Chapter 84

Potter walked next to Draco as they proceeded slowly and silently down the corridor, returning to the Great Hall where the injured were being treated and the dead bodies collected.

Neither one of them spoke. Both mulling over Severus' revelations and the tragedy they would be confronting in a few moments. The two reached the entrance of the Great Hall together, each taking a deep, steadying breath.

Potter gave him a side glance.

"Ready, Malfoy?"

He felt sorry for the git. Draco already knew who had survived and who hadn't from his side. At least, he knew of those he most cared about. Potter was in for a rude awakening.

"No."

Apprehensive of who else he would find dead, Draco turned and scanned the expanse of the room. Potter was doing the same. All the rubble and broken overturned chairs and tables had been cleared and rows of bodies, dead and injured, were laid out on the floor. Cho Chang, Pomfrey and Mary were running back and forth. Some Healers in St. Mungo's robes had arrived and were also treating the injured.

He saw people hugging, some crying in relief, others sobbing from gut wrenching loss. Draco noticed the remaining Death Eaters had their wands confiscated and were warily eyeing the patrolling Aurors. Everyone looked exhausted.

All of a sudden someone plowed into him, nearly knocking him over as an arm clamped around his torso. He looked down to see Hermione with one arm around him and the other around Potter. She was sobbing and must have lost somebody else close to her, which meant Potter did too. Everyone lost someone; family and friends.

Draco recalled the smell of burnt flesh when Tracey was caught in the safe house explosions, and the blood leaking out of Daphne's ears. His eyes filled with tears at the memories.

Reaching around, he rubbed Hermione's back as she cried, but she let go of him to cling to Potter. Draco leaned down to kiss the top of her head, nodded at the Chosen One, and walked away to find his parents.

She'd want to grieve with her friends, and he could be in Azkaban for all he knew. Hermione was safe; he'd remember the moments they shared together always. But it was time to let her go. He glanced back to see her dragging Potter around the periphery of the hall, and his heart ached from the loss of her presence. But he didn't deserve her. He was tainted and always would be. He was doing the right thing.

Steeling himself for a future without Hermione, he went to find comfort in the familiarity of his parents and friends and wandered around, pausing when he found a cluster them crying over the dead. Pansy knelt next to Daphne's and Vince's prone bodies, sobbing and pleading, "Why did you do it?" while Theo held her.

Greg and Millie huddled next to Greg's father, who was grimacing from an injury he sustained in his leg. Millie was bleeding from her nose and knuckles. Greg glanced up, met Draco's eyes, and then looked at his feet.

Would Greg understand one day? Would he ever forgive him?

Draco stared at Vince's body, noticing how pale and bloodless his friend's thick face was. A large laceration from the Sword of Gryffindor tore across his chest, and his father lay dead next to him. Vince's mother sat by their heads, weeping silently. Entire families had been destroyed in this insane quest for pure-blood supremacy.

Draco's throat constricted as he tried to swallow his tears. Madam Crabbe had healed many of his bruises after romping across their estate grounds with Vince and Greg. And she had spoiled them rotten with cookies, cakes and other treats.

Draco looked back at Greg, unsure if his friend knew that he had been the one to kill Vince. He hadn't said anything earlier. It had been absolute chaos in those first few minutes. Even though Vince died by Draco's hand, he wanted to console his friend's mother. But it all felt wrong. He had betrayed this woman who was in his life as a child, and as he grew up. Even so, he couldn't repress the feeling that consoling her was something he should do anyway.

Bending over, Draco held out his hand to Madam Crabbe. She stared with bloodshot eyes at his palm, and placed her fingers inside. Gently, he lifted her up and wrapped his arms around her frail body to mourn the loss of his childhood friend and their youth, together.

"Oh, Draco!" Her shoulders shook as she sobbed into his chest. "He fought so bravely!"

