The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man

Title: The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Suspense, romance, angst
Warnings: Character Death, graphic violence, madness, non-consensual sexual acts, abuse, oral, M/F, and overall darkness. Dark!Harry included.
Summary: DH-EWE: Ten years after the fall of the Dark Lord, Hermione Granger leads of life of self-imposed obscurity, that is, until the day Headmistress Minerva McGonagall is murdered and a certain 'hero' is responsible.
Author's Notes: This fic is in 1st person POV, so take heed. It will eventually be a DM/HG, but there is a squicky scene that might make you think otherwise. There is some non-con in this fic, so if it squicks you, don't read it for Merlin's sake! Comments and ConCrit is welcomed!



The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man

Part 19




May 2nd in the evening, I was moving in the kitchen to begin preparing a dinner for myself. Draco had not returned, and I resigned myself to the idea that he would not return for dinner and possibility not another meal until late the next day.

However, as I was about to put my favorite recipe for orange chicken into the magicked oven, the door opened with a bang, nearly making me drop of the pan of chicken onto my toes. I lifted my head to glance over the counter from my crouch.

Draco moved into the parlour, throwing his leather coat onto the arm of the couch, muttering obscenities under his breath as he next threw his wand holsters with the coat. His hair was a mess, windblown, his cheeks reddened. I slipped the chicken into the oven and straightened, studying the state of his clothing.

The lightweight black jumper he wore had Sickle sized holes burnt into the threads, and there was a mark of soot on his neck. The only part of him that was not dishevelled was the patch over his right eye. I opened my mouth to greet him, but he continued muttering and strode into the bathroom without one look at me. When the door slammed shut, I shuddered. He was angry, but not in a rage as I had seen him at least once before.

The sound of water running calmed me, and I continued to prepare a meal…fixing a bit more white rice than I had originally planned, and more steamed vegetables. I set out two plates on the counter bar and Conjured two stools to sit on either side. By the time I heard the water shut off and movement from the bathroom, I had set out the flatware and produced bottles of butterbeer.

I sat down on the stool inside the kitchen as Draco exited, steam following him as he emerged, the patch gone, a towel wrapped about his waist, he rubbed at his hair with another towel as he moved past me and into the bedroom, again with no acknowledgement to me.

I gritted my teeth as I filled both plates with food. I could hear him dressing in the bedroom, and I wanted to call to him…go to him…

Beltane had been a mistake. My chest filled with dread.

One night Cinderella…I was so stupid to ever think that I…

Draco sat down across from me, dressed in an old tee shirt and jeans. I was wearing something very similar…my hair pulled back into a ponytail. He grabbed a fork, but paused to stare across the bar at me…me who was as tense as the metal utensil in my fist.

“Another wild chase,” he muttered, and I knew he meant Godric’s Hollow. “But Weasley did find the supposed leader of W.A.T.C.H.”

I relaxed enough to ask: “Oh?”

Draco nodded slowly, and I refused to meet his eye, staring down at the steaming food on his plate instead.

“Dennis Creevey.”

I shuddered again. “Dennis?” I asked incredulously, raising my eyes to Draco’s face, which was paler than usual, and grave.

Draco nodded. “Potter Loyalist even at Hogwarts. After his brother’s death, Creevey began W.A.T.C.H. at Hogwarts…and has been recruiting ever since. He took up his Colin’s love for photography, and became independently wealthy. However, after Hogwarts, he took W.A.T.C.H. underground, hid his involvement. Charlie Weasley and I finally cornered him in Godric’s Hollow, Creevey and about twenty others.”

I swallowed thickly. I remembered when Colin had been killed during the Last Battle. Minerva had sent him away for his own safety, but Colin sneaked back and was killed almost instantly outside the front doors of the school. I was not sure how his younger brother had coped, but now I knew… W.A.T.C.H. had begun, from what I understood, as a protest group against ex-Death Eaters and anyone else involved with Voldemort who had somehow escaped prosecution after the War. Add resentment, anger, and revenge…and W.A.T.C.H. had become a terrorist organization.

Draco began eating while I was lost in my own thoughts, and slowly I began eating as well…mechanically.

When we had eaten our fill, I began clearing away the dishes while Draco watched me. My thoughts had circled around again of thoughts about Beltane. My hands shook as I placed the plates and silverware into the sink. Intimacy was a foreign concept to me, and I had no idea how approach it. I hated myself for thinking that I had to rely on Draco for instruction. I hated that I knew so little about how to act. I wondered if I should have approached him when he first entered. I wondered if I should have embraced him or kissed him. I was happy to see him safe.

I also wondered why he had not spoken to me when he returned…

“Hermione?”

I had been staring down into the sink with a dirty fork in my hand. I jerked my head up at the sound of my name. My name sounded almost pretty coming from Draco’s lips.

I met his eye.

“Quit second-guessing everything,” he said, his elbows resting on the counter, his hands folded before him.

I frowned. He was not that good at Legilimency, and I knew that my doubts had been clearly written on my face. I dropped the fork into the sink with a clatter, and turned to Draco who had risen from his stool. I watched him walk around the bar to stand just before me, his hair still slightly damp from his bath, and sage and citrus wafting off his skin with the scent I had applied to be his alone.

“About the other night…” he said softly. He stood very close to me, and my lower back rested against the edge of the sink. I set up my eyes upon his chest, the defined muscles underneath.

