Epilogue

Hermione felt the air around her shift and she lifted her head in puzzlement; the sepulcher-like stillness of the Ministry archives had been breached.

It had been a good six months since she had sent Draco Malfoy off to what she presumed was his death and she had worked hard to put the entire thing behind her. But her guilt plucked at her constantly and made this almost impossible; twice as guilty, really, when she considered that she also felt mildly relieved at not having to reveal just how close she had gotten to Draco during those hazy days researching the plague. Anything that reminded her of Draco and her stomach soon twisted into knots. Harry and Ron generally avoided her from some sort of confused compassion aside from the stray pat on the shoulder by Harry for her not to take it so hard. That it wasn't her fault. Even Mrs Weasley had finally left her alone.

In a way, Hermione was mourning the potential. The spark - however unwelcome, unwanted, and unexpected it had been - was . . . sensational.

But today the whispers filtering through the stacks were distracting her. There was something in the air. Something going on. From the covert glances she was getting from her co-workers, Hermione knew that it somehow had something to do with her.

So she waited, pushing papers around on her desk and only half paying attention to the thick volume of Goblin law on her desk until it found her. Or the official from the Wizengamot did.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned her head quickly before she could remember to be nonchalant. "Yes, what is it?"

The nervous-seeming bald man standing at the side of her desk tapped his fingers against his hip. "I've been sent to bring you to a special session of the Wizengamot."

This wasn't at all what she had been hoping for. There was some part of her that believed Draco might swoop into the Ministry one day like Snape, coldly state that he was in fact alive, and ask her out for dinner. There would hardly be a special session for his return.

Hermione wrinkled her brow. "A special session? For what?"

The man's refusal to make eye-contact put her on edge as much as his damp, sweaty palms rubbing against his robes did. "I haven't been given leave to say. But you must come with me immediately. It's urgent that you are there."

Hermione sat straighter in her chair. Only instinct told her not to touch her hip to check that her wand was safely at hand. Something was happening and she didn't like it one bit.

"Well, if I must I must. But I am quite busy you know," she chided him softly.

The man turned as Hermione stood up. She knew that was a lie. She had barely gotten any work done in months. They didn't even bother giving her assignments anymore and she had become one of those Ministry creatures that she used to hate; seemingly hanging on with no purpose or use like a barnacle on a ship's hull, yet still collecting a pay packet at the end of the week.

Since the man was walking ahead of her, she felt it worth the time to slip her wand into her sleeve holster and slide a fake wand from WWW out of her bag and into the holder on her hip. Hermione glanced around but they were walking behind the stacks toward the door and no one was nearby. The entire thing was giving her a bad feeling, even though she kept trying to rationalise to herself that she had not done anything wrong. She thought perhaps it was the guilt that had clung to her all these months that made it so easy for her to imagine that she was being lead to her execution.

As they left her department, she noticed an Auror walk in and close the doors behind them. Hermione suspected that he would be rifling through her desk while she was . . . wherever she was going to be. The thought of someone pawing through her work items made her neck hot, but she felt slightly satisfied by thinking of the jinxes the man would have to deal with if he poked around too much.

There were very few people in the Atrium for this time of day and only two in the lift as she and the nervous balding man who had still not introduced himself stepped in.

"Where is everyone?" Hermione asked.

"Wizengamot declared a half-holiday two hours ago. Most people've gone home already. Just a few stragglers about."

No witnesses, he may as well have said.

"I didn't hear anything about a half-holiday!" Hermione exclaimed. "Why wasn't my department notified?"

The man kept his face toward the front and shrugged.

Hermione glanced at the other two people the best she could without actually turning her head. They were Aurors. Ones she didn't recognise. And they were watching her.

As she anticipated, they followed the Wizengamot messenger and herself off of the lift to a very distant room that was starting to remind her of what Harry had told her about of his own experience just before 5th year. The Aurors followed approximately three metres behind them, taking every turn and entering the large theatre-like room along with Hermione.

Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Hermione could feel it almost leaping from her chest. What exactly had she done?!

There were nine members of the Wizengamot seated in front of her. Not the full number, but enough to cause a problem. The shrimpy, balding man beside her guided her toward one of the seats up front where the accused generally sat. Hermione stared at the seat for a moment, wondering if she should give her fake wand away yet by reaching for her real one or playing dumb. After a moment she decided to sit in the chair with her hands clasped and the sleeves of her robes loose down around her hands. In this way at least the chair restraints would be difficult to utilise and her wand was at her fingertips, secured as it was inside her sleeve.

"How can I be of service to the Wizengamot today?" Hermione asked, forcing her voice to be calm and loud enough to carry across the echoing chamber.

The members of the Wizengamot who stood before her, few whom she actually knew by name, stirred as if a breeze had passed over them. Eventually one with a slightly larger hat than the rest stood up and faced her. His head was also balding, like the man who had brought her here, only the pomposity on his face completely eclipsed any trace of nervous display.

"Miss Granger, we've called you here today to help us with a simple legal matter. We were hoping that you would be amenable to giving us some of your time?"

