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 28




My passing recommendation from the F.O.I.L. instructors read something like this: ‘Granger’s physical aptitude is far higher than what was expected when the agent enrolled in the accelerated courses. However, Granger is hesitant to fight, using her intellect to avoid confrontation, and clever negotiation to diffuse situations before they become physically hostile.

Though Granger has passed every physical examination, it is the recommendation of this committee that Granger be placed in an advisory capacity. This capacity could be best described as a ‘liaison.’ Her communication skills, understandings of all magical disciplines, her history as member of the Order of the Phoenix, her keen perception, and unwavering determination to mete justice for victims and accused inside a structure of law, makes her suitable to act as the British liaison to the international organization F.O.I.L. and its Muggle counterparts the MI6, C.I.A., and the DGSE.

Granger is the first trainee to break every training record since F.O.I.L. was founded in 1666, and glowing recommendations are attached to this document from every trainer Granger encountered during her five-month fast track. We at F.O.I.L wish Hermione Granger the best of luck in her future endeavors and look forward to her progress in her new position within the organization.’

It was a stunning cover letter, I supposed, but Gumboil and Williamson had not bothered to read it when I sat down to tell them why I returned to the MLE.

“You said that I could work in such a capacity, Gumboil, as a liaison. Here I am, now qualified, now ready, and now you have an answer to a question you asked five months ago.”

Gumboil regarded me hesitantly, and Williamson, I could tell was slightly disappointed that I would not be joining his ranks on an official level.

By the midday of October 31, I had finished my business with the Ministry, managing to see Alex Roux as well. I walked along the Atrium, dragon hide boots tapping against the floor as I strode toward the Floos. My cloak fluttered out behind me, as did my tiny braids. I was a vision in black, armed, armored, and the newest employ of the MLE, F.O.I.L liaison, and second only to Williamson as Head Auror. Gumboil and Williamson could not contain their smiles when I signed my contract papers despite the fact that I was in many ways their superior when it came to jurisdiction.

“You should have been here eight years ago, Granger,” Gumboil said, dropping the ‘Miss’ before my name. “The Weasleys have spoken highly of your skills, as did Potter—when he was worth a damn.”

I kept my face passive.

“I’m sure Roux was sad to lose you. But for you to pass the F.O.I.L written examinations in over a month, and the physical exams in four, well, it is just a testament to determination,” Williamson added.

I said nothing.

I was not a police officer, I was not an Auror, I was a F.O.I.L. liaison, which meant that I was the watchdog of every magical law enforcement agency in my assigned location. I would not fight, I would not apprehend, I was not someone like Draco or Charlie who literally fought crime. I was the last word of the law, and I was the last person who would literally fight. Fight, I could, but would I? Not unless every police officer and Auror were dead.

All the training had been to prove that I could handle myself if need be, but the truest test had been to prove that everything I had been through, the War, Harry, had not rankled my sense of justice, had not skewed my perception or my mind. It did not matter what Gumboil or Williamson thought of me, I was the ‘brains’ of the MLE, not the muscle.

I represented the connection between the MLE and every department of the Ministry, from the Department of Mysteries to the Minister’s office. I was a warrior with no real weapon except the head on my shoulders.

When I walked through the offices, I could feel eyes upon me. I knew the ratio of men to women was off in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but I could handle men easily, my two best friends had been male. I had a new badge inside a wallet, tucked into my pocket. With that badge, I could tell everyone in the Department to get on their knees, beg, and roll over. I was the person that told where the Aurors where to go, the police officers where to investigate, I was the mysterious hand of justice in the magical world that moved through darkness and ate secrets. Therefore, I ignored those eyes, just as I ignored the others in the Atrium.

I did not see Draco.

However, when the invitation’s Portkey activated hours later, I stood on the drive before a Manor I barely recognized. It was nearly ten, and already other guests were Portkeying near me. Some people I recognized from the Ministry, some I did not. I recognized Kingsley Shaklebolt, Millicent Bulstrode, Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, and many of the older guests.

The Manor was no longer in a French-style, but just as I remembered Lucius saying, a traditional manor house style. It reminded me of Stourhead, which, I wondered had influenced the choice of style, as it was not too far away. There was an extra story, and the windows were smaller. Only the central portion of the house really reminded me of Stourhead, especially the porch, but the Manor was not just Palladian, but of Cotswold influence as well. The exterior was a darker stone while the front entrance was much as I remembered, and it was there I saw Lucius and Narcissa greeting their guests.

A few disdainful glances passed over me, but again, I ignored them as I began walking toward the elevated entrance. I waited as more guests moved by me, all dressed in fine suits or gowns. I listened as Narcissa explained that no one needed to dress for the gathering, tonight a novelty would choose their costumes for them.

I waited at the base of the porch, until I was the last guest outside, and hurrying to catch up with the guest ahead of me; I came to stand just before the Lord and Lady of the Manor. From the lamplight hanging over the door, I knew Lucius and Narcissa were studying me closely.

“Have you come to slay a dragon, Miss Granger?” Lucius drawled, his eyes moving over my dragon hide clothing.

I smirked.

“Perhaps.

Pardon me for being late, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy,” I said placing a hand over my heart and bowing—dragon slayer indeed.

Narcissa laughed, and I suddenly found myself in her arms. I watched Lucius smirk and quickly turn to go inside the Manor. I watched as he entered the door, a sparkle of enchantment working over him, and suddenly his clothing changed, and a mask obscured his face.

I understood now what they had meant by novelty.

“It is so wonderful to see you, dear. I was so afraid you would not come!” Narcissa cried holding me at arm’s length to study my face.

The guilt I had been repressing trickled out.

“I apologize. I really…” I began, tears thickening my voice.

Narcissa cooed, smoothing a pale hand over my face.

“It has been difficult, Hermione, we understand this—there is no need to apologize.”

I shook my head. “To Draco…I…”

“Shhh…” Narcissa cooed again, embracing me. “He’s here.”

“Does he know I’m here?” I asked in a whisper.

Narcissa moved to hold me at arm’s length again. “No,” she said with a wicked smile.

