A/N:

Now, this is the first time I'm posting on FFN for nearly half a decade. I was a very regular writer and user before switching full time to Ao3 in 2017, and, well, my writing from before then is embarassing. I elected to make a new account, but I am romantashas on all other platforms, other than YouTube, where I am SunnyVids, if you want to verify that I am a real person!

DISCLAIMER: I am not a lawyer because of J.K. Rowling, so I truly hope she doesn't sue me. #transpeoplearepeople

CROSS POSTED ON AO3 & WATTPAD!

9:32am on Tuesday, 20 September 2005

The emotional whiplash of dealing with Pansy Parkinson is not an unfamiliar sensation, but it still jars Hermione all the same. But, in this case, it wasn't that she had seen the Slytherin showing some level of humanity, only to immediately withdraw into her cruel shell. This time, it was Parkinson's complete change of stance, now accepting Hermione's offer of counsel.

"As your barrister — Defender," Hermione catches herself, "I will be able to sit in during your interrogation and intervene if necessary."

"I'm not stupid, Granger," Parkinson fires back. "I'll say what I need to say and nothing more. I won't talk myself into a trap."

"Look, before you do this, we need to discuss what happened. We can figure out your answers from there. What happened during the first interrogation?"

"There wasn't really one," Parkinson shrugs. "I told them what happened, they arrested me, and then they stood there debating what to do with me. I think the lack of a Defender threw them."

"The lack of an official statement was an oversight on their part. We can say your confession was under duress — "

"I killed him, I'm not telling them otherwise," Parkinson replies. "I accepted your help to get a lesser sentence, not — "

"That's what I'm trying to do," Hermione argues. "But if you go in talking to them like you did with me in our first meeting, it's not going to be a long interrogation. You can't be combative about why you did it, or your motive. That is, if you're sticking to the confession."

"I am," she confirms.

This wasn't going to be an easy case.

"This is going to be just the first statement of many," she continues. "Probably all very basic questions. Get your side of the arrest. Give you a chance to speak about what led to everything." Hermione pauses. Parkinson stays silent, simply watching her carefully. "When I mentioned that Flint was a Death Eater, you were surprised. So, that wasn't why you killed him." At Parkinson's silence, Hermione presses: "Was it because of Daphne Greengrass?"

Parkinson blinks, until her cool facade fades into something more vulnerable. She shifts uncomfortably. "No."

Hermione does her best to muster a small, appreciative smile. A slow build of trust where there was none — in fact, where there had been a great mistrust. It didn't provide any new information, but it was a step up from spiteful snips.

"Your case could heavily be influenced by Flint's participation in the Death Eater movement. If you had any indication of his true nature, then it'd be extremely beneficial to mention that."

And thus, began their hesitant partnership.

10:03am on Tuesday, 20 September 2005

"She's agreed to take on my counsel," Hermione announces to the Aurors.

The shock is immediate. She swears a small flicker of relief flashes in Malfoy's eyes, but it's gone before she can fully confirm it.

"What changed her mind?" asks Robards.

Hermione debates her answer. It's clear to her that the switch in perspective mainly came from the revelation that Marcus Flint had been a Death Eater. This wasn't something she was aware of, and something that even Pansy Parkinson is smart enough to realise is a way out of all this mess.

But she can't tell the Aurors that. Not now, at least. Not until after the first interrogation is finished, and Parkinson herself reveals the extent of what she knew.

"I think she had a better understanding of things this morning," Hermione settles on. "I went over things again. Maybe a night in there made her think it through." She awkwardly looks at the Waiver held in her hands before waving it away, where she's sure it'll poof into her office.

"Well," Robards starts, clapping his hands together, "it seems like we can begin our work."

"Who is leading the first interrogation?" Hermione questions.

"It'll be me," Harry answers after a moment.

"It will not," Hermione counters, to everyone's surprise. Even Malfoy's. "There's too much history there. She'll be purposefully combative. She's already on edge about me being her Defender — she'll think we're plotting together."

"Who else do you suggest, then?" Robards asks, not disagreeing.

