"When we are objective we are subjective too. When we are neutral we are involved. When we say 'I think' we don't leave our emotions outside the door. To tell someone to not be emotional is to tell them to be dead." - Jeanette Winterson
Chapter Forty-six: What It's Worth
The nightmare that she had been dreading for months was finally upon her:
Draco was going to Azkaban.
Hermione tried not to imagine the endless nights spent without him, the days of worrying, the thought of him being terrorized in prison with his worst memories. She could only imagine what he had witnessed as a Death Eater, and even as the son of Lucius Malfoy.
There would be no rest for him in that place, and in turn, there would be no rest for her.
She hadn't had to confront the reality of what was going to happen because she'd been overconfident in her ability to save his case; she'd thought that once she answered all the questions, everyone would see what a good person he really was, and truly understand the circumstances that lead him to his mistakes.
But she hadn't gotten the chance.
And without that chance, she couldn't help but feel the weight of the inevitable destruction of all they had built together, all they had felt.
She wanted to, so desperately, but... could she really wait for him?
For years?
It seemed like an eternity.
She was young, and was intent on destroying the corruption in her world, healing her community from the War. If she was going to do that, she would need to focus.
Not that he was a distraction - if anything he was an impetus - but pining and yearning would keep her from making the impact she really wanted to.
She stewed in her guilt, her shame, as it curdled in her stomach; she didn't want to abandon him, but what could she do? She cared about him and what he wanted, but waiting potentially ten years for him... and then, dealing with the problems he would likely have once he was out...
How could she wait for someone she wasn't sure would ever truly come back?
She closed her eyes, wishing she would never have to open them. She would take her blindness over this guilt, over this confusion, this helplessness. The numbness that had seized her fingers not a few days ago stirred again, and she raised her wand to her temple in desperation.
Hermione sat, frozen like that, for endless minutes; her wand point was unexpectedly sharp, and she could feel the welt forming on her temple as she pressed it there. The curse that she wanted to utter, the one that would make this go away, would not come out however; even though she knew it was hopeless, that there was nothing left for her soul, something held her back.
She was being selfish.
Yes, she had wanted him to stay - and had assumed that she'd be able to directly change his fate. But a part of her had known that the chances were slim to none. His sentence did not surprise her, and yet she was handling it about as well as if she'd been blindsided.
The family that Death Eaters left behind couldn't do more than handle the legal fees and fines. What did she hope to achieve? All of the things she was good at - studying, puzzling out mysteries, inventing arguments, digesting and regurgitating information - had not helped him at all.
And yet... she had still set something larger in motion.
Hermione shook her head violently, lowering her wand.
She still had work to do. There were still ways that she was needed, people who were relying on her.
And even though she couldn't truly help Draco immediately, she would do everything in her power to make his future brighter, make their future brighter, make the wizarding world's future brighter.
She was being weak again, letting the feelings of helplessness overtake her. Hermione steeled her resolve, slowing her breathing. She wasn't going to escape from this feeling - she needed to use it. The anger at her government, the shame in her helplessness, the fatigue with the lack of concern for members of her community - these feelings needed to be harnessed.
She needed the fuel to rev her forward, push her towards her goals.
A flicker of that feeling - the helplessness of her situation - transformed into fear. Fear of not doing enough.
She knew she was making a difference - but she should push it further. Ask for more - no, demand more. Really split the Ministry not only in half, but across as well. The flaws were obvious - it wasn't just the legal system. It was the lack of leadership, the distrust of magical science, the rejection of new, innovative ideas...
It had always been that way, since she had learned about the magical world when she was eleven. She had found it quirky and odd then, but she now understood the flaws to be dangerous and inefficient.
How anything got done was something of a miracle; in fact, she'd been off the grid for months, and their Ministry was still scrambling to pick up the pieces. Even with the relatively new Department of Defense, the changes she'd overseen in the Department of International Magical Cooperation... it was not enough. People were still scared, and still did not trust the Ministry.
Instead of solving the problems the correct way, the Ministry had done next to nothing. And the flaws now seemed amplified - the cronyism, the disorganization, the old-boys club that was nearly impossible to penetrate...
