Chapter 44 - The Hierophant
Epilogue

Four Months Later

Somewhere in the antechamber, a pocket watch ticked incessantly, counting down the minutes in a steady stream of clicks that Hermione was sure were meant to drive her mad.

Each tick brought them closer to the end of it all.

The Ministry was still in the infancy of its rebuilding, but they'd been quick to reform the Wizengamot from its ashes. The Wizengamot claimed that the wizarding world had needed destruction like Voldemort wrought to come back stronger and avoid the same future again. From the dust rose the phoenix.

Hermione resisted the urge to send Kingsley a strongly worded letter asking the man if the name Gellert Grindelwald rang any bells, but she always stayed her hand when she remembered the precarious ledge on which she was perched.

It had only been three weeks after the fall of Voldemort that she and Draco had received Ministry-issued owls at the manor over afternoon tea, alerting them to the setting of their trials.

Trials. The word had cast a dreadful haze over them once more, and Hermione and Draco had found solace in each other—relearning and healing—as they worked to restore the Malfoy family home. Hermione had tried to convince him to retain most of the home, but in the end only the facade and a handful of rooms weren't razed. They'd been enjoying a quiet morning before more work when the owls had arrived.

And now, all these months later, they'd done themselves up in society-approved finery to await their charges before some of the very individuals they'd defeated the Dark Lord with.

"They were to have called us in fifteen minutes ago," Draco muttered, his dragonhide boots clicking on the worn floor. His brow was drawn taut, and all she could sense from him was an unending wave of anxiety. No matter how she tried to soothe him, the feelings ratcheted up by the minute.

Pursing her lips, Hermione eased out of her recline against the wall, fingers fluttering over her stomach as she straightened her skirt with a grimace. She still didn't feel comfortable in the restricting clothing she had to wear when out. It was all politics, Theo had told them, and he was far better at playing the game than either she or Draco. Nevermind that the cloying material on her legs reminded her of the binds that had held her against Crabbe's table. "I'm sure it's only a matter of time. You remember what Theo said—"

"The longer they make us wait, the more likely any ruling will bend in our favour, I know," he muttered, running a rough hand through his hair as he wrapped his arm around her abdomen in an absent embrace, seeking comfort from her. "I just… the longer we wait, the more I'm able to think."

She nodded her agreement, trying to cling to the promise that Narcissa had made her.

"Miss Gra—" The Auror cleared his throat, eyes quickly darting away at his indiscretion. "Mister and Missus Malfoy, you may enter the chamber. The Wizengamot has reached a decision. There will be no talking permitted upon admittance; the verdict will be announced, after which you will be instructed of the procedures to which you will comply."

Straightening, Hermione reached for Draco's hand, closing the distance between them as they approached the door.

Whatever happened, they'd face it together.

The chambers were cold, but not nearly as bad as they might have once been. Hermione had spent the last days recalling Harry's tale of his trial in fifth year, of the Dementors circling overhead. Now, where they once were was a swooping golden phoenix, the bulk of it erupting in ashes when it reached the apex of its arc. Pretentious and ostentatious, just as Kingsley had grown since the war, even in his fair dispatching of punishments for the offender.

The sight seemed to promise justice and retribution, and Hermione couldn't quell the frisson of fear that speared through her. Her hand spasmed in Draco's, and he squeezed it in response.

It'll be okay.

Her mind raced, barely registering Draco's reassurance, but a second thought echoed through her mind.

We'll figure it out. Together.

Her skirts swished around her ankles, the sound amplified by the nerves that rioted in her chest. Fifteen steps, twenty, fifty until they made it to the centre of the chamber and turned to face the Wizengamot.

Twenty witches and wizards stared back at her, not even half the number there had been before the war. They all appeared so young, the plum-coloured robes they were dressed in seeming to swallow their frames even with their impeccable tailoring.

Perhaps it was the weight of the responsibility, of being charged with levying convictions against their friends, their families.

Hermione found she didn't have much sympathy for their lot.

Kingsley sat atop the bench in the centre of the wings, his chair facing down at them. Glasses perched on the end of his nose, but they did nothing to hide the long, pale square bisecting his eyelid or the milky-white orb that stared sightlessly beneath it. Regally raising his hand, all discussion stopped on the wings, and the members faced them, faces impassive.

"Missus Hermione Jean Malfoy. Mister Draco Lucius Malfoy. You have been brought before the Wizengamot on a laundry list of charges for your actions during the second wizarding war, including but not limited to murder and use of an Unforgiveable." The man leaned back in his chair, consternation pinching his brows together. "You both waived your right to counsel, choosing instead to submit your memories as evidence and defense. Is that correct?"

Lips pulling into a taut line, Hermione nodded, watching Draco jerk his head in a stiff acknowledgement from the corner of her eye.

Silence answered their nods. Finally Kingsley removed his glasses, rubbing at his ruined eye with a harsh sigh. "If I may be frank?" No one moved to stop him, so he leaned forward, staring intently between the two of them. "Without your assistance, the war would have been lost."

The admission rocked Hermione; she hadn't expected him to acknowledge any positivity in her role in the war, but she inclined her head, accepting the olive branch he was offering.

Sympathy delivered, Kingsley sobered, gaze flickering between Hermione and Draco. "However, I can't allow the two of you to leave this war without punishment. Regardless of how much you helped, you also hurt the wizarding world. People died because of you—and not just Voldemort's followers. Order members. Civilians." He heaved a harsh breath before he delivered the final blow. "Harry Potter."

