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Chapter 8: A Place to End

She was tired. There was an old, well used axiom: 'Tired to the bone'. Hermione was THAT tired. She was tired in an allegorical and purely metaphorical way. She wasn't sleep deprived. She wasn't tired from working too hard or too long. She hadn't exerted herself to the point of exhaustion.

What she was, was tired to the point of weariness with life itself. She was waiting for her current life to end, so a new one could begin. Waiting for this ending, this chapter repose, this finale, was exhausting. Even the exhaustion at the waiting was arduous.

The day Ron had visited they talked for at least four hours. No further revelations were forthcoming. He admitted that in his shock he didn't question many things that as a trained Auror, he should have questioned.

He also finally admitted that he often felt as if there was a 'hole' in his memory regarding that night. He said that he frequently thought that perhaps he was under a spell of some type. He never wanted to pursue it, because he didn't WANT to question what he saw.

He admitted to feeling happy that Draco Malfoy was dead. He admitted that in a weird way, he was glad that Hermione was the one who had killed him. He said he thought it was a fitting end for Draco, and a just thing for Hermione to have done. He said that he had hated (yes, hated) them both for so long, for so many reasons, that deeming Hermione a killer and Draco a dead man relieved some of his guilt. It freed some of his hate.

It didn't make sense to Harry, who revealed himself to Ron, and then took him into custody for further questioning. It made even less sense to Lucius. However, Hermione said that she understood. Ron, who loved her as more than a friend, even though they had decided that friends were all they could be, was finally being honest.

Perhaps he was tired, too.

Harry took Ron into custody. He said he was going to interrogate him further once they were back at the Ministry. There were new types of truth serum, new spells he could use to help unblock Ron's memory, or discover if he had been cursed to 'remember' things incorrectly. Harry admitted to both Ron and Hermione that he always thought that perhaps Ron knew about the letters and threats from the Messenger, but had been cursed to forget them.

Harry promised Hermione he would finally discover the truth. He apologized to her that he hadn't done his best to solve the case in the past. He admitted that this was due to reasons of his own. Now though, he said that he was tired of the lies and deceptions, tired of prolonging everything and that he wanted it to end as much as she did. Harry Potter was tired, too.

She didn't doubt that one iota. Before he left, Harry promised her one last thing. He promised he wouldn't return without revealing some painful truths of his own to Hermione.

Hermione could hardly wait, though in many ways, she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear any of it.

Three days came and went, and she was once again outside, under a tree, but this time she was only pretending to read, because she was tired. And it was cold. Very, very cold. Lucius walked out, looked down at her, and held out his hand.

She was too tired to reach up for it.

Was it fair to Draco's memory that she loved this man? Was if fair to Lucius that she still lived partly in the past and that she couldn't yet move into the future until she was totally free of the chains and shackles of this soul deep exhaustion? Love was a fickle beast, and she felt in her heart that she loved Lucius. Still, she wondered if it was fair to him that she couldn't give him all of her heart. A tiny, little, dark piece of her heart would always be dead. It didn't know how to love, or feel, or give any longer.

Was it fair not to give it all to him, when it was apparent that he gave all of his heart to her?

Hermione Granger was so very tired of thinking.

What had her life come to? Was she to live the rest of it set upon a shelf, pushed to the background? Was this a self imposed exile, or one that was thrust upon her? Lucius Malfoy had wondered these things, and many more, during the last few days.

Hermione was pulling away from him, and pushing him away from her, and he was powerless to stop it. The more he tried to assure her that they would find Draco's true killer, the more she reverted inside herself.

It was all so exhausting to Lucius. He held out his hand to her again and said, "Enough of this. Take my hand. It's rude not to, when it's offered to you." The real meaning of his words was, "I'm tired too, Hermione, but I will always be here for you. You don't have to block me out, or back away from me. I'm not leaving you and I refuse to let you leave me." Did she know him well enough to know the true meaning of his words, or would he have to speak them aloud for her to understand?

A sign of awareness passed between them. She understood and took his hand.