I tried to prepare myself for whatever Draco was going say. I knew he was to tell me that Beltane had a mistake…that I was nothing more than a victim he had been obliged to protect…that I was a nice woman, but not one that he would want…or that we could be ‘just friends.’ I knew that when, or if, I stopped Harry, all of the wonderful conversations over coffee, no matter how morbid they had been, would stop. Draco would move on to the next case, protect someone else… I had been different because Draco and I had a history…

“I’m sorry that I pushed you into…” he began, but trailed, his hand rising to rest his large palm over the ball of my right shoulder.

I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth and narrowed my eyes, waiting for the blow…

“Are you alright with what we did?” he asked gently, and I managed to raise my eyes to his Adam’s apple.

I had to answer him… “I was fine, Draco,” I whispered. The sound of his voice seemed to make him shudder…and I wondered if it were from disgust.

“It may have been too soon after what Potter…” he trailed again. “Why aren’t you looking at me?” he asked using his left hand to delicately lift my chin so that I was gazing up into his face, into his one eye.

I knew he could see my emotions, my fear, my hesitation, my self-loathing, and slowly I began to see his anger…

“You silly girl…” he whispered, his thumb moving to pinch my chin slightly. “You thought that I was going to tell you that I regretted Beltane, didn’t you?”

I blinked and wanted to deny that he was absolutely correct, but I said nothing. I just stared at his pale brow, the scar that marred and obscured his eye, the shape of his nostrils at the bottom of his long, thin nose, and the indentation between his nose and his top lip. I avoided his gaze.

“I regret nothing in my life, Granger…nothing!” he growled, using my surname like a weapon in the way his voice coursed over my face. He stood very close, and I could feel the heat of his body against my own.

I took a half-breath, remembering Lucius had said almost the same thing.

“I acted as I wanted to act, did what I wanted to do, said what I wanted to say. Do not second-guess what I know to be true, Hermione,” he whispered, his thumb running along my bottom lip.

“And…and what do you know to be true?” I whispered.

The corners of his mouth lifted into that smile…the smile that turned my insides to a gelatinous mass…that scoundrel-like smile.

“I toasted you as my ‘lady,’ Hermione. It was not mere formality…” he whispered, bending his body so that his face was just before mine.

Draco kissed the corner of my mouth, then my temple, his hands moving to tenderly hold my upper arms, pulling me upward so that I had to stand on the tips of my toes. My bottom nearly rested on the edge of the sink as he claimed my mouth wholly. It took me a second to allow the sensation of his kiss course through me, and when the kiss took hold of me, I found that my arms were wrapping about his neck. Open mouthed kisses, tongues tangling; I could taste our dinner, and the indescribable taste that was Draco’s only.

His words had not quite set me at ease, but the way his left hand ran through my hair, his right hand grasping my hip underneath my shirt, I put my unease aside. For now, I was Draco’s ‘lady,’ and I was content with just that. As his lips moved to my left ear to my throat, I did not care about how long I would be his ‘lady.’ If only for that moment, I would be able to keep that contentment so that if his feelings would change, I would have something to remember and cleave to for a long while.

When we parted, I was smiling. I could not let my fears and doubts show, I could not let this moment end. Draco ran a finger a long the side of my face and murmured that he would put on the gramophone while I should close the windows for the night. I nodded, glancing down into the sink, all the dirty dishes put away.

The record began, and from the gramophone’s horn came Enrico Caruso’s voice singing ‘Mi Par d’Udir Ancora’ from ‘I Pescatori di Perle.’ I smirked, slipping my wand from my holster to flick the Elder Wand, magicking the windows shut. Draco moved away from the gramophone, humming along with the Italian tenor, and sat on the couch, propping his bare feet upon the adjacent armchair.

“Did you nick the record from…?” I began, feeling a stirring in my mind, but did not hear Severus to know he was slightly agitated.

“I did,” Draco said over the music, turning on the couch to regard me.

I moved to sit on the other end of the couch, slipping the wand back into its place. I wanted to ask if he only intended to borrow the record, but I knew that that question would lead to a line of questioning I was not ready to submit to…no one knew that I could hear my deceased Potions Master in my head.

“I also nicked a David Bowie album…and a few other things that I thought needed liberated from the dungeons.”

I smirked.

Draco and I talked a while longer, mostly about music, then books, then the Malfoy lands, and finally…the one thing that I had been thinking about for days. Harry. Everything came back around to Harry, as if he were some overstretching shadow one could not escape from or hope to avoid.

As we talked, Draco had managed to coax me over to his side of the couch so he could throw an arm about my shoulders and I could stretch my legs out across his knees. It was an intimate posing of limbs, but many years ago, I had lounged with Ron and Harry in much the same way in Gryffindor Common Room. With Draco Malfoy, however, every touch of his fingers upon my neck or in my hair sent delightful tiny shivers up and down my spine and into my pelvis.

“One thing that has bothered me from the beginning of this case…” Draco trailed, the forefinger of his left hand curling a strand of my hair about the long digit. “Where did Potter get ‘The Hanged Man?’ It is banned in Britain, America, France, and just about every other European nation… Those who do have a copy keep it secret.”

Draco turned his left eye to me and smirked. “You still have the sealed copy?”

I nodded, resting my chin on Draco’s shoulder so that my forehead rested against his cheek.

“Someone had to give it him. You cannot buy ‘The Hanged Man’ and you will never find it by any other traditional means. The black market has no use for books like ‘The Hanged Man,’ so the only option is that someone gave it to him…”

I frowned. “He may have inherited it…from Sirius.”

Draco shook his head softly, not dislodging my head from against his cheek.

“No…Mother inherited everything from Grimmauld Place. Aunt Dromeda did not want anything, and the things the Order removed were later destroyed.”

