Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Cissy! You must not do this! You can’t trust him—”

Narcissa tries to pull herself from Bella’s grip, but she clings on, hand like a vice. “The Dark Lord trusts him, doesn’t he?”

“The Dark Lord…I believe…is mistaken,” Bellatrix whispers hesitantly, eyes darting around the cobbled alleyway, peering through the darkness for possible spies.

Narcissa huffs. “Precisely! So you admit it. On occasion, the Dark Lord can be mistaken in his behaviour. His plans. His decisions. As he is now. Do you truly believe that Draco is the optimal choice? That he is capable of this?”

Bella reluctantly releases her. Relinquishes her. “Well…no. He’s too much of a wimp. We all know that. You coddled him too much.”

Coddled? She treated him like the child he was! Not a…boy soldier or her husband’s miniature. Lucius may have seen a certain path for him, a son to follow in his footsteps, but seeing as that path has led to Azkaban and near ruin, she’s quite glad that she never fully bowed to his judgment. That she played her cards wisely. Kept them close to her chest.

And now she finally has Bella in agreement too. Excellent.

She marches off, turning into Spinner’s End before her sister can change her mind. Raps sharply on the door.

A few seconds pass, seconds where a seed of doubt enters her mind. A nauseating churn to her stomach.

She squashes it down. Ignores it. She has made her decision. Her judgment. This man is her son’s godfather for a reason. She trusts him with this. Trusts him enough to at least turn a blind eye when necessary.

She hears movement from within the dingy, dilapidated house. Sees the light inside flicker. The door opens a crack, just enough to make out long black hair, sallow skin, and dark eyes. Suspicious eyes. It’s past sunset. He might not recognise them.

Narcissa throws back her hood. The eyes widen, and the door opens more widely. “Narcissa. What a…pleasant surprise.”

She nods quickly, searching his face for only a moment in the dim light. She’s not certain that he is pleased at all. Or surprised.

He moves to let them in, mouth curling into a mocking smile at Bella’s obvious displeasure. Follows her into…what she assumes to be his living quarters, although how anyone could live here, she cannot imagine.

He gestures to a sofa, and sits down in an armchair opposite them, by a fire. “So, what can I do for you?” he asks, eyebrow raising.

She looks around the room suspiciously. She’d thought she’d heard… “We are alone, aren’t we?” she verifies. Has to be sure. Can’t have this getting out, not after she’s been so careful.

Severus nods. “Yes, of course. Well, there’s Wormtail, but we’re not counting vermin, are we?”

And he directs his wand at a nearby bookshelf, a hidden door revealing itself with a loud bang, and Peter Pettigrew now stood in a narrow stairway. Obviously listening in.

“As you have clearly realised, Wormtail, we have guests,” Snape drawls lazily. Calmly. She cannot believe how calm he is that there is a spy in their midst. A spy who was quick to betray his own friends, let alone strangers!

“Narcissa!” The disgusting man squeaks. “And Bellatrix! How charming—”

Narcissa draws her wand. “Out! Leave! And if I ever catch you spying on me again, then a tail is the least you’ll be losing!” she shouts. She has had enough of remaining silent. Too many years of biting her tongue against wizards and their—

Wormtail transforms and scampers off out of sight like the quivering coward he is, and Bella bursts out in cackled laughter at her side. “Cissy! What’s this? Did you get Lucius’ balls as well as his house when he left for Azkaban?”

Narcissa smirks. “I’ve got bigger balls than he ever had,” she mutters. “And I should know.”

At this, she’s met with shocked silence. Perhaps one step too far. She should reign herself in, she knows it. But with everything at risk…there is less holding her back. Holding her in.

Severus stares across at her, face blank, perhaps with worry.

Bella lets out another laugh. More hoarse now. Shocked. She edges away from Narcissa slightly, her eyes trailing down…

Oh for goodness— “I meant figuratively, Bella,” Narcissa tuts. Sniffs. Crossing her legs. “I do not have testicles. At least not yet.”

And at this a strange sound escapes Severus’ mouth. “Not …yet?” he mutters cautiously. “You— is this why you have come to me for aid? You are asking…is it a potion you are in need of? Gender reassignment—”

Narcissa sighs. Interrupts him before this goes completely off track. “No. No, nothing of the sort. Well, not entirely. I…you are aware of the Dark Lord’s task for Draco, I assume?”

Snape stills. His expression relaxes. Loses its hint of colour and becomes more guarded. “A task about which we have all been sworn to secrecy…”

Bella hits her in the leg. “See? Even Snape knows we shouldn’t be talking about it! Questioning it!” she says triumphantly. “This task is for Draco. To prove himself—”

“To fail,” Narcissa says firmly. Looks between Bella and Severus. “This task is a humiliation, a lesson, and we all know it. My son, my child, is to pay for my husband’s mistakes. Forced into an act which he does not have the strength or willpower to accomplish. You have to mean it. And try as he might, Draco will never mean it,” she says roughly. Feels her throat close and fights tears. Tears of anger. Frustration. “My son is not a killer. He is not and never will be.”

And she gives Bella her most intimidating glare. Doesn’t let her dare dispute this. Mock this. Her son isn’t weak. This isn’t his failing. This is his strength. His heart. And nothing will take that away from him.

Severus clears his throat. Steeples his fingers. “So…what do you propose? What are you asking of me? You wish me to…”

Narcissa wipes at her eyes. Stands up. Walks over to the staircase and casts an homenum revelio. Nothing. That she can see. But to be sure…

She reaches a hand out to Bella. “Knife.”

Doesn’t even turn. Waits to feel the cold metal in her palm.

Closes the bookshelf. Draws a rune on the wall. Against eavesdroppers.

And slices a cut across her arm with the knife. Presses it to the symbol. Mutters the warding spell. A simplified, but darker version of the fidelius charm. No secrets spilled from this room. In or out.

She feels it hum through her. Drag out of her. Drain her. Leans against the wall, panting, as her magic finally balances itself. “Not you,” Narcissa pants. “Me.”

And she turns around. Wipes the perspiration from her forehead and lets Severus come towards her to bandage her arm. Watches him clean the wound and bind it tightly. She wets her lips. “Lucius is gone. He’s finished. And now Draco…I won’t let him be taken too. I’ve already sent him away. To France. He’ll be joining Beauxbatons in September under an alias. He’s out of the country. Out of the War. Out of these schemes.”

Bellatrix opens her mouth. Narcissa brings up a hand. “And don’t call me a traitor, Bella. Don’t you dare. The Dark Lord has a mission. A task. And I’m going to fulfil it.”

She stands up straighter, magic and heartbeat returning to normal. Steps closer to Severus. “I’m taking his place,” she whispers, staring up into disbelieving black eyes. “No-one shall know. I love my son, body and soul. So if that is what it takes, then I shall do this for him. I return to Hogwarts in September. I have his robes. His books. His belongings. I have a stock of polyjuice potion ready. But…I shall need more. And I shall need your guidance throughout the year. Will you help me, Severus? Will you keep my secret? Watch over me? Will you allow me to fulfil the Dark Lord’s wishes, in Draco’s place?”

She holds out her hand to him.

He clasps it. Fixes his eyes to hers. Nods in understanding. “I will.”

Chapter Text

“I’m going to use the bathroom!” Narcissa almost snaps at Pansy Parkinson in her haste to leave. “I shan’t be long. I’ll meet you in the far carriage for the prefect meeting momentarily!” she calls, turning her back and searching the train corridor for the boys’ toilets. This is already far more difficult than she had anticipated.

“Prefect meeting?” Pansy calls after her. “I thought you said it was a load of rot and you were turning it down this year?”

What— I beg your pardon?!

Turn down being a prefect? Why—

She ignores Pansy. It’s terribly rude, but she needs a moment.

Pushes open the door to the bathroom and walks over to lean against the sink. Wash her face. Draco’s face.

Stubble already. She is going to have to learn to shave…

She runs her fingers through her hair. Pushes it back out of his eyes. He has beautiful eyes. Perhaps she should gel his hair back, like she had when he was a first year.

She sighs to herself. Closes her eyes in memory. So young. So naïve. Innocent. Where has that little boy gone?

And how should she act now? She’s beginning to think she doesn’t know her son very well at all. How would he be behaving? Should she be outspoken, or disinterested and distant? Should she encourage Pansy, or dismiss her? The witch has attempted to take her hand multiple times already. Is that a usual occurrence?

She supposes she could just behave as Lucius did at this age…

Shudders. No. No, she is not going to become her husband as well as her son. It is strange enough. She’ll just have to…judge things as she wishes, and chalk any differences up to a growing maturity.

Such as prefect duties. She’d best get to the meeting on time.

She moves her hair back to how it was, reaching into her pocket and taking out a recent picture of Draco as reference. As well as the green prefect badge, which she pins—

Someone hits into her from behind as the train turns a corner. Ow! “Be careful!” she snaps as the pin pricks her chest. “You made me stab myself!”

“Oh! S— Sorry!” a voice trembles.

She looks up. Hmm. He looks familiar…

Longbottom?

Oh.

She smiles tightly. Uncomfortably. “It’s fine. Just try to keep your distance next time,” she says, securing the badge and returning the photograph to her pocket, adjusting her robes. “And tuck your shirt in,” she adds absentmindedly as she notices the state of his clothes in the mirror. What a disgrace. A sorry excuse for a pureblood. Did his mother not…

Ah.

Grandmother. He has a grandmother. It’s…

She turns sharply and heads for the door. Leaves without further comment, and walks quickly down the corridor, right to the back of the train, not even stopping to look in the compartments.

Two young girls stand in her way, giggling and pointing through a window at…Harry Potter. Sat with some other students and Horace Slughorn. The Slug Club. And Draco wasn’t invited?

The girls are still in her way. They look like second years. Short enough to reach her waist, but far too confident to be first years.

She folds her arms at them. “Is this a compartment?”

They jump. Turn and look up at her. “Umm…no?” one says.

Narcissa raises an eyebrow. “Then you’d better go and find one. The train has already departed. Go and find your seats. Now. Or shall I take points from…”

She checks for ties. Robes. Any kind of…

Blue hair tie. Blue socks. “…Ravenclaw.” she finishes.

Their eyes widen. They back away, still giggling and staring at her nervously as they slide open a compartment door and slip inside.

Honestly. Thank goodness she never had a girl. The laughter is infuriating. It’s bad enough with Bella.

And now she is surely late for the meeting!

She picks up her pace. Continues through, right to the back of the train. Spots a carriage full of older years and looks for…Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Pansy Parkinson. Aha.

She knocks on the door and enters. “Please excuse my absence. I had to reprimand some younger years for standing in the corridors.”

Miss Granger huffs. Scoffs. “Standing? That’s hardly against the rules. Let me guess. They weren’t Slytherins, and they got in your way?”

Narcissa meets the mudbood’s glare. Ugh. How revolting. She’s looking right at her. She had better lower her gaze this instant!

Narcissa waits for her to do so.

She does not.

So arrogant and idiotic. Does she not know that the Dark Lord has returned? What is soon to happen to her kind?

Narcissa takes a seat next to Pansy. Smooths down her robes and crosses her legs at the ankles, before she remembers that she is now a wizard, and rests her ankle on her knee instead. “They were Ravenclaws. Out of their seats whilst the train was in motion, and dallying only to fawn over the Chosen One. I believe endangering themselves and others by needlessly blocking the corridors on a moving locomotive is good enough a reason as any, although I only gave a warning, rather than taking points.”

At this, Granger’s mouth falls shut. No further argument.

“Uhh…yes. That’s just the initiative we were talking about, Malfoy,” the Head Boy says, somewhat confusedly. A Hufflepuff. Hmm. Does he have some kind of doubt in Draco?

The Head Girl nods at his side. “Yes, remember not to take points unless it is necessary for serious, dangerous behaviour that could harm either the student themselves or others around them. Keep an eye out for possible dangers, like blocked exits as Malfoy pointed out. That is actually an excellent example of how a prefect should behave.”

Narcissa almost rolls her eyes. Well, obviously. It is not difficult. Ensure that rules are followed, and that no child will come to harm.

Ron Weasley raises his hand. “Uhh…can we go now? We knew all this from last year…so…”

A Ravenclaw girl gives him a look. “Last year, you confiscated items you thought were cool and then kept them. Usually your own brothers’ joke shop toys. Parvati told me. Fanged frisbees, and—”

“I didn’t take them!” he splutters. Then cringes under Granger’s gaze. “Well, not seriously. And Hermione made me give them back or hand them in. It was Parkinson and Malfoy that were taking points all the time for no reason!” he finishes, pointing at her.

“Taking points is part of the role,” Pansy sneers.

“Not for poor dress sense,” Granger snaps back.

Pansy’s nose wrinkles. “It depends on the dress sense. You, for example, could cause offence. And vomiting.”

Narcissa hums out a sound of amusement. Yes, what in Salazar’s name is she wearing under those robes? Men’s trousers? And the material. She wouldn’t even use it for a curtain or a sofa, let alone go around wearing it.

She laughs into her hand at the very thought. Preposterous.

And has a wand pointed in her face. “Leave her alone, Malfoy!” Weasley shouts, face turning puce and— was that spittle that just flecked her cheek?

She draws her own wand. “Get that wand out of my face this instant, Weasley, or I shall be forced to remove it. From your arm.”

“Malfoy! Weasley!” The Head Boy shouts. “Do you want me to take your badges already? We’re not even at the Castle. You’re embarrassing yourselves. Show some maturity.”

“He started it,” Weasley glares at her.

Narcissa gets to her feet, lowering her wand. “I did no such thing. If you do not want a confrontation, then perhaps don’t draw your wand so readily. What do you expect, practically jabbing it in my eyes?”

Weasley stands too, fists clenched in rage.

He’s yanked back by Granger. “Stop it, Ron. He’s not worth it. Sit down. Come on.”

And Pansy takes her arm. “Yes, come on, Draco. If these are the kind of people the Headmaster has chosen as prefects this year, then maybe we shouldn’t bother. It seems standards have slipped.”

Hmm. Narcissa always knew she liked this witch. Quick tongued. She makes for a good ally. She’s still not certain about marriage material…but it’s promising.

Narcissa opens the sliding door for Pansy, gesturing that she leave first. “I don’t know what the Headmaster was thinking either. Don’t let them get to you. We’ll show them how true prefects act. They’ll have to learn from their betters.”

And she slides the door shut behind them, just making out Granger’s outraged gasp before it’s silenced.

Narcissa catches her eye through the window. Smirks. There. Now you see where you belong. Purebloods on one side, and mudbloods and bloodtraitors on the other.

Pansy leans against her side and sighs. “Oh, Draco, you are wonderful. Did you see their faces? I thought Granger’s tongue was going to fall out of her head!”

Narcissa tuts. Gently but firmly pushes her off. What an unnecessarily disturbing image. “Yes. Well. That was a waste of our time. Apparently being a prefect nowadays means nothing if Granger and Weasley can become one. Although they may be the best Gryffindor has to offer.”

They begin walking down the corridor. “I’m surprised Potter wasn’t chosen for this. Has he had a disagreement with Dumbledore?” Narcissa continues, thinking aloud.

Pansy frowns. Tries to walk beside her, even though the corridor is far too narrow. “I don’t think so. Why? Do you think it’s important? Do you think Potter is up to something again?”

Narcissa considers it. She supposes she should keep tabs on Potter as well as Dumbledore, even if the Headmaster is the priority. She will have to be discreet. She cannot have ‘Draco’ caught in the act. Imprisoned for murder. It has to appear like an accident.

She could frame someone else…

Either way. She needs information on Dumbledore. His habits. His routine. His closest acquaintances. All things that he keeps very close to his chest. His connections. Insights. He must have them.

She stops. They’ve almost reached the Slug Club compartment.

She leans to whisper in Pansy’s ear. “That’s Horace Slughorn. He knows anyone who’s anyone. Has connections. Collections of acquaintances. Those are people he has chosen to be in his exclusive club. My Father was in that club…and I think we should be too.”

Pansy shivers. Grabs her wrist. “Should we knock? Ask to join? Blaise is in there. And the Weasley girl! She’s nobody! If she can get in—”

Narcissa puts a hand over hers to stop her talking so loudly. “No. It’s by invite only. But it’s alright. I already have an idea…” she says quietly, head and gaze turned towards the witch so no-one inside the room will be suspicious.

And then she pulls back. Continues along the corridor. “Later. There’s time later. Let’s go and see the others.”

She hears Pansy following after her. Slower this time. Less clingy. Good. A witch shouldn’t hang off a wizard. It’s degrading. Have some self-respect. Stand tall.

She stops at the compartment door. Opens it for Pansy. Pauses.

Frowns at the sight of her. “Roll your skirt back down. It’s too short. It’s against dress code.”

Pansy just laughs. Adjusts the hem to above her knees. “Whatever you say, Prefect.”

And she brushes past her to get inside.

Oh.

Narcissa pinches her brow. Flirting?

Definitely flirtatious behaviour. She may have to…hold her off, somehow. She’d thought she was being harsh and strict enough, but apparently not.

She slides the door shut and turns around. “We are prefects. I wasn’t lying. We must set an example, all of us. Or what is the point? So Goyle, feet off the seats. Crabbe, place your wand in its holder before you snap it, and Pansy…”

Pansy smiles at her. Stretches. Pats her lap. “Shall I stroke your hair? You seem tense…”

Draco. Is that what Draco does? Is she supposed to be Draco?

Or is this just encouraging Pansy even more?

Narcissa opens her trunk and takes out an old potions book. Grade Two. “Fine. But read to me. We need to all be in Professor Slughorn’s good books, and he’s the potions master this year. Start at the beginning, and explain it simply, so that even the boys will understand. Since they’re retaking their OWLs, I won’t be able to watch their cauldrons this year. And if anything explodes then Slughorn won’t be happy.”

And she lies down across the seats, her head in Pansy’s lap, as she has witnessed Draco do on the rare occasion he has not spotted her nearby. It will help verify her character, will hopefully remind Crabbe and Goyle of the basics of potions, and is an opportunity for her to think without having to watch her words or mannerisms.

Pansy begins reading. She doesn’t have the most soothing voice, but it will do. And…

How odd to have someone stroke her hair. Bizarre. It must have been years since she last experienced it. Lucius would never even think to do so, and Bella is much too harsh. Can’t be trusted anywhere near her hair.

It must have been Androm—

She jerks her eyes open. Looks up at Pansy. Pansy. That’s who it is. Different eyes. Different hair. Different nose.

Pansy looks down at her as she reads. Stutters over her words. Continues, looking away.

Narcissa hurriedly closes her eyes again. Oh dear. She does hope that Draco forgives her for this. He must understand. She’s doing it for his own good. His own safety. Even if it will mean some inevitable embarrassment.

She relaxes into Pansy. Plays the part. Listens to the train chug along. Speeding north.

Speeding north to Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

Narcissa lets herself sleep for most of the journey, awakening mid-afternoon to eat and head to the bathroom, taking the opportunity to drink another vial of polyjuice potion, and then dozing off and on once more. She does have a quick look through her books, just to remind herself of the sixth-year curriculum, but isn’t too worried seeing as it is only the beginning of the year, and she can recall the fundamentals.

