Chapter Text
O' CHILDREN
Forgive us now for what we've done
“Severus…”
Narcissa’s voice was barely a whisper, soft and full of defeat. Her blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, sparkling with fear and terror. Her delicate fingers were clenched tightly around her wand, as if she were ready to cast the most powerful Protego ever conjured.
“He is just a boy.”
There it was. Her broken heart. Lucius would never forgive himself for all the pain in his Cissy’s soul. Their only child, their only boy… Lost to the darkness of a soulless man.
“ Please , Severus.”
It was painful. He could feel her anguish in a way he never imagined. Had Lily pleaded with Voldemort too? If so, how could he have done that to a mother? How could he not feel the world shattering through a mother’s fear of losing her child?
“He is a coward, Cissy!” — Bellatrix spat, toying with one of his books. — “You know it!”
“Don’t touch what doesn’t belong to you, Bella.” — Snape said coldly, sparing her only a sneer before turning his attention back to the broken woman in front of him — “I’ve played my part very well, I know. Even a powerful wizard like Dumbledore can’t see through me. But you can, can’t you, Narcissa?”
Seeing Narcissa Black Malfoy so undone, not caring about her perfectly combed hair or her usually poised and regal posture, was something Severus never thought he would witness. Beyond her beauty, Narcissa was royalty. She was the perfect lady — elegant, intelligent. Malfoy was envied beyond his wealth the day Narcissa agreed to marry him.
“Bella, I think I heard something outside. Could you check it? I only trust you, my dear sister.” — she said, her voice weak, glancing around as if something were already lurking.
“Don’t worry, Cissy. It’s probably just that idiotic Pettigrew.” — Bellatrix sneered with disgust. Then her eyes glinted with madness — “But I’ll take a look. I do miss having fun with Wormtail. My wand misses throwing a few hexes at frightened little rats!”
Bellatrix didn’t even blink before storming out of the room, calling for “ Dear Peter ” in a singsong voice that could send shivers down anyone’s spine.
“Severus, please.” — Narcissa said again, her voice just a whisper now. When his dark cold eyes locked with her baby-blue filled with tears, she waved her wand in a delicate movement — “ Legilimens .”
And just like that, she was inside his mind. His Occlumency barriers were strong, but she wasn’t searching for his memories — Oh no , Narcissa wouldn’t waste time with that. Her Legilimency was far too advanced and seeing someone’s memory was children’s play for her.
Severus could see memories that weren’t his. She was showing him why she needed Draco protected from the approaching war.
Draco had written many letters to his parents during his first year at Hogwarts. He told them about the Sorting Hat placing him in Slytherin, about Harry Potter not wanting to be his friend, about how Weasley and he had somehow become good fellas — and that with them was a Mudblood .
All his letters were filled with paragraphs about Hermione Jean Granger.
Weeks and weeks of letters, full of small remarks about school life and long passages about Granger’s brilliance.
How could a Mudblood be so good at magic?… Did all Mudbloods have hair that sparked with uncontained magic?... She could perform advanced spells with her eyes closed — but how? How much magic did she steal before coming to school?... How can she be so brilliant?... Her eyes are like cinnamon burning in the autumn. Her hair shines gold in the sunlight... She was attacked by a troll in the bathroom. How could Dumbledore allow such creatures within the school’s perimeter? Someone could’ve died. Father should speak to the Minister… She helped Harry Potter with her big brain and courage. The Philosopher’s Stone is safe now, and Professor Quirrell was supposedly possessed by You-Know-Who. Is she so bright that she faced the Dark Lord and won?
And then, the last one — a short letter in his second year:
Mother, she is petrified.
He spiraled to a different memory.
Narcissa saw her son’s bedroom destroyed — burned, shattered into pieces. He was crying, sobbing, desperate. He had returned home after his second year ended, and after a week of silence with Lucius, without explanation, they were startled by the sound of banging and wailing.
“What is it, Draco? What happened? Are you hurt?” she asked, touching him, searching for injuries. “Tell me, baby. What happened?”
That night, he showed them. His silver eyes were gleaming with tears of despair.
He was in love… With a Muggle-born.
After seeing her petrified — lying there like she was dead in the hospital wing — Draco swore never to call her that again. Never again.
Lucius was speechless. He couldn’t believe it. His son. His only son… Lost, broken and judgmental. Draco acused him. How could his father put a dark magic item hidden between a eleven years old books? How could his father help put the girl that he loves in the hospital wing? Petrified, with her eyes open wide with fear and terror. So cold, so still… How could he forgive his father for hurting her? How could his father do such horrors with children?
That day, Lucius cried.
Seeing his boy sobbing, wounded by his own actions in the name of a so-called purity… He could live with many things — but never with his son’s hatred. Not with the knowledge that he had caused Draco so much pain.
“I’m sorry, Draco. I truly am.” — Lucius whispered into his son’s hair, squeezing him in a tight embrace as if afraid Draco might slip from his grasp forever.
That night, the Malfoys talked about everything.
The prejudice against Muggles and Muggle-borns. How the Malfoy and Black families had raised them both with the doctrine of blood purity. How it was the only truth they had ever known — how important it once felt to protect their ancient magic from everything and everyone.
And Draco told them about Hermione.
How incredible and powerful her magic was. How, sometimes, he could feel the golden touch of her uncontrolled energy around her. How brilliant she was — a little know-it-all who even managed to astonish the professors with her brilliance.