Oh. She was going to destroy it all.
She stood abruptly and grabbed her cloak.
When the green flames subsided and she stepped onto the marble floor of the Ministry, she wasted no time in releasing the three memos she held in a tight fist. The crumpled memos flew, somewhat disoriented, into the air, heading towards the lifts.
Many witches and wizards were openly gawking at her as she went past, but she ignored them and made her way to the lifts as well. She had much to do, and she needed to focus, lest she break apart again.
Hermione held her head high, ignoring the prickling of emotion in her eyes, and walked briskly into a waiting elevator.
Once she was safely inside the lift, she hit the button for basement level five and waited.
She wondered how long it would take for the Department of Mysteries to respond to her summons; they had been bugging her for weeks, and she had weakly dodged their questions, trying not to panic as she thought of the intense pain that Master had inflicted upon her. That feeling, of her magic wriggling in her skin, slithering in her insides, burning her from within -
She took a few calming breaths, steading her heartbeat as it fluttered.
No. She would not dwell on the pain; she had suffered, but it wasn't happening now. It was over. It was over...
She focused on her determination, and when the gates to the lift finally opened to the familiar marble and stone walls of her floor, she rushed out and into the stiff air, sidestepping her coworkers and heading straight for her desk.
She heaped her bag onto the floor and pulled out a small vial and her wand, preparing for what was coming.
Just as she expected, the Department of Mysteries sent someone almost immediately. She recognized the wizard as the one who had been badgering her for the last month, trying to schedule a meeting with her, trying to get her eyes on the research.
"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Miss Granger. Your help with this is greatly appreciated."
"Of course. Please understand," she paused, composing herself, "how difficult it is for me to think about that day."
Marty nodded quickly, his eyes wide. "Yes, of course, I completely understand. I'm sorry for my persistence."
Hermione waved her hand, trying to prevent the fear from creeping into her heart.
"We've been able to decipher the basic theory, but in order to truly understand it and figure out how it works... without your input... we would need a - a muggleborn... " he trailed off fearfully, disgustedly.
Hermione understood. "Look. I'll give you what you need to understand the research. I have a memory of how Master described it, how Master used it. It's not a good memory, as I was blind, but it's there. But if I do this, I'm going to need to know what your goals are." She crossed her arms and fixed the man with her steeliest expression.
Marty rubbed the back of his neck. "We're just trying to understand our people. Why we are the way we are. If we can understand more about the magic inside of us... maybe we can better understand how to control it."
Hermione nodded slowly. "And stop just guessing, testing... our knowledge of magic is still all trial and error, isn't it?"
"Yes. It's incredibly imprecise."
Hermione unfolded her arms and rolled her wand through her fingers. She had been so caught up in Master's scheme that she hadn't seen the potential of what understanding the magical gene could really do for their world. She'd pictured a grand clash between wizards and muggles, a struggle to peacefully integrate the two vastly different societies, hierarchical systems based on born magic or bought magic...
"This research is deeply powerful, Miss Granger. It could change what we know about ourselves. It can help us actually understand magic, not just use it."
"And put a stop to all the guesswork. Make real breakthroughs," Hermione added.
"Yes, exactly."
It wasn't about spells and charms; that's what magic did. But what magic was... to understand what magic truly was was to understand who they were as a people. It was to understand why they could do magic.
Hermione's expression warmed as the scholastic part of her brain perked up. She pressed the tip of her wand to her temple, in the same spot she had earlier that day. "All right. But once we begin to understand magic, I have a request for where we need to start applying that knowledge."
Her second memo returned sometime later with an affirmative, and Hermione made her way to the third basement level of the Ministry.
"Welcome to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Do you have an appointment?"
"Yes."
The secretary gestured to the archway on their right, and Hermione made her way through, scanning the desks in the area.
This floor was a lot more dimly lit than the others, and she was forced to narrow and strain her eyes; the colors in her vision had almost completely returned to normal, but it was still somewhat difficult for her to see in the dark.
At last she saw a familiar flash of pristine hair and stalked immediately to the desk.
