A/N: I am continuously filled with joy to see how many folks are reading and responding well to this story. A tremendous thank you to everyone who has made it this far. As a treat for myself and for you, I'll be writing a cheesy, un-related to this story Dramione Valentine's Day one-shot, so look out for that in the coming week. Now, without further ado…
DRACO MALFOY WALKS FREE (FOR NOW)
Draco Malfoy, son of notorious Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, has been released from Azkaban after a shocking interruption at his trial. World-renowned legal counsel Valencia Collins announced herself to the Wizengamot, as per the request of the late Severus Snape, and will be preparing to defend Malfoy in court.
Malfoy has been charged with ties to the criminal Death Eater organization, aiding Voldemort in his attempt to conquer the Wizarding World and four counts of using the forbidden Cruciatus Curse. These crimes could easily land him in Azkaban for 50 years or more, but Collins has made a name for herself by defending guilty wizards and muggles alike.
Collins is best known for defending Elliot Inkwood in 1992. Inkwood was accused of performing the Killing Curse on a muggle and faced the Dementor's Kiss. However, Collins was able to sway the Wizengamot to decrease his sentence to five years of House Arrest without any further restrictions on his magic.
Draco Malfoy will return to the Wizengamot on June 6th for a full trial.
Both Draco Malfoy and Valencia Collins declined to comment.
My face isn't plastered across the front page as I had expected. This honour is given to my father in a gripping piece of rubbish journalism that focuses on how he spends his last moments in court defending Mother. I am only a footnote. A quick "turn to page 12 to learn the details of his son's trial." Father will be smiling if he gets The Daily Prophet in Azkaban.
The Prophet looks much nicer once it's set ablaze. The first Muggle tool to make its way into the Manor in centuries is a black metal lighter, capable of turning anything into flames. It came at Tomsy's suggestion. He thought that creating fire was one of the easiest and most spectacular things to do without magic. The elf deserved a thank you for that.
It is the daily routine that is most thrown off by my lost wand. Everything takes so much more time. Re-organizing spaces, fetching books, getting dressed. I thought I'd adjusted while at the cottage, but the reflex of reaching for my wand is ever-present. Fortunately, wasting time is necessary thing as I fight to fill it with things other than aimlessly wandering around the Manor.
The day after Valencia and Granger's visit is filled with crafting the perfect letter to Mother. One that captures how deeply I miss her and care for her wellbeing without worrying her. But the words are almost impossible to write, as if nothing I say will be good enough for her. My next attempt is short and to the point to avoid wasting another piece of parchment by writing a fiftieth draft filled with too many words and apologies.
Mum,
I'm okay. Tomsy and I are at the Manor. Snape went and got me a lawyer, and she's trying to keep me out of Azkaban.
Can you have books sent to you? I am reading this rather charming story about animagi. One of them is a swan. She reminds me of you. Perhaps you'd like to read it when I'm done.
With love,
Draco
The letter addressed to Valencia is sent off with Ulysses. It is almost nightfall once the owl takes it away, and I immediately miss the distraction. Tomsy has spent the time preparing an exquisite dinner for one, consisting of Cornish pasties and a trifle for dessert. My long-delayed gratitude for the lighter is given by making various comments about how good it tastes, despite fighting myself to finish it. My stomach has still not adjusted to the overabundance of food, and I am considering asking Tomsy to bring a stomach-expanding potion.
I debate working on Valencia's homework of identifying memories. The task seems too heavy after an already busy day of coming up with what to say to Mother. Instead, the evening is spent by beginning to re-organize my bedroom into something that I no longer recognize. Tomsy helps by using his magic to move it all into the corridor to scrub it clean. Every inch is dusted, mopped, and washed with enough soap to banish any lingering trace of the Death Eaters that would visit it on occasion during the war. We're equally tired by the time it's clean, so Tomsy conjures the bed back into the room and moves it to the window instead of its usual middle-of-the-wall placement, and we leave the rest in the corridor for the morning.
