Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, I'm just dabbling in J.K. Rowling's world.
One day the idea for this story popped in my head and I decided to run with it. It is my first fanfic, so I welcome any critique with open arms. Reviews are definitely appreciated. Post Deathly Hallows and also partially canon compliant. Draco did not live through the last battle, but that's really the only change I made. This will be a multi-chapter story. As long as I can keep my muse, then you will have frequent updates haha.
I'll apologize in advance for any spelling/grammatical mistakes. Also, a huge s/o to pocketsfullofart. She is wonderful and has helped me with this fic numerous times. I couldn't have started this without you!
Steam from the Hogwarts Express filled the station, a warning of it's ready departure. Families gather around each other one last time; parents bidding their children farewell, younger brothers and sisters clinging to the coattails of their departing siblings. For the past few months, the wizarding community was buzzing with excitement. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had announced a grand reopening after months of continuous reconstruction. No one expected the school to reopen so soon. However, once Kingsley Shacklebolt was appointed the new Minister of Magic, he made it a priority. And the support he received was staggering. Witches and wizards from all over helped rebuild the school to it's former glory. A model of the future, Minister Shacklebolt had said in one of his speeches. Hermione remembered his address very clearly, as it was one of the first after the war had ended. Kingsley Shacklebolt had said: "Hogwarts itself is symbolic -not only because of the centuries worth of history inside, but because it is the emblem of perseverance and Light. Good will always conquer evil. Let us learn from our past mistakes. Together we will create a future that is safe for our children and our children's children."
The wizarding world changed drastically after the Battle of Hogwarts. For the first time in decades people felt safe and happy. No longer were threats looming in every corner of the street. No longer were families being targeted and tortured. Of course, the destruction that Voldemort left in his wake was agonizing. Loved ones were killed and families were separated, but no one could deny that tiny, but growing, feeling of hope.
Hermione hurried inside the train, desperately trying to go unnoticed. The popularity she had gained since the war ended was overwhelming. Fame seemed to follow her everywhere she went. As did the constant photographs and endless questions, most of which she had no answer to. "You will learn to adjust," everyone had told her, Ron, and Harry. They all seemed to forget previous to the Final Battle, the three had been hunting Horcruxes for almost a year. During that time they were starving, all the while being both physically and mentally exhausted. One moment they had been running for their life, then the next they were being treated like royalty.
All the unwanted attention was exhausting. Hermione was never one to shy away from the mundane world of politics; she was hardly surprised when invitations to give speeches and attend dinner parties arrived at her door. Everyone was affected by the Second War, so if she could give some people closure and reassurance, then she would do so with a smile on her face.
But she wasn't smiling anymore. Not when the doors closed. Not when the makeup and expensive robes came off.
It took Hermione a while to figure out why it was so hard for her to roll out of bed. Then, a tawny colored owl arrived one night with a letter from Headmistress McGonagall, asking when she would be arriving at Hogwarts to finish her Seventh Year and take the N.E.W.T.S. Hermione had been so caught up the last couple months that she had almost forgotten about her plan to return to finish out her magical education. That's when it dawned on her. Nothing had been the same after the war. Her parents were somewhere in Australia, granted they were safe, or at least she hoped they were. The truth was, Hermione had no idea if her parents where were her parents were, or if they were safe. The last time she had seen them was when she cast the memory charm. Afterwards, a member of the Order took them away, promising her they would be kept from harm. Only that person knew where her parents were, and they hadn't survived the war.
There were no leads to their location, or even evidence of their existence. If they were alive, could their memories be restored? Or would they never recognize their own daughter? Hermione could not decide which was worse: knowing they were dead, or knowing they were alive but would never remember their past?
She had spent a majority of her time between consoling the grieving Weasley's, attending trials, and worrying about the aftermath of the war, that she had no time to reflect and grieve on her own.
Returning to Hogwarts was going to give her an opportunity to reassess her life, at least that is what she desperately hoped. The school had always felt like a second home, so maybe now some level of normalcy could be put back in her life. Besides, she always felt better when there were tasks and assignments to be completed.
As Hermione walked down the corridor, she could not shake the feeling that things would be different this year. Harry and Ron jumped at the opportunity to train as Aurors. There were still a number of Death Eaters, and followers of Voldemort, on the run. The Ministry of Magic needed help to catch the remaining fugitives and who was more qualified than Ron Weasley and Harry Potter?
"No one," Hermione commented on her own thoughts, as small smile spread across her features and a warm feeling of pride swelled in her chest.
Hermione was extremely proud of her two best friends, but she could not deny the feeling of abandonment at the thought of attending Seventh Year alone.
"Hermione!" a familiar voice called out to get the brunette's attention. "Come sit with me."