I pursed my lips. I should have known.

We stared at each other for a long time, and then Narcissa’s face darkened. “I can imagine how you might feel, Hermione, as if all of this past year has been a dream. I have felt much the same. In fact, to me, looking at you now is like a dream.

I want to be angry with you, Hermione, but I cannot. Draco, however…” she trailed.

I lowered my eyes to my boots.

“Do you love him?” she whispered.

I bit my lip. I had not expected Narcissa Malfoy to be so forthright.

“I don’t know.”

“Can you allow yourself to love him, if you wanted?”

I felt my brows furrow. “I want to.” Somehow, I felt as if Narcissa had bewitched my tongue to speak my inner truths aloud.

“I know he’s changed. You have changed. Just looking at you now, it is hard to believe that you were that girl Draco brought here, clinging to life.

And Draco—the fiery passion he had, I thought I would never see it again when he first returned to us. That is why you need to go in the door, and see for yourself. Our Draco has not been lost,” Narcissa breathed, her fingers brushing over my cheek again.

I raised my eyes and tried to smile, but it came across as a grimace.

“It’s Samhain, dear, and when we steal away for Horned Hill, you will come with us.”

Narcissa’s hands on my shoulders steered me to the door, and already I could hear people laughing, music playing, and feet dancing. I glanced back once to the woman I had grown to care for, and my heart swelled at the sight of the tears in her pale eyes.

I stepped through the door, and immediately I felt magic breeze across my skin. As I took another step into the foyer, the magic seemed to coat me like a viscous liquid, and I watched the dragon hide melted into a gown of the same material and color as the shift I had worn on Beltane.

A mask covered my face, but not my hair, and as I whirled to find a familiar polished bronze mirror upon the foyer wall, I saw a strange face staring back at me. I could see through the mask as if there was no mask on my face, but what I saw in the mirror startled me. The mask was divided into thirds. The right side was a portion of a small face of a girl, the far right eye closed, the right side of her mouth open. The middle was my face in total, distorted with one bright yellow topaz for a right eye open. The left side was like the right side, a portion of an old woman’s face, left eye open wide, tiger eye stones as the eye itself. Together, the three faces composed one, made of what looked like white marble except for the jewels.

I wore the face of the Fates.

The dress, which on closer inspection was not a gown, but a Greek chiton, dipped low in the front and back, revealing the insides of my breasts, and the circular brand upon my left breast. My dragon hide boots had disappeared, and instead I wore light sandals. My arms were bare, my wands gone.

Immediately, I began to panic.

“It is alright, dear,” Narcissa’s voice sounded behind me.

I turned to find myself face to face, rather, mask to mask, with a white, nearly featureless face. It was unnerving, to say the least. Narcissa wore a beautiful pale blue ball gown, her hair coiffed in silvery ringlets atop her head.

“Your clothing has been Transfigured, and if you feel your arm, your wands are still there, just Disillusioned,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by her mask.

I felt my right forearm, and just as Narcissa said, my wands were there.

“Come along, the dancing has already begun…” she said, taking my hand.

Pulling me through the foyer, she led me through a wide corridor into a part of the house I never remembered before, then again, the Manor had been rebuilt, and only the foyer seemed somewhat familiar. We entered a parlour, which led off to a larger room, a dinning hall of sorts, but served that night as a ballroom. Open doors lined the outside wall, leading to the terrace I remembered passing the morning after W.A.T.C.H. attacked.

There was quite a crowd in the room, and at the far end, a group of musicians, who were masked, played song after song. It was a ball like those I imagined in Jane Austen books—intricate country contra dances. Masked guests sat in the outlying parlours and along the walls of the room, talking, smoking, and drinking, with house elves scurrying about the periphery.

Just as the dance ended, Narcissa released my hand, and I found myself quite alone.

I spotted Lucius near the terrace, dressed in dark blue robes befitting a gentleman of the eighteenth century, a hawk mask obscuring his face, the eyes set with sapphires that gleamed in the candles floating over the middle of the room.

I took a step forward and was suddenly blocked by a tall man in a brown frock coat and white leggings. He wore a mask that resembled a basset hound, and I suddenly wondered how the charms worked when the guests passed through the door.

“Even though your mask is a bit frightening… I’ll ask—do you dance, lady?”

Though muffled, I knew the voice. Theo Nott. His gloved hand was stretched toward me and he bowed, I had no other choice. I was not even sure if I could dance. However, as I stood in line, across from Theo, my feet moved with the music. I had never learned how to English Country Dance, yet I moved as if it had been something engrained in me.

Soon, I was dancing with other partners, weaving my way through the line, until I was faced with a mask that made me miss a step. A black-gloved hand grasped mine and we moved, facing one another.

It was a dragon’s mask, a diamond for the left eye, a terrible scar blinding the right. The mask was black as well, making the features seem to be shadowed. However, as I turned away to move to the next partner, I saw that a long length of silvery hair streamed from a ribbon at the back of the man’s head.

He had not acknowledged me, surely, he could see a part of the scar on the inside of my breast where the chiton hanged so loose.

The dance ended and I was curtseying to Theo again. He held my hand and led me from the dance floor; I was too distracted trying to watch Draco that I was not paying any attention to Theo’s words. A drink was pressed into my hand, and I stared at it dumbly. How was I do imbibe anything with a mask on?

“The masks are an illusion, see?” Theo explained, taking a glass from a tray as a house elf scurried past. Lifting the wine glass to his mask, the glass seemed to fade through and he tilted his head back to drain the crystal.

I cocked my head; it was an interesting bit of Charm work. Theo set his empty glass on the wide wainscoting and urged me to drink.

Red wine.

Beltane night slipped into my mind again, and I scanned the room for the only black mask I had seen so far. My eyes moved to the door to the other parlour, and, finishing my glass, I stepped around Theo to peer inside. Draco was not there.

“Would you like to have another dance? I promise I won’t ask again…”

Theo had always seemed like a decent fellow, even though he had been in Slytherin, and I relented, again.

I danced three more times, the last not with Theo, but a man in a strange multicoloured mask that resembled the face of a peacock. I drank several more glasses of wine, all the while scanning the room for Draco.

