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Atonement	By : absumoaevum Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 13723 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor to I make any money from this story. These characters are JKR's, I just play with them.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
Chapter 17

Never Saw It Coming

Hermione lay on her stomach, her upper body propped up by pillows, with her Ancient Runes textbook leaned against the headboard and a bottle of ink balanced on the mattress. She was writing an essay that had been assigned the day of Narcissa Malfoy's trial on potions-specific glyphs, trying to keep her mind off of everything but school.

Next to her, a stack of newspapers and letters were jumbled on the bedside table. Hanging off of the table at the bottom of the pile, the morning's Daily Prophet featured the headline "Martyr Mother or Malicious Miscreant?" with the subheading "Wizengamot Decides Today in the Brief but Scandalous Trial of Narcissa Malfoy".

Previously unheard of counsel Hackney MacDougal offered a riveting summation at yesterday's trial following a flurry of witness testimony from such famous members of the Wizarding community as wandmaker Garrick Ollivander and heroes of the Second Wizarding War Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and of course, the legendary Chosen One, Harry Potter.

MacDougal, a career clerk in the counsel office of Camorra, Nomothet, and Jure, apprenticed under Jerboa Jure (of Gaspard Shingleton's self-stirring cauldron fiasco fame) immediately following his graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1959, but has never acted as counsel publically before his much-applauded performance at yesterday's trial.

However deftly MacDougal phrased his questions and however poignant his final summation may have been, many Ministry officials in the know are chewing their wands over the outcome of this, the first trial in a trilogy for the Malfoy Family. Worry has arisen of the effect a verdict of innocence for Mrs. Malfoy could have on the tone of her husband and son's upcoming trials. As for the public outcry to dismiss the charges against Narcissa Malfoy following MacDougal's assertions that his client was "kept hostage in her home" and that she "was not free to even die as she wished"? The reviews are mixed.

"I darn well would dismiss the charges against her if I were on the Wizengamot!" says Garasel Pliswench of Tinworth, who was among the breathless spectators at Mrs. Malfoy's trial.

A member of Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who wished to remain anonymous, had an altogether different opinion: "Maybe she should get some leniency for lying and saying that Harry Potter was dead but dismissing the charges? No I would not and could not do that."

Regardless, the verdict is sure to cause quite a stir, as members…

The rest of the article was obscured by some notes from Transfiguration and a list of homework assignments in Ginny's untidy scrawl.

On top of these papers, the Evening Prophet was alive with a huge picture of Narcissa Malfoy being led from courtroom 7 in tears, MacDougal guiding her by her elbow and Malfoy's arm around her slumped shoulders. His hand was extended in an attempt to block the camera. Behind them, the expressions on the faces of the Wizengamot and spectators were so mixed it was impossible to know what had just transpired.

Despite the blur of movement from this picture, Hermione wrote on, sliding the parchment up to begin a new paragraph. The headline under the photograph read, "DISMISSED!"

In an upset not seen since the trials of the First Wizarding War, the allegations leveled against Narcissa Malfoy have been unanimously dismissed by the Wizengamot, clearing the suspected Death Eater sympathizer of all charges.

This trial, eagerly anticipated by the British Wizarding community, is to be closely followed by Mrs. Malfoy's husband Lucius Malfoy, a previously-convicted Death Eater, on the 27th of October. What does this shocking result mean for Mr. Malfoy, the Daily Prophet asks his celebrated counsel Dubias Bliswick, catching up to him outside of his home in Mould-on-the-Wold?

"I am confident that Mr. Malfoy will be afforded the same courtesies as his wife," Bliswick says.

But what about reports of Lucius Malfoy's deteriorating mental state in recent months? To this, Bliswicks offers nothing, but when pressed to explain Mr. Malfoy's mysterious absence at his wife's trial, Bliswick is quick to assure the Daily Prophet that "My client was unable to attend for health reasons. However, I promise you that he will not be missing his own day in court."

The remainder of this article was covered by another summons addressed to Hermione. This time, it was for the trial of Lucius Malfoy. On top of the summons, an envelope holding Hermione's reply to a letter from Narcissa Malfoy lay waiting to be sent off by owl.

