Breath Mints / Battle Scars

Chapter 42: XLII

February 22nd, 1999

Tepsy is gone before she can get another word out, leaving this thing in her hands.

This thing which feels suddenly a great deal heavier.

"From his mother?" Harry echoes quietly. "But she's on - "

"House arrest." Hermione nods, staring down at the letter. She's hardly conscious of her thumb already breaking through the seal.

"That's...risky. Must be important."

She nods again, but she's not really listening to him. Because what's rolled out of the opening into her palm is distinct and unmistakable. A vial - bearing one small, cloudy wisp. It glows faintly blue against her skin.

A memory.

"Is that-"

She doesn't bother to nod this time, scrambling to yank the letter that came with it free of the envelope. Nearly tears it as she spreads it open on her lap.

Miss Granger,

I've been following the news as closely as I can, though my access is limited. But if what I've read is true, then you are the one defending my son.

We both know the odds are against him. And I know my son. He is against himself. He will not help you.

Even this, which I give you now, may amount to nothing - but I believe they need to see it. You need to see it.

The memory is mine. Please submit it as evidence. Submit it so, at the very least, he knows his mother tried to save him.

Narcissa

Hermione blinks and reads it over again. Wets her dry lips, hand closing around the vial like a final lifeline.

"We have to see what it is," she blurts.

Harry's been trying to read the letter upside down. "We don't have a Pensieve."

"We have to find a way. We've got to-"

"Ladies and gentlemen, please make your way back into the courtroom," calls a member of the Wizengamot. "The trial will resume momentarily."

"Bollocks," mutters Harry, meeting her gaze.

She feels abruptly helpless, and he must see it in her eyes. Some pleading look that begs him to make the decision for her.

"You have to use it."

She swallows thickly. "But I don't know wh-"

"You don't have a choice. You're right, Hermione. Smith dug him a grave in there. And no matter what brilliant defense you lay out, you're in danger. This might tip the scales."

"Please make your way back into the courtroom," says the same man, looking pointedly at the two of them. "The trial will recommence immediately."

She yanks her eyes back to Harry, panicking now. "But - what if...what if it makes it worse?"

"It's his mother, Hermione. Would she risk that?"

"I...I don't..."

"You have to." He takes her hand. Pulls her up to her feet and squeezes once. "You have to."

The vial rests is her blazer pocket as she takes the floor to lay out her defense, a weight as sure and heavy as an anvil.

It's her last resort, she's decided. She'll do what she can to read the room. If she feels they're leaning in his favor, then they'll walk out of this trial together, and she'll lock it away somewhere and never think of it again.