She tipped her chin up and looked at them over her nose, hoping that this would lend an air of confidence to her person that she hardly felt. "You're asking then? It seems to me as if you're using quite a bit of persuasion for someone asking for a favour."

Conversation buzzed very softly behind the man. He cleared his throat. "It's a sensitive matter and we wanted to ensure that someone such as yourself was given every courtesy."

Hermione pursed her lips. "I'm sure," she said crisply as she internally tried to channel McGonagall's legendary reserve. "Courtesy."

For the first time, the man seemed unsure of himself before shaking it off. "As you may have heard, the Malfoy family is currently extinct."

Hermione blinked. Not remotely what she had expected, if she had expected anything at all. "I hadn't heard that Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy were dead."

He ran his tongue under his upper lip before speaking. "Not so much yet, but the family is almost gone. Narcissa Malfoy is dying and her husband gave up his place in the Malfoy family when he sent his son off to die in his stead."

Hermione's hand jerked and almost brushed against her wand, but prevented herself from doing so at the last moment. "So what does that have to do with me, Mr . . . ?"

"Lord Gavol," he said primly, as if affronted that she didn't know who he was. Hermione had to restrain the urge to roll her eyes at him.

"We called you here," he continued "because we have discovered that there was an unknown, uh, family member when we were attempting to file some . . . papers."

Hermione frowned and continued to stare at him, still wondering why this involved her remotely. Papers indeed. She knew what the stupid little man was really referring to and it made her ill. They had successfully plundered the wealth of almost every other Pureblooded family in Britain so far. The Malfoys were one of the last remaining hold outs and they had been attempting to rectify that for months before Draco had disappeared.

"Wonderful," she said acidly. "The Malfoys aren't extinct after all. Are you finished? May I leave?"

Lord Gavol became flustered and sputtered for a moment until an older woman with her hair scraped back severely into an iron grey bun came out from behind him and pushed him none too gently toward a seat with the others.

"No, you may not!" she cried in a ringing tone. "You will tell me how and why you married the prisoner Draco Malfoy and you will do it now before I'm forced to have you put into Azkaban for aiding his escape!"

The shrillness of her voice echoed in the chamber and Hermione was at a complete loss for words. They were mad, obviously, but also quite convinced that she had somehow pulled the wool over their eyes and not only helped Draco escape, but they seemed to think they were—

"Ridiculous!" Hermione shouted. She stood up from her seat and noticed that the Aurors standing near the doors came to quick attention.

"I am not married to Draco Malfoy. I don't know what put the thought into your heads. As for helping him escape—" Hermione choked for a moment on something that was an absurd cross between laughter and tears. "He's dead! You said it yourselves. He died trying to save the wizarding race from the Green Death and you should be thanking his parents and blessing his memory instead of trying your damnedest to steal the money he left behind!"

A rippling sigh went over the small group of Wizengamot members at these words, and some shifted to the others before settling back into their seats, faces sternly blank and facing forward. The woman who was now representing them drew herself up taller in her maroon robes.

"You will speak to us and admit your crimes or we will be forced to use other methods."

She extended her hands toward the Aurors and curled her fingers toward her palm. The two hulking, silent men came closer. One of them pulled a vial of colourless liquid from a pouch at his belt and held it determinedly in his grip. Hermione paled and sat back down, still careful to keep her arms from the reach of the chains.

"I'm not lying," she said softly. "I'm not married to Draco Malfoy and I didn't help him escape. He's dead."

"He isn't dead," the woman said firmly. "His whereabouts have been unable to be determined. Even if he were dead we could still trace his wand to his location, but it has also disappeared."

Hermione felt her heart come up into her throat. The sensation of losing breath at that news was quite abrupt, but she tried to contain it and not give herself cause to hope.

In front of her, the woman's lips and nose curled into a sneer. "As for your marriage, we performed a magical trace to determine the name and status of any remaining Malfoy relatives and you were listed there as his wife so don't continue telling lies because we already know the truth."

Hermione scoffed. "I think I'd know if I were married. And I certainly wouldn't marry him! I mean, I only kissed him once—" She froze, knowing she shouldn't have admitted to even that much.

"So you had a relationship with him?" the woman pressed. She walked out from behind the stand and came closer to the railing that separated Hermione from the Wizengamot. "How long did you hide this from the Ministry? As a prisoner, we have the right to know all of his personal relationships and how dare you use your position here to free that—"

"I did no such thing!" Hermione shrieked. "One kiss before sending a man off to die is not a crime. I had no prior relationship with him and I don't have one now!"

"When did your relationship with him begin?" the other woman continued obtusely. "I will have the Aurors administer Veritaserum if you don't start telling us what we want to know."

Hermione laughed, low and harsh. "So you want me to make things up or do you want me to tell the truth? Apparently your ears are full of cotton wool if I have to keep repeating myself. If you want me to tell you what you want to know then I suppose I'll need to think about it so I can make up a really good story for you. I don't have a lot of experience, but I'm sure I can spin some of the juicy bits in there for you."

The woman nodded and the Aurors seized Hermione and quickly forced the Veritaserum into her mouth. She would have spit it at them, but she didn't have anything to hide.