Ginny Weasley beamed over at her close friend while motioning Hermione to join her. Ginny's happiness eased the gnawing melancholy that settled in the pit of Hermione's stomach. She was thankful for the offer, especially since the seats that she usually sat in were occupied by a group of overly anxious First Years. As Hermione settled in her seat, Ginny reacted over and affectionately squeezed her hand. Words did not need to be exchanged between the two. Ginny knew exactly what Hermione was thinking, as there was a tiny hint of trepidation that caused a crease in Hermione's usual relaxed brow.
Hermione turned slowly from Ginny to gazed out of the window with thoughts of her parents and her friends running through her mind. Ginny sighed quietly and stared at her friend with concern. She knew if she didn't start a conversation soon she would lose Hermione to her haunted memories. "Did you receive the letter that the Headmistress sent this morning?" Ginny asked. Hermione turned and looked at Ginny in confusion. "The letter that said there will be a Gala in the place of the welcoming feast this year? The families of everyone who fought in the final battle were invited to attend," she paused, "I suppose it's going to be grand." Hermione's eyes went wide as she remembered that she indeed did receive said letter. "How could I have forgotten?" Hermione thought.
"I suppose it will be," Hermione responded with a slight upturn of her lips at Ginny's optimism.
"Do you want to know what else I've heard?" Ginny asked a hint of mystery and eagerness to her voice. Hermione tilted her head to the side and shook her head slightly with a small smile signaling for her friend to continue "Mum told me that the Headmistress also sent a letter to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy…Do you think they'll attend?" Ginny asked lightly looking at Hermione hoping that small bit of information would cause her friend to carry on the conversation. However, Ginny's grand plan to keep her friend talking was short lived. Hermione turned her head away from Ginny to stare at the floor before moving to study the rest of her fellow classmates boarding the train.
"Perhaps." Hermione whispered.
With one final whistle, the train doors closed and began to inch forward. The excited chatter of students filled the corridors, but Hermione quietly sat side by side with Ginny wondering if the enigmatic Narcissa Malfoy would be attending the Gala.
—
Sunlight streamed into the kitchen as Narcissa Malfoy started to prepare her morning tea. She stopped at the window above the sink and rested her hands on the cold granite countertops. The world outside looked like a dream. White clouds speckled the clear blue sky, flowers were in full bloom, and the shrubs were groomed to perfection. Right across her view was a garden that had recently been worked on by the groundskeeper. The flowerbeds possessed vibrant colors of exotic fauna, while a magnificent oak tree loomed in the center. Many happy memories were made in that garden, most of them when Draco was a young boy.
She smiled at the particular memory of when Draco was around four years old. Narcissa had sent him outside to entertain himself while she finished some business she needed to attend to. He had been unusually quiet as he played, which caused Narcissa to become very suspicious. She had walked over to the window to check on her son, only to find Draco hunched over in the corner of the garden with mounds of dirt surrounding him. Narcissa's first reaction had been to call him inside and get him cleaned up, but she stopped herself before she shouted his name. As Draco sat there, playing and digging in the dirt, he looked entranced in his own little world. Narcissa had just watched him for a while, her heart so full of love for her son. She let him continue in his own little fantasy. Not but an hour later, when she had returned to her work, Draco approached her covered head to toe in dirt, and reached out to show her the multitudes of worms that squirmed in his palms. Even though his clothes were ruined and mud was tracked in her house, Narcissa couldn't help but smile and laugh at the way his eyes lit up as he showcased his worm collection.
The harshness of reality settled back in as she stared out at the empty garden. Any slight feeling of happiness the memory brought was replaced with grief and sorrow. Narcissa moved away from the window and toward the kettle on the stove, no longer to withstand the dull heartache that those memories caused. She needed a distraction, something to keep her mind occupied, because her emotions threatened to take over. She was so emotionally exhausted that she had no more tears to shed. It was better to stay busy.
However, the thought was short lived.
An owl tapped at the glass, a white envelope clamped between its beak. Narcissa opened the window and carefully took the letter from the owl, then mindlessly handed it a treat. She recognized the crest right away. Her chest suddenly tightened with pain and longing. Each year, since Draco had turned eleven, an envelope with the same crest would appear in the very same spot. A new letter with every new school year. But, this year there should not have been a letter. Draco did not survive the Final Battle, which meant no more letters. No more of her blonde haired boy running around Diagon Alley, shopping for new books, brooms, and cauldrons. No more silent tears as he boarded the Hogwarts Express.
So why was there a letter from Hogwarts in front of her?
Rage momentarily bubbled up to the surface of her impenetrable facade. She was tempted to snatch it, rip it up, and through it in the fire. No one would be there to witness if she lost control, which only added to the enticement. But a second later, the rage was replaced with defeat. She picked up the envelope and ran her fingers over the cursive letters that read Malfoy Manor. Carefully, as if holding a precious stone, Narcissa opened it. Memories of Draco replaying in her mind, distracting her so much that she had read over the entire thing without registering a single word, or noticed a small slip of paper that fell onto the ground.
