Hermione barely slept at all that night, tossing and turning, reliving everything she'd seen in Narcissa Malfoy's memories. She wondered if Narcissa spent most of her nights as troubled as she was right now, haunted by those scenes from her past.
As Hermione drifted in and out of restless sleep, there was one overlying question nagging at her brain. Would she become Draco Malfoy's Defense Inquisitor?
Technically speaking, she still was his Ministry-appointed Inquisitor because Shacklebolt hadn't formally dismissed her from the case.
However, she remembered how adamantly she'd decided that she couldn't represent Draco Malfoy after her first meeting with him. Did she really want to put herself through such a horrible ordeal?
She also recalled how insistent Draco Malfoy had been about not wanting her to be his Inquisitor either. Narcissa claimed he'd changed his mind, but Hermione wasn't convinced.
Hermione thought back to the original reason she had become an Inquisitor—to help the defenseless. Although that wasn't exactly the word she would use to describe Draco Malfoy, she did realize that she was probably his only shot at a fair trial.
Yesterday, she had been more worried about the possibility of Malfoy using sneaky techniques to be pardoned. She hadn't really worried about him being unjustly convicted, believing him to be one hundred percent guilty. But now . . . the memories she'd seen jumbled in her mind until she could make no sense of them.
She thought back to all the cases she'd taken on since becoming an Inquisitor. While the majority of those she defended were guilty and deserving of a life sentence in Azkaban, Hermione had been relieved to find that there were a few Death Eaters who'd been threatened, blackmailed, or Imperiused into Voldemort's service.
She was grateful for those cases, rare as they were. Without them, she didn't think she'd be able to survive the countless hours doing what she did—trying to defend coldblooded killers who threw slurs at her while she attempted to work with them.
But just where did Draco Malfoy fit in? Who was he, really? The innocent boy she'd seen playing in the yard? The arrogant brat she'd seen at the dinner table? The conflicted teenager at the Quidditch World Cup? The hard young man she'd seen talking to his mother in his bedroom? Or the frightened one she'd seen that night at the Manor?
For as long as she'd known Draco Malfoy, he'd always been so unpleasant. Hermione wondered now if it was because he had some foresight that the life he'd chosen, the life his family had chosen, would lead him to where he was today—a cold cell in Azkaban, possibly forever.
As the first rays of sunlight peeked through her window, Hermione dragged her exhausted body out of bed. She mulled over what she should do all through her shower and after as she dried her hair and applied her light makeup.
Peering back at her tired face in the mirror, she was pleased to see her normal mess of curls back in their rightful place after succumbing to a half a bottle of Sleekeazy yesterday. Although she used to hate her hair, she appreciated it now. It was part of her. Without it, she didn't feel like herself.
As she stared back at the image she knew so well, she made her decision. Hermione Granger didn't take the easy way out. She didn't back down from a challenge, and she certainly didn't give up on someone who might be in need—no matter how undeserving he may be.
And so, as she Flooed to her office that morning, her mind was made up. She would take on Draco Malfoy's case, because if she didn't, her mind would never let her rest. She only hoped she wouldn't regret it.
***
Later that morning, Hermione once again found herself seated in the familiar meeting room of Azkaban, waiting on Draco Malfoy's arrival.
First thing that morning, she'd reviewed his file again and come up with a tentative plan for pursuing his defense—provided he cooperated with her, of course.
Hermione half-expected Narcissa to come to her office again and demand an answer about whether she would take on her son's case. However, she'd never shown up. Part of Hermione was disappointed because she wanted to ask Narcissa specifically about what the rest of the last memory contained, and what made it important enough for Narcissa to share it with her.
Although she was curious, Hermione still didn't feel like she had the courage to go into that memory again and see for herself.
Draco Malfoy opened the door across from her. Surprise flashed across his face, quickly masked with bored indifference.
"Back again, Granger?" He sank into the chair facing her. "Didn't have enough of my company yesterday?"
"Trust me," she said, "I've had enough of your company to last a lifetime. However, I had a visit from your mother."
Draco rubbed his brow and groaned. "What did she say to you?"
"Not much," Hermione answered honestly but decided not to tell him about the memories Narcissa had shared. She imagined Draco wouldn't be happy knowing everything she'd seen from his life. Hermione didn't even like that she'd seen what she had—it felt invasive. She didn't want to know Draco Malfoy that intimately, especially not against his will. "But she did explain to me about your family's situation . . . with the Ministry . . . and how you aren't likely to get a fair trial with another Inquisitor."
Draco scowled deeply. "So, you came back because your Gryffindor compassion wouldn't let you sleep at night if you turned me away. I don't need your pity, Granger!"
"I don't pity you, Malfoy." Hermione sighed. "To be perfectly honest, I think you probably deserve whatever is coming to you. But . . . I take my job seriously, and I was specifically requested by the Minister of Magic to handle your case to avoid more corruption in the system. That is something I feel very strongly about, and I think everyone deserves a fair trial. So, I promise to treat you impartially—despite our past—just like any of my other clients . . . if you'll let me."
Draco eyed her critically, as if mulling over her words. Just when Hermione felt she was going to cringe under his icy gaze, he sighed. "Fine. But let's get one thing straight—I don't trust you. My mother seems to think you're the only option, but if it were up to me, I wouldn't be agreeing to this." He crossed his arms as if he were hugely inconvenienced.
"Listen, Malfoy!" Hermione hissed, feeling her anger rise. "Don't act like you're doing me some huge favor by 'letting me' represent you." She gestured towards the door behind him. "There are dozens of prisoners in there who've been waiting just as long as you to stand trial with no one to take their case. You step one toe out of line—like your little tirade yesterday—and I will gladly end this to help someone else. Got it?"
Draco didn't say anything but raised his jaw as he glared back at her.
