Chapter Text
It had taken Draco nearly two weeks to recover from the ordeal. Two weeks of him being kept under armed guard and scrutiny which meant Hermione’s visits were far too short and heavily monitored. It pained her to leave him after her visits. Hermione knew he was plenty capable on his own. He had survived years that way. But their bond was the strongest when they were together. It created a sense of calm, or warmth. Many times she found they sat in a companionable silence. They were limited in physical contact as well, which perhaps was a good thing. It seemed any time they did touch, it was almost electric. A rush of heat. A fluttering of her pulse. She felt touch starved by the lack of it.
So, it was probably for the best they were not allowed for much physical contact.
The injuries he had sustained from his flight and fight with the team of Aurors– among countless self-inflicted lacerations from using his own body to break free from Malfoy Manor– his body was battered and stained with dark magic. The curse had wound its way deep through his body, like a diseased fungus it had worked its tendrils like claws into his very bones.
Dark magic always leaves traces, after all.
The healers had worked day and night to slowly strip away the lingering pieces of the curse, but they all knew he would never be free of it, not entirely. It would always shadow parts of him; the deepest, darkest parts of him. In his soul and in his heart.
Hermione had questioned Harry on it and how he felt after Voldemort’s Horcrux had been destroyed. The way he had described it was like sometimes he could feel these dark whispers. Faint impulses to do the wrong thing. Moments of darkness so brief he wasn’t sure if he had imagined it or not.
And to make matters worse, Hermione had felt every time the dark magic was stripped from his body. It had been like a peeling of skin, and sometimes it was deep gouges as if being carved with a knife. Sometimes the pain had become so extreme that she found herself at her desk at the Ministry, gasping in the agony of it. Sometimes she broke entirely from it and the tears would fall free to stain the parchment until the ink began to run and bleed together.
The sheer intensity of it was unreal to her.
Her mind was quick to realize that the bond she had with him had only grown since his resurrection. They had been connected before, but it was more of their souls being adjacent in comparison to this. Like two trees growing side by side, roots and branches intertwining. But now it was as if they were the same tree. His pain was hers.
Not always, but if she focused she could almost feel his emotions and hear his thoughts. Like faint echoes. Unlike the pain they seemed to share; it was abrupt and intrusive. There seemed to be no way to dull it or ignore it. Perhaps it was some archaic form of survival in soul bonded mates– they would immediately feel their partner's pain and want to help relieve it. The realization came to her one night as she lay awake in bed; Draco had died. He had stated as much. She had felt him leave her, felt his soul separating itself from hers until she felt a shadow of who she had been. An utterly hollow and lonesome tree standing in a vast field.
Until it had felt as if her very being was being pulled from her body to be placed into his. A part of her implanted into Draco; a seed. His fragmented soul had grasped onto what she had unwillingly offered and he had come back. A part of her was now inside him, forever entwining their souls together because truly they had become one.
A part of Hermione was irate at the fact that she had no choice in who her soulmate was. She preferred to have rigid control over every aspect of her life. And it had been easy to forget this when she had been in Romania. There, she had been eager to grasp that glimmer of promise that their bond offered. But now, feeling angry and hurt, back in the comfort of the wizarding world, it almost felt barbaric.
And away from him, away from that intoxicating connection her entire being seemed to crave, it was as if her freedom of choice had been stolen from her.
As she searched her memories of the last few weeks, Hermione wondered if she would have done things differently. Would it have mattered? Soulmates, being soul bonded, it was something outside the realm of control. It was something that was forged by the world itself; two souls destined to find each other again and again.
Had she found Draco before?
And why had it taken them so long for the bond to form? They had crossed paths many times before; they had worked together at Hogwarts. They had even touched before— albeit accidentally— during classes or when she punched him in their third year. There had been nothing. No calling of their souls. All had been silent and unwell between them.
So why now?
Why her?
After all this time, why her?
