"I do wish you'd stop studying me, Ms. Granger."

Hermione quickly looked down at her papers, despising the flush that crept up her neck. Not wanting to apologize, she ignored Mrs. Malfoy's to the best of her abilities. It was hard, impossible even. As it turned out to be, Mrs. Malfoy was a hard worker, which wasn't surprising. What was surprising was little amount of work she herself seemed to produce.

"Alright. Enough," Mrs. Malfoy said. "Let's talk about this so that we may both focus on what we're actually here to do."

"Which is what?"

"Work."

Ah. Mrs. Malfoy had her there.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to," Hermione said. It was a blatant lie. Of course, she knew. She had observed the woman for two weeks now with scolding glares and Mrs. Malfoy was anything but unobservant.

"Do...did, well, honestly..." Hermione stammered out. Another thing she struggled with lately; speaking coherent sentences in the presence of the older witch. "Did you know your son was the first person to call me a mudblood?"

Mrs. Malfoy nodded. "I've been told. It's not something he's proud of."

Hermione scoffed. "He sure was when he was younger."

"Ah," Mrs. Malfoy said, leaning forward in her chair. "And therein lies the problem. My son was young and ignorant. Raised on beliefs that weren't necessarily his."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She was aware of the beliefs within the Black and Malfoy family.

"Do muggle children not call each other hurtful names?" Mrs. Malfoy raised an eyebrow and Hermione felt that flush in her cheeks now. "I understand that what my son said was an incredibly hurtful experience for you. However, now that you're older I would assume that you would be able to understand that words like that were fed to him daily."

"By you?"

"By his family." Mrs. Malfoy nearly spat the words out. She let out a long sigh. "So yes, while I don't recall ever referring to you as a mudblood myself, I'm sure he learned from his father and his aunt."

Hermione was at a loss for words. It was another side effect of the remnants of the Second War. Before the war she was able to convey her thoughts on the spot, argue with teachers about what she deemed appropriate and now she struggled with the simplest comeback. Every argument she could come up with seemed redundant, the war was no longer being fought and she grew tired of arguing about the same old topics. If nothing was going to change, why should she even bother?

"I'm not sure what you expect of me," she finally said. "I look at you and I see the woman who did nothing while her sister tortured a child. I can't for the life of me imagine my mother standing idly by while an innocent person was being tortured."

"May I offer you a different perspective?"

Hermione nodded. They were only three hours into the work day and she was already so tired of it all, longing for the moment she could go home to curl up in bed and sleep her weary heart away.

"I won't pretend that I'm a victim in the story I'm about to tell you, but I hope you will be able to keep an open mind," Mrs. Malfoy said. She ran her hands through the hair that hung loosely over her shoulders and draped it all over the left side of her shoulder.

"When my husband told me, we would be using our manor as the base of operations for Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters, I was terrified. Bellatrix was thrilled of course, there was no higher honor in her eyes. I cannot explain to you what it feels like to knowingly put your son in danger every day, and to have absolutely no control over that whatsoever."

Mrs. Malfoy wrapped her hands around the mug of tea sitting on her desk and continued. "Not long before the end Lord Voldemort seemed to be aware that his presence in our house was unwanted."

"Why didn't you ask him to leave?"

Mrs. Malfoy laughed. "Silly girl. Did you think we had any say in what he did or didn't do? If we had requested such a thing he would have killed us all. We did whatever we had to do to keep our son safe and that means we housed him."

Hermione furrowed her brows together. While Mrs. Malfoy words seemed sincere enough, it still didn't explain why she had let her sister torture her.

"I liked Luna Lovegood."

Hermione looked up in surprise at the change of topic.

"Luna was always kind, even though she was a prisoner. Merlin knows what she was talking about most of the time, but she made that situation bearable for everyone in that dungeon. She took care of Mr. Olivander and I'm convinced that without Ms. Lovegood's presence, he would have succumbed to the imprisonment."

