"When we killed what we were to become what we are, what did we do with the bodies? We did what most people do; buried them under the floorboards and got used to the smell." - Jeanette Winterson, Gut Symmetries
Chapter Thirty-five: Time Is Now
It looked just like the forest. She knew this even though she hadn't been able to see it.
Hermione had done her research well. The plants that filled every corner of her flat were ones indigenous to certain regions of Scotland and Norway, even Sweden. There were shrubberies here that the gardener had raised his eyebrows at her request for. Certainly no one would pay money for that ugly old plant.
Hermione had shaken her head and said, "It matters to me. Plant it."
And so her flat had turned into a greenhouse.
It was the only way she could study now.
The Archives didn't do the same for her; she could no longer focus in stiff, tight air. She needed the smell of the old parchment mixed with the fresh rank of greenery and dirt.
Unfortunately, no matter how much color she surrounded herself with, colors were still off. Everything was still grey, even the plants. She knew that her clothes were ridiculously bright and probably didn't match; she knew that her apartment distinctly reflected a strange obsession. But she needed it.
Research was the thing she had always been best at; if she couldn't get to the bottom of something, no one could, and if she couldn't get to the bottom of this, no one would.
After the first rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, laws changed. "Death Eater" became synonymous with murderer, and the Ministry did all it could to lock people away. There was so much confusion that is was hard to do the job right; there were still so many people under the Imperius curse, so many people who were blackmailed into joining, and they had to somehow be separated from the true believers and supporters. Unfortunately, that had proved to be too difficult. Too time consuming and too messy.
So all the Death Eaters went away, guilty until proven innocent. And if you were still alive after everything, after the Death Eaters went after you for creating laws against them, you stuck with what you created.
And that hadn't changed. People were so sick of the Dark Lord and so glad that he was finally gone, no one had noticed that the wizarding world now had time to sort through the mess. No one in power wanted to propose this change for fear of being called a supporter of the other side, even though the muggleborn prosecution laws were slowly changing.
So while the muggleborn prosecution pamphlets and books were burning, innocent Death Eaters sat in Azkaban. Hermione hadn't seen it until now.
Draco was going to be one of those.
He was actually lucky he was getting a trial; according to Wizard Law, Death Eaters are only given a trial if they had information to offer.
As she read on, she discovered how much the legal system really needed to be updated. The magical world was far more disorganized and informal than the muggle world, and this especially applied to the legal system. The court system was outdated, the laws draconian in nature, and any updates were mere bandages over the broken bones. Even finding a collective of all wizarding laws was difficult, and she had at least thirty tomes next to her desk, full of handwritten notes, missing and added pages, and references to other books.
It was a wonder that anything got done at all.
It seemed that the Wizengamot relied on their own knowledge of the law, or what they thought should be the law, and they were too powerful to procure any questions about it. In fact, Harry was lucky he hadn't gone to Azkaban before his fifth year. It was certainly possible.
Along with the books was the memories - the Archives had an entire section of Record Keeper memories. The Record Keeper was the wizard stenographer, a neutral person selected to record the memory of a trial. This memory was then filed away into the Archives for research purposes.
The only people who seemed interested in the Record Keeper memories were old family members and those who wished to become attorneys. Hermione was a strange face to the Record Keeper office. The old woman who kept the memories looked at her suspiciously over broad-rimmed glasses and wrinkled cheeks. The box of vials containing the memories Hermione had asked for floated over to her slowly.
"Hermione? You've been in there for three days. Come to lunch with me!"
She ignored Harry's knocks on her door, immersed in her reading. She had a pensieve at her elbow, glimmering with the memory of an old Death Eater trial.
"I know you are almost out of potion. I brought your refill from St. Mungo's."
"Thanks," she called, turning a page.
"Malfoy was released today. He's in a holding cell."
Hermione stopped and looked up.
"… There was nothing Nora could do. She kept him at St. Mungo's as long as she could."
"Can he have visitors?"
Harry leaned against the door. "Can you come with me to lunch so we can talk about it?"
Hermione sighed and dropped her quill. Why she had been avoiding everyone she didn't know. She was certainly happy to see them and eager to catch up, but because of Draco's situation… she felt like being alone.
"Doing this to yourself won't solve anything Hermione. You always do this when you want to talk to someone."
Yes, she did have a habit of burying herself in academia whenever something was bothering her. It was how she coped with problems. Hermione ran a hand over her braid and stood, stretching her aching muscles and strained back. A few steps later her front door opened.