Flying may pose a problem. She will certainly not be trying out for quidditch this year, using prefect duties and a heavy schedule as an excuse. She is not the most confident flier. Ladies do not fly, and her parents had strongly discouraged anything but side-saddle travelling.

That hadn’t stopped Bella, of course. But nothing stops Bella.

Bella, who had wanted to give her the Dark Mark before she left this morning so that they could ‘communicate’.

Of course, Narcissa had quickly told her exactly what to do with that idea, much to her sister’s amusement. An added benefit. The cruder she is, the funnier Bella finds it, forgetting the more serious topic of conversation. She really is quite easy to manipulate.

It’s dark out now. And the train is slowing. They’ve finally arrived.

She stretches. “Pansy, could you pass me my new cloak?” she yawns despite herself, quick to cover her mouth. “It should be at the top of my trunk.”

And Pansy jumps up to get it for her. Hmm. It is nice not having to fetch things for a change. A teenage boy. What a luxury. She only has to think about herself. Certainly no offering beverages or making small talk about the garden and the weather.

Although she must remember to water the—

Stop it! Leave all of that at home. The house-elves shall take care of it.

She stands up, shrinking her trunk, and taking her cloak from Pansy, kissing her cheek. “Thank you, dear.”

Freezes.

Oh no.

Oh Merlin’s—

She quickly clears her throat. “Apologies. Half-asleep. Forgot— I—”

Pansy grins at her, cheeks flushed. “I like you sleepy. I should tire you out more often.”

No!

Narcissa glares at her, putting her cloak on and her trunk in her pocket. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. It was the long journey. I’m fine. And hurry up and button your cloak, we should leave before we miss the carriages to the Castle.”

And she knocks past Pansy to get to the door first. No more being polite. Perhaps she should be ruder. Colder. Enough so she doesn’t find Pansy…throwing herself at her or some such—

“There you are, Malfoy,” an aggravatingly pompous voice comes from beside her, just as she’s about to exit.

She turns. Sneers at Miss Know-It-All.

Granger folds her arms. Juts out her chin. “Well? Have you patrolled your assigned carriages? Or did you not know that, because you left the meeting early?”

Narcissa raises an eyebrow. Steps closer to Granger to let Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy past, gesturing to them to take a carriage without her. “You’re right. I did not know. But I believe this half of the train is empty now, unless you would like to check for yourself?”

Granger raises an eyebrow back. “Fine. We’ll check them together.”

Together?

And a triumphant look sparks in Granger’s eyes.

“Draco, dear?” Pansy calls from outside. “Are you coming?”

Narcissa can’t help but grimace. Dear? She caught that? And has chosen it as her sobriquet? Oh no…

Granger notices her expression. Triumph turns to confusion. Curiosity.

Narcissa clears her throat. “Go ahead! I have…prefect duties! Go and take care of the first years!”

One prefect to look for lost sheep, left behind, and one to herd them through the corridors and check the boats. She remembers well.

And assumes that is where Weasley is.

Silence falls around them. Everyone must have left.

But Granger doesn’t move. Just looks at her.

Narcissa steps back. “Well?”

Granger shakes her head. Turns to walk down the corridor. “Nothing. Let’s have a look, then. Maybe you can search the luggage racks for forgotten items, as you’re taller.”

Yes, height without heels is an added benefit. How strange that she is looking through Draco’s eyes. How he sees the world.

She brushes some hair off her forehead. Follows Granger into each compartment, and scoffs as the witch gets down on her hands and knees to look under the seats. “Do you have no decorum whatsoever?”

Granger’s head jerks up, hitting the seat. “Ow! What— decorum? What are you talking about?”

Narcissa moves on to the next compartment. Leaves her behind. “I meant what I said. A witch. Down on her hands and knees. It’s not proper behaviour.”

A sound of outrage from behind her. “To look underneath! To go about my day, and do my job. It doesn’t matter that I’m a witch. What does that have to do with anything? I can do whatever I like, Malfoy, and being a witch doesn’t change that.”

Now Narcissa turns. “Witch or not, you wouldn’t catch me down on my hands and knees. Have some self-respect. Some poise.”

And Granger bursts out laughing. What?

“Poise?” she splutters. “Is that— oh Merlin— poise? You have poise?”

Yes. What…is so amusing? Is she mocking her?

Granger continues laughing into her hands. Wipes her eyes and then barks out another laugh as she looks at Narcissa. “I— well I guess— you do— I mean there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just…”

Narcissa adjusts her posture self-consciously. Not that her posture wasn’t perfect, as always, but because perhaps she needs to practice more masculine body language.

She unclasps her hands. Leans sideways against the doorframe. Is that masculine? Should she fold her arms? Oh! Pockets!

She puts her hands in her pockets. “Are you finished?”

Granger gives her an odd look. “Yes…”

Good.

Narcissa carries on down the corridor. Quickly now. Looks left and right. No…no…no…ah. Umbrella.

She goes to get it. Looks for a label, a name, even a house logo.

Nothing.

And then she almost falls over as the floor jerks beneath her feet. The train.

She hurries back into the corridor and towards the nearest exit. Jumps out.

Is alone on the platform.

The steam appears. Where is—

“Malfoy!” Granger shouts from inside. “I can’t— tell them to stop the—”

A loud whistle cuts her off. Narcissa looks around for the conductor. Has she ever seen a conductor?

And rushes back inside. Unbelievable. What is Narcissa even doing? She should leave her on board. One less mudblood—

“Draco!”

She heads towards the shout. Searches—

Oh.

Granger is kneeling on the floor. Head under a seat.

“What are you doing? Hurry up!” she shouts over the sound of the engine.

Granger wriggles. “My hair! It’s stuck!”

Oh for the love of—

Narcissa draws her wand and crouches down.

Then reluctantly kneels down to direct her wand under the seat, grabbing hold of it to steady herself.

Granger looks at her from under her hair, wide-eyed. “Don’t—”

Narcissa casts the charm. A detangling charm. She has Bella as a sister. Of course she knows how to untangle caught or knotted hair.

Granger falls free. Falls back.

Narcissa gets to her feet and runs for the door, slightly clumsy on her long legs. They have to make it off the train. She’s not missing the first day. This is ridiculous!

She jumps off. The train pulls away.

Granger reaches the door. Looks at her panickedly.

Narcissa smirks. “Go on, then!” she shouts. “Unless you’re scared.”

And of course Granger instantly jumps. It’s the easiest way to get a Gryffindor to do anything.

Lands and wobbles. Teeters on the edge of the platform—

Narcissa thrusts the umbrella out automatically. Unthinkingly. Perhaps to push her off.

Granger grabs it, wide-eyed. Steadies herself and moves closer, away from the edge. “Thank you,” she gasps. “I thought— that was—” She holds her hand to her heart. Breathes for a few moments, staring at Narcissa in shock.

Then calms. Gives Narcissa one last look, and then releases the umbrella, turning her back and walking towards the lane to the Castle.

Oh yes. A long walk back.

Narcissa sighs to herself. “No more apparition…”

Granger looks up. Heard her. She must have the hearing of a bat. “You can’t apparate. Can you? You’re not seventeen until next year.”

Narcissa just shrugs. Teenage boy. Plus she’s tired of talking.

Tired. Drowsy. Unthinking. That must be why she had…

They continue up the lane. Light their wands against the darkness.

“I already know the main principles of apparition, of course,” Granger continues. “The three Ds. Destination, determination, deliberation. My birthday is in a few days time. Not that there will be lessons until around February. Which isn’t really fair considering—”

“You don’t have to fill the silence, you know,” Narcissa comments. “Perhaps you should practice deliberating in your head.”

They fall back into silence. Blessed silence.

“What was that charm you used? The hair charm?” Granger pipes up again after only a few minutes.

Narcissa grits her teeth. “It’s a hair charm. As you pointed out. What more do you want me to say?”

Granger huffs. “I’m just asking! And I said thank you, so— where did you learn it? What’s the wand movement? And did you do it nonverbally? I didn’t hear you. I didn’t know you were already proficient in non-verbal spells. Does your hair often tangle? Because I don’t see why it would. It’s too short. So—”

Narcissa pulls her to a stop. “If I show you, will you leave me in peace?”

Granger frowns. Then nods. Opens her mouth—

Narcissa holds up a hand. Looks at her sternly. “Peace. No talking. For the rest of the journey. And then I will show you the wand movement and incantation.”

At this, Granger frowns even more deeply.

Then smiles. Presses her hand over her mouth to stop a smile, and nods.

Odd.

But a relief.

Narcissa marches off again. “Come along, then. I’ll show you the charm once we reach the gate. To ensure that you keep your promise.”

She hears a tut from behind her. Ignores it.

Walks as fast as possible up the lane, Granger scrambling to keep up with her shorter legs. Narcissa smiles to herself. Uses the umbrella as a cane, and channels her husband. There. A believable gait for a wizard.

With poise.

They reach the gate. It’s locked.

“So? The charm?” Granger immediately blurts out.

Narcissa’s eyebrows rise up her head. “Hardly the priority. We need to determine how to gain entry.”

Granger glares. Points at her. “You made a deal! Or do the Malfoys not stand by their word? From your Father, it doesn’t seem like it!”

How dare she—

“How dare you say a word against my hus— father!” she spits. Crowds closer. “Against one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight! One of the greatest and longest reaching wizarding families—”

“Greatest?” Granger scoffs. “What, because of money and marriage? Such great achievements. Such wonderful inventions. The Malfoy name means so much when even your words are empty.”

Narcissa raises her wand. Points it at the mudblood’s head. “Démêlez-cheveux!” she says sharply, twisting her wand counter-clockwise and then dragging it towards her.

Granger flinches. Touches her face, searching for injuries. “What was— what did—”

“That,” Narcissa snaps, “was the charm you requested. The charm my Great-Grandmother invented. A Black. A Rosier. Not a Malfoy. But a charm that has been passed down. Through marriage. Not books, and not in any book at Hogwarts. A witch invented it. It was never acknowledged, or published in a journal. But it’s still used. By my family.”

Granger blinks. Stays silent. Still. Reaches up to touch her hair. Run her fingers through it.

Narcissa slowly lowers her wand. She can’t believe she— Black magic. Black family secrets. And she just…disclosed them to a mudblood!

Granger swallows. “I…I’m sorry for what I said. About your father. I hope— I hope he’s okay. Azkaban is just…horrible. Horrific. I can’t—”

She cuts herself off, looking extremely regretful and guilty at her words. As if she wants to swallow them back up.

Lacking deliberation.

Granger ducks her head. Avoids her gaze, turning to face the gate instead. “And you’re right. We need to get inside. I’ll send a patronus to…umm…”

“Snape,” Narcissa says bluntly. “Send it to Professor Snape.”

It’s the best option for her. Even if she is not looking forward to Severus’ comments. His expression alone will be infuriating, she’s sure of it.

Granger for once doesn’t argue. Just nods in defeat. “Right. Of course.”

And then she closes her eyes. Bites her lip. Draws her wand, and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Smiles. Her eyes open. “Expecto patronum!” she says loudly. Firmly. Warmly. On the edge of laughter.

And…an otter appears. A fully corporeal patronus. It’s remarkable. She’s never seen one so vivid. So up close. Never felt…

She finds herself reaching towards it in wonder. Hastily draws her hand back. Fights the…

This is happiness? How is this happiness? It feels…painful. Raw. Like it’s opening her up from the inside. The kind of overwhelming happiness that—

She feels tears prick at her eyes. Turns away. Towards the darkness.

“Could you take this message to Professor Snape, please?” comes Granger’s voice from behind her, near the glow. “Draco and I are at the gate. We were late getting back after checking the train as part of our prefect duties, and now it’s locked. Could someone let us in?”

Her words drift into silence. And then the glow is gone. The night is still.

Silence. For several minutes.

Granger scuffs at the floor. Then chuckles. “So…you broke your word, you know.”

Narcissa whirls around. Can’t believe—

Granger grins. “You knelt on the floor. Hands and knees. With such little decorum.”

Oh. Breaking the tension?

Fine.

Narcissa shrugs back. “Everything I do, I do with decorum. I only said that you were incapable of it.”

Granger rolls her eyes. “If you say so. But I definitely remember you saying that you would never kneel. You said, witch or not, you wouldn’t catch me down on my hands and knees.”

“Then I suppose I’d make a better witch than you,” Narcissa replies. Too quickly. Forgetting who she is and who she’s talking to.

And of course gets another questioning look from Granger.

But thankfully no more talking.

And a light is heading their way down the path from the castle.

Narcissa gestures to it. Steps closer to the gate to watch. To avoid eye contact.

She hears Granger stand beside her. Clear her throat. “Malfoy…do you…”

She drifts off. Starts again. “You used to have longer hair, didn’t you? In first year?”

Narcissa nods. “Yes. I cut it…” she mutters absentmindedly.

“Right. Umm…was that your choice? Because if you feel more comfortable with long hair—”

Narcissa turns. “Why? Because I’m just like my father? I need to look like him too? Is that what you’re saying?”

Granger groans. Puts her head in her hands. “No! That’s not what I’m saying at all. I didn’t even— I forgot wizards have long hair. I was just wondering if maybe—”

And the lantern gets even closer. A few feet away. “Well, this is an interesting turn of events,” comes Severus’ voice from the shadows. “Miss Granger. Late for the opening feast. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Granger scoffs. “And Draco too! I told you, Professor! We’re prefects. We were searching the train.”

He reaches them. His features visible in the light. Upturned lip. “I see…” he murmurs slowly. “Searching, was it? And that activity took some time?”

His eyes meet Narcissa’s. She resists the urge to hex him in the face.

Holds up the umbrella instead. “Someone left this behind. We checked all the compartments. Granger took forever, sticking her nose into everything.”

And she turns to smirk at Granger. She can’t dispute it. She did stick her nose in. So much that it got stuck.

She doesn’t get an argument. Or a glare. In fact, she gets another quizzical look and a slight smile.

What…is happening? Is her son so handsome that he’s…irresistible to witches? Why are none of her glares or taunts working today?

She takes a hasty step back and glares at Severus until he unlocks the gate. He takes his time, enjoying whatever this odd atmosphere is.

But eventually releases the gate. Steps back to let them through. So. Her glares do still work on some people.

She looks up at the warmly lit castle in the distance. Another unbearable walk ahead of them.

Wonderful.

Chapter Text

Narcissa avoids Granger as much as she can after that. She also tries to avoid Pansy, which is less successful. She is in the same House, after all. The same year. Has to patrol the corridors with her for prefect duty. At night.

Narcissa encourages as much conversation as possible. Discussion. Debate. Asks Pansy vague, open-ended questions about herself, to gain information and avoid pitfalls.

And to stop her wanting other things. Tongue-wagging is better than…

Anyway. She spends a lot of time alone in the disused boys’ bathroom on the sixth floor. Or up in the Astronomy Tower. Or in the library.

If she isn’t careful, Draco is going to get the reputation of being a recluse. Of brooding.

But she needs the space. The distance. To plan freely. To research. And to drink polyjuice without being detected.

So far, her plan is to poison the Headmaster. She’s rather adept at potions, and he is fond of food and drink. Of sweets. Muggle sweets, unfortunately, so her research has led her in some rather distasteful directions. But no matter. Has to be done. Whatever…'Smarties' or 'Aniseed Balls' or 'Raspberry Bonbons' may be…she’ll find a means to procure them.

If only she might pick her moment, time it well…this could all be done within an instant! The fourth years are even brewing poisons in potions class. She could frame any of them. Sixteen possible suspects. Her own sixth year class will even be handed poisons in March in order to brew antidotes. A deliberately complex poison, with ten components, only reversed by the specific antidote, or a bezoar.

Of course, she is not going to use her own poison brewed in this very classroom. That would be preposterous. But it’s a thought.

This is one place she can’t avoid Pansy. Potions class. They share a desk, and occasionally partner together. Narcissa does her best to avoid looks that seem to linger more and more. Drift to her lips.

It’s making her skittish. Flustered. She jumps whenever anyone touches her, no matter how innocently.

And to make it worse, when she does manage to avoid Pansy’s doe-eyes, she often finds another pair of eyes on her. These eyes strangely sympathetic. Questioning. Curious.

Granger. Hermione Granger keeps watching her. Watching her and then whispering to her friends. To Potter and Weasley, who stare at her too.

Strange. It’s strange, and unnerving. She doesn’t know how Draco usually puts up with this.

Although, as many looks as she’s getting from witches…getting the professors on side is another story. Which is just as strange. Draco always performs highly in his classes, with only the occasional…misunderstanding. A difference of opinion here and there, or a naturally lax approach to the more frivolous arts such as Divination or Care of Magical Creatures.

If you can call them creatures. Thank Merlin Draco has discontinued the subject, because the monstrosities that she has observed walking the grounds around the gamekeeper’s hut are just…unthinkable! Ghastly things.

No, her son has a head for more salubrious subjects.

Such as potions. Just like herself. She has never seen what is so challenging about it for some. Precision, dexterity, and common sense are all that are necessary.

Although she admits that the fumes can be most unpleasant. The heat.

She ignores it. Adds the jobberknoll feathers. There. She may only have been at Hogwarts for one month, but she has successfully accomplished a highly-advanced, NEWT level potion. Veritaserum.

Perfectly odourless. Perfectly clear. Appearing like water in her cauldron.

Slughorn walks along the rows. Gives a pleased nod to Granger, a grimace to Weasley…and…

“Merlin’s beard. Why that’s…perfect!” his voice booms through the room. “I couldn’t have done it better myself. Very well done, Harry. Yes. Twenty points to Gryffindor!”

Hmm. So Potter is some kind of potions prodigy. Severus hadn’t mentioned it…but she is not overly surprised. His hatred for Potter could rival Bella’s, if not the Dark Lord’s. Still. No matter. Her potion is still…

Slughorn passes her without comment. Just a slight pause. Slight grimace. Eyes darting towards her and away.

Narcissa frowns. Turns, as people begin to pack up their belongings. “Sir? I’m sorry, is something…terribly amiss with my potion? I’d thought that—”

He hastily stacks some parchment on his desk, still avoiding eye contact. “What? Oh, no. No, nothing of the sort. You’d best vanish it and get going, Malfoy. Time for dinner. Can’t have a potion like that lying around, hmm, can we? It is illegal when used outside of Ministry control.”

Oh.

One month’s work. A full twenty-eight day moon cycle…

Narcissa vanishes it. Moves closer to his desk, with what she hopes is an appeasing smile as the last few stragglers leave the room. “Of course, Sir. I wouldn’t dream of brewing it outside of class. Much the same as Potter wouldn’t brew the Draught of Living Death. It’s purely academic.”

He flinches. Looks up with a start. “Of course it’s academic!” he suddenly shouts. “Did I not say— I think you should leave, Mr Malfoy! To dinner with you.”

She jumps. Steps back. Cannot help it. Bumps into a cauldron and fumbles to collect her belongings. In all her days…this was her Head of House! Never has he lost his temper with her. Shouted at her, for such nonsense as…

What did she do?

She clears her throat in the uncomfortable silence. “I…my apologies if I have somehow…I’ll be leaving now, Sir. As you say. It is late, and…”

She walks to the door. Pauses. Turns.