I quirked my lips in thought. The last time I had been in Grimmauld Place was just after the War, and I had no reason to ever return. I could not know if Harry or Ron had returned, but I knew the house was empty even when the police searched it. But there were many things removed from the house that I knew for a fact were kept in the Potter family vault…

It was not a sound assumption, but it was possible… Of all the ‘dark’ items Harry, Ron, Ginny, and I removed from that house, one book could have been overlooked. Granted, I had made a mental inventory of the books in the Black family library, and I did not recall a book entitled ‘The Hanged Man.’ Of course, after thirteen years, even my memory was a bit fuzzy at times.

“There are a lot of things that I don’t understand,” I murmured, my breath hitting Draco’s neck. “And I cannot keep thinking about those things if I want to keep sane and focused.”

Draco hummed in agreement, his right hand falling to my denim clad knees. “And focus is what is needed, Hermione…” he whispered.





May 8th was a day of preparations. The days before had been spent in reacquainting myself with the so-called art of flying. Draco was an excellent flyer, he had been at Hogwarts, and that skill had only grown in his adult years. He kept a third generation Firebolt in a cupboard at the bottom of the steps of the groom’s quarters, as well as a Nimbus 3000A, which I was put upon. The Firebolt, naturally, was a faster broom, and I was informed in no uncertain terms that by the tenth I was to be able to handle something more than the Nimbus 3000A.

“We might have to make a quick escape at some point, and nothing can outstrip a Firebolt third gen,” Draco said as we flew side by side over the fields, barely skimming the ground.

I missed the old Shooting Stars from school. I had never cared much for flying. It was not as if I had no talent for flying or was afraid of heights, I simply preferred the ground.

For the days leading to the eighth, I flew on the Nimbus, daring myself bit by bit to do some more advanced manoeuvres. I had watched Harry and Ron long enough to know the mechanics of braking manoeuvres, banking manoeuvres, how to dodge an unfriendly projectile, how to roll… I only fell off my broom twice. The first time I landed face first into the ground, breaking my nose. The second time, I fell and dislocated my shoulder. Both times, I had been alone, but fixed myself easily, and never mentioned my mishaps to Draco.

He had been called away twice from the groom’s quarters, but was never gone longer than a few hours. I had begun to pack my coat with things I thought I might need if I were unable to return to the groom’s quarters. I learned I could shrink my broom and considered placing it in my bottomless pocket as well…

However, by the night of the eighth, I had cleaned the kitchen and bathroom without using magic, and sat on the couch with a copy of ‘Return of the Native,’ waiting. I could hear Draco below, setting his broom in the cupboard, his footfalls loud on the stairs.

“Are you ready?” he asked in the door, slightly winded.

I blinked at Draco. “For what?”

Draco sighed, dropping his arms to his sides. He was dressed in the grey suit, which I had come to consider his ‘official’ attire as DCI Malfoy. Only his hair was mussed and his cheeks a bit pink, obviously from flying at some break-neck speed over the downlands. Only the day before did Draco inform me how he had been coming and going from the Malfoy lands…flying across the downlands to the backside of the lands to the edge of the Temple Wood, through a Muggle farmer’s orchard and beyond the wards to Apparate. Overall, it took twenty minutes by broom…it would take hours on foot.

“Last flying lesson?”

I snapped ‘Return of the Native’ shut on my lap, and sighed. Rising, I glanced out the front windows; seeing that moonlight bathed the fields with silver light. Night flying was not high on my list of things to do in my life. I had a hard time flying in daylight, but I knew that Draco would persist…I was getting hungry for dinner, having waited until he returned to begin preparing a meal.

I followed Draco down the stairs to the cupboard below. He extracted his broom and passed me another…not the Nimbus, but a brother to the Firebolt he held in his hand. I said nothing, but my insides itched. In a matter of days, I had been practicing on a professional racing broom after years of never flying, and as we walked out into the stable yards, I wondered if I would have to heal some other broken limb that night. I was not confident…but I could not let Draco see my hesitation.

Draco mounted and kicked off first, and I followed, my hands grasping the handle as tightly as I could manage. I kicked off and gasped as I rose fast into the air. With a slight dip of the handle I hovered next to Draco, my mouth dry, my face drained of blood.

“Try to keep up…” he said, raising his voice slightly as his body seemed to shift down to the lay parallel over the broom stick…and suddenly he was off, his coat trailing behind him as he disappeared from sight in the moonlight.

I sucked at my bottom lip and shook my head. There was no way I could keep up, I had not even pushed the Nimbus to its top speed, and I was nervous about even trying a Firebolt.

I shifted my ankles in the brackets and growled to myself. I was Hermione Granger, there was nothing I was not proficient at doing…and angling my body, adjusting my hands, I took off…

The Firebolt 3rd Gen. had an acceleration of 185 mph in ten seconds with built in Shielding and Sticking Charms so that traveling at such a rate was not entirely unpleasant. And so I flew, gripping the broom and gritting my teeth as I felt wind cut at my back as the Shielding Charm activated upon movement before the broom.

I caught up with Draco in five seconds, blazing past him and turning so that I flew straight at him at possibly the rate of 140 mph. I heard Draco shout angrily as I banked over him so that I fell behind him, so close that I could almost touch the tail twigs.

“Are you barking mad, Hermione? What the hell were you trying to do?” he shouted over his shoulder.

