"There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." ~ Edith Wharton
Chapter Forty-three: Smoke and Retribution
It was almost 3 o'clock, a fact that was working against Hermione as she dashed into the small but lavishly decorated tea shop. She was still shaking from her presentation to the Confederation of Wizards - blimey she had argued with some of them - and the upcoming task was no less stressful.
"Good afternoon, Miss Granger, you've finally arrived." Narcissa Malfoy waved her hand, not standing, and indicated to Hermione that she should sit.
"Thank you for the invitation, it's wonderful to meet you properly," Hermione answered awkwardly, tucking her skirt under her as she sat in the icy metal chair.
"I've ordered Chamomile for you." Mrs. Malfoy gestured to the tea set on the table; in her own hand, she held an empty martini glass, the empty spike swirling around inside. Hermione was not even sure that this place sold liquor.
"Thank you," she replied, taking up her cup as calmly as she could. Her mouth was so dry, she felt for sure that her lips looked like prunes. Draco's mother looked like a queen, her hair swept up in an elaborate twist and her collar high against her diamond-clad throat.
Mrs. Malfoy watched her a second, and then started, "I have not summoned you here to chat. I have important questions to ask you." She attempted to sip her empty drink, and then set it down abruptly on the table, meeting the eye of a timid waitress on the other end of the room. The waitress rushed over, her apron askew.
"Draco is impossible to talk to, these days," she surmised after the waitress deposited a new martini on the table. "So I will ask you directly." She leveled her gaze with Hermione's. "Did he propose to you?"
Hermione's breath caught. "No, of course not."
Mrs. Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "And did you sleep with him?"
"N-No, I swear."
She stared Hermione down for a few seconds, judging her answers, and then nodded. "Good. I believe you."
"Why?"
"Excuse me?"
Hermione faltered slightly. Suddenly speaking in front of the Confederation of Wizards seemed infinitely easier than this. "Why would it matter?"
"It..." Narcissa seemed to notice that the bushy haired witch was on the verge of arguing, and weighed whether or not to engage.
"Let me explain," she replied finally, her strained politeness returning. "The attorney has informed me that you've been doing research on the laws that affect Death Eaters and their associates. Tell me... what have you found regarding property?"
Hermione sighed, relieved. She really didn't want to have an argument about marriage, or bloodline, or suitability... whatever she knew Draco's mother would be concerned with. "Death Eaters are stripped of their property, assets, everything - even if their conviction is only collusion with Voldemort."
"Correct."
"But if you're associated with or related to the Death Eater, the Ministry can level a penalty - per addendum 289 in Section 568 - and can seize assets equal to the levity of the offense of the convicted."
"Equal," Mrs. Malfoy echoed bitterly, shaking her head and taking a sip of her martini.
Hermione continued hesitantly. "They then must seize the assets within 90 days of the conviction."
"Miss Granger - I'm not the owner. Draco is."
She stared as Mrs. Malfoy took sip after sip, trying to process her words. "But that means..."
"The Ministry is going to take everything. As soon as he is sentenced."
Hermione shook her head. "But the investigation into the Death Eaters has already moved to the Canadian hideout - surely they don't need to investigate Malfoy Manor anymore?"
"Have you been listening?" Mrs. Malfoy snapped. "They don't care. It's not about any investigation. That ended months ago. This is about our money. Death Eaters cannot own property."
"And you're not the owner of any of your family's assets?"
"No."
"Why?"
Mrs. Malfoy downed the rest of her drink and said tightly, "That is none of your concern."
Instead of feeling insulted, Hermione softened at her words. Mrs. Malfoy was hurting. Her family and her home had been taken from her to serve the Dark Lord, and now she was paying for it - literally. So then why was her estate in the hands of the men in her family? They were essentially the only ones who had been Death Eaters. Why wouldn't they place the estate in the hands of a non-Death Eater? It couldn't be because...
"Mr. Malfoy didn't trust you? To hold the estate? How... cruel."
"Don't speak about my husband that way," Narcissa countered, her earrings swinging. "This is normal for families of our status."
"It's not normal for a husband to not trust his wife," Hermione said sadly, "and you deserve so much more than that."
Whatever Narcissa was about to say died in her mouth. Instead, she studied Hermione, her eyes roaming over the witch's concerned face. She knew Hermione to be one of Harry Potter's friends, but really did not know much about her besides her inferior blood status. She had read about a few of the projects that Hermione had lead since the Dark Lord's defeat - reparations and replacement wands for captured muggleborns, equal pay and representation within the Ministry departments not just for muggleborns, but for women and magical creatures as well... Hermione was exceedingly conscious of diversity and inclusion. In practice, Narcissa knew that this boiled down to a very compassionate, albeit somewhat delusional, individual. And that kind of compassion was magnetic.
