Title: The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Suspense, romance, angst
Warnings: Character Death, graphic violence, madness, non-consensual sexual acts, abuse, oral, M/F, and overall darkness. Dark!Harry included.
Summary: DH-EWE: Ten years after the fall of the Dark Lord, Hermione Granger leads of life of self-imposed obscurity, that is, until the day Headmistress Minerva McGonagall is murdered and a certain 'hero' is responsible.
Author's Notes: This fic is in 1st person POV, so take heed. It will eventually be a DM/HG, but there is a squicky scene that might make you think otherwise. There is some non-con in this fic, so if it squicks you, don't read it for Merlin's sake! Comments and ConCrit is welcomed!


NOTE: 'Skye Bulstrode' is a borrowed OC from Gravidy's 'The God of the Lost,' a fic that I really love and would love to see continued. This is my homage.



The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man


Extended Ending

The Empress and the Emperor








My mother hated me for exactly one week after I told her everything that had happened—from the point Harry escaped in February 2008 to the point I said ‘yes’ to marrying Draco Malfoy in November 2008. She was angry because I had not come to Australia after being attacked. She was angry because I had quit my job in the Department of Mysteries and switched careers to possibly the most dangerous job in the Wizarding world.

However, when I told her that the Malfoys and the Grangers were going to meet over dinner two days after Christmas 2008, my mother, Helen Granger, was livid.

“We’re just now going to meet the man you are going to marry, along with his parents?”

My father was bemused. His only complaint was that Draco Malfoy had not done the traditional thing in coming to him to ask for my hand. Other than that, Paris Granger was looking forward to meeting his future in-laws.

“Isn’t Lucius Malfoy the same man we saw in the bookshop with Arthur Weasley?” my father asked, his strange yellow eyes flashing.

I then informed my parents who the Malfoys were. I explained my old prejudices, and my happy realization that the Malfoys were not a family of evil sycophants to Dark Lords. My father shrugged, seemingly indifferent, my mother was nervous.

When the night of the dinner arrived, my parents had been back in London for only a day. It was difficult for them since none of the people they knew, neighbors, friends, would not know the Grangers. Of course, my parents had made a wonderful, new life in Melbourne.

The restaurant was one that Draco had picked. A mixture of Muggle and Magic, not far from the Ministry, the restaurant was quite up-scale, and quite private. Draco, staggering our parents, had also arranged the seating arrangement.

The first half hour, and first two courses were spent in near silence. Neither family seemed to know how to speak to each other. Of course, I knew it was going to be awkward—a Muggle family trying to identify with a Pureblooded Wizarding family. I wondered if just by having the families meet if we were making history.

“Wasn’t it Menelaus who was the father of Hermione?” Narcissa asked.

I glanced to Narcissa who sat at my right. She smiled softly. All through the dinner, it had been Narcissa who had truly tried to make an effort at civility.

“Yes, but Menelaus was not a very ‘British’ name, according to my parents,” my father answered from across the table.

“Paris hates his name, but it is part of the reason I married him,” my mother asserted with an awkward smile.

“A bit fatalistic, but interesting,” Lucius murmured, a wine glass poised in his hand.

I sat very still, staring at Draco who sat between my parents. Draco cocked his head, his mismatched eyes narrowing to stare at my face.

The conversation very much like that from the dream in which Severus saved me.

“I have to apologize, we do not mean to seem so cold, but to be honest, we’ve never really talked with Muggles,” Narcissa began, but stopped, glancing to me. I knew Narcissa was concerned that by calling my parents ‘Muggles’ she had somehow offended them.

“And we are not accustomed to dining with Wizards,” my father added with a smile. “Most of what we know about Wizards is from our daughter.”

Lucius set his wine down. “Your daughter is a fair judge of Wizarding kind. I am sure this is due to the manner in which you raised her.”

It was a compliment, something very rare from Lucius Malfoy. The fact that he willingly sat down with Muggles was a rare thing indeed.

