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!


NOTE: You may have caught this earlier...however...May 2nd is 'supposedly' the date of the Battle of Hogwarts, which I did not learn until this fic was near its completion. For the purposes of this fic, May 10th was the Last Battle...May 10, 1998. That being mentioned...



The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man

Part 20






For some reason, after so many years, I had begun to enjoying flying on a broom. I supposed it was the feeling of wind about my body, or the freedom I felt. Vaguely, I remembered Harry saying that he only felt free of his responsibilities when he flew. I pushed those memories away as I flew next to Draco through the Temple Wood, to the edge of the Malfoy lands.

When we landed in the dim forest, the sun having just set, Draco automatically took my hand as we passed between the largest oak trees I had ever seen…larger than those in the Forbidden Forest. Two oak trees bent toward each other so that it looked like a gateway into a younger section of trees. As we passed through, our brooms in hand, I felt magic shimmer over me, allowing me to pass. On the other side of the trees, I glanced back, seeing only tall bracken, the oak trees gone. The air was colder, and carried a heavier scent of chalky soil.

We paused, shrinking our brooms. I sighed as I slipped my Firebolt into the bottomless pocket of my Transfigured black cloak. My gloved hand brushed against the dragon hide clothes the Malfoys had given me. I had donned the clothes only hours before, finding the boots comfortable, the trousers flexible, and movable, the long gloves and shirt warm. I managed to duplicate Narcissa’s beauty Charm on my hair, but I pulled the braids back into a tie. My wands were strapped in the holster over my right sleeved glove, my bottomless pocket filled with the phials of potions, several books, including ‘The Hanged Man,’ a basket of food under a Stasis Charm, the goblin warded box with the remaining Time-Turner, and my broom. Inside my left bootleg…Lucius’ enchanted stiletto. About my neck, slipped under the dragon hide top was the pendant, the disc pressed against the inside of my left breast.

“Ready?” Draco asked quietly, arranging his black cloak about his shoulder, reaching out a hand for me in the dim light of the non-magical side of Temple Wood.

Draco wore an outfit almost identical to mine except for the sleeve gloves. He struck an imposing figure in his dragon hide armor, cloak, and shaggy platinum hair. He did not wear the patch over his scar, and as I took his hand, I found that even with his ruined eye, he did not appear hideously marred. Harry had not taken away Draco Malfoy’s fey beauty.

I stepped toward Draco, into his arms, falling into an embrace that only tightened as the world compressed around us…and we Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts.

We did not stumble as our booted feet hit the ground, and we parted slowly, Draco pulling up my hood before donning his own. It was dark in the north, darker than it had been in Temple Wood.

“The Anti-Apparition wards have been adjusted just for the Commemoration tomorrow…” Draco whispered as he took my hand again and we moved to the gates.

Instead of two Constables, there were six at the gates, braziers lit to illuminate the area. When we approached, Draco stepped forward.

“Sir, right on time…” a Constable said to Draco.

I did not bother noticing the Constables, all chancing a look at their superior officer, but to the castle beyond. The windows from the Great Hall to the highest tower were lit as if there was a castle full of students. I swallowed a small sob.

My eyes moved back to the gates, and the faces of the Constables who watched Draco and I move through the goblin wards. The effect of the goblin enchantment had not become any more pleasant since the last time I had passed through it. Pulling through, I sighed in relief, not bothering to glance back to the gate, but to the front doors of the castle instead. Standing at the open doors were three figures, one of which I knew by its size.

I released Draco’s hand and rushed ahead, the hood of my cloak falling back from my face as I broke into a jog.

Hagrid…

Merlin, I could see his fat tears before I ever reached him, bounding up the steps to jump into his crushing embrace. Hagrid had been my constant and my best friend ever since I came to live in the Forest.

“’Mione…” Hagrid sobbed, as he pressed me into his thick fur dress coat, smelling of the Forest and wood smoke.

After what seemed like hours, Hagrid set me gently on the stone threshold of the castle, his huge hands resting heavily on my shoulders. The torches inside the Entrance Hall lit my face as Hagrid studied me.

“I’m alright, Hagrid…” I said softly, tears streaming down my cheeks. I rubbed at the tears with the back of my hand, the edge of the dragon hide soaking up the wetness. “I’m so sorry that I couldn’t write…”

Hagrid shook his shaggy head. “I know, ‘Mione. I know you couldn’t…”

I nodded. Someone had told Hagrid about the Harry’s attack, and my seclusion.

“You look much better, Hermione,” another voice sounded from behind Hagrid, and my large friend stepped back to reveal Neville Longbottom.