Draco felt terrible, like an impostor that had no right to console her over her son's death, but he tightened his arms around her anyway. They stood in an embrace for several moments, shedding tears together. He sensed more than saw his own mother approach from behind and take Vince's mother into a hug, letting her sob onto her shoulder next.

Draco met his mother's eyes, now red with tears, and they shared a moment to acknowledge how lucky they were. He was about to turn away but she grabbed his hand, fixing him with an intense gaze over Madam Crabbe's shoulder and mouthed, "Proud of you."

She rubbed his knuckles with her thumb and squeezed her eyes shut before crying some more. His chest hurt with the guilt upon seeing so many torn families, and his own intact. His mother released his hand to make soothing circles on Madam Crabbe's back.

Draco searched for Blaise, leaving his mother to console the poor woman who was now left alone in the world, and saw him next to Kingsley Shacklebolt. With a start, he realized the two were standing over Yasmine's body. Draco hadn't seen Yasmine at all in the battle, and he hurried over. Blaise and Kingsley were speaking with Mary as she worked furiously on Madam Zabini's prone form on the floor.

As he approached, Draco nearly vomited when he saw the state of Yasmine's body. Half of her face and scalp were burned. The exposed and mottled flesh continued on down her neck, over her shoulder and arm. Her clothing melded into her skin in several areas, and Mary was in the process of extracting the pieces.

"What happened?" he asked, keeping the revulsion out of his voice.

Blaise and Kingsley glanced up at him, he didn't know which one looked more distraught.

"Rabastan," was Kingsley's one-word answer.

"Where is he?" Draco asked.

"Dead," they answered, tonelessly.

Mary glanced up at Blaise. "She's stable, but she'll be out for the next twelve hours. Keep her here. I don't want to move her any time soon." She reached in her bag and handed Blaise a dark orange vial and a green vial. "Give her the green vial as soon as she wakes up. The pain will be intolerable." She looked sharply at Blaise and Kingsley. "Do either of you know how to cast cleansing charms?" Both shook their heads to the negative. "I'll show you how, and then you must perform them every thirty minutes over the next five hours while the accelerated skin growth potion works through her system. At the fifth hour, get a Healer to administer the dark orange vial and we'll see if there's any infection. Don't do it yourselves. Fifth hour."

They nodded at her directives.

Draco put a hand on his friend's back, but Blaise didn't pay attention. Draco watched while Blaise and Kingsley followed Mary's movements, rapt with attention so as to get the form correct. When Mary was satisfied with their competency, she left without another word and set to work on someone else.

Silent tears wet Blaise's cheeks. Kingsley raised his hand for a moment, paused, and then rested it awkwardly on his friend's shoulder. Both were completely oblivious to Draco's presence.

"Are you," Blaise's voice cracked. Draco had never seen his friend so overcome with emotion, and remained silent off to the side. "Are you my father?"

Draco was intruding on his friend's privacy, but fascination with Blaise's mysterious background kept him rooted in place.

Kingsley raised his eyebrows in surprise. "No. She never told you?"

Blaise shook his head. "She wouldn't tell me anything about him. I'm not stupid. I know she made the others kill themselves." Kingsley didn't acknowledge the accusation, but Blaise turned to face him. "And I know you're different."

Kingsley knelt down and placed a tender hand on Yasmine's uninjured shoulder. Blaise knelt down next to him. "I don't think it's my place to say."

Blaise replied in anger. "It's over now and I'm not a child. There's nothing more to protect me from." When Kingsley remained quiet, Blaise added softly, "She'd tell me if she could."

They stared down at Yasmine's body in silence. Draco watched while Kingsley mulled over his friend's request. "Very well," Kingsley relented. "Her family arranged the marriage when she was fifteen."

"That much I know."

"He," Kingsley cleared his throat, "He treated her poorly."

Draco saw Blaise clench his fists. "How poorly?"

Kingsley stared down at Yasmine's slowly healing skin, and flared his nostrils as smooth, pale tissue grew over the dark red dermal layer. "Poorly enough that I didn't feel sorry for what she did to him." He paused and wiped his hands on his trousers. "He was part of the beginnings of Hizbollah."

