"Long, Long, Long"

Chapter 18

Draco arrived instantly in an alleyway in London he knew to be dangerously close to the Ministry building, but it just so happened that Hermione's home was in that area. Before she had gotten in trouble with the Ministry it had probably been convenient for her—after all, she used to work for them, in the very position Draco had been in before he got into trouble with the Ministry. He wondered for a moment if the job might be cursed and then realized that their bad luck had started before either of them had worked for the Ministry. It seemed, sadly, to be the fate of them both.

Draco found the address Hermione had given him with little difficulty and slipped quietly into the building without being noticed. Her apartment was up the stairs and to the left, from what he could tell by its number. When he reached it, the door was, as Hermione had predicted, locked. With a quick look around for nosy neighbors, Draco pulled out his wand and whispered, "Puertabra," the more powerful unlocking charm his father had taught him as a boy. Draco had yet to find a locked door aside from the one leading to his father's study that the charm had not worked on.

As expected, the door before him swung open and Draco quickly got inside the apartment and pushed the door shut, bolting it behind him. Aside from quite a bit of dust and a few things that had been thrown around—either when Hermione was packing to leave with Potter and Dumbledore or when the Ministry officials had searched it after she didn't appear at the hearing—the place was in good shape and Draco smiled at the thought that finally, at least for a little while, he was comfortable and safe.

He threw his stuff on the sofa and gave himself a tour of his new living quarters. The place was rather small, with just a bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen and living room area. Draco had the misfortune when he peeked in the bathroom of catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He nearly had a heart attack. Never, never in his whole life had he looked so horrible: mud a dirt was streaked all over his body; his sweatshirt was torn in various places; his pants would probably never be their original color again; there were cuts and bruises all over his face and hands; and his hair was so disgusting that he barely recognized it as his own. It was astounding that he hadn't been given more attention on the street for his appearance. People had probably suspected him to be some poor, homeless man with nothing apart from what he wore and carried with him.

It took Draco a moment to realize that this picture was entirely accurate.

Since he couldn't bear the sight of himself a second longer, Draco pushed getting food, replying to Hermione's letter, and finding new clothes aside and moved taking a shower to the top of his priorities list.

x x x

Hermione slept about as poorly as Draco did that night. She woke up cold and in immense pain from her uncomfortable position on the floor. The sky outside was still grey, but at least it had stopped raining. I guess that's something, she thought to herself half-heartedly. Unfortunately, it was little. She was still in a terrible situation, and would be for the next two days and six hours. Yes, she was counting—by the second sometimes. Her already gloomy predicament got worse whenever she thought about it.

A few hours passed and Hermione could practically feel herself going insane. All her hope, anything that was keeping her going, it was all being drained away, intensifying her unhappiness all the time. It was when she counted the stones that made up the walls of her cell for the third time that she knew that if she didn't find something to occupy her mind until Thursday, she would never be able to recover from her stay there. Worse, if she was not completely in her right mind during the hearing, they might see her as mentally unstable and therefore unfit to be released from Azkaban. Hermione began to cry in frustration at the very thought and immediately tried to shove it out of her mind.

So, what's something to do...? Hermione wondered, looking around her cell as if expecting to find something new there, although it didn't surprise her when she found nothing. She sighed to herself and suddenly wished that the Malfoy owl was still there; it may not have been the nicest creature, but it had kept her company nonetheless. Not to mention that it was a beautiful thing to look at.

Hermione returned her gaze to the window for the thousandth time and wondered if maybe, just maybe, Draco had gotten her letter and been able to read it. And then maybe, just maybe, he was now safely settled in her London home and was just sitting down to write her a reply.

The hope that this gave Hermione lasted all afternoon, and when the sky was just on the verge of being too dark for her to see anything in it, a shadow swept across her window.

x x x

When he felt clean again—a good hour or so after he had arrived—Draco washed his clothes in the kitchen sink and hung them up in the bathroom to dry, hoping that they would soon look decent enough for him to go outside briefly and get some food and more clothes.

A wave of exhaustion hit Draco after he accomplished this task and he wrapped himself in several blankets he'd found in the storage closet, preparing to lie down on the sofa for what was to be a nice and warm, long sleep. He had settled down and even closed his eyes, sighing in comfort, when a sharp tapping sound interrupted his plans. He ignored it at first, thinking it to be some neighbor hammering together a piece of furniture or something, but when it persisted, he opened his eyes to find his owl hovering outside the window, glaring at him.