Hermione's eyes move towards Malfoy in quiet contemplation. The subject subsequently raises a challenging eyebrow in return, a smug expression resting on his face.

Harry immediately interjects. "Absolutely not."

"Tell us how you really feel, Potter," Malfoy sneers. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but Granger's got a good point."

Hermione prickles unhappily at the compliment — if it could even be referred to as that. She knows she's right, she doesn't need him vouching for her.

"You're talking about too much history with me, imagine bloody Malfoy!"

"In their case, it's a good history," she insists. "She trusts him — at least, I think so." The words come out a bit unsure, stuttered. She doesn't actually know the nature of their relationship. She always associated them together, but they could've been as close as she was with — let's say — Seamus. Just two housemates. And who knows what has happened in the years since school. Hermione glances at Malfoy uncertainly for confirmation, and he nods subtly. "She'll be more inclined to tell the whole truth."

Harry stares at her. "Isn't that the exact opposite of what you should want?"

"We want the same thing," she reminds him. "But, to your point, in this case, yes. She's omitting things that I know will be helpful to her."

"You want her to admit that she killed Flint because he was a bleeding Death Eater," accuses Harry.

Hermione keeps her mouth shut, opting to shrug slightly instead.

"You've got Veritaserum?" Robards asks Malfoy. The latter man nods.

"Hang on," Hermione interrupts immediately. "You are not giving my client Veritaserum."

Harry's eyebrows furrow. "Didn't you just go on about how you want her to tell the truth?"

"Yes, but not by force."

Malfoy scowls. "Granger — "

"If it comes to it, then we can reconsider," she asserts. "But for this first interrogation, you need to build trust."

"I'll abide by your rules this time, Granger," growls Malfoy. "But you can't just come in here and pretend like you own the fucking place. You're not an Auror, you defend the people we're trying to put behind bars."

Hermione narrows her eyes. "I'm defending your friend. So maybe think about that."

He breathes out an angry little laugh, and she swears that if he could breathe fire, it'd be coming out of his nostrils. Without another word, he leaves, his robes billowing behind him in the force of his strut.

"Charming coworker you've got there, Harry," she notes.

Harry sighs. "Not an easy one to get to accept change, but he always does, eventually."

11:39am on Tuesday, 20 September 2005

The interrogation with Parkinson is uneventful, to Hermione's disappointment. She had hoped that her client would be more open with a friend, but Parkinson had been even more snarky. More friendly, she supposes, but no further information truly presented itself throughout the whole interrogation.

("When I arrived at the scene, Marcus Flint's head had been bashed in," Malfoy had read out. "What led to this?"

Parkinson had laughed. "Obviously, by bashing his head in."

"You can thank Potter for that question," Malfoy had muttered to Hermione unhappily.

Parkinson had not given any further details about what led to the bashing of the head, which Hermione assumes had been the goal of the poorly-worded question. Perhaps she shouldn't have written up half of Harry's essays in school.)

It was quite infuriating, really.

Hermione can tell it frustrated Malfoy just as much. He had stuck to the approved questions list, receiving clipped answers and silence, and his tone had filled with irritation as the hour went on. Hermione almost wishes they could've asked more, but that's best left to a future interrogation, once the Aurors have gotten all their ducks in a row and have investigated enough to know what to ask.

("Were you under the impression that Marcus Flint was a Death Eater?"

Parkinson had flicked her eyes to Hermione before answering, "There was definitely something Dark about him," which Hermione had found to be a resounding victory. Parkinson, on some level, had followed her advice.)

"That was pitiful," Harry comments, having witnessed everything from behind the barrier. Hermione grimaces.

"I want to see the next list of approved questions."

His eyebrows raise. "Thought you're supposed to be helping your client out — not us Aurors."

"I'm helping both," she insists. "All the current evidence is basically enough to just chuck her in Azkaban for good. The only way to help her is if she admits it was an act of self-defence in some way. Or defence of the greater good."

Harry is silent for a moment. "What if... I mean, we knew her in school," he starts off hesitantly. "She was definitely cruel and vengeful. She wasn't above causing harm. What if she's just twisted enough to murder someone because she got angry enough?"