Mrs. Malfoy sat up straight and looked Hermione straight in the eye. "Ms. Lovegood was an exceptional conversationalist. We spoke quite often, and she would speak of the names she used to be called. They didn't bother her, in fact I think she was quite proud of those names. Tell me, Ms. Granger... Have you ever referred to her as Looney Lovegood?"

Hermione cringed. She had...of course she had. It was how she had almost introduced Luna to Harry and Ron on Luna's first day at Hogwarts. "I–"

Mrs. Malfoy held up a hand. "I'm not judging you. I'm trying to explain that people use words that are hurtful to others. Luna is –by all means– a strange girl and Hogwarts students used that against her, much like my son used your blood against you. I'm not saying that those words are on equal footing, I know that they're not. However, both words were said with the same intention: to hurt the other person."

Hermione breathed in deeply. She didn't think she had ever tried to hurt Luna with that name, but it was hard to argue with Mrs. Malfoy's logic. Both mudblood and looney were words that weren't kind and if Luna hadn't been the kindred soul she was, she too would've been hurt by the implications of the word.

"Ms. Lovegood was the first person to tell me that she did not blame me for my sister's actions. I did not speak to her for three days. I could not understand how such an innocent and kind person could see past what unfolded right in front of her eyes. My family kept her captive and she made us feel better about it. It was one of the first times I realized that what we were doing was inherently wrong. We were all brainwashed, Bellatrix, Andromeda and me. As children, as young teenagers and as adults. We were raised on the belief that our blood was pure and that anyone with impure blood was unworthy. Andromeda was the first person to see that this wasn't true and took herself out of the equation."

Hermione was oh so curious. "Have you spoken to your sister after the war?"

Mrs. Malfoy nodded. "We reached out to one another soon after the Second War ended. Even though we missed out on so much in each other's lives, when we're together it's like we've never been apart. Not a day goes by where I don't regret never having met her daughter."

"When we were on the run," Hermione said, fidgeting with her hands, "I would have loved Tonk's company. She would have made dull days more fun and she would have kept up morale better than I ever could have." She wasn't sure why she offered up the confession, making Mrs. Malfoy feel better was the last thing on her agenda.

"I've been told she was a gifted metamorphmagus. Teddy seems to have inherited some of her qualities. I never quite know what hair color the boy will have during our dinner parties." A sad smile disappeared as soon as it made itself known. She looked up at Hermione and seemed to study her for what felt like an eternity.

"I will never excuse Bellatrix's behavior. I couldn't possibly. What she did was unforgiveable on so many different accounts. She took my niece out of this world and..." Mrs. Malfoy seemed lost in thought for a moment. "I knew he was there."

Hermione frowned. "Knew who was where?"

"Dobby," Mrs. Malfoy said. "Draco and I both knew, we saw him before Bellatrix could ever lay eyes on him. You were unconscious, and Bellatrix had her knife at your throat. The distraction he created saved your life, undoubtedly. If she had known," Mrs. Malfoy shook her head. "I do not wish to think about what would have happened if she'd seen him before any of us would have."

"None of that explains why you let her carve me like I was some piece of wood."

Mrs. Malfoy sighed. "Ms. Granger, if I would have spoken up, my sister would have slit your throat. I was her enemy as much as you were." She laughed, "Bellatrix was his last and best lieutenant, but his Bellatrix was not my sister. My sister died in Azkaban, and the monster that came back was...I have no words for who that person was. Bellatrix was never good, but her imprisonment in Azkaban took away the last bit of humanity she had in her. Just like Lord Voldemort, we were terrified of her. She was a bomb who had exploded the moment she escaped from Azkaban, who just...kept on exploding. She brought nothing but death and destruction."

Hermione cocked her head to the side and laughed, surprising them both. "Are you telling me I should be grateful that you didn't speak up? That you, what– saved my life?"