Neville also seemed to appear in better health since the last time I had seen him. He had put on a healthy bit of weight, and filled out his regal dark red robes handsomely. Even the smile on his face reached his eyes…he was glad to see me…

The other figure on the threshold stepped forward and I found that Charlie Weasley held my hand in his calloused palms.

“’Mione…” was all he said, almost in a whisper.

Though Charlie’s mouth was stretched into a handsome smile, I could see that there was a deeper pain in his blue eyes. I frowned. Molly… But before I could open my mouth to ask Charlie anything, Draco’s hand was pressed into the small of my back, he finally having reached the threshold.

Neville and Hagrid stiffened at the sight of Draco, but Charlie nodded in greeting.

“Headmaster, I assume you have arranged for the same quarters as before?” Draco asked, his voice taking on that ‘official’ tone I had come to recognize.

Neville nodded. “Everything is ready. However, I must protest Malfoy…”

Draco raised a hand and effectively silence Neville. Neville’s face reddened.

I stepped away from Draco, slightly uncomfortable with his cold treatment of my old friend. I knew I had been guilty of treating Neville in a similar manner, but I did not insult him out right. Neville was the Headmaster.

“Hagrid,” I said, hoping to diffuse the tension. I stepped toward my friend, “Shall we walk for a bit before it gets too dark?”

I did not bother to glance at Draco as Hagrid’s face broke into a relieved smile and he offered his arm. Together, Hagrid and I moved from the front doors, and I could feel Draco’s eyes upon me.

It was too dark to walk very quickly, but Hagrid and I often walked the grounds on moonlit nights to the shore of the Lake, watching the Thestrals fly over the surface of the water or the Squid languidly stretch in the starlight. We often walked in the summer, when cool breezes blew from further along the Lake, cooling us as we talked about whatever came to mind. Hagrid’s conversational topics were limited to the Forest, its creatures, and Hogwarts, but I never minded…it was a welcome distraction most times.

As we moved along the ground toward the Lake, we did not speak until we were far enough away from the front doors so we would not be overheard.

“I’ve been reading the papers, ‘Mione. Is it true what they say about Harry?” Hagrid asked finally as we reached the pebbled shore of the Lake, the moon rising over the hills.

“I’m not exactly sure what the papers are saying, Hagrid.”

Hagrid drew a huge handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his eyes.

“The murders…did he really kill those Muggles who raised him?”

I sighed, patting the back of Hagrid’s tree-like arm. “He did, Hagrid. He has killed many people.”

“I just can’t believe that he would hurt you, ‘Mione…it doesn’t seem real!” Hagrid sobbed, quickly blowing his nose into the handkerchief.

I nodded in agreement. None of it seemed real. Sometimes I wondered if I were simply stuck in some dream…part fantasy, part nightmare.

“But he did, Hagrid, it is real,” I whispered as we moved toward the three tombs of the three Heads of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

We paused only for a moment to look at the tombs in the moonlight before moving on toward the path that would take us to Hagrid’s Hut and the edge of the Forest.

“I’ve got a bundle of mail for you…” Hagrid began as I hesitated to follow him further away from the front doors and from Draco.

I had not intended on walking so far, but Hagrid’s mention of mail made me realize that for weeks I had been missing any correspondences from the Ministry. In the confusion and shock that followed my attack, I had not thought to mention to Draco that my mail should be forwarded. Of course, for a long while I was too ill to even bother with mail if I did have access to it.

I held to Hagrid’s thick arm as we trudged through the dark up the well-worn path. I could just make out the steep pitched roof of Hagrid’s hut as we approached. And when Hagrid let me inside the warmth of his home, the candles lit upon a wooden chandelier over the large table before the fire. I climbed up onto a kitchen chair as Hagrid shut the door behind him and moved back into the bedroom behind the ragged curtain.

Hagrid’s black eyes swam with tears as he set a bundle of letters tied with twine before me on the table. He muttered that he would fix some tea, and I nodded, pulling at the knot about the pile of parchment envelopes. It had been a long while since I had tasted Hagrid’s bitter brew.

Letters from the Ministry, flyers advertising sales in Diagon Alley, a postcard from Ron just before I was attacked, a notice from Flourish & Blotts telling me a book I had ordered was now available, and finally…a packet, the thickest of all my mail. It read: ‘H. Jane Granger, care of: R. Hagrid, Hogwarts.’

I opened the packet, and pulled parchment from the envelope. It was a roll of parchment, folded so that it fit into the large envelope, laying flat in sections that fell together in fan-like folds. But the bulk of the packet was loose sheaves underneath the folded roll, most wrinkled terribly, and others torn. I consulted the top roll of parchment first.