So she sat there for what seemed like hours and answered their ridiculous, invasive questions in a toneless voice. Hermione detailed the entire timeline of events from when she was first given the case to every last detail of every meeting she could remember with Draco Malfoy. As she talked, she could see the Wizengamot members frowning and muttering amongst themselves. She hoped they realised how positively stupid they were being to detain her.

"You're still hiding something," the woman with iron grey hair muttered, pacing at the railing. "You admit to letting Draco Malfoy use your wand while he was actively under house arrest, yet you claim that you had no relationship with him. You hadn't disarmed him in a duel, nor had he disarmed you, so what other reason could there be that you would trust him with your wand?"

The muttering grew louder and several heads nodded in agreement at this line of questioning.

"I didn't really think about it that way at the time. I just wanted results."

The other woman pursed her lips. "I don't believe it. Give her another dose of Veritaserum!"

The Aurors spread their hands and admitted to only having had the one vial.

The woman clenched her fist and pounded the railing. "You leave us no choice, Mrs Malfoy—"

"I'm not—"

"Don't interrupt! Because you are a Ministry employee and you knowingly and willingly, by your own admission, gave your wand to a prisoner of the Ministry you are hereby terminated and furthermore will be locked in Azkaban prison for one year—"

"That's ridiculous!" Hermione interjected. "I can see losing my job, but Azkaban—"

"You can stop this at any time," the woman said sharply. "Just tell us what you're hiding from our questions. The whole truth."

"I am!" Hermione cried, tears trickling down her cheeks. She considered clutching her wand and blasting the hag across the room, but didn't want to tip her hand just yet. "I don't know what else I can say or do to convince you that I'm not Malfoy's wife and I didn't help him escape."

The woman summoned a thick roll of parchments from the air and smacked it down into Hermione's lap. "Then sign these and we will press no charges."

Hermione unrolled the sheafs of parchment and read over them quickly. She blinked and looked back up at them. "I can't. I won't. I'm not even his kin so whether I signed or not would have no bearing, but I'm not taking anything away from him if he is alive. He doesn't deserve it. I won't declare him legally dead if he's not."

Hermione crumpled the papers and flung them behind her. "I refuse to steal from anyone. I don't care what they've done in the past."

The Aurors came forward and pulled Hermione up by the arms, frog marching her toward the double doors when they suddenly opened. Harry stood there, framed in the flickering torchlight of the hall behind him. Ron, too, stood at his side with his wand drawn.

Hermione sobbed in relief and hung her head down. She wouldn't be locked away and forgotten in a rotten old cell in Azkaban to be tortured by the prisoners she'd helped put away. Not if they were here. At least they would know.

Kingsley, hidden previously behind Ron and Harry, stepped into the room and strode quickly to the front. "I don't recall a meeting of the Wizengamot today," he said mildly.

Lord Gavol actively flinched, but the woman with iron grey hair stood her ground stolidly. "Travis, Beeton, continue your duty. Take her to Azkaban."

Kingsley turned his head. "Don't move a muscle."

For the first time, Hermione saw doubt on the faces of the Aurors beside her. They hesitated for a moment and released her at the same time by the merest flex of their fingers. Harry and Ron wrapped her in an embrace and she stood between them, her knees still trembling when she thought about how close she had come to prison.

"You don't have the authority to override the Wizengamot, Minister," the woman sneered.

"No," Kingsley admitted with his quiet, rumbling voice. "But the full Wizengamot's not here, Sabine, so I feel confident that you didn't have all the votes needed to convict Hermione of . . . whatever you convicted her of considering that over half of the members are still at home today."

Sabine was silent, her gaze rage-filled and deadly. "You haven't heard the end of this, Shacklebolt. Justice will be served."

He stooped to pick up the ball of parchment that Hermione had thrown over her shoulder moments before. He was reading it and only half paying attention to the woman. "I'm sure justice will be served — in a full hearing, not some half-cocked inquisition served à la Umbridge."

Kingsley waved them away and turned back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Leading the way out of the chamber, Kingsley walked them back toward the lift. He met Hermione's eyes over the parchment in his hands. "I think you have some explanations to make, Hermione Granger. Or should I say Mrs—"

"Don't!" Hermione shouted, putting her hands up frantically to stop him from saying anything further. She nervously glanced at Harry and Ron and bit her lip. "I'm not. I told them over and over again. I'm not."

Kingsley frowned and read the papers again, ushering them back out through the doors. "According to this you are. And I need an explanation."

"What's going on?" Harry asked. "What aren't you saying?"

He gestured to Hermione. "I don't know what this was about today, but Hermione didn't do it. She couldn't have done anything wrong."

"Yeah!" Ron said quickly. "Hermione doesn't break the rules. Except if it's important. Right, Hermione?"

She smiled at them weakly and pushed a curl out of her eyes. "I only broke one rule, and it was for a good cause." Her eyes met Kingsley's stern gaze. "And it wasn't that." She pointed at the crumpled parchment he was reading. "Just something little. I had the situation under control. And the results were perfect. The plague wouldn't be over if it hadn't."