"I see now, why Draco cares for you," she murmured, touching her heavy wedding ring. "In your research, did you find any loophole to the law?"
Hermione shook her head. "The law encompasses Death Eaters and their families. If you're a convicted Death Eater, one-hundred percent of your assets are taken. If you're related by blood or named an associate, the Ministry names their price."
"But if you aren't related?"
Hermione furrowed her brows. "That... there's nothing about that. If you aren't associated, and there is nothing tying you to the family, why would they need to take anything?"
For the first time, Narcissa looked relieved. "I was correct then, in summoning you here."
Hermione stared blankly at her, wondering what she was getting at.
"Listen... I've organized the titles and deeds to our assets. I have a lawyer ready to transfer them. I just need someone suitable to claim them. I've considered Draco's disowned uncle, but since he is family, the Ministry could potentially just take all our property anyway. So... I need your help."
Hermione slowly shook her head. "I... I'm not qualified to help with something like that... have you asked Draco?"
"You don't understand, girl - I don't know anyone who isn't associated with the Death Eaters. All of Draco's friends, eligible and not, have refused. And I'm out of options." Narcissa looked Hermione in the eye. "You're probably wondering why I asked if he proposed to you or impregnated you - in both of those situations, he would have made you family."
Hermione's blood ran cold. "Are you asking me to take over Malfoy Manor?"
"Or at least find someone willing, yes."
"What... what about you?"
"Since you care for him, I assumed you wouldn't kick me out." She smirked, seeming to remember how a conversation with a different potential owner had gone.
"I'd never do something like that," Hermione agreed quickly, fingering the edge of her teacup. "Are you sure about this?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
With the light from the afternoon sun illuminating the room, it felt like they were floating on the surface of something promising. Hermione studied Mrs. Malfoy again, taking in her somewhat defeated posture, her thin hands, twisting her wedding ring round and round... "We should consult with one of my friends in the Magical Office of Law first, to make sure this will work... and definitely tell Draco. But... yes. I'll do it."
"Don't worry about my son," Narcissa waved, standing up, "he'll be thrilled."
Suddenly a man Hermione knew as one of Gerard's assistants burst through the tiny door. He looked around frantically, and then, spotting Hermione and Mrs. Malfoy, stopped.
"Excuse me ladies," he rushed, "Can you come with me? It's urgent."
Hermione stopped at the office door when she heard hushed voices.
"... knew what Hermione was doing, from the beginning, and waited until now to try this? It's a tactic - she knew we were counting on Hermione's testimony."
"Damn... and it doesn't help that the girl's memory evidence is practically useless, you can't even see anything."
"Yeah."
She backed away slightly, her mind already racing, her heart already heavy.
Mrs. Malfoy cleared her throat in agitation, and Hermione shook off her feelings and pushed open the door to Gerard's modest office, the messenger trailing after the women. Gerard was speaking to one of his other advisors, his arms full of parchment rolls. Jesse Worthington stood behind him, nervously corking and uncorking a memory vial.
"What's going on?"
Gerard looked from Mrs. Malfoy to Hermione, his eyes wider than normal.
"I've... I've got... " he struggled for a moment, and then sighed, looking away from the women. "I'm sorry Hermione. The prosecutor moved to have you taken off the queue for the witness stand."
Hermione's hand instinctively found Mrs. Malfoy's arm. Draco's mother stiffened.
"What?! But... why?!"
"She... she knows that you've been visiting him, and knows about the lecture you did at the Confederation of Wizards. The Wizengamot is not happy... and they've already voted on the motion." Gerard shook his head.
Hermione hid her face in her hands. "What did the Minister say?" she asked through her fingers.
"He had no choice... he has to recognize the will of the Wizengamot."
She had spent weeks preparing for this, only to have the prosecutor pull the rug from under her at the last moment. She couldn't hold back the tears of frustration; she swayed, and Jesse strode towards her quickly.
Jesse awkwardly put her arm around the brunette's shoulders. "It's okay Hermione. It's okay. It will work out. It will work out..."
She shook her head, but allowed Jesse to pull her into a proper embrace. She buried her face into the girl's sweater, trying to keep it together, but it was no use:
Everything had been for nothing. All of her preparation, the mental labor, even just to gain a certification as an analyst... it had all meant nothing.
