Chapter 63

Draco kicked the dueling dummy, pushing it to the side in a pile with the other items he used for combat training. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the muscle strain and wiped the sweat from his forehead on his sleeve.

The dummy was adequate for maintaining his deflection skills but other than that, it wasn't much of a challenge anymore. Sparring with Jugson was the only way to improve further. Draco never beat him, and only managed to get in the occasional hit. Probably more from luck than anything else.

He turned to head back to the Manor and stopped in his tracks. Pansy stood in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, watching him. His stomach dropped in his gut.

Fuck.

Draco wondered how she'd processed the fight in the drawing room. After hearing nothing, he thought torturing Hermione covered his tracks. He'd hoped so anyway. Maybe Pansy could tell it was fake. Having already seen him deny Pothead's identity she would have been suspicious already.

Warily, he approached her, heart thudding loudly and wondering what she'd say. As he got closer she placed a hand on her hip, taking in his sweaty, dirty attire with obvious distaste.

He didn't say anything as he closed the gap between them, silently gazing down at her.

She tilted her head and peered up at him.

"It's you."

He felt his chest collapse, as if all the air was being squeezed out of his lungs at once.

"It's been you all along," she continued.

Even if she hadn't told anyone - and she probably hadn't - she wasn't an Occlumens. Her knowing he was a spy was dangerous.

For her. For both of them.

Draco fingered his wand. He'd have to Obliviate her. It was the only way.

Pansy's dark eyes lowered to his hip and he tightened his grip on the wood.

He opened his mouth to explain but she held up her hand.

"Just tell me you're getting Theo out. We're running out of time."

He swallowed, and relaxed his hold on the wand in relief. "I know. They're getting things set up for him."

She parted her lips as if she wanted to say something, and then exhaled in irritation.

"Will they win?"

"Why?" he cracked a grin, feeling a bit more at ease. "Are you going to defect? Go into hiding with Theo?"

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him.

"Fuck you, Draco," she stuck a finger into his chest. "You know I can't do that anymore than you can. I want to know what you know. Right. Now," she ground out, punctuating her words with more pokes to his chest. He winced.

He gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist and lowered her hand. "They've got a decent chance."

She rolled her eyes.

"They've got a decent chance." Pansy parroted his low voice in irritation. "Start talking, Malfoy."

Draco thought of the massive amount of intel the Trio recently gathered in a situation where they should have – for all intents and purposes – been tortured and killed. And now they had a fucking goblin ready to help them get into Gringotts. If anyone could figure out how to break into his aunt's vault, it was Hermione Granger.

"More than decent," he clarified.

She tucked her short black hair behind her ear. "Can they kill him?"

That's what everyone wanted to know. If the Dark Lord could be killed, or at least stopped. He had no doubt Hermione knew how to end him.

"Yes."

She shifted her posture, and narrowed her eyes to dark slits.

Dammit. He knew that look. The interrogation hadn't ended.

"Does she appreciate what you're doing for them?" she raised her voice. "Does she know what it costs you?"

He started to reply but she cut him off and poked his chest again. "Ow!"

"Does she appreciate you? Does she know what she has?"

Fucking Pansy. She knew everything.

"Yes," he replied with a blush.

"Does she?" her voice became uncharacteristically shrill.

"Yes!" His voice rose in irritation but he smiled, feeling a pleasant warmth from her concern.

She raised an eyebrow and lowered her hand. "She better."

Pansy studied him in silence and reached out to take his hand, running her fingers over his knuckles. It felt strange, and yet familiar. They hadn't really been physically affectionate since he broke things off with her in sixth year.

She squeezed his hand.

"You've changed," she said softly.

Draco squeezed her hand back with a grin. "So have you."

She shook her head. "Not like that I haven't. I'm not going to pretend to understand but…" He saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes and she blinked them away. "I just don't want to die, Draco. And I don't want my family to either."

Her tears spilled out and he drew her into a hug, rubbing her back.

"You'll all be fine." It was a meaningless assurance.

"Shut it," she replied, her voice trembling. "Don't lie."

Pansy leaned into his chest, and her tears dampened his sweaty shirt. Thinking back on sixth year, Draco remembered how she held him while he cried countless times. He should have confided in her earlier back then. Maybe she wouldn't have taken the Dark Mark.

By then it was too late.

Speaking into his chest, her voice was muffled. "You have to Obliviate me."