Hermione sighed heavily and rolled her aching wrist before turning the page of her textbook and continuing on. She was nearly finished, and she wanted to get this essay done tonight. It whisked her mind away from thoughts of the letter she'd received by express owl during dinner. They had all gotten one, even Ron, Harry, and Luna. Hermione had not waited to hear Harry and Ron read their letters aloud for the benefit of the entire Gryffindor table. Instead, she'd said her goodbyes then amid a torrent of objections and headed up to her dormitory with the old excuse of homework in order to read the letter alone.

And now she was writing an essay to hide from it all. She kept thinking that she should feel viscously cheated by the outcome of the trial, or else elated or relieved, but she mostly just felt tired. All she wanted was to finished her homework, send off her owl, and sleep away the entire weekend.

Hermione pressed her quill into the final full stop and read over the closing paragraph of her essay. It was good. Not up to her usual standards, but then again, she wasn't up to her usual standards. Her head was so full of thoughts. Maybe she should start a journal. No, that was stupid. What is some reporter for the Prophet got ahold of it? As if there wasn't enough scandal going around…

Clambering to her feet, Hermione grabbed the letter off of the bedside table and dragged her sweater out from underneath a languidly snoozing Crookshanks, who yowled and shot her a reproving glare.

"Sorry, Crookshanks!" Hermione whispered. She pulled on her jumper and headed off for West Tower.

+++

Hufflepuffs really would take any excuse to have a party and run with it. Draco could hear the ruckus in the common room where everyone was celebrating his mother's acquittal. They'd heard the whole thing on Ryan's wireless; James and Prescott even skipped classes on Thursday to listen to the entire trial. And they were happy for him. Everyone was happy for him.

Draco supposed he was happy, too. His mother was vindicated. Now everyone would be forced to recognize what he knew: that she was a pawn in Voldemort's game who had decided not to play anymore. She was the strongest of the three of them, stronger than him or his father. Or maybe fate had been kinder to her, offered her a way out before it had extended a hand him. No, that wasn't true. He could have taken Dumbledore's offer. He could have switched sides, but he hadn't. He'd let fear and pride win out. Never again.

And now he was staring down at his mother's impeccable penmanship. She'd sent him a letter with his own eagle owl, Gwydion, who he hadn't seen for months. Gwydion categorically refused to leave his side now. Bit annoying really. He was perched on the footboard of Draco's four-poster, preening his feathers after a long journey. It was endearing, if Draco was honest with himself, but Gwydion's visit would be short; Draco intended to answer his mother's letter tonight.

A loud shout and the boom of fireworks shook the dormitory. James, thought Draco immediately, and his owl ruffled his feathers in agitation.

"You're the one who didn't want to go to the Owlery," grumbled Draco before returning to his mother's letter. It read:

Draco,

I do not quite know how to begin this letter to you. You, the source of my freedom and strength, now quite literally. How can I ever thank you for being by my side through these last few days, let alone the years you protected and supported me and your father as best you could? You are the best of us, my darling.

Now, I confess, I find myself unable to reconcile the decision of the Wizengamot in my mind. A part of me wishes they had come to some definite conclusion. Guilty or innocent. Then, at least, I would know the truth of it. This business of dismissals is too convoluted. I wish I could have had the benefit of a true ruling to guide my future. Guilty, and my fate is sealed forever, my life is in some wiser person's hands. Innocent, and my peers no longer whisper behind closed doors about my actions.

But here again, I admire your bravery. You have chosen to face your accusers when I could never bring myself to do it. You have gone back to school, changed your life and the minds of your fellows, made new friends and come into your own. It's all I could have ever hoped for you. Thank you for being the son I wanted, not the son I raised.

Your loving mother

Tears stung Draco's eyes. He'd read it at least five times since Gwydion had delivered the letter at dinner, but it still got to him. The son I wanted, not the son I raised. It seemed impossible that she could think she had played no part in his decision to return to Hogwarts, to start fresh, if that was even possible.