"Also, Lady Malfoy, The Record Keeper is starting to call into question the memory evidence. It's likely that some of your memories - unless replaced under the influence of Veritaserum - will be ejected from the record. Draco's memories as well."
"And my memories?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes and removing her face from Jesse's chest.
Gerard scratched in his beard. "Your memories are fine, Hermione."
Hermione snorted, suddenly numb; Jesse attempted to stroke her back, but she wriggled out of the older girl's strong grasp.
She turned and stared at Gerard expectantly, coldly, knowing that her anger was misplaced but feeling the need to lash out regardless. "And where the hell were you while this was happening?!"
Gerard's eyes were pleading. "I barely escaped their wrath, Hermione. If I had confirmed that I was involved in setting up your meetings by defending the decision... I could be removed as his attorney. It's against the law for him to be near you outside of the context of court."
Hermione faltered, her eyes welling up again; she had felt the sensation, when she had met up with Nora to see him, that what she was doing was going to backfire. But she hadn't cared; she'd been too preoccupied with her own anticipation of his appearance and how it would change their relationship. She hadn't been concentrating on the right thing!
Jesse spoke uncertainly. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help."
"Oh, Jess," Hermione sobbed, tears steaming down her face, "You've already given so much. I've... I've cost you everything!"
Jesse shook her head, her own eyes filling. "It's okay Hermione. I don't blame you... for what happened."
Gerard shuffled awkwardly as they embraced, crying over their loss. Narcissa, taken aback by Hermione's display, stared down at the young women.
Had the girl really thought she could make a difference?
Narcissa had already been through hell once, with Lucius' inevitable sentencing and Draco's disappearance. Her husband hadn't even been given a trial, no matter how many wheels he had greased or backs he had scratched. His influence in tatters, his guilt obvious, he had retained the last of his pride only by revealing nothing, no information, and had been sent to Azkaban with two life sentences hanging over him. His responses to her letters had been less and less frequent, his once pristine handwriting erratic and wild.
Narcissa fought the tears that wanted to fall. It seemed that she was in for it once again. The brief moment of solace she had felt, over finding a solution for her estate, dissipated.
None of it would matter if her son was permanently taken away.
Her family was all she truly had; the estate was incredible and definitely worthy of protection, but... without her husband and her son, it was an empty victory. She couldn't stand to be in their Manor... by herself, forever. Not after the way the Dark Lord had defiled it, not after everything they had been through. It would no longer be home.
She fixed her gaze on Gerard. "Look at me, attorney."
He turned.
"You had better fix this," she scathed, her voice breaking. "He's all I have."
Gerard nodded, his expression betraying a flicker of fear. Lady Malfoy was in ways more intimidating than Lucius Malfoy. Though he could sense the caring, motherly intentions behind her ask, he could also detect a level of darkness that would surely spell professional - if not also personal - ruin for him should he fail.
"We're working on it," he admitted, glancing at the sobbing girls. "This ploy by the prosecutor just means we need to refocus on memory evidence - hard evidence - that points to good intentions. Rather than explanations. Lady Malfoy... Jesse... I'll need you to resubmit some of the memories you've given, under the influence of Veritaserum. It is the only way to keep them on the record."
He paused, noting that they were not even listening. "I... I'll go get the paperwork for the Veritaserum."
Drip.
She didn't know how long she had been staring, but the light through her windows had gone from golden to blue, eventually fading into nothing, before burning hot and white into her flat again. If she looked closely at the plant she was staring at, she felt like she could see the liquid pulsing through the veins, jostling the leaves. The spritely blood bush quivered, and another drop fell.
Drip.
She had come home hours... days... some time before, tears streaming down her face, and had started cleaning determinedly, stacking the parchment rolls littering her floor and pressing book on top of book into boxes... but then she had begun to think, and had ended up with her head in her arms for the better part of the night. Nothing had given her enough reason to move since.
Drip.
Someone had knocked on her door an hour ago, maybe two. She hadn't answered; she'd just slumped further on the dusty table, her joints cracking.
The bush quivered again. Drip. This drop finally overflowed the water dish around the bush, and wet lines spilled over the rim, staining the ancient hardback underneath.
She knew it was time to bring the large, dilapidated tomes scattered around her flat back to the Archives - she was already in danger of losing her clearance - but she couldn't bring herself to move them now. Not after all she went through with them.
Hermione had been out of control for months; blind, disoriented, wrestling with new feelings and sensations. When she had finally come back to her former life, she couldn't just slip back into her old routine. With so much of her power taken, she had needed to reassert it in any way she feasibly could.
