A/N: This chapter feels a little hodgepodge to me, but maybe that means everyone will find something to enjoy (and review!). I'm officially back in the habit of writing during class, yay!

Chapter Nineteen:

Hermione had not been far wrong in her guess at the next day's headline. Vicious Kidnapping or Secret Tryst? was splashed across the front of the Daily Prophet, showing side-by-side pictures of Lucius and Hermione looking much as she had predicted. She had been awake when the paper arrived in the morning, so Mrs. Weasley had not had any time to dispose of it before she saw it. She read it over breakfast, determined to be amused by its contents. The day before she had made up her mind to vacate the Burrow as soon as possible, and now she was spending her last few hours with Molly before returning to her own little place.

It would be nice to return home, she thought. The upkeep was certainly easier, and everything was arranged to her greatest convenience. She a few neighbours nearby but none she was friendly with; her house was a cottage which had once been a gatehouse for a large manse nearly a mile away. The other magical residences in the area were on the same scale as the manse. No one was actually rude or dismissive, but she knew when she was not wanted, and none of her neighbours or their affairs struck her as very interesting anyway.

With a puff of green powder and emerald-tinged dizziness, Hermione arrived in her little fireplace and brushed the ashes from the robes Mrs. Weasley had lent her from Ginny's closet. She would also be thrilled to wear her own familiar clothes, she thought as she tugged the robes back into position. As she began the task of listing the items she would need to purchase now that she had returned, a tap-tap-tap sounded on the window nearest her. She groaned; doubtless this was the first of the hate mail she would receive.

Her first thought when she peered through the window was that this was an awfully lofty owl to be carrying hate mail. It could have been Hedwig's sibling, for all she knew about owls, downy and snowy white with speckles of brown clustered near its shining eyes. The bird held a leg out haughtily, displaying a folded piece of heavy parchment with her name written on the front in an elegant hand. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to tell her that she was a traitor to Wizarding Britain and her fellow Muggle-borns.

By the time she had read halfway through the letter, a grin was tugging at her lips, and when she finished, she was laughing. The owl hooted softly at her and beat its wings to attract her attention, then stuck its leg out again. She guessed that meant it was waiting for a reply. Still chuckling, she fished through her desk for her nicest parchment and newest quill. She hesitated before penning the response, trying to formulate just the right answer to this unexpected missive, and sent it off within half an hour.

Hermione spent the day around the house, wondering how much time she should let pass before doing the shopping she and her house desperately needed. She would have liked to go that very day – nothing was quite so comforting as shopping for groceries and other essentials – but she feared she might cause a riot if she showed up at any of her usual stores. How many people, she suddenly wondered, had been driven to shopping by catalogue by an unwanted bout of fame?

There was little too organise after all, and she found herself too soon staring out the window and wondering how to spend the rest of her day. Owls had been coming steadily all morning now, bringing mostly letters from more distant friends and the occasional – but more occasional than she had dared hope – hateful letter from those who had already read Rita's article and thought of a few words they desired to share. She toyed with the idea of sending replies to them, sarcastic or serious, and rejected it. The last thing she wanted now was to begin some sort of feud.

To her friends she did reply, and eventually afternoon passed into evening. With sunset came the Evening Prophet, which she opened reluctantly after resolving not to read it and then catching herself staring at it every few minutes. Malfoy's trial took up the bulk of the reporting, with moving pictures and snippets of testimonies amid much speculation. She sat down with the intention of glancing through the paper for any stories unrelated to this showboat trial, and when she looked up again, the sun had set and her stomach was growling.

Mrs. Weasley came by after dinner, unwilling to leave Hermione completely on her own just yet. The latter had looked forward to a quiet evening spent in more organisation and re-organisation of her life, but she welcomed the company nonetheless. Harry, Molly reported, had been very quiet this morning, and Ron had admitted that he'd had to practically drag him to dinner tonight. With most of their children gone, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would have been happy to give Harry a room of his own, but he insisted on paying rent. Of course, no one wanted Harry living alone; he was number one Voldemort's Most Wanted list.

The evening wound to a close, and the next couple of days passed in a similar fashion. She had finally received reluctant permission from her supervisor to return to work whenever she liked and now was enjoying a little peace and quiet, at least from the post, that she had not expected. The mysterious letter carried by the elegant snowy owl had come from Hermione's upper-crust neighbours who had heard, along with the rest of the country, that she was married to Lucius Malfoy.