"Miss Granger," Narcissa Malfoy said, standing. Her eyes were bloodshot. "I've booked a conference room."
Hermione followed the witch through the rows as she walked regally towards one of the large doorways lining the space.
Once inside a black marble room, unfortunately only lit by an ancient chandelier, Narcissa gestured towards the chairs.
"I don't know if I properly thanked you for taking over the titles to the estate." Narcissa met Hermione's eyes, and in the dim light the brunette witch could still see the other woman's intense despair.
"Thank you, Miss Granger. You have preserved our family legacy. If you incur any exorbitant tax penalties, let me know and we can work through it with the family accountant."
Hermione nodded absently, trying not to be consumed by Lady Malfoy's grief. It was practically dripping off of her.
She reached forward and clasped the other witch's hands, meeting her gaze steadily.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Malfoy," she murmured, squeezing.
Narcissa nodded, actually smiling sadly at Hermione. In that moment, Hermione was stunned to see the resemblance between Lady Malfoy and Draco; she had always thought him to look exactly like a shorter-haired, skinnier version of his father, but in the crinkling of her eyes, the depth of her cheekbones, and the curl of her lips, she looked just like him.
"I, um," Hermione said hesitantly, withdrawing her hands. "I have some ideas that can help your family even more."
Narcissa leaned back, gesturing. "In light of the last few months, I'm rather open to ideas."
The brunette witch sighed, organizing her thoughts, and said, "I'm putting together a plan to rebuild our world, and I think the Malfoy family - estate and people - could have a direct hand in that."
"Direct?"
"Yes," Hermione replied. "It seems, based on the total worth of your assets, that donating - which would be a typical and obvious option - may not entirely get you as far as other methods."
"What other methods are you suggesting?" Narcissa asked, clasping her red-clawed hands. "We make donations every year to various organizations, which has always helped us both maintain social standing and help with our taxes."
"I'm suggesting something a little more hands-on," Hermione said. "Would you be open to transforming a part of Malfoy Manor into a working ground for humanitarian efforts?"
Narcissa stared blankly at Hermione, her brow furrowing; it seemed that whatever ideas she had assumed the witch would come forward with, this was not what she had expected. Mrs. Malfoy had immediately jumped to the conclusion that Hermione would suggest something she'd be familiar with, something that Lucius would have suggested. Something along the lines of getting dirt on the department heads, or blackmailing members of the Confederation, or bribing the undersecretaries to the Minister.
Hearing such a front-door approach, something that lead with kindness, was rather unexpected.
A bit of discomfort settled in Narcissa's chest; Hermione was an incredibly smart and kind woman, and she should have known that the young witch wouldn't consider anything that could backfire socially for her. In fact, she was suggesting something that could potentially heal the wounds Lucius had created within the community.
He'd tried to do something akin blackmailing and bribing when he'd been captured, and it hadn't worked - he'd been sent to Azkaban with no trial, practically in retaliation.
Why would something like that work now?
"You have the power to lead by example in your social circles. You already have the admiration of many old wizarding families, and would gain a cleanse of the Malfoy name from the rest."
Narcissa's eyes flashed - it was difficult to hear that her family name was somehow tarnished - but she was forced to recognize that this statement had some truth.
"Also... this would be an intense route, depending how involved you want to be, and would definitely keep you busy for..." Hermione swallowed, "the next two years."
The older witch nodded numbly, her heart clenching.
The thought of sitting, alone, in their Manor for two, probably more, years seemed unbearable. She had been alone the last few months, moping around the large estate endlessly... barreling through bottle after bottle of wine... always sitting by a window, praying for an owl... When she had gotten a work draft from the Ministry, she'd actually been a little excited to have something to do with herself...
It was a bleak existence, only somewhat brightened by Draco's return.
She wanted to feel like she was doing something real, something that made a difference. She wanted to work so hard that she couldn't think anymore.
It was a steep departure from her former life... but when Lucius had first joined the Death Eaters, she'd had a bad feeling like it would be the death of them. And since, she'd barely had a claim to a normal life - the sudden departures, the heaps of galleons practically thrown away, the defiling of their estate...
