A/N: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 2: Where It Ends

Hermione Granger awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs. Sitting up and wiping the sleep from her eyes, she blinked once, twice, surveying her surroundings. She took in the familiar shapes of her bedroom at Grimmauld Place, where the trio and the Weasleys had been hiding out since Voldemort's defeat. They had tried staying at the Burrow, but after several days of waking up with reporters camped out on the front lawn, they had opted for a more secluded location. It helped that no one except the Order knew that this place even existed.

She rolled over and eyed the clock next to the bed. Half-past nine. Great. She had slept late, again. She was really going to have to do something about these nightmares. She shifted through potential solutions in her head. Calming Draught? Maybe, but that was usually used to calm someone down after experiencing something frightful, not to prevent them from experiencing it in the first place. Dreamless Sleep Potion? Yes, that should work. She'd look into brewing some, since going to Diagon Alley these days was out of the question. She'd be recognized in an instant. Sighing, she rolled out of bed and started to get dressed.

She had just pulled her jumper over her head and began to open the door when she heard Ron's cry from the hallway.

"Ai! Mangy, good-for-nothing animal" He yelled as Crookshanks darted past Hermione's feet and jumped onto her bed, turning to sit and look at her with a particularly smug impression on his face.

"You leave Crookshanks alone, Ron!"

The redhead appeared in the doorway. "Then tell him not to run under my feet. Blasted thing almost tripped me."

Hermione bit back a smile as she shook her head, and the two of them turned and made their way downstairs.

As they entered the kitchen, Hermione could tell that Mrs. Weasley had been busy again. Ever since Fred's death, Molly Weasley had sought to drown her grief in work, preoccupying herself at all times with cooking, cleaning, and baking. The dining table currently sported three different cakes and two casseroles, and there were several pies cooling on a side table next to where Ginny sat reading. Mrs. Weasley was currently hunched over the stove, preparing a mountain of waffles to go along with the eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast that she had already cooked. Hermione knew that in a few minutes, she would be hovering over them, pestering them to eat, eat, eat! She fawned over all of them nowadays, but the worst was Ron. She had tried to baby George, but the former twin had been too caught up in his own grief to be readily accepting of her constant attention. So, she showered Ron with her unending affection instead, and, to Harry and Hermione's dismay, it was really starting to go to his head. Just last night he had gotten into an argument with Ginny when he complained that war heroes shouldn't have to wait to take a shower (he, apparently, thought she had taken far too long washing her hair). When she had promptly reminded him that she, too, had fought in the war, he responded with a comment that made Hermione punch him in the arm: "Yeah, but I don't see anyone lining up to put you in the paper!"

Harry was sitting at the table with his back to them, The Daily Prophet spread in front of him and a half-nibbled piece of toast to his left. Hermione slid down next to him, and he glanced over at her, a slight smile playing on his lips. As Ron took his place across from them, though, Harry's face turned serious.

"Have you seen this?" He said, turning The Daily Prophet over so that they could read the front page.

There, staring up at them, were the faces of Draco and Lucius Malfoy as they were escorted into the Ministry headquarters to await trial. Lucius sported a calm, composed expression, even if Hermione thought she could see hints of anxiety in his eyes. Draco - well, Draco just looked utterly defeated. As the picture on the front of the paper cycled, Hermione watched Draco enter the frame, his head bowed. After a few seconds, he looked up, straight at her, and the sight of his eyes took her breath for a moment. They held none of the cruelty, coldness, or even mischievousness that she had seen in them so often during their schoolyears. Instead, she saw only fear and despair. Those eyes transported her temporarily back to herself sprawled on the floor of the Malfoy family drawing room, searching for help and finding him staring down at her, his father's hand splayed across his chest to keep him from surging forward; back to the Room of Requirement, her, Ron, and Harry barreling toward Draco as the flames threatened to engulf him; back to that day, when they thought Harry was dead, when Draco was called to rejoin the other side and seemed reluctant to go. Shaking her head, she pushed these thoughts from her mind and turned to the conversation that Harry and Ron had started without her.

"Don't know why you did it, mate." Ron was saying, mouth full of half-chewed sausage, "My opinion, she should rot like the rest of her family."