Hagrid set the kettle over the fire and chipped mugs upon the tabletop, sitting down to stare woefully into the fire. I wanted to smile at my old friend, pat his hand, reassure him, but as my eyes fell to the words printed on the parchment, my heart seemed to freeze solid.

‘March 21, 2008, Dear Hermione,’ I read, my mind moving back to where I was when the letter was written. I was at Malfoy Manor on the Equinox, Draco healing from his wounds after fighting Harry in Animagus form. Harry was declared ‘dark,’ and a criminal combatant.

‘Dear Hermione,

I wish I could be writing to you in better circumstances, sending some bit of happy news, or wishing you a happy holiday of some sort. But through the years, time has not brought us into such a confidence with each other. We have not been the closest friends, and I can only hope that you will understand that I’m writing this letter with every bit of my love and admiration for you.

Hermione, there is no other person than you who could stop my husband from turning the world upside down. And for this I implore you…’

Hagrid had risen and moved to pour tea into the mugs, and I paused in my reading to gaze up at him.

“It’s from Ginny,” I said softly as Hagrid’s beetle black eyes moved to the pile of folded parchment.

He nodded, sitting down across from me.

“Go ahead and take your time, ‘Mione,” Hagrid whispered, sitting back in his chair with his tea.

It was almost eerie to see Hagrid’s solemn face, and hear his mournful voice. All through the War, Hagrid had been such a positive force, always smiling, always warm, even when times were at their worst. I turned my eyes back to the long letter, but did not read for a moment.

“Hagrid…” I started, but paused again. I raised my eyes to gaze at my old friend and his watery eyes. I could not tell Hagrid that even Ginny’s words condemned Harry…

I continued reading, unfolding the parchment.

‘And for this I implore you…kill Harry if all else fails. You and I both know that is the only way to stop him.

After what he has done to you, you must know that he will not simply kill those who stand in his way, but he will maim, torture, and irreparably damage a person. Hermione, I am only now hearing details of what Harry has done to you, Dad has told me…after me repeatedly asking. And now with George…and all the others, my sorrow has found a deeper depth.

You should know, Hermione that if I had known how profoundly disturbed Harry had become, I would have warned who I could.

Our marriage had been a dream to me. I have loved Harry since I was a girl, and I stood next to him through good and bad times. It was not into our second year of marriage did I find that I could not stand by him any longer.

At first, I thought it was the stress of his work. Capturing escaped Death Eaters, protecting witnesses to be brought to the Wizangamot trials…something that had been bothering all of us at that time. But it wasn’t this stress…

Harry began spending his time in the study, all of his free time at home. He did not look at me any longer, he did not sleep next to me, he did not speak to me. I lived with a ghost of man, who went to work during the day, and returned home as if he was not sure if he belonged there.

And suddenly, he remembered me, and for several weeks, I believed I had my husband again. We ate meals together, we slept in the same bed, and we even began talking about the future…children. Then, one evening, I called Harry to come to dinner…but he did not respond. I went into his study to find him sitting in the floor, the fire raging, books and papers all over the rug.

I called to him to come to dinner; he did not move…I moved closer to him, thinking that maybe he was asleep sitting up. I touched him, and that was when he turned on me like a rabid animal. He hit me, snarling. Hermione, his eyes seemed to glow with hatred. I had only seen it once before, just after Dumbledore’s death. Those eyes hurt me more than his fist across my face.

Harry tried to apologize even as I healed my face. He clung to me as I went to Floo to the Burrow. He seemed so sorry…and so childlike. My heart broke when I left him, but I could not allow a cycle or a pattern of abuse to begin. Deep inside my soul, I had known something was wrong even before Harry began retreating into his study for hours and hours.

Ron began telling me how Harry began to deteriorate. Ron would go to the home Harry and I made in Islington, pound on the study door and yell at Harry for hours. Harry would never open the door or answer. Kreacher was the only other living creature that could slip through the wards and enter the study. With Ron being Pureblood (though Kreacher still called all Weasleys ‘blood-traitors’), Kreacher responded to his requests. Feed Harry, see to his health, and if possible, inform Ron about what Harry was doing in the study…why he did not answer, why he would not allow his best friend to enter.

Kreacher could only tell Ron that Harry was still alive, that he was working on papers, and that Kreacher could not engage Harry in any sort of dialogue. From what Ron told me, the old, evil elf seemed upset that Harry was not ordering him about like a ‘good’ Master should. In the end, Ron and I had no real idea why Harry was acting so strangely.

