Chapter Forty-Seven: Fire Away
I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose
Fire away, fire away
Ricochet, you take your aim
Fire away, fire away
You shoot me down but I won't fall
I am titanium
You shoot me down but I won't fall

I am titanium
- Titanium, by David Guetta

Hermione woke up Christmas morning with a clear mind and purpose. It took her a minute to realize she wasn't where she had fallen asleep on the couch and she smiled thinking about Ron and Harry thoughtfully moving her to her much more comfortable bedroom upstairs.

She swung her feet to the floor and stood up with a stretch. Raising her arms above her head and leaning left and right, she tested out her injury and nodded to herself with satisfaction. The potion she took last night has done its job and her body felt whole and strong again. With that in mind, her brain refocused on the tasks she had before her. Hermione understood there would be very little she could actually to in regards to confronting Kingsley today as she would have liked. The Ministry would be a ghost town due to the holiday, but she could plan and she could prepare her strike. One way or another, Hermione would see Draco again before tomorrow.

It was like Hermione planned her strategy under the influence of her dreamless sleep. She would get through Christmas day, and then that was it, the Ministry would hear her or there would be hell to pay. She just had to make it through Christmas day.

If it was one thing Hermione could do, it was survive. People tended to underestimate her because she was always buried in a book, but what did those books have to offer? Knowledge. Immediately after waking Hermione scratched a short and direct message to the Minister politely requesting that he meet with her as soon as possible and that she was available that day, she wrote that if he didn't have time to see her that day she would be happy to arrive at his office promptly at eight the morning after Boxing Day when Ministry office hours resumed. She gave it to Harry's owl and gave him a gentle pat on his feathery head, dressed, and then went downstairs to eat Kreacher's breakfast with her two friends with thanks of relocating her. She knew she had to visit the Weasley's with Harry and Ron, but she was already writing letters in her head to who she would be able to drum up the most noise and impact. It was just like the years past, Hermione was always good at keeping a presence while planning her next move.

In fact, Hermione was so practiced at going through the motions of her life it was like falling back into the level of comfortable semi-conscious awareness she navigated for the past two years. She hadn't even realized she had been sleeping until Draco Malfoy woke her up with whiskey and a passion she didn't know existed in her anymore.

Draco saved her in his way, without actually meaning to. Hermione didn't doubt he thought the same about her.

She touched base with the Weasley's and they listened with rapt interest when she told them her first-hand account of the strange attacks at Hogwarts that only seemed to occur when Draco was with her. She found herself a little surprised at their reaction to her story about how Kingsley had come into the hospital wing the night prior and took Draco from her. She should have known better, the Weasleys were some of the kindest people she knew, and their outrage over the injustice shouldn't have been a shock. Molly was already fussing over if she should contact Andromeda and Narcissa, who were due to arrive for dinner in just a few short hours. Mr. Weasley was pacing path in the small living room pondering over which of his contacts he could reach out to as soon as possible and stopping every so often to confer with Percy. Ron, Ginny, and Harry shared a corner near the Christmas tree where they kept an eye on Hermione as she waited to hear back from the Minister in between pulling out various lists from her small handbag. She would unroll a piece of parchment, look it over, and either nod to herself or start scribbling furiously.
On the sixth or so reach into her beaded bag Hermione's fingers closed around a small parcel she forgot she packed the day before for Harry's Christmas Eve party. Had it really been only yesterday?
She pulled out the gift wrapped in paper decorated with Snitches. Hermione looked out the window into the dark, closed her eyes and let herself forget for a moment that she was barely older than a child. She forgot about tests. She forgot about Horcruxes. She let herself forget that her parents hadn't contacted her in weeks, not even to drop her a Christmas card. She let herself forget for just that moment that she was hurting just as badly as she was the day she sat in a courtroom with Polyjuice pulsing through her veins and wearing a different face while Delores Umbridge accused other Muggleborns, people who had lives and children and families, of being magic-stealing criminals.
The injustice of it all made Hermione want to scream. It made her want to lash out and set the world on fire. She couldn't comprehend this world in which people she had grown to count on continued to disappoint her again and again. It made her want to crawl into herself and wish Albus Dumbledore had never visited her home when she was eleven years old.
Instead Hermione held the gift, no bigger than an envelope in her hand, and got up to give it to whom she meant it for.
"I forgot to give this to you last night," Hermione said almost shyly as she approached Harry, Ron, and Ginny and gave Ginny the package. "After all the excitement it slipped my mind."
"It's alright," Ginny said with a smile as she took the gift and started to lift the tape on the edges. "Is this-Oh! Harry, Ron, look!"
The four of them paused then in a moment of respect to their fallen housemate. Colin died, but his memory lived on in the pictures he loved to take.