Harry picked up his toast. "It was the right thing to do, that's why." He said, taking a bite.

"But she just stood there and watched Hermione being tortured by her lunatic sister!"

"Ron!" Harry spat out in a gritted whisper, jerking his head and darting his eyes sideways at Hermione, but Ron didn't take the hint.

"Well I'm sorry if I'm defensive of my girlfriend," Ron's voice began to raise. "How would you feel if Ginny had been held down and had "blood traitor" carved into her arm? Prolly wouldn't have testified then, would you?" Hermione noticed that Ginny had lifted her head at the mention of her name, and was now glaring daggers at the back of her brother's head.

"What are you suggesting?" Harry's eyes had narrowed dangerously, and Hermione knew that now was the time to intervene.

"Ron, I don't blame Harry for testifying. She did help us win the war."

"But –" Ron began, but Hermione quickly reached across the table and shoved a piece of toast into his mouth.

"No buts." She said, settling back down next to Harry. She clasped her hands before her on the table, and took a deep breath before continuing in almost a whisper: "We all did things in the war that we're not proud of. But in the end, she helped us defeat him. I don't care about anything else. It's over."

I don't care about anything else.

It's over.

The words had fallen uncomfortably out of her mouth, and she wondered just how true they were. Did she really not care? Was it all really over? If so, why did she still have trouble sleeping at night?

"Mione." Harry's voice was soft, almost pleading. She turned to find him studying her carefully. Not wanting to talk about Narcissa Malfoy anymore, or worse, her torture at the hands of Bellatrix, Hermione quickly shifted the subject of the conversation.

"When's the trial?" She said, gesturing toward the front page of The Prophet. Her stomach did a small flip as Draco's eyes lifted momentarily to haunt her once again.

"Friday." Harry answered. "They've set Lucius' for the day after."

"They're convening the Wizengamot on a Saturday?" Ron asked, incredulous. "They must really be out for him. Special session and everything."

Harry nodded, staring absentmindedly down at the paper, only to have his vision quickly obscured by a stack of waffles that Mrs. Weasley had shoved under his nose. "Kingsley said they've been trying to put Mr. Malfoy away for a long time. There are a lot of people at the Ministry who aren't too happy about him being released last year."

"Well, they should get their wish. All Death Eaters who've been tried so far have been given life in Azkaban." Hermione added. "Thank you," she said to Mrs. Weasley, who had just deposited a second stack of waffles in front of her.

"Draco must be terrified. Imagine being seventeen or eighteen and facing life in prison." Ginny plopped down at the table next to her brother, and, picking up a fork, reached over and stabbed one of Harry's waffles, pulling off a large bite-size piece that quickly found its way into her mouth.

"Hey!" Ginny answered Harry's protest with an innocent smile, and her boyfriend's next retort died on his lips as Ron spoke up.

"Serves him right. After everything he did, he deserves to be in there."

"I don't know," Harry responded, cautiously, "I think Draco was under a lot of pressure during the war. I'm not sure if he even wanted to do half the stuff he did."

"He's a Death Eater! He let Death Eaters into the school! Are you forgetting that he poisoned me and cursed Katie Bell! And he set the Room of Requirement on fire!"

"That was Crabbe," Hermione amended, but Ron wasn't listening.

"He or his family have tried to kill us I don't know how many times since this bloody war started, and now you're defending him? You lot are unreal!"

Harry ran an agitated hand through his raven-black hair, causing it to stick up even more than normal. "I almost killed him last year, as well. And I used the Cruciatus on Bellatrix at the Department of Mysteries in fifth year. Maybe I should be locked up too."

"Not to mention the fact that we also broke into the Ministry" Ginny said.

"And Gringotts." Hermione added.

"That's different. We're the good guys! We're war heroes!"

"Yes," Harry said, "and if the situation was reversed, Draco would be the hero and we'd be the ones looking at a lifetime in Azkaban"

"No, no mate. We're the good guys." Ron was motioning emphatically with his hands now. "Draco and his lot, they're the bad guys, and in my opinion, they should all rot in prison. It'll make the world a better place. Trust me, alright?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, because that worked so well after the first war, didn't it?"

Ron shot her an incredulous glance. "What do you mean?"