"What'd you do?" Harry urged. "Kingsley'll stand up for you. Won't you?"

Kingsley was reading the third page of the parchments in his hand. "If I feel that the ends justified the means," he muttered.

Hermione met his eyes and strictly avoided looking at either Ron or Harry. "I let Malfoy use my wand."

Kingsley's eyebrows flew up as Harry and Ron broke into a clamour behind her.

"Will you two stop!" Hermione hissed "It was necessary at the time. There were enchantments on the journals in the Malfoy family library and I couldn't break them. They only responded to Draco so I had to give him my wand or we never would have figured it all out and more people would be dead. I did what I had to do."

"You should have told me, Hermione," Kingsley admonished sternly. "You knowingly gave your wand to a Ministry prisoner."

She clenched her fists and fought the urge to scream, instead pressing her lips firmly together. "I know. But it worked. The plague is over. Malfoy's d-dead." Her lip trembled. "They kept saying he wasn't, but either way he's disappeared. And what does it matter anyway? He got a full pardon."

Kingsley frowned and started walking toward his office again. "Not exactly," he admitted. "I didn't feel it necessary to pardon a dead man. But if he's missing, well, he'll have broken his contract with the Ministry in that case and he'll go to Azkaban."

Hermione stopped dead in the hallway. Ron almost bumped into her and Harry had to swerve to prevent collision as well. "You can't!" she cried and turned back to Kingsley. "After everything he probably did to stop the plague and you'd have him locked away?"

"Hermione—" Harry started, putting his hand on her shoulder. She shook it off angrily and pressed toward Kingsley again.

"You don't reward someone for stopping the worst plague in wizarding history by—"

"There's no proof," Kingsley said in his deep, soft voice. "No one knows what happened to him after he Portkey'd to Lud's Church. There's no evidence he did anything at all. He vanished; everyone who had the plague except his mother died and he hasn't been seen since."

Hermione could barely see for the tears in her eyes. It was so unfair! He'd tried to help, she knew it. He wouldn't leave his mother to die knowing that he could stop it.

"Hermione, I know you have this thing— well, you like to help the underdog. And I know you somehow convinced yourself that Malfoy—"

Hermione spun on her heel and punched Harry hard in the chest. She continued to pummel him until Ron stepped in to pull her back.

"He tried!" she yelled. "He tried, I know he did. He wouldn't have just left his mother to die. He knew he could have been killed and he still went. He's just as good as you are, Harry! And you're calling him an underdog?!"

She sniffled and yanked her arm out of Ron's grip. Somewhere in her mind, Hermione knew she was overreacting, but she squashed that voice firmly and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"I'm going home. It's a half holiday."

Harry and Ron looked like they wanted to stop her, but Kingsley put his hand out so they let her go.

Hermione spent most of the rest of the week at home in her flat curled up around either Crookshanks, a cup of tea, a book, or some combination of the three. She ignored Ron and Harry when they came pounding on her door and hexed Ron in the face when his head popped up in her fireplace without notice.

She had done a lot of thinking during that time - and researching when she'd gotten over the shock of losing her job and possibly her freedom once a proper trial was set up. Her supervisor had sent a curt note, sloppily folded, through the Floo releasing her from employment at the Ministry. Couldn't have even sent an owl or stuck their head in the fireplace. A note tossed in the Floo lacked a personal touch and it made Hermione grit her teeth in suppressed irritation at being dismissed in such a manner.

Several things started clicking into place for her as she researched Wizarding marriage laws and traditions, making her more jumpy and irritable than before. Hermione had no recollection of a ceremony or any type of exchange that would be common amongst Muggles, but the Wizarding world worked differently. From the odd problem with her owl posts going to Malfoy Manor - they still went there! - to the sudden deference from Malfoy's house elves, she figured that something must have happened to bind them into some sort of marriage.

She never had found a reason for the owl posts and had changed over to have everything directed to her office, but now that she was unemployed how would she get her letters? Hermione frowned and rubbed a finger down her nose in thought, trying to get back to the main Problem.

From Malfoy's reactions, she didn't think he was responsible for the elves and post problems. Why would he? Despite their brief farewell kiss and the strange tension of the last few days she had seen him, he'd never shown much inclination towards her before. It didn't make sense that he'd want to sully his pristine bloodlines or risk actual prison time for an unwilling Muggleborn bride.

Hermione snorted into her cup of tea. A Malfoy marrying a Muggleborn. What a joke.

She nibbled a biscuit and twirled the feathery end of her quill over her nose in thought. The only real question was what event triggered it? Common law marriages happened often amongst old Pureblood families, but had fallen out of favour over the past two centuries when Muggle marriage ceremonies started to look appealing. Victoria and Albert's grand gesture had rippled across two worlds and she supposed that it made sense in a time of power and posturing to make things seem as big as possible to keep the awe of the masses. Old Pureblood families were, in reality, little different from Muggle nobility on that point.