The massive circular chamber was abuzz with people, the viewing bleachers filled to capacity with reporters and curious onlookers. Harry looked up towards the members of the Wizengamot, feeling the sense of trepidation he had once felt all those years ago when he had stood on trial himself. They were imposing in their seats, draped in deep burgundy robes with the silver W stitched upon their chests. Tiberius Ogden had taken the seat at the forefront as Chief Warlock. The wizard was perhaps not the oldest or youngest of the group, which had offered him a unique angle to pass fair judgment with the understanding of how things once were and how they should be. He was, from what Harry had heard, a fair man.
The room was abuzz with the chatter of everyone who had come to view the trial of Draco Malfoy; since he had eluded his original trial after the war and disappeared into the void, people were more than curious to find out what had happened to him and to see his fate. They had a morbid curiosity, Harry knew. Would the former death eater be thrown into the reformed Azkaban as his father had been before him? Would he be banished from their world?
Leaning back into his chair, he settled into his spot amongst his fellow Aurors. They were not necessarily on trial to testify, but they had been summoned nonetheless. They had all been requested to share their memories of the events that had occurred. Other familiar faces dotted the crowd. Arthur and Molly were there, as well as Ronald and Charlie. Both Narcissa and Lucius had been approved to attend.
The doors of the room opened and Malfoy was escorted inside under armed guard, his wrists shackled before him. He had been given a fresh change of clothes, simple black robes perhaps one size too big and nothing more. He looked almost out of place in the courtroom; his face a touch more gaunt than it had been before, his expression was dark and muted. His skin, which had been sun-kissed, was already beginning to fade to its alabaster parlor. His platinum hair had grown out to the longest Harry had ever seen; it was swept up into a tidy bun at the back of his head, a few short stands falling free to frame his face.
They led him to the chair in the center of the room and he sat willingly. Vines made of thick enchanted chains snaked around his ankles and wrists as he took his seat, holding him hostage there.
Just as the guards left, Hermione swept past them to enter the room. She walked forward, her heels clicking smartly against the stone floor as she strode toward the center to join Malfoy where he was bound.
A murmur swept through the crowd as Hermione stopped just behind him and a touch to the side. Her hand came to rest on the back of his chair, and even though he turned his head slightly to look up at her, she did not look at him. Malfoy did seem surprised to see her; as far as Harry was aware, their interactions at the hospital had been closely monitored and there had been no word of Hermione doing anything as bold as this. It was almost unheard of and only occurred in rare instances, most of which ended up being dismissed.
In the Muggle world, there was such a thing as public defenders and lawyers, that did not exist here in the Wizengamot. Harry, though, was not surprised that it would be she who would step forward and break those social norms and try to bring a new wave of justice. She had been working to improve and incorporate muggle technology and things into the wizarding world.
It seemed that Hermione had been spending much of her free time doing what research she could for this moment. And here, Harry thought she had been just busy catching up on her Ministry work and research– not that she would have been behind on that, either. It reminded him of how crafty she truly was; just as she had been at Hogwarts with sneaking into the Restricted Section, it seemed she continued that practice still.
As the crowd settled down, Tiberius cleared his throat. He looked down at the pair through thick rimmed spectacles, “Mrs. uhm— Weasley, is it? You must take a seat—“
“It’s Miss Granger, sir,” she responded curtly. “I am here to speak on Mr. Malfoy’s behalf.” Harry caught the slight motion of her fingers, which seemed to tighten on the back of the chair as if they would physically have to remove her. They were bare, as well. No wedding ring adorned her fingers. A clear sign she had finally cut her ties with Ron.
Although Hermione had yet to sit with Ron or speak to him in person since the incident, the paperwork for their divorce had been filed and it was on the cusp of approval. There were some grumblings from the Weasley family– but more over the fact that Ron had somehow gone and mucked up their marriage in the first place. Charlie had been the main voice of reason and supporter in bringing the others to see the truth of the matter. Divorce was still an uncommon practice in the wizarding world and many did not agree with it; ironically it would be Hermione changing another element of their world.
Tiberius leaned forward, looking down at her from behind his metal frames. Harry remembered when it was him in that seat; the anxiety he felt. The weight of the words crushing down on him. The way everyone looked at him; full of doubt. Skeptical. Harry was reminded of when he sat there, just like Malfoy. How they had looked at him. Their distrust of anything he said. Until Dumbledore had come forward on his behalf. A voice with weight behind it. Hermione was considered a trustworthy and esteemed member of society, and Harry wondered if her words would hold power.