Draco groaned and got up, opening the window just enough to let the bird through, but closing it quickly so as not to allow in any more cold breeze than was absolutely necessary. It was still September—why, then, was it so cold? He figured he must be ill.

The owl landed gracefully on the table and snapped its beak, irritated, at Draco, clearly desperate for food. Draco looked wearily at it, wishing more than anything that he just had some sort of suitable food he could give it and get back on the welcoming sofa. As it was, he didn't have any kind of bird food on him and it was doubtful that Hermione, who after all did not have an owl, would have anything for one in her house. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and looked over at his clothes, which were still dripping water. There was no way he would be able to put those on and go outside without catching pneumonia for a few more hours at least. He started looking through the kitchen cupboards, hoping that somewhere Hermione might have some non-perishable food that might be edible for an owl.

There was nothing in the first cupboard except glasses and plates, nothing in the second except spices, and nothing in the third cupboard except for a cereal box with a mouse-nibbled hole in the corner and then the mouse itself, now dead, in the back. Draco frowned, repulsed, and quickly closed the cupboard door. I'll deal with that later, he thought, knowing that in reality he probably wouldn't.

He was beginning to lose hope and the owl was screeching louder each second—pretty soon the noise would arouse curiosity amongst the neighbors. In the final cupboard, Draco found some canned soups and stale crackers. He reached for the crackers and noticed that the expiration date had passed some time ago, but aside from being incredibly hard, they seemed alright. He shrugged, shaking some of the crackers onto a plate and setting it before his loud pet, hoping it would never know the difference.

His hopes were fulfilled; the animal attacked the plate with ferocity and sat there munching for some time, apparently satisfied.

Glad that he had overcome that obstacle, Draco patted his owl on the head fondly and headed back towards the sofa, still wrapped heavily in blankets. Once again, he was about to rest when something caught his eye: Hermione's desk, on which he had placed her letter before washing his clothing. He felt a pang of guilt, feeling that he should write a very grateful reply to Hermione sooner rather than later. He just lay there for a moment, debating whether to sleep or get up one last time to write the letter and send it. The guilty feeling in his stomach won out in the end and he dropped off the sofa, stumbling over to the desk and, taking a muggle pen sticking out of a can containing many others like it, started to write out a message on the top page of Hermione's notepad.

When he finished it, about fifteen minutes later due to his tiredness, he gestured wearily to the owl, which looked as though it was not quite done eating but came anyway. It took Draco much longer than it normally would have to tie the letter to its leg, as he could hardly keep his eyes open. He had just finished and was about to send the owl off when he remembered the sickly red color Hermione had written her message in and how she had mentioned the limitedness of her resources in Azkaban. He took the pen he had used to write the letter and tied it to the bird's remaining free leg. As he walked over to the window, he whispered to it, "Make sure none of these letters are intercepted, alright? The last thing Hermione needs is to be caught corresponding with a known Death Eater."

Draco opened the window and as the owl fluttered off his shoulder to the sill, he promised it apologetically, "I'll get you some better food tomorrow." It hooted understandingly and flew off, leaving its master—finally—in peace.

x x x

Hermione smiled broadly when the now very familiar owl landed neatly on the floor in front of her and stuck out its leg. Hermione quickly unattached the paper containing the massage and unfolded it, but before she could start reading, Draco's owl got her attention by hooting softly. She looked up concernedly, afraid that it was still hungry, but noticed that it was now sticking out its other leg. Curious, Hermione leaned over and untied the second string. A second later, a muggle pen, one like those she used at home, fell into her hand. She sighed gratefully and turned back to the letter.

Hermione,

I don't actually know of any words that can express how eternally grateful I am to you. Trust me when I say that without your offer, my chances of surviving would have been slim to none. As it is, I think I'm coming down with something—from being cold and wet for so long, no doubt. In any case, if there is anything I can do to repay you, anything, please tell me. I'm afraid that showing up to vouch for you at your hearing wouldn't do either of us a whole lot of good, but if things go badly, I can always help you break out of Azkaban.

I look forward to possibly seeing you again on Thursday and hope that by the end of the hearing, all your problems with the Ministry will finally be solved. If at all possible, I plan to be there.