My parents could only smile humbly.

“Hermione tells us that you are a police officer, Draco?” my mother asked, turning the attention to Draco.

From that point on, conversation came easier. There were even a few moments of laughter, Lucius trying not to laugh was what amused me the most.

As I watched the two families, I realized how much times had changed, for the better. With Voldemort gone, Harry gone, perhaps the Wizarding world would learn that the Muggle world had much to teach the close-minded. I knew Lucius would never embrace Muggle culture as Draco had, but the fact Draco Malfoy, the bane of my existence in our schooldays, to love Muggle music and books was something I could have only fantasized about when we were twelve years old. On top of all of that, Draco Malfoy was the man I was going to marry.

I pinched myself under the table until I had a bruise on my thigh.

I knew the Malfoys had made their peace with the fact that Draco wanted to marry me. I had proven myself to the Malfoys, I had shown them that I was not some lesser being by being Muggle. I was strong, I was powerful, and Draco Malfoy loved me.

When dinner ended, Draco was guffawing at something my father had said, and my mother was speaking across the table with Lucius about Muggle dentistry and the difficulty of obtaining the right to practice.

“Things are looking up,” Narcissa whispered to me, her pale eyes moving around the table.

I nodded.

“Lucius did not want to come. There are some prejudices that he will not give up… I just hope that by meeting your parents that prejudice will fade.”

I nodded again.

“You don’t mind that I’m—Muggleborn?”

Narcissa grinned. “No. I do not. Lucius had his reservations, but…”

Narcissa paused as the waiter came to take our dessert dishes away.

“After the Dark Lord, Lucius was desperate to shed anything of that time. He has tried to change his thinking, but after decades of being told that Muggles are inferior, it is hard.

It was hard for me, growing up in the house I did. However, ‘Dromeda and I were different from the rest of the family. My marriage was arranged, and out of duty, I followed my parent’s wishes, as did Bella. ‘Dromeda truly was the free spirit.

When she married Ted Tonks, I lost her. Not because I wanted to, but because my parents and the Malfoy family forbade me to ever associate with her…”

I bit my lip. “But now?”

Narcissa’s face brightened. “Now she Floos me. She sent me pictures of Teddy. I saw her in person the other day in Diagon Alley, and touched her for the first time in years.

I made quite a scene, Narcissa Malfoy crying like a baby against her sister, in front of Teddy no less.”

Narcissa’s eyes moistened, but she smiled all the same. “It is a sin to force families apart.”

My throat closed up at those words, and I looked about the table again. My parents were smiling, Draco was smiling, and even Lucius was smirking. Narcissa grasped my hand under the table and squeezed before letting go, nodding to me.

These people were my family, just as were so many others who were not at the table. Ron, Charlie, all the Weasleys… Harry too, when he had been sane, and whole.

Families evolve. Some die, others are born. I met Draco’s strange eyes and smiled, knowing that tears stood in my eyes.

Out of impossibility, the man across the table was soon to be my family.

My home.










Pansy was two seconds away from having a meltdown, Charming my hair into thick ringlets. Ron had come by twice to tell the bridal party to ‘get our heads out of our arses, the groom is about to begin hexing the guests.’

My mother was standing as still as a statue near me, having exhausted her store of tears, even the ones she was saving for the recessional.

The wedding was being held a Hogwarts, the only place where all the guests could agree to gather. Coming to the decision to have the wedding at Hogwarts had been done hesitantly. Lucius would not allow the Weasleys to come to the Manor, and that had been a major obstacle. Narcissa did not intercede, admitting that she did not ever care for the Weasleys, except Charlie who had always worked well with Draco.

June 24, 2009. It was a date that would have many significances for Draco and I. We wanted forever engrain a happier event upon the calendar on that particular day.

“Last one!” Pansy gasped.

My mother began to fidget, and I could tell she wanted to say something.

“Out with it, Mum, or forever hold your peace,” I teased.

