has a plan. If you do what he says, I might be able to tell Narcissa her son got 5 years house arrest and probation instead of 5 years in Azkaban.'

Malfoy shuddered. 5 years. Azkaban. 'What is it that I have to do?'

'Admit your guilt. All of it. Thanks to your behaviour, members of the Wizengamot consider you unrepentant. Admit to the guilt, and he might be able to sway the moderates into a lesser sentence.'

Malfoy nodded. 'Okay. I'll do it.'

Hermione smiled. 'Good. That finishes up our session.' She pushed the envelope to Malfoy but he shook his head.

'The Aurors check your body afterwards. Keep it, please.' As Hermione stood, his voice came again. 'Granger. For what it's worth… I'm sorry. Not just for my earlier outburst, but for everything. I-I know apologies aren't enough, but—'

'No. They are not. But they're a good place to start.' Draco nodded. 'Goodbye, Malfoy.'

'Goodbye, Granger.'

She pressed the button on the table and within seconds, two Aurors—one of them Auror Richards—stepped into the room. He escorted her out of the room while the other Auror stepped in. Just as she was walking, Malfoy's baritone voice echoed through the concrete walls.

'Auror Graves? Could you call my solicitor Niels Rowle? There's something I would like to discuss with him.'

'Sure, Malfoy.'

Hermione internally smiled. A few minutes of walking, retrieving wands, and checking for personal items, she was on the rowboat back to shore with Auror Richards. They said their goodbyes and Hermione apparated back in her room. She stepped into the bathroom, and allowed the hot water to wash over her. Her skin turned red once more. For that night, the next night, and the night afterwards, her nightmares didn't come. It was a dreamless sleep, a rare reprieve in the maelstrom of nightmares.

The day had arrived. Kingsley had owled her a few days ago, summoning her as a defence witness for the trial of Draco Lucius Malfoy on July 14th 1998. He also had given her a Portkey so she could go in and out without anyone going after her. Hermione glanced at the clock. 07:58. Two minutes. Medallion then turned blue. She pressed it and in the blink of an eye, she was inside the Ministry. She handed the letter to the receptionist who pointed her to Courtroom 3.

She took the elevator, alone, down to Level 9. A crowd was walking down to Level 10 so she went with them. The corridors twisted like the bowels of a dragon with noises emanating from deep within. It reminded her of the Hogwarts dungeons, though much more well-lit and somewhat cleaner. Soon, Courtroom 3 emerged, the doors flanked by two Aurors. She entered the oval room, the place packed with Aurors, reporters, Wizengamot members, the public, etcetera. A single chair was placed in the centre, facing the rows of crimson and black with 'W' embroidered on their robes. She sat on the right side, far back, hidden from everyone. Slowly but surely, the people around her started noticing her appearance. Murmurs started. However, before they could evolve into cries, the door opened.

The Auror usher called out, 'Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt!'

The entire courtroom stood, and Kingsley marched in with his purple robes, commanding the presence of the room with only the clangs of his boots. Harry and Ron followed him, and thankfully, they sat opposite her. Surprisingly, behind them was Nymphadora Tonks and her mother, Andromeda Tonks. They too sat opposite Hermione, though Andromeda recognised her in the crowd.

Kingsley stood in the podium in front of the fifty Wizengamot members. As he climbed the steps towards it, chains rattled from outside. An emaciated Draco Malfoy then walked in, escorted by three Aurors all of whom had their wands out. He stood in front of the central chair. The courtroom door closed and everyone sat down. He started speaking in that deep tone, though now it was as stern as it was reassuring.

'Ladies and Gentlemen of the Wizengamot, we are here for the criminal trial of Draco Lucius Malfoy, son of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, on the 14th of July in the year 1998. I, Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, will preside over this trial as Inquisitor of the Court. The accused, Mr. Draco Malfoy, is accused of these crimes: the Murder of Albus Dumbledore, the torture of Muggleborns, and practicing the Dark Arts. We shall begin with the Prosecution led by Prosecutor Osmund Henry Graves.'