Blaise's eyes widened. "My father."

Kingsley nodded. "I was fresh out of Auror training. We were investigating wizards selling magical artifacts to terrorists, organized crime and the like. Your mother had a lot of useful connections back then."

"So you reached out to her?"

A sliver of Kingsley's teeth appeared between his lips as he smiled. "You really have no idea how we met."

Blaise shook his head, while Draco listened in interest, and Kingsley continued, "She was your age at the time, and assumed I was just another foreign Muggle in Beirut covering the war." Kingsley's smile widened at the memory, "She tried to pickpocket me while you showed off a lollie to distract me."

Blaise huffed a laugh and wiped his eyes. "I don't remember a career as a pickpocket."

"I'm sure it was an effective tactic," he squeezed Blaise's shoulder. "When I caught your mother red handed, she tried to get away using Legilimency, not knowing I could block her."

"You could block her?" Blaise asked in disbelief.

"Back then, yes. Now?"

The two chuckled in solidarity.

"I offered her a job as an informant, and brought her books to refine her skill. She told me the pay was shit for a single mother with no support system, having to keep you sheltered from the dangerous nature of her work. And she was right, but our budget was sparse. So she found a way to make money on the side leveraging the work we gave her." Kingsley rubbed his face in amazement at the memory. "Quite a lot of money."

Blaise cast a Cleansing Charm over his mother while Kingsley inspected the damaged areas. "Redo the area on her forehead."

Blaise bent over to refine his technique while Kingsley watched. Blaise sat upright again and Kingsley sighed. "She'd do anything for you."

"I know," Blaise croaked.

"Would you like to hear some stories from the field?"

Blaise glanced up eagerly at the older wizard. "Please."

"Draco," Kingsley spoke.

Draco stiffened and the two turned around to see him standing behind them.

"Sorry," he apologized, and shifted his feet. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. She'll recover?"

"Yes," Blaise nodded and more tears leaked out of his eyes. "But she'll be scarred."

So will we all.

"You did well, Draco," Kingsley said with an appraising glance. "Go find your cousin. She has something for you."

Curious, Draco cast his eyes about the Great Hall for the one-eyed Auror, but instead found Hermione kneeling on the floor with Potter amongst a crowd of red hair. It looked like the father and She-Weasel were badly injured, but alive. They were all crying, attending to the injuries.

Draco instinctively started walking over to comfort Hermione, just as she did for him, but reminded himself that she had family – biological or not – and she had friends. She didn't need him. It would be hard for her at first with him locked up, but she'd eventually move on and find someone else.

Draco's heart hurt when he thought of Hermione finding someone else, but he knew it would be better that way. She had done so much for him, and he had been lucky enough to know what it was to be loved by her. She believed in him, and believed he was a good person worth fighting for.

Maybe after Azkaban he could be free of the crushing weight of his sins. Maybe then he would deserve to be happy.

Someone approached from behind and he turned around. Exhausted, his cousin looked up at him, now cleaned from blood, and her eye was dark blue, no longer the deadly black from the battle.

"What are you doing after this?" she asked, her voice was strained.

"Azkaban," he replied drily, resigned to his fate.

She scoffed. "No."

"No?" he raised an eyebrow, remembering that Kingsley told him that she had something for him. "But the Wizengamot–"

"You won't face the Wizengamot."

His lips parted, and she smirked. "What?"

"You'll face the Independent Oversight Commission for the DMLE," she chuckled mirthlessly. "Along with me."

"With y–"

"Kingsley told you, we're doing this right," she cut him off with a rueful smile. "Wizarding England won't survive another civil war."

"But I'm a Death Ea–"

"You're a member of the Order, Draco," Tonks interrupted him again. "Working undercover. The Wizengamot aren't qualified to judge law enforcement officers. Never have been. They're not qualified to judge the Order either."