Hermione stood up abruptly, startling her boyfriend as leaning over the table so that she towered over him. "What I mean, Ronald, is that I'm not so sure it's a good idea to just start throwing people in prison unilaterally without considering them on a case to case basis. All the Ministry is doing is breeding more hatred and resentment, and, ultimately, nothing is going to change. Our children are going to grow up in the same prejudiced and cruel world, and your black-and-white approach to the Malfoys is just as blinded as pureblood attitudes toward Muggle-borns. I mean, where does it end?"

Finishing, she sat down with a huff, but Ron was now looking at her like she had grown a second head. "Bloody unreal," he mumbled, abandoning the stack of waffles his mother had just sat down in front of him and stalking out of the room.

Hermione looked at Ginny and Harry, both of them contemplating her with puzzling eyes. Her voice came out barely above a whisper: "I just want to know where it ends."

In a small room in the upstairs of the Leaky Cauldron, Narcissa Malfoy was pacing. She wasn't even sure what she was doing here, or what had compelled her to ask for this meeting. She paced back and forth, pausing every few moments to gaze impatiently at the clock on the mantelpiece. 10:17 am. This was a terrible idea, she thought. She paused, listening to the sounds that echoed up from the pub downstairs. She could just make out a woman's high-pitched laughter, and the sound of a lower, baritone voice calling for another ale. She took up pacing again, pulling her shawl more tightly around her, even though warm summer air was wafting in from the window. 10:18 am. Striding over to the window, she pulled it shut, cutting off any noise from Diagon Alley below. A scene on the street caught her eye, and she watched for a moment as a young boy strode out of one of the shops. One hand was latched tight to his mother, the other clung to a new broomstick. He was beaming. Just like Draco at that age. She mused. Another glance at the clock: 10:19 am. Terrible, ludicrous idea. Shaking her head, she moved toward a side table to retrieve her clutch purse. She would leave, and everything would go back to normal.

"Hello, Narcissa," This new voice made the Malfoy Matriarch freeze in her tracks. She turned slowly toward the door, her eyes seeking out the voice's owner. Before her, she saw a face that she had not beheld in a very long time. Andromeda Tonks. Her sister.

"Andromeda." Straightening immediately, Narcissa inclined her head toward her elder sibling as a way of greeting. She clasped her hands in front of her, striving in vain to keep from fidgeting. She was well-practiced at remaining calm and composed in delicate situations, but today her nerves sought to betray her despite her efforts to control them.

Andromeda stared at her out of tired, yet fierce eyes, and an icy tension filled the room. The elder Black sibling had aged since Narcissa last saw her, but then, she supposed, so had she. Touches of gray were starting to appear in Andromeda's long, black tresses, and her face had begun to lose its youthful firmness. But, Narcissa noted, there was still a fire there. She could see it burning behind Andromeda's eyes. This was not going to be easy.

"How is your grandson?" Narcissa inquired, yearning to somehow break the tension.

"I left him in capable hands." Andromeda's answer was curt, sharp.

"Good. That's good." Narcissa smiled softly, but her sister's mouth did not alter from the thin, tense line it had adopted since she entered the room. The Malfoy matriarch tried again, grappling for something to discuss. But she found that she didn't know much about her sister at all these days. In the end, she settled for the most obvious. "The weather is beautiful today."

"Narcissa, I did not come here to exchange niceties with you. What do you want?"

"I'm sure you've seen the Prophet."

"I have"

"Then you are aware of my situation." It was a statement, not a question.

"I am"

Narcissa hesitated. Her sister's face had settled into an expression of stony fierceness, and her eyes were cold and stern. Narcissa had always prided herself on inheriting the cool, composed, and commanding airs of their mother. Andromeda, in contrast, had always been rather warm and compassionate, but now Narcissa found herself peering into a face that so much resembled their mother that it shook her internally, threatening to disarm the younger Black of her own cool, collected nature. She took a breath.

"I need your help, Andromeda." Another statement. Malfoys do not plead. Narcissa reminded herself.

When her sister's expression did not change in the slightest, she continued, coolly, as if she were discussing an extensive business arrangement.