The prosecution started their case by showing the court images of Malfoy Manor's dungeons, Hogwarts, and parts of Malfoy Manor proper. They continued with reports from the DMLE and the Auror Office about the presence of Dark magic within the walls of the Manor. Several DMLE officers were called to the stand, providing evidence such as the history of Malfoy's wand showing several Cruciatus and Imperius curses, along with one Avada Kedavra. Witnesses were questioned by both the Prosecution and Defence. A few hours later, they were finished. Kingsley spoke again.

'The Court now calls the Defence, led by Advocate Niels Henrik Rowle. Mr. Rowle, you may begin.'

The Defence then presented their case. The Defence did not deny Malfoy's crimes—they very much accepted it—but they refuted the narrative that he had done these acts willingly and thus in full force of the law. Their arguments were that he was forced into the act: the Dark Mark and task of infiltrating Death Eaters into Hogwarts was as punishment for Lucius Malfoy's failures; the torture of Muggleborns was done minimally to survive; and the Dark Arts were tools to 'blend in' with the Death Eaters. Draco Malfoy himself was questioned. To his credit, he appeared incredibly remorseful and captured the room in his emotions. The prosecution, though, was not convinced.

Witnesses were summoned. The first was Luna Lovegood who testified that Draco Malfoy did not torture her—and if he did it was not as painful as other Death Eaters—during her imprisonment in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. Four more and it would be her turn. The second and third were Dean Thomas and Garrick Ollivander, who corroborated her accounts and provided the same answers. Two more, and it would be her turn. Her mind almost unravelled at the possibility of recounting the events of Malfoy Manor, but Narcissa's words resonated with her. It kept her sane.

Of course, the fourth and fifth witnesses were Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter who provided the court with the character of Draco Malfoy and the truth of what happened in the Astronomy Tower. As Harry recounted the story of how Draco lowered his wand at the last second, gasps and murmurs erupted throughout the entire chamber. Harry Potter's testimony ended before he could explain Malfoy Manor, clearly confused by the words of Kingsley. If he weren't the one to testify, who would?

Kingsley prepared himself for this. With a deep breath, he said, 'The Court calls on the last witness for the defence, Miss Hermione Jean Granger.'

Whispers erupted in the room. Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of Her Age, had not been seen since news of the Weasley boy's proposal. Had she returned? In her mind, Hermione could see all the headlines and pictures as she sauntered over to the witness box next to Kingsley.

'Would the witness identify themselves to the Court. Provide your name, date of birth, and parentage, please.'

'Hermione Jean Granger, born 19th of September 1979 to Helen and Robert Granger.'

'The Defence Advocate may begin.'

The Defence Advocate started his line of questioning. He asked Hermione to recount the entirety of what happened in Malfoy Manor, the cause of the scar that had haunted her ever since. Though the public knew, all they had were whispers. Now, the truth was out. Every single thing was told in excruciating detail, from the capture at the hands of the Snatchers to Dobby's rescue. The entire courtroom was gripped, simultaneously horrified and gripped by the scene unfolding before them. Her mantra kept resonating in her mind. "You are in control. You dictate your emotions, not them dictating you. Bellatrix Lestrange is dead. You are safe."

Soon, the line ended and the Prosecution Advocate stepped up.

'Miss Granger. As per your testimony and the testimonies of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, Draco Malfoy did not identify Mr. Potter, but identified you immediately. Why is that?'

'If you were paying attention to our testimonies, Prosecutor Graves, you would've remembered that Fenrir Greyback and Bellatrix Lestrange identified us first before Draco Malfoy did.'

'If they did, why wouldn't he persist in denying your presence? The one who truly knew the three of you was the accused, so Greyback and Lestrange could be mistaken.'

'If Malfoy persisted in denying us, he would've been killed.'

'So, the accused misidentified you then correctly identified you because he would have been killed, not because of any sign of regret or remorse?'