I grinned. I could fly a Firebolt, but I knew that my turn had been sloppy and had it not been for the Sticking Charm I would have flown off the broom down to the ground far below. I felt strangely exhilarated with Draco’s irritation, and the speed in which I flew. I wondered, suddenly, if the exhilaration had been my own emotion or that of my internal Severus…

We slowed as we flew high over Temple Wood, the moon shining down upon us. Side by side, we sat up, the Cushioning Charm making the ride comfortable. Draco stared at me as I balanced on my broom, my hands on my hips. He sighed, straightening his jacket and adjusted the black cloth patch over his right eye.

“You’re packed for tomorrow?” he murmured.

I frowned. “We’re leaving tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night. The ceremony does not take place until sunset on the tenth, and I thought it would be better to get there before the rest of the world decides to descend on the place.”

I gazed across the tops of the white trees and the budding leaves in the moonlight. Temple Wood was beautiful in the moonlight…

“Besides the Minister and her entourage, twenty high ranking Ministry officials, dignitaries from neighboring countries, and other guests, there will be about fifty Aurors from our Ministry, twenty-five from France, and another twenty from America. That does not count Hogwarts staff and former students who fought against the Dark Lord… Invitations have not been sent to my family, or the families of those who were affiliated with the Dark Lord, of course.”

“And why am I going?” I asked idly, soaking in the moonlight against my bare face and arms.

“Because you are expected to be there, as is Ron Weasley…who is not coming, and technically neither are you. But you will be there, hidden in your cunningly Transfigured cloak, with your wands at the ready.

This could very well be our last chance to take out Potter,” Draco growled, and I could feel his cold silver eye against the side of my face.

I closed my eyes. “I hate this…I hate waiting,” I whispered, my hand moving to the pendant under my shirt, a pendant that remained cold.

I heard Draco shift on his broom. “And you’re not alone in feeling that way, my dear.”

I opened my eyes and turned my face to gaze at Draco, who was smiling slightly, his eye gazing at the moon.

“I will have to follow him back…to thirteen years ago, and I’m frightened of what I will see there…”

“’I?’” Draco asked, balancing to cross his arms before his chest.

“I will not assume that you would go with me…”

“Of course I will, Granger. No matter how brilliant you are; you need someone to help you. We’ve come this far…together…” he muttered.

My chest burned, and my lips quivered.

“We don’t know when he will use the Time-Turner, and we do not know if he will show up at Hogwarts…”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t. Let’s hope nothing happens, that even the protest and terrorists groups will keep away. Let’s hope that we can sit on the grounds with all the other people hoping to bury the past and enjoy the weather, take a walk around the Lake, and go home knowing that we had survived another day…”

“Home?” I asked softly.

My home was a place I had not set foot in for a long while. My life had been put on hold. I had not slept in my own bed, tended to my little garden, let my familiar play in the Forest, talked with Hagrid or the centaurs for weeks. Where was my home?

Draco blinked at me, he knew that he had misspoke, and I wondered why he would think that the groom’s quarters or the Malfoy lands would or could ever be my home.

“Home…which is here for the time being, Hermione.”

The sound of my name sent shivers through me. But I knew Draco was right…for the time being, my home was inside the boundaries of the Malfoy lands. I was protected inside those boundaries.

Our silence settled over us, much as it had over the forest below and the hills beyond.

“Come along,” Draco said softly, shifting on his broomstick and taking off. I quickly followed so that we flew low over the tops of the trees, and into the downlands, skimming the ground. I felt my hair break loose from its sloppy bun and fly behind me.

We flew higher, Draco glancing back at me in a sign that I should mimic his manoeuvres. We flew straight up into the starry sky, barrel rolling, falling, twisting in manoeuvres that I knew from Quidditch, but all executed at a speed that would have seemed impossible ten years before.

Over the forest again, and into the trees so that I had to weave about the pillar-like trunks so quickly that I was panting with having to pull upon the handle of my broom. I kept Draco in sight as we moved faster and faster, climbing up through the trees at a steep ascension, dropping again so that we began to brake as we reached the floor of a vale.

Ahead of me, Draco dismounted in such a manner that made me gape. He jumped from his broom, his boots slipping from the brackets, and in the jump, tucked his broom under his arm as he boots slid into the chalky ground of the vale, coming to a stop with a satisfied smirk on his lips.

I quirked my lips as my broom slowed enough so that I also could kick from the broom, using the levitation of the wood to drift to the ground, the Firebolt slipping into my hand as I, too, slid across the ground, coming to a stop just next to Draco.

Draco gaped slightly.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Granger. You could handle a racing broom all along…” he muttered, his eye flashing in the moonlight.

I said nothing. I knew that I could not have managed the Firebolt, or the landing by myself, for I could feel Severus’ presence moving through me for certain when I had landed. Severus had said so little since Beltane, but I could feel him in my mind, and during flying, I knew I could feel him in my limbs.

Draco moved his broom into his right hand as he took my hand and we began walking up the vale.

“Mother invited us to dinner,” he said softly, sensing me disorientation in the dark.

I nodded, gripping my broom in my left hand as we walked into the deeper darkness of the vale. I wanted to somehow fix my hair, my clothes, but as Draco placed our brooms against the stark white wall of the bothy, he moved his fingers to pull a few tangles free from around my face.

“It is an impromptu dinner, Hermione, stop biting your lip…Mother won’t mind…” he whispered, for even with one eye, he could see better in the dark than I could.

I wanted to open my mouth and tease Draco that he had tricked me, and now in my dishevelled state I was to be a spectacle of ridicule. But I knew…I knew now that Draco would not intentionally set me up to be derided by his family, or anyone. How I knew this, I could not say, but as his fingers moves about my temple to push back a curl, and the manner in which he stepped closer toward me so that I could feel his breath on my forehead, I knew that I was Draco Malfoy’s ‘lady.’