He seems…frightened. Regretful. Tortured, almost. Anguished. How peculiar. How utterly…

“Did I do something wrong, Sir?” she asks quietly. “I’m…”

She searches his face. Fear. Genuine—

Is this Lucius’ doing? Bella’s? The Cause?

She shakes her head at him. “I don’t know who you think me to be…but I am not my Father. I merely hoped that you’d see my potential, as you have with my peers.”

He looks away again. Clears his throat. Collects his essays in his arms and walks towards her. Brushes past her in the doorway.

“I see your potential,” he whispers. Glances at her. Meets her eyes so…regretfully. “I just hope I am wrong,” he croaks.

And then he’s gone. Away down the corridor.

Narcissa takes a moment. Takes a breath. Steadies herself against stone.

What…did he see in her? Did he see— he couldn’t have seen—

He cannot read her mind. He’s not a legilimens. Cannot know. It’s impossible. For him to fear her, to see—

She’s not. She’s not like that. She’s doing this because she has to. She isn’t cruel. Isn’t— she’s not— Bella is different. Narcissa doesn’t take pleasure in cruelty. In violence. In…

She has to do it. She has to kill him. She has to.

So, yes. Narcissa often escapes. This evening, to the Prefect Bathroom. During dinner. She skips dinner.

So that the bathroom is empty.

She takes her time. Uses lots of bubbles, and merely sort of stands there so she doesn’t have to…see anything she doesn’t want to see. That Draco wouldn’t want her to see. It’s impossible of course for her not to have— but when it is possible, she avoids it. No unnecessary looking or touching.

Myrtle spins past, squealing and giggling like she has been for the past half an hour. “More bubbles? Someone’s shy. You shouldn’t be, you know. You are very handsome.”

Narcissa just closes her eyes, sinking to sit at the side, resting her head. “As you have said. Repeatedly. Don’t you have other things to be doing? Other boys and girls to spy on?”

Myrtle screeches. “Girls! What would I want to spy on girls for? They’re just mean and nasty and pull on my pigtails,” she wails. “Or poke fun at my glasses.”

She breaks into sobs. Comes to sit on the side, next to Narcissa. Looks up every now and then to see if she’s getting any attention, and then returns to her whimpering.

Narcissa slips underwater completely. Blocks the sound out. Eyes closed. Submerged.

She considers a bubblehead charm. She could just stay down here. No irritating…

She feels the water move. Myrtle. Comes up for air.

Wipes the bubbles from her face.

Myrtle cackles. “Ooh! Now this is more interesting! I spy a witch!”

What?!

Narcissa’s hands fly to her chest, checking for—

Flat. No breasts. The polyjuice hasn’t run out. So what does—

And someone comes through the door.

Narcissa ducks lower in the water. Then realises who it is and groans. “Occupied! The bathroom is occupied!” she calls.

Granger jumps. Covers her face and turns around. “Malfoy?! How— What are you doing here?”

What— “Bathing!” Narcissa snaps. Obviously. Ensures there are enough bubbles around her.

“Ooh!” Myrtle coos. “How naughty. A witch and a wizard in the bathroom? That’s not allowed.”

“And you shouldn’t be watching people in the bathroom, you disgusting girl!” Narcissa shouts harshly. “Leave us in peace! You’re not wanted here. You’re never wanted here.”

And that sends Myrtle really crying and wailing. Splashing water about and then jetting off through the pipes.

“That was a bit mean,” Granger calls over, hands still covering her eyes but cautiously moving closer.

Narcissa moves back. Scoffs. “And now she’s gone. Simple. I should have shouted at her ages ago.”

“She…was right though,” Granger says quietly. Hesitantly. “It…the bathroom shouldn’t have let us both in at the same time. Not unless you were a witch.”

Narcissa freezes. Drags a mountain of bubbles towards her, praying the polyjuice has a few hours left. Severus had assured her she had until midnight, but polyjuice is not overly reliable in duration.

“Well, obviously I’m not,” Narcissa says casually. “It must have read you wrong. Thought you were a wizard from your robes and trousers.”

Granger sits down on the marble floor. Nods to herself. Then grits her teeth, seeming to come to a decision. “Are…you sure? That you’re not a witch? That you don’t feel like a witch? On the inside? Because it’s fine if you do! And— and magic recognises perceptions of gender, not bodies. So— So no matter what you show on the outside, if on the inside you think of yourself as a witch, that’s okay, Malfoy.”

Oh.

Oh no.

She hadn’t realised—

But that does make sense.

So now Miss Granger thinks that….

Oh.

Narcissa sighs. “How long have you been theorising this? Believing that I have…gender issues?”

Granger moves her hands from her face. Carefully looks across the room at the mermaid, rather than in her direction. “Well…since the first day of term. You made a few comments, and you’ve been holding yourself differently, behaving differently, talking differently. And— and you don’t like people touching you. You look at your reflection strangely, sadly, like it’s a different person. And— and I’ve seen you drinking something. A potion. Sometimes Professor Snape comes and gives it to you…”

Her heart begins to race. Too observant. Far too observant. Draco had told her the witch was named the brightest in their year, clever, but—

Hermione Granger is far more observant than she had anticipated.

Has come to the wrong conclusion…but might reach the correct one, if this one is dismissed.

Difficult. Very difficult. What to do? What to say? Narcissa hasn’t spoken in…minutes now. That’s suspicious.

Draco is going to hate her for this…

Narcissa clears her throat. “You will…keep your thoughts to yourself? Won’t you, Hermione?”

There. First name. Trust. An offer of…cordiality.

She searches Granger’s face. Sees…sympathy. That’s what the sympathy had been. But also happiness. Slight surprise.

Granger smiles softly. “Of course. It’s between us. I’d never tell anyone. And if you want to talk…I’m here. I’m an ally. No judgement, or…even anything close to judgement! No matter what our past is, or our views. This is different.”

“I’m still the same person,” Narcissa grumbles. “We still have nothing in common.”

Granger considers this, head titled to the side. “Are you straight?”

Umm…

Well that is a personal question. And very off topic.

And rather complicated! Which gender is she, in this scenario?

Granger sighs. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. You’re right, I do need to deliberate before I speak. I just thought that— well I meant that—”

She looks down at the water. At the bubbles. Fiddles with the washbag she’s brought with her. “I’m…not. Straight,” Granger says quietly. “So…yes. Now you know my secret, and I know yours. If that evens things out a bit?”

And she looks up. Meets Narcissa’s eye, shame still sunk into her features.

Brave. Gryffindors are so recklessly brave. Far too honourable. And idiotic.

Narcissa nods. “Turn around. I’m getting out. And would you pass me a towel?”

Granger walks over to the towels. Chuckles. “It doesn’t matter if I look. You know I’m not interested now. I don’t like—”

“Witches?” Narcissa interrupts. “Or do you mean wizards? That’s rather unprogressive of you, Granger, to equate a body to—”

“Sorry!” Granger shouts. “I didn’t mean— of course— I just meant that for me, I know I’m not attracted to— I mean—”

Narcissa laughs. Can’t help it. That was rather cruel. “Just hand me the towel, Hermione,” she says deliberately. “It’s fine. I did not mean it. I was merely teasing you. I do it so often, I thought you’d be used to it by now.”

Hermione holds the towel out behind her back. “You don’t normally tease,” she says, voice colder than usual. Empty. “You bully. Mock. There’s a difference.”

True. As she should. Tear her down. But now Narcissa has to be in this witch’s good books, or risk exposure, so…

Narcissa quickly dries her hair off, and then wraps the towel around herself, automatically tying it over her chest, forgetting she has nothing to hide. “I’ll give you my word, then,” she says slowly. “I won’t…bully you for your sexuality. The same as you won’t tell anyone that I’m…a witch.”

Apologies, Draco. Her sincerest apologies.

Hermione sighs heavily. “Alright. Yes. I agree. I wouldn’t have told anyone anyway.”

Narcissa sighs too. “I know, Hermione. You’re sickeningly honourable. It’s nauseating. You can turn around now.”

Hermione does turn around. Still very hesitantly.

And then smiles. Perhaps because of the towel positioning.

Narcissa raises an eyebrow.

Hermione shakes her head. “You keep calling me Hermione. I…that feels like a big step for you. You never call me that.”

Well, of course not. Why would Draco be on a first name basis with a…with…

An unexpected nausea hits. A heaviness. Dizziness, as if she is back surrounded by potions’ fumes.

Perhaps it’s the heat. The steam. The bubbles.

Narcissa looks away. Walks over to the sinks and washes her face in cold water. “It’s just a name. You call me Draco, occasionally.”

“Do you want me to call you Draco?” Granger asks from behind her. A blurred image in the mirror. “Or…just your surname…or another name?”

She pauses. Another name?

Oh. Oh…this could be amusing.

Should she? Is it too…obvious?

But it’s so tempting!

“If…I were born a girl,” she finds herself saying. “I would have been named Narcissa. After my mother. To continue her name.”

She should not have said that. If anyone hears—

Narcissa whirls around. “But— but don’t tell anyone that either!” she adds panickedly, cursing herself. “It— I don’t wish anyone to hear—”

“Narcissa,” Hermione says softly. Smiles at her. “It suits you. Really.”

Oh. It is a bit of a relief. To hear her own name. It’s been…over a month now, deep undercover.

Hermione smiles wider. “I’ll…call you Malfoy. Around everyone else. And you can call me Granger. But sometimes…it’s quite nice being Hermione and Narcissa.”

Narcissa fights a smile of her own. A laugh. Oh this is wonderfully, ridiculously odd! Her name! She— she really has no idea who she’s speaking to! If the mud— mug— Granger even knew!

She flaps her hands at the witch. “Then get out of here, Hermione. Shoo! I need to get dressed. And whatever we are, we are not well-enough acquainted to disrobe in front of one another. Just wait outside and make sure another unsuspecting witch doesn’t walk in. Like Pansy!” she shudders at the thought. Far too complicated to explain, and far too little cloth as a barrier.

Granger laughs. “Alright. I’ll wait for you outside, and tell people that there’s a problem with the lock.”

And she walks off, giving Narcissa a conspiratorial nod.

The door shuts.

Narcissa leans against the sink with a groan. “Oh, what a mess! Draco, I am so sorry. I shall…I’ll send you some money. And sweets. Anything you wish. A new broom. A new house that we might both escape to,” she mutters to herself as she begins getting dressed.

Narcissa. What was she thinking? Talk about hiding in plain sight!

But…

At least there is no chance of a romantic entanglement with Granger. One witch that she now knows for certain is not interested in her son’s body. Is talking to her out of curiosity and…compassion. After years of torment.

What a bizarre witch.

Chapter Text

Halloween. All Hallows’ Eve is already upon them, and Narcissa is yet to kill the Headmaster.

Kill Dumbledore. The…greatest wizard alive. Misguided, and overly optimistic in his outlook, but great. Powerful. Wise, and far more cunning than he first appears.

She has come to the conclusion that the usual methods won’t suffice. A dark curse. A heavy furnishing falling from above. A vanished step. Too simple. Too easy. Too preventable.

Even poison, she admits, is…far too risky with all the safety measures in place around the school. No dangerous items coming in. Which means all of the suspects would be within the castle.

So, no. She’ll need to get into his good graces. Take herself off the list of suspects. Catch him by surprise…

If she can pin the wizard down. He is forever coming and going, without any kind of rhyme or reason. Not to the Ministry, or to any acquaintances or family members that she is aware of. In fact, other than Aberforth, she does not believe he has any family of which to speak.

Of anyone, the Headmaster seems to be spending most of his evenings around Harry Potter. She is going to have to somehow, very subtly and credibly, get in the good books of Harry Potter.

Not ideal. Further undercover. And she may have to…sever some ties with Pansy and the boys. Something she is not entirely sure is wise for her future prospects.

Draco’s future prospects.

It’s a delicate line. A fine line. She doesn’t know how Severus balances it. Not that she will be revealing any of her most recent machinations to him. She’s not that trusting.

But she knows someone who is. And she believes it is time to reap what she has sown.

So she heads to the library. Sits in her usual, hidden corner, with a stack of enticingly advanced and varied books. Waits.

It only takes an hour for Granger to appear. To stand on her toes like a meerkat, and then make her way between the shelves to her secluded spot.

And to smile hesitantly. Lean to whisper in her ear, as she has for the last few weeks whenever they’re alone. “Hello, Narcissa.”

Such a relief. A terrifying relief.

Narcissa adjusts her robes. Fights a smile. “Hermione,” she murmurs back.

And the witch flops down opposite her with a sigh, pulling an absurd number of books from her bag. “What are you studying? Is it potions? I was going to do potions. I just can’t understand how Harry is top of the class now!” she exclaims, slightly too loudly and getting a shush from Madam Pince.

Ah, yes. The prodigy hasn’t always been a prodigy. Narcissa now knows that, from a recent discussion with Pansy.

She nods, moving her chair closer to Granger so they can converse at a more suitable volume. Casts a muffiliato. “Yes, I was surprised by his skill in potion-making this year. I—”

Granger grabs her hand. Just takes her hand, for no reason. Narcissa admits she has encouraged a certain level of civility as of late, but that does not extend to— What is she—

Narcissa sharply pulls away. “What are you—"

Granger shakes her head, eyes wide. “Where did you learn that spell?” she hisses.

Spell?

Muffiliato?

Oh. It had slipped her mind. Not a textbook spell. Severus invented it, and it has passed through her peers and social circle over the years.

She smirks at Granger. “From Professor Snape. He invented it himself. It’s a very useful charm. Everyone I know uses it against eavesdropping. It makes our speech appear like a muffled hum to passers-by. My godfather—”

“Snape is your godfather?” Granger asks. “And— invented— oh of course! How didn’t I recognise the handwriting? It’s so obvious!”

Narcissa frowns. She’s not following. What…

Granger pulls her to her feet. “Come with me! I need to show you something. We need to talk to Harry!”

Harry?

Well, that was easy! In with the Golden Trio. Apparently, they don’t come separately.

“I don’t think Potter will wish to speak with me,” Narcissa mutters deliberately sadly as she collects her belongings. “We’ve…gotten off on the wrong foot. And with my Father…”

Granger squeezes her hand. Looks into her eyes earnestly. “You’re not your Father. Not if you don’t want to be. You…I can see it. You’re different. When it’s just us, you’re different. More comfortable. That’s who you really are.”

Narcissa’s stomach squirms uncomfortably. Who she really is? Miss Granger shall have to pass through many layers to reach who she is truly speaking with. She is far too naïve, and blunt, and quick to—

Granger squeezes her hand again, looking around to check that they’re out of sight behind the bookshelf. “Please. Just think about it. Do you really want to continue the way you’re going? Because it’s not too late to…get out. Decide your own future. Not follow…”

She drifts off. Bites her lip and looks away.

Oh. She would have…helped Draco? Taken him over to her side? After only a few weeks of amicability?

“You’re…so quick to forgive me?” Narcissa whispers in disbelief. “To…want me to change?”

Granger sighs. “What do you want, Narcissa? What do you really want?”

Narcissa’s eyes fall shut. She grips the bookshelf at her back. Resists the urge to shake her head. To scream. To flee. Feels her heart hammer and her breathing quicken, faces flashing through her mind. Her son. Her husband. Her sister. Her sisters—

She wrenches her eyes open. Pushes it all down. Pushes it away. “Potter. Take me to— I want to talk to Potter.”

She has to talk to Potter. Has to…join the Light. Play her part. Get close to Dumbledore.

And kill him. Appease the Dark Lord. Prove her son’s loyalty, his use.

And make it to the end of the war. This brewing, second war. This constant, seemingly interminable conflict.

Granger is looking at her oddly again. Curiously. Brain whirring.

“What is it?” Narcissa asks.

Granger shakes her head. “Is…when you say…did you mean…Do you like Harry?”

What?!

Oh these teenagers! Far too hormonal and—

“No!” Narcissa grits out. “You’re the one who said we should talk to him, and he is the poster boy for the Light. I’m choosing my path, my allies, not my— He’s a wizard!”

Draco isn’t attracted to Potter! That she’s aware of. His interests lie in witches. She isn’t—

Or should she have feigned an attraction to Potter? Would that be a wise move?

No. Her intentions need to seem pure. Genuine. A lost, regretful soul turning to the Light, not wanting to follow in his Father’s footsteps. She is not sure her acting skills are up to…fawning over Potter. People would see through her in an instant.

Granger puts the remaining books back, tidying their table. “Okay then. So…you’ve decided to do this? Even walking down the corridor with me is going to make people talk.”

Narcissa sighs. “I know. Where is it we’re going? Why are we talking to Potter?”

Granger turns around. “I’ve figured out how he’s so good at potions this year! It’s his book. He’s using this old book, that someone has written notes inside. Someone calling themselves The Half-blood Prince.”

Half-blood. Potions. Eileen Prince.

“Severus?” Narcissa mutters.

Granger nods. “That’s what I thought! Potions! Harry is learning spells and techniques from Snape!”

Oh. Narcissa shrugs. “So?”

Granger laughs. Then cringes as Madam Pince shushes them again.

Starts walking Narcissa out of the library, arm in arm, both of them ignoring the incredulous looks and gaping mouths from all around them.

“So, Snape is a half-blood?” Granger whispers. “And Harry is obsessed with him. Thinks he’s a genius. A mentor. A friend. Reads his notes over and over again. I was worried, but—”

Narcissa pulls them to a stop in an alcove. “You should be worried. Potter should be careful,” she whispers. “Sev— Uncle Severus knows lots of different kinds of curses. Not all of them are tame. They shouldn’t be played with. You’re right, I—”

She marches off. “Where is Potter? I need to see that book. I may have to confiscate it.”

Severus has invented dozens of spells, and was rather vengeful in his youth. Frustrated. Power-hungry. She cannot imagine what sort of— Bella uses some of his spells. And not just levicorpus. What about sectumsempra—

She begins to jog.

She hears Granger running behind her. “He’s out on the quidditch pitch.”

Right. Training for the next match. Gryffindor Captain.

Befriend the Gryffindor Captain. The Chosen One. Oh this is extremely risky.

For your son. It’s for your son. Severus is undercover too, the Dark Lord will accept it. Bella will accept it. Will be delighted that she’s fooling the Light. She might even be able to discover their base. Their hideout.

She trots down the Entrance Hall steps, pulls her scarf and hat out of her bag, and heads out to the pitch.

Granger runs up next to her, panting. “Wait! Are you sure— We don’t want a confrontation!”

“Do you have my back?” Narcissa clips, not slowing.

“Well— yes. Of course. But—”

Narcissa shrugs. “Then I shall be fine. So long as I can trust you.”

Trust. Let’s test that famous Gryffindor word of honour.

Training appears to be over. The last few players on the ground and exiting the changing rooms.

Both Weasleys spot her.

“What are you doing here?” the girl one snarls, coming towards her and flicking her hair over her shoulders. “The pitch is ours, and you didn’t even make the team this year, did you, Malfoy? Not wanted anymore now that you don’t have Daddy’s money backing you up?”

How—

“Ginny, leave h—him alone! Please! Malfoy’s not here to— I told him to come,” Granger pleads from her side. Stumbling over pronouns.