Quickly, I found myself upon the terrace, too hot, slightly intoxicated, and frustrated. I had come, just as Narcissa had asked, and I wanted to see Draco again. I wanted to show him that I could stand on my own, hold my own, and be worthy of his strength by revealing my own. Leaning against the stone balustrade of the terrace, I knew my reasoning was quite inane.

Months of having to rely on myself to survive made me realize how stupidly immature I had been. I had worried about what people thought about me, when I really needed to worry about what I thought about myself. I had come to the conclusion that I did not like myself very much.

Fighting my way through the rain forests of South America, beset upon by dangerous magical beasts, chased by dark shaman, I realized that I had to get my head out of my arse and start facing the truth of myself. I was intelligent, I was strong, I had the ability to exude confidence, and just like everyone else in the world, I was worthy of love. Why it had to take something like Auror training for me to realize who I was? It was, well, overkill, but it worked. All that remained was to find the man I had thought about all those months putting my mind and body through the insane rigors of training.

My eyes scanned the gardens beyond the terrace. Just as Narcissa had said, the kitchen garden to my right had been changed, into a rock garden, it seemed, but out toward my left, the hedge maze was the same. Bluebell lights lit the passages, and in what I assumed was the middle with the Japanese gardens, was lit brightly. Below the terrace, couples walked, drinks in hand, laughing.

With a sigh, I made my way off the terrace and into the gardens, lifting the hem of my chiton as I walked over the cold ground. I scanned the masks of the other guests, not seeing the Malfoys—any of them.

I whirled into the dark of the hedge maze, the Bluebell lights at every bend, and began to walk along the pebbled path. Memories of the gore I had come upon made my fingers on my right hand bend toward the handle of my walnut wand. It was an irrational reaction, and I stopped just past the first light. I could hear laughter further in, and the sound of shoes scrapping against the pebbled path.

I swayed on my feet for a moment, realizing then how intoxicated I truly was.

The crunch of footsteps into the pebbles, albeit careful and quiet, had me whirling again, my wand tip pressed into a pale throat. I narrowed my eyes, staring up into a black mask, a diamond eye sparkling in the blue light.

“I was going to ask if you’d be interest in playing ‘find the naughty, drunk wench in the hedge maze,’ but it seems that you are not in the mood.”

His voice was slightly muffled, but as he raised his gloved hands in a gesture of passivity, I tore the wand from his Adam’s apple and slipped it discretely into the Disillusioned holster.

“We would have about an hour and half to play, if you were in the mood, my lady,” he said softly, hands still raised, stepping closer.

“Until midnight?” I whispered.

The dragon mask nodded. “Would you be interested?”

Behind my mask, I smirked. “But you know this maze better than I do, it would not exactly be fair.”

He took a step forward; I took a step back. In the blue light, the contours of the mask seemed much more frightening, but the loosely plaited silver hair spilling over his left shoulder seemed to reflect the light, which by lying over a dark cloak, made him appear quite imposing. The clothing, the cloak, the jerkin, which was zipped closed, was the same things he wore on Beltane, and again, I was curious as to the enchantments used to costume the Samhain guests.

“I would give you a head start, my lady,” he said with a bow, his hands finally moving.

“How long?”

Rising to his full height, I knew he was smiling behind his mask. “One minute. However, the point is that you ‘try’ to hide, and I find you.

I’m sure we won’t be the only ones playing this game.”

I sighed. If this was how it was to be…

I took off running before he could move or speak.

I began laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. My feet navigated me deep into the maze, passing couples hidden in the shadows, and all the lascivious sounds accompanying an impromptu encounter. I paid no mind to the other guests, running with my skirts in my hands, faster than was most likely proper, but I ran. The Bluebell lights became fewer and fewer, and only a low orange moon lit the white path.

Even behind the illusionistic mask, I had a hard time breathing, and taking another corner, I stumbled into the Japanese garden. From the height of the hedges, I had not realized I was so close. Braziers burned along the paths and the pond seemed to glow seem inside the water, an eerie shade of green.

I paused to take in the splendour of the garden; it was just as I remembered it, and devoid of any other guests.

The sound of pebbles sliding over pebbles made me freeze for a split second, and again, I took off, running along the path between the ponds toward the gazebo. Sandals slapping against the wooden platform, I slipped into the shadows as a black figure flew into the garden, diamond eye flashing the brazier light. From the dark, I watched the maimed dragon move about the garden before moving along the perimeter, cloak fluttering behind the dark, hard figure of a man obscured underneath. My breath quickened as he disappeared into a shadow, not emerging.

I took half a step forward, still inside the shadow, my eyes casting along the garden. I began to turn on the balls of my feet, silently.

When arms wrapped about me, pinning my arms to my sides. Instinct kicked in, and I moved, or tried to move, to slip free from the crushing embrace.

“I found the wench—game over,” a voice whispered, and I stilled. I needed to be able to control my ferocious instincts, distinguish friend from foe a bit quicker. It would come with practice, I knew.

“It wasn’t much of a game, you know,” I whispered.

“True, but we don’t have time to play it properly.”

The sound of laughter filled the garden, and near the southeastern corner, two figures emerged from the maze, a lady in a fine ball gown of the deepest red, stumbled into the light of the braziers first, a mask of red obscuring the face, but long black curls fell over wide, bare shoulders. I was not sure who the woman was, but the man in the peacock mask pursued her, gloved hands snatching the woman about the waist and wrestling her to a bench near one of the ponds. It was a real struggle, I could see, for the couple embraced, falling onto the wide bench, limbs tangling.

“Blaise and Millicent, interesting,” Draco Malfoy muttered behind me.

His embrace loosened, and I was able to turn to look up into the dragon mask. Pulling his wand from the darkness of his cloak, he dispelled his mask, the dragon’s face dissipating like black smoke. Soon, I was also unmasked, our eyes meeting as he slipped the yew wand away again.