“Let me make a toast…to happy memories.”

Draco had risen from the table and stood at my right, a crystal glass of red wine in his pale right hand. The candlelight that lit the hall of the bothy made the crystal sparkle.

“To happy memories,” the dinner party repeated as we lifted our glasses to our lips and drank deeply.

Lucius sat to my left and Narcissa across from me as we sat at a small dinner table near in the central portion of the hall, the table loaded with a dinner that I suspected was quite meager for the Malfoys. A beef roast, potatoes, wild vegetables in vinaigrette, and buttery rolls…all of which were delicious, but not high cuisine. The wine was perhaps the only somewhat luxurious addition to the dinner.

We had eaten our fill, and had been sitting around the table, talking about innocuous matters. Draco commented on my impressive skill on the broom, Lucius mentioning that he was running out of things to do since he had the elves working to restore the Manor, Narcissa complaining that she wished she could go into London to begin arranging the installation of new hedge rows for the gardens. The conversation was light, and we laughed often. Draco’s toast made everything seem more serious.

To happy memories…

I knew exactly what he had meant by the toast, and I held onto those laughs and smiling faces, imprinting them deep into my soul. At any moment, I would only have those happy memories to hold onto… The world had grown so dark.

“…tomorrow afternoon. Longbottom has seen fit to give up Severus’ old quarters again. They are hidden and safe, and more importantly, far away from any of the other guests who will be staying at Hogwarts for the ceremony,” I heard Draco say, and I shifted my attention to him.

“Foreign dignitaries? Do you know who exactly?” Lucius asked, apparently noticing something Draco had said while I was not listening.

Draco shrugged. “I’m not the head of security, and that being said, my only official capacity is to act as a shadow during the whole ceremony.”

I turned my eyes to Lucius who was dressed much as he had been the day he had come by the groom’s quarters.

“An attack during the ceremony might seem too obvious, but it is a possibility.”

Draco nodded. “It is just not W.A.T.C.H., but other groups who have not connections to Creevey’s little cult. Granted, there are have been threats against the Ministry, against myself and Charlie Weasley ever since we captured Creevey, but I’m not too worried about it now.”

“Why?” Narcissa asked, her hand upon her heart.

Narcissa and I had shared many concerned glances through the months, and at that moment, we shared one more.

“Most of the people who would cause a problem are now incarcerated in Azkaban. There was a hierarchy working in W.A.T.C.H. and with Potter once again missing, the group has been in disarray. Creevey was the one ordering these people in the beginning, but when Potter showed up, asking for help, Creevey deferred his power to Potter. Now Potter is gone again, Creevey in custody, leadership of the group has been lost. The higher-ranking people have been arrested…organization is lost. There is only one person who might pose a problem, since we haven’t caught him, but it seems as if he has disappeared since the arrests began. But W.A.T.C.H. is not going to act without Potter…”

I frowned. What Draco was saying made sense, but surely, a group like W.A.T.C.H. had backup contingencies? Moreover, who was this ‘person?’ Draco had not mentioned it to me. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth.

“How many Aurors?” Lucius asked, picking up his glass again.

“More than enough to protect a small group of people at a memorial service, Father. I find it foolish, to be honest. What’s the Muggle phrase, Hermione? ‘Putting all your eggs into one basket?’” Draco asked, turning to me.

I nodded, but glanced at Lucius and Narcissa out of the corner of my eye. The sound of my name had made Lucius smirk strangely and Narcissa hide a giggle behind her napkin.

“The Ministry needs defending, as does Azkaban. Sending so many to one place is what happened in the old times when the Dark Lord took the Ministry!”

I lowered my eyes to my lap. Draco was right. Strategically, sending so many Aurors to Hogwarts was folly.

“I agree, son, but once again, how can we force the Ministry to see reason? Hopkirk is only thinking of catching Potter. She is a bright witch, but so many have come to believe that if Potter is caught or killed, the organizations that have been terrorizing the country will suddenly have no reason to protest or kill.

I don’t believe it was done intentionally, but the media has aligned Potter with the terrorists. One cannot exist without the other, or so many believe. Hopkirk is beginning to believe this as well.

Our leaders cannot always be so wise…” Lucius trailed, drinking from his glass deeply.

I glanced to Draco, whose face had darkened in thought. I knew that Lucius’ words went beyond Minister Hopkirk…to the Dark Lord…to Dumbledore…

Those who had been in power were not necessarily those who were wise enough to wield that power, and those who had the power did not want to lead…

“The Prophet has been printing names of those involved with W.A.T.C.H., and now the masses are in a frenzy, asking for blood. Letters are being printed, eliciting sympathy for the victims of groups like W.A.T.C.H., while others are calling for vigilante justice to stop groups like W.A.T.C.H. Emotions are being manipulated while logic and safety are being tossed aside.

The only logical suggestions coming from the public are in defence of the Ministry, for the re-opening of Hogwarts. The world has become a darker place than I could have imagined….” Lucius trailed, his eyes lowering to his empty plate.

There was sadness in his voice, but his words had made sense. I could see now why Draco had considered his father an asset for strategy. Lucius glanced to me and smiled. We were not so dissimilar in the way our minds worked.