Later that night, in the privacy of their chambers, Narcissa and Lucius spoke softly about Draco and his infatuation with the Muggle-born girl.
How dangerous it could be.
The Dark Lord was stirring, sending signs. Lucius’s Dark Mark had been warming again, and it terrified them both.
“We will protect him, Cissy. I’ll protect you both, with my life and soul, you know that.” — Lucius dropped to his knees, taking her hands. His voice trembled with desperation and resolve — “We do what we have to do to survive… but I will always guard you two. And if I must… I’ll protect her too. I won’t hurt my boy any more.”
He promised — not as a Death Eater, nor as a Malfoy… But as a father.
Severus was thrown back slightly when Narcissa released his mind. Her eyes were no longer tearful, but now shimmered with a new kind of light — steady, determined.
“ Oh, Merlin… ” — was all Snape could mutter, stunned by the weight of what he had just seen — “ Narcissa, I… ”
From somewhere deeper within the house, they could hear Bellatrix's deranged laughter and Pettigrew’s pathetic whining. There was still time. Bellatrix could entertain herself for hours with a subject to torture.
“ Take a seat, my friend .” — Narcissa said softly, gesturing toward the chair across from her — “ Let me show you a little more… Legilimens .”
And again, his mind was flooded — one more time, with memories that were not his.
He could sense Narcissa there with him, guiding him through the images, her presence like a steady thread weaving between each memory.
But something was different.
These were not Narcissa’s memories. They were Draco’s.
Somehow, she had collected them — moments preserved and gathered with delicate precision, like fragile artifacts — and now she was offering them to Severus.
Not to convince him. But to make him understand.
Here, take these before we run away
The sting on his cheek was nothing compared to the fire in his chest.
She had slapped him.
Right there, in front of Potter, Weasel and his friends. A perfectly aimed blow, echoing through the stones like a curse. But what haunted Malfoy most wasn't the sound of it — it was the look in her eyes.
Fierce. Fearless. Alive.
He had never seen anything more beautiful.
That night, he couldn’t sleep. He replayed the moment again and again — the way her curls bounced as she stormed off, the way her hand trembled just after striking him. Not with fear. With adrenaline. With power.
He had to see her.
The next day, he waited until the library emptied. She always stayed late. He knew her routine — of course he did.
When Hermione finally rose from her seat, arms full of books, she nearly bumped into him in the corridor.
“Are you stalking me, Malfoy?” she snapped, instantly on guard.
“No” — he said. Then smirked — “Maybe.” — Then, quieter — “Yes”
She rolled her eyes and tried to walk past him, but he stepped in front of her.
“What do you want now? Haven’t you had enough yesterday?”
Draco took a breath. “Why did you do it?”
“Slap you?”
“Yes.”
She narrowed her eyes. “ Because you’re cruel. And petty. And, and… ”
“And you’re the brightest witch of our age, Granger.” His voice came out softer than he meant, almost like revering her. “But you can’t lie to save your life.”
She looked startled — not by the words, but by the way he was looking at her.
“We’ve hated each other since the day we met.”
“Yes” — she said, but it didn’t sound convincing — “We did. ”
“That’s the problem.” He stepped closer. “I tried.”
He didn’t touch her. Didn’t dare. But she didn’t back away.
And then, as if pulled by something older than fear and stronger than pride, she leaned in… And kissed him.
Severus could see it all… Countless stolen kisses in empty Hogwarts classrooms, in the Restricted Section of the library or near the Black Lake under the pale moonlight. Hermione’s smile while Draco held her in his arms. The way he would bury his face in her hair, breathing in the sweet scent of vanilla and cinnamon. The way her hands would cup his cheeks before leaning in for a kiss — deep, passionate, full of longing.
The whispers. The confessions. The promises of two teenagers discovering love for the first time.
It was sweet. It was genuine. It was organic — unforced, unplanned. Real .
Severus mind spiraled once again, and suddenly he found himself standing in a delicate sitting room at Malfoy Manor.
Draco was speaking — fast, breathless, full of nervous excitement — telling his parents everything.
The incident with Buckbeak. The slap. The first kiss and the other following kisses. The secret relationship. Sirius’ escape and how his cousin — the infamous Black — was actually innocent.
Narcissa’s eyes widened with every new revelation. Lucius stood regal, unmoving, listening with a faint, poorly concealed note of disdain.
“So… you kissed her?” — Narcissa asked gently.
“She kissed me, actually.” — Draco replied, almost defensively, then softer — “And now we’re together. We haven’t told anyone. With all the Sirius drama and everything else going on, we decided to just... see where this goes.”
Narcissa exchanged a look with Lucius. It was one of those long, wordless glances that said far more than speech ever could.
“We would like to meet her.” — she said simply.
Lucius raised an eyebrow.
“You want to bring a Muggle-born to our home?”
“I want us to meet her. Not her blood status. Her .”
Lucius studied his son carefully.
His hair was slightly tousled, his eyes burning with something terrifyingly pure. It reminded him of hope.
Draco looked nothing like the shattered boy he had held in his arms a year earlier. He was glowing — truly glowing — with a quiet happiness. Even his pale blond hair seemed lighter somehow, for Merlin’s sake.
Lucius nodded. He would do anything to maintain his son’s happiness.
“Then we shall meet her.”
Narcissa twisted something and another memory pulled him.
It had taken careful planning. Hermione told her parents she would be going that day to the Burrow.