"Though I loathe to admit it, the Malfoy name does not carry the weight that it once did. If falling out of favor with the Dark Lord did not do enough to break down our old alliances, then my actions at the war's end have more than assured that the large majority of pureblood families view us as blood traitors." Narcissa paused, turning to stare down at the clutch in her hands. "This is not to mention the fact that many of those I would have normally turned to for help are either dead or facing a lifetime in Azkaban."

She raised her eyes back to Andromeda, and found her sister listening intently.

"I betrayed my old allegiances to save my family. I do not regret it, for my son is alive. But now . . ." Narcissa paused again, as if trying to figure out how to phrase her next sentence. "I have no ties to anyone on this side of the war. I have no influence, nothing to bargain with to save my child from a lifetime of imprisonment." She hesitated. "But you do." As she spoke this last sentence, she bowed her head slightly, for emphasis, though her eyes never strayed from Andromeda's.

"I fear that, without your help, my sacrifice might have been in vain. Life in Azkaban is no life worth living."

Andromeda inhaled deeply as her sister finished, her eyes roaming from Narcissa's face to an upper corner of the room as she fell deep into thought. Her younger sister waited with bated breath, the moments before Andromeda finally spoke feeling like hours.

"What would you have me do, Narcissa?"

Encouraged slightly by the question, the younger Black began carefully: "I expect no aid in terms of Lucius' situation. He has made his bed and now, it seems, he must lie in it"

Andromeda nodded once.

"But if you could do something, anything, for Draco . . ."

Narcissa cut off sharply at the incredulous look on her older sister's face. It was a moment before Andromeda spoke, as if she were trying to find the right words to express herself.

"So, you expect me to clean up the mess your son has made for himself? To use my influence to talk the Ministry out of handing out a sentence that he justly deserves?"

"Draco is only a boy! He's barely of age!"

At her sibling's outburst, the elder Black sister tilted her head slightly, surveying Narcissa for a moment before turning to stare down into the fireplace. She seemed to be thinking, and when she spoke, her voice was soft.

"You must care for him a great deal if you were willing to betray the Dark Lord for him," She said, "and if you are willing to now seek out my help."

Now Narcissa looked incredulous. "He's my son. Would you have done any less for Nymphadora?"

At the mention of her daughter's name, Andromeda's eyes flashed. She was across the room in an instant, her wand trained on her sister's heart. "Don't"

Narcissa merely raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Don't use my love for my daughter as a bargaining chip. I would, of course, have gone to any length to protect her, but that didn't matter in the end. Tell me, how did you celebrate when you found out she was dead?" Andromeda's voice had taken on a mocking tone. "Champagne? Fireworks? A romp in the sack with that despicable husband of yours?"

Narcissa bit back a sharp retort that Nymphadora had not been worth fireworks or champagne.

"Do not confuse me with Bellatrix, Andromeda." She snarled.

The two sisters stared at each other, each struggling to control the famous Black temper. In the end, Narcissa backed down first, much to her sister's surprise.

"I did not come here to fight."

Andromeda lowered her wand, huffing as she crossed her arms and looked away.

Narcissa was not about to let that little act pass unnoticed. She took a step forward, her words spilling out far more aggressively than she meant for them to.

"You can't possibly understand. This war has taken everything. Everything! My reputation is in shambles. I have no one to turn to – no friends, no acquaintances. Do you know what it's like to have your family arrested in front of your eyes? To know that they will probably be taken from you forever? No, how could you? You have no conception of honor, or pride." Andromeda's eyes flashed again, and Narcissa knew she was stepping over the line. She couldn't stop herself from barreling forward, though. "I can't face a lifetime in that house alone. I will go insane!"

"Then get a dog." Her sister spat, "Or better yet, a lover"

"How dare you -"

Andromeda cut her off. "Merlin, you are just as selfish as ever." She spoke through clenched teeth. "I can't understand? How dare you!You are not the only one who has lost something in this war, Narcissa. Your husband and son are looking at a lifetime in Azkaban? My husband and child are dead. My son-in-law too. I have a grandson who will grow up never knowing his parents. So, trust me when I say that I have more important things to worry about than your son."

The same anger that she had experienced the night before bubbled up in Narcissa's chest and her face contorted in rage. But before she could get a word out, Andromeda spoke again, a finality present in her tone.

"This conversation is over."