"No," Mrs. Malfoy said, her voice thick with anger. "Why is it so difficult for you to grasp the context of what I'm telling you? Bellatrix–"

"NO!" Hermione stood up from her chair and slammed her hands on the desk. She shook her head. "Enough. Just...just stop talking." A smile spread on her face and the moment it did, Hermione knew she lost all control over what she was about to say. It was a feeling she had twice before, once with Harry who had let her rant and rave before cradling her head onto his shoulder and the second time it had taking a sleep draught potion from Headmaster McGonagall to effectively render her speechless.

"Do you want to know what I see every night before I fall asleep? Lavender Brown's face, blood trickling down her chin. And every night before I fall asleep I wish I could have gotten to her two seconds earlier, because maybe those two seconds would have made a difference. Maybe, just maybe, if I had been quicker, faster, braver, Lavender wouldn't be in St. Mungo's, just sitting there, nothing more than a shell."

As the words poured out of her, she started pacing behind her desk. Finger pointing at the woman as she did.

"So, no, I don't grasp the context because I can't for the life of me imagine being so okay with someone hurting people like that daily. If it wasn't for me, Lavender could have still been that annoying brat she was at Hogwarts, but she isn't. I was too late, and so every night before I fall asleep? I pray, and I beg that I don't wake up in the morning."

An audible gasp made her look up and she shrugged her shoulders. "Don't you see, Mrs. Malfoy? I'm not mad that you didn't interfere because it would have been the proper thing to do. I'm mad that you didn't end my misery. You should've let your sister kill me. That," she spat out," would've been the proper thing to do."


Hermione wasn't quite sure how she had ended up in the Hall of Prophecies. One second, she had been yelling at Mrs. Malfoy of all people and the next everything went dark until she was surrounded by the faint blue light in the Hall. She had sunk down to the floor and cried until there were no more tears and screamed until her voice had given out. It was only when she looked up and saw an orb floating around that she got up from the floor and walked over to it.

"What are you," she croaked out. "More importantly, where did you come from, hm?" She held out her hand, but unlike the other orb, this one seemed more hesitant to move towards her. Frowning, she held her hand closer to the orb, giving it little room to go anywhere else but her hand. She huffed when the orb moved an inch upwards.

"I see. You're a stubborn one. Well, I'll have you known I travelled with two of the most stubborn men I've ever met, and I got them on the straight and narrow, I can do the same to you."

Turning her back to the orb, she walked over to one of the shelves, where a stand had appeared. It wasn't nearly as impressive as the dragonhead's that held the first orb that presented itself to her, but it's silver still flickered brightly, as if it was desperately awaiting its permanent resident.

"It's a shame, you know," she said. She ran a finger along the curves of the circle. "It's here to protect you, like I am. So even if you think you're stubborn, I think you might just be a little bit scared."

Discreetly looking over her shoulder, she noticed the orb was now floating right behind her left shoulder.

"Let's make a deal," she said. "You tell me your prophecy, and I will give you shelter for... well, all of eternity. Until some student breaks in here and destroys it all," she murmured.

She turned around and smiled genuinely. "What do you say, hm?" She held out her hand and waited patiently until the orb, finally, landed on her hand and immediately a voice thundered through the hall. It was loud and for a moment she was taken aback, the other orb had such a delicate voice while this one seemed to scream at her, eager to get its prophecy out of itself.

"When the mark of one becomes the mark of many, a sudden death shall usher forth an era of honor."

"Blimey, you're a cheerful one, aren't you?"

Carefully, she placed the orb within the circle. "Protect it well," she whispered, as the circle tightened around the orb. "You're safe now," she said, hoping the orb would understand what she was trying to convey. Perhaps in a way, she tried to convince herself of the same.