The rest of the Wizengamot shifted in their seats, the deep red robes rustling with each movement. Tiberius spoke again; “We have already gathered the memories—“
Hermione was ruthless in her interruption, her eyes hard. “There are several people who you have neglected to take memories from, and as such I have summoned them myself to make an appearance. Now, what is it you have Mr. Malfoy on trial for?”
“Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy is on trial for: evading his original trial date for his war crimes, eluding officers, being an unregistered animagus, the destruction of historical artifacts and buildings, the death of“ —he looked down at the parchment before him— “seven muggles and injuries of three hundred ninety seven additional survivors.” He looked back up at her coolly. “And the death of Auror Dawlish.”
She was unrelenting as she held the Chief Warlock’s gaze. “First, as his defender, I would like to make it clear that he did not intentionally evade and avoid his original trial date. A look at his memories would easily dismiss that charge. Secondly, he is not an unregistered animagus. Once again, a thorough investigation of his memories would reveal this. I am assuming someone is not doing their job correctly.”
The insult landed and one of the warlocks shifted towards the end of the row. She briefly glanced at the wizard before returning her attention to Tiberius. “If they had gone back far enough into his memories, they would have found that Voldemort“ —a mutter swept through the room at the name, even to this day— “cursed Draco Malfoy.”
Draco had quickly come to realize that he now felt Hermione almost continuously. Her thoughts, her emotions, her very essence. Like distant whispers in his mind, she was there. Always with him. This connection grew stronger the closer she was to him. The moment she had entered the Ministry, his senses had heightened. The echo of her heels against the tile had rung in his mind. And each step that brought her closer had increased the insatiable need he had for her to touch him. It was a primal, insatiable need.
But she hadn’t touched him when she came to stop at his side. Her hand was only inches away. He could feel the heat from her. Her scent wrapped around him like a devil’s snare. Her mere presence had lessened the insult of the ropes that bound him to the chair, soothing him.
He did not have much hope for the way his trial would go; he knew any attempt at clearing his name would be fruitless. The verdict would not be in his favor.
It was odd to sit in silence while Hermione laid out his past few years before the Wizengamot members. These were parts of his life he assumed he would never share with anyone. Draco had never intended to keep his curse a secret; he had never come across the opportunity to share it with anyone who would give a damn. As far as he was aware, the only ones who had known of his misfortune were his parents and the other two were dead. He had meant to go and live his life out alone upon finding out it was supposedly unbreakable.
It was just as if he were listening to a fairytale, a dark wizard cursing a poor little boy to live out his days alone as a beast. Then, a pretty girl comes to save him and his soul, to break the curse. He was sure he had heard of such a story before.
He had not been surprised that Hermione came to his defense. Somehow he had known she would. Their bond, perhaps, demanded it. He felt the magic of the chair he was seated in, the ropes that ensured his wrists and legs to keep him silent and still. While Draco no longer felt the beast tearing at his mind, he was sure there was magic at work that would have kept it subdued. Shame, really. He would have rather liked to see if he could shift here. It would be amusing, if nothing else. But he had been unable to do so since the incident. He had accounted it to being unwell, but it seemed as if the dragon was gone indeed.
“I would like to request the testimony of Charlie Weasley, if it pleases the assembly?”
Hermione’s question drew Draco sharply from his thoughts; her tone indicated this was not truly a request. She had moved to stand before him, just between his chair and the Chief Warlock’s podium. Her hands were before her, fingers steepled together. She looked impressive, he had to admit. Donned in her finest robes that he was sure would even impress his mother. She was a sight to behold, paired with a simple pale hyacinth blouse and simple black trousers. Her curls had been tamed into a respectable plait at the back of her head, and she wore simple but elegant makeup to compliment the outfit. Perhaps Narcissa had helped Hermione, Draco pondered. Then again, he had never seen her outside of Hogwarts.
A sharp glance in his direction from the witch occupying his thoughts made him realize that she seemed to be picking up on them, in some form or another.