Draco’s face, again, seemed younger than when he revealed himself in the graveyard, and I wondered by what spell or potion had returned his face to the youthful visage I loved. Of course, the strange mismatched eye remained, as did the scar, but his face seemed more expressive, the serious mien that had made him appear so alien gone.

I opened my mouth to speak, but found his gloved finger pressed against my lips, his other hand pulling me deeper into the shadow of one of the orient green posts of the gazebo. His body was pressed into my back, and as he leaned to whisper in my ear, his lips brushed against my throat.

“That…” he whispered, pointing to Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode, “is how the game is played.”

I watched the couple, as they also dispelled their masks, to kiss properly. I had not seen Blaise Zabini for years, but knew that he was the Director of St. Mungo’s. And Millicent? She owned half of Diagon Alley, albeit under a different name.

Blaise pushed Millicent down into the bench, his gloved hands moving to the shoulders of her dress, and with a wrench, rent the fabric so that I could see her pale, heavy breasts, and the wanton expression on her face. As dark lips moved her the column of her throat, downward to a dusky nipple, I wanted to turn my eyes away.

“They never liked each other in school. Millie was not Slytherin enough, and Blaise too much so,” Draco whispered, his fingers brushing a few small braids from my shoulder. When his fingertips met my skin, I realized he had taken his gloves off—skin to touch skin.

“And yet the twine about each other so beautifully.”

Blaise ripped Millicent’s dress down the front, revealing smooth, ivory skin, terminating in ebon curls, the destination of Blaise’s kisses and flickering tongue.

The sound of Millicent Bulstrode’s voice ringing out startled me, and in reaction, Draco pressed me into the pillar of the gazebo, my cheek pressed against the green pained wood. His hands were upon my hips, running a path to my waist; I swallowed as his finger bunched the skirts of my thin chiton.

Blaise Zabini’s lithe body was soon unrobed before my eyes, and I held my breath at the beauty of his form, his braids falling about his face, hiding Millicent as he kissed her. Dark hands slipped behind her knees, pushing them about her shoulders. I shuddered at the lascivious sight of a thick, turgid male organ disappearing into the witch lying upon the tatters of her red gown. Millicent hissed as the slow penetration, her hands grasping Blaise’s shoulder.

“Here is where the game gets interesting…”

I had almost forgotten about Draco and his hands moving about my front, fingertip tracing the scarred brand on the inside of my left breast.

Blaise snarled, all tenderness gone, his hips snapping against Millicent’s in a violent thrust that ripped a scream from the witch. I winced out of habit at the sound of a scream, but I knew better than to think that Blaise Zabini was somehow hurting the witch. Millicent was never svelte or skinny like her schoolmate and best friend Pansy Parkinson, but Millicent was not unattractive. Her muscular build and square jaw were not nearly as unfeminine when compared to her curves, the shape of her lips, her navy blue eyes, and gorgeous wavy hair. She could break Blaise Zabini, not the other way around.

However, as fingers curled about my left breast, I knew I had to pay more attention to the man pressing his hips into my bottom than the couple roughly copulating nearby.

“Must we watch this?” I asked in whisper.

Draco chuckled softly.

I was aroused, despite myself. I knew I was intermittently rubbing my thighs together to stave off the flow of essences running further down my legs. When I had stepped through the front door of the Manor, it seemed that the enchantments wanted me to have no underwear, and it annoyed me.

“We ‘must’ not, but we ‘want’ to…”

I stifled a groan as Draco’s hips twisted into mine, and I could feel his erection digging into my lower back, his hand squeezing my left breast as Millicent’s cries were offset by Blaise’s grunts and moans. My fingernails dug into the pillar as that hand slipped from my breast down the front of my loose draping chiton. The fabric shifted and I knew that he could touch me, but he did not, the pads of his fingers only tracing my belly and a line back up the midline of my body to my throat.

“If only we had more time… But we’ll have time after,” he whispered, his hands manipulating me so that I leaned back into the pillar, the sight of the couple still burned into my mind.

“After the rite,” I uttered, rearranging my dress, and my mind. I would not let Draco Malfoy mentally rankle me, as much as I had wanted to see him, as much as I wanted to explain myself, as much as I wanted to feel him inside me again, I knew it would happen all in due time—when everything was in a condition that I could act.

Draco smirked, and pressed closer into me, his erection hot against my belly. My hands twitched at my sides, and slowly my fingers found his cloaked shoulders, moving to the leather jerkin and under the cloak to the sinews of his biceps. He felt warm at every point we touched, alive, real…

“You left without saying goodbye, Hermione,” he muttered. “I was so angry—for approximately one week.”

I turned my eyes away.

“And then, after the anger slid away into doubt, I received a letter from Pansy in New York. You were there, and I was not to come. Then a letter from Weasley, telling me what you were doing.”

I sighed.

“What possessed you to apply to that organization, Hermione? What possessed you to leave without a word, without an apology, a goodbye?” he whispered, his hands crushing into my hips as if to weld my body into his.

I steeled myself and met his eyes.

“You. You told me that you went to America to change yourself, to prove to everyone that you were not Lucius Malfoy’s ‘little monster son.’ I went to prove myself...to myself.

Being stronger here,” I whispered pointing a finger into my temple “is not good enough when the rest of myself is so weak.”

Draco’s face was impassive and the sounds of lovemaking seemed so far away.

“You were never weak, Hermione, body, soul, and mind. Was it necessary that you train to be a F.O.I.L. agent to prove this well known fact to yourself?”

I smirked despite the softness of Draco’s voice.

“I have found a place where I no longer need the protection of an outside party. I have honed my mind and body into a device that I find pleasing. I like myself again.”

Draco pulled me closer, if it were possible. “My wish to protect you was for nothing?”

I frowned, my forehead resting in his shoulder.

“No. No, I wanted your protection, but now I just want your love, without having to fear that I would shatter and break if I would ever lose you or your love.”

Draco stiffened in his embrace around me, and I could feel anger swell through him and then recede. I wondered what he was thinking. After five months, I had not just worked to change myself, I had worked to be the woman who could live next to Draco Malfoy, a woman he did not have to fear for, but love wholeheartedly. Fear had separated us before, even when we were together, a fear that made it impossible for me to fully understand anything except my own mortality. I had faced death, now I needed to embrace love.