She told the Weasleys she’d be with her parents and meet them soon.
Draco met her in a shadowed corner of the Leaky Cauldron, his hood drawn low and his wand already raised.
“Disillusionment Charm ready, Granger?”
“Always,” — she answered with a smirk.
And with a flick of their wands, they vanished into near-invisibility, just two flickering outlines slipping through the Diagon Alley crowds like shadows.
They reached the designated fireplace inside a lesser-known wizarding potions shop. With a whispered address and a handful of Floo powder, they stepped through the green flames and into the vast, silent Manor.
It wasn’t a grand hall they landed in — but a small, private chamber. One that belonged to Narcissa. A room where she liked to sit and read, bathed in sunlight streaming through tall, spotless windows. The walls were a soft, powdery blue; the furniture, a graceful shade of cream. Delicate. Lovely. Unexpected.
Hermione would stay only for a night. By dawn, she would return by Floo to the potions shop and walk into the Diagon Alley crowd to meet the Weasleys, unnoticed.
Severus could see her brown eyes drifting around the room, wide with awe — clearly impressed by the size and opulence of the centuries-old Manor. The atmosphere was heavy, not hostile, but ancient. Every inch of the room whispered of old magic and legacy and Hermione loved it at first sight.
Hermione stood tall in the center, her hair half-tamed by effort, her clothes plain but clean. Her magic clung to her skin like a veil of warmth — a faint, golden shimmer that seemed to hum at the edges of being. It was as if she were connecting with the Manor itself. With its magic. Its history. Its soul.
Narcissa was the first to speak.
“Welcome, Miss Granger. May I offer you tea?”
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”
Her tone was calm. Polite. But there was a glint in her eyes, one Lucius did not miss.
He stepped forward, posture impeccable, his expression unreadable.
“Miss Granger.” — he greeted with a graceful nod.
“Mr. Malfoy. A pleasure to see you again.” — she replied, remembering the time she had seen him arguing with Mr. Weasley — “So… have there been any more punches thrown lately? ”
Behind them, Draco stood watching, barely breathing.
“No, Miss Granger.” — Lucius said smoothly. — “I only do that when I have an audience. You must know how much we Malfoys enjoy theatrics.”
Narcissa glanced between them with quiet amusement, pleased to see that her husband was truly making an effort. She also noticed how happy — and relieved — Draco looked.
She took the opportunity to observe everything… Every movement, every glance. The way Draco’s fingers twitched slightly whenever Hermione moved. The way Hermione, unconsciously, leaned into his energy as if tethered by something invisible. Magnetic.
Their magic, too, seemed to respond.
Hermione’s shimmered gold — bright and warm, like the sun through honey.
Draco’s danced silver — sharp, controlled, elegant.
But when they stood close, the colors pulsed toward each other. Danced. Aligned. A silent symphony of power neither of them could see, but the adults in the room could.
Narcissa sipped her tea in silence, hiding the intrigue behind long lashes.
Lucius tilted his head slightly, already growing tired of the formalities. He knew well enough that her parents were some kind of Muggle healers — professionals who treated people’s teeth and gums. Strange. Uninteresting. Utterly irrelevant. He didn’t care.
“Tell me, Miss Granger… what exactly do you see in my son?”
Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the elegant bluntness, but then she smiled, slow and sharp.
“I could ask you the same, Mr. Malfoy.”
The room paused. Narcissa’s cup hovered in the air.
Lucius’s mouth twitched.
“Clever. But it wasn’t cleverness I asked for.”
“No.” — Hermione said, gaze steady — “But you already know the answer. You see it, don’t you? Just like I do.”
There was silence. Tense, but rich.
Then Lucius looked at Draco. His son had a softness in his face he hadn’t seen in years. Not weakness, but peace. Clarity.
When he looked back at Hermione, Lucius Malfoy, for the first time, saw someone worthy of standing beside a Malfoy heir… Not despite her bloodline, but because of who she had become in spite of it.
He inclined his head, just barely.
“Very well.”
She was supposed to stay only for a night. She stayed nearly a week.
At first, silence filled the corridors, the kind that watched, not judged. But silence gave way to something else.
Hermione helped Narcissa trim the garden hedges, her curls tucked into a silk scarf. They didn’t speak much. But Narcissa noticed the care in the girl's hands. How gently she touched the plants, how softly she coaxed the stubborn rosebushes to bloom.
She offered to feed the white peacocks with Lucius. He said nothing when she joined him, just handed her a scoop of grain. She didn’t flinch when one hissed. He noticed.
Draco showed her the lake behind the manor, hidden by enchanted trees. She swam in her underclothes. He dove in after her. From the balcony, Narcissa and Lucius watched them laughing… Two streaks of gold and silver dancing across the water.
Lucius didn’t smile. But he didn’t frown, either.
Hermione read in the drawing room every evening, her legs tucked beneath her on ancient furniture. Sometimes Narcissa joined her with a glass of wine. Once, Lucius sat nearby, pretending to read the paper, but listening to her commentary on wizarding legislation.
The house began to breathe differently. Warmer. Softer. Lighter. Even the portraits stopped whispering.
When the house-elves brought her tea, she would talk to them in a kind tone, interested to know more about them. When she passed through the corridors, the marble didn’t feel so cold.
She didn’t try to impress them, and that, somehow, impressed them most of all.