When the Ministry terminated Harry’s position, Ron did not protest. Harry had been absent from work for weeks. I had filed my suit against him, and had been hovering over divorce papers with a hesitant quill for weeks. In the end, I called St. Mungo’s to send the newly formed ‘police’ department to the house in Islington. The Ministry took Harry by force, and soon the Healers declared Harry ‘insane.’

I had little to do with any of the events; I could not bear to see Harry. Dad seemed to take care of the formalities of Harry’s committal, and finally sat me down to tell me that Harry could not remember who I was…his wife.

The last thing that I did concerning Harry was ask Kreacher to gather up Harry’s papers and bring them to me. The elf did this just after the police finished their reports. And enclosed are those papers.’

I paused in my reading to lift Ginny’s letter so that I saw the first of the stack of parchments…a page with more blots of ink than actual words. The scrawl was familiar, a scrawl that I remembered so well from school. Harry’s handwriting.

‘I wanted them because I had to know why…why Harry had divorced his very soul from mine. I had to know what it was that drove him to hit me, to forget me.

I poured over every page, trying to understand, but most of what was written was foreign to me. It seemed like the writings of a lunatic, but then I remembered one thing, one actual helpful bit of information Kreacher was able to give Ron. The books…

Harry had confiscated quite a bit of so-called ‘dark artefacts’ from the homes of Death Eaters. Most of the artefacts the Ministry kept, others, mostly books, were sent to Hogwarts. But on occasion, Harry brought home a few books, having either paid the Ministry to keep the spoils or smuggled the books home under the noses of his superiors. That was how he acquired ‘The Hanged Man.’ It had once been the property the Dolohov family.’

I closed my eyes. Dolohov…Merlin, it was almost too obvious. The cutting curse that nearly killed me in my Fifth Year had most likely derived from ‘The Hanged Man.’ Through the years, it had been Antonin Dolohov’s face that often appeared in my nightmares. He had been the first man to ever, truly hurt me, and I never forgot his mad face.

‘The only thing I could discern from these pages was that Harry somehow wanted to change the past. Of course, Harry often said things to me, wishing that our world could be different. If only Dumbledore had lived, Sirius, Fred, even Snape… Sometimes I could see his eyes grow distant, as if thinking of what the world would be like if those people were still alive.

He also writes about the Hallows in these pages, and again, I remembered him telling me about ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers.’ He would grin every time he mentioned the Invisibility Cloak in our vault. In these pages, I think you’ll be able to see why he wanted the Hallows again, after vowing never to use Elder Wand (you remember as well as everyone how he replaced the wand in Dumbledore’s tomb and resealed it after the Last Battle) or seek out the Resurrection Stone.

And then he writes about your Third Year, about saving Sirius from the Dementors. Not until now did I let myself believe that these maniacal writings and his erratic behavior were seated in some deeper obsession that could not be repressed by the Healers. Merlin, Hermione, if I had known, I would have killed Harry myself.’

Tears welled up in my eyes as I came to the end of Ginny’s letter, and I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep from crying.

‘Hermione, please stop Harry.

You might wonder why I would ask this of you…given that if Harry were to go back and change everything, I would have him again. If Harry goes back, everything we have fought for will have been for nothing. It is unfair for Harry to have the power to decide who lives and who dies…and how the future should be.

Do not hesitate, Hermione, do not pity him. Harry James Potter is dead, he killed himself when he gave up living for the future…for the people who loved him. And do not pity me, I lost my husband years ago. I tried to compete with the past, and I lost.

Do not waver, Hermione, do not let Harry take away the possibility of our lives changing for the better after all the terrible things we have seen and done.’

I sobbed aloud, and found that Hagrid had moved to kneel next to me, his large body blocking the warm flow of the fire. He pulled part of his handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped away my tears with the very corner of the fabric.

‘I wish you luck, my old friend. Please be careful, and please forgive me for the so many things I could have done to relieve you of this burden. You most likely will never see me again, Hermione, so I wish you all the happiness in the world…that you find a love more true than the one I had for the boy who saved my life.

All my love, Ginny.’

I dropped the letter onto the tabletop and embraced Hagrid, crying into his beard like a little girl. Ginny had resigned herself to disappear.

Pity the living, and above all, those who live without love.

Everything Harry had touched was tainted. In the beginning, it had not been so, Harry was unspoiled and innocent, but with madness came selfishness, with selfishness came cruelty, and with cruelty came evil. Harry was no better than Voldemort and the Dark Lord’s quest to live forever. Harry did not want to live forever, he wanted to become God.