Keeping her word.

Narcissa fights a smirk and folds her arms. “Yes, your friends aren’t very welcoming, Granger. Perhaps I should leave.”

Ronald Weasley looks between them suspiciously. “What’s going on, Hermione? What are you hanging out with ferret face for?”

Ferret face?

She reaches up to touch her nose. What’s wrong with her face?

Potter comes jogging out of the changing rooms, wand already drawn even as he dries his hair with a towel. “What’s happening? You okay, Hermione?”

Granger groans. “Yes! So everyone calm down. I was just talking to Malfoy in the library, and we realised something important! About who the Half-blood Prince is!”

Potter’s head jerks, looking around warily. “The Prince? Do you know— Why did you tell Malfoy?”

Narcissa looks away. Looks at the ground. Tries to appear as unthreatening as possible. Ashamed. Shrugs like a sulky, vulnerable teenage boy. Wraps her arms around her waist like an insecure girl.

Granger takes a deep breath. “Because Malfoy and I are friends,” she says firmly. “He wanted to talk to us. To help.”

“Friends?” Ronald squawks. “Pull the other one. What’s he said to you? What’s your angle, Malfoy? Because there’s no way—”

“I’m not my father!” Narcissa snaps. Shouts.

Then steps back. Looks around at them all cautiously. “I— well— he’s gone now. And everything is— it’s just Mother and me. So…over the summer, she suggested that I stop thinking of what Father wants, and do what she suggests instead. What I want. And it’s— I—”

And here’s her one chance. Her one trump card. Of all the things Draco has told her of his school days, of all the letters she has received over the years, this is the moment that may turn the tide.

She holds her hand out to Potter. “I’d like to choose the right sort for myself now, if that is alright?”

Potter just stares at her hand. Wide-eyed. Doesn’t move. Like it’s a deadly serpent, about to strike.

Narcissa sighs and pulls back. Looks at Granger to—

Granger huffs at her and grabs her arm. Holds it back out. “Just wait a second. He’ll shake it. Because he knows it’s the right thing to do,” she says, glaring at Potter.

And Potter quickly takes her hand. “Uh…yeah. I mean, if you— if Hermione thinks— Are you sure, Hermione?”

Granger smiles triumphantly. Then shrugs. “Well, Malfoy? Are we friends?”

Friends?

Narcissa can’t help but grimace. Friends. “We’re…allies?” she tries instead. “On speaking terms?”

And Granger hits her arm. Shoves her. How dare—

“How dare you!” Narcissa snaps. “And all of you— unhand me— Off of my person!”

She pulls out of Potter’s grip. Adjusts her robes and the length of her scarf. The tilt of her hat from where it’s slipped into her eyes. “All of you are far too brash. Where are your manners? Do you treat all of your acquaintances this way? And— it’s beginning to rain. We should seek shelter. We’ll catch a chill, out in this weather.”

And she casts a quick drying spell at Potter’s hair before heading towards the boat sheds. She needs to have a look at Potter’s book, and build some kind of familiarity with this group away from added distractions.

She hears a snort from behind her. Ronald Weasley. “You’ve definitely been hanging out with your mum too much over the holidays, Malfoy. You even looked like her for a second.”

What?!

She reaches into her bag for the polyjuice. Is it time already?

She takes it out and sips at it. It’s in a large, opaque flask. It’s a cold day. A hot drink is not unheard of. “Thank you,” she replies simply. “You look like your mother too.”

“I do not!” Weasley shouts. “What does that bloody mean? Where are you taking us? What—”

“There’s nothing wrong with looking like your mother,” Granger says firmly.

Weasley scoffs. “Says you. But for us blokes—”

“I like having my mother’s eyes,” Potter says quietly. “It means I can kind of see her. Sometimes. Like she’s not gone.”

They drift into silence. Narcissa swallows a lump in her throat. Sometimes she forgets…

Orphan. Orphaned. His mother…

She quickly nods. Time to break the tension. Build a bond. “I have my mother’s hair,” she says just as quietly. “You would think it was from my father’s side...but it’s not. He actually…is not naturally blond. It’s fake. I found the charm he uses.”

Granger gasps. “Really?!”

They reach the boat shed. Narcissa heads inside, holding the door for Granger and the others and laughing at their gobsmacked expressions. “Really. Shall I demonstrate?”

And she points her wand at Granger’s head.

“No!” she shrieks, covering her head. “Blonde? Oh I’d look so strange! Don’t!”

Narcissa laughs again. It’s freeing to be able to laugh. To not be herself.

The younger Weasley grins. Pulls her brother in front of her. “Get Ron! I want to see him as a blond!”

“No! Ginny! Geroff! Don’t listen to her!”

A blond Weasley? A Malfoy-Weasley?

She lowers her wand. The very idea is repulsive.

Weasley slumps in relief. Sits down on the floor. “Thought you were gonna do it then. Mum would have bloody killed me. And the twins! If they found out—”

Potter barks out a laugh. “Is it permanent? Why does he even— not blond? That’s the family secret?”

Narcissa perches carefully on an overturned boat. “There are many family secrets. Which I won’t be divulging quite yet. Now. Show me your potions book, Potter, if you would be so kind?”

Potter fumbles around in his bag. “What do you want it for? What do you know?”

Narcissa sighs. “I believe I know its former owner. As do you. Do you not recognise the handwriting?”

Potter shakes his head, holding the retrieved book on his lap. “It’s all scrunched up. Smudged. Written in the corners. And this book is old. It can’t be anyone in our year. They probably don’t go to Hogwarts anymore.”

And he wanders over. Sits down next to Narcissa very hesitantly.

Narcissa takes one look inside the book and knows. She recognises the edition. Had one herself. And the handwriting is—

“It’s Professor Snape,” she says bluntly. “That’s his writing. And his spells. It must be his book from when he was a student. It’s as we thought, Hermione.”

“Snape?!” Potter shouts. “No! It— it can’t be! It—”

Narcissa points out a spell. “Muffiliato. He still uses that one. I know it too. He’s a friend of the family. And this one— for enemies?”

She looks at Potter sternly. “Do not use that. Under any circumstances. Do you hear me, Potter?”

Weasley walks over. “What? So that Harry doesn’t use it against you and your Death Eater pals?”

“Ron!” Granger shouts.

Narcissa just glares at them all. “Precisely. For enemies. I know this spell. Do you know who also knows this spell? My Aunt Bella. Do you remember her?”

They all flinch back. Fear and horror and nausea written on their faces. The look everyone gets when Bella is mentioned.

Narcissa looks back to the book in the following silence. Checks for more problems. “The potion-making should be fine. Professor Snape is a Master of the art. There’s a reason you’ve been doing so well this term. But the spells…you should be careful of. He was different when he was a teenager. Had a lot of resentment.”

“He still has a lot of resentment,” Potter mutters.

True. She cannot believe what he gets away with. Especially to poor Mr Longbottom. What did he ever do?

“But slightly more restraint,” Narcissa corrects. No violence. Severus has long turned his back on violence. His words may be cruel, but not his wand.

“And he has poise,” Granger comments.

Pardon?

Narcissa looks up.

Smirks at the witch’s challenging expression. She does love a good witty repartee. “He wishes he had poise,” Narcissa drawls. “More like…melodramatics.”

Granger raises an eyebrow. “Is there a difference?”

Narcissa raises an eyebrow back. “Do I have a cape?”

Granger laughs. “Do you? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Hmm. Does Draco own a cape? Lucius does…

“You had to think about it!” Granger exclaims. “That counts!”

Narcissa scoffs. “Are you judging my dress sense? And what about you, witch? Do you even own a dress? Stockings? A hairbrush?”

The jab doesn’t hit. Granger just taps her lip, still smiling. “Yes, no, and yes. But witches don’t have to own dresses. So if that’s the point you’re making—”

“What is going on?” Ginevra Weasley shouts. “How long has this— How are you friends?”

They both fall silent.

Granger just looks at her. Probably trying to determine what their story should be.

Narcissa wets her lips in thought. “We have found…that we have certain things in common. Granger is…tolerable. In small doses.”

And she’s whacked in the arm again as Granger storms over. Will this witch stop pushing and prodding and—

“Be careful! You’re going to push me off of the— Hermione!”

She can feel herself falling off the boat. Sliding back towards the water—

She’s pulled back onto the dock. By Granger. And Potter. And both Weasleys. Hands fisted in her cloak.

Gryffindors.

She has somehow successfully befriended Gryffindors.

Chapter Text

Narcissa groans into her hands and then looks up at the witch. Watches her pace around the now empty Common Room. It’s late. Nearing midnight. “Pansy, please. You have to understand—”

Pansy spins around. Slaps her across the face before she can even think to move. “Understand?! Understand why you’re now chummy with bloodtraitors and mudblood filth? Gryffindors and— Who are you, Draco? What’s happened to you? Why are you doing this to me?”

Narcissa holds a hand to her cheek in complete and utter shock. Slapped? Not even Bella ever— It stings! It’s humiliating!

She feels tears pool in her eyes. Blinks them back. “To you?” she growls. “This isn’t about you! How can you be so— I thought you were a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor. Think. Think why it might be beneficial for me to gain their trust.”

Pansy freezes. Turns from her continued pacing by the fire to stare at her.

And steps closer. Narcissa flinches back.

Pansy looks away guiltily. “Oh. So…this isn’t…this isn’t because of her?”

Her?

Narcissa rubs at her face tiredly. Sighs. “Granger? You believe I have an interest in Granger?” she says softly. “No. Of course not. You know who she is.”

Pansy sits down next to her. Takes her hand. “Then…I’m sorry for doubting you. This is your plan, isn’t it? You’re being your usual brilliant, cunning, clever and ambitious self.”

Narcissa lets her hand be held. Finds some comfort in it. It seems this witch truly does care about her son. About her. Pansy has been a good friend over the past few months. An ever eager and trusting presence. And an enjoyable conversationalist.

Narcissa looks into the flames. Nods. “I’m doing what has to be done. For the Cause. For my family. So that it all works out in the end. My father is gone. I must do what I can in his absence.”

Pansy’s fingers trail over her arm. “Then I’ll stand by you. Play my part too. I suppose I can…pretend to hate you. If that’s what you need. I’m not sure I’ll be very convincing, but I’ll…channel my rage, I guess. I have— I shouldn’t be angry with you, but I am. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Narcissa turns to face her. Brushes some hair off Pansy’s face. Shrugs. “I hurt you too. I should have told you my plan as soon as I thought of it. But…yes. Don’t you dare ever hit me again, Miss Parkinson.”

Pansy slowly nods, gaze heavy. Leans closer. “I won’t. I swear it,” she whispers against Narcissa’s lips.

Narcissa closes her eyes. She had predicted this. Knows what is coming.

And believes she has decided that Miss Parkinson is a suitable match. Loves her son.

“From tomorrow, you hate me,” Narcissa murmurs. Waits.

She feels Pansy nod. A nose brushing hers. Quick breaths.

Then hesitant lips against her own.

Guilt. Overwhelming guilt. It is very likely she is stealing this witch’s first kiss. Draco’s first kiss.

But there is no greater promise than that made by young lovers.

She kisses back. Chastely. Only briefly. So as not to reject the witch. Pulls away as soon as she feels hands on her back.

And she smiles softly at her. Cups her face to push her back. “It will all be worth it in the end,” Narcissa says, far more calmly than her confused heart feels. Her thumb rubs back and forth over a cheek…

Draco’s thumb.

She pulls away. Stands up. Steps away.

Don’t— don’t look at the witch like that. It’s creepy. Don’t be— she thinks you are your son!

Narcissa hastily retreats. Finds herself heading towards the girls’ dormitories and changes course. Keeps smiling though, so the witch doesn’t feel discouraged. “Goodnight,” she whispers.

And flees. Oh dear. Her list of apologies to Draco is growing by the minute! What would— if anyone finds out about this—

Undercover. It’s fine. Playing a part. A role. Undercover.

But she should probably ensure that she doesn’t kiss anyone else. Draco will gain some kind of…reputation!

She walks into her dorm—

And finds herself hanging upside down by her ankles, Crabbe and Goyle dangling her in the air. “Vincent! Gregory!” she shouts. “Put me down this instant!”

They shake her. All of her belongings fall out of her pockets. Including her flask. And her hand mirror. And her wand.

She reaches down to grab it—

“What you hiding, Draco?” Crabbe grunts. “The Gryffindors paying you off to talk to them?”

Paying—

Narcissa groans, fingertips brushing her wand. “No! I have far more money than them! No, it’s— you don’t understand! It’s complicated!”

She’s dropped. Heavily. Hits her head on the floor.

And then is being helped up by Zabini. Such a polite young wizard. Can be a bit standoffish, but seems to have some manners.

“Thank you,” she sighs. “Now where is— now if you would all allow me to explain—”

Zabini shakes his head. Gets back into bed. “You don’t need to explain anything. It’s easier if we all stay quiet. You continue with you, Draco. And we’ll continue with us. And none of us will look too closely.”

Oh.

Narcissa sits down on her own bed. Begins taking off her robes, and putting her belongings in a locked trunk.

So he wants plausible deniability.

Wise. Very wise. She’s not even sure of Zabini’s allegiance in the War. His mother is actually being very sensible, keeping them out of it.

Too late for Narcissa, though….

She glances warily at Crabbe and Goyle, and then nods determinedly. If she can manage Bella, she can certainly manage these two. Not a brain cell between them. “From now on, I’ll be talking to the Gryffindors, alright? Crabbe? Goyle? So…just leave me be. You’re still my friends. Nothing has changed. I’ll still help you with your homework. But I’ll also be talking to different people.”

Both of them frown at her confusedly, shaking their heads. “Even…the mudbloods? And Potter?”

She sighs. Lies down. “Yes.”

And waits. Stares up at the ceiling in the darkness.

One of them chortles. “But Potter stinks! Do you stink too now, Malfoy? Stinky mud and filth.”

“Like a Weasley!” the other laughs.

Narcissa rolls her eyes and sits up. “Perhaps I do. I’ll go have a shower, just in case. Will that make you feel better?”

Another laugh. “Yeah, go shower, stinky!”

For the love of— imbeciles. She is sharing a bedchamber with complete imbeciles.

She heads to the bathroom. Feels a pillow hit her on the way.

Ignore them. Ignore it, ignore it—

Something more solid hits her in the back of the head.

She whirls around. “I am counting to three! And if you are not both in bed, with the lights out, then I’ll start taking points! One!”

They fall silent. Jump under the covers.

The light is still on.

“Two…” she says slowly.

And it falls pitch black.

She smiles to herself. Goes into the bathroom.

It always works. No-one ever dares get to three.

The second Hogsmeade Weekend has already rolled around. If only the weather were better, it would be a relief to be out of the Castle. She’s half tempted to apparate somewhere. Anywhere. A remote beach. A remote island, if she could.

But no. She cannot falter yet. She can rest when this is over. This is the perfect opportunity.

Last month, she had spent the weekend alone in the Castle, but this time…

She’s sat next to Harry Potter. At the Three Broomsticks.

She’s also sat next to Ronald Weasley, but no matter. The two are close. She can glean information from either.

She finishes her butterbeer. “I’m going to the bar. Would anyone like another beverage? It’s on me.”

Weasley gives her a sulky look and reaches around in his pocket. “I don’t need your money, Malfoy. You can’t buy us off with…What is it, Harry?”

Potter’s expression has fallen rather suddenly. Open-mouthed shock.

Narcissa follows his gaze. Ah.

Ginny Weasley, in a rather intimate embrace with…what’s his name?

“Ginny?!” Weasley squawks. “What does Dean think he’s playing at? Wha— I’m going over there!”

Narcissa tuts. “Do you really think that’s wise? Your sister may not take kindly to you interfering with—”

“He has his tongue down her throat!”

Narcissa looks to Potter for some kind of…guidance. How do wizards usually behave in these situations? She isn’t certain…well she supposes Bella has pulled Lucius off of her on numerous occasions, and certainly argued with Andromeda when— but that is hardly—

Granger suddenly appears before her, having arrived whilst she was lost in thought, red-cheeked and windswept, removing her cloak. “Sorry I took so long, Professor McGonagall was…what’s happening?”

Narcissa just gestures in Ginevra’s direction. They’re no longer kissing, but whispering very closely.

Granger rolls her eyes. Sits down. “I think it’s sweet. She really likes him.”

Weasley huffs. “Bet he likes her too,” he grumbles. “Letting him—”

Narcissa sighs loudly. “Granger, would you like a drink? I’m buying the next round.”

Weasley huffs again. “I told you, I can get it myself!”

Oh for the love of—

Hermione laughs. “Why? Do you want to go and flirt with Madam Rosmerta again?”

Weasley glances across at the bar. Shrugs. “Well, why shouldn’t I? Seeing as everyone else is flirting and— everyone flirts with Rosmerta. Fred and George did. Bill even got free drinks sometimes.”

Rosmerta? The wizards still flirt with Rosmerta? How old is she now? She…

Narcissa looks over too. Hmm. Well, the witch has aged well. Still very attractive, even twenty years on. Narcissa can certainly see the appeal, especially as she is the one providing the alcohol.

Hermione sighs from the table. “I’m sure she’s fed up with people flirting with her by now. You should leave her alone. Malfoy, I’d like a butterbeer please, if you’re going. Thank you.”

Narcissa slowly puts her money back down on the table, an idea occurring to her. Glances at the boys. “And perhaps you need to lighten up, Granger. Weasley’s right. What’s wrong with a little harmless flirting? Or free drinks, for that matter?”

And now she has Weasley’s attention. Potter’s gaze has been torn from the corner.

“You’re going to get us free drinks?” Weasley says disbelievingly. A grin tugs at his mouth. “Bet you can’t. There’s no way. You’re too...”

She raises an eyebrow. “Too what? I’m a wizard, just like you. If your brother can manage it—”

Potter snorts. “You’re not Bill. He’s a curse breaker! Has a fang as an earring. Has an earring.”

Narcissa shrugs. “I’ve worn earrings.”

And then she heads to the bar, before they can question that. Slip of the tongue.

Right. She can do this. She can flirt. One of the wizards. And Draco is certainly as handsome as a Weasley. How hard can it be?

She waits her turn. Looks the witch over. Should she compliment her appearance? No, Granger is right, far too aggravating. She supposes—

She’s reached the front. It’s her turn. Rosmerta looking at her expectantly. And warily. Green eyes narrowed.

Narcissa smiles. “Good afternoon, Madam. I hope business is going well for you today. We are certainly lucky with this delightful weather.”

The door bangs in the wind, punctuating her joke. A joke. Irony.

Rosmerta doesn’t look impressed. Hums. Wipes down the bar. “What can I get for you, Mr Malfoy?”

Alright. Not very promising. And her reputation does not seem to be going down very well. Rosmerta may not have declared her side, but it is clear she’s firmly on the side of the Light.

Narcissa looks around. Leans closer. “Well, I was actually wondering…it’s a bit cheeky of me, but do you have anything unusual or…I’m trying to cheer up Potter. He’s a rather new friend of mine, and…see that red-haired girl over there? He can’t take his eyes off her. Call me a romantic, but I can’t help feeling sorry for him. He’s in a wretched state.”