But before all of that, things were simpler. She had found several instances of couples using each other's wands and therefore binding themselves into marriage. Her neck had prickled at that until she noted that there was real intent involved and it was never accidental. Hermione knew that she never had any intention of marrying Draco Malfoy at any point! But the fact of it remained. She had performed a spell similar to what the Ministry had cast to trace Malfoy kin and very clearly her name was listed on the parchment connected directly to a Draco Abraxas Malfoy by a thin line of black ink, who was just under a Narcissa Black Malfoy - the space beside her strangely blank.

Somehow, some way, it had happened. There was no going back and no divorce. Hermione had heard rumours about Blaise Zabini's mother and her seven husbands. It made more sense now that she had looked up the laws about Wizarding marriages for herself. At the time Hermione had thought divorce would surely have been easier than poisoning them all and wondered why the woman would have bothered if she could just get a separation of some sort.

If Draco was alive then she would be bound to him until they were both dead. A missing husband was probably worse than an unwanted one in the grand scheme of things. Or she could sign the paperwork the Ministry wanted her to sign. Hermione frowned at that thought. It was tempting to just give them what they wanted and the entire mess would be over. Her common law marriage to Draco Malfoy. She'd have her job back - maybe - and wouldn't go to prison.

Aside from her issues with declaring someone legally dead so that the Ministry could confiscate their lands and property, Hermione felt compelled to be truly honest with herself about her situation on ink and parchment:

My job is/was rotten. Starting at the bottom intentionally and working my way up through the ranks, while noble and idealistic, in reality is mind-numbing and unlikely to succeed. Yes, I'm considered a war hero; even in a more modern Ministry that matters little unless you mean to use that status to move ahead. It is still nepotism at its finest and if you don't have solid connections you will never go anywhere of value. I don't have solid political connections other than other war heroes and Order members and I don't feel comfortable using that to get ahead in my career. Even Arthur Weasley still totters along exactly where he was before the whole war even happened. Well-respected, well-liked, but ultimately on a path that is going nowhere with little pay to compensate for the drudgery and no ability to make the changes that desperately need to be made.

Signing a paper that states Draco Malfoy is dead would be a public acknowledgement that we were connected. Harry and Ron would know and so would everyone else. I'd be a laughingstock, especially if Rita Skeeter got wind of it and Malfoy never showed up to tell everyone it was an accident. A mistake. As if anyone would believe it after the press finished.

Malfoy could come back at any time and happily blast me into pieces for declaring him dead and for finding out we were married. I would probably let him at that point.

My love life is abysmally absent. Two months with Ron Weasley and a truly dreadful set up with Anthony Goldstein have been the full measure of my adult dating experience. If people were intimidated to approach me romantically before, now they will run completely in the opposite direction when they found out that I contracted Malfoy in a secret marriage before declaring him dead to the Ministry so they could steal his estate. Despite a few issues with that story that no one would care about when reading it in the newspaper, it would still be fairly true at the root.

Hermione dropped her quill and shoved the parchment away from her off of the desk before laying her her head in folded arms. The only option left was to hope that Malfoy didn't actually survive, but despite how that would solve all of her problems, something in her chest hurt at the thought of him lying dead somewhere.

She must have fallen asleep because when she woke up Harry was standing beside her shaking her arm.

"How did you get in here!" Hermione gasped. "I warded—"

Harry crossed his arms and scowled down at her. "Your house-elf let me in."

She didn't know quite what to say at this, so she didn't say anything. It was obvious that he had found out, but where did—

"House-elf? I don't have any—"

"A Malfoy family house-elf, then. The same one that came to get me when you were at the Ministry last week," Harry bit out. "Care to explain what's going on?"

"Why didn't you just ask the house-elf?" Hermione sniped. "Since you've apparently already made up your mind about me."

Harry frowned, flicking a bit of his overgrown inky hair from his eyes. "Can't blame me for being angry about this, Hermione. And I don't even know what 'this' is other than the house-elf just said that you are his mistress. I didn't even think to ask last week. I ran to get Ron and Kingsley so we could stop them from taking you to Azkaban. You haven't talked to anyone all week, just holed yourself up in here with—" He stopped for a moment and picked up a book. "Books about marriage bonds? Really?" Harry flung the book back down on the desk, toppling over her favourite tea cup and splashing cold tea everywhere.

"If you start swearing," Hermione warned with a wagging finger, "I won't say a word and you'll just have to wonder for the rest of your life."

Harry scowled and plopped down on the sofa near her desk. "You're just lucky that Ron didn't hear what that elf said. Start talking."

Hermione siphoned up the spilt tea with her wand while she thought of how to begin. Eventually, she settled on a quick, yet informative answer: "I think I accidentally married Malfoy."

Harry snorted. "That's it? That's all you're going to say? Glad to hear that it was accidental at least."

"What do you expect me to say? It's really none of your business, now is it?"

He looked at her darkly over the top of his glasses. She forgot how intimidating Harry could appear sometimes. "When has that ever stopped you before?"

Checkmate.

"Fine," she huffed and sat back in her chair. "You want the dirty details then, do you?"

Harry winced and she felt a slow smirk creep up her face.