Unlike the rest of the country and most of her social circle, however, they looked upon the marriage as a positive development. The letter had been an invitation to come up for tea some time and instructions to a simple ward that would keep hate mail away from her and anyone else she gave the spell to. Apparently it was not a widely-published charm, seen as one of the privileges remaining to high-society (and mostly pureblood) wizards.

So she had gone to tea the very next day and beforehand had fretted for much longer than usual about what she was to wear. They must know, she finally reasoned, that she was hardly at the same economic level as them, so she wore one of her nicer robes and refused to worry too much about it. As she had expected, she Apparated to the gate and was shown in by a house elf through a long corridor, floored in marble and hung with marvellous tapestries. While they walked, bits of conversation floated to them.

"… certainly not his father, is he?"

"I believe… long time that he was a squib. Just think of it, a squib in such a family!"

"…started off a bit of a disappointment, but now the old woman can't say enough about him!"

When they entered the airy sitting room, a handful of bejewelled women turn and fastened their eyes on Hermione, who tried not to blush under the sudden scrutiny. Their hostess, the youngest and most bejewelled of the woman, Mrs. Annette Mitherston who had invited her here, introduced Hermione to the other ladies present. Some of the names Hermione recognised from the Daily Prophet and others from her work at the Ministry.

One of the other women, old enough that grey showed in her hair and probably the most striking of the bunch, interrupted the last of the introductions to continue the conversation they had been holding before Hermione's entrance.

"You went to school with him, I believe," she said, favouring Hermione with a slight nod. "We hear such different accounts of Mr. Neville Longbottom. Perhaps you could enlighten us." Her tone was not particularly friendly, but neither was it unfriendly. It was… formal, she decided after a moment's reflection, stiff but respectful.

At one time, such a request might have unnerved her – though she never would have displayed her discomfort – but after the time she had spent with the haughty Lucius Malfoy, she thought she could converse with utter ease with just about anyone. She accepted a cup of tea and wet her lips before answering.

"I imagine that everything you've heard about him probably does contain a grain of truth," she replied. "He was far from Hogwarts's best student, but much of his difficulty, I believe, stemmed from his own unfortunate opinion of himself… and the unfortunate opinions of others. All he needed was a bit of positive reinforcement, and he flourished. Last I heard, he was travelling to a tropical island somewhere to study rare magical carnivorous plants."

Someone's cousin was embarking on a holiday to an island somewhere, and the conversation soon shifted away from Hermione and her schoolmates. So much the better, she thought. Ruminations about her time at Hogwarts would only serve to remind the women how much younger she was than them, at least ten years Mrs. Annette Mitherston's junior and young enough to be a daughter to most of them.

No one alluded to her marriage or her recent history, and she was politely invited to join them any time she wished. She did not mention that she would have to return to work soon and happily accepted the invitation. At the very least, she could come on Sundays. The others began drifting out late in the afternoon, but Annette invited Hermione to stay a bit longer, if she liked. The other woman confided that she was near insane with boredom at their little social circle, so unvarying, and was absolutely thrilled that Hermione could join them, "now that she had moved up in the world, if she would pardon her impudence."

Hermione repressed a laugh. So she had moved up in the world even though her marriage to Lucius was a purely legal fact? She wondered if Draco would agree with that sentiment.

"Having moved up in the world in such a…precipitous unusual fashion," she said after a moment's thought, "I'm very grateful for the charm you recommended." It was on the tip of her tongue to ask how she might go about necessary business like running errands, but it occurred to her that Mrs. Annette Mitherston probably sent her house elf on such dull quests.

"Oh, I'm glad you found it useful. Yes, I wondered if the more narrow-minded might think fit to fling at you such ghastly accusations as I cannot imagine."

Hermione was not sure if Lucius and Annette moved in exactly the same circles, but they definitely spoke alike. It was tempting to ask her neighbour if she had known… knew Lucius, but something told her that might be a question for a day when they knew each other a little better. She wondered how long her newfound friends, if friends they would be, could repress their curiosity on the subject of the marriage.

Later that week, Mrs. Weasley invited Hermione over for dinner, and she found Harry apologetic and a little sheepish. They agreed not to discus Ginny or Lucius, which proved especially difficult when Ginny herself showed up a few minutes later on a rare leave from her residency. It was nice to relax around her old friends, even the atmosphere was a little strained between Ginny and Harry.