My mother sighed. “I will never understand these things, dear. Aren’t these people Anglican or…something. Our family has been part of the Church of England for ages…”

“Mum!” I gasped. “Say any more and I’ll have to hex you.”

My mother’s eyes widened and her face paled. I knew exactly what she was thinking: I do not know my own daughter any more!

I did not have the time to explain the varying theologies of the Wizarding world. The Malfoys had their own ways, and within ten minutes, I would be a Malfoy.

Pansy had been chuckling all the while.

“You’re not even wearing a proper wedding dress! I can see your breasts!”

I rolled my eyes, turning to look into a full-length mirror. The bridal party had been placed in Professor Sprout’s old office adjoining the greenhouses. The ceremony was to take place just inside the Forbidden Forest, the light streaming through the trees creating a beautiful canopy over the guests, and a small circle birch trees as the place where I would marry.

The dress in question was the dress Narcissa had given me to wear at Beltane, modified slightly so that the swooping collar split, the violet coloured top becoming a halter of sorts, the silver girdle cinching the dress together. The hem was shorter at the bottom.

My mother could see my circular scar, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. However, I thought looked quite beautiful, wild, but beautiful with ringlets piled atop my head so my bare back was exposed. I stood in my bare feet, silver circlets about my ankles and wrists.

“Is there anything else, mum?” I asked in a tired voice, catching her eye in the mirror.

My mother, whom I empathized with, looked away.

“Are you happy, dear?”

I whirled about and went to my mother, taking her up into an embrace, wrinkling her pink dress suit slightly, but not caring.

“Incandescently so. After everything, I would have never thought that one day I would marry,” I whispered. “I did not think I would live to see this day…”

I pulled away, glancing to Pansy who nodded and quietly exited the room.

My mother managed a few more tears. “I know we’ve talked about that, Hermione, and I, for one, am glad that this day has come. I have my reservations, of course, but what mother would not?”

I smiled.

Soon, I ushered my mother out, telling her I wanted a few minutes alone. I counted to twenty and opened the door. Narcissa had been waiting, just as she said she would, and I shut the door behind her.

The first rite of a Malfoy marriage began with the snap of the door.









The wizard who had married Bill and Fleur was our officiate, and Draco and I stood apart as was the custom for the type of marriage to which I was a participant. Beyond the ring of birches, the guests watched.

Hagrid was the most visible, being the largest, standing in the back of the assembly. I saw my parents, Narcissa in the front. Charlie and his girlfriend, a pretty blond witch with brilliant blue eyes. Ron and Pansy, holding hands next to my mother, Arthur, who was allowed to sit on a Conjured stool next to Ron, trying to smile despite the exhausted and drawn pallor of his face, Alex Roux and his wife, Marcus Flint with the widowed Angelina Weasley, Williamson and Kingsley Shacklebolt, Neville and Poppy Pomfrey, Parvati Patil, and so many others I had known in school or from work. They all watched as the ordinary Wizarding rites were read and Draco and I spoke in the correct places.

“As it is custom with the Malfoy family, the assembly will depart while Lord Malfoy finishes the rites,” the old wizard proclaimed.

The assembly had been informed beforehand, and slowly left the trees for the grounds beyond where house elves had set up a pavilion for the guests to sit, have refreshments and wait for the couple to return from the wood.

When Narcissa explained to me the marriage rites, I had been curious.

The old wizard departed as well, and in his place stood Lucius Malfoy, dressed in light gray robes, the sunlight seeming to make him glow. As I studied him, I was struck by the mental image of a stereotypical Druid, however as he drew a long blade from his robes, I held my breath.

“Marriage to a Malfoy is a blood bond, Hermione. You must be very certain in your feelings for Draco. This marriage is just not a legal contract, but a blood contract. It can never be broken. There is no divorce. Estrangement, perhaps, but never divorce.

The ritual is not without pain either. You will be slashed over your left breast. Draco will ‘claim’ you, and depending on your answer, he will cut his hand, much like he did at Beltane and Samhain, and heal you with his touch,” Narcissa told me weeks before the wedding.