Hermione read the letter over several times before it got too dark to see it. What would it be like, she started to wonder, if I did get out of her on Thursday, and then finally went home and met Draco, after all this time? They had certainly gotten on fine towards the end of school, but that seemed like ages ago, and to finally meet again might be...awkward.

She remembered their almost-meeting at the Ministry, when she had suddenly panicked for no reason and apparated to avoid seeing him. She knew she wanted to see him again, but like she had that time in Gloria's office, Hermione worried about what it would be like should they have to separate again. And she knew they almost certainly would have to. Even if she got off, Draco was still running from various people, and would be for probably a long time. There would, without question, soon be a time when he would no longer be safe in her apartment, when Lucius, or the Ministry, or someone else would catch on.

But then, maybe she could go with him... She laughed softly at the very thought. As much as she would prefer that to yet another goodbye, getting on the Ministry's bad side again was probably not the wisest choice she could make.

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. Despite her worries about the awkwardness of her and Draco's eventual meeting, she fell asleep hoping with all she had that she would get off on Thursday and be able to go home at last.

x x x

Hermione woke up the next morning as uncomfortable, though not quite as unhappy, as she had the day before. It took her a moment to stretch out and become oriented, but almost the instant she was fully awake, Hermione pulled out the letter and pen she had received the previous afternoon. She had wanted to write her reply the previous evening, but it had gotten too dark for her to do so, and at any rate, it gave her something to do that morning instead of stare blankly at the wall while slowly losing her mind.

When she'd first started writing, Draco's owl was sleeping peacefully at her side, its head tucked under its wing. It woke up after a time, while Hermione was still working on her reply. After a longer time, Hermione's companion became very eager to get off this foggy, dreary island and return to its owner. It made this clear by hooting noisily and occasionally pecking Hermione on the foot, something she was not happy about.

"Ow! Hold on, I'm almost done," she said, shooing the owl away with her left hand as she finished up the message with her right. "Alright, I'm done, come back over here." The grey bird hurried over and rapidly stuck its leg out. Hermione put her pen inside her robes and retied the piece of paper Draco had sent—which now also contained her reply—back to the ready owl's leg. When she was finished, she let it clamp onto her arm and took it over to the window, where she whispered her thanks and watched as it flew off into the fog, quickly disappearing from view.

The most thrilling part of her day now over, Hermione slowly wandered back to her spot on the floor, wasting away the time between then and her hearing, which would take place the very next afternoon.

x x x

Draco woke up on Hermione's sofa not a few hours after falling asleep, as he'd expected, but many hours later. It was, in fact, nine o'clock the following morning when Draco finally opened his eyes. He lay there for a while after waking as well, allowing himself to enjoy this absolute comfort and allow his body to recover for a bit. He assumed that he would have at least a week or so there—it was surely one of the last places his father, or the Ministry, would think to look—but no one could be completely certain, especially since he would have to leave occasionally to get food, thus presenting a time to be spotted.

As if on cue, at this very thought, his stomach grumbled loudly and his insides ached from hunger. Understanding that it was probably time to get something to eat before he got really sick and wasted away, Draco got up and stretched as he stepped over to the kitchen. The money was, as Hermione had promised, in a small box under the sink, and although Draco had very little sense of the worth of muggle currency, he had a feeling that Hermione's stash would be more than enough for what he needed.

Just to be sure, he gathered all the bills in a tight wad and stuffed it in the pocket of his now almost-dry sweatshirt, which he put on despite its very filthy appearance. The first stop he would make would be to get some new clothes, that was clear.

Stepping out into the hallway with his hood concealing most of his head, Draco took a quick look around and closed the front door behind him, muttering a locking charm under his breath. He heard the bolt slide into place on the other side and he slipped his wand into his pocket alongside the money, heading towards the stairwell leading to the lobby.

Draco was fairly good at getting around the muggle world on his own, despite his lack of experience. He walked around for a bit, trying to find some sort of cheap clothing store that would suit his needs. He wanted to, if possible, avoid big, crowded paces, as there he would have more of a chance of being recognized. Then again, it was easier to hide in a crowd than in a deserted area. He wasted a minute or so on the street corner thinking this over while his stomach gave another very audible growl.

