A/N: hello everyone! Hope you're all liking this so far! What does everyone think of the developments between Draco and Hermione? How about Ron testing Draco?

Thought I would remind you – Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to the brilliant JK Rowling

Enjoy

Chapter 12:

Harry rubbed his eyes once more, trying to concentrate on the paperwork in front of him. He skimmed through the form: yet another case that he would need to testify for. But Harry was being productive, finally working hard after days of absentmindedness. He had managed to let the cloud of Draco Malfoy's case leave him and was now able to focus on things he needed to like the Order or his job at the Ministry. The Order had remained the same after the war, but the Ministry had faced a few changes. For one, the Order and the Ministry were practically the same thing. Most members in the Order of the Phoenix had a position under the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry, as natural head of the Order, was given the liaison position between the Auror Department and the Minister himself. He was constantly busy, interviewing suspects and convicts, visiting crime scenes, and filling in the Kingsley about the happenings in his department. Harry found his job fulfilling – it was what he had always wanted – but he was beyond exhausted, especially now.

It had been a few days since he had informed Malfoy and Hermione about the trial date, and had heard nothing from either of them. He assumed that no news was good news when it came to Malfoy. He had recognized his look – one of no emotion. It was what the Malfoys could do best. What Lucius had taught Draco at a young age: they had the keen talent to turn off their emotions like a switch, appearing at just a blank, nonchalant face. Harry was sure that Draco was nervous and scared about his court date – as any other normal witch or wizard would be – but he just did not show it to him. Harry shook his head and scolded himself for letting his thoughts wander to Malfoy again…he needed to focus on his overdue paperwork!

Just as he regained his concentration on the sheet on his desk, there was a light knock at his office door. Harry looked up to see Hermione quietly sliding into his office. She had not put herself together as she usually did when she left Grimmauld Place. She was wearing simple jeans paired with a t-shirt that was too large. Her hair was piled in a messy ponytail. She looked as though she had not been sleeping well.

"Hi Harry," Hermione started, "Can I bother you for a second?"

Harry swallowed his annoyed feelings, "Of course, Hermione. Is everything alright?" He watched as she sat down across from him, glancing down at her hands nervously. Harry's mind instantly jumped to the possibility that something may have gone wrong with Malfoy. His stomach dropped, "Does this have to do with Malfoy, Hermione?" Harry's mind whirled. What if he had taken it so badly that he had taken it out on Hermione? Had he hit her? Worse?

Her head whipped up, "No!" she paused looking back at her hands, "Well yes, but it's not what you think – he didn't do anything bad." Harry let out an inward sigh of relief. He would never forgive himself if he had put Hermione had been hurt by Malfoy – his captive. Harry listened to her intently as she continued, "Well, the night you told Malfoy and I about his trial date, well we were sort of talking," she paused again. Harry could tell she was having difficulty phrasing what she was trying to say – something that seldom happened to the young witch. "He talked about his father…he got really emotional, Harry. He was talking about he had to pay for his dumb mistakes, and how he was wrong!" Hermione was talking louder now, slightly leaning forward towards him, "Harry, I don't think he ever wanted this! I don't think he's evil. He doesn't deserve what's coming to him. Harry, please tell me there's a way to stop his trial!"

Harry looked at the fervour in her eyes and how riled up she was – her chest rising and falling quickly as she calmed herself down. He had always known that Malfoy had never wanted to join the Death Eaters, and that he was not really an evil spirit. He was just flabbergasted that Hermione Granger – who had loathed Draco Malfoy with all her being until about a month ago – was sitting in front of him wanting to stop his trial. "'Mione, there's no way that we can stop his trial," he started sadly. She immediately frowned, her brow "But there is a way to get him cleared. You need to gather information for his case and present it to the Wizengamot. You need to prove what you just told me to the court in that room."

Hermione stood up then, her eyes a flame with a look and ardour he knew well, the thrill of adventure. It was something he had not seen in Hermione since before the war. He then knew that Malfoy was in good hands; Hermione would pour over books and precedents, and talk to him over and over getting his recount of every moment. Malfoy would hate her at the end, as he and Ron had hated her after hours of research and questions, but she would get him off. If anyone could get Malfoy out of a life sentence in Azkaban it was Hermione Granger.

ooooooooooo

"MALFOYY!" Draco sat straight up in his bed – Hermione – she was shrieking his name; something was wrong! He threw his sheets aside and ran out the door, not even bothering to put on clothes or check himself in the mirror. He barrelled down the stairs and into the kitchen to see Hermione standing in the middle of the kitchen, by herself, in no danger whatsoever.

"What? What is it? Are you alright?" he asked anxiously looking around the kitchen looking for the source of her screaming. Nothing. She may not have been in immediate danger, but maybe something had happened. Bad people could be coming! He quickly grabbed her arm and yanked her forward toward the stairwell. He felt himself starting to lose control. He hadn't felt this much thrill and anxiety since the war. He looked at her standing in front of him, her gaze was relaxed and not fearful, there was even a small smile creeping onto her face.