Harry was grinning. "Hi."
"Hi." She leaned against the door frame, indicating that he could come in. He sidestepped her slanted form into the foyer.
"Wow. Taken up a little gardening?"
Hermione shrugged, a gesture she usually never appreciated as an answer to a question, and turned into the kitchen.
"It's like a greenhouse in here." Harry eyed her over a particularly large plant as she ran the tap over two teacups. "Oh no, Hermione. We're going out. Get your cloak."
She shook her head. "That's not going to happen. I'm not leaving until I have a case."
"That's not your job. A defense attorney has been chosen already. He and the prosecutor are picking the jury tomorrow, and the trial should start next week."
Hermione did not appear to have heard him. She set a pot over the stove and turned on the heat.
He tried again. "Only people with certifications can represent someone in a trial of this magnitude. Surely you know that. Studying like mad isn't going to get you that in a week." Harry walked around the plant to face her properly. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"
"Because I have to, Harry. Because I'm all he's got!" she shouted, turning towards him. "He hasn't got anyone to defend him anymore. No daddy, no nothing. He hasn't even got himself. You should know how that feels."
Hermione faced the heating pot again, her nails drumming against the counter. "I've got to do something. Anything I can."
Harry struggled with something to say, but settled for silence as the water began to boil. Hermione poured it into their cups with quick movements.
"If he's that important to you - "
Her voice was low and dangerous. "He is, Harry. That's right. We're together. He's my boyfriend. That's what you do when your boyfriend needs help. You help him."
Harry shook his head slowly. "I'm trying to be reasonable here, but really, it's Malfoy we're talking about - "
"I realize that."
Harry stopped. "Don't get defensive. You know what I mean."
She nodded, staring into her tea as if it might tell her something, as if it might give her some symbol to decipher.
"You're so angry now. Our Hermione wasn't like that."
"Stop it!" she cried, turning away. "Stop blaming him! I'm like this because I'm worried. Can't you all see that? It's not his fault! It's just…" she looked back at him, searching for the sympathy she wanted in his expression. "He's going to Azkaban, Harry! He's going to Azkaban and I'm trying to do something about it!"
Her cup clattered against the counter, its contents sloshing over the edge and down the wooden cabinets. Harry reached for her and drew her shaking form into an embrace. "I know," he said. "I'm sorry. We're going to fix this, I promise. Everything's going to work out."
If only he could believe that himself.
"So here is what's going to happen: tomorrow we are picking jury. I'm thinking we should concentrate on parents, and anyone with family members who were found to be under the Imperius. They might have sympathy for Draco's situation. Prosecution is likely to go for older Ministry workers, previous Order members, and probably some muggleborns. Ones who aren't going to buy into a 'poor-little-rich-boy' story. I'm going on gut instinct with these people. It's all about asking the right questions."
Draco looked down at the table disinterestedly, twisting a piece of ribbon in his hands. He looked over at the document from which he had removed the ribbon - a letter from his mother - and looked away again.
Nora eyed him sympathetically. "That sounds good, Gerard. I'll have those memories for you to go over in the morning. Also, here is a copy of the Malfoy family tree. The one you have is old."
"Ah, thanks. Wait, are we finished? We still need to go over the prosecution's argument."
Shaking her head, Nora stood and walked over to him. "Draco's had enough for today, I think. He needs to look a little lively for tomorrow."
Gerard raised an eyebrow at Draco, who said nothing, but cleared his throat and nodded anyway. "Okay then. See you lot tomorrow."
Nora stared openly at Draco for a good minute, taking in his expression, his posture, and his fidgeting hands.
"Did you have something to say, Constable?" he commented.
"I'm trying to get you visitors. It takes time."
"Peachy."
"She's been locked away in her flat for days, you know, doing god knows what. All the wizard law books are missing from the NASROP Archives." Nora held up a small paperback book entitled Death Eaters: Crime and Punishment. "This I got at Flourish and Blotts. Half price."
He twisted the ribbon in his fingers some more, winding the dark green material around his hand. Hermione was like that - when the going got tough, the tough hit the books. His mood lightened a little at the thought of her bent over some ancient tome, a quill behind her ear and her fringe in her eyes.
"She hasn't been talking to anyone. Not even Harry. I sent him over there today to get her out of her flat for a bit. You'd think you guys never came back."