Closing her eyes, Hermione forced lungfuls of stale, damp air into her lungs, trying to keep her tears at bay. Distantly, she was aware that Kingsley was addressing Draco, and after calming the impending anxiety attack she felt rising in her, she opened her eyes.

"—and while it is the impression of some in the wizarding world that you both acted under duress, others—and particularly those who lost family or property at your hand—have demanded swift and harsh judgement," Kingsley droned, staring at them both with a frown. "However, the Wizengamot, having reviewed your memories countless times and based on testimonials from others who were present when most of these actions occurred, believes that leniency is not out of the question."

Hermione focused on the clock ticking each minute by, praying the last tick wouldn't be the last of her freedom, and then Draco was dragging her forward, hand clenched tightly in his as they approached Kingsley.

The Wizengamot rose as one, their robes a stark contrast to the dark room, and Hermione sucked in a deep breath, allowing it to inflate her chest while she waited.

"Mister and Missus Malfoy," Kingsley began, "the Wizengamot finds you guilty for the use of Unforgivables, by which you facilitated the deaths of Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, and various witches and wizards unknown." His voice was somber, expression unwavering. "In lieu of imprisonment in Azkaban, you are to submit your wands for destruction by Fiendfyre and will be barred from magic outside the grounds of Malfoy Manor for a period of no more than five years."

The breath left Hermione's lungs in a choked gasp.

They wouldn't be going to prison. They'd be free.

They could live.

"However." Kingsley raised his voice. "The horror that you have committed is not who you are." He paused, fingers steepling beneath his chin as some of his distrust seeped into his words. "Furthermore, it is of the determination by top healers that magical populations are quite depleted. The Ministry is willing to vacate the charges."

Draco sucked in a harsh breath, but the sound wasn't loud enough to drown out Kingsley's final declaration. "Should you provide monetary compensation pursuant to the amount determined by the Ministry and provide evidence of a Malfoy heir within six months of your trial date."

There it was. There had been rumors, just little snippets that had floated around Diagon Alley, whispered to others over beers in the Leaky. But now… now the proof was in the pudding.

With one last squeeze of Draco's hand, Hermione stepped forwards, motioning to Minister Shacklebolt as the Auror in the corner of the room unholstered his wand. "If I may speak, Minister?"

Staying the Auror with a severe frown, Kingsley met her eyes, a slight twinkle in his own as he answered, "The floor is yours, Missus Malfoy."

A sharp smile spread over her face. "Thank you, Mister Shacklebolt." She allowed her eyes to travel over the faces of each of the Wizengamot members, their expressions a mix between guarded and morbid curiosity. Gesturing Draco forward, she clasped one hand in his and settled the other on her stomach as she cancelled the concealing charm and revealed its slight swell. "I am pleased to inform the Wizengamot that we are expecting a child within the year."

The only sign of shock Kingsley offered was a quick flick of his brow.

Hermione stepped back, her grip fierce on Draco's arm. She was sure she was pressing half-moons into his skin from her nails, but she couldn't allow herself otherwise when her heart was trying to wrench its way out of her chest.

Finally, Kingsley leaned back, his face an unreadable mask. "It's decided, then." He lifted his wand, aiming it at a piece of parchment on the lectern before him. "On the counts of murder by use of Unforgiveable, possession of illegal dark artifacts, and inciting war, you are both found guilty. Upon paternity tests to validate the paternity of the child—"

Draco scoffed under his breath, and Kings paused, staring down at him with tight lips as the Wizengamot broke into fierce whispers around him.

When silence settled, Kingsley continued. "You are to have your wands placed under the Trace, and should any sign of dark magic be detected, this leniency will be revoked."

Draco muttered something like agreement, but Hermione turned him, Kingsley's dismissal evident in the words. "Thank you, Minister. We'll await the reparations appointment."

Tilting her chin up proudly, Hermione slipped her hand through Draco's awaiting arm, stalking toward the door when Kingsley cleared his throat, calling her name.

"Yes, Minister?" She arched a brow, waiting for his declaration.

A beat passed between them, and Hermione felt a Tace settle in place over them, an oily feeling that washed over their skin, settled on her very magic, and she knew. This uneasy alliance with the survivors of the war, with the Ministry, wouldn't last. They'd always suspect them, always watch them for one misstep. It seemed some things never changed.

He cleared his throat again, offering a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach his suspicious gaze. "Congratulations. On your pregnancy."

Summoning one last flicker of her magic before she closed the distance to the door, Hermione nodded once, clipped and cool, coiling black tendrils wrapping around herself and Draco as they disappeared from the chambers.

Anger was better than tears.

Better than grief.

Better than guilt.

fin

Thank you so much for following me on this journey! I'm incredibly proud of this fic and I'm so grateful that you took the time to read through my nonsense and leave such lovely reviews! It's crazy that we've come to the end of this. At some points, it never seemed possible lol and I have some one shots from the universe that I'd like to get into, but those will come later! To my alphas: msmerlin had to step down about a third of the way through, but I appreciate her time and assistance as she always helped me turn things on its head when I was stuck! Without LadyKenz347, this story would not exist. Literally. lol I almost trashed it, but then she offered her help and has been with me every step of the way. Through this journey, she has become one of my dearest friends. To my beta, tofadeawayagain: You are incredible! You never failed to give me invaluable feedback, made me a stronger writer, and also picked me up when I was down. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Until next time, my friends! Be well.