On Hermione’s last night in the Manor, the long dining table wasn’t as intimidating as it had been on her first night. The candles flickered gently, casting a golden hue over the silverware and polished mahogany. The food was abundant, carefully prepared, but there was no extravagance, no attempt to impress. It was familiar .
Hermione sat beside Draco. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the soup was served.
Across from them, Lucius was watching. Not coldly. Not sharply. Just watching .
Narcissa sipped her wine, eyes tracing the joined hands over the tablecloth. Then she spoke, softly, but clearly:
“You’ve brought something into this house I never thought we’d see again.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed — “What is that?”
Narcissa smiled.
“Light.”
She reached out, resting her hand over theirs.
“I’m glad my son is happy. And you, Hermione Granger… Will always be welcome in this home.”
Lucius, who had been silent until then, finally looked at them both. His lips curved into a rare, quiet smile and he inclined his head.
It was the most honest approval either of them could have hoped for.
In the next morning sun spilled gently through the tall windows of the parlour, casting golden reflections on the marble floors. The fireplace had already been prepared with Floo Powder, its green flames flickering softly, ready to take them to potions shop at the Leaky Cauldron.
Hermione stood near it, her bag over her shoulder, her curls pinned loosely. She turned once more, looking around the room that had somehow, impossibly, come to feel like home .
Narcissa embraced her with grace and warmth, fingers brushing Hermione’s arm with genuine affection.
"You’ll write?" — she asked, almost motherly.
"Of course." — Hermione smiled — "And thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. For everything."
"Narcissa." — she corrected, gently.
Hermione’s eyes sparkled — "Narcissa."
Lucius approached next, arms crossed, a subtle smirk forming on his lips.
"Do try not to turn all our family secrets into bedtime stories for the Weasleys, Miss Granger."
Hermione raised an eyebrow — "Only the mildly scandalous ones."
He let out something between a huff and a chuckle.
"Merlin help us all." — he muttered.
Draco rolled his eyes, taking Hermione’s hand.
"Ready?"
She nodded. Together, they stepped into the flames, green light swallowing them whole.
The silence in the room returned, though now it felt softer .
Lucius stood still for a moment, gazing at the spot where they had disappeared. Then he spoke, almost as if to himself:
"She’s powerful."
Narcissa turned her head, curious.
Lucius’s tone was thoughtful, measured, but there was no trace of disdain. Only quiet admiration.
"Not just clever. Magic clings to her. She feels old . Rooted. Like she was born to it." — He looked toward the window, where the sun warmed the curtains — "She feels like a Malfoy."
Narcissa smiled beside him, serene and satisfied.
"Yes." — she whispered — "She does."
And then, another twist of Narcissa’s invisible grip on Snape’s mind.
But this time, it wasn’t one of Draco’s memories. It was darker. Tense. Anguished.
It was Lucius.
Lucius running through the fields surrounding the Quidditch World Cup. The Death Eaters had decided to “play”… Hungry for screams, eager to feed on fear. Muggles were being attacked, thrown into the air like dolls, terror crackling through the sky like lightning.
He heard Dolohov laughing nearby, muttering something about Potter and his mudblood pet wandering near the perimeter with the blood-traitor Weasleys.
Panic gripped him. He had to run. He had to find her. He had to protect her.
Draco and Narcissa would never forgive him if something happened to Hermione Granger. And truth be told… He wouldn’t forgive himself either.
Draco was out there too, somewhere, searching frantically in the opposite direction. When Lucius had warned him that the Death Eaters planned chaos that night, they had both fled from the Malfoy tent, splitting up in the burning fields to find her among the fire, the smoke, the screams.
All Lucius could do was run and pray.
Pray that that idiotic Arthur had enough sense to use a Portkey. Pray that the girl was already gone. Safe .
And then he saw her.
Through the haze of smoke and spells, just beyond a flaming tent, Hermione Granger appeared stumbling, coughing, her wild hair glowing gold beneath the firelight.
One of the Weasley boys had her by the arm, tugging her forward, shouting something she couldn’t hear. She looked terrified, but alive.
Lucius stopped. His breath caught. His pulse thundered. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t go to her, not without exposing everything. Not without ruining the fragile web of secrecy that protected them all.
But he couldn’t walk away either, so he stayed. Hidden in shadow. Silent. Watching.
A group of Death Eaters emerged nearby, masks gleaming, wands raised, laughing with the madness of a hunt.
Lucius raised his own wand, barely, and with practiced ease, flicked it in a swift, fluid motion.
“Desillusio.”
The charm fell over her like a curtain, not perfect, not complete, but enough.
She flickered faintly, like a heat shimmer, just enough to distract a careless eye.
The Death Eaters looked her way and he struck again.
“Confundus.”
One turned left instead of right. Another tripped on nothing, blinking in confusion. A third stopped mid-step, suddenly unsure of where he was going.
Hermione vanished behind a collapsing tent with the Weasley boy pulling her forward, toward safety.
Lucius lowered his wand, breathing hard. His heart still raced. His palms were sweating inside dragonhide gloves.
But she was safe. For now.
And no one would ever know. No one except Narcissa and Draco.
Snape’s mind spun again. Memories of Draco and Hermione dancing, hidden in the shadows of the Yule Ball. Draco’s jealousy burned when he saw Granger with Viktor Krum. And then his despair when she became his prize in the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament.
The way he held her for hours afterward, arms wrapped tightly around her as if she might slip away, afraid she would return to the depths of the Black Lake, to the darkness, to drowning.