Draco winced. For a moment, he felt so relieved to have someone find out. A fellow Death Eater, a long-time friend. It was tempting to confide in her, to talk about his struggles throughout the war, and have someone on his side. But doing so would be a death sentence for them both.

He sighed.

"I will."

The sun set over the pitch casting the sky in pink and purple shades, and Draco held her in silence. Neither one wanted to be the first to initiate the process of Obliviation. He tightened his embrace as evening approached.

Pansy sniffed.

"Draco?"

"Yeah?"

He looked down and saw a playful smirk grace her features.

"You smell like you were raised by Weasleys."

ooooooooooooooo

Harry held the Sword of Gryffindor at his side and stared down at the blackened halves of the Hufflepuff Cup, smoking on the ground before him. High off the success of their break-in to Gringotts, the Trio and Griphook had immediately Apparated to the Forest of Dean to destroy the Horcrux. Hermione had often gone camping with her parents here as a child. It was the first place she thought of, and so she brought them here.

Hermione still had adrenaline pumping through her. They had been so close to getting caught. She was excellent at Occlusion, but acting like Bellatrix wouldn't have earned her any awards. Griphook said the bank teller already suspected them and Harry improvised, casting the Imperius curse on him. Between the terror in the bank vault when the Gemini curse nearly prevented them from getting the Hufflepuff Cup, and then the realization that they wouldn't be able to leave without confronting the dragon somehow…

It had been… a day.

Hermione had no idea how she managed to Side-Along with them after they jumped off the dragon, dropping into a lake.

Not five minutes ago they had been soaring in the air, clinging to the neck of a dragon for dear life. Hermione hadn't seen any of it. Eyes squeezed shut, she had been sandwiched in between Ron and Harry, hoping against hope that she wouldn't fall.

All she could remember, besides the wind whipping through her hair, was the smell of Harry's shirt because her face was smooshed into his back the entire time. She thought they'd topple to their deaths when they first took off. Harry and Griphook had fallen back, smashing her against Ron but somehow, they all held on.

Later, the dragon dove downwards, and she, Ron and Harry were propelled against Griphook. She couldn't even scream. She just gritted her teeth, tore holes in Harry's shirt and prayed he had a better grip than she did. Hermione was barefoot now, having long lost the heels she had worn when Polyjuiced as Bellatrix somewhere over London.

"Guys."

Hermione, Ron and Griphook glanced up at Harry from the destroyed cup.

"We rode a fucking dragon!" He was staring at them in disbelief. Hermione, mouth agape, could hardly believe what had just happened either. "We broke into Bellatrix Lestrange's vault in Gringotts and we rode a fucking dragon!"

Ron and Harry high fived and started whooping like morons, having just escaped about 72 instances of near death when their plan veered wildly off the rails. She still couldn't believe they all got out alive. Griphook eyed them as if they had succumbed to temporary insanity. They turned towards her, expecting her to join in the fun but faltered at her expression.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, worried.

She gurgled, clutched her stomach, fell to her knees and vomited her lunch all over the Horcrux. Ron and Harry stared at her for a few seconds and then burst out laughing with loud guffaws. Hermione tried to glare at them but was too busy spitting the remainder of puke out of her mouth.

"She actually–" Ron wheezed, struggling to speak and clutching his stomach. "Bloody hell!" he wheezed again, laughing and sputtering. "She actually vomited on a Horcrux!"

Harry bent over and slapped his thigh. His face was bright red and tears streamed out of his eyes as he gasped for breath. The two leaned on each other and knocked heads with the force of their laughter, making them laugh even more. Griphook eyed her in distaste, thoroughly unamused.

"Are you two twats done?"

That only made them laugh harder. After a few more minutes of her recovering while the two tossers calmed down from their explosive laughter, Harry spoke.

"Nice aim," Harry observed, his mouth still twitching. "Who needs the Sword of Gryffindor? Next time just blow chunks on the Horcrux. You-Know-Who will be grossed out from your Muggle-born germs and voluntarily leave."

Hermione spat onto the ground and retched one last time. "Fucking hilarious," she grumbled.

Ron laughed again. "So you won't take up dragon riding as your next hobby?"

Harry conjured a cup and Ron cast Aguamenti to fill it for her. Harry held the cup out and she took it gratefully, washing her mouth of bile, spitting onto the vomit and then drinking greedily.

Ron extended a hand for her to stand again but Hermione shook her head.

"Let me sit for a few minutes," she gasped.