Was it possible that she was picking up on his thoughts as well as his emotions?
Rising from his place beside his parents, Charlie made his way down the steps towards the center of the room. The man appeared very much out of place in the room; had he even bothered to stop and change his clothes? Draco swore he could smell the stench of dragon on him.
“I’ll allow it,” Tiberius stated as the wizard stepped forward.
“How you doin’, mate?” Charlie asked Draco as he passed. “You look a little less scaly. Almost a shame. Pale isn’t quite your color.”
“Charlie.” Hermione motioned for him to leave Draco alone.
“Nice to see you too, Weasley,” Draco retorted under his breath.
“What is it that Miss Granger thinks you can provide this trial that we do not already have, Mr. Weasley?” Tiberius asked, bushy brows furrowing together in question. “We normally do not allow such interruptions or demands, but due to her history as a war heroine, I am allowing it. If she is summoning you, there must be a good reason.”
Charlie stopped beside Hermione, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked up at the Chief Warlock before him. He may look out of place in his rugged outfit, but one would never guess him to feel the way he dressed. He seemed entirely at ease standing before the group; then again, the wizard did deal with deadly creatures on a regular basis. Mere witches and wizards probably did not phase the man.
“Hermione— I apologize, Miss Granger “ –he corrected himself– “owled me after the London incident. You see, she came to work with me a couple of months ago in Romania.”
“And what is that you that you do?”
“I am a Dragonologist, focusing on relocation and identification of wild species. Hermione was brought in because she works in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures— Morgana’s tits, that is a mouthful.”
“Language, Mr. Weasley.”
Charlie tipped his head. “I apologize. As I was saying, due to her speciality in the field and the fact I trust her above anyone else I know,“ Hermione had turned her head slightly to look at Charlie, her expression softening slightly. Draco hated to acknowledge the slight pang of jealousy he felt at the sight of it. “I requested her to come to Romania and to help me identify a formerly unidentified species of dragon whom, as it turned out, was not a dragon but a man.” Charlie turned slightly to motion in Draco's direction. “Him. I had been out there for weeks and made no progress. But when Hermione arrived… he came to her. They have a bond, you see. And it was only because of her that he was ever found and because of her that he is alive now.”
“And your point is?” A voice drawled from along the row of council members, and Draco leaned his head slightly to look around Charlie’s form. It was Athena Greengrass who had spoken, mother of Astoria and Daphne and former classmates of theirs.
Charlie seemed unperturbed. “My point being that had Hermione never found him, he would have been cursed to live his life as a dragon. And as a dragon, it seems as if he doesn’t quite have full control of himself nor his ability to change at will.”
Athena leaned forward now, shrewd eyes looking down at them. “It was Miss Granger who brought Mr. Malfoy back to London. Because of her actions, a dragon— who happened to be Mr. Malfoy— was set loose in London. Countless are dead. Now I’ll ask again, what does your story have to do with why he is on trial?”
An inconspicuous target on Hermione’s back, it seemed. Hopefully not one that would implicate her and get her into trouble. Draco began to worry. He glanced at her and she seemed mildly set back but her shoulders remained straight.
“Mrs. Greengrass, as it’s been stated he is on trial for his prior war crimes— which, by the way, have been forgiven for most of the children of Death Eaters due to manipulation and coercion— and for things that were out of his control. As Mr. Weasley has stated he studies dragons. And what do dragons do?” The pause was for effect; she didn't wait for an answer. “Dragons destroy things. It’s why we monitor them. This is not the first time a dragon has attacked a city and it won't be the last. It’s unfortunate that Mr. Malfoy was the dragon. Due to the curse inflicted upon him by Voldemort. He was not in control of his thoughts and actions while he was in that state. It’s unfortunate, but it must be accepted as fact. You cannot hold him accountable for a repercussion placed onto him by Voldemort when so many others have been forgiven.”
Tiberius looked both ways to the awaiting Wizengamot members, as if considering something. He turned his attention back to the room. “We will adjourn for a short intermission and return in thirty minutes to view the memories that have been provided to us by others.”