Lucius pressed the blade into Draco’s hand.

Draco Malfoy stood in the patch of sunlight in the birch circle, dressed in the clothes I had seen him wear in the office, brown corduroy pants and green peasant top. It was not ceremonial by any means, and my own dress had been chosen for me, but as Draco stood in the sunlight, a gleam catching the blade in his hand, he looked human, not fey, or magical. He was a man, the man I loved.

With an apologetic turn of his lips, he stepped toward me, and grasping my right shoulder, pushed the dress off my left shoulder with the tip of the blade.

“I pierce thee, lady,” he whispered.

I did not wince as the blade slashed my chest and blood immediately began to trickle from the cut. It was not too shallow, but not too deep either.

“By healing you, you become mine, forever and a day. What say thee, lady?”

His voice was soft. His eyes were set upon mine, gazing down at me, and the wound on my breast.

I swallowed.

“I am thine, my lord,” I whispered.

Visible relief moved over his face, and switching the blade to his left hand, he raised his palm upward, and with a slash, a splatter of his blood fell upon my exposed breast. Dropping the blade so that it stuck upright in the dark soil under our bare feet, Draco sighed.

“I shall heal my own…”

Blood against blood—I felt a hum of magic begin to throb against the wound and spread through my body. A particular burning began on my right hip, a burning I had anticipated.

I did not need to see for I could feel the wound knitting together; the blood split soaking back into its source. It was a strange feeling, but not unpleasant. I stared into Draco’s strange eyes, seeing that he too could feel the blood magic working between us, and into those eyes I fell.

I glimpsed our life together, there was happiness, there was a child. However, as the spell between us began to end, I saw something else.

Fire.

I saw us, not far into the future, fighting, back-to-back, fire surrounding us. I saw Draco’s mismatched eyes glow with anger, a frightening grey and blue, while my eyes glowed golden. There was pain, fear, fire, and death.

The last image, however, was of peace: Draco, I riding across the Malfoy lands on horseback, Lord, and Lady.

“I have witnessed the union of two who will continue the blood, who will continue the line. The heir has become the Lord, the maiden has become the Lady.”

Our vision had ended, and we gazed at Lucius who was smiling, his voice having proclaimed the marriage.

Draco pulled his healed hand away from my healed breast, and with an uncertain smile, fixed my dress back on my shoulder.

“So mote it be,” we whispered to each other.

Lucius embraced us both, which seemed out of character, and immediately dispelled his robes to disappear through the trees towards the wedding party. Draco and I stood in the sunlight in the birch circle, staring at each other.

“Did you see it, Hermione?” he asked, pushing his hands into his pockets.

I nodded. “Are visions something standard with Malfoy weddings?” I whispered.

Draco smirked. “Supposedly. Mother had one with father, but before that it had been a few generations.”

I nodded. “So?”

Draco frowned. “So we wait and see what happens…”

I was not comforted. Narcissa had told me much about the rites, even the ones only known to the Malfoy women. My fingers went to my right hip, rubbing the skin through the fabric. A rune would be there, just as Narcissa had said, and cast the spell. The rune that would mark me for all time with Draco’s name, it had been part of the bonding spell, and I wondered if Draco knew about that part of the rite.

“I almost forgot…” he said pulling something from his pants pocket.

Grasping my left hand, Draco unceremoniously slipped a platinum ring upon my finger, a thin band with an incised Greek border only visible in the bright sunlight.

Then Draco chuckled. “Your father would have my balls if I did not give you a ring.”

I blinked. I had never noticed Narcissa wearing a ring, but she also being a Malfoy bride, had a rune on her hip…

Taking me into his arms, Draco held me tight, my face burning into the front of his shirt.

“You’re thinking too much again. The vision, don’t think about it now.”