It was now up to her to salvage what was left. And she could essentially do it in any way that she wished; any family or acquaintances that would have had a problem with it were either dead or in Azkaban.
Lady Malfoy sighed. "Alright, Miss Granger, I will think about it."
"Thank you, and please, call me Hermione."
Nora set down the Daily Prophet she had been perusing; even upside down, Hermione could read the large blocky title on the front page: More Death Eaters Divulge Secrets in Aftermath of Malfoy Sentencing.
"Good, you're here," Nora sighed, removing her reading glasses and tossing them on her desk before rubbing her eyes.
Hermione watched apprehensively.
"You've heard the ruling, correct?"
Hermione affirmed quickly. Nora studied her for a moment, and then said, "So you're here about the plan. And the research."
"Yes. I've decided to help them."
Nora nodded slowly, looking like she was forming an argument to change Hermione's mind. Quickly, Hermione added, "With conditions."
"And what are they?"
"One, that the Department of Defense and Department of International Magical Cooperation are involved, at every step."
The black-haired witch cracked a smirk, her eyes unreadable. "And?"
Hermione swallowed. "That we use the findings to determine the reason for the existence of muggleborns... and to study magical automation."
Nora stared at Hermione for long seconds, considering her answers, before she asked, "Why the magical automation?"
Hermione looked down. "If we can harness and automate magic, we may be able to find a way to program spells, the way muggles do with their technology, to help us take the work out of repetitive tasks. We could also eliminate some of the dangers surrounding certain jobs. And... we could automate Patronus Charms."
She nodded again, her eyes never leaving Hermione's face. The bushy haired witch tried to decipher what the other woman was thinking, but Nora was as difficult to read as ever. It was impossible to discern her motivations, a fact that often worked in her favor.
After a few moments, Nora's gaze softened, and she stood.
"Thank you for everything, Hermione." She came around her desk, encouraging the younger witch to stand up a little straighter; however accustomed Hermione was to the older woman, she was still a force to be reckoned with, and regardless of her affection for her and Harry, she was, as always, ruthlessly intimidating.
Nora continued, a little softer, "You're an incredible woman, and I can't wait to see what you do. Whatever it is," she eyed her, "you have my - and my department's - support." Something in her expression told Hermione that Nora knew exactly what she was planning.
Hermione smiled gratefully, the flicker of hope in her heart kindling into a warmth she hadn't felt in a long time. "Thank you for your guidance, Nora."
After a quick goodbye, she existed the witch's office and made her way around to the lifts. She felt more accomplished than she had in a while - she'd done many of the things she'd been avoiding for weeks, and had managed to do it within a single day. If she could keep up this momentum, she really had a chance to make real progress within the Ministry.
She resolved to look back over her recovery plan and flesh out more details. Her plan was sound from a logical perspective, but she needed to begin writing up the more tactical priorities; she had a feeling that a good place to start was with the Department of Mysteries. Depending on how quickly they were able to publish findings from the muggleborn research, she could use that to fuel the "reeducation" part of her plan; she puzzled through this as she came to wait for the lifts.
As she absently looked through the archway of the Portkey Registration Office, she was startled to see Harry standing inside filling out a form, the iconic green bag of Pretty Penny's Premade Potions hanging on his arm.
Harry looked up, as if he sensed her stare; she could tell that he was busy, same as her, but she was struck with the wide-eyed, apprehensive expression he was sporting. She narrowed her gaze at him; she knew that look. What was he hiding?
He smiled tentatively at her, and she returned the smile the best she could before continuing into a waiting lift.
Harry scratched his scar.
"This is such a fucking bad idea," he muttered.
Draco was thankful for the late arrival of the Auror Office's analyst. It had given him time to calm his nerves, time to recover from the intense disappointment and fear from his sentencing, time to appreciate his holding cell the previous night. Especially since after this interview... he would be booked and transported to Azkaban's main block.
He tried not to shake as the man asked him yet again about his Death Eater training.
"It's modeled after martial arts training techniques. Honestly, it's very similar to how we learn hexes in school. We are paired up, and are thus trained to both withstand the curse and cast it."