“The only thing that can be done, my darlings, is to be safe and vigilant. We all know that stopping Potter is paramount. We know that he will not hesitate to use who he can to shield himself. We know that he will not hesitate to kill to achieve his goal…” Narcissa said, sitting straighter in her chair, meeting our eyes. Her voice was laden with power, and I felt a thrill pulse through me. “You know what you must do, and you must not hesitate…” she said, her pale eyes meeting mine.

I trembled, but nodded.

“In the meantime, let us have some dessert, and talk about other, happier things while we still can,” Narcissa suggested.

No one disagreed.



The Malfoy family and myself sat around a low fire, the night having grown quite cold. Lucius sat in an armchair closest the fire while Narcissa sat on a couch nearby, lounging gracefully against pillows, a hand playing over Lucius’ left arm. Draco sat in the adjacent armchair while I sat on the fur rug at his feet, leaning back against his knees occasionally. My familiar lay upon my lap, purring contentedly as I stroked his grey fur.

I could feel Draco’s fingers curl into the back of my hair as he playfully argued with his father as to why Muggle world literature was important for Pureblooded witches and wizards to read. I listened, a smile upon my face, half in amusement, half in surprise that Draco felt so strongly about Muggle literature. Narcissa contented herself with listening as well, and to be fair, taking her husband’s part from time to time.

“Entertainment is perhaps its only purpose, son, and to be honest, entertainment is lacking in most books,” Lucius grumbled even as Narcissa’s fingertips traced over the backside of his palm.

“You only say that because you lack the proper context, Father. Of course, we know so little about Muggle culture, but the underlying themes of most novels are universal. Love, greed, murder, family, mystery; those are in the novels you have read, and those are all themes in even Wizarding literature.

You have been enjoying Tolkien’s books, haven’t you?”

I smirked, wondering if the Malfoy patriarch had finished ‘The Two Towers.’

“I have been enjoying them, there are many parallels between ‘Middle earth’ and our world.”

Draco sighed. “But there is more than that. There are underlying themes that are not so common in our world. For instance, allusions to the Christian faith and Muggle world mythology, if you understood those allusions, the book would be so much…richer to you.”

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Would you like me to start reading religious texts as well, Draco? Or better yet, start reading Muggle sociology books?”

Draco guffawed. “I’m sure you already have done that, Father. You act like I’m asking you to prescribe to the Muggle world as if you had to give up your wand! All I am trying to say is that you should not be so ignorant of the world as a whole…or at least stop pretending you are ignorant of it all.”

Narcissa was smiling, and I was laughing quietly. Draco’s passion for Muggle literature honestly surprised me, and I was sure the same could be said for his passion for music. However, I was certain that he still held a bias for most Muggles, only really knowing them in his books.

“I admit that Muggle literature has its merits, it is diverting, but son, you can never change my mind when it comes to my personal preferences,” Lucius drawled coolly.

I could not see Draco’s face from where I sat on the floor, but by the smirk on Lucius’ lips, either Draco was mirroring his father in a smirk, or was rather upset.

No one spoke for a long while after Lucius’ calculating words, but slowly Narcissa rose, and I knew it was the cue that the night had grown late.

I pet my familiar’s fur once more before picking him up in my arms and moving to Narcissa.

“I am the worst Mistress for a familiar…” I said softly as Narcissa took the slender half-Kneazle from my arms and gathered the animal into one arm.

“I doubt that. If times were different, he would be at your heels.

I used to have a cat when I was a girl, Ambrosia was her name, and she was a golden tabby cat. Andromeda gave her to me for my seventh birthday, and ‘Brosia lived up until I moved into Malfoy Manor. She was the best company…”

I rubbed behind Malfoy’s ear and he purred gratefully.

“I have no idea when I’ll be able to go home…” I started, but stopped as Narcissa cupped my cheek with her free hand.

“He will be safe with us, Hermione. You have more pressing matters to attend to…” she whispered.

Goodbyes were made at the door of the bothy, embracing Narcissa and nodding to Lucius. Soon I was in the air again, speeding through the sky behind Draco, distracted by thoughts that I could not set aside in my mind. Narcissa had asked me an important question between dinner and our conversations around the fire.

‘If you and Draco can stop Potter in the past, will you be able to return to the present?’ she had asked quietly as the two men moved to the fire to drink a glass of brandy.

All I could say to Narcissa and her stricken face was: yes…

I had not lied, but a one-word answer was not entirely sufficient. If Draco and I managed to survive…traveling back to the present was a tricky proposition. We had to be sure that we had not inadvertently altered the timeline, even in the slightest. Then, we would have to set the Time-Turner for a time close to that we had departed. It sounded easy when one listed it in one’s head, but it was not that simple… There was a possibility that we could not return via Time-Turner…and we would have to wait thirteen years to reveal ourselves again. We would also have to bring back Harry’s body lest someone in the past found it…hiding it might not suffice given that the Ministry would want to see Harry’s body…

I faltered on the broom and fell behind.

I had to stop allowing myself to feel for the fact I would have to kill Harry. I had to kill the part of me that wished I could convince him to stop…because it would never happen. Harry would never stop until he was satisfied with killing and destroying the past.

All those people I knew thirteen years ago, all of them would suffer more because of Harry…and in traveling into the past, only Draco and I would ever know how much damage Harry had done to our world.

Draco glanced back at me, frowning and slowed so that we flew in formation over the trees. He motioned with his hand over his face, and I released one hand from the broom to wipe away tears. I had not realized I was crying. Draco frowned as we slowed, the lights of the stables coming into view.

When we landed, I tripped, rolling twice on the ground before coming to my feet again, gritting my teeth. Draco said nothing as we moved to the cupboard at the bottom of the stairs and set the brooms inside.

