Chapter Five

Malfoy's Will

Harry and Ron were waiting for her in the hallway outside of Shacklebolt's office. They rose from their seats across from the double wide door and hugged her in turn. She felt Harry's carefulness, as if she would reprimand him, and she smiled to soothe any worries he had.

"He's running late," Ron informed of Kingsley.

"Why did he ask us to meet with him?"

Ron shrugged and Harry answered, "we don't know. He just asked to see us as soon as possible. He said that it was urgent. Important matters."

The hallway was empty aside from them, their voices sounded magnified. It was nearly claustrophobic. The Minister of Magic had the whole floor to himself. Shacklebolt was very much a people person. It was only expected for him to be away, mingling with everyone; he had a lot of things to do.

She chewed the inside of her cheek worriedly as they waited. She wondered, what could Shacklebolt possibly want? "You two didn't say anything about the book, did you? Tell me you didn't."

They both looked genuinely insulted.

"We would never!"

"How could you think that?!"

"I'm sorry," she apologized hurriedly, knowing her mistake right away. She should have never suspected her best friends to have bailed her out. "I'm... I'm just tired." It was a lame excuse, but it was true, she was exhausted. It was a great achievement for her to be on her feet at all.

Harry slid closer to her, his hand slowly going over her arm to rest on her waist. Though it was too near to crossing the line between friendship and something more, it was obvious that he meant only to help her, ready to catch her if she fell. She leaned into him thankfully not caring for the moment if he got the wrong impression.

Ron lifted his wrist for the time on his watch, but just then there was the increasingly loud echo of impending footsteps. She touched his hand, lowering it.

A large dark man approached them, his mouth wide in a bright grin, his voice deep. "Hello there, Mr Potter, Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger. Please, come in." He tapped the knob of the door with his wand and let it swing open to a spacious room. He motioned for them to take the cushioned seats opposite of the cherry grained desk.

"I do apologize for my tardiness. I had an urgent appointment."

"That's alright," Hermione excused sitting up straight. "We weren't waiting long."

"Good." He sighed, his fingers linking as he became solemn. "This would normally be presented to you by Mr. Crumple. He deals with these affairs, but I wanted to be the one to give you these. I hope you don't mind."

"No, I'm sure we don't," Harry said. "What is it that you're giving us?"

"You are aware that Mr. Draco Malfoy is dead?" He didn't say the words with the caution someone would show of fear of offending someone. It was well known that they did not get along with the Malfoy's.

Hermione however, bowed her head and hoped that no one saw the cringe that she gave to the callousness that Shacklebolt showed.

"Yes, we saw that in the Daily Prophet," Harry replied.

"Are you aware that he left only you three in his will?"

They had all gone silent. A quill, as a feather was, could not be heard floating to the ground. She would have differed on that occasion. It was truly that quiet.

"N-n-no... Us?!" Harry waited for the punch line.

Ron's eyes were like saucers. "How much?" Always concerned about money, even when he was rich himself.

Hermione simply sat there until she realized she wasn't breathing. She scooted to the edge of her seat. It felt as though someone was sucking all of the oxygen from the room. She didn't know what to think. It was too surreal. What could Malfoy leave her?

Shacklebolt pulled out a drawer and extracted a paper. He read from it.

"'To the Weasel,'" he gave an apologetic look, "'my Mirror of Truth. It will give him insight he was too blind to see.'" He coughed, and from his fist to Ron's hand fell a small, silver mirror.

"Anti-climatic, the son-of-a- " Ron muttered, turning the mirror between his fingers before dropping it unceremoniously into the breast pocket of his shirt.

"'To the Scar-head: A watch. When you need the last five minutes. Don't blow it.'"

Harry accepted the small brass watch. It had no straps or anything to hook it on. There wasn't even numbers on the facing, just the one hand.

"'To the Mudblood...'" Shacklebolt took a pregnant pause to appraise her thoughtfully. She shifted uncomfortably. "'I give my wand, knowing she'll find better use, and...'" He set down the paper. "Mr. Malfoy has given everything to you."

"WHAT?!" Harry and Ron yelled.

Hermione swallowed dryly, her being on the fine line of either shaking terribly or being frozen forever. She couldn't even feel. It had to be what being in shock felt like. "Everything?"

"Yes, everything. His Manor, his house, his money. It all belongs to you. His words were, 'to everything I couldn't be, it is what I leave you, all that I have.'"

Harry and Ron stared at her in dismay. Shacklebolt seemed to have been waiting for a reaction himself.

"Okay," she said in monotone. "Thank you." Numbly she stood and walked out, barely registering that their eyes followed her.

Malfoy was the richest person in the Wizarding society of the United Kingdom. And she had inherited everything of his. When an enemy did such a thing as that, what was a person to think? He was indeed an enemy. There was no denying it after all they had been through, no matter how much she cared for him. And she did care for him, against ever fiber of her being, she did.

All that money... The Manor... His house... All of his belongings, except the two objects he gave to her two best friends. Why? He had his own friends, why didn't they receive anything? Why did Draco Malfoy leave all that he owned to the three people he despised more than anyone else? He had spent their whole school career trying to make their lives miserable. He attempted murder, he tortured people, he hated, and he fought against them.

Hermione judged herself for caring for such a despicable excuse for a wizard. No, that was not good enough. She judged herself for caring for such a despicable excuse for a human being. Why? Why didn't she ever stop herself?

Perhaps the most important question was why she felt like a widow...