The sound of Hagrid’s door opening and shutting did not alarm me, but it alarmed my old friend who pulled from our embrace to stand to his full height.

“What are you doin’ here?” Hagrid growled, his deep voice threatening to whomever had entered.

I turned in the chair to find Draco standing just inside the hut, not bothering to even acknowledge Hagrid, but stared at me, his face full of concern.

“Hermione,” Draco began, stepping toward me, but Hagrid, with a speed and grace I did not think possible from such a large man, moved between us, blocking my view of my protector completely.

I wiped my cheeks of any excess tears, and glanced quickly to the letter and pieces of parchment resting with the other items I had received in the post. I stood from the high chair and touched Hagrid’s arm, moving around him so that I came to stand before him. My back pressed against Draco’s chest as he moved forward to address me, but found that I had turned to smile at Hagrid.

“Hagrid, it is alright. Draco is not here to cause any problems, he came to find me, to see if I was safe,” I said gently, but saw that Hagrid was staring coolly at Draco.

“Safe? Safe! Of course ‘Mione is safe here,” Hagrid grumbled.

I felt Draco exhale into the braids of my hair pulled back in a cloth tie. Draco was not angry, or offended by Hagrid, but I could tell he was uncomfortable standing just behind me.

“Hagrid, Draco and I have been…” I trailed as Draco’s hand moved against the small of my back on the outside of my cloak. “We’ve been working together since I was attacked. He has protected me since then, and I…trust him.”

Hagrid seemed to sigh, and slowly moved to his chair behind the table, taking up his tea. I also sighed, knowing I would be unable to convince Hagrid that Draco was not a threat, but moved to my chair again as Draco moved to lean against the wide jamb of the door, crossing his arms before his chest and smiling smugly.

I turned myself so that I could turn my eyes easily to regard either man, but I turned my attentions to Ginny’s letter. I folded the parchment back as it had been and slid the papers back into the large envelope. Closing the tab, I rested the packet on my lap, while arranging my other mail, most of which I would Vanish.

The silence in the hut was almost painful to my ears. My eyes were scratchy with unshed tears and my mood quite sullen. All the same, I tried to smile at Hagrid as I finally took a drink of strong tea.

“The ceremony, when does it start tomorrow?” I asked, trying to brighten the inflection in my voice, but failed.

“At sunset. Have you seen what they’re puttin’ on the grounds just where Neville cut the head off that snake?” Hagrid said, brightening a bit at the chance at conversation.

I shook my head, blinking in confusion.

“A fountain! I saw the original plans, and I’m glad they ain’t goin’ with the first idea…a great snake wrapped about a sword…utter nonsense.

Nah, it is a fountain like the one in the Ministry…a smaller version, I s’pose. A plaque will be placed with the names of those killed…none of the bad sort, mind, but names of witches and wizards, centaurs and giants…all those who died a hero.”

Draco made a noise, but it was not a scoff or a guffaw. I did not turn my eyes to him.

“We will be there, Hagrid,” I said, reaching across the large table to pat his hand.

Hagrid smiled, his black eyes shining.

With as much gentleness as I could, I finally made my goodbye, promising to sit near Hagrid in the back of the rows of chairs at the ceremony. After so many ceremonies, Hagrid and I had earned out seats in the back rows…he because of his size, I because of my aversion to most people.

I slipped my mail into my bottomless pocket before hugging Hagrid again, new tears spring into my eyes. I had missed my old friend, and the simple pleasures of drinking tea and talking about magical creatures with Rubeus Hagrid. Finally, Draco and I left the hut behind, taking the dark path up to the castle, a path we had walked so many times when we were students.

Draco held my hand tightly as we trudged along the dark path, and I hesitated to mention Ginny’s letter. I had not lied to Hagrid, I did trust Draco.

“Ginny sent me a letter,” I said softly as we entered the castle through a door that led into one of the many empty corridors. Torches lit the way as we moved toward the Portrait Hall, taking a route that led down into the dungeons. It was not the route I used when I entered the castle, and I knew Draco was recalling the route toward the Slytherin Dormitories.

“When?” he asked, his voice more like a grumble, and I wondered if he were angry…his hand crushing mine.

“After the Equinox.”

The dungeon passages were cold, and we passed the Potions classroom, past Horace’s quarters, stopping before a particularly wet and mildew covered wall at the end of a short corridor. Draco released my hand to press both of his palms against the damp stones…and the door appeared.