Rosmerta pauses in drying a glass. Glances in Ginevra’s direction. And then behind Narcissa, towards her table. “You’re…with Potter, are you?”

Narcissa laughs. Oh that’s perfect. “Well, I’m not with him, he’s hardly my type, even if I have a bit of a weakness for green eyes.” And she catches Rosmerta’s eye to make her point.

Rosmerta smiles. Laughs. “You are a cheeky one, I’ll give you that. And full of surprises. I’ll see what I can do.”

Ha!

Rosmerta hovers some bottles towards her. “Non-alcoholic, mind. I’m not about to lose my licence. And you’re not seventeen yet, are you? Or at least Mr Potter isn’t.”

Narcissa nods. “Understandable. I’m sure I’ll enjoy whatever you have to offer, I always do. It’s a pity my birthday isn’t for a few months. I’d drink here more often. Spend the night and stay for breakfast.”

Rosmerta chuckles. “I’m sure you would. Although I’m not sure our rooms are up to Malfoy standards.”

Narcissa tuts. Remembers what Granger had said to her, all those days ago. “Oh, I’m not sure the Malfoy name means much anymore. I would take my mother’s name, but I’m guessing you wouldn’t wish to house a Black either?”

Rosmerta puts down a bottle rather harshly. “Definitely not. Sorry, love. Looks like you’re nameless.”

Narcissa makes a show of checking her pockets, and then leans on the bar. “And galleonless. Not a sickle on me. What will Potter think of me?”

And at this Rosmerta pauses. Drinks already made. Four mystery drinks.

Gives her a look, eyebrow raised.

Narcissa just smiles.

Rosmerta laughs. “Well, just this once, love. Seeing as you’re nameless, I’ll take pity on you.”

“Pity?” Narcissa replies, pulling the tray towards her. “You wound me, Madam. Can I not just be a mysterious stranger? Here today and gone tomorrow?”

Rosmerta flicks the cloth at her. “Off out of here, mystery man. I have other patrons to serve. Keep the mystery to yourself, and remember your money next time.”

Yes. Perhaps too far. Pushing her luck.

Narcissa returns to the table, tray in hand, held over the heads of the milling crowd thanks to her newfound height.

And puts it down, three amazed expressions greeting her.

Weasley laughs. “You bloody did it! And she…was she flirting back?”

Granger reaches for a drink. “What is this?”

Narcissa hums. “No idea. A mystery. She made it herself. Here, Potter.”

She passes one to him. He looks at it dubiously, as do the others.

Narcissa sighs. “Well it’s not poison!” And she takes a sip of her own. Hmm. Whatever it is, it’s good. Somehow warming and refreshing, all at once.

Granger laughs in shock. Drinks some of her own, and shakes her head, staring across at Narcissa. “You…I can’t believe you just did that.”

Narcissa’s chest tightens. She had rather gone against Granger’s wishes. She’s not about to lose one of her closest acquaintances, is she? “I…should I not have?” she whispers.

Granger smiles. Takes another sip. “Well…I guess she didn’t mind too much, if she made you these. Maybe you’re right. No harm in a little flirting.”

Well that’s a relief. But she should really…

She leans to whisper to Potter. “Is it any good? I’m sorry about Ginny. Are you—”

Potter chokes on his drink. “I’m fine! It’s— yes, it’s— what?”

He glances at Weasley, then gives her a look. Oh. Secret.

Narcissa smiles. Nods. Holds out her drink. “Cheers, Potter.”

A glass clinks hers. And another. And another. There. One of the wizards.

“Malfoy? A word?” Severus murmurs, not looking up from his desk.

Narcissa sighs to herself but hangs back. Everyone ignoring her. It seems the Hufflepuffs are reticent to befriend her even after her ‘change of heart’, still loyal to those she has bullied, and the Slytherins are all giving her the cold shoulder.

Which is fine by her. Less people to lie to.

Except for the one Slytherin she cannot lie to.

Severus gestures for her to sit.

And then stands. Begins sweeping around the room. “Take out your book. Pretend to write. And explain to me why rather than taking someone’s place you have chosen to forge an entirely new personality!”

Angry. And confused. Very confused.

She smiles to herself, beginning her essay for next week. “It is all under control. It is necessary for the task ahead.”

“Control?” he hisses. “This is not control! This is— Why Granger? Why Potter? Why—”

“…why the Light?” she murmurs. “I’d thought you of all people would understand.”

He walks over to a storage cupboard. Goes inside. “It is not necessary. Not for you. You’re overcomplicating things, and drawing attention to yourself. You are the discussion point for the whole staffroom. Albus included.”

Narcissa grins. Perfect. “Well he does like saving poor lost souls…”

And then she freezes as she hears the door creak open.

“Malfoy? What are you doing in here? Are you alone?”

Granger.

Severus steps back further inside the cupboard. Smirks at her and holds a finger to his lips.

What a devious—

Fine. If Severus wishes to further complicate things, so be it. He can see how tangled this web really is. Why she had to alter her plan.

She puts her quill down. “Just me. I’m beginning my essay for next week. Didn’t feel like dinner with the others.”

Granger closes the door and locks it with a sigh. “They’re not bothering you, are they? Because you can sit with us. You don’t have to stay with them. Maybe you can ask to change dorms! You can stay with…me! There are only three of us in our dorm.”

Narcissa scoffs. “I think that will earn me even more threats. I’m fine. It will blow over. Crabbe and Goyle aren’t even that bad, they don’t understand, and Pansy…well, she will understand. Eventually.”

Although Narcissa is not looking forward to that revelation. That realisation.

Granger walks over, her back to Severus and the cupboard. Takes Narcissa’s hand. “Still. If you need a friend…I’m here, Narcissa.”

Narcissa looks away. Looks over Hermione’s shoulder and bites her lip against laughter at Severus’ shocked expression, eyes bugging from his head. “Hermione…” she warns.

Granger glares at her. “I mean it. You’re my friend. I think what you’re doing is…incredible. And so brave. And if you ever get tired of it all…well I know I don’t completely understand, but I’ll try.”

Narcissa laughs. “You’re too kind. Be more mean.”

Granger laughs back. “Uhh…fine. You…short hair doesn’t suit you. And those trousers look dreadful on you. You’d look better in a dress.”

Narcissa laughs again. A full, loud laugh that she can’t hold back. “Ridiculous! That is utterly ridiculous, and you know it!”

Hermione groans, tugs at her hand. “It’s not! If— Do you like dresses? Do you want to try it?”

Narcissa pulls her hand free. “Can we change the subject? Please, Hermione.”

Hermione’s expression falls. “Sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean…You don’t have to wear dresses. You can wear whatever you like. You’ll still be a witch. And…”

She looks down at Narcissa’s opening paragraph.

“…a very clever witch! Where did you learn that, Malfoy? I never would have thought of—”

She grabs Narcissa’s essay. Then grabs Narcissa’s bag and roots around inside for the books. Touching everything, and—

“Granger!” she barks. “I just organised that. I have a system. And the references I made aren’t in there. I remembered them from my library at home. You might be able to find them in the restricted section or— I’ll write them down for you, will that suffice?”

Granger smiles. “Would you? That would be great. And thank you for…sharing your family heritage with me. I know how much it means to you.”

Narcissa takes her essay back. Flattens the creases out, and picks up her quill uncomfortably. It’s true. She’s sharing…a lot of knowledge with Granger. Can’t seem to stop herself. It must be her pride. A need to show her what it means to be a pureblood.

“Yes, you should be forever grateful that I have chosen you as a friend,” Narcissa murmurs, not looking up.

She hears Granger shift. Walk away. “Really?” she replies calmly. “I thought I chose you.”

And then the door unlocks. Opens. Shuts behind her.

Narcissa continues writing.

Two long-fingered, pale hands grip either side of her desk. “You. Are. Insane,” Severus grits out. “Explain. Now!”

She chuckles. Fine, fine. She supposes she has teased him for long enough…

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger is crying. She’s hiding it, but she is very obviously crying, sat at the Gryffindor table. It’s still quite early in the morning. Only Miss Brown and Miss Patil sat nearby, pointing and whispering.

No sign of a Weasley…

Narcissa makes her way over. Takes out her handkerchief, and places her hand on a trembling shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go talk about whatever this is,” she sighs softly.

Granger wipes at her face. Unsuccessfully. Notices the offered handkerchief and reaches for it. “I’m— I’m fine. It’s nothing. I’m being st—stupid.”

Narcissa ushers her to her feet. “Better to be stupid in private, then. Where do you wish to go? Shall we walk around the grounds?”

Granger shakes her head. “It’s too cold outside.”

Narcissa take her bag and steers her out of the hall. “Inside, then.”

Another sob. “Too many people.”

Well— where does she—

Granger clears her throat. “Come back to the Common Room with me. Please? To my dorm. I want to see my cat.”

The…Gryffindor Common Room? Inside?

She really has infiltrated their ranks.

Narcissa nods. “Lead the way. But you may have to sneak me in. I’m not sure Potter or Weasley will be very pleased to—”

And the tears fall again. Ah.

So this is Potter and Weasley’s doing. Well. They can’t have that. She does not need divisions…

Although.

She could pin this on—

No. Why would a Weasley kill the Headmaster?

Who would kill the Headmaster? She needs a believable suspect, or a very believable accident. Oh.

Could she endanger Potter? Make the Headmaster step in and save him?

If she times it right. Causes enough confusion. Bella wants a battle…

A sniff interrupts her thoughts. She glances surreptitiously at the witch at her side. What ever could they have said to Hermione to get her in this state? As far as she’s seen, the witch is rather unshakeable. Closer to smiling or scoffing at a taunt, or…they wouldn’t have taunted her, would they? Gryffindor’s are loyal. A betrayal would be…and after how unfailingly kind and loyal Hermione is—

They reach a portrait of an unbelievably overweight witch.

“Dilligrout,” Granger mutters.

The portrait tuts. “And who is this young wizard? In green?”

Narcissa glares. “A gentleman escorting a crying witch. Have some compassion. I may be a Slytherin, but I’m not heartless. I’m not exactly going to uncover any secrets other than choices of tapestries and throws.”

And the portrait swings open. “Gentleman! Did you hear that, Violet? A gentleman!”

Narcissa just follows Granger in. By climbing through a hole. How undignified.

Granger stops. Looks around. “Follow me, quickly,” she whispers.

And she runs for a staircase. Narcissa follows. Points at her prefect badge as a wide-eyed child opens their mouth to say something.

And climbs the steps. Up and up. Everything intensely red and gold.

And enters a dormitory that is similar to her own. Three beds rather than four. Only the colour scheme different. Warm toned. And the light. High in a tower, looking out at the sky. It’s dizzying.

Hermione walks over to a neatly made bed, sits on it. And then curls up in a ball, rolling onto her side.

A huge ginger cat appears from underneath the bed. Stretches and yawns, slinking out. Looks at Narcissa.

Stares at Narcissa. Its eyes oddly…

“It’s Ron,” Granger mumbles into her bedding.

Narcissa just leans against a bedpost. Casually. Tries to ignore the…cat. Is it cat? It’s monstrous! What is that thing?

“He—” Granger continues. “I think he likes me. And now he’s acting all jealous, and possessive, and angry, and— and I don’t know what to do! Because I— I don’t like him! Not like that. But— but I can’t tell him why without— Narcissa, I don’t know what to do! I’m— I know it’s stupid, but I’m terrified!”

Oh. Sexuality. Yes, that is enough to shake even a Gryffindor’s confidence.

Narcissa walks over to sit down next to the witch. “You…think they’ll react badly? If you tell them of your preferences?”

Hermione rolls over. Looks up at her. Red-faced and wet-eyed. “Ron will. Not because…but because he likes me. It will be hard for him. And…I don’t know what Harry thinks. So he could— could side with Ron.”

Hmm. Yes. It is a bit of a risk…

She brushes some hair off of Hermione's face where it has stuck to her cheek with her tears. Conjures a glass and fills it with water, urging her to sit up and take it. “And…Ginny? She is often one to speak against her brothers. Could you find an ally there?”

Hermione takes a sip. Wipes at her face with the handkerchief, and then hastily moves the glass out of the way onto a bedside table as the cat-giant decides to sit on her. “I’m…not sure. Maybe. I could tell Ginny. If— Will you do it with me? If I go get her?”

What—

“Now?” Narcissa blurts out. “Here? You don’t want more time, or—”

Hermione laughs quietly. “I’m a Gryffindor. We make up our minds fast. Do or die.”

Narcissa tuts. “Dying should never be one of the options. That’s just common sense.”

Hermione hugs the now purring ball of fur to herself and then shifts it, standing up. “Well it’s good I have a sensible Slytherin here then. I’ll…go get Ginny. I’ll be back soon.”

And she’s already heading for the door. But—

Narcissa’s feet carry her after her for a few steps, and then leave her standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room. Should she…what should she…

The cat miaows at her.

She glares at it. “Well? I have every right to be here. Hermione invited me.”

The cat somehow gives her a sceptical look. Jumps off the bed and comes towards her. No. Shoo! She does not want—

She backs away. There is ginger cat hair everywhere. She will not have it on her robes. It’s disgusting.

She casts a charm at the bed. It makes itself, pillows and blankets rearranged. Refreshed.

The cat stops. Sits down, tail swishing back and forth.

And the door opens.

Another ginger comes in. This time a girl.

“Malfoy?!” she hisses. “What’s he doing here? How did you get up the stairs?”

The stairs? What about them?

Narcissa just raises an eyebrow and then walks past the cat to perch on the edge of the bed again. Sometimes an eyebrow is all that is needed to end a query. People come to their own conclusions.

Hermione sits down with her. “It’s fine, Ginny. It was my idea. It— I need— I want to tell you something.”

Weasley comes over too. Picks up the cat and joins them, hugging and stroking it as she frowns. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Ah. The reddened eyes. So Weasley is observant too.

Granger takes a breath. Then looks at Narcissa.

Narcissa shrugs, offering her a sly smile. “I’ve recently lost many acquaintances. It is…not so terrible.”

Hermione shoves her in the arm. As expected. But a smile tugs at her own lip. “Arse,” she mutters. And then turns to her friend. “Umm…well…the thing is…Ron likes me.”

Weasley snorts. “I know. You’ve just realised? It’s been a couple of years.”

Granger nods. Tucks some hair behind her ear. “Yes. No. I know. It’s just— well I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but…I don’t like him back. Not like that. I— I’ve never liked him like that.”

Weasley continues stroking the cat. Glances at Narcissa. “Is…are you telling me…that you guys are a couple now? That you like Malfoy?”

Oh why does this keep happening?!

“No,” Hermione says softly. Smiles. Takes Narcissa’s hand. “We’re friends. Malfoy’s just here…as support. Because— because I—”

She takes another quick breath. Squeezes Narcissa’s hand tightly. “I think I like witches not wizards and I’m scared you’ll all hate me!” comes rushing out of Hermione’s mouth.

Miss Weasley’s mouth falls open. “Hate you?! Wha— why— Hermione! I like witches too, you flobberbrain! I told you, remember? I’m with Dean now, but last summer I was with Luna for a bit before we decided to just be friends. I sent you a letter! I told you she kissed me and sent you a whole foot of parchment panicking about it!”

Narcissa puts a hand over her mouth to hold back a laugh. She’d forgotten what these youthful dormitory conversations were like. All of the floundering romances and awkward encounters.

“Told me,” Hermione whispers. “Not this summer, but last…Oh. Oh! But— oh that letter was so confusing. I had no idea what you were talking about! And then I forgot because of the whole Umbridge situation.”

Ginny laughs. “Yeah, she’s enough to put you off witches for life.”

Narcissa grimaces. Dolores Umbridge? Ugh how— “Could we change the topic?” she complains. “I’d rather not think about that.”

Oh dear. But now she’s drawn attention to herself.

Ginny frowns once more. “Wait. So, you trusted Malfoy…more than you trusted me?” she almost shouts, voice rising in pitch.

Hermione freezes. “Uhh…”

She glances at Narcissa pleadingly. Opens her mouth again.

No. No! Don’t you dare—

She puts a hand over Hermione’s mouth. “You gave your word. Do not under any circumstances—”

“You’re gay?” Ginny guesses.

Oh Salazar’s Snake! No!

Yes?

No! Maybe!

What in Merlin’s name is she?

Married. That’s what she is.

Narcissa groans. Releases Hermione. “You’ve heard of there being a…spectrum?” Narcissa grumbles. “Well I’m on it. But I’m not telling you anything else. It’s private.”

“So…not straight?” Ginevra asks confusedly.

Narcissa falls back on the bed. She doesn’t know! She— she likes—

Her husband.

Does she?

Yes!

…And also found it terribly easy to flirt with Madam Rosmerta.

To get on Potter and Weasley’s good side.

And kissed Pansy Parkinson a few weeks ago. Unnecessarily.

As Draco!

Are you Draco?

She hides her face under her arms. “Stop asking questions. You’re making me…panic! You know what it’s like!”

Hermione snorts. “Want to write a letter? Or a mind map?”

She peeks out from under her arms. Mind map? What’s that?

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Purebloods.”

“I know what a mind map is,” Ginny mutters.

“You don’t count as a pureblood,” Narcissa murmurs.

“Good,” Ginny glares back. “I don’t want to be your kind of pureblood. It’s stupid. Gets people killed for no reason.”

And that hits Narcissa right in the chest. Steals the breath from her lungs. Leaves her gasping.

No. She— she has to—

Has to kill—

She stands up.

Has to kill Dumbledore. That’s why she’s here. What is she doing? This— how will this help? She just needs to…cause a fight. Pick her moment. Set a trap. Not—

Plan. What’s her plan? It’s almost Yule. What’s her—

She ignores whatever garbled nonsense Granger and Weasley are saying. Backs out of the room, tripping over the cat and—

Stumbles down the stairs. Sees Potter and—

Knocks past him. Just runs. Boys’ bathroom. Needs to— away from—

She smacks into someone as she turns a corner. A young girl. A first year, maybe. Hufflepuff. A—

The girl falls to the floor. Bounces back on impact, hitting into a wall and crying out in shock. Narcissa hurries over. Crouches down. “I’m so sorry. Are you alright? Are you hurt? Let me see your head. Did you—”

She’s pulled away. “Get away from her! Leave my sister alone, Malfoy. Don’t touch her.”

An older girl glares at her. A Slytherin. Who— who is she? How does she not know her? A family with a…Slytherin and a Hufflepuff? Surely—

Narcissa just sits on the floor and watches helplessly. Watches the older witch collect the crying Hufflepuff in her arms. “C’mon, Rosie. It’s alright. Just a bump. I’ll take you to the Hospital Wing,” the Slytherin says gently. “Do you want some chocolate? I’ve got some chocolate from my birthday still. Mother sent…”

She stops. Looks at Narcissa suspiciously. “Well? What are you staring at, Malfoy?”

Narcissa doesn’t know. She doesn’t…it’s like…déjà vu. She feels she’s lived this before. Or perhaps…

She gets to her feet. Clears her throat. Reaches around in her bag for the flask of Polyjuice. It’s far too early, but she feels like it’s necessary. Like she needs to…hide.