That was a mistake. 'I did not know his motives during the identification, Prosecutor, only during Bellatrix's torture.'

'Yes, the torture in which he did absolutely nothing. In what way did you feel he was remorseful during that?'

Hermione took a deep breath and looked straight into Malfoy's eyes. The courtroom faded, and it was only the two of them. She said, 'His face. His eyes. The way his arms trembled. He regretted telling Bellatrix about us. He wanted out. He wanted it all to end.'

'Why would Mr. Malfoy wanted to end it all?'

'I cannot assume his motives, Prosecutor, I can only see the facts. Voldemort was living with him, and we all know the man's only quality was sheer madness and death. I know Draco Malfoy—and while he is a bully—he is not a murderer.'

The crowd gasped and the sounds of quills scratching parchment filled the upper gallery. Eyes were all on Hermione, but her eyes were only on Draco.

'For what it's worth, I know for a fact he is remorseful. I know because he apologised to me a few days ago.'

The murmurs and scratches grew even louder.

Prosecutor Graves narrowed his eyes. 'A few days ago? Could you explain that to us, Miss Granger?'

'On July 11th, I visited Mr. Malfoy in his holding cell in Azkaban Prison. I placed a request through to Minister Shacklebolt to which he approved. I wanted to see the man I'm defending. He said, and I quote, "Granger. For what it's worth… I'm sorry. For everything."'

The crowd was in a frenzy. Kingsley had to slam his gavel to shut the room up. The prosecution ended its questioning and Hermione returned to her seat. Among the eyes pointed to her, she could only see two sets of eyes: green and blue. Kingsley stood, saying, 'This ends our questioning, and starts our deliberation. A one hour and thirty minute long recess will be given to the court, both for the crowd to have lunch and the Wizengamot to deliberate their options. Once a decision has been reached, your coins and medallions will glow red to signal the verdict. I declare this court to be adjourned.'

Everyone stood as Kingsley walked outside, and Hermione was the first to walk out. With reporters lining the corridors, she instead stayed silent and marched through to the elevators. The cacophony of cameras, quills, and questions grated her but she stayed focused and kept on walking. Now outside of the Ministry, she enjoyed lunch and stayed in her hotel room for a bit before the medallion burned red, signalling a verdict was reached.

Her return to the chamber was helped by the fact that she wore baggier clothes and blended in with the crowd outside the courtroom. Then, a shoulder bumped into her.

'Mademoiselle.' She turned to see Andromeda there, her smile and kind eyes piercing her heart. Hermione's eyes darted around the crowd, looking for a splash of red and black hairs. Andromeda whispered, 'They're not here. They and Dora have been called for an emergency session and would not be here for the verdict. Quite convenient, isn't it?'

Hermione smiled, knowing it was thanks to a certain Minister for Magic. 'Yes, it is. I hope the session isn't too much of an emergency.'

'I hope so too. When are you returning home?'

'Soon, after the trial, maybe a day or two. Why?'

Andromeda discreetly handed an envelope to her just as the doors opened. As the crowds flooded in, Andromeda said, 'For her.'

Hermione nodded and they both walked to their previous seats. The row of black and crimson were all standing there, along with Kingsley. He welcomed everyone back and pulled out the parchment detailing the verdict. Everyone held their breath. There was no noise but the ruffling of chains and the scraping of paper.

Finally, Kingsley spoke. 'In the trial of Draco Lucius Malfoy, the Wizengamot has reached a verdict. The count was 28 to 22. The decision reached is as follows. To the Murder of Albus Dumbledore, the Court finds the accused Draco Lucius Malfoy… not guilty.'

The room still held their breath.

'To the torture of Muggleborns, the Court finds the accused Draco Lucius Malfoy… guilty.'

A few murmurs marred the silent room.

'To the practice of the Dark Arts, the Court finds the accused Draco Lucius Malfoy… guilty.'

More murmurs joined them. Kingsley took another breath. As did the room.

