The Gallows Chapter 3

Through the roar of the crowd, Hermione could have sworn she heard a sharp gasp. But she did not turn to the wizard behind her, merely met Kingsley’s horrified gaze.

“Miss Granger,” a member of the Wizengamot began, “you cannot—”

“Under section 2.b of Fair Trials for Fair Wizards the Gallows Law states that any unmarried pureblood with no heirs may be pardoned from execution if a witch may step forward to take them as their groom.”

Another murmur ran through the crowd but she did not flinch, did not sway from Kingsley’s gaze even as other members of the court began to speak.

“I’ll say it again just to be sure everyone heard me,” Hermione interrupted. “I, Hermione Jean Granger, invoke the Gallows Law and will wed this wizard, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Therefore, he must be pardoned.”

Kingsley shifted uncomfortably, scanning the room around her, the furrow between his brows deep enough to store a galleon. “We are aware of the law, Miss Granger.”

Her brows ticked up in mock innocence. “Oh, good. So, then you should release my future lord husband at once so we can be bonded.”

With a step to the side, she gestured towards the cage, but she still could not look at Malfoy. She knew it was cowardice — if she had her way in a few minutes they would be face to face and bound in magic, but for now she would hold on to her fear. It was Harry’s eye she caught however. Harry who stood in the aisle as if he had made to grab her, then frozen at her pronouncement.

He did not look angry, as she had assumed. The light brown skin of his cheeks was pallid, a stark contrast to the lightning scar barely visible through his messy fringe. And as their eyes met, he strode forward. Hermione tensed, wondering if Harry would pull her bodily from the room, but he only stood beside her, a hand over the wand in his holster, scanning the room as Kingsley had.

Order was called no less than seven times before silence fell, finally from a well-placed charm wielded by Percy Weasley. Most members of the Wizengamot stared upon Hermione in horror, as if she had performed the cruciatus curse on the Minister rather than invoked an ancient law to pardon an innocent man.  

“We will need to discuss—” Kingsley started.

“No need, Minister. I’m sure Mr. Weasley can agree that once this law is invoked, it pardons all prosecutions, trials, and accusations.” She smiled sweetly up at Percy who was flicking his wand through a summoned stack of parchments, his finger sliding down the pages until his eyes widened.

“Miss Granger is correct, Minister,” Percy said, a slight wobble in his tone.

Kingsley sighed heavily, his head dropping a fraction. Of course, he already knew and part of Hermione felt sorry for him. A discussion would have allowed his Wizengamot to air their grievances but it would have also given them time to find a potential to work around. Something Malfoy could not afford.

Finally, the Minister for Magic nodded, rapping his knuckles twice upon his desk before flicking his wand. Chains rattled, another sharp intake of breath sliced through her ears, but still, she did not turn.

“By invocation of the Gallows Law, Draco Lucius Malfoy has been pardoned of all charges and will be handed over to the care and protection of his lady wife, Hermione Jean Granger.” A riptide of murmurs swam through the room and Kingsley raised his voice. “Miss Granger, a bonder will be summoned and the ceremony will be performed before Mr. M—”

“Lord Malfoy,” Hermione corrected, brows raised in challenge. If Malfoy was to be pardoned as the law stated, his titles, assets, and estate would be returned to him.

“Lord Malfoy,” Kingsley acquiesced, “is released into your care.”

A hand wrapped around her elbow. “Come on, Mione, before the rest of the crowd is released.”

She allowed Harry to tug her from the room quickly, but as her foot left the dais, she turned to find gray eyes boring into hers. Malfoy’s face was slack, but not with the apathy she had seen before. That was shock written across his pallid features, his hands — unchained — loose and trembling at his sides, chest heaving with rapid breaths.

And she wondered if she had made a grave mistake.

…

The room Harry ushered her into was quiet, save for the ticking of a clock and the patronus he cast to inform Kingsley where they were. It was a plain Ministry meeting room with a few tables and chairs complete with an enchanted window of the spring rain falling outside. With the click of the door Hermione’s hands began to shake. After the whispered colloportus her pulse roared so loudly in her ears she wondered if a heart could burst — just explode in someone’s chest.

“Hermione…” Harry murmured, hands curling over her shoulders.

“What have I done?” Hermione whimpered, gripping the front of Harry’s robes. His face swam in and out of her vision, a soft hiccup escaping her lips. “Oh Godric, Harry — what have I done?”

Harry shushed her, tucking her head beneath his chin and swaying softly. He was the closest thing she had to family now save Ron and the rest of the Weasleys, since her own had been obliviated and left blissfully unaware of their daughter half a world away.  

“Well… it seems that you’re becoming the new Lady Malfoy because you can’t leave well enough alone.” Harry drew back to look her in the eye. “I hope you know I’m your best man, not Ron.”

This time her hiccup was less of a sob as Hermione brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Merlin, Lady Malfoy, what was I thinking?”

Harry’s laugh was low and though she knew it was at the unfathomable circumstance she had found herself in, still his laugh was something like a gift. That Harry could lose so much and still find humor, even if it was at her, felt like a miracle.

“For once, I don’t think you were.”