It's not like Hermione hasn't considered it. She has, heavily, and still lets the thought bounce around in her mind. But she can't afford to think like that — she can't — as any more than a passing theory, because she needs to believe in Parkinson, as much as it pains her. She needs to give this case her all, to provide Pansy Parkinson with a fair shot, or else she'll end up doing something she regrets. She'd betray her morals.

Merlin forbid, what if she let her disbelief cloud her judgement, and find out in three years time that Parkinson had actually been Imperio'd into the act?

Hermione would never forgive herself.

She vaguely wonders if anyone else believes in Pansy Parkinson. Hermione was brought in purely due to the Aurors' fear of overstepping their legal limit. Their own code of ethics, so they can sleep peacefully at night.

Perhaps Malfoy agreed with her, though she loathes to admit it. He and Parkinson are friends — if anyone can see the good in her, it'd be him, wouldn't it?

"I'll see the approved list of questions on my desk for next time," she tells Harry firmly. He just nods.

Hermione turns her head, eyes scanning around for the platinum blond hair. She finally spots it — Malfoy — at the edge of the hallway, just before the Head of the Aurors' Office's office. He and Robards seem to be in the midst of a tense conversation.

She doesn't get to observe much longer, because then, Robards pats Malfoy on the shoulder, and they each nod, as if they've come to an understanding. Then, Robards disappears into his office.

Not wasting any time, Hermione marches up to Malfoy and states, "We need to talk."

Malfoy regards her coolly. "Do we?"

"I may not like Parkinson, but I am committed to my job. I took on this case, and I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure she gets a fair trial, and that she is treated like a human being on the way there — personal history be damned," she argues. "So, yes. We need to talk. In order to build a case, I need witness statements and background information. You fulfil both of those needs."

He stares at her carefully. Hermione feels her heart speed under Malfoy's heavy gaze. It can't be more than ten seconds, but yet, it feels like an eternity, where he's studying her expression.

"Monday," he answers finally. "We can talk Monday. I have an assignment to take care of."

"I thought you were on office duty."

His lips purse. "I was on emergency response. Now I'm not."

"Very well," Hermione agrees hesitantly. She'd have liked to get a timeslot in earlier than Monday, but it's better than nothing. "We can talk Monday."

03:25pm on Wednesday, 21 September 2005

Hermione spends the following day holed up in her office, pouring over every miniscule piece of evidence she has so far.

Harry had provided her with the original debriefs from each of the Aurors that showed up for Parkinson's arrest — him, Ron, and Malfoy. She also managed to wrangle a few photos out of him, but unfortunately, they lacked anything substantial to her case; simply expensive rugs bathed in blood. Muggle forensics is much more thorough — here, they just examined her wand, proved Flint's death, and called it a day.

She charms her murder board of sorts to be imperceivable to anyone except herself. To an outsider, it looks like a boring old schedule planner, filled with little doodles of her daily activities.

Hermione adds pictures and documents and strings. It makes her feel nearly like a Muggle detective from those movies, except the murderer is the only piece she really does know. It's far more put-together than the murder board that had been stuck in her head during the year on the run from Voldemort. She likes seeing it all laid out.

"Mail's in," says Blaise as he strolls in. He never bothers to knock, despite her constant request that he does. He tosses a dozen or so letters onto her desk carelessly. "Here's your fat stack."

"Thank you."

Hermione quickly filters through the envelopes. It's an easy task; whoever is sending her mail through the main office obviously doesn't have her personal office, which means it's likely unimportant fanmail, random requests, or the occasional plea she'd love to glance at.

"So, what do the Aurors have you working on?" Blaise asks. He tries to seem casual, but Hermione can sniff out his eagerness from a mile away. "What new law are they trying to push now?"

Hermione considers, not for the first time that day, how awful she feels keeping this secret from Blaise. Parkinson is a dear friend of his, and she thinks he's friendly enough with Daphne and Flint. She wonders if the news of Daphne inquiring after her husband has gotten around. She hasn't heard anything, but she knows it's a matter of time.