"An Order member." Draco's mind reeled with how she reframed his reality. "But how many sit on the commission?"

"Five members."

He blinked. "That's all?"

"You were hoping for more?"

Draco felt all the air deflate from his lungs. He had wronged so many people. Even if he was cleared, it wouldn't be done properly. They weren't elected officials like the Wizengamot, they were appointed. And some were prior officers. They didn't make up a cross section of society, they weren't a governing, representative body.

"But what if–"

"What if you're convicted?"

What if I'm acquitted. But he was afraid to speak.

She placed her hand in his and a small, cold metal object touched his palm. "That's what this is for."

Draco opened his palm to see a small brass key with the Gringotts emblem.

His heart skipped a beat. "What's in the vault, Tonks?"

"Your pardon."

"My pardon," Draco repeated as his hand trembled with rising panic.

He'd be cleared, but he'd have to live with himself. He'd never escape Dedalus' inhuman shrieks as Draco broke his body. Lovegood's blue eyes would haunt him forever, and he'd carry those dead children with him everywhere.

The thought was unbearable. He couldn't take it, and clenched his stomach muscles, feeling like his body was caving in on itself.

"Kingsley wrote it several months ago after an Order meeting when Hermione demanded it. We initially refused, but changed our minds. She was right, you proved yourself long ago. Kingsley wrote one for Snape as well after you came to us."

Draco's heart pounded in his ears. This whole time. This whole fucking time he was going to be pardoned. "But he said that pardons would undermine the government."

"And there's truth to that," Tonks agreed, studying his expression with concern. He turned his face to the side. "But because you didn't have a deal with us, the IOC won't be able to question your motivations. It's highly unlikely you'll even need the pardon. You'll be acquitted, because you were never getting anything out of working for us, and you'll be acquitted honestly. Every crime you committed was necessary to retain your cover as a member of the Order. If you wouldn't have done it, you'd be killed, and someone else would have in your place. Kingsley was right about your circumstances."

His head was swimming. An Order member. She was calling him an undercover Order member.

So Draco wouldn't have a formal trial under the Wizengamot, but wasn't it all a sham? Weren't the five committee members pre-disposed to let law officers off the hook? They were allowing him get away with murder. They were letting him get away with everything. And if they didn't, he could use his pardon.

There would be no penance.

"I don't want it." He didn't realize that he spoke the words out loud, but there they were, and he couldn't take them back.

"You don't want the pardon." Her voice was flat despite the shock on her face.

He swallowed and stared down at the key before returning it to her. "I want to be tried by the Wizengamot." His chest muscles constricted and he tried to keep his breathing steady. "You don't understand. I've wronged so many people, I can't possibly make things right. The Wizengamot represents–"

"Draco."

He stared down at her.

"It doesn't matter what they represent. They'll put you in Azkaban. You know that, don't you?"

He balled his hands into fists and squeezed his eyes shut. Would they? Maybe? Maybe. Yes. His breaths became fast and shallow.

Tonks's voice danced around him as dizziness overtook him. "Many of them hate you for the tactics you and your father used to force the passage of the DIWM Act. Spying or not, you won't get a fair trial with them."

Yes. Yes, he knew that. But he had wronged so many of them too. He stumbled backwards and she caught his arm, pushing him against the wall to brace his weight.

"Draco?"

"But… what if…" He swallowed the bile rapidly accumulating in his mouth. "What if I deserve Azkaban?"

"Draco, look at me."

He opened his eyes and the dead, injured and mourning swam in his vision. The cries of suffering rang throughout the hall; he was going to fall over.

It was all because of him. Blood pounded in his ears. It was too much.

"Tonks. I started this war when I let them into Hogwarts," he rasped, the acrid taste of bile rising in his mouth. "It's because of me they're all dead. It's because of me your husband is gone. I can't–"

Staggering on his feet, she pressed her hands into his shoulders to stabilize him. He tried to focus on her face but couldn't, and his eyes rolled back. The chaos of the Great Hall faded to black and he felt like he was going to vomit.