The biggest piece of news was of course the trial, and avoiding in it conversation was a little awkward. She had not planned on attending the trial. No, that was an understatement; she had repeatedly announced her intentions to stay as far away as possible from that mockery of justice. But after a few days, the hints dropped by her friends, both in person and via owl, had both annoyed her and piqued her interest enough that she woke up early and made her way to the Wizengamot over an hour before the day's session was scheduled to begin in the hopes of avoiding the crush of people.

Mr. Grimpole and his opposing counsel were already at their respective places in the chamber, and the former started when he saw Hermione. He shuffled through a stack of papers and then scurried over to where Hermione took a seat. Throughout their greetings, she could see him shoot dark looks at the defender appointed for Malfoy. She wondered if the trial was going as well as the Daily Prophet claimed.

"Mrs., ah, Ms. Granger, you are very welcome, of course. I did not expect to see you here after our conversation the other day, but I am delighted to see you." If this was delighted, Hermione thought, she was glad not to witness distressed. Sweat beaded on his pale forehead, and his hands twitched and picked at one another. "I must apologise, though, you have come today for nothing. We all have. The members of the Wizengamot will not be happy to hear about this, oh no."

Hermione blinked. "We're here for nothing? What do you mean?"

He glanced again at the other attorney, who sat coolly and appeared not to feel the other man glaring daggers into her back. "I cannot say, but you will not have to wait long. I don't know what the Ministry was thinking, but I am near the end of my patience. It was their idea to try these Death Eaters in the first place, and then they changed the order of the trials so I did not have adequate time to prepare. There is simply no precedent for this type of proceeding, and… " He broke off suddenly when he seemed to remember Hermione's presence. "Again, I apologise," he said stiffly, made his goodbyes, and returned to his stack of paperwork.

The Wizengamot was slowly filling up as its members trickled in, along with the few public figures allowed and the eternal press. Some of them Hermione recognised, and most of those acknowledged her with a nod. She wondered if they were at all curious about her presence there and what they thought her motivation for coming. It was surprising, she thought, that Lucius's appointed defence had never contacted her, but then, she doubted anyone would be stupid enough to try for any character witnesses after he had publicly returned to Voldemort's service. Most likely she had resigned herself to working to prevent the Wizengamot from passing a death sentence on her client.

To Hermione's relief, the day's session formally began only a few moments behind schedule. Whatever this news was that would evidently render their presence today meaningless, she hoped to be out and back to her cottage before lunch. Maybe she could visit with the neighbours over tea again.

The presiding wizard called the Wizengamot to order, and the quiet conversations whispered on all sides died. He called Mr. Grimpole to continue with his witnesses, but the attorney instead announced that the Ministry had recently asked to meet with the two parties and that they had come to a settlement. Except the way he put it, 'had come to a settlement' sounded more like 'were forced into a rotten deal'. He sat down and curtly asked his colleague to elaborate.

The witch rose to her feet and straightened her robes. Not once did she glance at her opponent but explained in a mellifluous voice that the Ministry had realised that it was in the best interest of the people to suspend these proceedings until such a time as Lucius Malfoy could be located. She waxed eloquent for several minutes about the right of a witch or wizard to participate in their own defence and the necessity of maintaining the impartiality of justice in difficult times before finally returning to her seat. There was a discontented rumble from the Wizengamot which rose in volume until the presiding wizard had to order silence.

As there was no word on the rest of the trials, Hermione seriously doubted that the Ministry had suddenly come to the conclusion that their showboat trials would accomplish nothing at all in the way of just punishment. She could not imagine what reason they would have for effectively cancelling this trial in particular, but there was obviously much more to this than anyone was admitting. Unfortunately, she was sure that, as the wife of the accused, she would be the last person to learn the truth of things.

She fumbled her way through the crowd when the Wizengamot was dismissed and hurried out before anyone could catch up with her. If she had not thought it was possible to get worse publicity when the marriage was announced, she was certain that she would find herself mistaken. She did not doubt for a moment that Rita would spin this story as something she had manoeuvred in order to keep her beloved husband out of Azkaban.