Hermione took his silence as defeat and looked down at her papers. "Let me start by going over your charges with you."
"Wonderful," Draco muttered, shifting in his seat.
"This is what we are dealing with," she said, placing a sheet of parchment before him on the desk. His eyes flashed upward in surprise when she said the word 'we.'
Hermione tapped her finger on the paper. "The use of Unforgivables are going to give us a lot of trouble . . . but we'll get to that. The conspiracy to murder will probably be the crux of the case. Although Snape was the one to kill Dumbledore, the fact that you essentially orchestrated the events means the Prosecution is going to try to hold you accountable. It will also be messy because you let Death Eaters into the school, and Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley became victims of your . . . attempts."
"I'm aware of what I've done, Granger!" Draco pushed the paper toward her. "You don't need to try to sugarcoat it."
Hermione was pretty sure he was conspiring her murder right then. She cleared her throat. "Right. Well, I suggest we work backward. Take care of the lighter charges first . . . Aiding and abetting kidnapping—that will be Griphook, Luna Lovegood, and Garrick Ollivander. What can you tell me about your involvement with their abductions and your association with them at the Manor?"
Draco opened his mouth, then closed it again and averted his eyes while running a hand through his hair. Hermione watched his odd actions, quill poised over her parchment. When he still didn't speak, she prodded him gently. "Well?"
He slammed a fist on the table. "I don't want to talk about this with you!" Now it was her turn to be speechless.
Draco dragged the palms of his hands down his face before bringing them together under his chin. "It's just . . . you're . . . you don't—you're Hermione-perfect-Granger! You don't belong here." He swept his hand across the room and looked away.
"Malfoy . . . Draco." She surprised herself by saying his name gently, and his stare shot back to hers. "I've been doing this for almost a year. I've seen and heard just about anything you can imagine. And"—she pushed her hair aside, revealing a long scar running down the side of her neck to her collarbone—"I've faced worse. I'm not going to break."
Draco stared transfixed at her scar, swallowing hard, perhaps remembering when Bellatrix had given it to her. Finally, he shifted his gaze. "I was at Hogwarts when Death Eaters brought the three of them to the Manor, so I had nothing to do with their abductions. But when I was home over the holidays, I was ordered to check on them and bring them food in the cellar."
Hermione made notes on her parchment. "Did you ever hurt them?"
"No."
"I'll contact them. See if they'll be willing to testify." Hermione reviewed Draco's charges. "What about the uses of the Cruciatus?"
Draco sighed. "Hawthorn Rowle and Antonin Dolohov. Both convicted Death Eaters—in here now. Voldemort made me torture them after they failed to capture Potter in London."
"If they've been convicted, I don't think they'll be testifying against you."
Draco nodded grimly.
Hermione looked up from her notes. "When you say . . . Voldemort made you torture them, what do you mean, exactly?"
"He didn't Imperio me into it if that's what you're wondering," he said flatly.
"No . . . I mean, did you have a choice?"
"There was always a choice, Granger. It was simple—do what he said or be killed."
"Did you want to do it? Did you enjoy torturing people?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
Draco was silent for a long time as he stared off into the distance, and Hermione dreaded his answer.
"I thought I would . . . before," he finally said, still not looking at her. "When my father talked about it, he made it sound so great. 'The power you'll feel,' he'd say. But no . . ." He turned his stormy eyes to hers and practically spat the next words. "I didn't enjoy it. I hated it."
Hermione swallowed but was relieved by the sincerity she heard in his voice. "I'll need to validate your statement through your memories."
Her quill scratching on parchment was the only sound in the room until Draco spoke again. "Tell me, Granger, do you fear death?"
She looked up, surprised. His words almost sounded like a threat, but she didn't see malice in his eyes.
"I-I suppose," she said, "to some extent. I mean, doesn't everyone?"
He shook his head. "You're good. You fear the unknown, not death itself. The evil . . . we fear death because there is no unknown. We know exactly what's waiting for us."
Hermione inclined her head, regarding him carefully as his strange words sank in. Before she could stop herself, she asked quietly, "Are you evil, Draco Malfoy?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Don't you know?"
"No."
An uncomfortable silence engulfed the room as they stared at each other questioningly.
Finally, Draco sighed. "Are we done here?"
"Yes, for today . . ." Hermione began packing up her paperwork, surprised that Draco remained seated, watching her. She expected him to bolt for the door after being dismissed from their awkward conversation.
"Your hair's back."
"What?" Puzzled, Hermione looked up from her paper shuffling.
"Your hair." Draco gestured wildly around his own head. "It's normal again. It was different yesterday."
"Oh, uh, I usually straighten it on days I have court. To look more professional. It's stupid, but . . ." She went back to sorting through her documents.
"Well, I prefer it like this," Draco said, placing his thumb to his chin.
She shot him a murderous look. "I don't really care what you prefer, Malfoy!"
Who does he think he is?
He smirked, as if entertained by her defensiveness. "I just meant because it suits you this way. You look more like you."
His explanation only served to irritate her more. Not because of what he said, but because it was so close to what she had thought about herself that morning. The idea of having a similar thought as Draco Malfoy was disturbing.
"Just be quiet!" She shoved her paperwork in her briefcase and slammed it shut. "The Ministry isn't paying me to talk to you about my hair."
Draco raised both eyebrows, but surprisingly, complied. He eased himself out of his chair and headed for the door. He knocked on it once to notify the guard that he was ready to leave. "See you tomorrow, Granger," he said before disappearing.
***
A/N: So what did you think of their second meeting? Thank you for all your comments and votes. I love them as much as the Malfoys love insulting people (so, a lot).
A 4-chapter sample of Desperate Forest is now live on my website! Take a peek at CeceLouise.com/desperate-forest-sample/