"You have to sit, Draco. Come on." His head lolled. She pushed him to sit on a chair off to the side and he collapsed onto something hard. He felt himself being bent over and couldn't tell which way was up. His stomach heaved as she shoved his head between his knees.

"Breathe."

He did as he was told, and slowly, the nausea subsided. After removing her hand from the back of his head, he sat up and gazed at her crouched down in front of him.

She studied his expression.

"Your eyes went dark."

"It happens sometimes." He turned and spat the foul tasting saliva from his mouth. "Yours were too when you saved us," he added defensively.

She didn't deny it, but her gaze didn't waver from him.

"You summon self-hatred for your Cruciatus and Killing Curses. Hermione told me."

How much did his cousin know about him? He rubbed his arm and averted his gaze, ashamed to look at her directly.

"Not all the time."

"But enough to want to torture yourself in Azkaban, apparently."

He swallowed the remainder of the sour taste. "That's what Hermione thought."

But his sins were real, and his need for absolution was real.

"She's right."

"It doesn't matter," he panted, still trying to breathe steadily. "I can't live like this anymore. I want to be forgiven."

She furrowed her brows. "By whom?"

Bile rose in his throat again and he grimaced, knowing she'd get the answer out of him anyway. "Everyone."

She shrugged. "Impossible."

Yes. It was impossible. A vise closed around his lungs, it was getting hard to breathe again.

"It doesn't matter if it's possible or not. I hurt everyone."

She laid her hand on his thigh and he eyed a scar running from her finger up her forearm and underneath the sleeve of her trench coat. "How does going to Azkaban guarantee their forgiveness?"

He recalled the hatred in Hannah Abbot's accusations as she screamed at him. She'd never forgive him, ever. Would she?

"I don't…" He gazed down at her. "I don't know."

"Azkaban only does one thing."

His throat felt thick under her scrutiny but he couldn't drag his eyes from her hard stare.

"Punishment. You're not stupid, Draco. You can try your best your entire life but you won't get forgiveness from everyone."

He had no answer to that, but her words cut him deeply.

"Subjugating yourself to the horrors of Azkaban won't give you anything but more pain," she squeezed his thigh. "There are better ways of repenting and being forgiven."

Some of the pressure in his chest relented. "What do you mean?"

"Be part of the society you want to build. Lead by example. What does self-flagellation achieve?"

He shifted his gaze to watch the grieving, the dead and the injured while Tonks' watched him.

"It… just… feels right."

"That's the Unforgivables talking. You want to hurt yourself."

His mouth went dry. "Yes."

Draco still didn't quite believe his desire to be forgiven was wrong. That was part of repentance, wasn't it? But forgiveness wasn't all he wanted. He wanted to hurt, and needlessly harming himself wasn't penance. Working to correct the wrongs of his past was. Logically, he knew what Tonks was saying was correct. But it still felt wrong.

"You'd be useless in Azkaban. You know that, don't you?"

He curled his shoulders inward and exhaled. "But I can't go on feeling like this. They're all here because of me."

"You brought back Voldemort then, did you?" she retorted with a raised eyebrow. "You're more competent than I thought."

He raked a hand through his hair. "No, but Dumbledore could have prevented–"

"Draco," she continued. "I know you blame yourself for starting the war, and there's some truth to that." He clenched his jaw. "But you also ended it."

"No, I didn't," he protested. "Potter killed the Dark Lord."

"You made the opening strike to start the war, yes. But who made the opening strike to end it?"

"Oh." His lips lifted, appreciating the symmetry of his Patronus starting the battle. "So I did."

"And we wouldn't have won without you. You know that, don't you?"

Wordlessly, he nodded, and his chest expanded in pride from her acknowledgement of his actions over the past year.

"You're redemption was hard earned."