Draco crossed the street and decided that he wouldn't get very far—crowded store or not—if he fainted out of lack of nourishment. He entered a big supermarket about a block away and decided to buy the touristy, cheap clothes they sold on a few racks near the door. As far as shirts and sweatshirts were concerned, this selection of clothing was just fine—he wasn't about to be picky. He would have to get another pair of jeans somewhere else, since he didn't particularly cherish the idea of walking around in a pair of pink sweatpants with "MIND THE GAP" plastered on the back, which was all that this place sold. In the meantime, however, he bought some food—just enough to get him by for a few days, as he didn't want to spend all of Hermione's money. By the end of the day, he hadn't spent much of it at all; in fact, looking at the stack of notes, he could hardly notice that any had been taken.

Feeling fairly pleased with himself, he returned to the apartment in the early afternoon. He had barely closed the front door behind him when his attention was drawn to the window, where his owl was scratching and tapping in an irritated manner. Draco set down his few bags and opened the window, allowing the owl—which he no longer considered belonging to his whole family but only to him—to land on the table and, once he had detached the letter, to rummage in the stilll-open crackers box. "Wait, I've got something better," he said to the animal, hurrying over to his bags and pulling out the small bag of bird food he'd managed to find. He tore open the package and spilled some of the contents onto a plate. I hope owls like the same sort of food that swallows and pigeons do, he thought, examining the fine writing on the plastic bird food package. He noticed the owl seemed to be eating as much of the stuff as it could reach, so Draco shrugged and returned to the rest of the stuff he'd purchased.

Comfortably clothed and finally fed, about half an hour later, Draco grabbed Hermione's reply off of the table and settled back into his blankets on the sofa. Even wearing dry clothes for a change and being inside with all the windows closed, he felt startlingly cold, which made him worry about his health even more as he wrapped several layers of sheets and comforters around him, preparing to read Hermione's message:

I'm pleased to hear that what little I can do while I'm trapped here in Azkaban is helpful to you. Do not worry about repaying the debt just yet—I'm sure I'll be able to think of some way that you can eventually. While your offer of help in escaping this place is strongly tempting, I do not think that it would put wither of us in better stead with the Ministry and I still hope, however fruitlessly, that by some stroke of luck I will be released tomorrow.

As for my hearing, I agree that your vouching for me wouldn't do much more than land you in Azkaban beside me, though I thank you for thinking of it. Also, as much as I would be happy for you to be there in support, I think it's probably too dangerous for you to come—it's practically giving the Ministry an invitation to arrest you.

Keep your fingers crossed for me and if all goes well, I'll see you tomorrow evening.

Hermione

Draco smiled, folding the letter back up and placing it neatly next to the last one he'd received, which lay on Hermione's desk.

Despite Hermione's worries about his appearing at the Ministry the following day—which were reasonable, after all—he thought she sounded pretty worried about how everything would turn out and would need all the support she could get. His presence might not be all that much, but considering that as far as he knew, Potter was still at St. Mungo's and neither he nor anyone else close to Hermione besides Draco himself knew her situation, it was likely that his support would be all she had.

Thinking over all this, Draco realized the way he might really be able to help Hermione: telling someone who the Ministry would believe about her hearing and let that person speak for her tomorrow. Potter was the obvious choice, but Draco was almost positive that he was still recovering at the hospital, and even if he wasn't, what was Draco going to do, knock on his front door and fill him in? He laughed aloud at the very thought. What reason did Harry have to believe him, or not turn ihim in, for that matter? Even if he did listen to Draco—which was seriously unlikely—there would be a lot of explaining to do, and Draco was not sure if Hermione's friends knew about their relationship or if she wanted them to, even. He doubted both ideas.

He ran his fingers through his hair in thought and after a moment decided that he was probably too late to act now, and that he would decide on a plan of action—if necessary, that it—after Hermione's hearing.

x x x

"Courtroom three, Ms. Granger. Right down here."

Hermione followed Mr. Cole down a Ministry hallway, which was filled with bustling witches and wizards wandering hurriedly from department to department, hardly noticing Hermione or Cole. She found her heartbeat getting steadily faster as she walked on, her nerves getting the best of her. She took a deep breath—without much result—as they turned a sharp corner and she ran into someone standing outside a dark wooden door marked with a big black 3.

"I'm sorry, I didn't—" Hermione started to apologize but stopped when the person turned around.

Head hooded in a baggy navy blue sweatshirt and large sunglasses covering half of his face, Draco turned around as Hermione stumbled into him and smiled when he realized who it was. "Don't worry about it," he said.