They said they loved each other that same night. Curled up in the Astronomy Tower, watching constellations bloom across the sky, murmuring quiet words of affection like spells meant only for the two of them.
And then he was back at the Manor. The air was thick, heavy, saturated with protective charms.
He knew what it was. The Dark Lord had returned. He could feel it, like a shadow curling around his ribs.
He saw it in Lucius. The dark circles under his eyes. The tremor in his fingers. A single lock of hair out of place, something Lucius Malfoy would never allow.
And he saw it in them. Granger and Draco. In the set of their jaws. In the way their hands sought each other’s when they thought no one was looking. They had seen Diggory’s body. They had been there, near the maze, near the madness that erupted when Potter returned, carrying the lifeless form of an innocent boy and the news that Voldemort had returned.
Narcissa was the one to break the silence.
“You two love each other.”
It wasn’t a question.
Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but Narcissa raised a graceful hand, silencing her with the gentlest of gestures.
“You don’t need to answer.” — she said — “We can feel it.”
Draco swallowed hard.
“We didn’t plan this.”
Lucius gave a quiet, humorless smile.
“Of course not, son. Love rarely asks for permission.”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, hands clasped tightly — as if anchoring himself. The subtle tremor there wasn’t lost on Severus.
He recognized it. The aftershock of Cruciatus.
“We’re not fools, Draco, Miss Granger.” — Lucius said, his voice sharpening — “This…” — he gestured between them — “… Cannot be made public. Not now.”
Hermione sat straighter.
"We understand." — she said, her eyes glimmering with sadness and acceptance.
Narcissa nodded approvingly.
“Which is why we must ask something. You must learn Occlumency.” — Lucius said — “Both of you. Immediately.”
Draco blinked. Hermione looked uncertain.
“The Dark Lord returned.” — Narcissa said with fear in her words — “Your thoughts will be your only sanctuary.”
“And your greatest vulnerability.” — Lucius added — “The very memory of a kiss could be a death sentence if it falls into the wrong mind.”
Hermione’s fingers curled around Draco’s hand. He didn’t let go.
“We will protect you both.” — Narcissa said, eyes warm despite the warning in her voice — “As long as we are able, we will shield you.”
Lucius’s gaze fixed on Hermione.
“That includes you, Miss Granger.”
She met his eyes, not flinching.
“But understand something...” — His voice turned colder, not cruel, but firm — “There will be moments when I may appear… Harsh. Cruel, even.”
Hermione tilted her head, uncertain.
“It will not be out of hatred.” — Lucius continued — “It will be strategy. Appearances. Protection…”
He paused. Then, slowly,
“… Of our family. That now includes you.”
Hermione didn’t respond at first. Her eyes glistened, just a little, not from fear, but from the weight of it all.
“I understand.” — she finally said — “And I’ll be ready.”
Draco looked between his parents, then at Hermione. And for the first time, he felt like this might work. Somehow.
Narcissa leaned forward, her voice quiet:
“Hold on to each other. But never forget the world you’re living in.”
Lucius stood.
“It is not love that puts you in danger. It is the world that fears it.”
He extended a hand toward Hermione. She stood, uncertain, but took it.
His grip was cool. Gentle.
And in that single gesture, the unthinkable happened: Lucius Malfoy gave his blessing to a Muggle-born.
We're all weeping now, weeping because there ain't nothing we can do to protect you
Narcissa’s grip on him tightened. He could feel it — the next memory would not be a good one. It was recent. He knew it by the weight in his chest.
He felt powerless again when he saw Draco holding Granger’s bleeding hand, the skin torn open by Umbridge’s cursed quill. The words carved into her flesh, written in blood. Tears streamed from her brown eyes… Eyes that burned with the same fury as silver ones, dreaming of revenge.
He saw the way Draco tried to protect her, accepting a position in the Inquisitorial Squad just to stay close, to keep her safe. How he would distract the others, buying time so Granger and her friends could practice defensive spells in secret.
He watched her teach him late at night, hidden in the Room of Requirement. They would also practice their Occlumency, fortifying their mental walls together, layer by layer, brick by brick. It became a shared discipline, a quiet promise of survival in a world growing darker with each passing day.
Sometimes they fell asleep in each other’s arms, tired after the lessons, Draco holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
His Expecto Patronum was a silver otter, just like hers. They would conjure them together, just to watch the two glowing creatures curl around each other. Twin spirits made of light, binding them in silent understanding.
The chaos came fast.
Draco knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into Umbridge’s office and saw part of Dumbledore’s Army cornered by a raging Dolores. Of course Hermione was there. Of course she had to come up with a plan to distract the furious woman. Of course it involved her and Potter venturing into the Forbidden Forest, with a lunatic and a giant , no less.
And of course, after that, she would go missing with her friends. Vanishing.
And he would be left at Hogwarts, haunted by the gnawing ache in his chest, knowing she was in danger, and being utterly powerless to reach her.
Snape could almost taste Narcissa’s anguish on his tongue as she twisted his mind once again, pulling them toward the Department of Mysteries, inside the Ministry. This memory was from Lucius, Severus could feel the texture of it. Heavy. Gritted. Controlled panic beneath polished poise.
Lucius had known the Dark Lord was luring Potter there, all to retrieve the prophecy. Failure was not an option. Voldemort had been very clear. The consequences would be catastrophic for him and for his family.
But Lucius nearly lost all composure when he saw her .
The unmistakable curls. That flash of golden-brown hair amid the dark corridor lined with fragile, whispering spheres.