The shower is turned on to an appropriate scalding hot temperature to burn off the leftover memories from my old bedroom. I scrub myself rather quickly, desperate to let the soap carry away the grime of the Manor. Once clean, the water starts to calm my head. The distraction is enough to have me trying to occlude again, but nothing seems to stick. It's all still there, and the only thing holding it back is the scalding hot water falling around my face. I give up before the failed attempts bring out frustration.
Desperate to think of anything else, I trace my palm down my abdomen and grab hold of my member. My eyes glue themselves shut, and I try to visualize Pansy with her knees on the shower floor, head bobbing between my thighs. It starts to work, and I feel a jolt of pleasure rush through my limbs. A memory of her there, back in fifth year, pops inside of my head. Her enthusiasm had resulted in a beautiful gagging sound, and I remember it so well that it almost feels real now, with my hand pumping back and forth.
As a fire starts to brew low in my belly and the pressure builds, a brief vision of Pansy's bloody knees replaces the one of her blowing me. But this time, they're attached to a Pansy that is screaming, desperate for somebody to come and saver her as I cast my wand upon her. I let the Cruciatus Curse blast from my wand, hitting her in the chest as her body contorts in pain.
Meanwhile, I feel a forceful release leaving my body, and my eyes snap open, remembering where I am. The orgasm ends, and my body responds my retching in the shower, disgusted by where my mind went. The thought of me attacking Pansy felt so real, despite our breakup being the only thing I'd ever done to hurt her.
I shrink down to the shower floor once the water has washed the bile away. Tears puddle in the corner of my eyes. I reach to wipe them away but am stopped by the reminder of how my hands have betrayed me. Looking at them, and at my nakedness, shame and detest fill me, from my gut to my head.
The water falls over me until it goes cold. After shutting the water off, I drag myself to the darkness of my bedroom and collapse into the four-poster, half-minded to open the window instead and jump off the balcony, giving me something else to feel. Something that I'd deserve more. Instead, my still-wet body soaks my sheets, and I fall asleep in discomfort.
I wake the following day to gentle dampness, unsure if it's sweat or the water from before. Tomsy has already dropped off a breakfast tray, and I can't stop myself before I throw it against the wall, leaving the plates to clatter against the floor, breaking off into hundreds of pieces.
"Did Tomsy make it wrong?" He pops, having heard the noise from elsewhere in the Manor.
"No," I groan, pulling the bedsheets over my head and begging to disappear into them.
"Then why does Master Draco not be wanting it?"
"Not hungry," I muster, hopeful that he will leave soon. He does, leaving two cups of coffee on the nightstand in his absence. He knows me well, and I need to stop being so harsh on him.
It takes a few hours of sipping coffee and self-hatred before I'm ready to move on from the events of last night. Tomsy is called back, and together we finish re-organizing my bedroom. It is almost unrecognizable from before. The elf has transfigured all my furniture into something just different enough to betray my old sense of style. Old green sitting chairs are now loveseats in an array of colours. Cabinets are now drawers, coated black and with carvings decorating them. Even the floors are changed from marble to hardwood.
Once we're done, Tomsy leaves me alone with a sandwich and a third cup of coffee for lunch. I take them over to one of the striped, red loveseats and pull out my book, Crafted Creatures. It follows two lovers, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth, who are forbidden from seeing each other. They devote themselves to studying the magic of animagi and try to turn themselves into creatures so that they can be together in complete secrecy. Elizabeth manages to shift herself into a swan and spends years floating up and down the river waiting for Fitzwilliam, enjoying the peacefulness of the forest. I can't help but wonder where Granger's mind went when reading the book. Did she find it joyful, or did the magic force her studious little brain to try and mimic it? Maybe she could turn into a creature, too. I wouldn't be surprised. She certainly wouldn't have become a graceful swan. Maybe a beaver.
The days between Valencia's visits are spent reading, re-organizing rooms, and delaying her homework. Whenever I sit down to do it, quill and parchment in hand, my mind either goes blank or gets distracted by memories of my wrongdoings. There are so many that I continue to doubt whether it's worth trying to save me at all.
Eventually, it's time for Valencia's arrival. She's precisely on time and walks with her familiar clack until she finds Tomsy with her coffee ready to go. We meet in the study, and she looks at me expectantly.