Maybe repentance was a lifelong process, leading by example. Working to better society by living in it, not cloistering himself away. He tried to focus on her words and the fact that he was free. Truly free. Not free to subject himself to the Wizengamot, like he told Hermione, but free to do… anything.

Part of him did still want to go to Azkaban, and part of him wanted to face the Wizengamot in the hopes that he'd be forgiven by the very society he'd wronged. They could give him something he was incapable of giving himself.

Couldn't they?

Tonks laid a hand on his left forearm, over the Dark Mark, and curled her fingers. "I know someone that can help you. She's very good."

Hermione had alluded to the Aurors knowing how to treat the effects of Unforgivable Curse usage. Draco remembered the hatred contorting his cousin's face when she entered the Great Hall and killed their attackers. He met her gaze in question.

"I'll Floo her for you," she pressed. "And I'll go with you to your first meeting." She paused. "If you want."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You'd do that for me?"

She nodded. "For as long as you need. It'll take some time before the IOC gets its act together to review our cases anyway. You can get started."

He stared at this strange woman who treated him like family, even though he just met her a few weeks ago.

She seemed to know what he was thinking, and rubbed his forearm. "My mum is tired of babysitting Teddy."

Confused, Draco shifted his posture. "Teddy?"

"My baby. Your…" she scrunched her forehead in thought, almost looking young and girlish despite the eyepatch and angry scar across her face. "Second cousin once removed?"

A baby. Hope.

He surveyed the death and carnage of the Great Hall. In the middle of the war, a fresh new life had been created. Maybe the next generation would truly be living in a healthier society thanks to their actions. Thanks to his actions.

His lips lifted in a half smile, pleasantly surprised with the sudden appearance of more family members. And a little baby at that. "I could never keep track of family relations."

"Regardless, if you owe me, I'll be able to guilt you and Hermione into babysitting whenever I need."

Draco snorted, and then glanced over at Hermione. She was wiping tears off her face while she held the She-Weasel's hand. Pomfrey was performing what looked like a painful procedure on the red-head's leg.

Tonks motioned to the corner where his mother and some of his Slytherin friends were kneeling over Daphne's and Vince's bodies. "Maybe your mum would like to meet him too?"

He drew his gaze to his mother as she hugged and comforted his friends' parents. She met his eyes and, after noticing Tonks crouching next to him, raised her eyebrows in interest.

Their family would be very different in the future. His father would be in Azkaban for an unknown amount of time and up until now, Draco thought his mother would be alone in the manor until his sentence was up. She was excited for grandchildren, but hadn't really considered it a possibility for the near term.

The Malfoys were so used to their lives balancing precariously on the edge of a knife. He wondered if his mother even knew there was a new baby in the family. Draco looked down at his cousin with a genuine smile.

"I think my mother would enjoy that."

"We'll reacquaint our families."

"That means more presents at Christmas."

She pointed at him. "I like how you think."

His smile fell. Christmases that his father wouldn't be present at.

Draco shifted his gaze back to Kingsley and Blaise, still uncomprehending of the possibilities suddenly open to him, despite the fact that his father would be locked away.

A pardon. He couldn't believe it. This whole time, and Hermione didn't know either.

"So Kingsley played me?"

Tonks nodded. "For your own good. Handing out pardons to Death Eaters – especially your father's generation – would destabilize the post-war government just like in 1946. He didn't want the country to descend into chaos again. We wouldn't survive it. Hermione was absolutely right about him." She smiled. "You're lucky she loves you."

"I am." The memory of Hermione unleashing her wrath on Kingsley warmed his body like nothing else.

He couldn't believe he had a pardon for so long, and then remembered Hermione's tearful confession when she finally told him what she believed was the truth. He had abandoned her then, unable to reconcile her love for him with her betrayal.

"Fucking Shacklebolt," he muttered.

"I curse his existence at least twice a week," Tonks replied dryly.

"I think I could murder him."

"Believe me, it's a shared sentiment."