"Malfoy, I need to ask you a few questions, but could you first put some clothes on please." She answered him trying to stifle a giggle. He then realized just how bare he was. He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, in front of Hermione Granger, in only his boxer shorts. He released his death grip on her arm as though she was burning him.

A scowl spread across his face, "Next time you want to call me, please don't sound like you're being Crucioed." He returned upstairs in a huff, jumping into the shower and letting the hot water relax him. He would take his time. He would get dressed and comb his hair, and only grace Granger with his presence when he was truly ready. Malfoys did not like being startled awake.

He descended the stairs again half an hour later at a much slower pace than before, letting his feet linger on every step. He found Granger in the kitchen nose buried in a book with a piece of parchment next to her. Draco watched as she scribbled something onto the page and looked up at him. Her hair was a little bit frizzier than normal, and her eyes had a look that he had seen so many times before at Hogwarts – Granger was onto something.

"Sit down," she motioned towards the seat across from her, nose still in her book. The blonde took his seat slowly and looked at her quizzically, "I need to ask you a few questions…about your past." Draco leaned his back against his wooden chair; he had known she was onto something. But what was she inquiring about? He wondered what her first question would be; he also wondered what his answer would be. Would he answer her questions? His thoughts travelled to his trial – was she on his side?

"Malfoy, some of these questions might be a little tough for you, but please – for your own sake – answer them honestly" Hermione started looking at him sternly. Malfoy then knew that this was no personal conversation they were having over drinks; this was all business. "Can you remember the first time you encountered Voldemort's forces or influence?"

Draco genuinely laughed, "Are you serious Granger? Is that a serious question?" he waited for her to tell him otherwise, that she was just teasing him, but she just returned his stare. Oh God, she was serious! "Granger, I've been around Voldemort's forces or influence my entire life! My father was a Death Eater, my godfather was a Death Eater, my aunt was a Death Eater, my uncles were Death Eaters, my entire bloody family was under Voldemort's force or influence! Next question."

Her face reddened slightly as she absorbed his response but she pressed on, "When was the first time that you personally experienced Voldemort's power. For example, when did you first become aware that you would take the Mark?" she asked as her eyes darted towards his left arm. Draco's eyes lowered to the table; how was he going to answer this? Would his answer make Hermione think less of him?

She had told him to answer truthfully so he did, "I was summoned to my first meeting when I was fifteen," he answered keeping his eyes lowered, "My father had just been sent to Azkaban for the run-in with you lot at the Ministry. The Dark Lord told me that he had just come up with an idea as to how I could mend my father's mistakes. He told me I was supposed to be his special spy at Hogwarts. I was thrilled. I had never felt so needed before. He does that; the picks your weakness, then sucks it for all its worth." Draco sighed looking to Hermione for any response, but she was furiously scribbling down every word he had said. "He told me that by the end of my sixth year I was going to let senior Death Eaters in Hogwarts and dispose of Dumbledore. Just like my father had done before me, I swore my allegiance to the Dark Lord, saying that I would carry out his plan. He then dismissed me telling me that my family would be so proud. I barely made it back to my quarters before I vomited." Draco continued to look at his hands knowing that she was intently staring at him. He couldn't stand to look at her right now.

"So why did you do it?" she asked gently. Draco could tell that she had switched from Ministry Granger to the Hermione that had comforted him in his room a few days earlier. She was looking at him – into his eyes – she seemed to genuinely want to know the answer.

He looked up at her inquiring brown eyes, "I did it for my family Granger. As much of a tosser and fuck-up my father was, I still loved him, and the Dark Lord told me I could get him back." Hermione seemed to digest his answer, thinking hard about his words. She then frantically scribbled something on the parchment, drawing a circle around the short sentence she had just scribed. Ministry Granger had returned once more.

"Even though you let Death Eaters into the castle that one night, Snape – not you – killed Dumbledore. What happened when Voldemort realized this?"

Draco winced recalling the memory, "He tortured me Granger, what do you expect? He told me I had only carried out half of my task. He said that I could have my useless father back, but that our family would personally pay for my mistakes." He looked down at his hands again. He would never admit it to Granger, Voldemort's words marked the moment when Draco felt the most ashamed in his entire life. He had let his family down. The taste of bile was seeping up into his mouth, his anger and shame was mounting again, "Granger, why are you asking me this?" he asked hesitantly.

Hermione had been writing intently on her messy piece of parchment, "Because Malfoy, not all Death Eaters deserve to go to Azkaban for the rest of their lives." She answered sheepishly.

Draco suppressed the blush fighting to creep across his face; Granger was fighting for him! But why? Why would Gryffindor Princess fight for the Slytherin Prince? He had committed those crimes, there was no denying it, he was guilty. "Granger, I'm a lost cause. You should help people who need it."

"Malfoy, you of all people need this!" she answered raising her voice slightly.

Draco stood up at this remark, "I get it now! I'm your Ministry charity case, aren't I Granger?" he ran a shaky hand through his blonde hair, "You're just fighting for me to boost yourself aren't you? I must admit Princess, how very Slytherin of you!" he turned on his heel and made his way for the stairwell. The taste of bile and stomach acid crept into his throat again; he was being played.

