Defending the Dark (Dramione)

Chapter 7: Don't You Know?

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.