Hermione seemed to still be in shock at this sudden meeting, but then her facce broke into a truly happy smile and she couldn't resist; she threw her arms around Draco's neck and hugged him tightly, surprising him slightly. She opened her mouth to speak, momentarily forgetting completely where she was and why, when Mr. Cole grabbed her by the wrist and abruptly dragged her into the courtroom, closing the door behind them before she'd said a single word.

Hermione meant to complain about the means by which she'd been torn from a meeting she had been anticipating for some time, but her irritated words dried up in her throat as her eyes fell upon the judge who was to hear her, a little man off to the side who looked like a secretary, a bunch of mixed witches and wizards on the other side, and a small group of people she didn't recognize but figured to be reporters, as some held quills and notepads while others clutched cameras.

"Ms. Granger, you have been brought here by order of the Ministry of Magic for the murder of two men, failure to attend your first scheduled hearing, corre—" started the judge, a strained-looking older woman who looked as though she hadn't smiled ina good decade. Hermione knew in the back of her mind that she shouldn't interrupt, but she was so nervous that she couldn't think properly.

"I can explain why I didn't attend my hearing! It was Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, they asked me to help them. The needed me and couldn't wait until my hearing was over, and they knew if I was convicted I—"

"Ms. Granger, please do not interrupt," said the judge, whose name, according to the plaque in front of her, was Tilda Haden.

"I apologize Ms. Haden, but you need to know that I wasn't just running away from the Ministry. If Dumbledore were here, he would—"

"Ms. Granger, you will have a time to speak but it is not now! Please remain silent!" Haden said sternly. Hermione could hear the scratching of the reporters' quills though she was not looking at them. "Now, in addition to homicide and disappearance before your instructed hearing time, you are accused of corresponding with a man wanted by the Ministry for being a Death Eater." She looked down at a set of documents before her, "A Mr. Draco MAlfoy. Do you have any information regarding where this man is?"

Hermione stared up in horror at the judge, shocked into silence. How did the Ministry find out? What did they know? She needed to warn Draco and he was just outside the door, waiting to be caught.

"You may speak now, Ms. Granger," said Judge Haden exasperatedly. A couple of men in the corner chuckled.

Hermione recovered from receiving this startling bit of information and said firmly, "No, I do not know where Draco Malfoy is. I haven't seen him since school."

"Do you realize that any information you have regarding Mr. Malfoy or any other supporters of You-Know-Who might save you a return to Azkaban?" asked the judge.

Hermione didn't hesitate. "I have not been in communication with Draco Malfoy since the start of the war."

Haden frowned. "We ave evidence to the contrary. This past Monday, a guard at Azkaban prison who I will not name witnessed a medium-sized grey owl leave your area carrying a letter. The owl managed to get away with the letter before the guard could get a firm hold on it, but he clearly made out the name 'Draco Malfoy' on the outside. Do you deny that you wrote the letter and that such an owl left your cell with it?"

I have no information regarding Draco Malfoy," said Hermione, ignoring the question.

Ms. Haden looked at Hermione a moment, clearly a little annoyed, but she left the matter and moved on, "As for your other charges, you are now free to speak your defense."

Hermione hesitated only a second, still disturbed by the news that the Ministry knew she had been in touch with Draco, but then continued where she'd left off. She explained why she had disappeared when she did and why, wishing all the while that either Dumbledore or Harry was there to verify what she said. After explaining that the two of them had needed a secret-keeper as soon as possible and that they couldn't risk her being locked up in prison, she went back to that day at St. Mungo's. "I was a guard; it was my responsibility to do whatever was possible to protect the patients ans staff at the hospital," she justified herself. "I tried stunning the Death Eaters as they attacked, but that was virtually worthless, seeing as they never stayed stunned for very long with all their comrades running around helping them. I didn't plan to kill any one of them, but when I was under pressure from three Death Eaters at once, I had to defend myself."

"Did it appear to you at the time that one of these three would attack you had you not struck one of them first?" asked Judge Haden.

"Yes! I mean, they did attack me. With the Cruciatus Curse."

"Are you saying you acted in anger at the use of an Unforgivable Curse on you?"

Hermione faltered. "Well, I... They were Death Eaters, willing to go to any lengths to get done what they needed to. I was lucky to be hit with the Cruciatus Curse instead of Avada Kedavra, and I didn't know if I would escape so I hit one of them with the killing cure."

