Slow Grenade

Chapter Fifty-Two - Year Eight

Eighth Year

Hermione's eyes fluttered open as she slowly took in her surroundings. It had been three months since the Battle of Hogwarts and only recently had she stopped waking up in a cold sweat, heart pounding. Now, she could even escape the nightmares, as long as she didn't sleep alone.

Most nights Hermione would find herself padding silently to Harry's room and he would automatically curl himself around her. She knew it was putting a strain on his and Ginny's newly blossoming relationship, but she didn't know how else to cope. It was difficult going to Ron, she knew he still harboured feelings towards her, and she didn't want to confuse things further.

The three of them, along with Ginny visiting during the day, had been living together at Grimmauld Place all summer, and it had finally started to feel like a home. Hermione found that the physical exertion involved in renovating the old townhouse helped relieve the constant adrenaline swirling around her body. She distracted herself with cleaning, painting, moving furniture; anything that would prevent her from thinking too deeply.

It was with Harry's arms around her that she awoke this particular morning, but something was different. He was already awake and looking at her, his brows furrowed with concern.

"What is it?" she mumbled, voice heavy with sleep.

"I need to talk to you about something," he replied, tightening his grip on her.

"Okay?"

"I've been thinking about it for some time, but I've just received an owl," Harry waved his arm in a vague gesture towards the window, "and I have to make my decision."

Hermione shifted apprehensively. "You're worrying me now."

"It's about the trial," he said, and she froze. "I know, I'm sorry. I wish I didn't have to mention anything but, well, I'd like to testify on behalf of Malfoy and his mother."

Her heart beat erratically at the mention of his name. After Harry and Ron had been accepted onto the Auror training programme, they had kept her up to date on the comings and goings at the Ministry. The Death Eater trials were running surprisingly smoothly, with the majority of sentences involving lengthy stays in Azkaban and generous repatriation donations.

There was one trial, set for a weeks' time, that was highly anticipated by the Wizarding community: Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy. Due to their high profile, many wanted them to suffer more harshly than any other.

Trying to sound indifferent, she shrugged, "He might be a prat, but that doesn't mean he deserves Azkaban."

Hermione could feel Harry visibly relax and he smiled at her. "Thank you, I know this isn't easy for you... I just couldn't live with myself if I didn't tell them that he refused to identify us at the Manor. That his mother pretended I was dead."

"I know," she said softly.

"How are you feeling about..." Harry hesitated, "everything?"

Hermione sighed, it was a difficult question. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt, or what haunted her the most. The violence and torture she had been both witness to and personally experienced was certainly at the forefront of her mind. Equally, she had little respite from the painful emotions surrounding her Obliviated parents and her relationship with Draco.

The times when she ended up alone with her thoughts were the worst. It was this, in part, that had encouraged Hermione to accept her place in the newly created eighth year at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall, now Headmistress, had penned letters to every student in her year offering the chance to complete their N.E.W.T.s.

In the end she said to him, "I'm coping."

Harry nodded. If anyone understood, it was him; she knew he struggled with his own nightmares. Knew he found it difficult to relax and had grown used to the constant fear and anxiety. She wasn't sure whether he really wanted to be an Auror, or if it was a coping mechanism of his own.

The war had broken them all in different ways.

On the day of the Malfoy trial, Hermione told herself that Draco wouldn't want her to attend but, truly, she couldn't face it. She didn't know how she felt about him and the likelihood of an emotional breakdown during such an important event was too much to risk.

However, before Harry could leave Grimmauld Place, she raced down the stairs and caught the sleeve of his robes.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Slightly out of breath she replied, "No, but I couldn't let you leave without... without saying something." She handed him a piece of parchment. "It might help with the testimony."

"Thank you," Harry said softly as he gripped her tightly to his chest.

When he arrived back that evening, Hermione was close to tearing her hair out with anxiety. She all but leapt upon him when he walked through the door, tiredly hanging his robes up.

"What happened?" she questioned, no time for pleasantries.

He shook his head. "Let me get a drink first, at least."

Conjuring two Firewhiskeys, she led him downstairs to the kitchen.

Harry was silent for a long time, taking slow sips from his glass. "It was hard, the Wizengamot's questioning was relentless" he said, finally. "Hermione, he didn't look good."

She felt sick, guilt furled its way around her stomach. "Just tell me, please."

"Lucius has been sentenced to twenty years in Azkaban and a lifetime parole to follow; Narcissa is under house arrest for seven years; and, Draco – " he looked at her, confirming she was ready. "He's to serve a years' probation at Hogwarts, completing his final year. They'll make their final decision after that."

"I guess... I guess it's the best we could hope for?" she whispered.

Harry nodded. "There was an uproar. I think it was our two testimony's that swayed the decision."

"Ron wasn't there?" Hermione asked, confused.

Yet another pause, people were always careful around her these days. "No," Harry said. "He changed his mind. You know he doesn't forgive easily."

"I know."

"So, you and Malfoy, at Hogwarts together this year..."