And then, her sister was turning, heading for the door, and Narcissa's anger was immediately replaced with desperation. She wondered if this was how her sister had felt all those years ago, and that thought, more than anything else, drove her last, pleading words, out of her mouth:

"Andromeda, please"

Hermione Granger could not stop thinking about Draco Malfoy, and it was really starting to piss her off. She was now back in her room, lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. After breakfast, Andromeda had stopped by to drop off Teddy, asserting that she had a few errands that she needed to run. So, while Harry and Ginny entertained his godson, Hermione had retreated to her room, intent on catching up on some reading. They were due back at Hogwarts at the beginning of next week to help finish off the reconstruction, and Hermione wanted to refresh herself on various protection spells that might be needed when exploring the inner workings of the castle. But she couldn't focus. Her mind kept returning to the blond-haired boy in the Prophet. When Ron had come in for a quick snog, she had been all too happy for any distraction, but Draco's face had kept flashing through her head, making it difficult to concentrate. Ron had eventually left in a huff, irritated by her distracted state. She couldn't say she blamed him.

So now she lay back on the bed, willing herself to stop thinking about Malfoy. Really, what had the ferret ever done for them, anyway. He was a bully. She reminded herself, thinking back over all the times Draco had taunted and tormented them at Hogwarts. Neville's remembrall. She reminded herself. The "Potter Stinks" badges. The Inquisitorial Squad. The Densaugeo hex. She grimaced as she remembered being hit by Draco's spell in their fourth year. Her teeth had grown down well below her collarbone before she had reached the infirmary. Thinking about it now, she tried to hold onto her feeling of humiliation from that day, but she couldn't. In the end, Malfoy had done her a favor; her front teeth were now smaller than they had been before. Plus, it's funny, isn't it. The daughter of two dentists being hit with a tooth-growing curse. She stifled a giggle, and then, frowning suddenly, she returned to the task at hand – reminding herself why she hated Draco Malfoy. Mudblood. She let the word turn over in her mind, absentmindedly running her hand over the scar on her arm. But the only thing the word brought to mind was a pair of haunting, fearful eyes staring up at her from the front page of the morning paper. She sighed. This was not working.

Exasperated, she rolled off her bed and headed downstairs. Maybe Teddy would take her mind off the blond-haired menace.

The street was deserted, even though it was mid-day. Narcissa recognized this neighborhood. It was an old one, nestled in northwest London, and it had not changed much since the last time she had been here. Wrought-iron décor still accented the houses. Untamed vegetation still crept through the fence behind them, threatening to overtake the order of the street below their feet. And the numbering on the townhouses still skipped from 11 to 13.

To her left, Andromeda was muttering softly, and then, before her eyes, the townhouses began to move apart as another stretched between them.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The Black ancestral home.

"Why have you brought me here?" Narcissa asked softly. She had not stepped foot inside the house since she was a child.

"I said I would bring you to those who could help you better than I can," Andromeda explained, gesturing toward the townhouse, "and so I have. I make no promises about their willingness to lend you aid, though."

Narcissa answered with a single nod of understanding as they approached the door. She held her breath as Andromeda raised her fist, and knocked.

Everyone was gathered in the kitchen when Hermione entered. Mrs. Weasley was bustling about the stove (now preparing a feast for lunch), while Harry was holding Teddy in his lap at the table, with Ginny and Ron both peering over his shoulders. They were all laughing as Ron made pig-sounds at the child and Teddy attempted to imitate Ron's scrunched up nose and lips. The child's hair was currently Weasley-red, although Hermione knew that could change at will. She wasn't even quite sure what his natural hair color was. She'd have to ask Andromeda.

She had just taken a seat next to Harry when there was a knock at the front door.

"Oh," Mrs. Weasley said, dropping a pan with a clatter, "that must be Bill and Fleur. They promised to come by for lunch today! No, no, I'll get it dear." She hurried by Ginny and headed out into the front hallway to answer the door.

When she returned, she looked a shade paler than she had before.

"Mum, what's the matter?" Ginny asked as Harry handed Teddy off to her. Hermione noticed the wary look that had suddenly crossed Harry's face at the sight of the Weasley matriarch.

Mrs. Weasley answered by stepping aside, revealing Andromeda and - trailing slightly behind her - Narcissa Malfoy.