"You'll know when I have the clearance to tell you," she settles on.

"Oh, it must be something big, then," Blaise conspires with a sly grin. "What is it? Are they trying to reinstate Unforgivables? Begging for Dementors back in Azkaban?"

She rolls her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."

Hermione pauses as she comes across a simple piece of parchment, identical to the one she found in her flat the other day. It only says her name on the outside.

She immediately unfolds it in a flurry, her eyes scanning the paper. Once again, it's an extremely short message.

Please. Help her.

"What's that?" Blaise asks, trying to look over to read the note for himself.

Hermione frowns. "Nothing. I don't know." She quickly folds the note and tucks it into her pocket before he can peer at it nosily.

"You're full of secrets today," notes Blaise, a little bit more serious than before. But when she stares at him with the slightest hint of guilt, he shrugs. "Just let me know if you need me."

When Blaise is far out of her office, she tacks the note onto the murder board.

02:11pm on Monday, 26 September 2005

Draco Malfoy looks drained the next time she sees him. His eyes are sunken in, dark circles surrounding them, and his hair is unkempt. His face is paler than usual, which is a hard thing to achieve. The exhaustion clearly wears heavy in his bones, obvious with the way he carries himself; his shoulders sag, not as prim and proper as he's trained to be.

Hermione rethinks her previous theory of what Malfoy gets up to in the name of the Ministry. He looks more like he's been forced to keep a Horcrux around his neck for weeks — the memory of how Harry and Ron had looked is still fresh in her mind, haunting her dreams, enough to see the clear parallels. But she knows it isn't that, it can't be. Yet, he must be dealing with some form of dark magic.

These observations are not one of concern or interest, but something that stands out as clear as day. It's impossible not to notice, and it's impossible not to acknowledge it.

"You look..."

Malfoy looks up at her, his eyes soft for only a moment, before it turns into a half-hearted scowl. Not that he doesn't mean it, but that he's too tired to give it his all, not for a lack of trying.

She expects him to make a jab at her hair, or her Defender robes, but he doesn't. She supposes that's an improvement from their days at school.

"Granger," he says. "Potter's out, so it'll be just us."

"I know, he told me."

It's more that she asked for him not to be there. It had been a debate with herself of whether or not having Harry here would be of help or a burden. In the end, the idea that Malfoy may be more inclined to admit things if an Auror weren't around had won out. Not that Hermione really expects him to trust her, but at least it left the option open.

Hermione slowly goes to sit at Harry's desk. Malfoy's eyes follow her the entire way, his body unmoving.

"Everything in this conversation is fully confidential," she tells him as she settles in. "It will not be reported to your superiors or your peers, nor will it be used against you in court. No one will find out about anything you say — not through me, at least."

"You sound as if you're hoping I reveal some illicit actions," he notes.

"I deal with many that do," Hermione admits. "I need to know the full truth, so it is imperative that everyone I talk to knows that I am not here to turn them in to the nearest official."

"And that begins the root of the issue," he sneers.

"Excuse me?"

"All the Death Eaters roaming around? Blowing things up? Killing people?" he points out. "That's because of you."

She blinks. Out of everything she expects from today, Draco Malfoy essentially accusing her of prolonging the Death Eaters was not on her list.

"That's rich, coming from you," she fires back. "What? Because I worked to defeat Voldemort?"

"No, because of your hero complex."

Hermione recoils.

Malfoy continues, "This wouldn't be happening if you and your merry band of workers hadn't changed all those laws that sent Death Eaters straight to Azkaban."

"And what would that achieve? Sending some innocent kids to a life sentence?"

"I'd hardly call scum like Scalby 'innocent' — "

"And what about you?"

Malfoy suddenly shuts up. She's actually rendered him speechless, which pleases Hermione a little bit. She'd like to think that she's surpassed the childhood immaturities, but she is wise enough to know that she isn't.

He looks down, staring hard at a random spot on his desk for a long moment, before finally speaking. "I'm not innocent, Granger. I didn't deserve to escape my fate. And even if I did, then I would've gladly accepted it anyway if it ensured the Death Eaters would be finished for good."