Draco pulled parchment, quill, and ink into his lap and started to write.

My dear mother,

He stopped there, feeling as she must have felt, unable to think what to say, how to begin. Finally, he started gain.

I have never been more relieved than when the Minister for Magic read the conclusion of the Wizengamot. Though I knew the charges were a mockery, I was afraid for you. I shouldn't have been. You are blameless in my eyes, and now in the eyes of the rest of the Wizarding community. It is one more burden lifted from my shoulders, to know that you are safe at last.

I hope you will not continue to hide yourself away at home. You are free. You do not have to feel ashamed.

But father, why wasn't he there, at your trial? Why am I reading about some mysterious illness in the Evening Prophet when I haven't spoken to him or had a letter from him in months? Where is he? What is he doing? Is he truly sick?

Will I see you at Hogsmeade on the 31st? I would very much like that.

Your devoted son

"Pastry for your thoughts?" It was Prescott, leaning in the open door of their dormitory holding a pain au chocolat. Draco had to drop his quill to catch the pastry as it came souring over Gwydion at him.

Prescott was looking at him strangely. Could it be sympathy? "I'm fine," Draco said. He didn't want to eat. He didn't even really want company. He wanted to mail his letter and finish his homework before practice tomorrow evening.

"That wasn't what I asked you," said Prescott. "I gave you the pastry, now tell me what's going on. I haven't seen you all night. You've been holed up in here forever. It's like you don't even know this party is for you."

Draco digested this. Yes, he should be out celebrating with his House. They were all being so supportive of him. It felt wrong not to join them. Slowly, he replied, "I'm writing a letter… to my mother."

Prescott nodded his understanding. "Do you want me to go?"

"No, I've just finished."

"Great," said another voice from behind Prescott. James sidled into the room with a huge Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs firework over his shoulder, all bravado with a smug grin on his face. "We're going to go set this off out in the grounds. You're coming."

Prescott eyed James reprovingly. "James, he doesn't have to come if he doesn't want to."

"Prescott, it's in his honor. Look, we even put his name on!" James showed Prescott and Draco the scrawl on the side of the rocket. It said "Hey Draco! Seek This!"

Draco chuckled in spite of himself. "Hang on, who's this?" said James, throwing the firework carelessly into Prescott's arms and crossing to Gwydion.

"That's my owl. His name's Gwydion," said Draco.

James bent down and spoke to the eagle owl in a baby voice, stroking his feathers. "Do you want to go for a ride, Gwydion? We could shoot you up faster than—" but he broke off because Gwydion had nipped his fingers rather hard. "Ouch, Merlin's left testicle!" he shouted as he stumbled back, away from Gwydion, who was glaring at him. "That bird's a bloody menace!"

"Yeah, how could he refuse to be strapped to a firework?" said Prescott sarcastically.

"Exactly!" agreed James, gesturing with his bloody fingers. "Menstruating Manticores, that stings!"

"Well, you shouldn't have— Wait, what was that? Menstruating Manticores?" laughed Draco.

James ignored this "So," he said from the door, "are you coming?"

"Just let me mail this letter. Then, yeah, I'll come." Draco was almost glad to have a reason not to think about everything that had happened. Even if he would rather have been alone in his room, he was glad that his friends were forcing him to be social. It was better that way, feeling included.

"See you by the lake, then!" said James. "Come on, Prescott, let's round everyone up!" James and Prescott left, lugging the firework with them.

Draco tried to pick up Gwydion, but the owl wasn't having it. He flapped his wings furiously and gave a great, shrill hoot. "Oh, come on, Gwydion! Don't be so ridiculous! I wasn't the one suggesting to blow you up!" But Gwydion rebuffed every attempt from Draco to attach the letter. "Fine," said Draco, hearing the common room emptying down the hall. "Fine! I'll get another owl and you can just stay here!"

Gwydion hopped out of reach onto the top of Smith's four-poster as Draco made one last dive for him. With a huff, Draco snatched up his letter and an envelope and slammed the door of the dormitory shut as he marched out of the room.
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Atonement