“We should go,” he whispered.

I blinked at him, unsure how we were to go unnoticed by the couple in the throes of a ‘loud’ passion nearby. However, I realized as Draco’s arms wrapped about me, we did not have to move at all, as Apparition took us.

“Since you have been gone, the wards have been reset to what they were when my grandfather was alive,” Draco said after I found that we stood far below Horned Hill. “Tonight we finish resetting the wards for only those with Malfoy blood.”

Draco took my hand as we began walking toward the henge. Glancing back toward the Manor, all I could see was a faint glow of bluebell lights in the gardens. Before us, the stones rose into the moonlight, ancient and still. I began pondering Draco’s words.

Narcissa was not of Malfoy blood, having been born a Black, and I wondered what the Malfoy marriage rites involved. Perhaps a Blood Bond?

As we neared the crest of the hill, we stopped, turning to look back toward the Manor. Below us, Lucius and Narcissa began walking up the slope, Narcissa holding her skirts in one hand, holding to Lucius as they ascended. Both were also unmasked.

Once at the crest, Narcissa took my hand and pulled me away from Draco into the circle, to the place I had once witnessed the Beltane rite.

“We can speak, Beltane was a very sacred rite. Samhain is also sacred, but it has a greater element of fun…” Narcissa laughed softly, smoothing my hair as a mother would.

Beyond the centre circle of stones, two bonfires were lit by father and son, the western fire a bright red, the eastern fire a strange silver flame. Draco and Lucius stood in the south, staring at the fires, their pale eyes reflecting the colours.

“I am not sure how much you know of the ancient Celtic rites, Hermione, but you know that we Malfoys fortify our wards at the equinox. Samhain is such a rite, as is Beltane. However, at Samhain, we divine the future of our lands after passing through the fires…

First, we purify ourselves… In the old days, everyone attached to the Malfoy family did so, and then took a seat upon the outer stones. The Lord and heir set the wards, and then we divine the future of our lands.”

As Narcissa spoke, I could tell, like myself, she was slightly intoxicated. The flush on her pale cheeks made her appear younger, and the smile on her lips playful. Taking my hands again, she and I moved to the north, into the inner circle.

“There is no real ceremony here, we just walk together between the fires.”

Narcissa stood at my right, and with a squeeze of my hand, we walked together between the narrow space between the magical fires. However, as we passed, I felt magic trickle over my skin, as if I had walked through an invisible portal, much as I had when I had entered the Manor hours before. Stopping on the other side, I glanced down to my bare hands and arms, and once again, I found I was marked with tiny runes, golden and shining in the firelight. It was not the rune I had worn at Beltane, it was instead something familiar to an Elder Futhark rune called ‘pertho,’ which referred to chance and fate. More in keeping with the Norse origin of the rune, it meant ‘orlog,’ better known as ‘wyrd’ or Fate.

However, as Draco and Lucius walked north through the fire, I saw no runes on their skin, none that were as visible as mine. Narcissa was also covered in tiny dark blue runes, but I was too interested in my own to think of hers.

The rune was not truly ‘pertho’ for it had four dots, on over the top and bottom and on either side.

“Now that we have been purified, the women step outside of the circle,” Narcissa whispered, leading me just past the inner stones.

I was dazed, however, trying to discern the rune. The runes tingled over my skin, and gazing down to my breast, a larger rune rested where the rune signifying Draco’s name had been. Glancing up again, I saw that Lucius stood near us, his lips moving silently, a knife poised, the tip balanced on his palm. I frowned, eyes moving to Draco, who mirrored his father’s stance, a silver blade balanced with the tip in his palm, uttering what seemed like an incantation silently.

With a swift motion that made Narcissa and I gasped, father and son grasped the handle of their blades and slashed their palms, much as they had at Beltane. My vision was transfixed on Draco, whose mismatched eyes burned into the blood welling up in his palm. The red and silver firelight cast a strange glow on the blood as Draco and Lucius tipped their palms, trickles of viscous blood spilling into the stone under their feet.

Instead of a visible and palpable wave of magic flowing through me, magic flowed under my feet.

“A blessing of blood to the soil that nourished the family, a thanks for harvest, for the health of the animals and other creatures that live on our lands,” Narcissa explained in a whisper. “The guests will not have noticed, but we know…we know that our home, the soil, the grass, the trees, has sustained and protected us. Beltane was a blessing for growth, Samhain is a blessing for harvest, and protection for the winter…”

I swallowed, and nodded. Blood magic—generations and generations of Malfoys had given their blood to the land I stood upon. The Malfoys were not evil, arrogant people. They were people, just people who were thankful for the land they were born and died upon, were thankful for the alliance with the magical creatures, the ordinary animals…

I wondered that if perhaps everyone knew the Malfoys as I knew them at that moment, would they have been so hated?

Narcissa squeezed my hand, and I met her eye. With a smile, she turned me to look out into the dark fields toward the Manor, but the fields were not dark at all.

“This is why we love Samhain,” Narcissa whispered.

The rolling fields glowed brilliant silver and gold as light rose up in what seemed like reverse rain drops of glowing colour. My mouth curled into a smile, even as my heart swelled.

“Magic—as the generations add their own magic, the land gives up some of the magic in turn. Hundreds of years of magic seeps up from the ground for a few hours, from here to the forests... The centaurs come near to see it…”

Beauty, overwhelming beauty. The light came just to the outer circle of stones, and I had an urge to run through the fields like a child, trying to catch the innocuous globules of glowing magic like butterflies.

“What do you think?”

I turned, coming face to face with Draco.

I shook my head, my mouth flapping uselessly. Draco smiled that lop-sided smile I had missed.

“We’re going to play with some old bones, you game?”

I snorted. “You divine with bones?”

Draco smirked. “Mother does. She brought the tradition with her from the Black side of the family. My grandmother used apple peels, and my great grandmother acted as a haruspex and eviscerated some poor lambs…”

Draco Malfoy’s brand of sarcasm never failed to amuse me. And I knew then, as he took my hand, his eyes moving over the runes, that I loved him and would love him for as long as I had breath in my body.