She groaned, thumping her forehead against his chest. “I think you’re right. I just — I couldn’t bear to let them kill him. It wasn’t…”

“It wasn’t right,” Harry agreed softly.

A heavy knock sounded on the door and Hermione stiffened, heart racing madly.

“Oi, open up,” Ron called.

Harry flicked his wand and the door opened with a slam against the opposite wall before Ron blazed into the room, Ginny on his heels.

“Gin, what are you—” Hermione started, wide eyed.

“You really think I would abandon you on your wedding day?” The redhead rolled her eyes, reaching into the bag Hermione gifted her a few Christmases ago until only her shoulder remained.

But Hermione could only stare at Ron, whose hands were outstretched to receive the items his sister pulled from her bag: a hair comb, a bottle of mouth freshening potion, a pair of heels Hermione purchased on a whim and never wore.

“Are you…” she began, only for panic to grip her throat.

Ron blinked. “Angry at you?”

She nodded, hands balling into fists. Ron’s temper had softened with time. But she knew from countless run ins with rogue Voldemort supporters in the field and ignorant wizards they’d encountered at the Leaky that it was still there, just a little harder to provoke. This time, however, Ron only grimaced.

“He’s a git, Hermione but…” He blew out a gust of breath and shook his head. “The bloke doesn’t deserve to die for someone else’s crimes.”

“I’m not sure everyone feels the same judging by the full-scale riot that’s broken out in courtroom ten,” Ginny grumbled before snatching the brush from Ron’s hand and moving towards her.

Hermione blanched, her stomach roiling as Ginny forced bodily her into one of the nearby chairs. The pins holding back her curls were plucked before the brush was pulled rhythmically across her scalp, Hermione wincing every so often as it caught on a snarl.

“Uh… Gin? Is there a reason you’re brushing Hermione’s hair like she’s a show pony?” Harry rumbled, crossing to the door to close it before someone stumbled across them.

“What part of wedding day do you dolts not understand? She can’t get married looking like this!” Ginny gave a vague sweeping gesture to Hermione’s mussed hair and blotchy cheeks. “No offense.”

But Hermione was too panicked to even respond, not when the reality of what she had done crashed over her. She was going to be married to Draco Malfoy in less than an hour and then what?

“Oh, Merlin where are we going to live? Malfoy can’t move into Grimmauld.”

The room fell silent, the four staring at each other in uncertainty. At the end of the war, it had been logical that the three moved into Sirius’ old townhome. When Ginny finished her NEWTs, she’d wanted to escape Molly’s clutches at the Burrow and took up the last inhabitable bedroom. Since the romance between her and Harry had died a few months after the war ended, the four had fallen into a comfortable comradery.

“I could move in with Oliver…” Ron started with a frown.

“You’ve only been dating a few months,” Hermione breathed.

Ron shrugged, but she saw the hesitation in his eyes. No, there was no way Malfoy could move in with them but according to the law husband and wife must cohabitate. Which meant…

“Fuck.” She dropped her head into her hands, ignoring Ginny’s huff of frustration as she worked the curl smoothing potion through her hair. “We’ll have to move into the manor.”

Ron cleared his throat, Harry shifted uncomfortably, and Ginny wrenched Hermione back up into a sitting position.

“Well, at least you’ll finally get to see the largest library in wizarding Britain,” Ginny quipped, working the last of the potion through Hermione’s curls until they waved down her back and flicking her wand towards Hermione’s startled face.

The cooling charm did nothing to staunch the cresting panic, nor did the skin smoothing charm Ginny cast next to rid Hermione of the worst of the blotches. It was Ron, finally, who squatted in front of her, taking her hand in both of his and squeezing lightly.

“You’ve done a bloody brave thing, Mione — a good thing — and you aren’t going into this alone. We’ll be with you every step of the way and if Malfoy isn’t grateful for what you’ve done well then…” He deliberated, shooting a look over his shoulder at Harry who nodded. “Well then he’s a fool.”

Another knock sounded on the door, followed by the low rumbling voice of Kingsley.

“Hermione, Harry, open up.”

She shot to her feet, shooing Ginny away as she tried to encourage her into the heels pulled from the bag. Kingsley was first through the door, face as pale as the night they’d moved Harry to the Burrow before they’d gone on the run. Behind him, Malfoy stepped carefully through the door, gray eyes fixed on hers.

He was taller than she’d realized — taller than Ron even — and for all his sharp angles and willowy frame from an endless starvation, there was still an air of intimidation around him. But the hollows beneath his eyes, the tremble in his left hand, and the wince as the door shut behind him softened any fear of him she might have felt.

“The bonder will be here in a few minutes,” Kingsley explained. “I think it best if we allowed these two a moment alone to… talk.”

Harry turned to Hermione. “Are you all right with that?”

“Of course,” she answered immediately, a surety in her voice she was not positive she truly felt.

The group nodded, filing out the room one by one until Kingsley remained at the threshold. “We will be right outside.”

As the door shut again, she was sure it would be to silence, to her monologuing for another few minutes of all the reasons she’d acted the way she did. But as she opened her mouth to speak, Malfoy’s rasping voice filled the silent room.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Granger?”