Set in a simple gold frame was a picture of Harry and Ginny casting their Patronus together during the days before Dumbledore's Army was discovered. With the backdrop of the Room of Requirement Hermione was taken back to days when rebellion meant something different than what she had in mind for the Ministry she helped create.
"Thank you, Hermione," Ginny said gratefully. "I didn't even know this picture was taken."
"Colin Creevy took it," Hermione explained. "He gave me an album of the photos he took and developed that year."
The small group paused then in a moment of respect to their fallen housemate. Colin died, but his memory lived on in the pictures he loved to take.
All in all, it wasn't the joyous Christmas any of the Weasleys had hoped to find, but duty to Hermione and duty to their way of life made them all furiously together nonetheless. They didn't even mind when Harry's owl returned to her with an invitation to meet with the minister that evening when she should have been enjoying Molly's Christmas dinner.
After she had read through the correspondence twice, Hermione looked up at her friends gathered around her and smiled at his curt response grimly. She had banked on her veiled threat of arriving in a crowded Ministry to have him eager to deal with her privately. The Minister played into that perfectly.

"I need to go in alone," Hermione told Harry and Ron as they walked the corridor to the Minister's office. "I can't tell you both how grateful I am that you're here, but I need to try this on my own first."

"We understand," Harry spoke up first.

"Just give us a sign if you need us," Ron added grimly.

"If you see smoke billowing from under the door, that's your sign," Hermione said cheekily before she grabbed the doorknob and pushed it in.

"Miss Granger, you should know I am missing my holiday dinner for this." Kingsley Shacklebolt's once deep and calming voice now sounded like nails on a chalkboard as Hermione took the seat he indicated with a wave of a hand.

"So is Draco," Hermione said simply. "You know why I'm here."

Kingsley had lowered himself behind his desk and templed his hands as if waiting for Hermione to elaborate.

Hermione shifted to the front of the uncomfortable seat. "Truly, Minister, if you feel this is a waste of your time then I'll be happy to tell our world that the Deatheaters won, there is certainly nothing good or extraordinary within our Ministry any longer."

Kingsley sat up a little bit straighter. "Please come to your point, Miss Granger," he implored.

Hermione sat with her hands folded in her lap as demurely as she could stand before she spoke. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be told you're a witch when you're eleven, Minister?"

Whatever Kingsley had prepared for, that wasn't it.

"No," Kingsley said cautiously. "Why?"

"Imagine believing in something so fully," Hermione said as she picked a piece of lint floating in the corner to concentrate on. "You know that brooms are only meant to sweep the kitchen and there is no way your mother's slippers actually turned into rodents. There must be a logical way to explain these things. Except the logical reason is magic, and your parents don't understand."

"I'm afraid they're not the only ones, Kingsley said dryly.

"I used to believe in you, Kingsley," Hermione looked him in the eyes. "Like magic, I believed there was nothing more extraordinary than being able to make your own wishes come true. That's what I fought for last year. I wished for a world where injustice was overcome by good people who didn't care about where a person came from, but where they're going, and I used to think you were on our side."

"There's still only our side," Kingsley told her.

"No, there's not," Hermione countered, brushing her hand at the air as if to swat away his comments. "Once again, it's the Ministry versus the good of the people. Of all people. I used to think you were different, you understood what we went through to get to today, but as quickly as you came to be Minister is as quick as you forget what brought you here."

"I'm not following, Miss Granger," Kingsley said with growing impatience.