Of course Granger would be there with Potter.
Lucius reached out to her with a light touch of Legilimency, not to harm, but to ensure their secrets were safe if she was captured. Her mind was fortified: a vast, orderly library, shelves packed and sealed behind glass. He tried to pry one open, just one, but she pushed him out with ease.
He saw her smile, defiant, and despite everything, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch with pride.
But then everything turned to dust. Explosions. Cursed spells. Chaos erupted like a volcano.
Lucius ran, ducking debris, firing hexes. He was trying to take the prophecy. Trying to protect her .
He intercepted Bellatrix, knowing full well that if she had even a second, she would destroy Granger: body, soul, mind. Bella was madness incarnate. Pure, focused chaos.
He cast hexes, dark spells, knocked down anything that stood between him, the prophecy, and the young witch with flames in her eyes.
But he got distracted. He was watching Bellatrix too closely. He forgot Dolohov.
He tried to deflect the curse — subtly, quickly — but it wasn’t enough.
He was too late .
Granger crumpled to the ground. A scream locked in her throat. Her body motionless, as if dead.
Lucius could feel her magic still, faint, flickering, but there. He did everything he could to hold on to that golden spark. To keep her tethered to life until the chaos ended.
But then Bellatrix killed Sirius Black and everything unraveled. The Dark Lord himself arrived, possessing Potter, scattering the Death Eaters like dust in the wind.
Lucius watched as the Order of the Phoenix retrieved her body and vanished.
That night, he didn’t know what hurt the most: the defeat, the endless Cruciatus or seeing the girl his son loved lying on the floor, a purple curse glowing in her chest.
Snape could feel Narcissa’s grip loosening slightly, as if the memories were hurting her — draining her. She was almost done showing him the images, so he gritted his teeth and endured the growing headache.
Letters filled with Draco’s despair had arrived at the Manor, hour after hour, after he learned what happened at the Department of Mysteries. Knowing Hermione was at St. Mungo’s sent him spiraling into pain, into regret, into defeat, into desolation.
No one could provide him with news. He couldn’t storm in the hospital demanding information. He was left in the dark and it felt like abandonment.
Narcissa had to place a Healer under the Imperius Curse, and then Obliviate him after, just to get answers. Dolohov had used his infamous purple slashing curse. Lucius had managed to deflect it, but not completely. It hadn’t struck Hermione directly, but it had hit her chest and caused extensive internal damage.
Hermione was unconscious. She would need to take at least ten different potions every day, for a year, to fully recover.
The Healer had said her magic was nearly depleted upon arrival. There was only a spark left… Golden, intertwined with silver. Something strange, something ancient, as if something had held that flicker of life intact until the Healers could reach her.
Narcissa smiled through her tears, knowing that Lucius had saved the girl, just as he had promised.
Draco cried when she told him. Narcissa held her sobbing son in her arms, crying once more over the consequences of the Dark Lord’s cruelty.
The lunatic. The maniac. The egotistical, mad man.
He would be the reason for their fall. Voldemort would bring only pain, sorrow, and regret to her family.
She knew that.
She saw it in the tears of her boy and in the tremors of her husband. That vision was worse than any Cruciatus.
Five days later, Hermione sent a Patronus to Draco. A coded message, of course. The clever girl knew they were being watched after the Ministry debacle.
Draco cried again, this time in relief.
She said she was okay. That she missed him. That she was grateful for Lucius’s help. And that she loved them.
Lucius let a single tear fall as the silver otter circled him, playing with his long hair.
But later that night, Voldemort punished the Malfoys again.
This time, he branded Draco, marking him as the youngest Death Eater.
Narcissa and Lucius watched in horror as their son was burned like cattle.
That night, the three Malfoys swore a silent oath: they would bring that madman down. They would be the reason for Voldemort’s defeat.
Draco didn’t want to see Hermione after receiving the Dark Mark. But he couldn’t hide from the brightest witch of her age.
She arranged for them to meet in secret in Diagon Alley.
She ran to him the moment she saw him, holding him as if he would vanish.
She cupped his hollow face and whispered.
“Lower your Occlumency shield.”
He did… And she saw him.
The anguish. The guilt. The shame. She sobbed with him. She cried his pain. Her tears mingled with his, her lips kissing them away as if she could drink his grief and turn it into fire.
She kissed the Dark Mark on his arm and swore:
“This doesn’t change anything.”
She was his. He was hers. Together, they would set the world on fire and laugh while the Dark Lord burned.
O, children, rejoice!
Snape gasped.
The connection snapped like a string pulled too tight.
He glanced at his watch and stumbled back, realizing Narcissa’s grip on his mind had lasted only a few minutes. She had shoved so many memories into him, in so little time, that the room spun as his mind fought to settle. His breathing was uneven, his face pale and for a brief moment, Severus Snape looked human. Raw. Shaken.
Narcissa was a remarkable witch. Talented beyond compare.
Her beauty had always been the subject of whispers at the Wizarding World, but Snape had never cared for that. What had truly struck him, even back then, was her control.
Her spells were precise. Her posture, unshakable.
And now, as his mind reeled from what she had just shown him, Snape realized something else: her Legilimency was flawless .
Not brutal like the Dark Lord’s. Not invasive like Dumbledore’s, cloaked in kindness but sharp as glass.
No… Narcissa’s touch had been surgical. Deliberate. Guided. She hadn’t broken into his mind, she had invited her in.