It's a strangely noble proclamation from Malfoy.

Hermione isn't entirely sure how to navigate it. If he feels that way, it would be hard to convince him of anything else. There isn't an ounce of hypocrisy to his beliefs, as they stand. He's willing to suffer the same fate as any other unjustly sentenced child.

"Do you really believe that any of this would've ended with the war?" she asks instead. "You know better than anyone who was guilty and who wasn't. Who would've gotten sentenced. Marcus Flint never once crossed anyone's lists. Whatever happened with him, happened after the war."

"Their numbers would be much lesser."

"Would they? Or would they be rallying up recruits faster? Those bitter over the treatment of their loved ones. Upset at the order of the government. I made things fair."

"You've made things easy for them," he argues.

"Nothing's easy in this world," she replies tiredly.

He laughs mirthlessly. It's ironic, tortured. "Profound words, but simply untrue if you're speaking to the right person."

"No, Malfoy, it's not untrue. The war was hard on all of us, even pompous rich Pureblooded prats," she snaps. "And you know what? Those responsible deserve every single uneasy thing thrown their way. I want them to suffer — I don't think anyone hates them more than I do. But I refuse to let innocent people see their life thrown away from decisions they had no choice in, or were thrown into a situation that was misjudged. I don't want another Sirius Black. I'd rather see a dozen Death Eaters get off than watch one innocent person get wrongfully sentenced."

"Even if those dozen Death Eaters cause so much chaos?"

Hermione feels almost as if this is an interrogation, not unlike Pansy's.

"You may be many things, but you're no fool, Malfoy. Blaise has been purposefully bad at his job for his entire duration in my department — I don't think any exposed Death Eater got acquitted without the case being shot anyway. Nothing in our political climate would be that different if the Wizengamot had denied me," she defends.

"Then what's the point?"

"You and your mother. Professor Snape. Werewolf rights. House-elf rights. Muggle-born children have counsel — something I never had. I could go on," she answers. "And, now, I suppose it's Pansy Parkinson."

Malfoy interlocks his fingers together, with his elbows on the desk, and rests his chin against his hands as he contemplates. Hermione knows she hasn't quite gotten through to him, not fully, but his silence and pensive expression informs her that he is about to agree to help her, if only for the benefit of Parkinson. Which is all she asks for.

"What do you want to know?" he inquires.

She basks in her victory, adjusting herself in the seat with a small smile on her face, to Malfoy's obvious discontentment. But he doesn't snap at her; instead, he just waits.

"Let's start with what you do for the Aurors — "

"Absolutely not," he interjects heatedly. "I am agreeing to help you with Pansy's case, not fulfil your curiosities about whatever it is you think I do."

"This does help Parkinson's case," she sustains, a hint of frustration and disappointment in her tone. It's very nearly a lie — she is asking mainly for her own personal curiosities, but it is true that it could be a key component to the story.

"It doesn't," he says firmly. "And even if it did, you do not have the clearance."

"I could get it," she challenges.

"Unlikely."

"Harry would tell me," she presses. It's a low blow, admitting that an Auror might be willing to spill the secrets of his confidential work.

Malfoy smirks. "Unlikely," he repeats.

Hermione sits back and crosses her arms. "Fine. Then, without telling me of your role for the Auror office, tell me exactly what happened when you brought Parkinson in."

The amusement disappears from his face, replaced by a professional blankness. "Well, I had, at the time, been reallocated to office duty during my...recovery of the incident on the 7th of September, 2005," he explains. "I was fulfilling my role by taking emergency calls. It had been mostly annoying things, such as paranoid mothers convinced they saw someone in their backyard, or to deal with an object they really should've called the Cursebreakers for instead. But that night — 19 September, 2005, at 02:13 in the morning — I was on an overnight shift when there was an alert for the Flint property."

Hermione begins to take notes. It sounds practised, like he had given this story before, and quietly wonders if this is exactly how his debriefing with Robards went. It matches the internal notes she's already reviewed regarding the case, which isn't helpful, but she hopes their follow-up conversation will be.