My choice of career had not surprised Draco, and as we walked along the glowing fields, my hand in his arm, he told me that after Pansy’s letter informing him where I was, he pulled strings to learn how I was progressing through the training programme. What he had meant by ‘pulling strings’ was Ron.

I was not angry, I was not truly surprised. Somehow, as I watched the floating globules of magic reflect in Draco’s eyes, I knew that no matter where I went or what I did, he would know. Draco was a man of information just as I was one to hide that information.

“If it is what makes you happy…”

“It does.”

“And now you’re working with in the MLE?”

I nodded.

“Then you are home, to stay,” he said softly.

I said nothing, but pressed my cheek into his shoulder. I was home to stay, as long as I knew where home was, and who would have me.

“Mild winter and a marriage—what do you think, Granger?”

He used my surname to tease me.

We laid then in the fields just below Horned Hill, the bonfires out, Lucius and Narcissa back at the Manor, continuing to celebrate with the guests. The magical haze over the fields was still glowing under our backs and all around us.

“A mild winter would be nice. The last winter was downright deadly in the north,” I muttered, staring up at the reddish moon above us.

Draco rolled to his side, having doffed his cloak for us to lie upon, his jerkin unzipped. Upon his breast was the same rune, heir, which he had at Beltane. His mismatched eyes scanned my face as I lay with my right arm behind my head, my elbow digging into Draco’s shoulder as he moved.

“And a marriage?”

I closed my eyes. How was I to know that Narcissa Malfoy was not simply making up what she saw in the bones she tossed on the stones between the bonfires?

“If you’re waiting for me to propose, you’re going to be waiting a while,” I murmured, my lips curling into a wicked smile.

Draco chuckled, his fingers moving to push back the open space of my chiton, staring at the larger rune over my left breast.

I opened my eyes to stare at his plait of silvery hair swinging near my face as his eyes examined the rune, and the circular scar.

“Should I tell you what it means this time?”

I sighed. “You should tell me why I have a rune marking me this time, since your mother did not hypnotize me and cast the spell.”

Draco glanced down into my face, moving to lean over me completely, his right hand resting near my waist.

“I could say it is a Malfoy family secret…” he whispered, ‘that’ smile crossing his lips. “But what Mother told you at Beltane is correct. At Samhain, however, the other side of Beltane, the runes represent not what you want, but what you are. My rune does not change, I am still the heir. Mother’s was ‘Lady,’ as Father’s was ‘Lord.’”

I swallowed. “And mine?”

The grin widened. “The ‘Intended One.’ Surely, you can see that there is a familiar rune, surrounded by other marks? ‘Fate.’ My ancestor was not very original with some runes. However, the marks, are not just dots.”

He lifted a finger to push apart the dress, barring my breasts to the air, and to his sight. Pressing his fingertip to the ‘dot’ on the top of the rune, he sighed.

“That is my name…”

Then to the next. “And that.”

To the bottom ‘dot’ nearest the softer part of my breast. “And that.”

Then to the outer most. “And that…”

I was having difficulty breathing when he touched the last mark, and I stared into his face, frowning.

“You probably could not see my rune since it is a dot on the runes on you arms, but on your breast, it is quite clear,” he whispered.

“So, I am…”

“My intended. That is what the rite has revealed.”

The Fates had spoken. Everything happens for a reason…

All of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again…

I shook my head, not out of disbelief, or dismay, or refusal of what Draco had said. I shook my head because, lying in the field, I realized that I, even with free will, had been journeying along a path toward that very point.

I could be happy, even after everything, the War and Harry. The Fool could become The Empress.

“What do you think?” I asked, my hand moving to tug on Draco’s hair.

Draco feigned a wince, falling down toward me so that his face was only inches from mine.

“I think, Granger, that I made my mind up a long time ago. While you were enjoying the view at the end of time, I had nine years to know exactly what I want.”

My smile was strained.

“Do not let your guilt for whatever sin you think you may have committed make you ever smile like that,” Draco growled, his fingers tugging on my braids painfully. “I want you, Hermione. It took long enough for me to realize it, to know I wanted it—and during that time, we did not even exist in the same point in history.

And now, we’re here, on Samhain, and we’re alive. And I want you.”

I licked my lips, my lungs seeming to be on fire.

“The question is: what do you want?”

I smirked. “I have almost everything I have ever wanted.”

“Almost?”

I nodded. “I have found strength in myself. I have found how to forgive myself for so many mistakes. I have found what it is to love, as inane as that sounds. The only thing I want now is to find a place to call home,” I whispered.

Draco’s face was unreadable, his mismatched eyes boring into mine. He pulled away, and I frowned. However, he pulled away to shrug out of his jerkin, letting it fall to the glowing ground around us. He moved to kneel at my side, the light making the skin stretched over the muscles of his chest and shoulder glow. Pulling the ribbon free from his hair, he shook his head, the long silvery tresses falling over his shoulders and back.

I sat up, gazing at the man at my side. I knew that I would never be able to resist the beauty of his seemingly flawless skin, or the width of his shoulders, the defined muscles of his chest, to the way his leather trousers hanged from his narrow hips. He was a specimen of a man, only a few scars marring the perfection of his face, his back, his knuckles. Even though I considered him beautiful, I did not see him as weak either. He bore his scars handsomely, he was a fighter, a warrior, and as I caught the fingers of his left hand with mine, raising it to my eyes, I knew he was not so haughty as not to use his fists when he needed to.

I released his fingers with a smirk, and began slipping from my sandals. Sliding the girdle belt from my waist, it seemed my dress peeled away automatically until I sat on Draco’s cloak with the violet coloured fabric pooled about my hips.

The corner of Draco’s colourless lips lifted as he unbuttoned his trousers, but did not push them down his hips. Instead, he reached out to me, and we fell to the cloak covered ground again. I was gathered into his arms, pulled over him, my braids falling over his face as I kissed his lips, tasting wine, tasting citrus, and smelling sage.