She had built a path, memory after memory, emotion after emotion, never letting the current sweep him away. She had held his hand through pain and love and grief and still released him gently, just before he could drown.
He had never seen Legilimency used like that. Not even by himself.
It was refined. And far more dangerous than he ever imagined.
Narcissa Black Malfoy had been underestimated her whole life.
He dragged a hand down his face, his eyes unfocused. He still couldn’t speak, not yet.
He was still trapped with what Narcissa had shown him. In the echoes of their stolen kisses, in the two silver otters playing with each other, in the scream that Hermione Granger never managed to release.
How had he not seen it?
How had he missed it at Hogwarts?
The glances. The disappearances. The excuses. The gold behind Draco’s sarcasm. The silver behind Granger’s defiance. It had all been there, right under his nose.
He finally looked at Narcissa.
She was pale, but composed. Regal, even in her exhaustion. There were tears in her eyes, but they did not fall. Her hands trembled, but they remained folded in her lap.
Snape’s voice came out rough, uncertain:
“What do you want from me, Narcissa?”
She held his gaze and when she spoke, her voice was quiet, but unshakable.
“I want you to protect them.” — a pause — “Draco… and Hermione.”
Snape blinked.
Narcissa took a breath, her voice breaking just slightly.
“Because they are both my children. He by blood…” — she placed a hand on her chest — “… And she by love.”
Severus stared at her, silent.
“I know you’re with the Order.” — she continued calmly — “I know where your loyalty truly lies. And I am not here to threaten you or beg... I am here to offer something.”
Snape narrowed his eyes.
“What, exactly?”
She stood, smoothing her robes.
“Me.” — a beat — “And Lucius.”
Snape’s brows lifted, skepticism carved into every line of his face.
“As spies?”
“As shadows.” — she corrected.
“We do not trust Dumbledore. His ideals are too blurry for the world we live in. He plays with people like chess pieces and we have no intention of becoming part of his game.”
She leaned closer, her voice lowering.
“But we will fight. Quietly. Efficiently. In the places he cannot go. Lucius and I know how to wear masks, we were raised among snakes. Let us work from the dark. You can be the bridge between us and the Order. All we ask…”
She looked into Snape’s eyes and for the first time he saw her, not as a Black or the elegant pureblood lady, but as a mother. Desperate. Determined. Dangerous.
“… Is that you protect them. As if they were your own.”
Snape saw how serious she was. How Narcissa truly cared — not just tolerated, but cared — for a Muggle-born witch.
Someone with no pureblood heritage. No ancestral ties. No old magic. Granger was the first of her name, and ironically one of the most famous now, but she had no legacy within the Wizarding World. No noble lineage. No ancient surname etched into Hogwarts’ history.
He could have laughed. It was absurd, almost poetic.
The most pureblood-obsessed family unraveling everything they believed in because of a Muggle-born.
It could’ve been hilarious. The irony stung with a sharp kind of wit he would’ve once enjoyed.
But then he looked at Narcissa again. At the unwavering fire in her ice-blue eyes. And he didn’t laugh.
Because in her gaze, he saw the truth: this wasn’t amusing. This wasn’t dramatic sentimentality. This was dangerous.
And very, very real.
When he opened his mouth to respond, they both heard Bellatrix returning. She had that sick smile — the one that twisted her lips into a grotesque curve after she'd tortured someone. Pettigrew’s whimpers echoed behind her, pitiful and broken. He was probably still recovering from whatever hex she’d thrown his way.
Bellatrix loved torture, but even more, she loved it when her target was weak and pathetic. Like Peter.
“Enough with the sad talk about how Draco is just a little boy?” — she asked with a sneer, twirling her wand into her wild curls — “I think it’s pathetic how you treat him like some fragile child. Man him up, Cissy. It’s an honor, and you know it. The Dark Lord will make him stronger. He’ll be powerful, feared, like the true heir of two great lineages. The Blacks and the Malfoys will be royalty in the Dark Lord’s new world.”
“Yes, Bella. You’re right.” — Narcissa said smoothly, casting her mad sister a glance laced with veiled fear — “But I’m a mother, and I worry. You know how silly I can be sometimes.”
Bellatrix tilted her head, her smile sharpening.
“If you worry so much... Severus could do something.” — She turned her eyes to him, gleaming with something feral — “To protect Draco, you know?”
Both Snape and Narcissa looked at her in carefully composed confusion. Bellatrix just smiled sweetly and, somehow, that expression was more terrifying than any scream.
“Make the Unbreakable Vow.”
The fire crackled in the dim living room, casting grotesque shadows on the cracked stone walls of Spinner’s End. Bellatrix paced like a panther, her eyes wild with suspicion and manic delight.
Narcissa sat perfectly composed, though her face was pale and her hands trembled slightly, just enough to seem fragile. It was all deliberate. Measured.
“You can’t trust him, Cissy.” — Bellatrix spat, her wand twitching with each breath — “He hides too much. He’s slippery, coward… The Unbreakable Vow will oblige him to do it, to protect Draco and Draco’s mission.”
“Draco is all I have ever dreamed of.” — Narcissa replied in a whisper, her voice laced with desperation — “If the Dark Lord has given Draco this mission, and if he fails in the given time, someone must finish it.”
Snape said nothing for a long moment. He simply watched her, both of them, with eyes black as ink.