She was safe. Bellatrix could no longer hurt and while everyone had thanked her for saving Lavender's life, she couldn't help but feel like she deserved none of the praise. Every Sunday afternoon she would visit Lavender in St. Mungo's. The girl who had once annoyed the living daylights out of her was now a young woman who stared at nothing. Sometimes she would speak uncoherent words that no one understood. And occasionally, she would look at Hermione and smile. But, it was the sentence that she uttered every time that Hermione announced her leave that got to her every time.

"Thank you."

She couldn't bear to hear them anymore.

Inhaling sharply, she looked around the Hall of Prophecy. She frowned when on the wall to her left an empty frame had appeared. In all her research, she had never heard of any portraits hanging on the walls. Walking closer to it, she traced the frame with her finger and took several steps back when a purple robe entered the frame. Soon, the robe seemed to be attached to a body and she gasped when the face of none other than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore smiled at her.

"Ms. Granger, what a pleasant surprise."

Hermione's eyes were about to bulge out of their sockets. "P–professor? How?" She knew all the portraits of the previous Headmasters of Hogwarts were in the Headmaster's office, but this? This was unheard of.

"Help," he said, "will always be given to those who ask for it. I believe I've amended this statement to Harry in one of his dreams."

Hermione frowned. "You visit Harry in his dreams?"

"Quite often," he said. "The boy needs a lot of guidance. Or, he did. Lately the visits have lessened."

"Harry is getting married," she said, as if it would explain why he suddenly stopped dreaming about the previous Headmaster.

"Ah, very well. Pleasing news, indeed. Now, how can I be of assistance?"

"Uhm, I'm not sure. I didn't ask for help?"

"The Hall of Prophecies works in mysterious ways," he murmured. "No matter. It has found a great Guardian in you. I must say, even I couldn't have predicted this. Out of curiosity, how many new prophecies have presented themselves to you?"

"Two?"

Professor Dumbledore smiled, and Hermione's heart ached. She never quite understood the whole portraits and their living but oh-so-dead inhabitants.

"I believe that the Hall of Prophecy is currently much like a muggle nursery. The orbs will present themselves to you and as they do, they will grow in intensity and size. Of course, this could take years, but the prophecies will find you when they're ready to come home."

"Professor? Where do they come from? Who are they meant for?"

"Ah," Professor Dumbledore said. "Excellent questions, certainly worth points, had we still been at Hogwarts. However, even I can't answer those questions for you. I can tell you though that most of these prophecies aren't nearly as important as the Prophecy for Harry and Voldemort was. Once those come to you, you will know who they are meant for and where they come from. You have to trust in the Hall and in return, it will trust in you." He looked at her over his glasses and winked. "Trust is a strange thing, Ms. Granger. It presents itself to us in the most unusual forms and all we can do... is have faith and trust that things will all work out."

"I have a billion questions, Professor."

"I'm sure you do. However, I feel it's time to return to my portrait in the Headmaster's Office. Minerva and I were playing a captivating game of wizard chess, which let me tell you, Minerva is an excellent player. Mister Ron Weasley could learn a thing or two from her, I believe." He stood up from whatever he sat on. "Trust, Ms. Granger. I put a great deal of trust in a wizard no one trusted and look where I ended up!" With that, the portrait was empty and displayed nothing but blackness.

Hermione was puzzled. Sure, Severus Snape had betrayed the Dark Lord like no other, and while Dumbledore had planned his death on his own terms, she still couldn't see how being dead had anything to do with trust. Then again, it wouldn't be the first strange thing that fell from Professor Dumbledore's lips. The man had always been...well, strange. Strong, courageous and incredibly powerful, but also so very, very strange.

It wasn't the only strange thing that was happening. She could feel the twitch in her body that meant she was about to apparate. Or rather, her body was going to apparate, she wasn't quite sure whether she was ready for it mentally. Having to face Mrs. Malfoy after her outburst scared her, she was sure the witch was going to use it against her, somehow. But, as it was, the Hall of Prophecy no longer had a need for her and as she closed her eyes, she gave in to the darkness, again.