Haden nodded and inquired, "That was your first offense, so what of the other man you murdered?"

"That man had just been fighting a friend of mine, Neville Longbottom, when I found them. Neville looked severely injured, so I stopped the Death Eater before he could do any more harm to either Neville or me and then attended to Neville. I went to fetch a healer, but when we got back to him, Neville was dead." Hermione went silent and looked at the floor, wishing she didn't have to recall all that had happened that day.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Granger. But since you knew this person, is it possible that you acted a bit rashly to save him?"

"What do you mean?"

Judge Haden sighed, fiddling with the pieces of parchment before her. "Do you realize that you are the only guard on dutty that day that resorted to killing—not just once, either, but twice? Why were you the only one who had to break the law to follow through on your responsibility?"

Hermione was very worried now. Things were not going very well and she ha done all she could to present her case favorably. "I amy have acted unreasonably, but please understand the pressure of the situation: there were many more Death Eaters than guards and they had the advantage of surprise; everyone was screaming and running around frantically trying to escape and in the process doing nothing whatsoever to help the situation; all of us were stunning the attackers, as we'd been instructed, but had to deal with the frustration of this having no effect at all; people were dying and being hurt everywhere and we had no idea when the Death Eaters would let up... Even my description hardly does the situation justice. I wasn't thinking straight; I was in a panic like everyone else."

The judge thought about it for a long moment, gazing down at Hermione as if she hadn't the least bit of sympathy for her. She said after a pause, "I will discuss your case with my colleagues outside and we will return with a decision. Please be seated in the meantime." She and the group of people off to the side who had been listening intently the whole time stepped through a side door and Hermione was left alone with the secretary and reporters, who stopped scratching at their notepads after a second.

Hermione used the bare wooden chair she had been given for the first time and sat in growing anxiety, waiting for the people currently deciding her fate to return. It was probably a half an hour before they opened the side door and filtered back in, but Hermione was certain several days and nights had gone by. She was worried at first by the judge's grim expression, but then her more optimistic side kicked in and reminded her that Tilda Haden had probably not smiled in ten years.

When everyone had settled back into their seats and the reporters—along with Hermione—waited on the edges of their seats, Judge Haden cleared her throat and read from a slip of parchment that had clearly just been prepared, "Hermione granger, we find you guilty of the aforementioned charges—homicide, attempted escape from the law, and keeping valuable information from the Ministry. You have demonstrated a lack of emotional control in your actions, and though your intentions were not malicious, it would not be dafe to allow you to return to society until we are certain that your actions were a result of the pressure of the war. As such, you will be held in the prison of Azkaban for a year, subject to occasional inspections by psychological experts of St, Mungo's hospital, or until you are deemed safe by said professionals to be released."

The doors to the courtroom opened and Mr. Cole reappeared, walking towards Hermione, obviously intending to return her to Azkaban. She jumped out of her seat and backed away from him, yelling hysterically at Haden, "A year? What's going to be left of me after a year of that place? You think I'm emotionally unstable so you're sending me to Azkaban! Are you mad?" At this point Cole caught Hermione by the wrist and started dragging her to the door. She started sobbing, her shoulders quivering as she let herself be led away. "Please, Ms. Haden, I'm not a murderer! Let me go, please." The judge acted as though she hadn't heard Hermione at all as she gathered her things together. Hermione, understanding that nothing she said now would help ne rin the slightest, went quiet and followed Mr. Cole out the door qithout a struggle.

Draco, who had been sitting by the door outside, waiting to hear the news, leapt up and walked speedily with Hermione and Cole as they made their way down the hallway. "Hermione, what happened?" he asked concernedly, noticing her tears.

She shook her head sadly, "A year in Azkaban."

Draco's horrification was evident, despite the fact that most of his face was hidden. He started to speak but was cut off by Mr. Cole. "If you need to speak with Ms. Granger," he said, looking at Draco, "you can put your name down for an Azkaban visitor's pass with the department chair. You are not authorixed to speak with her now or at any other time by any other means." Cole put a binding spell on Hermione and just as they were about to disapparate, Hermione—who hoped it would be the last time she would have to say it—mouthed silently, goodbye, and disappeared.

x x x

Author's Note: Happy New Year! Hope you enjoyed!