I moved past him up the stairs and into the apartments, kicking off my boots and going into the bathroom to bathe. Draco did not bother me while I sank into the tub, scrubbing my hair and skin with a fervor that would make one think I had some obsessive compulsion. I wanted to scrub away my fear…

When I finally came out of the bathroom, wrapped in one of Draco’s large blue cotton towels, a smaller towel around my hair, I found him staring at me from his perch on the arm of the couch, his hands resting on his knees, the grey suit gone and only a pair of black silk sleep pants on. The patch was gone and his wand holsters sat on the armchair by the empty fireplace.

“What?” I asked innocently, adjusting the knot in the towel.

He shook his head and moved past me, closing the bathroom door slightly. I took his place on the couch, seeing through the crack in the door that he had stripped out of his pants and turned the small tub’s showerhead on. He did not close the curtain completely as he scrubbed his hair quickly. I could just see the line of his right side, his back to me. The line of defined muscles along his ribs, his shoulder, downward to his hip, along his thigh to the edge of the tub. His skin was a pale alabaster, and his hair, even wet was like platinum. The hair on his arms and legs was a slighter darker, and drops of water clung to the air as he showered.

When he emerged, I began rubbing my hair with the towel about my head. He had dried himself sufficiently to reapply the black silk pants, but it stuck to him in places…his buttocks and the fronts of his thighs.

Draco stepped toward me, his signature citrus and sage wafting off him. He bent down, and grasping my jaw, kissed me. I blinked in surprise as he kissed me, before closing my eyes and reaching out for him. When I wrapped my arms about his neck, he lifted me so that the towel I had for my hair fell to the floor. My toes dangled above the floor as his arms snaked about my waist, lifting me against his body.

Lowering my feet to the floor, he broke the kiss to move to the armchair and retrieve Severus’ wand, Charming all the lights out, locking the door, closing the windows…and in the dark he grasped my hand and pulled me toward the bedroom where only the French doors were open to let in a cool May night breeze.

Twirling me slightly so that I had to grasp the front of my towel to keep my skin covered, I found the backs of my knees against what I considered Draco’s side of the bed. In the moonlight, I could see his eye, his damp hair, and the few drops of water trailing down between his pectoral muscles along platinum hair.

He reached down and caressed my face, sliding my heavy, damp hair over one shoulder as he kissed along my shoulder and throat. I placed my palms against his chest as his kisses turned to gently nips and tiny nibbles.

“Draco…” I said softly, trying to stop him and look into his face again.

He only hummed into the skin of my throat, his arms embracing my tightly.

“Draco?” I asked more firmly, pushing against him.

Reluctantly, Draco pulled back to grasp my shoulders to gaze down at me.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean? I thought it was obvious.”

I breathed a laugh. “Let me rephrase the question…why are you doing this?”

“Do you not want me to kiss you?”

I sighed. Although it still amazed me that Draco Malfoy, of all people, wanted to kiss me…I did not want him to ever stop.

“It is not that.”

Draco frowned. “The truth then?”

I nodded. “Always the truth.”

“I toasted to happy memories…” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin.

To happy memories…yes. I realized as I stared up into his handsome face, albeit scarred, that he was just as worried about the state of our world as I was… It was a fatalistic and stupidly romantic notion to think that we had to have happy memories to counter the hideous truth that we might die…but it forced me to acknowledge how long I had let my biases of Draco Malfoy cloud the truth of the man he really had become. Sly, intelligent, cunning, manipulative, beautiful, gentle, real, and caring; this was the Draco Malfoy that had grown from the War and the Last Battle. This was the Draco Malfoy I was falling in love with, the Draco Malfoy that would not exist if Harry changed the past…

“I see,” I whispered, sliding away from him to move to my side of the bed.

Draco’s face seemed to fall as I moved away from him, but as I stared at him from across the bed, I smiled as my fingers worked at the knot in the towel.

“To happy memories,” I whispered as the towel fell to the floor by the bed.

I sighed as I moved onto the bed, kneeling in the middle, my hair falling over one shoulder, obscuring my left breast, my knees parted so that the damp, dark curls above my sex were open to the cool air of the room.

Draco growled deep in his wide chest and moved forward, crawling to meet me in the middle of the bed, his arms gathering me against him as my head tilted back to receive his kiss. My hands found the elastic waistband of his pants and tugged gently. Draco groaned as the silk swept over his skin, causing his erection to spring against his body.

A part of me wondered if I were kissing him correctly, if my hands moving into the thatch of course curls above his cock aroused him. I wondered if he loved me…

Pulling me closer, I could feel his organ throbbing against my belly, the hairs on his sac brush against my hip as we moved so that he lay on his back on the bed, I falling with him. He sighed, breaking the kiss, my body partially across his, my moonlit shadow falling over his pale body.

I lifted myself up, my hands resting on either side of his ribs. I threw my leg over him so that I straddled his slim hips, my center pressing against his cock. I tugged my hair back over one shoulder and leaned down to kiss his face as his hands rested on my thighs. I kissed his hair, his temple, his ruined eye, the tip of his nose, his chin, and finished by devouring his mouth.

I wanted happy memories.

I licked and kissed at his throat, his shoulders, down to trace my tongue about his flat nipples, my cheeks brushing against the pale hair upon his chest. Draco’s heart was beating a frantic tattoo against his ribs as I touched him, rocking my hips slightly so that he gasped…fingertips digging into the skin and muscle of my thighs. When I curled my back so that I was kissing the hard muscle of his belly, Draco growled, rolling me so that he lay atop me, moving in the bed, he kissed the insides of my thighs, edging closer to my core.