My five months to his nine years, it was unfair.

His hands pushed my dress from my body until the full extent of the cold night hair covered my body in goose pimples. I lifted myself to look down at him, his blond hair spread over the darkness of the cloak while light surrounded us. His hands moved to my face, pushing back my caramel strands.

“I asked you once, and I will ask again—stay with me,” he whispered. “Stay with me…”

My chest constricted at the emotion in his voice. And I did what I should have done five months earlier, I nodded my ascent.

Draco chuckled at my crumbling face, and rolled me so that my tears did not fall. His hips slipped between mine, and with a twist, the leather was no longer biting into the insides of my thighs. My warm centre was further warmed by his cock pressing against me and my lower belly.

He held my wrists at either side of my body, the muscles in his chest rippling as he leaned over my, the tips of his platinum hair teasing my right nipple.

“Say it aloud…” he whispered insistently.

I licked my lips, wanting more than anything to move my hips.

“I will stay with you…” I gasped.

Draco’s grin turned feral, his mismatched eyes glowing in the magic around us, which was beginning to dim. With a slip of his hips, the tip of his cock pressed into me. I groaned as he gazed down between our bodies, past the thatches of dark and light curls to the point where we would eventually join.

Releasing the bruising hold on my wrists, Draco pulled back to his haunches, kneeling before my open thighs. Grasping his erect, thick organ, he pressed the tip along my soaking flesh, teasing me. Gazing through his hair at my face, the feral smile softened again.

I was being tortured. After five months of fantasizing…

In the darkness of the Amazon, thankful I had read that stupid book Lucius had let me borrow, I would sleep at night, high in a tree, dreaming of Draco Malfoy’s flesh inside me, I would dream about his mouth upon me. The dreams ranged from the simple to the sadistic. Draco Malfoy had to be the one to awaken my libido, and since it had been roused, those five months had been spent distracting myself, when I could, with various scenarios. I blamed ‘The Hanged Man’ for some of those scenarios, and no longer felt guilty for having read the book. It had only been the latter half that was truly a perversion…

I growled as Draco grinned, as he teased me by brushing the sticky tip of his cock over my nubbin, as he teased me by shallowly penetrating my core. I learned while I was pushing my mind and body to the limits in those five months, that I would take initiative if I did not get what I wanted. Of course, I never liked being teased.

I moved, suddenly, and for the first time since our reunion after the War, I startled Draco Malfoy by pinning him to the ground, straddling his hips. His trousers were around his boots, and as he gaped at me, I felt my arousal heighten to a new level. His gape did not last long, and instead, irritation marked his brow.

However, even as he began to speak, I grasped his cock, eliciting a groan, and impaled myself roughly. I exhaled loudly, my head thrown back as I pushed him deeper inside. It was slightly painful, but the fullness was just what I wanted.

“Fuck!” he gasped as I began to move over him, twisting my hips in a rhythmic motion, my hands slapping, palms down, upon his chest, my right hand covering the rune over his heart.

I laughed, half growled, as his hands moved to my hips, sliding up to grasp my bouncing breasts. I stared into his strange eyes as I swayed over him. In my gaze, I told him of the last five months of my life. I told him how I wanted to be strong for him. I told him how I wanted to be near him always. I told him how wrong I had been about so many things. I told him how frightened I had been without him. I told him that if marriage is what it took for us to be able to drink coffee, listen to the gramophone, talk about our lives and grow old together, I would be his, as he would be mine.

I told him what a fool I had been never to notice how he had protected me, as my Emperor.

Losing myself, and losing my rhythm, my hips slammed against his, my body falling forward. He caught me in his arms, just as he always would as our hips met over and over again in a brutal joining.

One arm about the back of my neck, the other about my waist, he groaned as he crushed me in his embrace. With an errant whimper from his mouth, I shattered. I bit into his chest causing him to growl, rolling me on the cloak, my eyes rolling back into my skull, as it seemed my entire body had been electrocuted. I could feel Draco’s breath on my face, and then on my back as he pulled me to sit upon his lap. He had managed to kick off the remainder of his clothing while my mind and body reeled.

I was on my knees, my hands balling his cloak into my palms as he entered me again. I knelt back into his body, our faces pointed to the dim glow the Manor, and over the dimming fields. A large hand wrapped about my throat, forcing my head to rest upon his left shoulder, his fingers moving to flick at my soaked nubbin as he thrust slowly.

“Home…” he growled.

I whimpered, just able to breathe, but not to speak. I was in a vulnerable position, but with every thrust, every rasp of his fingers over my clit, I knew that I was in the position Draco preferred. Dominant, guileless, irresistible, at times tyrannical, but gentle and loving; Draco was the ruler, The Emperor.

“Home is this…”

I gasped, as his strokes were suddenly deeper, pressing against a part of me that made everything illogical except him.

“Home is…us…”

His thrusts were faster, and I groaned hoarsely as I felt something inside me release. Boneless, I crumbled back into him, his hand moving from my throat to hold me upright. Moisture coated our thighs, but Draco did not stop, even as he laid us on our sides, pushing my hair away from my face to kiss my throat and cheeks.

Manipulating my body, he entered me again, and I sobbed as my senses were overloaded by everything that was Draco Malfoy. I held him, my legs wound about his waist, my arms about his neck, letting him worship my body. His kisses were desperate; his moans betraying his simmering need for completion.

“Love…” he gasped, cradling my face in his hands, bending to kiss me.

I hummed against him, I knew what he wanted to say, his body, his face, his eyes, it said it clearly.

“Me too…” I whispered.

Draco’s back arched and his thrusts were erratic, and with a terrifying roar, he filled me, his body glowing with cold sweat. His hair was damp about his face, his brow furrowed, his mouth open, every muscle in his shoulders and neck strained.

His seed was scalding inside me, and as he slipped from my body, I felt that seed trickle from my core to the cloak below. Collapsing on me, I held him fast, drawing his cloak around us. The magic seeping from the ground was like a mist now, the moon higher in the sky and more yellow than red.

Our skin was cool and damp, our clothes discarded, and we lay in the open night, November 1, 2008. I was exactly where I wanted to be—albeit cold.