Still, the charm against hate mail held, and Hermione's life began to settle back into its usual patterns, with a few key differences. One of these was her regular Sunday tea and a few soirées with her neighbours, and another was Mrs. Weasley's increased protectiveness. She did not actually come out and insist that Hermione find a nice young man or a roommate, but she visited more often than usual and showed up with little protective charms and objects. When she did screw up her courage to go out shopping for the first time – motivated more by desperation at her diminishing larder than real bravery – she endured whispers and hard looks all around her. The first time, it was easier than she had foreseen, and soon enough she barely noticed a thing. Really, it was almost enough to make her forget the nightmares that still plagued her. Soon, she promised herself, she would make an appointment with a Healer about them.

Another unusual change was her slowly-developing friendship with Draco Malfoy. He was the last person to whom she would have expected to be brought closer by recent events, but after her first visit, she found herself feeling sorry for him. Draco had failed Voldemort and so was rejected by most of the friends he had known from his youth, and he had never tried to endear himself to anyone else. Now he was stuck in a Finland and a vastly different life.

The second time she called on him, after having taken very careful precautions that no one should know where she was headed, she was almost as surprised as he was to find her on his front step.

"Granger," he began and stopped. He shook his head. "'s too weird," he muttered. "What are you doing here?"

She looked around as if expecting to find the answer spray-painted on the walls of the little frame house. "I… I'm not really sure. I thought maybe you could… I mean, things have been a little…"

"I don't need your pity," Draco interrupted, glaring at her. They stood like that for a moment, Hermione staring at her shoes and feeling Draco's eyes (her stepson's eyes, how bizarre was that?) burning into her skull.

He relented. "Well, you might as well come in. I received something you should probably have. It isn't mine, I suppose."

Her curiosity was piqued enough that she forgot to be embarrassed. She followed him inside and remarked to herself how nice it looked. The last time, she had not noticed, but it looked as though Draco – or someone – was determined to keep it looking like a real home. He noticed her wide eyes and grunted what might have been a laugh.

"Someone from the… the church comes by to visit me a couple times a week. They seem to think I'm the village cause, a poor orphan or perhaps marginally insane." He was searching through a small writing desk and then a coffee table strewn with knick-knacks as he spoke. "Mikaela brings me sausage and fish and cheese to make sure I don't starve. I don't know why she bothers." He turned around with something wrapped in a plain white handkerchief, and Hermione swore she noted a faint flush on his pale cheeks, which were looking a bit less hollow now. She wondered if Mikaela were a pretty young villager with gold hair and blue eyes who had taken to doting on the stray bird who had fallen here out of nowhere.

"Here," he said, thrusting the handkerchief toward her. "One of my father's old friends sent it. He must have gone through a lot of effort to smuggle it past the Ministry and my protectors." He pronounced that last word with a sneer reminiscent of the boy she had known in school. "I didn't know he had it him, the old poof."

Hermione paused, the small, mysterious object still clutched in her hand. "Do you mean Marius?"

Draco nodded slowly. "How do you… that's where they found you two, isn't it?" For the first time since she had arrived, he did not look bored. "One of these days, Granger, you're going to tell me how much of what that Skeeter woman said is true."

She snorted. "I may, if you refrain from insulting Monsieur Lefidèle, who was a perfect gentleman when we met." She carefully extracted the object from the soft folds of the handkerchief and gasped. It was the wedding ring Lucius had shown her what felt like years ago. She lifted her eyes to Draco in amazement. "How did he find this? The last…" Her voice trailed off as Draco's eyebrows seemed to try to climb his forehead.

"You've seen this before!" he exclaimed. He was silent for a moment before continuing. "Anyway, I don't know how he got it. And I don't know why he did not send it to you. Maybe it's more difficult to smuggle potentially Dark artefacts into the heart of the Ministry than the middle of a Finnish forest."

She barely paid him any attention as she studied the heavy ring in her hand. It looked exactly the same, the tiny gems all in place and the faint scratches on the inside as unreadable as ever. She wanted to recite the spell Lucius had used to reveal the names, but she did not think it was entirely appropriate to do so at the moment. They conversed for a while longer, but her mind was not on the conversation. As soon as she returned to her cottage, she pointed her wand at the ring and breathed the words she had heard Lucius say.

The same list appeared in above the ring in glowing blue letters. Or, it was almost the same list. There was her name, out of place among the names she recognised from wizarding histories.

Lucius Malfoy - Hermione Granger