"There aren't any," she assured him. "Not really. I only ever kissed him the once."

Harry's already scrunched eyes tightened more and he mimed gagging. "Hermione! Tell me you're joking."

"Or you could say he kissed me," she mused, pretending to ignore Harry. "Then Neville knocked on the door. It could have been more. Who knows?"

Harry closed his eyes. "You've made your point. I don't want to know about that. Just tell me what happened."

Hermione threw up her hands. "I don't know! I've been trying to figure it out all week. There were some things that I ignored, even before Draco . . . left. All my owl posts started going to Malfoy Manor. Then the house-elves started treating me differently. I wasn't sure why, and I hadn't really thought of it until this week when the Wizengamot cornered me. At the time it was happening, there was a much more serious threat at hand."

She lazily cast the tracing spell on a spare sheet of parchment and handed it to Harry. "See for yourself."

Harry scanned it quickly. "Why isn't Lucius Malfoy on here? He's not dead."

"Apparently when he gave his signet ring to Draco he wiped himself from the living family record or something. I'm not quite sure. But there I am. I'm listed as a living relative."

"Hermione Granger Malfoy," Harry said, scrunching his nose. He crumpled the parchment up and jammed it in his pocket. "Bloody awful."

"You said you wouldn't swear," Hermione reminded him primly.

Harry smirked. "Yeah, right. Expect me not to swear about this? My best friend is married to my— well, what is he, anyway? Voldemort was my 'arch-nemesis' so what does that make Malfoy?"

"Oldest anti-friend?" Hermione suggested.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, that I reckon. Couldn't sound anymore juvenile if you tried, though."

"Sort of the point."

Hermione grinned at Harry and he returned the grin before getting up and stuffing himself back down next to her in her little chair. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Definitely better that I found out about this before Ron. He would go hunt Malfoy down and hex him."

"And you're not?" Hermione asked incredulously.

Harry shrugged. "I don't have to hunt him down. I know right where he is."

Hermione jumped up from the chair. "What?"

"That's what I had been coming to tell you.

"Oh my—" Hermione fluttered her hands over her hair agitatedly. "Why didn't you tell me that first!" she shrieked.

She started walking toward her bedroom and Harry followed her.

"I thought you'd want to know," he said from behind her, "but I didn't think it was so Earth-shatteringly important to you."

He stood there in the doorway until he realised she was changing her clothes and decided to turn smartly on his heel to face the other direction. Hermione didn't even notice him as she tossed clothing in all directions, looking for something— something.

She waved her wand over herself to freshen up, disgusted to realise that she hadn't properly bathed for almost a full week and she was more than a little fragrant. A light gray robe with powder blue lining came to hand finally. She sniffed it, tapped it with her wand, and deemed it acceptable despite the fact that her mother had never seemed to have understood her colouring. Earth tones always worked better for her so maybe she should . . .

"Harry," she said, her voice muffled as she pulled it over her head. "Why did you think to come get me when you saw Malfoy? And where is he?"

He shrugged. "I don't really know. I mean, Ron and I noticed that you seemed to have become a bit fond of him. Or at least I noticed. After last week even Ron figured out that something was up."

Hermione ran a brush through her hair and winced before twirling her wand to bring it into a subdued chignon on the back of her head.

"Where is he? I don't want anyone from the Ministry talking to him about this marriage business before I can. He'll want to murder me as it is, although I don't know why considering that I didn't have anything to do with it!" she rambled breathlessly.

"Decent?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded first with a hairpin in her mouth, then muttered around it: "yes."

Harry didn't say anything as he watched her stab pins into her hair to hold it in place. He was still silently watching as she hopped on one foot to put her shoes on, sans stockings or socks of any kind.

"Hermione . . ."

She looked up at him while she smoothed her robes down.

"Do you actually fancy him? Malfoy?"

Hermione felt a warm flow of blood over her chest and neck. "A little. Maybe. Probably not. I mean, he's Malfoy. Don't be ridiculous, Harry!" she finally scolded. "I need to get this business with him sorted out and that's that."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Right, let's go then. Last I saw him, he was storming through the Atrium toward Kingsley's office. The Aurors might have detained him a couple of days ago for questioning . . ."

It was Hermione's turn now to raise her eyebrows. "Why didn't you tell me then?"

"Your flat was warded up and we'd been trying to get you to talk to us for days, hadn't we?"

Hermione pursed her lips in acknowledgement. "I suppose."

She took Harry's arm and they Floo'd to the Ministry Atrium directly from her flat. Even though she knew that Draco would be close by, she wasn't expecting to see him as soon as she walked out of the fireplace but there he was. At the far end of the hall Hermione saw him speaking with Kingsley. There were apparently heated words being exchanged and they walked as they talked, their aim apparently the very fireplace which Hermione had just stepped from.