And that thought brings a lump to her throat. Makes her turn. Starts her running again. Around a corner. Into a deserted corridor. To the end…and then back, as conversation reaches her. Back and forth. Back and forth. Head full of…and away from— from—

Why— can’t she just—

…What happened to Andromeda? Where is she? Where did she go? Where…what’s her life like now? Is she happy? Did she do it? Did she get away from…all of this— this—

A door appears. Just appears in the wall, from nowhere. Oh.

What had Draco said? A room…the Come and Go Room. It comes and goes. Hides things. On the seventh floor…

She goes inside. Sees mountains and mountains of…belongings. Random…

Hidden things. Lost things. Forgotten…

She shuts the door behind her. Shakes her head. She can’t forget. Not now. Not— she needs an answer. Has to do this. Has to find something. A way. Has to— to be brave, and make a decision, and just do it.

She has to do it. She has to kill him. She has to.

Narcissa has laced a drink with poison. A whole bottle of mead. A bottle that Horace Slughorn is going to gift Albus Dumbledore for Yule.

Clumsy. But she needs to do something. Make a start, whilst she finds a way for Bella and the others to enter the school.

Around the children…

Or— or she could follow Dumbledore. Catch him as he leaves. He goes on journeys. For days, weeks at a time. She could grab him. Splinch him.

And splinch herself…

Just kill him. Catch him alone, and cast the killing curse. No witnesses. Over. Done.

Except she needs proof that it was Draco—

Someone grabs her arm. Making her jump. Making her drop her quill.

“Narcissa? Potions is over…” comes a soft whisper.

Oh.

She looks up. Shakes her head and gets to her feet. “Apologies. Lost in thought.”

Hermione smiles at her. “I could tell. You…I know you have a lot to think about, with everything that’s— but—”

Hermione clears her throat. She’s stuttering. How peculiar. Is she so nervous after—

“Slughorn is having a Christmas party,” Hermione blurts out. “It’s for the Slug Club, but we can bring guests, and— Do you want to go with me?”

Narcissa freezes.

Be her…date? To a party?

“I haven’t spoken to you all week,” is all Narcissa can think to say.

“You haven’t spoken to anyone all week,” Hermione corrects. “We’re…worried. And I wanted you to know that whatever’s going on in your head…I’m still here. And I’d like to spend time with you.”

That—

Why is that—

Oh Narcissa must be seriously losing her mind, but she’s so starved for—

She pulls the witch into her arms. Rests her head…on her head. How peculiar being the tall person. “I— I don’t know— I’m so scared Hermione,” she whispers. “Everything— it’s too much! Too hard.”

She doesn’t want to kill anyone. Didn’t want to— she wants to leave this war behind. It’s a farce. A complete and utter farce. She doesn’t know if she even believes—

But they won’t be safe. If they betray the Dark Lord, he’ll find them. Or send Bella to find them. Or Severus. Or he’ll hurt Bella instead. As punishment. Or—

He could even find Andromeda. Or her child. Something to bring them back. She can’t escape this.

It’s kill or be killed. Do or die.

Arms wrap around her waist. Warm arms. A warm body, relaxed against hers. Breathing calmly. “You’re alright, Narcissa. It’s alright. Everything will be alright. You’re not alone.”

But she is! She’s so alone. No-one even knows—

“I’m not who you think I am,” Narcissa whispers fearfully.

Hermione pulls back. Looks up at her curiously. Quizzically.

Smiles. “Then…I guess I’ll have to work out who you are,” Hermione says slowly. Calmly.

She’s…That didn’t scare her? Surprise her? Narcissa just admitted to being someone else. How does she not have a wand directed at her face?

Hermione steps back. Their embrace breaks apart. Arms fall awkwardly to sides. “So? Is that a yes? Because otherwise I could just go with Ginny.”

A party. With a number of notable people. Good for Draco. And a chance to find out more about Dumbledore.

With Hermione. Someone…who wants to be there with her. Wishes to spend time with her. Whoever she is. Was worried about her.

“Alright. But I won’t be wearing a dress,” Narcissa replies sternly. Jokingly.

Smilingly.

As expected, Hermione laughs. “Guess I’ll wear one for both of us. It will feel very strange. I’m not used to it.”

Narcissa walks with her towards the door. “Yes, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in a dress.”

“Really? What about the Yule Ball?”

Oh. Oh yes. Draco.

Narcissa shrugs. “Ah. Slipped my mind. I meant recently.”

She doesn’t get a response to that. Just a raised eyebrow.

She changes the subject. “Have you…told Weasley, then? Ron? And Potter? Of your…”

“That I’m…gay?” Hermione murmurs under her breath. “Yes. They…actually it’s fine. Better than I expected. I had Ginny there. And Harry was fine. So— well Ron was upset. But as I said. Only because he likes me. Liked me. He’s with Lavender Brown now.”

Miss Brown?

Well that must be a sickening display. And a very quick turnaround! Did he ever care for Hermione at all?

“When is this party?” Narcissa sighs.

“Twentieth of December. Eight o’clock. Are you free? Do you have dress robes?”

Narcissa scoffs. Gestures to herself. Her pristine uniform and bespoke cloak. “Do I have dress robes?”

Hermione laughs. “Or a cape, if you'd prefer. Maybe a decorative umbrella.”

Ugh. How garish. Even the idea is— “Never! I shall wear nothing of the sort. I shall be…classic, and elegant, and…”

“Poised?” Hermione suggests.

Narcissa smirks. “Precisely.”

Chapter Text

They’re meeting in the dungeons. Narcissa had offered to meet Hermione outside the Gryffindor Common Room, as is appropriate for escorting a lady to a party.

She’d been laughed at, for some reason. Fondly, but laughed at all the same. Told that she was being ridiculous, and to just meet her by the party entrance.

Which is where Narcissa will soon be. Five to eight. There. She shall be perfectly punctual. And needed far less time than usual to get ready. The benefits of male attire and societal expectation for make-up and…

Hermione Granger in a dress. What a novel idea. What…an unexpected sight. She can’t quite fathom it.

Narcissa comes to a stop in front of her. Smiles. “Good evening. You look lovely.”

Hermione smiles back bashfully. “You don’t think it’s strange, then?”

Well, it was rather unexpected. Took a moment to adjust to, but… “No. Not strange at all, it suits you.”

Hermione adjusts her dress. Smooths it down. Fiddles with the skirt. “Really? You’re not just saying that to be nice. I feel so…exposed. On display.”

Narcissa takes her arm. “Well, that is the point. You look very nice, and so should draw the eye. But leave your dress alone. That is the secret to poise. Wear your clothes with confidence. It fits well. It does not need to be adjusted. You don’t see me…tugging at my collar or what have you. Trust your prior judgement, and wear your clothes well. Do not let them wear you.”

Hermione laughs, but does let go of her dress. Straightens her spine. “You know, I’m starting to think you should have ended up in Ravenclaw. Wit beyond measure.”

Narcissa smiles tightly. Fights the urge to hex her for even suggesting that she’s not a Slytherin. “I’m as much a Ravenclaw as you are. Do you really think one House holds all the wisdom? If they were truly wise, they’d look up from their books once in a while,” she comments.

Hermione frowns. Hands their invitations to Filch, who takes a long time, squinting at them suspiciously before he allows them through. “But if you think like that, then all of the houses overlap!” Hermione exclaims as soon as they’re free of him. “What’s the point?”

Narcissa scoffs. “It’s the dominant personality trait. Behaviour and disposition. You can hardly say that a Gryffindor is the same as a Slytherin.”

Hermione turns to look at her. “Well, how are we different, then?”

Well, they—

Well…

Other than upbringing…

Narcissa considers it, looking around at the still rather sparse crowd. The festive décor. Red and green. “You…are far more daring. Strive for what is right, or what you want, rather than what is necessary. Needed. You put action over consequence. Slytherins consider all consequences before even beginning an action.”

Hermione raises an eyebrow. “That’s your argument? Slytherins are all sense, and Gryffindors sensibility?”

Sense and sensibility? What an apt turn of phrase. “That was rather witty, Miss Granger. By your argument you are now a Ravenclaw.”

Hermione smiles wickedly. “Not my words. A title of a very well-known muggle novel. I’m guessing you haven’t heard of it, despite your extensive library?”

Muggle?

Narcissa looks away. Oh dear. Now is not a time to…

And she looks back to Hermione. Smiles. Avoids the subject. “Sense and sensibility. You asked me to attend this party because you wished to spend time with me, reassure me, be a good friend to me. I accepted…because I trust your intentions. Trust you to be a good friend, and companion. That this evening will be good for my future prospects, and—”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “And because you’re my friend, and wanted to come with me? Slytherins can feel things too, you know. Want things. In fact, I think that’s your main trait. Doing everything you can to get what you want. You want…to be happy, don’t you?”

Oh.

Happiness?

No, that’s very far from her goal. She wants Draco to be happy. Not her. That is not her priority.

Hermione gives her another quizzical look. Then walks them over to get some drinks. “Can we go and talk somewhere more privately?” Hermione asks. “I think we need to talk. You have a strange look on your face.”

Her face? What about Hermione’s face? What is she planning? Thinking?

But Narcissa just nods. They wander over to a secluded corner. Sit down, sipping at their goblets.

“How are things going with you?” Hermione eventually asks softly. “Because I can’t help thinking that all of your talking…is some kind of mask.”

Narcissa holds back a rather hysterical bout of laughter. Oh, the irony. It is painful, on occasion.

Instead she just shakes her head. “Well…yes. You know I have a mask. You know what my…problem is.”

Hermione nods, a bit sheepishly. Tucks her hair behind her ears, fussing once more. “Do you know…how long you’ll have the mask? Because if it’s making you unhappy, there are things you could do. Transfiguration. Or…potions for your voice, or—”

Narcissa takes her hand to stop her in her tracks. “Not yet. This year…I just need to put up with it, this year. It’s difficult, but I can manage. Thank you, though.”

And she means it. She is thankful. Is…ever so grateful and relieved to have Hermione to talk to. She’s the only person she can truly talk to. As herself.

“I’m…Thank you for seeing me as I am, Hermione,” she says quietly. “Not how I ought to be, or how I was when I…you’ve allowed me to be myself. For a time. That is why I wished to come here with you tonight.”

Hermione looks up at her. Rather intently. Narcissa has always known these eyes are observant, but now she feels she is being truly analysed. Looked at. Far too closely. She would look away, if it weren’t for her pride.

Hermione moves closer.

“What are you—”

Hermione places a finger over Narcissa’s lips. “I’m trying to see past the mask. It’s…you’re not the Malfoy I used to know. So I want to see past that. To see what you see. What I see, in how you walk, and talk, and move, and…you’re a witch. A woman.”

Umm…

Yes. She is.

A woman who is beginning to think she might need to put some distance between herself and this younger woman. Otherwise Draco will not be happy.

The finger is still resting against her lips. Narcissa pulls it away. Smiles. “You needn’t look so closely. I’m right here, as always.”

Hermione laughs quietly. “How have I never noticed you before?”

Because I am not my son. Because I am usually far away, in Wiltshire, in my Manor. With my husband. Far from the youthful romances that seem to make up a large portion of Draco’s life.

It must be Draco. It has to be. It cannot be— She cannot have attracted Hermione to her with just her…posture and manner of speaking. It’s preposterous. It’s—

There’s a sprig of mistletoe above their heads. Of course there is. Just her luck. And now she’s looking up at it. So Hermione has followed her gaze.

Do not kiss her, you complete imbecile! You are Draco. You promised. No more kissing. Pansy is bad enough, you will not—

Hermione smiles at her. Points upwards.

Narcissa leans forward, presses a firm kiss to her cheek, and hastily stands up. “I must excuse myself for a moment. To the bathroom. The boys’ bathroom. Of course it’s— Out in the corridor. Not— I’ll see you— One moment.”

And she quickly walks off. Well, that was an embarrassing display. What was that? She has never stuttered and spluttered that much in her life. Thank Merlin no-one of note was around to witness that disaster.

She leaves past Filch, nodding towards the bathroom at the end of the corridor. Walks calmly towards it. Composed. Composure. Calm, Narcissa.

She takes a long time in the bathroom. Stares at herself in the mirror. At Draco in the mirror. Reminds herself of the face she has borrowed. The lips that are not hers. That she should stop pressing against every young witch that sits too close to her.

Draco. You are Draco. Here to discuss job prospects, and learn more of the Headmaster’s habits. Any plans for Yule he may have. Where he shall be and when.

She repeats it to herself as she walks back along the corridor. Draco. You are Draco. Hermione does not, and should not know who you are. Stop being yourself. Stop being drawn in by snappy retorts. Focus.

And she’s unexpectedly dragged through a doorway. Into Severus’ office.

She bats his hands away. “Unhand me at once! What is the meaning of this? I have a party to return to, and—”

“Party?” comes a hiss from the fireplace. “What are you doing, Cissy?!”

Oh no.

Severus raises an eyebrow. Gestures to the fire. “I believe this call is for you. Although it was not planned.”

Narcissa kneels down and glares at her sister’s flaming head. “Bella! What are you doing? How could you be so reckless? So—”

“How could you be consorting with bloodtraitors and filth?” Bella snarls. “I’ve heard a lot about what you’ve been up to. From the Notts. The Averys. Even Yaxley knows. You’ve been—”

“Undercover,” Narcissa grits out. “I’m gaining access. Subterfuge, Bella. Surely you’ve heard of it?”

Bella seems to consider this. Frowns. “Getting close to Potter?”

Narcissa quickly nods. “I’ve been in the Gryffindor Common Room. More than once now. I know the current password. I’ve gained their trust. Potter is up to something with Dumbledore. Keeps meeting with him in his office. I’m going to ask him about it soon.”

Bella glances at Snape.

Then grins. “Look at my little spy! See how it’s done, Snivellus?”

Narcissa clenches her teeth. Inhales slowly. Exhales. The room is suddenly sweltering. Walls pushing in. She resists the urge to adjust her collar. Back away from the fire.

She might be sick.

“Is that what this party is, Cissy? Are you seducing Potter?” Bella continues, not noticing her discomfort.

“He’s here,” Narcissa replies evenly. “But no. Don’t be disgusting, Bella. I’m not doing that in my son’s body. It’s a Slug Club party. I’m merely mingling. I’ll speak with Potter. Lend an ear. The usual.”

Bellatrix snorts. “Slug Club? Gods, I’m glad that’s over. How did you get Draco into that? Slughorn’s been avoiding anyone associated with the Cause lately.”

Narcissa clears her throat uncomfortably. “I’m here as a guest. Of…Hermione Granger.”

Bella retches dramatically. “The mudblood? Sucks to be you, Cissy. And Draco’s gonna avada you when he finds out. And the Parkinsons! They’re fucking pissed!”

“Parkinson…is not a problem,” Narcissa says slowly. “She understands. As will everyone, once this is over.”

Bella cackles. “So you’re still having fun with Parkinson? Look at you! Getting some use out of those balls—”

Narcissa swiftly stands up. “Goodbye, Bella!”

And she turns around. Leaves. Does not even bother returning Severus’ inquisitive look.

She has a party to return to.

It’s been ten minutes now, and there’s no sign of Hermione. Not by the food, or the drinks, or the chairs they were occupying earlier.

Narcissa frowns. Looks for…

Aha. No Hermione, but there’s Potter. With— Lovegood? And Trelawney?

Give her strength.

She walks over anyway, picking up some goblets of mead on the way.

Looks around for Hermione again on this side of the room. Can’t spot her. How odd. Perhaps she’s feeling unwell and has excused herself without wishing to say.

Potter catches her eye. Waves and smiles extremely awkwardly, eyes pleading.

Oh. He’s trapped with Trelawney.

She smiles back grimly and brings him a drink. “How are you, Potter? Enjoying the festivities?”

Potter takes the goblet gratefully. “Good. I’m good. How about you? I didn’t know you were…uhh…coming.”

She huffs. “I’m not a club member, no. Hermione invited me. Although she…seems to have disappeared. Was she unwell today?”

His eyes gleam. “I’ll help you look for her! Come on, Luna. We have to go. We need to look for Hermione!”

And he’s already walking them both away, sighing in relief. “Thought we’d be stuck with her forever!”

Lovegood hums thoughtfully. “Not forever. But she does seem to play around with time a bit. Making it slow down or repeat itself. Trapped in a dream. It must be all the stargazing.”

Narcissa almost clangs their heads together. “Well? Hermione? Do you think she’s alright?”

Potter gives her an odd look. Smiles again. “Yeah. I’m sure she’s fine. She’s been fine all day. I guess it’s just busy in here. We’ll find her.”

And he starts looking around, standing on his toes.

Then ducks down. “Slughorn! Quick! Hide me!”

“Ah! There you are, Harry!” comes Slughorn’s booming voice. “Miss Granger and I were just discussing your potion-making prowess!”

Granger?

Narcissa sighs in relief. Squeezes Potter’s shoulder in a show of solidarity, and then heads on over.

“So close…” Potter mutters woefully.

And Narcissa watches Hermione turn. Turn her way, and then slip off through the crowd. Gone.

But not before their eyes meet. No longer curious, or quizzical.

Knowing eyes. Wary eyes. Scared.

Betrayed.

Narcissa’s chest tightens. Fear. Shame. A piercing dread. Her goblet slips from her fingertips and crashes to the floor. Not that she hears it. Her ears are ringing.

Potter grabs hold of her. Looks into her eyes. Concerned. Says something. Mouth opening and closing. Helping her sit down.

What had he said?

So close. Yes, that’s right.

So close.

Chapter Text

Hermione knows. Narcissa is sure of it. How much she knows, she isn’t certain, but the witch continued to avoid her all night. All of the following morning.

And then she was gone. The Christmas holidays have arrived.

She must have overheard something. Part or all of Narcissa’s conversation with Bella.

But Hermione hasn’t contacted her. Confronted her. Hasn’t said…anything. To anyone, that Narcissa is aware of. Seems to be keeping her secret. Her promise. Even after everything. That Gryffindor word of honour.

Narcissa stays over Yule. Can’t face the Manor without Draco. Can’t face Bella. Can’t face the possibility that she’ll be brought to Him.

So she just continues planning. A way for Bella and the…others…to infiltrate the castle.

And she’s found it. A vanishing cabinet in the Come and Go Room. One of a pair. One that she recognises from trips with Bella to Borgin and Burke’s.

It’s broken, but no matter. She has nothing better to do over the winter break.

A faulty transportation spell. She can fix that.

And let Bella in. Bella will do it. Will know…how to do these things.

But Bella can’t. It has to be Draco. And the children— the students— the battle will—

She gets a reply from Bella on New Year’s Eve. A missive, delivered straight to her in the Come and Go Room by one of her own house-elves. Bella will wait for Narcissa’s signal, and they’ll take the castle as soon as Dumbledore is absent in the coming year. Will conjure the Dark Mark to call him back. Call him straight to the Astronomy Tower, where they’ll be waiting. An ambush. A blocked stairway.

She’s bringing reinforcements. The Carrows. Yaxley. Gibbon.

Greyback.

Fenrir Greyback. A werewolf. That prefers…children.