I sighed, I did not have the capacity to ponder how the wards that secreted Severus’ chambers, or how I had never noticed the short corridor that terminated in a dead end. I did not have the capacity to marvel at the fact that Severus’ enchanted windows seemed to overlook the Lake, or that dinner was set out on the table in the middle of the room.

Passing inside, Draco shut the door behind me. I stood dumbly in the parlour, unfastening my cloak to toss it over the back of the wingback chair before the low burning fireplace. Draco mimicked my actions, but moved to the bedroom, which was open, the bed turned down.

I shook my head, trying to compose my thoughts.

“Do you remember what you told me about what the Aurors noted in their report?” I said as Draco moved in the bedroom, pulling off his dragon-hide armor, throwing it on the bed. I walked to the door and leaned on the jamb watching him as he sat on the end of the bed and pulled off his boots, letting the black hide and heavy soles fall to the floor.

“Which report?” he asked, standing again to undo the front of his trousers.

He glanced to me once, his face twisted in a scowl. Opening the chest of drawers, he pulled out a pair of plain white sleeping pants with a drawstring.

“After Harry was taken to St. Mungo’s.”

Draco nodded, moving to the far side of the bed, twisting out of his tight trousers so that I had a prefect view of his backside, the taut muscles of his back, his ass, his legs. I blushed, and averted my eyes.

“The parchments you mentioned…the ones that were lost…”

“Yes, Granger, I remember,” he growled, bending down to lift the sleep pants up his legs. I chanced a glance…the shadow of his sac and flaccid cock against his thigh.

I bit my lip at the sight of his organs…and the fact he called me ‘Granger.’ He was annoyed, and I wondered if it was because I had walked with Hagrid and left his sight for a while…leaving his protection without asking permission. My face burned even as Draco adjusted the ties of his pants.

“I have those parchments in my cloak,” I announced, crossing my arms before my breasts.

Draco whirled, his left eye flashing, and he stalked toward me…and my heart raced.

“Let me see them.”

I bit my lip again, and moved to my cloak, digging through the bottomless pocket. When I extracted the bundle, I found that Draco was sitting at the table, pouring pumpkin juice into his goblet. I passed the parchments to him, but did not sit down. Even Hogwart’s familiar foods did not tempt me. In fact, my stomach was knotted painfully

I stood next the wingback chair, and studied Draco as he sat back in his chair, shirtless, as his left eye studied the parchments. It seemed almost a sin for Draco to sit half-clothed in Severus’ parlour. However, as his pale hands switched from one parchment to the other, I began to see Draco’s face beginning to relax, his scowl slipping. What replaced the scowl was a subtle expression of alarm.

Coming to the last scrap, Draco scanned the page quickly, dropping the paper into his lap, his eye raising to stare back at me.

“Have you read these, Hermione?” he asked gently.

I shook my head, and let my eyes fall to the floor under my dragon-hide boots.

“Most of it is nonsense, but most of it only proves that your theories are correct. Potter has been planning his actions for years…who to kill, who to contact, who to spare. Names, dates, events, all mentioned…all that we now know.

If we had had these parchments months, even years ago, he could have been stopped!”

Draco grasped the parchments, and furiously threw the across the parlour so that most fell into the dinner on the table, some floating into the bedroom, others into the darkened bathroom. Draco rose from the table, jarring it so that the pitcher of pumpkin juice tumbled off the table, spilling icy juice upon the floor.

I winced as Draco moved away from the table, a hand pressed over his mouth, bare feet pacing across the floor. I pressed a hand to my upset stomach as I watched the pale man pace, his right hand clenching into a fist.

Slowly, I began picking up the pages, my eyes prickling with tears.

Of course, Draco was right, I could see Harry’s notes as I collected the parchment. Notes on the night Voldemort was reborn, notes on Time-Turners…names of books that were so obscure on the subject of the Time-Turners that I was surprised at Harry’s thoroughness. There were lists of names, even descriptions of how and why these people should die. There were notes on spells taken from ‘The Hanged Man,’ spells that would kill but would not be detected by the Ministry. And as I picked up the last few pieces, I began reading notes on why Harry needed the Resurrection Stone.

‘I cannot lose Hermione and Ron, and no matter how things will change, I fear I will lose them. I cannot lose them to death while I will continue to live on…forever…’

I licked my lips as I picked up the last piece of parchment…a drawing of my face sketched in pencil upon the edge of the torn piece. Harry must have drawn it from memory…a memory he had of me at the Yule Ball…

If these parchments had not been taken by Ginny…hidden away…

I stifled a sob, kneeling just inside the doorway of the bedroom. I could not imagine the guilt Ginny Potter felt…

Draco held me as my cried tore from my throat, the parchment falling from my arms as I threw myself against him. He had come to my side, and we held each other, falling into the floor so that his knees cradled me, holding me close. His hands ran over my back, my shoulder, my hair, my face, as I cried.