I sighed and returned the embrace, pulling back to look up into my husband’s face. “I’m just wondering if what we saw was to happen in the order we saw it, or if it will happen at all.”

Draco kissed my nose, the closest part of me to his lips. “Not now. Ponder upon it later. Your parents are surely about to run away with all the wizards about…”

Draco was right, he was right very often.

I kissed the bottom of his chin and laughed as he lifted me so that we were face to face. Spinning us inside the sacred circle of birches, we kissed. My mother was correct about one thing, the wedding was not like any wedding I had ever heard of, but then again, Draco Malfoy and his family were not a typical family. I could not help but feel a bit of pride that I had managed to become part of it.








Just because I felt as if I had everything I had ever wanted did not mean that my journey—the fool’s journey—was over.

The vision I saw on my wedding day was forcefully filed away in my old, rusty mental filing cabinet. I had my career, I had a husband, I had a home in the Manor, I had family who cared for me, I had a familiar who had given up its mastery over me for my father-in-law, and nine months after my wedding day, I had a child.

My son, whose name I had little decision in with three Malfoys hovering over his bassinet, named him Scorpius Hyperion.

If I still had Severus Snape haunting the halls of my mind, I knew what he would have said. I even had documentation as to how he felt about Malfoy names.

Scorpius Hyperion had been born on March 22—he was not a Scorpio. He had been born between eight and ten in the evening—Hyperion as a Titan associated with the sun.

Ridiculous name.

“Perry… Something normal, for Merlin’s sake!”

My husband, Draco Malfoy was rocking a three year old to sleep, scowling at me to keep my voice down. Ever since Perry had been born, Draco and I had fought as to what to call the boy. He was already confused since only I and my parents called him Perry, using the only salvageable syllable in his middle name as a suitable nickname.

“Your father is Perry. His name is Scorpius.”

“Only his on birth records.”

We were both irritated. We were never so long away from the Manor for work, only a few hours at a time. That day was the day Dennis Creevey’s trial ended, and his sentence pronounced: the Dementor’s Kiss.

It was the last trial of so many before it.

For the past three years, the Wizengamot tried and sentenced the members of W.A.T.C.H. Only three of the one hundred and ten were allowed to leave Azkaban to live lives under the scrutiny of the Wizarding community. Eighty-five were sentenced to varying terms of imprisonment in Azkaban. The rest were given the Kiss. Dennis Creevey was the last to receive the Kiss.

All the while, the MLE, F.O.I.L., and Charlie’s ‘Dragonriders’ effectively dismantled the various organizations from moving violently against the people of the Europe and Britain. After three years, there was a fragile peace. The Ministry restructured, the Minister finally gained her bearings.

After three years, I had been wounded thirteen times from curse fire intended for one of the accused, experiencing the comfortable rest reserved in one of the beds open at St. Mungo’s for Hit-Wizards. I rarely spent more than three hours in St. Mungo’s before Draco took me home. He had also sustained wounds in the line of duty; being sent to St. Mungo’s fourteen times, teasing me that he was ‘one up.’ When I had signed up as the liaison, I had hoped that my battling days were over, but my soul and body knew that I was to take endure much more penance for killing the ‘Saviour of the Wizarding World’ that night in Little Hangleton.

In three years, we argued, scaring the MLE office when at least three times hexes began to fly. In three years, we only dueled twice, usually at home, only to fight to a draw and laugh about it.

With the end of the trials, we both hoped to spend even more time at home with Perry.

Gently, Draco rose from the couch in the sitting room we had between our chambers and our son’s. Distantly I heard my familiar hiss, the cat having switched Malfoy allegiances again to Perry whom doted on the cat and liked to dress it in some old doll’s clothes he found in an old trunk in the attic.

I lay back on an adjacent couch, still feeling sore from a blasting curse had I caught the edge of the week before while walking with Creevey from the courtroom. Another botched assassination attempt on Creevey ‘winged’ me and severely injured another Auror instead.

When Draco returned, he sat, not on the couch; he had been on, but on the seat cushion next to me, just at my hips.