Narcissa collapses down to sit on the floor. Curls into a ball at the foot of the cabinet, and…

Feels the polyjuice wear off. Feels the tears fall down her cheeks.

Wishes she had something to hold. Someone to cling onto. Even a cat. Even a great, ugly, ginger cat.

She wipes at her cheeks instead. Finds her handkerchief. And a quill. And some parchment.

And writes a letter to Draco, lying on her stomach on the hard, cold floor. A very, very long letter asking about his time at Beauxbatons, and what he’s been learning, and eating.

And has his French improved? Does he have friends? Are the professors kind? Are people kind?

Is he happy?

Please be happy. Please at least be happy.

A miracle. A New Year’s miracle.

She makes it all the way to the Gryffindor Common Room without being seen out of bed by Filch.

She whispers ‘baubles’ to a snoring Fat Lady, and is instantly allowed inside.

She climbs the stairs, enters the dormitory…and is the only witch there. Everyone else gone for the holidays.

Except for a very large cat.

Narcissa laughs. Sobs. “You got left behind too?” she whispers in the dark.

The cat just stares at her. Stretches.

Narcissa cautiously walks over. Perches on the edge of the bed. Kicks off her shoes.

Lies down with the cat. “I’ll write to Hermione tomorrow,” she whispers. “I have…a message to send. And I believe she needs reminding of what she has left behind.”

Not tonight, though. She cannot face it tonight. Although she cannot face sleep either.

She looks to the neat stacks of books beside Hermione’s bed. Scans the titles.

Oh. Quite the collection by one ‘Jane Austen’.

Including Sense and Sensibility.

She reaches past the cat, hoping he won’t swat at her.

He doesn’t. He purrs.

Dear Hermione,

 

A belated Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year. I hope you and your family are well. If you are worried for your cat, then don’t be. We are entertaining each other quite nicely.

I…am sorry if I am not who you thought me to be. I am not who I intended to be either.

Times are…

Stay safe, and please forgive me for my behaviour. Not that I deserve it. I have been cruel. Selfish. A coward. I know that now. You have been far more courageous this year than I have ever been. Have put aside all pride, all prejudice, in favour of doing what is right. What needed to be done.

It is time for me to do the same.

So, wish me luck. It is time to do or die. It seems my sense has been replaced by Gryffindor sensibility.

I hope we have the chance to speak again.

Yours regretfully,

 

Narcissa

She sends the owl mere moments before she reaches Dumbledore’s office. Throws it from the nearest window, and watches it take to the skies.

And then begins naming sweets. Sherbet lemons. Fizzing whizzbees. Pepper imps. Strawberry laces. Blood pops. Chocolate frogs. Aniseed balls. Pear drops. Candy cane—

The staircase reveals itself. She steps on. Carried forward to her fate.

And appears in his office. A calm, warm office. Clocks ticking. Various collectibles and knick-knacks humming and whirring. Portraits dozing. The Headmaster at his desk, quill running over parchment.

Twinkling eyes looking up at her over half-moon glasses.

Narcissa straightens her spine. Walks forward, heart thundering in her ears. “Good morning, Headmaster. I’m terribly sorry to have appeared without an appointment, but the matter is urgent.”

Dumbledore leans back in his seat.

Blots his quill. Places it in its stand.

Looks at the wand drawn at her side. Raises an eyebrow.

So that’s how they’re playing this.

Narcissa tuts. Grips her wand more tightly. “Do…you know who I am?”

And now Dumbledore smiles. Nods gently. “I believe the question is…do you?”

He knows.

Narcissa feels tears fill her eyes. Holds them back.

“Yes,” she replies firmly.

And kneels.

Looks up at him beseechingly. “Please. Please, Sir, I am begging you. My family. My family is not safe. My son. I…I know it is not my place to ask but I am begging you, please, hide them.”

The tears fall freely. She shakes her head. “I thought I could— I thought I was strong enough to— but the children. The school. The students. There— if there is a battle, the lives that will be lost. The children orphaned. I cannot— one war was enough!”

Dumbledore sighs. “Stand, Narcissa. Come, Miss Black, stand.”

She just shakes her head. Digs her hands into the floor. “I wanted to run,” she admits. “To flee. To escape. To take my child and run. But— but we’ll never be safe. Is— Andromeda? Do you know where she is? And her daughter is an auror. Is fighting. She was at the Ministry, wasn’t she? Is she a member of the Order? Because if Bella—”

She staggers to her feet. Wipes uselessly at her eyes. “And Bella! If— She’ll kill me. But He will kill her. She’ll be punished. And she’ll never leave. I haven’t— her mind is— our minds were—”

She’s guided into a chair. Given a handkerchief. And a cup of tea.

“All will be resolved. It is good that you have come to me. We can keep you safe. Can hide you. Can hide Draco. And Andromeda and her family.”

Narcissa takes some calming breaths. A sip of tea. Wipes at her face. “So— will you— but Bella,” she whines.

A child. She feels like a child. A young, foolish, lost child. Just a girl.

A hand covers hers. “I am not…entirely sure that Bellatrix wishes to be saved," he says gently. "You may have to…say your goodbyes, and leave what happens to her up to fate.

Do or die.

Live fast, die young.

She slowly nods. And nods. Keeps her eyes trained on the blurry teacup. Watches the surface ripple.

Says goodbye to Bella.

Andromeda is already there when Narcissa arrives. She doesn’t understand how, at first. Dumbledore didn’t explain anything. Just handed her the portkey, wished her luck…and now here she is.

Standing in a kitchen, across from Andromeda.

She looks so much like Bella. Their faces have aged the same. Only the eyes…and the hair…and the posture…

Narcissa laughs. It just bursts out of her. She has to hold a hand over mouth to stop it.

Poised. Despite the muggle clothing, Andromeda still has poise.

Andromeda’s eyebrows raise. “Nice to see you too, Cissy. You took your sweet time.”

Narcissa clears her throat. Collects herself. “Yes, my…apologies. I have been given very little information, and…”

She drifts off. Looks around. “Where are we, exactly?”

Andromeda barks out a laugh of her own. “Well…this is my kitchen…and that’s my living room…and that’s my husband over there by the door. Say hi, Ted.”

Narcissa jumps. Spins around and—

Ted Tonks waves at her. Smiles as he shuts a back door behind him. Walks over to a kettle. “Nice to meet you. You a tea drinker? Coffee? We’ve only got instant.”

Instant?

A scoff from Andromeda. “She won’t know what that is. She’s as lost as I was, remember? Just make a pot of tea. She can figure everything out later. Draco will be here soon, and—”

“Draco?” Narcissa blurts out. “Is he— when is he— how is he—”

Andromeda smiles at her fondly. “You really weren’t told anything, were you? Floo. He’ll arrive through the floo. Any minute. With Dora. And then it will be cut off. You’ve sent us into lockdown, Cissy. Fidelius charm. The whole hog.”

Narcissa collapses to sit in a chair. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You’re right. This is all my…”

The tears come again. She makes herself look up. Grit her teeth. Fights the shame. The pride. Her damned pride and prejudice. What does she have to be proud of? Away with it. Enough. “I’m sorry, Andromeda,” she says as steadily as she can. “I was wrong. I was frightened. I’m sorry.”

Andromeda walks over. Crouches down and shushes her. Takes her hands. “Hey, it’s alright. Don’t look so scared. I can tell you’re sorry. I believe you. You can…explain things later, but Dumbledore said you were very brave in coming to him. That you— you had some orders to follow? And refused?”

Narcissa shakes her head. “Draco. Draco was given orders. My son. The Dark Lord told him to— Draco had to— but I took his place. I was going to do it myself. But I couldn’t. I wanted to keep Draco safe, but—”

The floo sounds. That was a floo—

She runs for the living room. Clumsy on her short legs. In her heels. It’s been months now since she—

She throws herself at her son. Cups his head. Holds him close. Familiar. So familiar. The face she saw every day. Her mirror image. But it smells like him. Feels like him. It never really felt like—

“Mother?” he questions softly.

She laughs at the sound of his voice. Holds him and laughs. “Yes. It’s— it’s alright. It will all be alright. And I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He pulls back. Searches her eyes. Smiles sadly. “Sorry for not killing Dumbledore?”

“What?!” comes a shout from behind them.

Andromeda. And Tonks. Both Tonks’

“You were ordered to kill Dumbledore?!” Andromeda’s husband shouts in disbelief. “And you were gonna do it?”

Narcissa grimaces. Sighs.

Walks Draco over to a sofa and sits with him. Strokes his hair.

Then sharply pulls back, shame colouring her cheeks. Will she ever be able to stroke his hair again? She may need a few…months.

She shakes her head, looking to Mr Tonks. “That was our order, yes. But I never got very close to fulfilling it. In reality, my heart wasn’t in it. Even for Draco’s safety, I could not go through with it. A poisoned bottle of mead was as far as I got. I have informed Dumbledore, of course. He has retrieved it. But…”

She turns to look at Draco. Laughs again at the absurdity of seeing his face on…his body. Not her body.

And her head falls into her hands. She groans. “I used polyjuice to take Draco’s place at Hogwarts this year. He’s been at Beauxbatons. And…oh Draco, I am sorry, but I made a complete mess of things. Your reputation. Your— I’m afraid I have a lot to divulge. Explain. And…ask forgiveness for.”

Draco sighs. “Well I kind of expected that. You were in my body, so—”

“You lived as him, pretending to be him for— four months?” Tonks laughs, pouring herself a mug of tea. “This is one hell of an introduction. Nice to meet you, by the way.”

Narcissa looks up. Smiles at…her niece. How bizarre. “Hello. Yes, I’m sorry, but we’re not the sanest side of the family—”

“Mother!”

“— so you may have to help us…navigate the real world.”

“Real world?” Draco shouts. “You mean the muggle world? But— but what about— do you mean to say that—what happened to you at Hogwarts?”

Narcissa laughs. Smiles. “Hermione Granger.”

All falls silent.

“Mother…” Draco grits out fearfully. “What did you do?”

She pats his hand. “Nothing…that we cannot fix. Well. That’s not entirely true. It— Do you want this chronologically, or worst incident first?”

“Worst,” Draco glares. “What’s the worst thing you did in my body?”

Narcissa grumbles. Tries to ignore the gleeful Tonks family sat across from them eating biscuits.

“I am not certain what is worse, but…I kissed Pansy Parkinson. And I befriended Hermione Granger, as well as Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, and to some extent Ron Weasley. And…I may have swayed Hermione into believing that you were transgender. A witch in a wizard’s body. And told her to address me as Narcissa rather than Draco. She now knows the truth, and is probably horribly angry with me and…Oh. I believe that’s everything.”

She takes a sip of tea. Sharply puts it down as she remembers— “I also flirted with Madam Rosmerta to get free drinks and impress the boys. And Bella thinks you are sleeping with Pansy, so may tell people. Pansy, I believe, is actually in love with you. Or me. Although I did not sleep with her. She believes you are undercover as a spy for the Dark Lord.”

Draco’s mouth opens and closes. Like a fish. “Why…did you kiss her?” he eventually croaks out.

Ah. So that was the worst thing.

Narcissa tuts. “She’s your girlfriend, is she not? And I was about to leave her. To spend time with Hermione over her. She was jealous. I had to reassure her.”

“But why did you have to befriend Granger? She’s a mud—”

Narcissa presses her hand over his mouth. “No. Don’t you dare. We have been through enough because of those sorts of ideals. And Hermione is not— I befriended her. She is my friend, Draco. I care for her.”

Andromeda chokes on a laugh. Glances at her husband. “Friend? Some friend, Cissy. Sure you didn’t kiss her too?”

Draco gasps. “Mother, please tell me you did not—”

Narcissa smiles. Raises an eyebrow. Just to tease him.

Watches his face pale dramatically. Frighteningly.

“No,” she quickly admits. “No, of course not. Well, I did kiss her cheek fairly recently, but only due to some unfortunately placed mistletoe. She’s merely a close friend. She thought I was you, that would have been…I mean…and…your father…”

She’s lost her train of thought. It’s awfully confusing remembering what is what anymore.

She almost misses being Draco…

And she hears a scratching at the window. An owl. Oh!

She walks over to retrieve it. Reaches—

“Wait a sec!” Tonks calls. “I need to check it for curses.”

Narcissa scoffs. “I recognise the bird. I sent it to Hermione this morning.”

She’s pushed out of the way. “Exactly. So someone could’ve intercepted it and sent a curse your way instead.”

Oh.

She draws back. Puts her hands in her—

Frowns. No pockets.

She may need to purchase some trousers.

Tonks hovers the letter onto the table. Sends some detection spells at it. Standard. Textbook.

Narcissa sighs. Meets Andromeda’s eye. “Can you remember the counter-curses? In case this is from Bella?”

Andromeda flinches. Grimaces. “The homemade stuff? I can give it a go. It’s been a while. Do you think she— will she—”

Narcissa begins casting counter-curses. One after the other. Alphabetically.

“No,” she says quietly after some time. “If the Dark Lord hears of this…then I— I don’t think Bella will have the strength to—”

She clenches her jaw. Turns to Andromeda. Puts it bluntly. “He shall punish her for this. Hurt her. Possibly kill her. That was the decision I had to make. It was either kill Dumbledore…or see my family suffer. So. Bella is going to suffer.”

She watches tears fill Andromeda’s eyes. Feels a certain sick relief in that.

See. She isn’t the only one that still cares for Bella.

“We could hide her,” Andromeda whispers.

Oh. Oh Andromeda…

Narcissa smiles sadly. Shakes her head.

Just shakes her head.

Dear Narcissa,

 

I wasn’t going to reply to you. I’m still so angry at you for how you tricked me, for all of the lies you told me. You manipulated me. I trusted you. I thought you were my friend!

And you are. You still are. I can’t help it. I read your letter ten times over, and I cried each time I reached the end.

Are you alright? Are you safe? I don’t understand what you’re doing, but I really do hope you’re okay.

I’m so angry at you. You arse.

Write back. So I know you’re safe.

 

Hermione

Hermione doesn’t get a letter in reply. The owl flies away empty-handed. The floo is shut off.

But word eventually reaches her. A note, scrawled on a piece of parchment and slipped under a DADA book by a large, pale, nimble-fingered hand.

Mother and son are safe.

Chapter Text

The War is over.

Narcissa can leave the house. Can step out into the street. Into the light. Can join the celebrations.

She seems to be stuck on the threshold. Standing and staring, hands in pockets.

Tonks throws an arm over her shoulder. “Baby steps, Auntie Cissa. Same as everything else. You can work the telly now, remember? And the washing machine. The oven. You can even put flatpack furniture together. I think you’re all set to spread your wings and fly the nest.”

Narcissa snorts. “You’re making it sound as if you are the parent.”

Tonks pretends to wipe at her eyes. Sniffs with fake tears. “They grow up so fast! One day they’re scared of the hoover, and the next—”

“That was Draco!” Narcissa snaps, stepping outside. “Although why you cannot put a silencing charm on the dreadful thing, I do not know. Or you could use cleaning spells. You are a witch, Nymphadora.”

And of course she gets a harsh shove in the back. “Oy! Don’t call me—”

“Well!” Draco shouts exasperatedly. “Are we going or not? I haven’t spent a year and a half practicing apparition in a garden the size of a postage stamp to never use it!”

Narcissa tuts and walks towards him. “You do not have a license, and so won’t be apparating anywhere just yet, let alone miles across the country. I shall side-apparate us. Outside the gate. I am not entirely sure which wards are still holding.”

Draco swallows. Ducks his head, taking her arm. “You’re sure we should go? That we’ll…be allowed in?”

Narcissa inhales deeply. Puts on a brave face. “Yes. There will be someone there…that I trust. It shall be fine.”

He gives her an uncomfortable nod, like he always does. Understandably.

She just pats his hand. “Ready? It will be terribly uncomfortable after so long, so take a deep breath, and prepare for nausea.”

He does so.

And she apparates them away.

Just outside the gate.

The gate to Hogwarts.

Draco pulls away from her with a gasping pant, falling to his knees and retching and heaving in the grass. She wishes she had some kind of potion or herbal—

“Hello.”

Oh.

Narcissa freezes. Doesn’t turn.

Helps Draco to his feet.

And then makes herself look.

At Hermione Granger. On the other side of the gate.

Hermione, staring wide-eyed at the both of them.

Draco clears his throat. “Granger. How…did you know we were coming?”

Hermione searches his face. Runs her hands over the metal gate frame. “Andromeda told me. She got here a few minutes ago and— well she thought I might want to—”

Her eyes move to Narcissa. Look her up and down. “Still no dress?”

Hermione looks so tired. And thin. Exhausted, and older, and…

Still curious. Quizzical. Smiling. Her eyes are smiling.

Narcissa walks up to the gate. “You don’t have to wear a dress to be a witch. And I have found that trousers, on occasion, are much more practical. Especially pockets. I have grown accustomed to them.”

Hermione laughs. Holds a hand to her mouth. “This is…this is so strange! I mean— I know why you did it now. Snape told Harry. But— I— you’re—”

Narcissa folds her arms self-consciously. “I’m still the same person,” she grumbles. “I was being myself. As much as I thought otherwise, I was—”

She’s shoved in the arm. The gate has been opened whilst she was avoiding eye contact.

“An arse!” Hermione shouts, smiling but shoving her again. “Oh you are such an arse, Narcissa. Narcissa. I can’t believe you told me!”

Narcissa fights her off. “What was I supposed to say?! You knew I was a witch! I wouldn’t have had to tell you if you weren’t watching me all the time and blurting out every theory that entered your head. Absolutely no deliberation or—”

“Just like you. You didn’t deliberate very long before you decided to tell me your name! And— and then— I thought that— oh its so embarrassing! I told you that I…”

She trails off. Lets go.

The tension builds in the silence.

“Told her what?” Draco asks.

Hermione jumps. Like she forgot he was there. And then can’t seem to stop staring at him.

Closes her eyes with a groan. “He has your face. This is so weird.”

“Uh, wrong way around!” Draco complains. “She had my face. This is my face, Granger. In case you forgot. So you need to get used to it and— look, Mother? I think this is your…situation to resolve. I’m going to head up to the Castle and— I’ll be fine. I’ll find the Tonks’.”

But—

“If your father—”

Draco shakes his head dismissively, already leaving. “He won’t be there. He’ll already be at the Ministry or…Azkaban or somewhere. Wherever they’re holding people. Same as Aunt Bella.”

Narcissa nods with a shaky sigh. Holds the gate for support, eyes closed. She…cannot believe they both survived. It’s astonishing. And such a relief. She has no idea what they must have faced. Has had no contact whatsoever with the outside world. Doesn’t even know—

“How did you do it?” Narcissa whispers. “How did you win? How did we…survive this?”

She feels a hand take hers. Opens her eyes.

Hermione smiles. “It’s a long story. Maybe…we can go get a cup of tea or something and talk about it? Or talk about something else? Anything else?”

Narcissa takes her arm with a grateful and apologetic nod. Begins the walk up to the castle. “Yes. Yes, that’s a far better idea.”

And they walk. Slowly. In silence. For some time.

Narcissa chuckles. “You’ve learnt to deliberate.”