"I made a call for backup at 02:14 AM. After evaluating the options, and deciding that investigating by myself would be more prudent than waiting for backup at such an hour, I Apparated to the nearest available location immediately at 02:16 AM. Upon arrival at the precise residence, at 02:32 AM, I noted the door was open. I entered. I immediately saw blood right outside the sitting room. I followed the trail until I found Marcus Flints' body." Something in his resolve cracks slightly, but repairs itself before continuing. "P— The accused was beside his body. She had blood all over her hands."

"Then what?"

Malfoy shifts uncomfortably. "The accused smiled at me. Said she had hoped it would be me. Then, she held her arms out. I bound her wrists, and then backup Aurors arrived at 02:44 AM. Aurors Potter and Weasley. Auror Weasley and I took her into the office, while Auror Potter handled the body. The accused was brought in at 03:02 AM."

Hermione considers all the information. She looks down at her notes. "It took you twelve minutes to find and arrest the accused?"

"My training dictates to properly case the house and ward myself for whatever I may encounter," he replies easily, with a hint of annoyance at her questioning. "That in itself likely took five minutes. And, as rich as the Flint estate is, the house was not in any way small. It likely took me three minutes just to locate the accused."

"That leaves four minutes," she notes.

"These things take time," Malfoy snarls. "I see you don't question the eighteen minutes your friends were there."

He makes a solid point, so Hermione bites her retaliation and goes back to her civil professionalism. "This all happened before twilight, yet the Defenders Department was not contacted until later afternoon."

There is no verbal question, but Malfoy reads between the lines and understands what she is asking.

"The accused made it clear, in multitudes, to many, that she did not wish to have a Defender. We obliged her."

"But why wouldn't she want a Defender?" Hermione inquires. "She's friends with Blaise, surely it wasn't just because she didn't want a Muggle-born counselling her."

"It has nothing to do with your blood status, Granger," Malfoy informs her casually, as if it isn't even a concern. "I am not the only one who doubts the legitimacy of your Department."

"So you believed that Pansy Parkinson wouldn't want to do everything in her power to keep herself out of Azkaban?"

"It is not up to what I believe, it comes down to what she said. And she was quite clear in what she wanted — until you spoke to her."

Hermione hums.

"And what led the Auror Department to call for the Defender despite the accused's protests?"

"The discovery that Marcus Flint was a Death Eater, and important to our fight against the terrorism inflicted against the Wizarding world," he answers. "As you knew."

"Only by assumption," she confirms. "And assumptions are not a friend in the world of a Defender — only that of court. I need facts."

"I suppose we align in that regard," Malfoy declares. She looks at him curiously. He's smiling in a way that's neither a smirk nor a beam. It's almost amused, but not quite. She isn't sure what to make of it. "Now, are we done here?"

Hermione bristles. Of course, he can't stand to be in the room with her for longer than necessary. "No, actually," she huffs. "What led to the discovery of Flint's status as a Death Eater?"

"I cannot reveal that information," he says carefully.

"Ha!" she proclaims, wagging her finger like a small child who's caught someone in a lie. "So, it is necessary for me to know your confidential actions on behalf of the Aurors!"

"It really isn't," he replies boredly. "Even if I could, it barely pertains to the case. I was on mere office duty when I responded to the incident. And, as you saw, Pansy was in no way aware of Flint's true nature. Her motive, whatever it may be, is something else."

"The courts don't have to know everything."

Malfoy glares at her. "And what was said about assumptions?"

"I can't make assumptions," she clarifies. "But the courts certainly can."

"And there, I believe, we are at an impasse." Malfoy begins to rise. "I hope my information proves useful in your case," he tells her civilly. "But until you have a further line of questioning that does not call into question my role with the Aurors, we are done here."

Hermione debates stopping him, but she doesn't even know what to say. With one long look at her, almost as if he's waiting for her challenge, he strolls out of the room, leaving her alone.

It takes her nearly five minutes to realise that he just left his own bloody office to get away from her.