The analyst didn't look very satisfied with this answer, so Draco continued, "We're also trained in spell stringing. So for example, if I am under the influence of a certain curse, I lift it before I cast my next curse. So we are trained to automatically negate curses after they are cast. It's a lot of memorization. So if I'm bound in ropes from incarcerous, I automatically cast defodio to destroy them. If I'm incapacitated verbally with clauderous, I can automatically and nonverbally cast anapneo."
He stared at his hands as the analyst took this down. Behind him, the Auror standing guard fidgeted.
"And what about the nastier curses, with no countercurses?"
"We didn't use each other for those, but would perform them... perform them on bodies."
The analyst looked up in alarm, and Draco met his gaze, imparting on him his desperation, his disgust for the Death Eaters. The man had the decency to look sympathetic. "Don't ask about the corpses; I don't know where they came from," Draco muttered shakily.
The man nodded and continued to write.
Draco wasn't sure why the analyst was back here; he had already given some variation of this information to the man before, and besides, the trial was over. He'd originally supposed that there was some sort of limited time in which people could retrieve information from him, and that this time had passed. However, if he could rack his brain for more information, help the man out more, he could create precious minutes of freedom before his dark, inevitable fate.
After nearly an hour of telling and retelling, stretching out every bit of information he could muster, Draco knew that his time was up. The man stood, smiling coldly at Draco in thanks, and exited the room.
He waited in silence, glancing around the decrepit questioning room. He numbly wondered what his Azkaban cell would be like; his holding cell was larger even than this room, with a desk and chair built into the wall, a single toilet which was functionally just a hole in the floor, and a flat, stiff cot. He knew that the prison cells were much worse; since Azkaban held all the prisoners for the entire magical community, and since the fall of the Dark Lord had lead to the capture of hundreds of followers, the place was likely to be packed to the brim.
The Auror behind him fidgeted again, and he turned to look at the man.
A wave of intense shame settled over him as he realized who it was.
Neville Longbottom smiled weakly at him, straightening his robes. "Hey," he said uncertainly.
Draco shook his head at the boy. Longbottom was endlessly awkward, especially when the situation called for some semblance of professionalism. This amused Draco for a few seconds before Neville suddenly pushed off from the wall and pulled a flask from his robes.
He reached out and before Draco could duck away, yanked a strand of his hair.
"Ow! What the - "
Neville covered his mouth with his hand; Draco stared at him incredulously, but from the intense look in the other wizard's eyes, he knew that there was something larger in motion that he needed to comply with. Besides, even if he wanted to retaliate against his former classmate, he had no wand, and would likely be cursed into a pulp if he tried anything physical. Draco's complaint died, and he waited angrily as Neville withdrew his hand and walked around his chair.
As the other boy placed his Auror robes and an unfamiliar, multicolored robe around Draco's shoulders, the door opened and a man ducked in.
Draco furrowed his brow - he didn't recognize this new Auror.
"Follow me, Malfoy," the guard said. "Quickly!"
He didn't hesitate; he rose and trotted in step behind the rushing man, his breath shallow. When he glanced back, he was startled to see Neville in prison garb much like his own, fastening chains around his wrists.
He looked down, and was struck with nausea as he realized that his body wasn't there. His vision blurred at the edges... he had to consciously put one foot in front of the other as he followed the strange man. "What's going on?" he whispered shakily.
The new Auror didn't answer; he continued down an unfamiliar path through the dungeons, winding through the tight corridors with determination. Draco looked around at the dark marble walls, holding his chains to keep them quiet; it hadn't escaped his notice that whatever was happening was not a terribly good idea. He hoped to whatever luck he had that he wasn't being lead into a trap.
Finally, they stopped abruptly in front of an unremarkable door. The Auror muttered a spell.
The door swung open, revealing another tiny stone room, already occupied by a waiting individual.
"Potter?" Draco put forth questioningly.
Harry attempted a tight smile, his eyes cold. "Yes."
"What is this?" Draco asked cautiously. He looked around the unfamiliar room nervously, dropping his chains.
"This," Harry replied, gesturing at a small cat statue on the single table, "is your last chance."
Author's Note (11/10/17): One more chapter left... :)