She gets a huffed laugh back. “I think I’m just still in shock.”

Ah.

“From the battle? Or…me?” she quietly asks.

They come to a stop.

Hermione turns to face her. “You’re Malfoy. Narcissa Malfoy.”

Narcissa grimaces. “Not for long. I rather…abandoned my husband. I believe the divorce papers will be at my door as soon as he has access to pen and paper.”

At this she gets a shocked look. She’s not sure why. There have been less grounds for divorce than disappearing for over a year whilst your husband is incarcerated and…fighting a war. For turning yourself in to the enemy.

“Pen?” Hermione whispers instead.

Oh. Oh, yes!

Narcissa grins. “I’ve been living with my sister Andromeda and her family. In mostly muggle accommodations. I now use pens. And notepads. And know what a mind map is. It certainly would have been very useful to map out my sexuality.”

Her heart seizes at her final words, but she says them. Feels the shame rise in her cheeks, but fights it. Remembers late-night conversations with Tonks and tries not to cringe away from it.

“You know muggle things,” Hermione murmurs. “So you…and you’re really the same person! Even without Draco’s face, I can see your expressions and your posture and—”

“Poise?” Narcissa jokes.

Hermione smacks herself in the forehead. “I should have known! Elegant! Poised! And— and—”

Her brain seems to whirr to a stop. She shakes her head jerkily.

And then grabs Narcissa’s arm once more, marching then up towards the castle. “We are going to need a long talk. And a drink. And maybe a more alcoholic drink, because this is…”

She pauses again. Stops and starts. Jerking up the hill like a learner driver.

Because Narcissa knows about cars now. And gears. Sort of.

Hermione stares into her eyes. It makes Narcissa’s breath catch. The intensity of it. She forgot…

“Were you my friend?” Hermione asks quietly. “Are you still my friend?”

Narcissa smiles at her softly. Brushes some stray curls off of her face. “Would I be letting you drag me up a hill if I were not?” she jokes.

Hermione huffs. “Narcissa, just tell me—”

“—Yes. You’re my friend. I care about you very much,” Narcissa quickly admits. “I give you my word. As little as the word of a Malfoy means these days.”

Again, realisation sparks in Hermione’s eyes. “Black family secrets,” she mutters.

Narcissa nods. Points her wand at Hermione’s head. “Démêlez-cheveux.”

Twists her wand. Pulls it back.

Hermione shivers. “I’ve been using it, actually. I was on the run. Camping. I lost my hairbrush.”

Narcissa’s mouth falls open. Camping? This whole— How dreadful! So that is why she is so thin, and tired, and—

“Do you have a place to stay?” Narcissa asks. “Because if you are in need of anything, food, money, a shower, a bed, I…”

And her mouth falls shut.

Hermione smiles at her. Laughs at her. “Just remembered you might not have a house anymore?”

Yes. She really does need a new house for her and Draco.

She shrugs. “I’ll buy one. How much does a house cost these days?”

Hermione laughs again. Louder. “It depends on the house! It— Are you seriously— Oh I forgot how funny you are without meaning to be. I missed you.”

Funny? She’s never thought of herself as funny. What a bizarre observation.

But…oh she forgot too. Forgot how nice it is to hear Hermione’s laughter. She supposes they did laugh rather a lot at Hogwarts. There were a few amusing situations.

Hermione is pretty when she laughs.

Oh.

Oh…Narcissa, don’t do it. Not again. Don’t you dare. Stop that thought right in its tracks at once! She is much too young. She is the same age as your son.

Well, roughly a year older—

If you have to make a calculation, then it is too close! Do not—

Narcissa clears her throat as they get closer to the Castle…ruins.

Ruins.

The breath leaves her lungs. She had known of the battle, but she had not anticipated…

She brings a hand to her mouth. “I tried to stop this,” she whispers. “I didn’t want— I didn’t fight. I didn’t want a fight. I didn’t want anyone to…”

Hermione hugs her. Pulls her close. They’re now far closer in height. It’s strange, but just as comforting. More so. “I know,” Hermione reassures her. “I know you didn’t, but it’s alright! It’s over now. It’s all over. And I respect what you did. Leaving and— It’s pacifism. It’s fine. You already saw one war, I can understand why you didn’t want another one.”

A pacifist?

Yes. Peace. She’d wanted peace. From both sides. She’d wanted it all to be over.

A sudden thought. “And— and the Weasleys? Are they— Ginny? Ron? Neville and Luna and—”

She’s hugged tighter. “Safe. Alive. Except— well— one of the twins— the ceiling fell. Caved in. Fred didn’t— and Pansy—”

Narcissa sharply pulls back. She thinks she might faint. What— “Pansy— Pansy is—”

“At St Mungo’s,” Hermione blurts out. “She’s hurt, but she’s alive.”

Narcissa’s knees almost give out altogether relief. Oh thank Merlin. Thank Salazar. “What— what happened?”

Hermione lowers her down to sit in the grass. “The slytherin students all left, but she snuck back in. She was looking for Draco. She thought he might be there.”

No…

“It’s my fault,” Narcissa whispers in horror. “I told her I was a spy for the Dark Lord. That Draco was— She loves Draco. Thought she loved me. I told her I was going undercover to infiltrate the Light. She must have thought…”

She climbs to her feet. “I need to find Draco. He’ll want to go to St Mungo’s. And— well I don’t think I should tell her just yet. The shock might—”

Hermione jogs along next to her. “They’re not allowing visitors yet. They’re too busy. But I’m sure later he can drop by. You both can. If…”

They’ve slowed to a walk. Some people are turning to look at them now. Looking at them confusedly. It must be odd. Narcissa Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

“Do people know…about the polyjuice?” Narcissa murmurs.

Hermione shakes her head. “I haven’t told anyone. I promised. So unless you told anyone?”

“Only Bella and Severus,” Narcissa replies.

Severus. She cannot believe…

Gone. Played his part until the end. Did what she could not.

Killed Dumbledore. That message had reached them. A patronus from Kingsley Shacklebolt to Tonks.

“Did you know?” Hermione asks. “That Snape was on our side?”

What?

Narcissa stops. “What side? Which side? What do you mean?”

Hermione gasps. “You don’t know! You really don’t— Dumbledore was dying! He would have died anyway. He told Snape to kill him when— when you— Snape always would have done it. To prove his loyalty to Voldemort, but he wasn’t loyal! He was on our side. He loved Harry’s mother, Lily.”

Dumbledore was dying?

Dumbledore was dying. It would have all been for nothing. Severus—

He knew the whole time. That— that— oh she could kill him!

Dead. He’s already dead.

Loved Lily Evans? She’d thought that was just a teenage crush. Puppy love. Not…

“So when Snape faked his own death,” Hermione continues, “the elder wand belonged to Bellatrix, but she didn’t know, and when Harry disarmed her—”

Wait wait wait.

Narcissa looks around frantically. “Faked his death? He’s alive? Severus is alive?”

And she catches sight of a black cape.

A black cape billowing in the wind. Fanning out around his chair, sat by the entrance steps with Draco, neck heavily bandaged. But talking. Talking with Draco.

Alive.

The melodramatic fool.

Narcissa laughs. Then hugs Hermione. Because she feels like her whole world has tipped, grown, is expanding beneath her feet, and she needs someone to cling onto. Oh.

“Is your cat okay?” she whispers. “Your books?”

Hermione huffs out a confused laugh against her neck. “Why are you always the person to remember my cat? You didn’t seem to like him very much when— He’s at the Burrow. My books are there too. The ones I didn’t need. In Ginny’s room.”

“You talking about me?” a voice comes from behind her. “And who are you…Oh.”

Narcissa pulls back. Steps back. Turns around.

Ginny Weasley looks older too. Far too old for her age. And…

Red eyed.

She lost her brother. Fred Weasley. One of the twins.

Narcissa thanks the gods once more. Thanks the fates. That Bella made it. Bella and Andromeda both made it.

For a moment, no-one says anything.

And now Harry and Ron are making their way over too. You can't separate the Golden Trio for long.

Narcissa smiles tightly at Hermione. “Go ahead. You may break your vow.”

Hermione sighs. “I didn’t vow anything. It was just the right thing to do. Or I thought it was.”

Harry jogs the last few steps with Ron. Both of them…

All of these teenagers have transformed into weary adults before her eyes. She feels like she’s been away for ten long years rather than seventeen long months.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, smiling cautiously. “Mrs Malfoy. It’s nice to properly meet you. I heard from Professor Snape that you’re the reason Draco pulled out of school over Christmas. That you both joined our side and went into hiding after Draco was ordered to kill Dumbledore.”

Narcissa…slowly nods. “That is…almost the truth. Yes.”

She fights a smile. Looks at Hermione again.

Hermione does smile. Laughs. “Oh this is going to be even weirder now! But I guess we should tell them.”

Ron frowns. “Tell us what?”

Oh it’s not fair to put this on Hermione. And far too amusing.

Narcissa slides her hands into her pockets. “Draco…did not attend Hogwarts in his sixth year. I sent him away. To Beauxbatons. Draco was not at school with you. I was. I am the…Malfoy you befriended. Well, that Hermione befriended. She discovered that I was a witch, and was kind enough to keep my secret.”

They all seem to…freeze. And then look at her differently. At her clothing. Her posture.

Hermione nods. “I didn’t know it was her. I thought Draco was a witch and...struggling with that. Gender. Uncomfortable with it, and didn't want to tell anyone yet. So I approached Narcissa about the subject, and she went along with it. And told me to secretly call her Narcissa. Because she has the worst sense.”

Narcissa turns to glare at her. “I have the worst sense? You found out your childhood bully had a secret, and decided befriending them was the best option! Divulging your own secrets in the process! It was the perfect blackmail material, and instead you—”

“I wouldn’t blackmail you for that!” Hermione exclaims. “I wouldn’t blackmail anyone with that! Would you?”

“No!” Narcissa shouts. “Of course not. I just meant hypothetically…well there was a war on. I was the enemy.”

Hermione scoffs. “You were never the enemy. Draco was never the enemy. He was just a complete prat. Spoilt. Childish. He needed to grow up.”

And that word digs into her. Spoilt. “I know. I spoiled him,” she says bitterly, looking away. At the crumbling stone. “I sheltered him. Instilled my prejudice and fear in him. Gave him everything he ever wanted to gain his love, to bring him happiness, and almost caused his death,” she continues darkly. “So perhaps you are right. I have the worst sense. No sense. No sense at all.”

Destruction. So much destruction. Hatred. Fed by her. Why could she not have been more like Andromeda? Braver. More sensible. Practical. Less…deluded.

And now she is speaking of death. Pitying herself. Speaking of her own loss, when these people are truly grieving.

A hand finds hers. “It’s not your fault. You did what you could in the end. And…I think you made up for Draco. We all forgave him, remember? When you were him?”

Narcissa looks back. Meets kind eyes.

Drags her eyes away. To the others.

Ginny Weasley bursts out laughing. “It was you! You’re friends with Hermione. Or wait. Are you just friends? More than friends?”

“Ginny!” Ron squawks. “She’s Malfoy’s mum!”

“And she’s holding hands with Hermione, like always!” Ginny snaps back. “We all thought they were together before! It was her.”

Oh. They all thought she and Hermione were an item?

Hermione looks at the ground. Shrugs. “We weren’t together.”

But the hand doesn’t leave.

Narcissa laughs quietly. Nods to herself. “I was married. And had my son’s face. I may have had to play a role for Pansy, and was able to…forget my face for a moment with Madam Rosmerta…but I did not wish to deceive Hermione. It would have been cruel. And far too embarrassing for Draco.”

Hermione’s head snaps up. “You— wait. You— So at Slughorn’s party, when—”

Narcissa smiles. “I considered it. But pushed the thought aside. I am a Slytherin, Miss Granger. Not a Gryffindor.”

She leaves the implication hanging in the air. About what she’d wanted if it weren’t for the consequences. Because to hell with it. Get over yourself. Stop being so deluded. She had wanted to kiss Hermione. And still does. Odd age gap be damned.

Hermione’s eyes seem to…glint. Flicker from curiosity to understanding. An intrigued tilt to her head.

Someone whistles lowly. “Feel that tension? Get a room, you two! And not mine!” Tonks laughs. She’s snuck up behind them.

Narcissa rolls her eyes. Ignores her. “Yes, would you like to go for that drink, Hermione? Far, far from anyone by the name of Tonks?”

“Rude!” Tonks shouts. “And after I told you—”

She casts a swift silencio at Tonks. Drags Hermione away. Because Tonks has told her many many things that she does not want Hermione to hear.

Hermione laughs. “Narcissa! Dragging me away mid-conversation? Where’s your decorum gone?”

Narcissa slows her pace. Softens her grip. “My apologies. I must have left it at the Tonks’ house. It seems that is where any form of etiquette becomes misplaced. Probably under a pile of clothes.”

Hermione laughs again. “So you didn’t enjoy spending all this time with them?”

Narcissa pauses. Smiles to herself. “I enjoyed it immensely,” she whispers.

Then looks up. “But I am sick of that house. That room. I had to share a bedroom with Nymphadora. Can you imagine it?”

Hermione wraps an arm around her. Leads them back down the hill towards the gate. “I…can’t really imagine it, no. You’ll have to tell me all about it. Catch me up. Over drinks. And lunch. Are you hungry? We could— oh, but I don’t have any money on me!”

Narcissa chuckles. “Neither do I. We may have to stop off at Andromeda’s. Unless…well there is always the chance that Madam Rosmerta—”

Hermione wags a finger at her sternly. “No! Don’t even try to— And you don’t even have the same face anymore to—”

“You do not believe me as handsome as Draco?”

And that leaves Hermione speechless for once. Awkward.

But she quickly finds her composure. Draws it from somewhere. Takes Narcissa’s hand. “Handsome isn’t the right word. But you…No. I think…that if you flirted with Madam Rosmerta? With your face? As you? Well, that wouldn’t be fair. She wouldn’t stand a chance. She’d give you anything.”

Oh.

Gosh.

Narcissa clears her throat. “And yet, I believe…I have just been outdone. Outflirted. I shall take you to lunch. My treat. Once I find…wherever Nymphadora has buried my purse.”

Hermione smiles at her. “Alright,” she replies gently. “I’ll pay next time. You’ll have to think of a way to outflirt me.”

Narcissa raises an eyebrow as they pass the gate. “Then I shall begin deliberating. Now, take my arm, Miss Granger. I shall escort us home.”

Hermione just smiles wider. “Such a gentleman.”

Gentleman? Narcissa shudders dramatically. “Never again. Chivalrous, perhaps. But a gentleman, never.”

Hermione takes her arm. They begin to turn.

Narcissa pauses. Cannot help herself. “From now on,” she murmurs. “I shall be your lady, and nothing more. And that shall have to suffice.”

And they disappear with a crack.

“Narcissa?” Hermione calls. “Are you home? I—”

Narcissa scrambles to her feet, hitting her head on the bottom of the sofa in the process. “Hermione! I didn’t think your portkey from Australia came in until…Oh. Five o’clock already?”

Hermione slowly walks into the living room. Looks her up and down, eyes smiling. “What…were you doing? Was that deliberate? On your hands and knees—”

“No!” Narcissa squawks, flustered by— whatever she’s implying— “Your cat knocked my wand under the sofa whilst I was reading. I cannot reach it, and my wandless magic is not—”

Hermione nods in realisation. “Accio wand!”

It flies towards her. She catches it. Moves closer to hand it to Narcissa.

Their fingers brush.

Hermione clears her throat. “So...I’ve graduated from Hogwarts.”

Narcissa swallows. “Yes. I do recall. Last month, as well as Draco, and—”

“It’s been a year. Since the end of the War. Have you…had enough time to deliberate?”

Narcissa’s finds her eyes drawn to smiling lips. Drags her gaze away. Looks around at her new living room. New house. New home. Chosen belongings. Old belongings. Old books. A large ginger cat that she has somehow…befriended.

And Hermione Granger. Recently graduated top of her class, one year late. Already buried in job offers. Back from visiting her parents in Melbourne. Back.

Narcissa slowly nods. “Have you?”

A laugh. Hermione steps closer. “I’m a Gryffindor. I didn’t need any time to deliberate. I just thought it would be strange to start anything whilst I was back at Hogwarts. What would I do? Sneak you into the Common Room?”

Narcissa laughs too. Leans closer. “I believe you already did that.”

A hand strokes her face. “I didn’t know it was you,” Hermione whispers. “You talking to me. Not properly.”

No. Not properly. Narcissa had not known who she was at all, at the time. Not herself. Not Draco. As Severus had said, a newly-forged personality.

A new person. Or perhaps…

Perhaps she was truly herself. With Hermione. She always feels like herself with Hermione. More herself than she has ever allowed herself to be. Maskless. Maskless, and vulnerable, but safe and…seen. By ever-curious eyes, and a smiling lip. By this…unbelievable witch, staring back at her.

Narcissa sighs. Breathes it in. This final moment. The last threshold.

Closes her eyes. Nods. “Alright. Enough deliberating. Yes. I want this. I want you.”

And she feels Hermione drag her closer. Pull her in, lips finding hers in an instant. She’d say they live fast now, but the last year of corresponding through letters and the occasional visit has gone painfully slowly.

And any lingering question of sexuality is quickly leaving her as the blood rushes to her face, and her chest, and—

Her hands reach out. Grasping. Holding. Stroking.

She teases with her tongue. It earns her a groan.

Hermione pulls back, looking slightly dazed and very disheveled. “I can’t believe how lucky I am. How attractive you are. Do you know how…you’re so—”

She seems to run out of words. For once. Excellent.

Narcissa kisses her jaw. Pulls back to raise an eyebrow and suggest some words of her own. “Elegant? Poised?”

Hermione beams at her. Shakes her head. “Cheeky. Beautiful. Sexy. I think I even had a crush on you when you looked like Draco, so this is—”

Narcissa groans. “For the love of Merlin, please don’t talk about my son right now. It is strange enough.”

Hermione hugs her with a laugh. Starts kissing her neck. “Have you seen him and Pansy recently?”

Narcissa smacks her arm for her cheek. Only gently though. And tilts her head back, trying to catch her breath as she stares at the ceiling in wonder at what she has somehow accomplished. “Yes. I saw them— saw them last week. It is still— Pansy has begun teasing me, which I feel is a good sign that—”

A bite at her neck. “What kind of teasing? What does that mean? What—”

Narcissa chuckles and tilts Hermione’s head up to kiss her again. And again, lips burning. Pulls her back to fall onto the sofa. Her sofa. Everything belongs to her. Everything in this room.

“Shall I give you a tour of the house?” she pants. “The bedroom—”

She’s pulled to her feet. A hand takes hers. “Show me. Show me, Narcissa. I want to see everything.”

Narcissa laughs and begins pulling her out of the room. Up the stairs. Bumping into walls. “I’ll show you the body you’ve been missing out on. Make you forget the old one.”

“Already forgotten,” Hermione smiles. Walks her backwards towards a bed. “Narcissa. Narcissa, Narcissa, Narcissa…”

They fall. No sense of decorum.

No sense at all.

But Narcissa doesn’t mind. Just relishes hearing her name. Again. And again.

And again.