I had cried so much that I did not think that my pain and sorrow could ever pour from me again, but it did, and Draco Malfoy tried to soothe me.

When kisses were pressed into my cheeks, drinking my tears, I returned those kisses.

“Draco…” I whispered, his thick arms wrapping about me like coils of cable. “Draco…”

Part of me felt as though I was the most pitiable creature in the world. Part of me wondered if the universe was punishing me. Part of me wondered if I should have died long ago… But no… I would live, I had to live…even if it were to ascertain if I truly loved the man who licked the tears from my face.



Draco held me as we slept in Severus’ bed. I slept so deeply and so comfortably against him. When I woke in the morning, Draco was still curled around me, his body poised as if to shield me from some invisible danger.

Desperation, it was desperation.

May 10th had come, and I knew that I could not cry.




Mafalda Hopkirk was a handsome, older witch, and from where I sat in the back row, Hagrid to my right, I could see that her brilliant blue eyes matched the dark blue of her robes. The Minister of Magic stood upon a dais, the commemorative fountain gurgling at her back. As Hagrid had said, the fountain was of a similar design to the much larger Fountain of Magical Brethren in the Ministry. The fountain’s figures on the grounds were not golden, but silver, and the statue of the goblin was the only feature missing from its brother in the Atrium. It was a safe representation, and not original. I did not care for the fountain.

“We must endure if we are to stabilize our world…”

I had tuned out the Minister’s speech about equality, freedom of expression, zero-tolerance to terrorism and threats to the stability of the Wizarding world. Instead, I let my eye move over the assembly of approximately one hundred people in the rows of chairs before me. The assembly would clap on cue, but I paid little mind.

I had the hood of my cloak pulled low, and though I recognized many faces, they did not notice me.

Around the assembly, perched high upon the castle behind me, at the edges of the Forest, on the shore of the Lake; were Aurors… Even Draco was somewhere close, for I could feel his eye upon me, somewhere behind me, perhaps perched upon the battlements of the Astronomy Tower…

I fidgeted my hands in my lap at Draco being on the Astronomy Tower, flicking my eyes to the tombs on the shore far to my right.

There had yet to be any stirrings of an assault by some ‘terrorist’ force upon the assembly. The security measures taken were extreme. Every person who entered the grounds had been searched physically and magically. No glamours, no Polyjuiced faces, no enchantments…the goblin enchantments nullified most magic so no one could cast even the simplest of spells into the crowd or at the Minister who had two grim faced Aurors standing on either side of her as she spoke without the aid of magic.

Finally, a list of names was read, those who had died in service to the Ministry and to the service of a better world. I scoffed as the names were read and a plaque at the base of the fountain was unveiled. I scoffed as the assembly rose to their feet, clapping.

Time had decided the heroes and the villains in the minds of the people…

When the ceremony was over, I sat just as I had at Minerva’s funeral. I waited as people filed past me, not bothering to take note of me. Some were people I knew very well, some were people I esteemed, and some were people I doubted had anything to do with the War or the Last Battle at all… Deep down, I felt that the commemoration of the Last Battle was a mockery to the memory of those who had died.

Hagrid had left my side early on, apparently just as unsettled as I had been. When the last person left the assembly area to commune with many others before the front doors or near the gates, I rose from my seat and walked toward the fountain. The visitors had viewed the fountain before the ceremony, but I had not.

The sun’s rays were still lighting the grounds as I walked around the fountain, my hood still low over my face. It was a bit warm, even for a May evening with a cloak and dragon-hide armor, but breezes off the Lake still held a cool bite. I stopped before the plaque and read the names. Colin Creevey, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, Remus Lupin, Fred Weasley…there were about fifty names, and I knew all of them. One name was missing, and I wondered why…Severus Snape.

No tears were shed.

“Of all of them…you were the one who sacrificed the most…” I whispered.

But was it enough, Miss Granger?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It seemed that no matter how much was sacrificed for Harry or the ‘greater good’…it was never enough.

My eyes opened as a hand slipped under my cloak to curl about my waist, and at the touch of fingertips upon the skin of my hip between the bottom of the dragon-hide shirt and trousers, I knew who stood just as my left. My hand moved to cover his as his fingers caressed my hip, making my thoughts turn away from the names listed on the plaque and the memories I had of each person.