So she had spent all of her time studying, learning, researching, reasoning, trying to make a difference in the way she knew how. She had done this, she knew, all in an attempt to regain some control of her situation.
But no matter what she did, it seemed that she couldn't get her footing.
Why had she even believed, for a second, that she could really do something?
Her eyes prickled briefly. She had thought that she couldn't possibly cry more, for surely there was no more water left in her. But despite that she fell apart again, her head falling back into her arms.
She thought hopelessly back to the nights she and Draco spent together in Bergen, trying not to get too close, stiff and uncomfortable. She had cried herself to sleep several times then, too exhausted from her constant hunger, her stress, her blindness. Stressed from the feelings of yearning for him that she could not escape from.
She reformed these memories in her mind and pictured what the room had looked like, what she had looked like, what he had looked like. She pictured him pulling her close, breathing against her. She sighed as her Draco smiled at her, stroking her hair, touching her everywhere...
Hermione violently shook her head and cried out in exasperation.
She was missing him terribly, missing his touch. He'd had near constant physical contact with her, even in the beginning of their nerve-racking trek through the woods. He'd been carrying her, cleaning her wounds, pulling her along, steering her, holding her, stroking her, caressing her...
His touch had become fuel. And she was running on empty.
"Hermione," a voice said. The stiff air sucked towards the foyer, pulled by the sudden movement of the front door.
She didn't get up.
Harry ushered Ron and Neville into her apartment quickly and closed the door. They looked around carefully, noting the tall stacks of books piled up in one corner, plants balanced on top of them.
"I'm sorry for unlocking your door without asking, but we've tried three times now, Hermione."
She lifted her head, her shirt leaving thin welts on her cheeks. "Oh, hey boys," she murmured, wiping her eyes. "There's tea on the table."
All three boys looked at the forgotten tea apprehensively; the surface was still, a layer of film covering the liquid.
"Actually Hermione, we brought you some food." Harry plopped a paper bag on her table. As he shouldered out of his cloak, he noticed a stack of letters by her kitchen window.
"Hermione, have you been looking at your mail?" He walked over and shuffled the stack, taking a letter. "Half of these are from the Department of Mysteries."
"Yes," she said dismissively, scooting her chair back and stretching her arms. "There are a bunch from Rita Skeeter as well."
The boys looked around her small flat as she rolled her neck and went back to leaning on the desk.
"Also, there's some notices from the NASROP Archives..."
Hermione gestured toward the boxes on her floor without lifting her head. "I was just about to return the records," she said into her sleeve.
Harry sighed, dropping the letters and beckoning the other boys. "Let's get these books together." They looked around and tentatively began plucking books off the floor, checking the spines and depositing them into the half filled boxes.
Neville looked up from his work. "Which ones need to be taken back, Hermione?"
She didn't answer; Harry craned to look under her arms, where her eyes were fixed on her crumpled skirt.
"Hermione, I know you're upset. Let's get this cleaned up and we can talk about it, okay?"
She shook her head.
Harry looked over at Ron, having a silent conversation with him, before he turned to Neville. "Oh, Neville, would you help me with these boxes?" He knelt and picked up one of Hermione's discarded, half packed boxes, struggling for effect. Neville nodded knowingly and took out his wand.
When the boys exited, Hermione looked up and realized that Ron was staring at her intently.
He tried to smile. "Hey."
"... Hey." Hermione glanced around the room for some escape, some distraction, suddenly wide awake.
"I actually... wanted to talk to you," Ron said, following her eyes with furrowed brows. "How are you?"
She looked up at him, really saw him, for the first time since she had been back. His eyes were clear, piercing, staring through her. She had until now felt so desperately uncomfortable around him, ducking away from his gaze, her shame burning through her like a hot knife. But it seemed that he had no intention of letting her do that forever.
She steadied her resolve and replied, "I'm... I'm fine."
He faltered slightly, giving Hermione the opportunity to take in the rest of his appearance - his hair was combed for once, his chin clean shaven, and he wore a crudely-made charm around his neck.
"Ron, I... I didn't expect any of this," she said carefully, "I tried to fight it..."
He waved away her excuses. "It's okay. I get it."
"I mean... I'd hate me too."
"I don't hate you. I mean, yes, I'm mad at you. You basically... cheated on me."
Hermione felt a pang in her heart - she had tried not to think of her actions in those terms, but she had known what she was doing. She had tried to make excuses - she and Ron hadn't really defined their relationship, she wasn't sure if they weren't just fooling around - whatever she could convince herself. But in the end, she had made the decision to go with what her body wanted, knowing full well what the consequences would be.
