Chapter 2

Narcissa extended her right arm out, feeling cold silk embrace her outstretched limb instead of finding a warm body she could push herself closer to. This sleepy confusion was quickly replaced with a well practiced heart drop of disappointment; a disappointment that Narcissa refused to engage with beyond acknowledging she had an obligation to feel it. After all, it was seven thirty in the morning, it would be absurd to expect her to decide who and what she was disappointed in - there were too many contenders, ranging from Lucius for not being there; herself, for missing Lucius in the first place; all the way to Limpy for not having her morning coffee already brewed for her.

As she mused this, the luxurious smell of coffee curled in the air, crawling from her bedside table and into the depths of her silky fortress, until with a barely audible huff, she acknowledged that Limpy alone stood innocent of causing anyone even the slightest of grief.

Eyes already shut, she squeezed them tighter; taking a deep breath of air in which she gathered all her pride, breathing into her chest the blind determination she needed to confront another day. Like royalty ascending from their throne, Narcissa emerged from her covers.

Alongside the porcelain cup of coffee, Limpy had spread out the day's issue of the Prophet; a detailed list of all the important transactions happening in the Ministry; a breakdown of the state of every enterprise and investment the Black's had; a small pile of letters she had received; and a reminder of her engagements for the day. She cringed inwardly when she saw that today was her great-nephew's birthday.

Of course, it had been in the back of her mind for the past few weeks, but having to confront the fact that for another year running, she would not be able to take part in celebrating the life of those few who remained alive in her family was a tall order for her to swallow with dignity. Andy had invited her to his party, trying to persuade her by mentioning that the party would be held in Grimmauld Place - a house were they held a handful of warm childhood memories. But despite Andy's protestations, she knew she wasn't welcome there. It was Teddy's birthday, he deserved to be surrounded by people who only had eyes for him, not a company distracted with sending her distrustful glares.

No, she had already sent him his basket of presents and she would have to be content with that.

Narcissa pointedly put her empty cup on the saucer and left her bed, her feet sinking into the thick carpet that covered most of the dark wooden panelled floors as she walked to the door that led into her closet. The room illuminated itself when she came in and her face narrowed in concentration as she decided what she would armour herself with for the day. Her left hand ran softly on all the different fabrics, the sea of rich greens and deep blacks was broken up with delicate embroidery, for after all - she was the widow Narcissa Black. She was one of the most powerful and influential women in wizarding society and she was going to damn well look the part. And not just that, she thought determinedly as she pulled out a glossy emerald dress, she was going to do some good today.


After the flurry of activity that was Teddy's birthday, the days trickled by for Hermione at an uncomfortably slow pace. She took to quietly pacing around the house from top to bottom, her hands behind her back and her head hunched down deep in thought.

The only thing that brought her out of her reverie was the arrival of the Prophet. Each morning she waited for the owl by the window and scoured the paper for any mention of Narcissa Black. Rarely did the woman disappoint. Between attending balls, banquets, commemorations, openings of new businesses, being present at signings of laws, guest at the ratifications of treaties; Narcissa Black's life and work seemed to revolve around being in an eternal party with the higher echelon's of society.

How, then, Hermione argued with herself, was she supposed to believe that Hippocrates, academic genius, was also Narcissa Black, socialite extraordinaire?

But with each new speech and statement the older witch gave, Hermione found herself becoming more and more intimate with the way Narcissa deliberately picked her words; her language as carefully cultivated as her closet.

After devouring all the fresh information the Prophet provided, Hermione would methodically re-read Hippocrates papers. It only took a few days for her to notice how Narcissa favoured using the subjunctive mood, both in writing and in speech, over the far more normal and simple indicative. Small turns of phrases used in the essays kept cropping up in her interviews. It is also became apparent quite quickly that Narcissa was following an agenda, whether consciously or unconsciously, where she focused on promoting the work of illustrious academics in the fields touched in Hippocrates work. She also seemed adamant in helping ministers pass bills to help fund research in Theoretical Magic whilst trying to delicately bring the subject of blood magic out of the taboo and more into the mainstream, whilst carrying out the normal obligatory work of muggle and muggleborn reparations.

After two weeks of immersing herself in pureblood's work and world, Hermione could no longer deny that Andy was right - Narcissa Black had unquestionably written the two most fascinating theses Hermione had ever encountered. It was a bizarre thought for her to entertain - the mother of a child who had set out to make her entire schooling experience miserable, and the widow of one Voldermort's most trusted death eaters, was suddenly the subject of Hermione's intellectual fascination.

The young woman finally came to her conclusion. She wouldn't be able to carry out her research on her own, she needed Hippocrates help. And furthermore, despite Hermione refusing to admit it, she was irrevocably curious to find out what more Narcissa Black had hidden behind that small but enchanting smile that had tricked the world into believing she was nothing more than a trophy wife.

I currently have the plague so not being able to get to school has meant that the amount of time I have for writing has increased exponentially. Three cheers for feeling like death reheated ;) R&R!