'Against the accused, we, the Court, have awarded punitive damages to the amount of 7 million Galleons.'

Gasps and whispers immediately filled the room. Seven million Galleons, that was over one-third of the Malfoy family fortune. The press lit up at that statement, but Hermione's attention was only to the final judgement. The sentence.

'For our final judgement, we, the Court, sentence the accused Draco Lucius Malfoy to five years exile.'

The court, which was filled by mere whispers, was now in full riot. Aurors flooded the room, wands out, prepared for anything. Kingsley struck his gavel to quiet the room. Once quiet, he continued.

'He will be declared persona non grata of the Wizarding Britain. His presence will be banned in Britain. He will not be able to send letters into Britain. His British properties, whether they be private or family, will be declared intestate, placed under the Stasis Charm for the duration of the exile. His citizenship is considered invalid for the duration of his exile. Does the accused wish to contest?'

Malfoy's voice wafted in the air. 'No, Your Honour.'

Kingsley replied, 'So be it. You will be given a period of 24 hours during which time you will be escorted to Malfoy Manor and Gringotts by a group of armed Aurors to settle your accounts and pack your belongings. On July 15th 1998 at noon, you are to be Portkeyed to Calais to serve out your sentence. Your sentence shall end and status of persona non grata rescinded on July 15th 2003 at noon.'

Malfoy's head was down. He muttered, 'Yes, Your Honour.'

'The Court is now adjourned for the day. Will Aurors please escort Mr. Draco Malfoy back to Malfoy Manor for today's affairs.'

The entire room stood as Kingsley walked out with Malfoy. The room then lit on fire with screams, cries, whispers, and murmurs exploding from every inch of the room. Before long, they would turn their attention to her, so she quickly vanished. She went to Kingsley's office and thanked him immensely for swaying the Wizengamot. Kingsley, in turn, said that it was all thanks to Hermione that he was able to do so in the first place. Regardless, Hermione said her goodbyes and promptly returned to her hotel room. Spirits were high that day, and Hermione was content. She may not like Draco Malfoy, but she liked Narcissa Malfoy.

She looked down at her wand, inspecting every centimetre of it. The wand, as Ollivander said, wanted conflict and turmoil. Was this not what the wand wanted? She did not like Draco Malfoy—she despised him even—but she liked Narcissa enough to do this. Though she had said to her that she was doing this for Draco, a part of her did it for Narcissa. Not to her as a person, but to what she was: a mother missing her son. Yet, how many mothers missed their sons during the war? If she told her past self she would defend Draco Malfoy for Narcissa Malfoy and forsake Ronald Weasley, she would've laughed. Now? It was reality. Who was she, really? What happened to the old Hermione Granger?

It was a question that haunted her as she showered, ate, slept, checked out, and Portkeyed to Calais. Who was she really? Had she changed so much? Was this the true Hermione or a false version? Regardless, her life had returned to normal, away from English weather, away from the attention. Noon approached.

A few minutes afterwards, a platinum blonde man wandered around the city, his old suitcase not matching his clean dark suit. The man kept pulling at his trousers, uncomfortable in his own skin. His eyes wandered aimlessly until they hit on a familiar figure. He approached. She approached. They both smiled.

Hermione extended her open hand. 'Bonjour, monsieur, comment ça va? Je m'appelle Hermioné Hélène-Jeanne de Bonnegrâce. Bienvenue en France. (Hello, Mister, how's it going? I'm Hermioné Hélène-Jeanne de Bonnegrâce. Welcome to France).'

Malfoy shook it. His hand was cold. 'Bonjour, mademoiselle, je vais bien. Je m'appelle Draco Lucius Malfoy. Je suis heureux d'être ici. On y va? (Hello, Miss, I'm well. I'm Draco Lucius Malfoy. I'm happy to be here. Shall we?)'

Hermione merely nodded. 'On y va (Let's go).'

In a blink, they were both gone, a crack of thunder the only thing left in their path.