"I'm so sorry, Ron," she whispered, "I'm so ashamed of myself."
"No, don't be. It's... it's okay. I'm okay."
Hermione searched his eyes, and noted that though he seemed hurt, he didn't actually seem that angry.
He slowly knelt down on the dusty floor and sat, waiting for Hermione to climb out of her wooden chair and sit as well. When she knelt and pulled her legs under her, he fixed her with a look and said, "Honestly... I'm relieved."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean... I don't know. I realized that I was lonely and was settling for you... because you were available... always so available."
Hermione nodded cooly, her shame evaporating into a light annoyance. She let out a heavy sigh. "Available, huh. Ouch."
"You know what I meant," Ron countered. "We were both... just there, and had known each other for so long... it just seemed easy. But... now that I've seen what you and Malfoy have, I can't pretend that what we had was any better. It really wasn't."
"I did love you," Hermione murmured, wiping her face. "I wasn't just passing the time."
"I know. I did too. But I think we both had a lot of feelings after the battle... and that clouded everything."
"Yeah."
They sat in silence, staring at the floor, Ron shuffling his feet on the hardwood. He was relieved to be talking to her openly. How long had he been angry at her for snogging Malfoy, for their lack of closure?
Hermione looked up. She had never seen the room from this position before; her bookshelves rose like skyscrapers above them, the plants within wildly bursting from every available crevice. She felt as though they would topple any moment, bearing gold edged and linen bound tomes upon them, dirt raining from the terra-cotta.
"Did I tell you that I liked your new plants?" Ron asked uncertainly.
"They've been dying on me. If it weren't for Neville, my flat would be a graveyard," she said, shaking her head. "But thanks."
"And... I'm sorry about the trial."
She nodded, her eyes prickling.
"I know you were really hoping to testify."
She waved her hand, suppressing the emotion crawling up her throat. "It's going to be okay. They have my memory evidence. I didn't... I just expected to be able to defend him."
He came to sit beside her and gently pushed his shoulder against hers. "You are. Isn't the Confederation of Wizards changing some laws because of you?"
"You heard about that? Already?"
"Yeah. My coworkers are all talking about it. It's the first time anti-Death Eater laws have been evaluated. Ever. People are noticing." He nudged her again reassuringly.
She sighed, wiping her face. "Yes, well, I hope so."
"I heard there are more than one-hundred laws being evaluated," Harry put forth, stepping around the doorway. Had he actually left? Hermione fixed him with a look.
"Yeah, Hermione," Neville added, stepping in as well, "the Auror Office is in a tizzy over it."
She looked between them, all staring at her with something that looked like admiration. Hermione closed her eyes, a shred of hope flickering in her heart.
Draco idly traced a finger along the groves in the steel table in front of him, trying not to count down the seconds until he was transported back to his Azkaban holding cell. The sound of his chains dragging across the bludgeoned surface was strangely soothing after all the bad news of the past few days.
Between the dementors and the trial, he was having a hard time focusing on anything good.
He had already noticed that his good memories - most of which spent with Hermione - were starting to haze over; he found himself forgetting specifics of the environment, or what she was wearing, or what they had been eating. The dementors, though they didn't often come towards the holding cells, were ruthless. They feasted on his good feelings any time they were within range.
Luckily, he could still remember Hermione, her eyes like obsidian but sparkling all the same. The thought of her beautiful face, warm, playful, annoyed, understanding... was a fixture in his mind, keeping him from dropping into the abyss of his fate.
The door to the room opened.
"Hello, Draco," Gerard greeted, an unusual bounce in his step.
Draco didn't respond; he just continued trailing his chains.
"It's time to go," the attorney murmured. "This is almost over, son."
He nodded, waiting for the Aurors streaming through the door to pull him to his feet.
"Draco," Gerard said, catching the slumping boy's gaze, "I don't want to get your hopes up, but it's going to be alright." In Gerard's face, Draco saw a determination he hadn't before.
What did the man know?
As Draco was practically dragged away, his feet barely touching the ground, Gerard fingered a crumpled memo in his suit pocket.
G - We've finally sifted through and catalogued all of the cat's memories. You're gonna want to take a look.
Author's Note (10/20/17): Hey all, thank you for the wonderful reviews and feedback about the rating, I'm changing it to M. Also, I think I will make updates on Fridays. And now, another question:
While editing this story I've come across some fatal errors, and fixed them, but since I wrote the initial chapters many years ago it is unclear if those chapters are still successful. I can correct a grammar error/typo here or there, but I was wondering if you had doubts about the story based on the initial chapters. LMK!