"Draco, you know it's not like that! I know that you didn't want any of it! You're not evil! You're not like the rest of them!" she yelled at his back, standing up now and stepping around the table towards him, "Please just let me help you." Her tone was quiet, almost pleading.

He turned to her, "I may not have wanted to do it, but I still did it. I may not be like them, but I was still one of them. I am still guilty."

oooooooooooo

Draco's voice was calm and steady as he turned back into the stairwell and quietly returned upstairs. Hermione stood, shocked. Draco had admitted that he may not have wanted or liked what he had participated it, but he had still done it. He thought that he was guilty. Draco Malfoy seemed to think that he deserved the lifelong sentence to hell.

Hermione retook her seat at the kitchen table and reflected on what had just happened. Why was she helping him? Was he really a charity case for her? No – she wanted to do this. Draco Malfoy may not have been innocent of his crimes against the Wizarding World, but he was not like every other Death Eater. Voldemort had used his love and loyalty for his family against him, forcing him into taking the Mark and becoming a Death Eater. She wasn't doing this to just advance her career; she was doing this for his own good. He wasn't like his father or his aunt. He did not idolize Voldemort, he despised him.

Hermione knew what she had to do then. She reviewed the quick notes she had taken during her conversation with Draco, and looked back to the large book laying in front of her titled 'Wizarding Law'.

Her mind flashed back to fifth year when she had been studying mind connections and Legimency in efforts to cut the connection between Harry and Voldemort. Ron and Harry had protested and yelled, telling her that her endless research and lecturing was for no use. They had gotten to upset with her, but she had never given up. She had done it anyway. That was what friends did for each other plain and simple. When you love and care for someone, you do everything in your power to keep them safe and happy; Malfoy was her friend. She cared for him.

Malfoy would be ready to kill her by the time his trial would arrive. She would question and research and prod and probe, but she would get to the bottom of it. Hermione Granger would make Draco Malfoy a free man.

oooooooooo

The Dark Lord stood tall in front of him. Lucius Malfoy was not a short man, but Lord Voldemort seemed to tower over his head. He quickly read the Dark Lord's expression – he was displeased. His thin lips were sloped downward and his brow was furrowed as he was in thought.

"Now now Lucius, no need to become impatient." he hissed. Lucius shuddered slightly. He was afraid of the Dark Lord and his wrath, especially this night. This was night that he would officially kill Harry Potter. Lucius had ought to be ecstatic with joy and envy – it was every Death Eaters dream to kill The-Boy-Who-Lived. But his mind was elsewhere.

"Please my Lord, I must find them. If only so that they can share this joyous moment with us!" Harry Potter had finally wandered into the woods after the Dark Lord threatening his friends and loved ones – the boy was so predictable – but Draco and Narcissa were nowhere to be found. He wanted to find them, no he needed to!

"Fine you have five minutes," Voldemort said impatiently, "Tie him up!" he yelled to the others. Lucius did not hear the rest of his Lord's words because he bustled into the movement. He ran through the Forbidden Forrest and into the action. He dodged curses and hexes just in efforts to find his family. He spotted Bellatrix and his wife talking quickly near the entrance to the castle. Narcissa looked distraught. She quickly turned and ran towards the steps. Bellatrix raised her wand.

"No" he muttered as Narcissa fell face-first before the steps. He sunk to his knees as he watched Bellatrix skip gleefully over the body of her dead sister and into the castle. The scene started to move around him. It was though a hook was pulling his backwards, out of his thoughts, and back into reality.

He blinked a few times, embracing his newfound clarity. He stared through the bars separating him from freedom. The rust on them was starting to spread and the soot and grime was turning them dark. Lucius imagined their first days in commission, shiny and new, able to withstand anything. There was nothing on the other side of the bars, just darkness and another set of bloodshot eyes, gazing into the same shadows. Lucius sat like this often, just looking. Something he would think – of his son, his wife, his Lord, his mistakes – and other times he wouldn't think at all – simply let the emptiness claim him.

Today Lucius thought of his son. He wondered how he would be faring. He had not heard word that Draco had entered Azkaban, but he knew the time would come soon. His thoughts raced as he tried to imagine Draco in a cell near him. They would interact; talk even. Lucius really did love his son with all his heart. He would never forgive himself for what his poor, young son had to witness and live through. But Lucius knew Draco was strong, much stronger than he ever was. He had inherited his mother's power and will. They were both good hearted, unlike him, who always found evil nearby.

The old Malfoy peered down at his frail hands. Azkaban Prison had reduced him to a sack of bones. This was not like his last stint in Azkaban. There was no more hope left. He had lost all direction. He only held on to one thing – Draco.

He readjusted himself on his small cot, bringing his thin legs to his chest when he heard a shuffling down the hall. He braced himself for the chill of the dementors, the agonizing memories they would bring forth. But the figure in front of him was human – the first he had seen in a long while. Lucius felt a chill down his spine as the man opened his cell door with ease.

"Remember me?"