Draco didn't know what to make of that. Hermione would have wanted to spend time with her friends, the friends she hadn't seen in months. "And they blame me, of course."
"Of course. How can they not? You're easy to blame; you've gotten yourself into quite a mess."
There was a knock on the door, and Ron Weasley stepped in. "You wanted to see me, Nora?"
"Yes. Do you have those notes I asked for?"
"What is he doing here?" Draco grumbled, his head in his hands.
Ron gave him a sneer reminiscent of Draco's Hogwarts days. "I'm helping."
Draco shook his head, his stomach further tying into knots.
Nora looked between them, making sure they weren't about to start arguing, before she continued. "So along with the official thank you statement from the Minister, we also have Neville's consent to be a witness. That's what Ron is doing - getting people to agree to go on the stand. You can imagine how much of a personal risk it is to anyone to defend you."
Draco snorted without humor.
"Not to mention that the prosecutor is a bitch. She's known for turning defense witnesses against themselves. So we have to chose wisely."
"I don't know how great of a choice Longbottom is, then."
Ron eyed him. "He's all you've got right now. So deal with it. You don't even deserve anyone else."
Draco's jaw clenched, and the poor ribbon crumpled into a ball in his fist.
"Quiet, Ronald. That's not helping us."
"What do you want from me, Weasley? I've done what I could, I've tried to make up for my ugly past."
"You can go under a rock and die, is what you can do!"
Draco bit down the easy retort (having something to do with the Weasley family already living under that rock,) and instead said, "Shall I, then? Grow the hell up. We aren't in fucking school anymore, Weasley. This is real life and it's happening right now, and things are more complicated than just 'go die' and 'he was mean to me.' Grow the hell up, and help Hermione at least, and if you aren't going to help, then shut the fuck up!"
"That's enough, boys! Get it together. We still have things to discuss - "
"I'LL DO AND THINK WHAT I DAMN WELL WANT! And don't even pretend like she has forgiven you for treating her like trash for years, Malfoy! YEARS! You think she's forgiven you? She's too blinded by your lies and your trickery to see what is really there - "
"I NEVER LIED TO HER!"
Nora was on her feet before Draco could do more than lunge across the table. She shoved Ron back with a determined hand, sending him to the floor, and rounded on Draco, her voice quiet and tight. "You listen here. Either you get along, or I'll have you in Azkaban with no trial whatsoever. You know I can, and you know that no one will care. So sit down, stop fighting, and let's get something done, shall we?"
Draco eyed Nora angrily, but her stony expression and furious eyes had him backing into his seat again.
"And you," she turned, and Ron shrank back slightly at the look on her face. "If you won't be objective, then you are off this!"
Nora leaned back and straightened her shirt. Her hands went up to fix the hair that had fallen in her face. "Now. Let's get back to business, shall we?"
"I told her I was bad news. And it wasn't like she didn't already know," Draco grumbled.
"I said enough, Draco!"
"I can't deal with him," Ron sputtered, standing up. "I can't do it. Not today."
He strode to the door and threw it open, letting it slam on its own.
"Great. You are just a huge incubus of negative energy, you know that?" Nora got up and stood in front of him. "I need you to lighten up. Lighten up. Stop arguing with everyone who is trying to help you. Stop being a bloody brat with the attorney - he actually cares about your case, and he appreciates a challenge. Do you know how much everyone is risking to help you? I'm already getting my name dragged through the mud, and I'm not even an official source for your trial. Do you want to know what they are saying?"
Draco's head titled to the side, away from her words, and shrugged.
"They think I'm out of line. I've had non-Ministry workers helping me with the whole Master No Name fiasco every step of the way. I could get fired because of that. It's a good thing I'm on good terms with the Minister. Also, the head of the Department of Magical Defense, helping the defendant in a Death Eater trial? Half of my department wants me dead right about now."
"So then why do it?"
Nora looked at him squarely for a few seconds, her arms crossed. "Because it's the right thing to do."
Draco unclenched his fist. So people just did that? They just helped lost causes because it was right? They just gave and expected nothing back?
What did she want from him? What did anyone want from him?
"This is what happens," she continued, "when you are friends with normal, good people. They recognize when you are in a pinch, and they do something about it. They don't just watch you fail and maybe feel a little sorry for you. That's not what we're about."
Draco nodded slowly, something crawling up his throat.
"This is what happens when you are decent. I'm sorry you never knew." She turned and left the room, signaling to the guards that they were done. Draco's head dropped into his hands once more.