"You're using Draco as an example," Hermione said simply. "I've been through the law texts and I have an eidetic memory of every injustice I witnessed at Hogwarts and within the Ministry. There has never been a case like Draco's, but that's fine because he was a child Deatheater, isn't it? You could have given him a warning much like when Harry accidentally blew his aunt up, but instead you took the other Ministry route of strike first and listen later, like when Harry then had to produce a Patronus charm in front of his cousin. That was the beginning of a corrupt government. History is repeating itself, Minister, and my voice was small before but it's not anymore." Hermione let out the rest of her air and then inhaled deeply. "I won't stand by and watch the Ministry abuse the power I helped it win. People I loved gave their lives for our world to be a better one, and I won't disgrace their memory by standing idly by and letting the world they fought for fall into disrepair, not while I'm still breathing."

Kingsley leaned forward with his elbows resting on his desk. "I don't know what you want me to tell you, Miss Granger. My hands are tied. Mr. Malfoy broke the law."

"Not if he were any other wizard," Hermione argued. "He would have been given a grace period of one year, enough time for an adult witch or wizard to be delivered, via owl, the new regulation and granted time for it to be contested. Be that as it may, as students we are not held to the new law until learning about it in school. It's an uncommon occurrence, but Draco is still technically and legally a Hogwarts student and as such is deserving of the rights and laws protecting that status. If anything, Professor McGonagall would have the final say in his punishment, not the Ministry. Your actions are resonating with those of former Minister Fudge and that parasite he sent to the school to report back to him. In other words, pathetic."

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "Are not many of the Weasleys employed by the Ministry? What about Harry Potter himself? Isn't his greatest ambition to be an Auror?"

"Do you honestly think that matters to them?" Hermione demanded, angered even further by his insinuation. "They know better than to be swayed by threats to their job. Tell me, Minister, because I don't understand. At what age should we expect to lose our self respect and throw in the towel on our morals?"

"That will be all, Miss Granger," Kingsley said sharply. "You are welcome to view the hearing, but this conversation is over."

"Have it your way," Hermione said with a dangerous glint to her eye. "I'm sorry it's going to come to this, Minister."

"Come to what, exactly?" Kingsley asked.

"This conversation may be over, but I'm not done," Hermione straightened and counted points off on her fingers. "I've been silenced, I've been tortured, the Ministry tried to tell me I wasn't a real witch and I've fought back every time. My voice is stronger today and I'm not going to be quiet about what you're doing."

"You're a child, in your own way, but also a legal adult, Miss Granger," Kingsley said as he stood. "You're at Hogwarts due to unique factors and your own standing and contributions in the magical community. You can easily be given your N.E.W.T.S. tomorrow and deal with the consequences if you would rather take your place in the adult world rather than stay under the protection of Hogwarts."

"Fire away," Hermione said softly as she stood and opened her arms out as if to embrace a blow to her chest. "If you think finishing my studies really means more to me than my honor or my sense of right and wrong then you must find me as cheap as you've apparently become."

"That is enough, Hermione." Kingsley laid his palms on his desk and leaned over, the first sign that his calm demeanor chipping away. "I saw you out of respect to our history together, but I will not tolerate anymore disrespect."

"You lost the right to demand respect when you arrested Draco under false pretenses," Hermione shot back. "You and I both know that Harry Potter used that spell on none other than Draco himself, and yet three years later it just happens to finally become registered on the scale because why? You knew Draco was going to use it because I did. You and this office probably couldn't wait to put another feather in your hat to commend yourselves on a job well done with rounding up Deatheaters. Well I'm shredding that damn feather, Minister. Draco is no more a Deatheater now than I am, and the only reason he used the bloody spell in the first place is to protect me, a girl who comes from a long line of Muggles. He is living proof of the change we need to see in our society and you throw him away like he's nothing."

"Are you done, Miss Granger?" Kingsley asked Hermione cooly.

"Not nearly," Hermione responded. "But apparently for this meeting I might as well be."

"Then that will be all." Kingsley told her.

"For now," Hermione reminded him. "For now."

Hermione led the way out of the Minister's office and heard Kingsley follow behind her.

"Minister!" Harry approached Kingsley after taking in Hermione's expression. "You need to understand what has happened. I've seen-"

Kingsley shrugged Harry off like he was unwelcome ant to a picnic. "You need to remember your training and you need to remember your place now. You're a Junior Auror and report to me, it that understood? You have patrol in an hour if I'm not mistaken, good day, Mr. Potter."