They stood under a tree, holding hands and she said, "You know more about this than you've let on, don't you? So does Harry. Harry always suspected Ron of being guilty of duplicity. He thought perhaps Ron killed Draco, or was protecting the person who really did, and that he was blocking that knowledge due to a mental break or a dark curse. In essence, Harry picked Ron over me. I knew that, and allowed it, so I guess I picked Ron over me, too, because I didn't want to live without Draco."

She took a deep breath, grasped his hand tighter, and continued to look in his eyes. "And you knew that the notes and threats started before Draco and I were together, and you never told me. I also suspect you know who Harry took to Azkaban. You're still an influential man, and no one is more influential than Harry. You can't put an innocent person in prison, so who's there? Who are you all protecting?"

He didn't answer. He didn't know if she wanted him to do so, or even if he could. She rubbed her face hard with one hand and said, "I'm so tired, and I want this to end, and apparently I'm the only one that can end it, so I will, tonight. I've Owled the Minister of Magic. He's meeting me tonight, at my old house. He's agreed to tell me everything he knows. I think if you and Harry are hiding anything, you better disclose your information by the end of the day, or you'll lose me forever."

He didn't know if that was a threat or a promise.

Then she said, "Take me inside and make love to me."

Well now, he understood those words quite well.

Inside her bedroom, watching her undress for him, he knew she was no longer the same woman, and he didn't know what to do about that. Even now, preparing to make love, she was pushing him away, not with actions or words, but in her heart. If she chose not to allow him to love and protect her, he would find a way to do so without her permission, because that was the type of man he was.

She thought it was over between them, over before it started, but she was wrong. He felt strangely hurt, his pride slightly bruised, at the thought that she could just so easily give him up, when he needed her as much as he needed air and water.

Devoid of her clothing, and most of her emotions, except for an undeniable rage which she kept deep inside, she stood before him. He was still fully dressed, fully aroused, and fully angered. "Hermione," he began, "I know what you're thinking. For days, you've been moving away from me. You mean this lovemaking, right now, to be a goodbye. Hear me, my love, this is not goodbye."

The mask on her face fell and she leaned forward, burying her face in his chest. Loud, awkward sobs escaped her mouth. He held her close, his arms tight around her. He didn't know what to do for her.

He was a man without fear. He was mostly a man without morals or conscience. He had fought in wars, and had won and lost. Faces of the many people he killed and hurt were blank to him, because he had no remorse for killing or hurting them. But somehow, he felt as if this woman had restored his soul, his humanity, but at what price? Had she paid for his soul with her own?

He had avoided trying to help her solve her mystery, and end her rage, because he didn't want her to leave him. Ever. He wanted to keep her physically with him for the rest of his life. He never imagined that she would withdraw from him emotionally and mentally, while still maintaining her physical presence. She was slipping away.

He drew her head from his chest, cupped her cheek, and said, "We'll find Draco's killer, and you will be free. You can leave here if you want, and never come back."

She pulled back, wiped her eyes, and said one word, "Yes."

He didn't know to which of his statements she was agreeing, but it didn't matter. So be it.

Then they made love. It was fierce and passionate. There was tenderness and pleasure. They took, gave, shared, and rejoiced. They became one, and separated as two. He wasn't sure what he was going to do without her. He thought of it constantly while he loved her, though he tried to push the thought away. He lowered his entire weight on her, wrapped himself in her warm body, and allowed himself to be held. She held him tightly.

She had tears in her eyes when she climaxed. He collapsed on her. She held him tighter and told him, "Stay, don't move."

He would do anything for her. He remained on top of her, inside of her, and perhaps, when the time came, and she asked him to say goodbye, he could even say goodbye to her.

When they were depleted, he continued to watch her. He watched her as he dressed, and later when he was leaning against the mantle above the fireplace. She was sleeping, and he hated to wake her, because he knew she was so very tired, but he had to. He knew it all had to end. "Wake up, Hermione. Please, my love, wake up."

His voice was soft, beguiling, and even sensual. She turned over in the bed and stared up at his face. The light of day streamed into the windows and his expression was clear to her. It was one of longing. It was one of expectation. It was one of anticipation. She sat up, the sheet under her arms. This all felt achingly familiar.