Then he spoke, voice cool, distant, but with something unreadable beneath:
“If this will finally put an end to your pathetic suspicion, then I’ll make the Unbreakable Vow.”
Bellatrix froze, eyes wide with gleeful disbelief.
“Oh, we’ll do it then. Now .”
Snape extended his arm. Slowly. Deliberately. Narcissa stood and stepped forward, her sister’s wand ready.
“Are you certain of this, Cissy?” — Bellatrix whispered, the grin never leaving her lips.
Narcissa didn’t hesitate.
“Absolutely.”
Bellatrix raised her wand and the soft golden light of the binding charm ignited, swirling around their joined hands.
“Will you, Severus Snape, watch over Draco Malfoy as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord’s wishes?”
“I will.” — Watch over him, not lead him to ruin … Was his thought when he sensed Narcissa’s wordless Legilimency again in his mind, her pale blue eyes locked with his black ones.
The ribbon of light burned brighter.
“And will you protect him from harm, to the best of your ability?”
“I will.” — Harm . The word stretched. Twisted. It meant far more than Bellatrix understood.
“And should he fail... Will you carry out the task that the Dark Lord has given him?”
Snape’s eyes burned to Narcissa. He could feel her tension in the way her hand clutched his.
He drew a shallow breath.
“I will complete the task that must be done — for the protection of what matters most.”
Bellatrix’s eyes gleamed. She didn’t hear the shift. She never saw the trap in the phrasing.
The final cord of fire sealed the vow, binding them with ancient magic.
Snape pulled back his hand as the magic faded, his face still expressionless.
Bellatrix let out a laugh like broken glass.
“There. Now we all know where your loyalty lies.”
Narcissa didn’t speak. She only nodded, her eyes meeting Snape’s for the briefest moment.
And in that silent glance, there was everything: gratitude, relief and the weight of a shared secret.
Snape turned away without a word, his cloak billowing behind him as he disappeared into the shadows of his home.
He hadn’t lied. He would complete the task — for Draco.
For Hermione.
For a desperate mother.
A mother who loved her son so deeply that she would defy everything just to see him happy. A mother who embraced a Muggle-born witch despite her twisted convictions. A mother who was shattering her own beliefs, one by one, for the sake of love.
Love.
The very thing that banished Voldemort more than a decade ago.
A mother 's love.
Hey, little train! We are all jumping on
The train that goes to the kingdom
We're happy, ma, we're having fun
It's beyond my wildest expectation
(...)
The Battle of Hogwarts was over.
Ash floated like ghosts through the broken windows. Bodies were being counted. Families reunited. Cries of grief, of relief, of disbelief echoed from stone to stone.
And in the middle of it, Hermione stood.
Her hands trembled. Her robes were torn, skin streaked with blood, not all of it hers. She looked around, dazed, as if her mind had only just caught up to her body.
And then she heard it.
“Hermione!”
One voice. Then two more. Urgent. Familiar.
Draco. Narcissa. Lucius.
The crowd parted in disbelief. Some gasped. Others stiffened, unsure whether to reach for their wands or blink again.
The Malfoys were running .
Running not away from danger, but toward her.
Lucius, usually composed and graceful, stumbled once in the rubble. Narcissa had dropped her outer robe, her hair was unpinned. Draco looked like he might fall apart before reaching her.
And when they did… Draco crashed into her first, arms wrapping so tightly around her she thought her ribs might crack.
He was shaking.
“You’re here.” — he breathed — “You’re alive.”
Hermione buried her face in his neck — “I’m here. I’m here.”
Narcissa was next. She cupped Hermione’s face with trembling hands, her blue eyes wide with disbelief, then pulled her into a desperate embrace. No elegance. No posture. Just a mother .
And Lucius… Lucius stood in front of her, as if frozen.
His hands hovered in the air. Then, very carefully, he touched her shoulder. Just once.
That was all it took.
Hermione leaned forward and threw her arms around him. Lucius Malfoy stiffened and then, slowly he let go. He held her back. Tightly . Like a man who had almost lost something he never thought he was allowed to love.
Around them, silence had fallen.
People stared. Ron’s mouth hung open. McGonagall froze mid-step. Kingsley narrowed his eyes, trying to understand. Harry’s expression was unreadable.
But Hermione didn’t care.
She was crying now, buried between Draco and Narcissa, while Lucius wrapped them all like a shield.
They didn’t look like Death Eaters. They didn’t look like aristocrats. They looked like a family.
Later, in the quiet that came with dawn, Lucius found her near the courtyard steps. Alone.
His voice was low.
"At the Manor... When Bellatrix..."
He couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t say tortured you .
Hermione looked at him, steady.
"I screamed." — A pause — "But it didn’t hurt."
Lucius blinked.
"The Manor protected me." — she said softly — "The magic whispered. Told me to scream. To act. But it numbed everything. It said..." — she turned to look at him — "... No Malfoy suffers here."
Something in Lucius cracked… Deep, silent, unseen. His breath hitched.
"It’s true." — he whispered.
Hermione offered a gentle smile — "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."
"You don’t need to thank me. You were already ours from the beginning." — he confessed, throwing an arm around her and squeezing her gently. "So, tell me… How many Weasley jaws hit the floor when we hugged? I think Arthur had a stroke."
"I think we should go back inside and hug again, just so we can count."
"I bet you a galleon Molly will faint."
"I bet you two she will… When I kiss Draco in front of everyone."
"I’ll pay five if you do that right now."
We're happy, ma, we're having fun