Harry backed off like he had been burned and glanced back at Ron, who shrugged with obvious bewilderment. The trio watched Kingsley stalk down the hall past them and looked to each other to speak first.

Hermione managed to tame her temper and gestured to the Minister's retreating back.

"See?" She asked Ron and Harry. "He was just like he was at the hospital wing. Kingsley is so eager to prove the Ministry is on the up and up he doesn't care what moral code he bends or how far he sets us back."

"Bloody arrogant bastard," Ron fumed.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "I'm sorry I didn't comprehend how far gone he is," Harry said ruefully. "I understand Malfoy's history is working against him, but this isn't what the Ministry was supposed to be."

"Harry?" Hermione interrupted slyly.

Harry paused. He was no stranger to that tone. "Yes, Hermione?" Harry asked slowly.

Hermione let face break into the first smile she could muster all day. "Your patrol is at Azkaban tonight, isn't it?"

Harry groaned. "Are you asking or confirming?"

Hermione smiled wider. "What do you think?"

Harry sighed, but grinned all the same. "So, back to Grimmauld Place for the cloak?"

"Muffliato. Draco?" Hermione barely whispered his name.

"Hermione?" Draco sprung from his perch on his bed while looking around at the empty corridor, visibly perplexed.

Hermione then dropped the hood of Harry's cloak right in front of his cell, her brown hair fanned her face in a way that was almost comical.

"There you are," Draco said with a smile as he reached out from behind his confinement.

Hermione pressed herself against the cold bars of Draco's cell and gripped his forearms. "Are you okay?" She asked urgently.

Draco returned the gesture then reached out and placed a cold hand on her flushed cheek. "What are you doing here, Granger?" He asked with a tone of reverence.

"I'm afraid it's not to bust you out," Hermione admitted with some chagrin. "Although I wish that were the case. I needed to see you. I needed to make sure you were alright."

"I'm alright," Draco told her without breaking contact. "I'm even fantastic right now."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You missed your calling for theatrics," she admonished lightly. "Truly, how are you?"

Draco paused, unsure of what to share and what to keep to himself.

"It's lonely here," he admitted. "More lonely than it was the last time. Other than that, I can't complain. But what about you? What are you doing here? You're going to get caught."

"No, I'm not." Hermione said with so much confidence that despite being in the most impenetrable and unescapable fortress in the Wizard world, Draco believed her.

"I don't want you to get in trouble for me," Draco told her. "Please, I can't bear the thought of you stuck in here."

"No one's going to catch me," Hermione assured him. "Harry is on patrol tonight, and he'll let me know if someone's coming. I have his cloak, without the Dementors on guard anymore Azkaban is not the prison it once was."

"I'd argue that, but I'm just too glad to see you," Draco admitted. "But I promise, I'm fine. I'll have my hearing in a few weeks and then I can go from there."

"There won't be a hearing," the chill in Hermione's voice gave Draco pause.

"Is there a reason why?" Draco asked cautiously.

"I plan on having you out by the end of the week," Hermione told him with a wry smile. "Hopefully sooner, but I have different wild cards in play that may or may not pan out. Regardless, by tomorrow evening everyone will know exactly the kind of injustice the Ministry has invoked."

"Hermione..." Draco faltered. "Just what are you planning?"

Hermione reached through the bars and gently grabbed his chin, bringing him down to capture his lips with her own.

"Trust me," she whispered as they broke apart and leaned their foreheads on opposite sides of the steel bars. "I didn't come out of the last few years without a trick or two up my sleeve. Come Hell or high water, you're coming home to me by the New Year."

(A/N) Hi Everyone. I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. To be honest, I've had this (and the next) chapter nearly done for months, but life had other plans. If you've been with this story for awhile (or just like reading Author notes) you'll remember my mother was diagnosed with Huntington's Disease a couple years ago (and following that, I found myself positive for the disease). Back in October we lost her to it and I haven't quite come back from that yet. I turned 29 this past January, but losing a parent is a hurt that is unlike anything I've ever experienced. I'm still grieving, and I expect I probably will continue for the foreseeable future. I really appreciate you all who have hung in here with me, and to any new readers I thank you for your patience. Writing is therapeutic for me and I try to respond to any reviews that have questions or specific comments, and I thank you all again for letting me have this outlet for my own, personal angst. Until next time. Xo Ariel.