"What is that?" The unmistakable voice of her husband pulled Narcissa from her thoughts.
"A letter from Hogwarts," Narcissa responded as Lucius approached her, a glass of FireWhiskey in his hand.
Everyone has their own way of coping with pain. Some throw themselves in their work, or occupy their time with a hobby. Some become reclusive, locking themselves in a room, never to come out again. Lucius drank. He drank to cope with the loss of his son. He drank away his failures. He drank to deal with the harsh reality of the depreciation of his prestigious bloodline. As he approached Narcissa, she could smell the liquor wafted off of him like cologne. It was only morning, yet he had already downed a few glasses. His long hair was disheveled, eyes bloodshot, and cheekbones sunken in. The once mighty patriarch was replaced with a ghost of a broken man.
"They have invited us to attend the Grand Gala," Narcissa commented as she turned away from him as the stench of liquor drew nearer. She silently pleaded for him to go away the closer he got. Lucius's inebriate swagger was an obvious indicator of how foul his mood could become if even slightly provoked.
"A gala? Another celebration for Dark Lord's defeat?" For a moment Lucius seemed lost in his thoughts as he stared at the invitation in Narcissa's hand. "How peculiar," he stated, "we aren't usually invited to such…joyous…events." Lucius reached out and carefully put his hand on Narcissa's wrist. He started to slowly rub circles with his thumb as he draw closer to her body. To a bystander his actions looked pure —an act of affection from a husband who was consoling his grieving wife.
However, Narcissa knew better. She froze as soon as his hand touched her skin, the tension in the air intensifying almost immediately. "Yes," Narcissa answered, although it ambiguous to which question, or statement, she was answering. "They have invited everyone who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. I presume it's to commemorate the school's reopening." She chose her words carefully and spoke them in an even tone, trying to avoid a fight.
"Oh?" For a moment it seemed as though he was going to retreat back into the cave of a room that he crawled out of. "Even the Death Eaters? Even the dead?" Lucius responded, his voice laced with disdain and suddenly yanked the white card stock invitation from her grip. "Invite the Malfoy's, their son cannot attend, so maybe they will want to in his place," he mocked. "Was their invitation only to serve as a reminder that our son is dead?!"
His words caused Narcissa to recoil. The rhetorical question held some truth, even though she knew that was not the intention. She met her husband's gaze, a half drunken and half insane look reflected in his eyes, while nothing but disapproval reflected back in her's. Months of putting up with his nonsense lead her to become disillusioned with his empty words.
"Have you forgotten what got him killed in the first place?" Narcissa's words echoed in the room, clearly hissed with venom. Even if she regretted what she said, it didn't show. Ever since Lucius turned to drinking, his moods were unpredictable and often he would become violent on a whim. It was better, and safer, to dismiss whatever he said. For both of their sakes. "Clean yourself up, Lucius."
Lucius straightened, his glare directed mercilessly at his wife and began to slowly rip up the invitation. "You do not get to talk to me like that," he growled and stalked past her. Before Lucius left the room, he turned around to face her one last time, "You are prohibited from attending." Without another word, he walked out.
Narcissa let out a huff of breath she hadn't realized she had held in. Mentally exhausted, she slouched into a lounge chair, crossed her legs and pinched the bridge of her nose. Their marriage was falling apart and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Truth be told, she did not want to stop it. A large part of her blamed Lucius for Draco's death, no matter how unfair it was to do so. Never in her life had she doubted pureblood supremacy until her son was put in harm's way. Her doubts began when Draco was given the task of killing Dumbledore after Lucius failed to bring the Dark Lord his prophecy. Toujours Pur, the powerful Black family's motto was ingrained into her head since she was a little girl. "Always Pure," their mother and father would whisper in their ears until they chanted it in their sleep. She did the same with Draco, but where did that get him? Where did she go wrong?
Narcissa returned her attention back to the invitation, which was now tiny pieces scattered on the floor. She noticed a small slip of paper that had somehow went unscathed from Lucius' outburst. Her eyes traveled up to the doorway, checking to see if he had been lurking to see if a reaction out of her. Once Narcissa believed he was gone, she walked over to the small piece of paper and picked it up. The paper was addressed to Narcissa Malfoy. For a moment Narcissa's eyes widened as she Minerva McGonagall's unmistakable cursive, but then her impenetrable mask fell back in place.
Lucius's threats were empty, but what he had said held some truth. Why invite them? Why should they bother attending? However, something compelled Narcissa to go. Maybe it was because Draco spent most of his childhood at Hogwarts. Perhaps attending would give her some closure. Before she changed her mind, Narcissa summoned quill and paper to send off her reservation. It was possible that she would come to regret this decision, but right now she just needed a little bit more of her son to hang onto.