Mismatched eyes gazed down at my face, which I knew was dirty. I had been the one to help transport Creevey to Azkaban for the Kiss. Any visit to Azkaban meant you would walk away dirty…

“We need a vacation.”

I smirked. “Maybe we’ll get one once Perry is at Hogwarts—in eight or so years.”

Draco sighed; he seemed far too tired to spar with witticisms. It was late, past midnight. I had been angry with Draco for letting Perry stay up so late. The pale little boy with tawny curls and brilliant aquamarine eyes was hard to resist when he blinked those sweet eyes up at his father.

Draco was the soft one; I was the ‘mean mummy.’ I have no idea how that arrangement came about.

“We might need to leave sooner than that,” Draco whispered, the tip of his finger tracing my eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” I asked wearily.

“I saw Weasley today, after you left.”

I frowned. “Ron?”

Draco nodded, his long blond plait falling off his shoulder, down his back.

“He is supposed to come by the Manor tomorrow evening.”

My eyes widened. “Why?”

Draco’s hand moved to my hip, his fingers tracing the rune visible between my shirt and jeans.

“He wanted to talk to you. You were too busy today…”

My mind whirled. In three years, Ron and I had kept in constant contact, by either Post or Floo. Ron had relocated to America with Pansy, married, and started his own family.

“Intelligence has come up through the oddest channels…” Draco began.

“Why am I hearing about it from you?” I asked, not intending to sound so angry.

Draco ignored my anger and slid his hand up my side to the sore spot on my ribs.

“Creevey… Today was far too important to distract you from your job.”

I sighed, moving a hand to grasp Draco’s knee. “What’s the word?”

“Something, or someone has been targeting Centaurs…”

I opened my mouth to interject, already to moving to sit up, but Draco held me in place.

“Not Magorian, not the Forbidden Forest. It started in Ireland and moved to the Highlands. The information actually came from Magorian to the Lord of Temple Wood. Mother was the one Lord of Temple Wood contacted, and Mother conveyed the information to Ron while we were trying to get everything done with Creevey’s trial and sentencing.

This is news that just came today.”

My jaw was clenched tight. “That’s why you want a ‘vacation?’ For your parents at the bothy and Perry? So we can leave?”

Draco nodded. “Until we know exactly what is going on, we might need to get away from Temple Wood, off the lands for a while.”

I could only stare at my husband. It was only two weeks until Beltane and the renewal of the wards. I could see in Draco’s mismatched eyes his alarm. Our lands, the lands that had been my home, our home, would surely protect us?

“The vision.”

Draco’s eyes widened slightly. “No.”

He was saying it out of reflex, but he knew what I said was true. The vision we had shared on our wedding day, surely the news I was hearing from my lover’s mouth was a precursor to that vision.

We stared at each other for a long while, and I yelped as suddenly Draco lifted me into his arms, holding me desperately close.

“I’m not ready for another battle, not when things are finally beginning to settle,” he whispered into my hair.

I agreed. I was not ready either. I had hope that at least for a few years; our family would have a bit of mundane normalcy.

The vision had been of fire, battle, but in the end, it had been peace. I tried to comfort myself in that peace I saw, and I hoped my husband remembered it as well.

It seemed that Draco and I had been born to battle, a destiny that we could not shirk. The Fates had said nothing about my future, only my destiny of killing Harry Potter. For some reason, I could not shake the feeling that perhaps my killing Harry would somehow impact the future course of events, the battle I knew I would see soon.

“Whatever it is, we’ll face it,” I whispered against Draco’s neck. “We know that we will be together, no matter what happens.”

He held me tighter, causing me to wince for my sore ribs.

“Together, forever and a day,” he whispered back.

He kissed me softly, cradling my head in his large, pale hands. We were both exhausted and worried. Nevertheless, as we pulled apart to gaze into each other’s eyes, I knew that we both were seeing the same future, a future that we deserved.