In the Arms of the Enemy

Beep beep beep...

A hand shot out from under the covers, slapping the alarm wildly until it found the snooze button and the alarm seized.

Hermione stretched her limbs, grunting loudly. As she readied herself to crawl out of bed, her mind couldn't help but wander to Ron, her soon to be ex-husband, and the love she still unwillingly held in her heart for that man. It had been fourteen months since she's heard from him; but according to her sister-in-law and best friend, Ginny, he was somewhere in the Italian countryside with his secretary/girlfriend. All the better, as today was her court date to finalize the divorce. Since he hadn't attempted to contact her in over a year, under the abandonment law she could go to court alone and not have to go through all the pain of seeing him moved on.

She put her thoughts to the back of her mind as she slinked out of bed and walked over to open the curtains to admire the view out of her new London flat. Her eyes watered at the sudden change of lighting and the place flooded with early morning sunrise. After her eyes adjusted, she looked out the window to watch the muggles scurrying about the streets. Something about city living was comforting to Hermione. She loved the constant hum of the lights, the 'Bong' of Big Ben in the distance, and the sound of the cars moving along the streets. Living amongst muggles didn't bother her, seeing as how her parents weren't magical; it was how the first eleven years of her life were spent. Hermione glanced at the alarm as it started buzzing again, and realized she needed to kick it into gear if she wanted to be in court on time. She turned the alarm clock off and jumped in the shower.

Hermione made sure to secure her unruly hair into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and flawlessly painted her face before wandering into her large walk-in closet to grab her pencil skirt, blush satin top, and fitted blazer. She wanted to look put together knowing that there would be reporters for the Daily Prophet wanting to get the story. Nine years after the defeat of Voldemort, paparazzi were still following the 'golden trio' and sporadically updating the public on their personal lives; she was sure this would make the front page. She stood in front of her shoe rack wondering what shoes would match best, and she smiled as she remembered the email her mother had sent days before with a link to the video of 'These Boots are Made for Walking". She grabbed her knee-highs that said 'I'm in power' and disapparated out.

**************

As predicted, leaving the courthouse proved to be difficult. The flash of cameras began the second she opened the front doors and microphones were almost immediately shoved into her face.

"Hermione, why are you filing for divorce?"

"Hermione, is it true that Ron cheated?"

"Hermione, what will happen to your friendship with Harry Potter now that you aren't married to his best friend?"

She did her best to keep a confident smile on her face, and tried to face the crowd. Even though she felt betrayed and crushed by Ron, she refused to drag his name through the mud; he did that well enough by himself.

"I am pushing to strive as my own individual and for the most part, succeeding in doing so. This is a very personal matter and I would ask to be respected during this time. Thank you."

Hermione could hear them screaming her name with more questions as she moved away from the group toward the alleyway. She knew she was vague and gave them more questions than answers, but she couldn't keep up the façade of confidence any longer. Her relationship was officially over.

With a few stray tears already streaking down her cheeks, she quickly turned into the alleyway and apparated home. She immediately flung herself onto her bed and began sobbing.

She couldn't wait to get back to work. Where there is work to be done, there is no room for frivolous thoughts of a certain Ronald Weasley or true love. She had noticed when she first popped in that she had left the window open, and a ministry owl must have delivered new files for her on her dining room table. She decided to start familiarizing herself with them to get her mind off her current predicament.

After the war, Hermione decided to start a movement to produce a probation/parole program for dark wizards who were deservedly sent to Azkaban, but didn't deserve to die there. The Minister backed her up completely and soon enough, a new wing of the ministry had been constructed and seven witches and wizards were in charge of maintaining and supervising recently released inmates to make sure they stayed on the right path after there incarceration. Hermione had jumped at the opportunity to become one of those people to help out a lost soul. She had always felt a little sympathetic and open hearted to someone asking for a second chance at life.

She already had nine parolees under her guardianship and was looking at four more files on her table. She started skimming through the files to see if she recognized any names when she came across the one name she was praying for nine years wouldn't wind up on her desk.

"Bloody hell."

*************

A large stone building without windows stood in the middle of a black, murky ocean that always seemed to be storming.

Draco stared at the same grey blank stone walls that he had been staring at for the last nine years, but today was different; today was his hearing for parole. He'd spent every day since the fall of the Dark Lord locked up in Azkaban for the crimes he committed before and during the war. He wasn't sentenced to spend a lifetime behind these unbearable walls, unlike his father. He had true remorse for his actions, and wouldn't have become a death eater at all if he hadn't been pressured by his family to do so.

Even though he didn't want to commit his crimes, and only did so to save his mothers life, and keep his family safe from the wrath of the Dark Lord, Draco knew that it was fair of Minister Shaklebolt to sentence him to Azkaban for a period of time. He had spent nine years listening to the muffled sounds of crazed ramblings from other prisoners through the walls.