Instead of sitting, she lay down on her back, and then rolled over on her stomach, arms and legs splayed outwards. She didn't care that she was getting leaves and dirt all over herself.

It didn't matter what the fate of the Wizarding World was. She was never riding a dragon again. Or a thestral. Or a hippogriff.

How in the world did she get herself into these situations? And it was always her idea. Every. Single. Bloody. Time. She was a sodding idiot. She should just stop talking. And thinking. No more thinking for Hermione Granger.

This forest floor was the best in the world. She fisted the leaves and dirt and emitted a shuddering sigh.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, amused.

"Hugging the ground," Hermione answered. "I have never been so happy to see dirt and leaves in my life."

"Should we…uh…leave you two alone for a bit?" Ron asked her suggestively.

"We could get them a room perhaps," Harry commented. "When she's done having her way with the Durmstrang library."

"Sod off," she grumbled.

"You know," Ron continued, taunting her. "I bet riding a broom would be easier for you now. We could–"

"Fuck you," Hermione cut him off, breathless.

"Are you seriously still scared of riding brooms?" Ron said in disbelief.

"With the end of your broomstick," she continued.

Ron and Harry laughed.

"After it's been broken off," she closed her eyes. "So there's splinters. Big ones. Sharp and pointy."

Never, never, never again.

The two tossers broke out again into loud guffaws.

"Just think, you could finally join us when we play Quidditch!" Ron suggested, still sniggering and sounding entirely too happy with himself.

"I won't even go up into the stands anymore. I'll stay on the ground." She fisted the dirt again. "The wonderful, safe, beautiful, lovely, lovely ground." She turned her head, resting her cheek against the leaves and gazed at the vomit-covered Horcrux. "Disintegrate that thing, will you?"

Hermione turned over onto her back to see the two of them standing over her, still chuckling.

Harry lowered his hand and she clasped it. He yanked, easily pulling her much smaller form upward. She remembered when they were all the same size in first year. Now he and Ron both towered over her, much like Draco did.

Harry took aim at the two halves of the cup and blew them to smithereens with a well-placed Bombarda.

They all jumped back at the explosion and stood in silence, listening to the flapping of wings and loud chirping of birds as they flew away. Hermione stared at the hole in the ground where the cup used to be.

"Nagini," Ron said, voicing aloud what they were all thinking. He eyed Hermione with a sly smile. "You're the only one that didn't get to use the Sword of Gryffindor yet. Feel like decapitating the snake?"

Harry held the sword out to her and she eyed it with distaste. "I'd sooner play Quidditch with you lot than use that sword to decapitate anything."

"Careful," Harry sniggered. "You also said you'd spend the remainder of the war on the ground. No more aerial adventures."

She scowled at Harry as he took a few practice swings. Hermione and Ron watched him as he thrust and parried, spinning around with a flourish. "Fuck you, Vol–"

"NO!" Hermione and Ron yelled, leaping forward.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Kidding."

"You fucking cunt!" Ron cursed him, and punched his upper arm for good measure.

Harry grunted at the impact and laughed again, swinging the sword above his head with a flourish.

Hermione watched them take turns with the sword and smiled, despite her receding nausea.

Griphook cleared his throat loudly and the trio turned to face him in surprise, having forgotten he was there watching their antics.

"Alright there, Griphook?" Harry asked with a silly grin on his face.

The goblin nodded, and motioned to the sword in his hand. "The sword, Harry Potter. You will return it to the goblins as promised? It is rightfully ours." They had already discussed the necessity of the Sword of Gryffindor towards destroying Voldemort with him. Griphook knew that goblins would be subjugated under Voldemort's rule, and was eager to see him disposed of.

Harry squatted down, serious now, meeting Griphook's gaze at his own height, as an equal. The gesture was not lost on the goblin, who had already witnessed the relationship Harry had with Dobby. "You have my word."

"And mine," Hermione added.

Ron nodded as well. "We'll make sure the goblins get it back."

"You're an unusual wizard, Harry Potter," Griphook commented, turning towards Hermione. "And you're an unusual witch." He eyed Ron in thought. "They're a good influence on you."

Ron's face fell. "Hey, wait a min– oof!"

Hermione whacked Ron's torso with the back of her hand. No use starting a fight with Griphook. He'd been critical to them getting in and out of Gringotts.

"When we've killed Nagini," Harry continued. "I promise you."

Griphook nodded in agreement. One more Horcrux left, and Harry wouldn't be able to make good on his promise. They'd have to do it for him.