"I'm sorry. I didn't come up with very much," I admit.
"Hmm. I knew you'd be trouble," she sighs. "Luckily for you, I've been harder at work. Severus left behind a few memories in his vault, and I hadn't been approved to use the Ministry's pensieve until now…"
I try to listen as Valencia shares details about becoming privy to some of Snape's memories. One of them is from the night on the Astronomy Tower, and it's clear how much I didn't want to be there, how I couldn't have killed Dumbledore with that mindset. She lists a few others, but I've stopped paying attention. All I can wonder is how long Snape has been planning on helping me, considering how old the memories go back. How long he'd been saving them for.
Her confidence in the case proves how little I need to be there for it all. She's going to be doing all the talking, anyway. I quickly decide that the outcome won't be that different based on how much I help her, so why bother. It's not like I asked for her to be here, anyway.
It takes a few beats to notice that she's stopped talking. She recognizes my zoning out as indifference and carries on like it doesn't bother her. I only start to pay attention again when she mentions my mother.
"Wait, you saw her?"
"Oh, I figured that would get your attention. Yes, I am granted full access to her as long as it relates to your case. I hand-delivered your letter, by the way. They're quite strict on her owls, so any response will come through me. You can expect it from my owl when she has one."
I hadn't realized how hopeful I was for a letter from Mother until realizing that there wouldn't be one today.
"So, you've spoken to her? How is she?"
"Nothing that would make a difference to you, Draco. She sends her best. She is willing to supply memories that paint you in a good light. She's going to make a difference in your sentencing, I guarantee it."
She blabs on with examples as I tune out again, slightly calmer knowing that Mother is, at the very least, safe.
An hour ticks by, and Valencia stops talking. I wonder if saying everything aloud is helpful to her because it certainly doesn't make a difference to me.
"Do you want me to ask you to try helping me again?" She asks.
"Whatever," I say, curious why she'd even bother trying again.
She tries to encourage me to complete the tasks that she'd given last time, reminding me how they'll help present a picture of an eager-to-please son caught up in something far bigger than himself. Is that really how she sees me? What rubbish.
"Is there anything else you'd like to discuss while I'm here?"
"No," I start. And then I remember that she's the only person in the world that I can tell some things to. "Yes. Let's just say that I've been a part of more crimes than the ones they're charging me with. Do we keep them a secret? Or have these six months given them more time to learn about them?"
She purses her lips and pauses. Thinks for a moment.
"I can't speak for everybody in the Wizengamot, but I can almost guarantee that all of them know that you've done more than they've charged you with. It's the same with all the Death Eaters. Nobody will ever know just how many atrocities some have committed. The sentences are given assuming the worst. So, we just need to make sure they know what the best is."
With this, she grabs her things and heads back to the fireplace. Tomsy leads her away, and I head back to my bedroom. Once I'm alone, I realize how grateful I am that she hasn't asked what else I'd done wrong or who had gotten hurt.
Crafted Creatures starts to give me the rest of my night's entertainment. Inside, Elizabeth wonders if Fitzwilliam will ever learn the spells to be with her again. I wonder, too, and try to predict what kind of ending awaits me at the end of the book. I expect sadness, with Fitzwilliam rejecting their original plan to avoid more family drama.
Before I can read too many pages, a gentle knocking is at my window. A small brown barn owl is sitting outside, holding a thin piece of parchment tied with a red ribbon.
I thought I might come back to the Manor tomorrow morning just to see how you're holding up and wanted to warn you first. You seemed a bit startled last time.
Hermione Granger
The owl stays at my window, clearly waiting for a letter to take back to Granger. I consider sending back something crass, like a "Fuck off" or a warning that she'll be forbidden from visiting the Manor if she even tries to visit. But as I reach for a blank piece of parchment, the image of her there, lying on the floor underneath Bellatrix, springs back into my mind. The part of me that wanted to save her back then jumps to the forefront, reaching for the quill.
I can't stop you.