“Alastor, there is absolutely no excuse for this!”

Alastor Gumboil sat behind his desk as if to use it as a barricade. The portly man was actually afraid of me, but I could not let that fact deter me.

“If the Press were to learn that some of our men were abusing these prisoners, well, the Ministry would have no choice but to sack those men, you, and most likely me in the process. The public may not like these people, but these people are still human beings!”

Alastor’s chins wobbled, finally turning his eyes to me after staring a hole at the door in his office for ten minutes of my tirade.

“I understand what you’re saying, Granger. But what can I do about it?”

I stood before Gumboil’s desk, palms upon the surface leaning toward the man who was by all appearances my superior in the MLE, but in truth was a subordinate when I mentioned my F.O.I.L. credentials as a Chief Investigator and my position as an Auror.

“You can allow these people to have their legal representation in the interrogation room. You can add surveillance, and for fuck’s sake do not use an officer whose families are victims. What the hell were you thinking letting Sky Bulstrode interrogate Dennis Creevey two months ago?”

“That was Detective Superintendent Malfoy’s decision, not mine.”

I stepped back from the desk, stung.

Draco has been promoted to Alastor Gumboil’s old post, Gumboil was the DCS.

“Then I should take this up with him?”

Alastor nodded.

I sighed. “You should have said something, Al.”

“I was enjoying watching you turn red in the face, Granger.”

Alastor sat back in his office chair, folding his hands under his chins.

“I agree with everything you have said, Granger. I really do. Unfortunately, some of us cannot disconnect the fact that these people have set themselves against the Ministry as domestic terrorists. So many people have been affected, and you know probably better than I, how emotion can overrule logic—let alone due process and justice.

We cannot all compartmentalize as you can. And as for Malfoy, I have a feeling that he is not happy about the situation either…”

I pursed my lips and threw a few strands of hair over my dragon hide clad shoulder.

“I just want it known that if we cannot handle a few men from exercising their ‘emotions’ upon detainees, we are not fit to incarcerate them.

I don’t know if you keep up with current events in the Muggle world, but there is quite a problem with the concept of habeas corpus. We are British and we penned the writ, it is a foundation of the Muggle and Magical law. We need to get these people processed, given a trial and judged accordingly. The state of limbo for these people is going to bring down the full fury of the Wizengamot on us, Al.”

Alastor nodded. “I know. But, you need to talk to Malfoy. You are our resident F.O.I.L. liaison, Granger. You can make these things happen…”

I blinked at Alastor. He was right. I was just wasting my breath being angry with Al. If I wanted the one hundred and ten detainees in Azkaban to have a trial, all I had to do was begin scheduling the trials with the Wizangamot, arrange for counsel for those who needed it, and put surveillance on the detainees until the Wizengamot made a ruling.

I nodded to Alastor and turned for the door.

I moved passed a few cubicles, eyes following me. I ignored them as I moved across the large room that acted as Police Headquarters in the London Ministry.

“Oy, Granger! Don’t you need to be somewhere in an hour?” Marcus Flint’s voice rasped out as I passed his cubicle.

I paused mid step and glanced back at the man. I blinked, and then seeing Flint’s close-mouthed smile, grinned back.

“Workin’ up to the last minute then,” Flint called back.

I shrugged and continued down the aisle, my eyes settling upon a dark oak door with the words “Draco S. Malfoy, Detective Superintendent” emblazoned on the door in silver.

Reaching the door, I entered, not bothering to knock. I did not find Draco Malfoy behind his desk, which was piled with parchments and various dirty coffee cups. He stood before a Transfigured mirror, adjusting his clothing, heavy robes over what appeared to be a pair of brown corduroy pants, and a green tunic. His hair was loose about his shoulders. His attire was far different from his usual grey suit, which was hanging over the back of the only chair in the room. Since his hair had grown, Draco usually pulled it back, much like his father’s, but to see it loose… I took a deep breath and closed the door behind me.

“What are you doing here, Granger?” he growled, turning toward me.

I crossed my arms before my chest, shifting my weight to one hip. He always called me ‘Granger’ in the office.

“We have to be somewhere in little more than an hour…” he began, his face clouded.

“Why I am now just finding about Bulstrode assaulting Creevey?”

Draco sighed, the anger draining. “Now is not the time…”

“When is the time, Malfoy? I just gave Al a piece of my mind, only to be informed that I was meting it out to the wrong person!” I growled.

Draco moved to his desk and snatched up his wands, shoving them into the side pocket of his trousers. His face clearly expressed his annoyance, but I held my ground.

“If this gets out to the Press… By Merlin, we are going to have a major problem.”

“It’s being taken care of, alright, Granger? Bulstrode has been suspended, he’s a good kid, and I’m not going to sacrifice him just to soothe the Wizengamot or F.O.I.L. Measures are being taken…”

“What measures? We need to get these people taken care of, out of the way. Azkaban is not an oubliette!”

Draco whirled, and grabbed my shoulders, startling me.

“Enough!”

My eyes were wide as I looked up into his mismatched eyes, he was angry, he was anxious, and I knew that he was right. Now was not the time for me to begin crusading… If Draco said that he had matters in hand, I knew I had to believe him.

I relaxed in his hands. “Fine…” I said softly. “But as soon as we get back, we are going to get these people counsel and a trial—media circus or no. This needs to end.”

Draco’s hard line of a mouth softened, and he smirked. “Agreed. Now, you need to get your arse out of here. I’m sure Pans is pulling out what little bit of hair she has left, and most likely frightening your parents.”

I chuckled as Draco’s hands slid from my shoulders to cup my face. Placing a small kiss between my brows, he released me. We said nothing more as I left the office, shutting the door with a sigh.

“Less than an hour, Granger!” Flint called from across the room, standing to slip into his own cloak and leave the office.

Glancing at the wall clock, I gritted my teeth. “Shit!”

I was going to be late to my own wedding.



~Fin

Look for the extended ending, coming soon!
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Email me at moirasfate at yahoo dot com for any questions, comments, etc.