"What is it?" she asked, resigned.

"I rather think it's the end, isn't it?" he said with a smile.

A surge of anger suddenly coursed through her. Not toward him. He hadn't forced her into this situation. She had forced him. She shifted on the bed, and then decided to dress. She pulled up the covers and asked, "The end of what?" just to goad him.

"Of us, of this, of everything. You're thinking of leaving me. I'm thinking of making you go. It's all so tiresome, don't you agree?" He tried to sound glib. He smiled a faint smile. He wondered what she would do if he demanded that she leave? Would she? Would it be easier for him, if he made her leave? Easier than if she left on her own?

Hermione moved over to the closet, pulled out a suitcase and started to pack. "I don't blame you for anything, you know. I don't blame Harry either, but you both could have helped me solve this sooner, couldn't you?"

He tried to remain somber, adding, with reluctance, "Perhaps." He had grudgingly withheld some information from her. That was true. Potter had as well. Did they have the right? Who knew? He murmured, "I wanted a relationship with you and that was all that mattered to me at the time. I'm a foolish old man. I lost my son. I didn't want to lose you."

"You wouldn't have lost me. You would have had me freely, without bonds on my freedom," she said warily. He watched her features turn cold and stony as she packed.

"Where will you go?" he asked, curious.

"Back to my home. The home I shared with Draco. I want this to end. I have a few people to see. If you want to help me, you can. If you don't, I only have one request. Stay out of my way, Lucius Malfoy." She picked up her suitcase and left the room without a backwards glance.

However, before she left, and without looking at him, she said, "I do love you, though."

"Yes, I know," he said to an empty room after she left. "If only that was enough." He walked from the room, and caught up with her as she was about to leave the front doors. He pulled her arm, hard, and crushed her to his chest. He placed a hand on her face, roughly, but then kissed her tenderly. Then he left before she could. He had a few people to see.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry Potter sat alone in his little office at the Ministry. He had papers and reports strewn all across his desk. He took his hands and leveled the desk with one fell swipe. He stood up, huffed an angry breath, and went over to an interrogation cell, where Ron Weasley had been for the past three days.

For three days Harry had questioned his former best friend. He had questioned him under Veritaserum, and under a new, more potent truth serum. He used Legilimency on him. He used spells and curses on him, everything he could, to try to unlock the events of that night from his friend's memory.

Nothing worked.

Harry was at his end. He sat down across from Ron. Ron looked tired. He was sleep deprived. He was hungry and thirsty, and he had to go to the toilet. He looked at Harry and he said, "What more can I do, Harry? I don't know what to tell you. I can only remember what I remember."

"Really, Ron? Are you certain you're not protecting someone?" Harry asked with another sigh.

"Who would I be protecting, Mate? If I could help clear Hermione's name I would. Why don't you tell me what you know? How is it that you were able to obtain her freedom, no matter how dubious it might be?" Ron reached over and placed his hand on Harry's arm.

"Why didn't you ever tell me that you knew who the Messenger was, Ron? You were an Auror. You had a duty to protect Hermione and even Malfoy, and yet you withheld information that could have helped free them from the danger. Yet, you did nothing."

Harry stood and faced away from Ron. "Even though you hated Malfoy, Hermione was being threatened too. Hell, I hated the git too. Ron, you should have told who it was."

Ron stood as well. "How? How did you find out who it was?"

Harry turned back to face Ron. "She confessed to me. She's the one that's in Azkaban right now, under the guise of Hermione Granger."

Lucius Malfoy and Adrian Pucey followed two guards closely through the labyrinth of hallways and corridors of Azkaban Prison. Lucius felt bile rise in his throat at the raw memory of his time here, all those years ago. True, the guards were now regular men, but the place still reeked of misery and sadness and pain.

Adrian turned to Lucius and said, "Potter had no proof, mind you. She didn't confess to anything but to sending some of the letters. We know she didn't even send them all. She had help. She told us that much. Her mind is so weak, however. It's like a fragile cobweb, with some fragments connecting to lucid truths, and some connecting to pure lunacy and fabrications."