I send it off without a signature and try to return to my book. Only this time, thoughts of Granger being mutilated on my bedroom floor flood through my mind. They shouldn't bother me. Hell, I'd wished for it to happen in my early years at Hogwarts. I'd wish for her demise every time she would raise her hand too eagerly or do better than me on a test. And then Bellatrix happened, and I kicked myself for ever wanting it.
The inability to stop thinking about it forces me to take a Sleeping Draught for the first time since my return to the Manor. Tomsy seems to have it ready instantly as if he'd had some prepared in advance. I'm not surprised, given how many I'd take before and during the war.
I'm thankful for the dreamless sleep and wake up the next morning feeling more rested than usual. I go about my morning like I would have before, dressing in robes and fixing my hair as if I had somewhere to go. It takes until I start drinking the morning coffees that I realize that it's more work than I'd put into my appearance in weeks. And then I remember that Granger is coming, and my eyes roll into the back of my head in annoyance.
"Tomsy," I start after snapping my fingers. "Granger will be arriving shortly. I'd like you to keep her away from the ballroom. Something bad happened there that I'd like to prevent her from reliving. Understood?"
"Yes, Master Draco. Miss Hermione will not go into the ballroom!"
"Just call her Granger, Tomsy."
He nods, looking almost excited. Maybe he's just glad to be seeing somebody other than me or Valencia, as neither of us seems to be particularly fond of him. Granger will probably adore the bloody thing.
I find myself sitting near the fireplace as soon as the clock lands at an appropriate time to visit somebody. She arrives an hour later, and I'm still waiting in the same spot. She's wearing ridiculous muggle denims and a pink jumper. I have to hold my tongue to avoid commenting on the ensemble.
"Draco."
"Granger." Ice cold.
Our unfriendly greetings leave me to question why we're even bothering, why she's still going through the trouble to seem like the perfectly nice witch.
Tomsy arrives to interrupt our awkward standing around.
"Miss Hermi- Granger! Tomsy will escort you and Master Draco to the sitting room."
"Oh, hello Tomsy! It's a pleasure."
"I quite like her," Tomsy says, looking back at me.
Of course, he fucking likes her.
"Would Miss Hermione like tea or coffee?"
I glare at him.
"A tea would be lovely, Tomsy. Thank you."
"I told him to call you 'Granger.'"
She laughs. "Please tell me you won't punish him for the mistake."
"Don't worry. I don't see the point. He can be quite daft. Not sure how punishing him would make a difference."
"Good."
It's still awkward as we take seats on opposite sides of the coffee table and wait for Tomsy to return with the drinks.
I can't take it anymore and decide to break the silence.
"So, I've almost finished that book."
"Oh, yes! Crafted Creatures, was it?"
I nod.
"I don't want to spoil the ending with my analysis, so you'll have to tell me when you're done. Are you enjoying it?"
"Yeah."
It's quiet again, and I look at everything except for her.
Finally, Tomsy returns with her tea and my coffee. He places it on the table between us and disappears again.
My old hosting instincts kick in, and I go to pass her the teacup.
"Milk or sugar?"
"Milk, please. Thank you."
After stirring in the milk, I walk around the table and reach the teacup out for her. The tips of her fingers touch my palm as she grabs it from my hands, and for a moment, I think she's spilled it on me. A warmth spreads into my skin, and I pull back quickly, shaking out my hand and flexing my fingers.
"Oh, sorry," she interrupts my confusion.
I look down and realize that there is no spilled tea. It was just a touch of her fingers. Why apologize, then? Electricity lingers in my hand as I back away, grabbing my coffee before settling back into the couch.
A minute passes by as we sip at our drinks.
"So, how are you doing?" She eventually asks.
"Why are you here, Granger?" I ask back, avoiding her question.
"Well, Malfoy, by the looks of things, it doesn't seem like you have many friends visiting you. I figured you might be bored or lonely and want some company. And considering how I have a little more knowledge on what's going on with you and your trial compared to any of your other friends, I thought you might appreciate the concern."
Friends. Hah.
"I don't need your concern."
"No, I suppose you don't. But I'm here, and I can be quite hard to get rid of."
She's determined. I'll give her that.
"Fine."