I stiffened as his breath puffed against my nether curls, and when he threw the backs of my knees over his shoulders, I whimpered, his breath tickling me. He glanced up my body as his mouth descended. The face between my thighs was not Harry’s face…shaggy, platinum hair flowed over my fingers. Draco’s mouth closed over the nubbin of flesh and nerves, but there was no pain…only agonizing pleasure as tiny shocks ran through my body. Applying suction and flicking the tip of his tongue over my clit, I writhed, my left hand fisting into the sheet beneath me.

A digit was inserted into my body and my back arched. There was no pain with Draco…only divinity of touch. I felt as if my body were on fire, flames licking inside my belly, in my chest, a blush creeping up from my heart. A second digit was inserted and with a beckoning motion, Draco curled his fingers.

I shattered, my voice ringing out as my back arched so profoundly that I nearly sat up in the bed. I shook, I convulsed, and my thighs quivered as Draco released the suction on my clit and gently withdrew his fingers from my core…the sticky essence on his fingers visible in the muted moonlight. He crawled up my body, moving so that he lay outside the cradle of my hips.

I was panting as he turned me onto my left side, pushing my right leg forward bending it before me, my face turned to the left. Draco pressed his body against my back, his cock against the swell of my bottom. With sticky fingers, he grasped my jaw and turned my head so that I could kiss him. I could just taste myself on his tongue. Pulling away from the kiss, he presented his fingers for me to taste…and taste I did. I licked at his long fingers as he situated himself behind me, the tip of his cock resting between the warm space between my thighs.

I moaned as he thrust his hips forward, his cock sliding against my thighs and outer labia. With two small, quick kisses on my lips, Draco released my jaw, his right hand moving to cup my bottom, adjusting my body, his own pressed tightly against mine. And with a grunt from between his lips, which rustled my hair falling over my neck, he was inside…

“Hermione,” he whispered my name like a prayer…

A violent thrust sent his length blazing into my body, and I whimpered loudly through clenched teeth. It was not exactly pain, but a sudden fullness that made my insides compress and contract. My right hand flew back to clutch at his hip while his right hand moved over my side, to my breast, grasping it in his palm, the nipple peeking around between his fingers.

Draco began moving, sliding against me, into me…in and out, in and out, each time angling his thrusts differently until I cried out. He pressed his face into the back of my shoulder, and I could feel his face contort into one of delight. He had found that legendary spot…and repeatedly let the head of his cock brush against it. I whimpered with every thrust, my right leg moving higher, my knee near my chin.

I sobbed into the pillow under my head as Draco moved, only missing one rhythmic stroke to straddle my left leg to thrust deeper into my body, his hands upon my hip. I could see him from the position I lay, see the dim silhouette of his muscular body over mine, the rippling of his stomach, the tension in his arms. His lips were parted and sweat trickled slowly down the left side of his face. His eye was warm with affection, with lust.

I swallowed a cry as his hands manipulated my body to move…until I was grasping the headboard with both hands, my weight on my knees, my back arched, my head thrown back, my toes curled. Draco grasped my hips, thrusting into me from behind.

Sex had always been safe…in the sense that when Ron and I had been together, we never did anything that seemed daring or different. I was wholly untried, and because of that, every time Draco thrust into my body, it shook and a cry ripped from me. If it were possible, I felt as if my body were about to spontaneously combust.

A large hand wrapped about my shoulder and suddenly I was pulled back so that my back straightened as Draco’s pelvis shifted downward and up. His arms curled about my waist, his right hand grasping my left breast. I bounced against him, his breath fiery against my neck and exhaling deep growls. His cock was a piston, lubricated by my own essence, willed to move by the animalistic desire to reach a brand of completion and resulting sublime oblivion.

My hands reached back to grasp the rippling muscles of his buttocks, trying in press him in closer, to force him deeper, to devour his organ, to scratch the itch inside my once cursed womb. I needed him to hold me tighter, I needed him to slide against me, I needed him to moan into my ear, I needed him to pinch my nipple, and I needed him to fuck me harder…harder…harder…

…until I exploded.

Draco held me close as my body went lax, even as he snarled, filling me with his seed. I was wet…the combination of my juices and Draco’s seed trickling down my legs to pool at my knees in the mattress below. I was undone, every tendon and muscle in my body quivering. The man who held me was not as far gone as I, and gently, he laid me down, falling beside me, pulling me into his arms. I wondered if he were somehow afraid to let me go.

My eyelids were heavy, but my body hummed still, my core twitching.

Draco moved, sitting up in bed to look down at me, my legs twisted, my arms limp upon the bed, my hair falling over my face and chest. He sighed, using a finger to push away the strands that fell into my face.

I groaned softly as I shifted onto my back, my left leg bent so that my knee was upraised. Draco’s head turned to my belly, and leaning down, he pressed a kiss into my left hip, whispering a Contraceptive Charm…easily cast without the aid of a wand. Magic moved through my womb…and it was not painful.

Sitting up again, Draco’s face turned to mine, but the moonlight had changed, and I could no longer see his features clearly. He ran his fingers from my hip to my heart before lying down again, and pulling me against him…and when he had situated our bodies to fit together, he pulled the blankets over us both.

I closed my eyes, thankful to be warm since the night air through the French doors was growing colder. The heat of his body trapped beneath the blankets was a natural sedative. Sleep came with no true dreams, just warmth…and Draco Malfoy.

To happy memories…