Lucius nodded. The clicking of their heels on the floor was distracting him from the miserable thoughts that kept creeping into his mind of his time here. He tried harder to concentrate on what the younger man was saying to him.

"Still," Adrian continued, "a confession to some of the letters isn't a confession of guilt to killing your son. He knows that, as does the Minister. The Minister is giving Potter only six months to find proof, or else she goes free, and Hermione will come take her place."

Lucius stopped walking. Adrian stopped as well. "No," Lucius barked. "She didn't kill him!"

"The proof is still in the pudding, as the Muggles say. Weasley saw the whole thing, and they can't dispute what he saw. Potter's been questioning him for the past three days to no avail. So in the end, what does it matter who sent the threatening letters, if Weasley saw Hermione kill him, and there's no way to prove that he's lying? Draco had a letter from the Messenger grasped in his hand the day he died, did you know?"

Lucius shook his head. The resumed their walk, following the guards, deeper into the underbelly of the beast.

"Apparently, Hermione took it from his hand before she killed him. Potter told me last night that Weasley just remembered that wondrous fact. Here's what I wonder…and Potter pointed it out too, how did Weasley know it was a letter from the Messenger? A letter was never found, and still has never been found. Perhaps he recognized the parchment, or stationery. This means, if he recognized it, he knew all along the identity of the Messenger. This also could mean that the Messenger and the killer are one and the same, or at least the Messenger might know who the killer is."

Lucius stopped again. "We find that last note, with my son's DNA or fingerprints on it, and then we find the real killer."

"Fingerprints?" Adrian asked, looking over at the older man.

"I know a bit about Muggle forensic science, too," Lucius retorted.

The guards finally stopped at a heavy wooden door. It was locked simply with a single lock and the key was in the door.

"After you, Lucius," Adrian said. He dismissed the guards. Adrian didn't want anyone else to know what was happening. To everyone else here, this was Hermione Granger, in protective custody. Since he was warden to Azkaban's special ward, he knew otherwise.

Lucius walked into the spacious cell. It was quite comfortable, compared to his accommodations when he was here, years ago. A young woman was sitting at a desk, her back to them, writing. She stopped, placed the quill in the inkwell, and swiveled on her stool.

"Lucius Malfoy?" she asked, timidly. "I used to know your son, did you know that?"

Lucius was shocked at the sight of the woman before him. He turned to Adrian and said, "No. This can't be. Potter must have this wrong."

Adrian shook his head slowly and said, "Don't you think he would have anyone else here if he could? No, he's sure, but still, he's lacking proof. Talk to her, Lucius. Use your Legilimency skills. Find out what she knows. No one else has been able to pull anything from her mind. Perhaps you can. You have my blessing."

Lucius walked up to the woman, and said, "May I speak with you?" She smiled. He sat on the bed. She walked over and sat beside him. He held out his hand. She placed her hand in his. "Close your eyes, and open your mind to me, Miss Weasley," he commanded.

Hermione roamed around her old house, turning on all the lights. She walked back into the hallway after all the lights were on, and the curtains were all closed, and said, "You don't have to stay here with me, you know."

Theo Nott, who worked for Lucius Malfoy, stood in the hallway, near the front door. He gave her a lazy grin and said, "Lucius said that I did. If you're going to talk to the Minister of Magic, he wants someone here with you. He doesn't trust the man, and frankly, neither should you."

She cocked her head to the side, hands on hips, and said, "Of course I trust him! I've known him most of my life! And furthermore, Harry has complete and utter trust in the man!"

Theo threw his head back and laughed. "Harry Potter doesn't trust him! Harry Potter has been using him to get you out, and to put Ginny Weasley in Azkaban!"

"Ginny Weasley's in Azkaban? Why?" she asked in shock.

There was a knock at the door. Theo walked over to her, closed her open mouth with a simple finger to her chin, and said, "No time to explain, sweetness. Go answer the door. I'll hide away, but I'll be right there if you need me. Ask the right questions, Granger. Get him to confess."

Theo started toward the back of the house, when Hermione turned to him and hissed, "Confess to what?"

"To killing Draco, of course," he said.

(One more chapter and then an epilogue.)