“What a farce,” I whispered, turning to gaze at the warm light upon Draco’s scarred face, the sun setting before us over the trees of the Forbidden Forest.

The corner of his mouth rose into a smirk. “Maybe in another ten years it won’t seem like a farce…maybe in another ten years the political implications of the Last Battle won’t matter,” he whispered, his fingertips running along the crest of my hipbone. It was a very intimate gesture, and I shivered slightly, a subtle shock running down to my core at his touch.

“No attack, no ambush, no Potter…” Draco whispered, turning to me slightly, the shadow of his body falling over me so I could see his face in a silhouetted light.

“I’m glad,” I whispered, my hands burying under his cloak, sliding along the dragon-hide of his armor shirt, so that I embraced him.

Draco sighed, his fingers pushing back my hood, my braids fell over my shoulders. He grasped my face and stared down into my eyes.

“You want this to be over as much as I do, Hermione…” he whispered, leaning down to kiss me just between my eyebrows. He pulled back and continued to stare down with his icy left eye.

If Draco had both of his eyes, his gaze would not have been so unsettling, but as it was…

“I want it over, I want a lot of things, but I won’t delude myself that all of…this…is going to end well,” I said, my hand moving to gesture to the fountain, the castle, the grounds… “Waiting for Harry to act, waiting for a confrontation is worse than the confrontation itself.”

Draco’s hands caressed my face as I pressed myself against him.

“I think it is beginning to drive me mad, Draco…” I whispered, closing my eyes, the bright orange rays of the setting sun warming my forehead as Draco tilted my head to kiss me.

I fell into his kiss, finding that Draco Malfoy’s kiss was the only thing that was keeping my mind and soul from slipping into a dark, inescapable place. The anxiety I had been experiencing, the fear, the hesitation, it had all come upon me so suddenly. It shocked me how quickly my life had changed. New Years had been quiet, with me curled up before the fire of my cottage, Crookshanks curled up at my feet. I had been reading a copy of Carl Sagan’s ‘The Demon Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark,’ which my father had given me during my Christmas visit to Australia. It was a fun read, even more so as I drank my celebratory whiskey. By the Equinox, Minerva was dead, I was a victim of a cruel sexual assault by my best friend, and I was staying in Malfoy Manor…I was hearing Severus Snape’s voice in my head, and I was slowly falling in love with Draco Malfoy.

I was in shock, but I kissed Draco with every bit of my soul. Out of everything, out of my shock, I did know that I felt a type of love for this man. He had protected me, and as he held my face as the sun finally disappeared, I believed that he had protected me because I was worth protecting.

I pulled away from him, my palms resting against his dragon hide clad chest. The darkness of the coming night was casting us both in grey light. I did not know if he loved me, I could not know his mind or his motives, but I also could not let my doubt consume me. I needed Draco’s help more than I needed his love. Considering ‘love’ would have to come later…

“You cannot go mad, someone has to keep their head straight,” he muttered, his lips quirking into a lop-sided smile that made my heart flutter. I doubted he knew how that scoundrel-like smile affected me.

I chuckled as Draco removed his hands from my face to push my braided hair over one shoulder, and replace the hood over my head. Humour…no matter how dark, how ironic, was the only way to diffuse the gravity of our situation. And we walked away from the fountain and the plaque, with smiles on our faces.

No one noticed me, some of the guests still milling about the front doors of the castle, but plenty took note of Draco, his pale face and hair unmistakable. We passed into the castle, past the Great Hall where even more people had gathered, where the Minister was talking to the press. We moved into the Portrait Hall, and I looked up toward Gryffindor Tower. I considered making a trip up the stairs to stand before Minerva’s portrait and beg her to speak to me.

Hagrid had told me as we waited for the ceremony began that little had changed in the castle since I was last there. Neville was working to find a replacement for Minvera’s post as Transfigurations Professor, as well as trying to find someone suitable to teach Divination. Minerva’s portrait still had not roused from its slumber. Letters had come from the families of the students, pledging support to Hogwarts, hoping to have the Board of Governors reopen the school early so that the students could catch up on their studies. Hagrid had also told me that Neville and Albus’ portrait were working on a new DADA curriculum and searching for a suitable instructor.

I stood inside the Portrait Hall, hoping to hear the voices of students, but heard only the whispers of portraits. The torches lit automatically as the light from the high windows faded. I licked my lips and turned back to the Entrance Hall, Draco just at my side. I slipped my hand into his, and together we made our way back down into the dark of the dungeons to Severus’ chambers.

Ten years had passed since the War ended.