Harry shifted beside her but she paid him no mind. She was arrested by the change in Malfoy's bearing since she'd last seen him. Perhaps it was the way he held his shoulders now or the expression on his face. He was almost like a stranger and it reminded Hermione of the transformation she'd seen in Harry all those years ago after their journey through the forests and hillsides. Draco had more the carriage of a man now than a boy, even though he had already been well past his boyhood when he left, it was now very evident that his experience with the Green Knight had altered him in some vital way. More alert, perhaps; a more commanding presence. He had ripened from his previous state of perpetual spoiled childhood into a man and it seemed to fit him well.

Draco stopped suddenly in the hall when he saw her only a few feet away. Kingsley stopped, too, and Hermione felt Harry's awkward presence beside her. The hall was thick with people who either surreptitiously glanced their way or outright stared to see Draco Malfoy returned from the dead.

"Hermione," he said.

Her name was soft on his lips and some thrill shot through her at the sound. She fought against expressing it with a physical shiver. He didn't seem angry with her, merely startled and almost reverent. She bit her lip and looked at the floor. It was a far cry from his childish flirting and sly glances.

"We need to talk."

Her head shot up at that, eyes wide with panic. He must have found out somehow and the thought of having to explain it to him made her stomach twist into knots.

"Malfoy," Harry started, stepping in front of her. "Don't take it out on Hermione. She didn't know anything about this until recently."

Draco's cool gaze slid from Hermione to Harry. "Do I look upset, Potter?" he said slowly and perhaps a bit condescendingly. "It's none of your business what I need to talk to her about. You'll keep your nose out of it if you know what's good for you."

More than a bit.

Harry's brow turned thunderous and Hermione smelled a storm brewing that she wanted to stop before there was a scene. "Harry don't," she asked him with a hand on his arm. "He's right. We do need to talk. And it is none of your business."

Harry pressed his lips tightly and he acknowledged her with a look. She stared back calmly and after a moment he spun on his heel and walked toward the Auror's offices. Hermione sighed and turned back to face Draco and Kingsley.

"Sir, Mr Malfoy and I have personal matters to discuss. That is if you're not putting him in Azkaban this very moment," she couldn't help adding waspishly.

Kingsley's smooth brown face creased deeply around his lips. "This situation isn't resolved yet," he said. "Still, after reading the report from the Auror's office and the transcript from the pensieve I suppose there's reasonable explanation of Mr Malfoy's disappearance."

He heaved a sigh and glanced at Draco. "Don't take off again, boy, and I'll make sure you have a fair hearing with all evidence presented. Until then, go home and stay there."

Draco nodded stiffly in acknowledgement and moved closer to Hermione. "I need you to come with me."

Hermione glanced once at Kingsley and saw the conflict on his face but decided to ignore it. "I suppose I must if we're to figure this out."

Draco pushed forward past Kingsley and escorted her a few feet toward one of the Ministry Floos, his hand on her lower back in an intimate way that made her discomfited and itchy knowing that Harry's eyes were following them. She chose not to acknowledge the other feelings at all.

She was so disoriented that she wasn't quite sure where they had landed until she saw the marble foyer. Malfoy Manor, of course. Draco placed his hand on her back just as before and steered her toward the master library. He walked around the desk and seemed to think better of sitting behind it. Instead he pulled out a chair for her in front of the cold fireplace.

Hermione took a moment to gather herself by pretending to dust ashes from the skirt of her robes while Draco summoned house-elves to attend the fire and a tea tray. She kept looking at her hands in silence. Draco paced from carpet to wood flooring while the elves put things in order. Clip-clip-clip-clack-turn-clip-clip-clip-clack.

"I didn't know," he said suddenly.

Hermione had been almost hypnotized by the sound of his shoes so when he spoke she was quite startled. "Know what?"

He looked at her witheringly. "Stupidity doesn't suit you, Hermione."

She frowned but said nothing more for a moment. Draco sat down in the winged chair beside her. Cups of tea appeared on the small table between them and he handed hers over before cradling his own between bone white fingers.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Hermione asked aloud. "Can we break this?"

"I'll assume coming from you that that question is strictly rhetorical. You'll know, of course, that we can't." He sipped his tea thoughtfully.

"Your next question is probably 'how' and I don't know exactly." Draco glanced at his signet ring. "I suppose it has to do with this stupid thing. It's fairly close to sentient and family legend has many instances of it taking matters into its own proverbial hands."

Hermione stared into her tea cup and they drifted into a contemplative silence that lacked the initial nervous energy of a few moments before. She wished that she believed in or was any good at tasseography. It would be convenient; tea cup already in her hand and so many questions on her mind.

"How is your mother?" Hermione asked in a soft voice so she wouldn't break the hush and civility of the current atmosphere. Time for fireworks later, she thought. Then she flushed from the double meaning in that choice of words and almost didn't catch Draco's response.

"She's recovering well," he said with some surprise. "Mother woke as soon as I touched her with the emerald, but still, she's been in a coma and not moving for several months, so it'll be some time, I suppose, until she's up and about."

Hermione nodded. It would probably be some time before she could even sit up unassisted let alone stand up or walk. Probably best that she not hear about the 'good news' until she was out of hospital.

"I'm glad she survived." Hermione sipped her tea. It was still too hot. "I thought you had died, you know. And I only found out about . . . the situation when the Wizengamot tried to make me declare you dead."