All three members of the golden trio were on their feet in an instant. Ron had his wand trained on Mrs. Malfoy, until Andromeda held up her hands in an attempt at peace.

"Please." She said, "My sister has come to ask for your help."

Ron lowered his wand, but he didn't relax. Instead, he crossed his arms defensively, a fierce scowl taking up residence on his face. Harry also had his arms crossed, but Hermione noticed that his stance was more at ease than Ron's. He looked like he was patiently, if begrudgingly, waiting for an explanation, while her own boyfriend appeared ready to explode at any moment. Ginny had retreated quietly to the side, Teddy grasped tightly in her arms. Teddy was the only one who seemed particularly happy about this turn of events. His hair had changed to a startlingly accurate shade of Malfoy platinum blond.

Mrs. Malfoy had started speaking, but Hermione was only halfway paying attention. She could already guess what Narcissa Malfoy wanted. She let her eyes take in the older woman, noting how unwound she looked. Make no mistake, not a hair was out of place on Mrs. Malfoy's head, and her clothes still fit her impeccably, but her eyes held the same haunting look that Draco's had that morning in the paper and her composure held none of the haughty disposition that Hermione was so used to seeing.

Hermione's gaze moved from Mrs. Malfoy down to her own arm, her fingers tracing over the word that had been carved there a few months ago. Mudblood. That word represented everything the Malfoys stood for. Everything they had stood for. She thought to herself. Mudblood. She remembered every time Draco had thrown that profane term her way. She remembered the sneers. The haughtiness. She remembered being held down on the floor of the Malfoy family drawing room, Bellatrix taking that knife to her skin. Mudblood. No. No! she thought. This is it.

And with that, Hermione stormed out of the room.

Narcissa knew it was over. At first, she had been hopeful. The Weasley boy had not been receptive at all, yet Potter had listened. He had been open to hearing her out, she could tell. But now, that openness had vanished. The moment the Granger girl had stormed out, a stony glint had appeared in his eye, and she knew that he would not be moved. He wouldn't help Draco without the blessing of Hermione Granger – it would seem like a betrayal – and Narcissa knew that the Malfoys had done too much to the girl to ever expect her to help them. This battle was lost, and for the first time in a long time, the Malfoy matriarch felt helpless.

"I'm sorry," Potter said, "We can't."

"I understand," Narcissa swallowed hard, all her previous hopes forming a knot in the pit of her stomach. She turned to leave, determined to return to the Manor without resorting to begging or pleading. She still had some pride, after all. But before she even moved a few inches, the Granger girl was back, sweeping past her with a stack of books in her arms. She promptly flung them down on the table before her, sending several plates of biscuits flying. Not even looking up at her friends, she tore open one of the books and began to leaf through it.

"Mione?" The word fell as a question from Potter's lips, but Narcissa noticed that he was beginning to smile. The girl glanced up at him, but didn't answer. As he picked up one of the books, Narcissa could just make out the subject. It was a tome on Ministry laws. She sucked in her breath, her hand flying to her mouth. Did this mean - ?

"What the hell are you doing, Hermione?" The Weasley boy nearly shouted.

Granger huffed and, placing her hands on both side of the tome she had been working her way through, she paused and glared up at the redhead.

"I'm going to try to help them, because it's the right thing to do. I'm done with hate. I'm done with prejudice. I'm done with revenge."

The boy tried to interject, but she cut him off.

"I'm done, Ronald. This is where it ends." The girl glanced up at Narcissa, and the Malfoy Matriarch looked back down at this child – a child that she had only ever looked at with disdain. Today, though, all she felt was gratitude and admiration. A moment of mutual understanding passed between them. No more hate. No more prejudice. She nodded at the girl, once.

Granger turned her attention back to the Weasley boy, who was sputtering all sorts of protestations.

"No, Ron. This is where it ends."

Potter was smiling openly now, and he quickly moved forward to leaf through the tomes as Granger held the redhead's gaze.

And then, the Weasley boy broke eye contact as he bowed his head and picked up a book, slamming it down on the table and scanning its contents. The Granger girl leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Ronald"

Yes. Narcissa thought. This is where it ends.

Next chapter: First glimpse of Lucius and Draco!