He had heard stories about this place, but nothing prepared him for the constant somber and depressing atmosphere that clung like wet, sticky blood onto the walls. These walls, these bloody walls that, if everything went well, he would never have to look at again.

He heard a booming voice in his head. "The Minister of Magic requests your presence for your upcoming hearing."

Suddenly, he felt a pull from within and knew he was being sent to plead his case in front of the parole board. He closed his eyes to avoid the nausea he usually associated with this form of travel.

When he opened them, Draco found himself standing in a cage hanging from the middle of a plain, white room. In front of him were five wizards, all of which he had known personally during his fathers reign at Malfoy Manor. His father had always prided himself on being what he considered 'top society', and his mother had frequently thrown large and over-the-top dinner parties to secure the family's ranking. But today, these eyes had nothing but disappointment behind them. Draco started speaking before they could have the chance to express their dissatisfaction.

"You have all seen me; you have all thought you knew me. What you saw in the past was a frightened little boy trying to do best by his father's standards, which were greatly exaggerated and could never be met. I fought in the war, the same as any of you. The only difference is that I fought on the wrong side. I know it now just the same as I knew it then. I could not stand up to my father, I could not stand up to Voldemort, and I could not stand up to the pressure that was being thrust upon my chest by the two. I was afraid for not only my own life, but my dear mother's as well, and did what any scared and abused young boy would think to do.

"I stand in front of you no longer a young boy, but a man who has witnessed and felt more death than I care to explain. While my actions were sordid, I would like to point out that I have never actually used the most unforgivable of curses. I fought. I fought hard for my life, my name, and for my father's unattainable love. But I never killed a single soul in order to do it. I was given the chance to on many occasions, but couldn't bring myself to say the words.

"I stand here today, pieces of a man; but I like to think the best pieces that I harbored so deep in my soul to keep concealed are the ones that remain. I want to put myself back together, I need to put myself back together with all the best parts of me no longer obscured but up front and center. I want to start my life over without the resentment that was drilled into me since birth. I want to find and obtain peace with my past, all aspects of it," Draco finished.

The board sat, staring at Draco, unable to process what they had just heard. Draco fought back the tear that was threatening to slide down his face as he watched the board gather themselves and begin whispering to one another. By the look on their faces, Draco was almost certain that he would be put back behind those rancid stone walls. They didn't believe him. They didn't believe.

As Draco dropped his head in defeat, the eldest wizard on the board, Mathew Cormac cleared his throat. Draco picked up his chin; if he was going back, he would do it with grace. He would not be the coward he knew his father was.

"We the board of parole for witchcraft and wizardry offenders, find you, Draco Malfoy, to no longer be considered a danger to our society. Congratulations" Cormac completed with a large, loud stamp onto Draco's file. Draco could read the red lettering from his cage, 'Approved', and he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, only to realize he had been holding onto it for the past nine years. Cormac snapped his fingers and Draco felt that pull again.

**************

Draco found himself standing in his old bedroom. His familiar four-poster bed rested in the middle of the room, his black and green Slytherin poster hung proudly on the east wall while the west wall was plastered from floor to ceiling with photos from his school years. Obviously his mother hadn't changed a thing, and he wondered if she had been sleeping in here, since the bed looked more worn than when he left. He grieved for his mother. The love of her life sent to rot in Azkaban for the remainder of his life, her only son sent to the same prison for trying to please her husband to a fault. His mother was a good woman; her only imperfection was loving a man that could never truly keep her safe. Draco remembered overhearing his parents fight when he was home for the summer after his fourth year at Hogwarts.

Draco was leaning against his bedroom wall, not wanting to, but not having any other choice but to listen to his parents arguing. He could hear his mother begging and pleading with his father to take her and Draco into hiding after the Dark Lord had risen again. Lucius took great offence, and slapped her hard across the mouth before the words were even completely out. "How dare you!" Lucius screamed, "Our lives will never be what we need them to be without the Dark Lord!"

Lucius grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to look up at him "May you never have the Dark Lord try to read your thoughts of betrayal or so help us, we will all be dead."

Shaking off the memory, Draco turned his attention to his west wall and his collage of pictures. He remembered taking every one of them and missed his friends terribly. Some of them happened to reside in Azkaban while he was there, though he never did have any contact with anybody. Some of his friends moved on after the war, went back to school to finish their education and retained jobs within the muggle or magical worlds. While he was looking fondly at a picture of himself next to his old flame, Pansy, he heard a voice interrupting his thoughts.

"Draco?! Draco, is that you?!" Narcissa screamed as she burst through the double French doors that opened to his room.

"Yes mother, I am finally home."