Draco exhaled strongly through his nose, the sound scoffing. "Greedy bastards. Not surprised that they went straight for our gold. They were angry that we didn't pay as much as some other families after the War."

"For what it's worth, I don't think the full Wizengamot was behind it. I think it was pushed by a few and some others went along with it. Kingsley said half of the members that day were missing, so just a small faction."

"It wasn't a small faction! It was more than half the members, Hermione," Draco said as he set his tea cup down a bit too hard. "Enough to call a bloody conspiracy in my book."

The fragile atmosphere of peace was fracturing. Hermione tried to steer him away from thoughts of the Ministry. "Don't worry about them. You survived. You're home. You'll probably be pardoned soon."

Draco's face grew very long and his scowling eyebrows drew together further. "You're trying to change the subject. But we need to talk about it."

"You can't even say what 'it' is!" Hermione cried.

"As if you're doing better?" he sneered. "Our marriage, how about that?"

"What about it?" Hermione asked. "It's not as if we can do anything."

Draco shrugged. "You're better than some of the other picks I had shoved at me in recent years. At least you can hold a bloody conversation."

"I'd hold a conversation better if you wouldn't swear all the time."

Hermione thought he'd snap at her for that but he smirked instead. "And you're funny, Granger. Who cares about swearing anymore? My great-grandmother maybe."

She pursed her lips and mimed taking a sip of her tea to avoid spitting some choice words of her own at him. The smile hadn't left his face and it was making her nervous.

"What are you looking at?" Hermione snapped. "You're grinning like a goon."

The smile faded a bit and his face became slightly more sombre. "I'm looking at my wife. You aren't what I would have chosen, but I think you'll do."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Do you flatter all the girls like that?"

He shrugged with a Gallic sort of ease. "Just you."

"Aren't I special?" she muttered as she set her cup down with a clack and stood up. "As wonderful as this reunion was, I have work to do."

Draco was looking into the fire and didn't turn his head when she got up. "Liar. You were fired last week. I asked."

Once again Hermione wasn't sure if she was flattered or offended by the fact that he had made inquiries about her.

"Aren't you curious about what happened to me? For you I was gone over six months and for me, well, it wasn't quite so long."

He had her there.

"What do you mean it wasn't quite so long for you?" she blurted. "How could time be different for you?"

"Too bad, I'm not telling you now," he said. "You'll have to find out tomorrow."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Why not now? Do you have some sort of pressing engagement of which I'm not aware?"

"'Of which I'm not aware' . . . do you always speak with such perfect grammar? Too good for dangling participles are you?"

Her mouth twisted to the side. "Are you done taking the mick?"

"Oooh slang!" Draco teased.

She wished that she still had the expensive bone china tea cup in her hand so she could throw it at his head. "I'll have to remain curious. I'm not coming back here."

Draco unfolded himself leisurely from his chair with the air of smug certainty that a cat had when about to pounce on a budgie.

"No need. You'll be here."

Hermione squirmed against the heat flushing her cheeks. Her voice sounded far away in her own ears. "You have a lot of ner—"

"How long did you spend picking out your clothes before you came to the Ministry?" Draco asked suddenly. "Did you dash madly through your room trying to find something attractive? Did you rush through the Ministry halls—"

The heat was now more from embarrassment than a budding awareness of his presence. "That doesn't mean that I'll—"

"It does."

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head. "But I'm not one of those—"

"No," Draco agreed quietly. "You aren't."

She opened her eyes to see his face only a few inches from her own. "We really shouldn't."

He wound his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. "We will. Eventually. Maybe even tonight. It may have only been three days for me, but it's still too long without another kiss from you."

Hermione was embarrassed and didn't know quite where to look so she stared down the top button on his robes. Very slowly she raised her hand and twiddled with his collar and felt his chest shudder. It was good to know that he seemed similarly affected. This was no grand farewell. She would see his face possibly every day for many years and it was just … different this time.

He crooked a finger under her chin and stroked the soft skin there. "Don't curl up on me. You aren't a bloody worm, are you? What use is a Gryffindor wife if she—"

Hermione grabbed the cloth under her hand and pulled his face closer. "I'm not a coward."

She let him kiss her then with his smirking mouth, aware that the years ahead might not be perfect but at least they'd never be dull.

So folks, normally I don't squawk for reviews. It's a bit unseemly, isn't it? However, I'd really enjoy knowing what people think of this considering my very long hiatus from writing fanfiction. I also have another story, MUCH longer, that I'm going to start putting up soon now that I know where the ending is going and how I'm going to get there. I like to write plotty things with romance instead of romance with some plot . . . somewhere. Maybe. This big long story I have has been in the works since before my 3rd child was born and I'm on #4 already if that gives you an indication. 2010 I think. Wow, 4 or 5 years. Time flies.

Anyway, if you could see it in your heart to review Winterborn, I will send you a snippet of my next fic as a thank you. I like constructive reviews so if there was anything you felt could be improved please tell me! If there was anything you really liked, I'd like to hear that, too. Catch y'all later! ::waves::