We sit in silence for a few more minutes, waiting. I try to think back to when we would have visitors before the war. Ones that weren't Death Eaters or looking to become one. Mother was always the gracious host. She always knew what questions to ask and what stories to share. Her personality was magnetic, and it was easy to imagine what she would be saying if she were in the room now. There was no doubt that she would be able to capture Granger into an insightful conversation on her Muggle upbringing. I'd come across as insensitive or nosy if I attempted the same.
An appropriate question finally comes to mind.
"So, why are you a part of the Wizengamot anyway? Did Potter get you a job?"
"Oh, no, I'm not a part of the Wizengamot. Not yet at least. Honestly, I think they're trying to repair their image after the war. Not everybody trusts them. And apparently, they think I can help with that. I've been given something like an internship, shadowing a witch named Elliada Lacework. She's a part of the Wizengamot. I follow her around and make her coffee while I learn the proceedings. I'm sort of like her Tomsy."
"Ah, so you don't get to vote on whether I'm sent to Azkaban for the rest of my life?"
She winces.
"No."
"I guess my plan of winning you over so that you have no choice but to vote in my favour is out, then," I joke.
"I guess so," she laughs.
It's the longest civil conversation that we've had. I wonder how much longer she'll stay. What amount of time would meet her quota of good deeds? Or maybe she's just as bored as I am and needs a way to waste her time.
"You must have kept busy after the war, then."
"I guess so. It's been quite odd, having to adjust to a life where there isn't this huge threat looming over us. Harry has had a particularly hard time adapting."
The details of Harry Potter's life have barely concerned me since the Battle of Hogwarts. We spent so many years in rivalry that his eventual win felt natural. Freeing, almost.
"Are you and the Weasel still living in his shadow, then?"
"I don't know about Ron anymore, but I'm certainly not. Harry and I have very different aspirations. I'm just happy that he feels like he can have a life outside of hunting horcruxes."
"Why, what happened to Weasley? And what's a horcrux?"
She ignores the latter question, and suddenly she's opening up about Ronald Weasley. How they were romantically involved after the Battle of Hogwarts, and how she'd spent years assuming that they would end up together. But apparently, he wanted to start a family almost immediately after they started dating and Granger was appalled by the suggestion. She feels like she's too young, she says. I nod in agreement, overwhelmed by the sudden bust in conversation.
Merlin, the woman can talk. She takes ages telling me about the intricacies of their involvement and complains about him as much as I would have in First Year. She just keeps going, and I can't help but wonder how easy things would be if my biggest problems were as small as hers. But then again, her biggest problems were having to save the world only a few years ago. Perhaps she's already carried enough baggage for a lifetime.
"I'm sorry. I know that's a lot. I don't know why I told you all of that."
"At least you're not married to a Weasley."
We take another long pause, but this time we're looking right at each other. And eventually, she breaks out into a laugh. And it must be infectious, because I start to laugh, too. And it's the first time that I have in ages, because the sound of it surprises me.
Once the laughter dies down, I'm faced with the reality of what's happening. I'm sitting across the table from a Mudblood. Somebody who I, along with countless other wizards, worked toward trying to exterminate only a few years ago. She should be terrified of me. And yet, she's spilling her boring secrets over a cup of tea. And I'm letting her.
"You should probably go," I say after the sound of her laughter rings through the air one more time.
"Have I bored you to death?"
"Yes." And before I can stop it, there's a smirk on my lips.
I lead Granger back to the fireplace, where Tomsy waits with the sac of Floo powder.
"Take care of yourself, Malfoy," she says before taking some of the Floo powder, thanking Tomsy.
Something jumps inside of my stomach as she prepares to leave. Before I can stop myself, I'm saying, "You can come back, you know."
Then she's looking straight into my eyes, nodding, and leaving in a pile of flames. And I'm alone with an empty manor, a book that I'm almost finished, an Elf, and no stories that I can tell and laugh about.
"I liked her very much," Tomsy repeats from in front of the fireplace.
"I know," I say, rolling my eyes. "I don't."
But then I look down at my palm, feeling the surge of electricity, and realize that I didn't entirely hate her company.