"Slowly."

"I specialize in many curses we could use."

Draco smiled sardonically, but the smile froze on his face.

"My father will face that Wizengamot." Draco wondered if his father's sentence would be worse that what was deserved. "Did Kingsley lie about helping him?"

"No," Tonks replied. "But there's only so much he can do aside from a pardon. You two made several enemies this past year."

That was the answer he expected, but he shivered at the thought of his father sitting alone in a cold cell surrounded by Dementors.

Draco returned his gaze to Hermione, crouched over in the midst of the Weasleys. She had a deadly expression on her face and was glaring in the direction of Kingsley and Blaise. Hermione promised him she wouldn't attack Kingsley, but the rage contorting her features said otherwise.

"I understand why you kept this all from me, but why not tell her?"

"She was falling in love. We didn't think she'd be able to keep lying to you. And she couldn't."

Her death glare focused on Kingsley, Hermione stood up and ran a fist under nose, wiping away tears, snot and blood.

"I don't deserve her."

Tonks followed his gaze, and they watched as Hermione clenched and unclenched her fists. She narrowed her eyes, looking like she was ready to snap.

"If she forgave you, you should make an effort to forgive yourself. Life's too short, Draco."

Draco glanced down at Tonks' face, suddenly ashen, and he wondered why. "I'm tainted, she's not. I've done terrible things and they changed me."

"I have too, and you're right. Using Unforgivables impacts your relationships with others. That doesn't mean you don't deserve those relationships. I didn't," her voice broke. "I didn't have enough time with Remus."

"I'm sorry."

She nodded wordlessly and they stood in silence for a few moments.

Draco turned to her. "He understood?"

Tears formed in her eye. "He did." Her voice cracked and she swallowed before the tears spilled. "Some people sacrifice their lives for those they loved. This room is full of them. But you and I, we've also sacrificed part of our souls. And we've done it so others don't have to."

He thought back to the night of the Astronomy Tower. Severus had done that for him. So had his father, until neither of them could protect him anymore.

Tonks continued, "The acts themselves may be evil, but they're done out of love. If you find someone that understands that, and still accepts you, don't let them go."

Draco's eyes burnt with tears again. He couldn't believe how lucky he was. "I won't."

They watched Hermione together as she sized up the room before glowering at Kingsley.

"She looks like she's getting ready to attack him."

"No, I made her promise that she wouldn't…" his voice trailed off as Hermione redid the braid in her hair with purposeful motions, eyes never leaving her prey. Hermione grabbed her wand.

"Are you sure about that?"

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione surveyed the Great Hall to see what everyone was doing.

"Yes. She wasn't happy about it, but she said she wouldn't go against my wishes." At that moment Hermione met Draco's gaze and startled upon noticing they'd been watching her. She smiled back at him and Tonks, and gave them a shy wave. "She seems harmless."

"'Seems' being the operative word," Tonks replied suspiciously.

"I don't disagree." Hermione knelt again next to Potter and Draco exhaled. She was listening to him. "You protected her." Tonks looked up at him in question. "From the IOC," he clarified.

"Yes, I did."

"Thank you."

"She'd be cleared, but she shouldn't have to go through it. Neither should you."

They turned back to Hermione and saw she was gone.

"She's not–" With a start, Draco craned his neck, searching the Great Hall. "Do you see her?"

Tonks searched the room. "No. But she has to be in the Great Hall. She can't just disappear into thin air."

Draco grabbed his cousin's arm and turned her to face him. "Yes, she can. Potter has an invisibility cloak."

Her eye widened. "Quick, you go that way towards Kingsley. I'll head around the back. Wait!"

Draco paused mid-stride and she pressed the key in his palm. "Show her this. Oh, and Draco?"

"Yeah?"

"You know you're lucky to have her," she squeezed his hand, "But she's lucky to have you, too."

Despite the horrors of the day, he smiled.

Next up: Epilogue, part 1

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