Her face fell at the thought. The end of Harry's life was getting closer and closer.

"Five down, one to go," Harry said, watching the wind carry the blackened dust of the Hufflepuff Cup away. A feeling of dread encroached on her as the wind blew softly in the forest. One to go, and then what? Voldemort and his army were still so powerful.

Despite the victory, they still didn't know what happened at Wembley Stadium. The close call they had with that second raid was a slap in the face.

Destroying the Horcruxes was necessary, but not enough. How could the Order overthrow him? How could they win?

Harry stared up at her and Ron. "Now we just have to get close enough to that thing to kill it without alerting You-Know-Who what we're up to."

Ron exhaled in frustration. "Shame Snape betrayed us. I wish we had someone on the inside."

Draco.

Even though Hermione couldn't wait to see him again, she knew he'd be furious once he heard what she'd done. She had to tell him about the pardon, too. And she had to tell Harry about his fate.

Bit by bit, the secrets she was holding onto needed to be told, and she wasn't looking forward to the fallout.

Harry stood up and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I bet this war would've been easier if we'd had a spy."

Hermione glanced up at them. If there was any time to clue them in to the fact that they had a spy, maybe even two spies, it was now. Even if she couldn't reveal their names.

She exhaled loudly.

"We do."

oooooooooooooooooo

Hermione sat in her parents' study, surrounded by the stacks upon stacks of books where she had copied laws pertaining to pardons and all the trial proceedings. It was unfortunate that she couldn't see Draco as often now that Lucius caught him, but his absence had given her free mornings, evenings and nights to delve into wizarding laws both archaic and recent. At this point, she could probably be considered an expert in this niche area of law.

Despite all her condensed research, Hermione still didn't understand Kingsley's problem. It was clear that the Minister of Magic could pardon whomever he or she damn well pleased, and someone in the Deputy's office, as Kingsley was now, would have considerable influence. If she understood correctly, he could even pardon Draco right now if he wanted to, under certain clauses.

No need for the Unbreakable Vow.

In the beginning, she had assumed Kingsley was telling a truth of sorts. Perhaps lying by omission like he had to Tonks. She thought it had stemmed from Kingsley knowing the laws better than she did and being unwilling to trap himself into a vow like that. He had worked at the Ministry for decades, had arrested wizards and as an Auror, participated in proceedings resulting in pardons and understood the inner workings of the Ministry judicial system much better than she ever could.

Hermione couldn't fathom what was so difficult about it. Indeed, every instance of post-war pardons seemed to be relatively easy in comparison to pardons which were performed during peace time. Certainly that's how it happened during the First Wizarding War. Society was eager to move on.

So what was she missing?

Hermione exhaled in frustration and stretched her arms. None of the hundreds and hundreds of individual trial proceedings that she read gave her any clue. None of the laws helped. For all intents and purposes, it wasn't just Narcissa that could get a pardon, but Draco could get a pardon. Lucius could get a pardon. Hell, Bellatrix Lestrange could get a pardon.

As time went on, she realized he was stringing both her and Draco along. But his reasoning wasn't even a half-truth. She didn't understand why the extent of Draco's crimes would matter and was nearly certain now that he was outright lying to her.

On purpose.

But why?

If his intent was to string Draco along and ensure he stayed on as a spy, why not inform Hermione of his plan? Why not make an Unbreakable Vow saying he would do his best, knowing that his best would be a pardon? Did it hang on Lucius? He could have given Draco a pardon now, but hold Lucius' for the end of the war if he wanted to string Draco along.

There were so many other ways Kingsley could have handled it.

Why was he lying?

Perhaps Hermione wasn't looking at the situation correctly. Not seeing the forest for the trees. She flipped back to one of the first tomes that she and Ginny copied. The treatise written after the Second World War. It didn't provide much in the way of detail, but had been a good starting point for her research. Absently, she flipped through the pages that described the actions of the then Minister of Magic Leonard Spencer-Moon.

She read a passage and her stomach lurched. She read it again. Her blood boiled and she read it one last time to make sure she completely understood the ramifications of the words on the page.

She slammed the book shut.

"Kingsley, you son of a bitch."

Next chapter: Antics with the other Golden Trio – Theo, Draco and Hermione. :)

Also, I know I don't respond to comments on this platform, it's just so clunky to use. But I read them and I love them. Every single one. And I appreciate it when you take the time to write them, so thank you very much. 3 You're wonderful readers and I'm glad you're enjoying the story.