A/N: Now then, in case you were wondering, the major character death happened in the past and fits into the time frame of the Horcrux hunt. More information via flashbacks, dreams, and memories will be given as the story continues.

Once again, I own nothing, only this piddly little story. JK Rowling is a goddess. I am still broke and this story won't change that in any way. *nods*

Ever onward!

"No mother, I am not about to go against the law. I can't believe you are still banging on about the purity nonsense. I thought you would have learned by now."

"But, my dragon," Narcissa quietly interrupted. "It's not about blood purity, not for me. However, a muggle-born would not be able to fathom our family's magic, not without years of training. That means only a pureblood ~or half blood raised in the wizarding world~ will do! How can you dispute this!"

"I am only nineteen, mother. I am sure the MInistry," Somehow that word came out with so much disdain attached to it that one could practically see chips of ice in the air. "Or the Wizengamot, whichever is to blame, will find me a match that equals my intelligence, at the very least. Muggleborn, half-blood, pureblood? It doesn't matter. We will have years for you to teach my match our traditions, our magic." He noted the pallor of his mother's complexion, the frown which meant she was about to interject and slapped a hand down against the table so that the resultant crack brought a halt to the proceedings. "Enough, mother," he snapped, his tone almost acidic. "I am not going to jail for your idealism."

Narcissa settled back and watched as her son stood and strode away from the small dining nook where they now shared most meals. She was disturbed by his reaction but, if she were brutally honest, had expected no less. The last three years had taken much from him, pride in his name was one of those things. Still, how could he not understand her position? She didn't care about the blood. She cared about traditions, about magic, about strengthening Malfoy ties to their lands. A certain type of witch was needed, one who could fulfill all of the things being a Malfoy required.

A muggle-born, well the average witch in general, just would not do.

Delicate fingers lifted her favorite teacup and brought it to her pursed lips. After a moment, she shifted forward to rest her chin in the cup of her palm and gave in to thoughts of what would make a witch an acceptable candidate for Draco's wife. The woman would have to be intelligent, (of course) stubborn, have impeccable breeding (In Narcissa's world good breeding meant being virtuous, well mannered, even tempered), and extremely goal-oriented. There would also have to be a spark between the young people, something to build a future on. Draco would not tolerate a life of boredom.

If he was determined that any witch would do, then she would have to manipulate the law in her favor and get him the best possible option. Her preferred choice would be pureblood as that would not require much in terms of traditional teaching. Maybe the youngest Greengrass? A shake of her head dislodged that thought, almost immediately. The chit wouldn't work long term. Too soft-hearted. Not studious enough

Who would?

"Miss Cissa? Togy will clear the table. We still have Sunday's Prophet. Would you like the Opinion page?"

Narcissa turned to face the small being who waited just to her left. Togy was her personal elf and had been with her for the entirety of her marriage to Lucius. Most elves were rather ill-kempt, as they tended toward eccentric pieces of clothing to cover their forms. Not Togy, she was an elf for the House of Black and it showed in her impeccable uniform of black and white silk.

"Do you remember why I kept that particular one?" Almost immediately, memory returned but Togy beat her to the punch.

"The letter from the Granger girl."

Yes. Maybe correspondence with the said female could work to their advantage. After all, the young woman seemed to understand the difference between prejudice and the desire to preserve the past. 'And if Draco ends up with her as a match,' she thought with a smirk that highly resembled her son's, 'She will be easy enough to teach.'

An hour later, Hermione was jerked from sleep (Yay for pre-dinner naps and half days at work!) as a majestic European Eagle Owl (in shades of cocoa, amber, cream, and cinnamon) rapped impatiently at her bedroom window. Her apartment, located in the center of Greenwich on the top floor of a co-op, was not known to those outside of her extended family so to see such a large raptor was quite worrisome. Regardless, the young frazzle-haired female opened the window and waited as the regal bird swept inside.

"How'd you find me?"

The owl, in the way of all magical creatures, shot her look which only underlined just how stupid the question was and held one taloned foot aloft which drew attention to the creamy envelope contained there. The address:

Hermione J. Granger
Somewhere in Muggle London
England

only underlined that the person responsible for the missive had no idea where she actually lived. With no further ado, Hermione grasped the proffered envelope and studied the writing. Whoever it was had elegant writing, feminine, a light hand. With newly nervous fingers, the young woman opened it and allowed her eyes to scan the words pressed to parchment.

Dear Miss Granger;

I am writing to you concerning your words in the Sunday Prophet as they have struck quite the chord with myself. I wonder, therefore, if you would be amenable to a meeting to discuss the impending marriage law as well as any ideas you might have concerning avoidance of said law.

My son, of course, cares not for my thoughts and has already stated his desire to submit to the testing. My assumption is that you will do the same? Regardless, I find that I would quite like to discuss all of this with you for I am at a loss as to how I can explain my own wants without being mistaken for an elitist or prejudiced. Your words, vitriolic though they were, lead me to assume that you do understand.

Aeneas (the glorious creature who managed to deliver this to you) will bring any response you deem fit to send. I hope that you will indulge my request.

Cordially

Narcissa Malfoy

Huh?

To call Hermione confused would have been a vast understatement; confusion didn't begin to touch on what she felt. The woman who wrote to her was the same woman who sneered at Harry after Sirius died. She was part of a family that had wiped people from their tapestries for the act of love. She had been part of Voldemort's inner circle.

She was, most importantly, Bellatrix's sister.

Why then was she writing? There had to be something else to this meeting that would benefit the woman's family. There had to be. Otherwise, Hermione was almost positive that Narcissa would have never put quill to parchment in an attempt to locate her. 'Well, if there is something in it for her, maybe I can get something as well...closure.' That thought was quickly followed by the procurement of an envelope and parchment as well as some cool sausages for the regal owl who rested patiently on the small stand by her window.

Mrs. Malfoy,

I find myself unsure as to what you expect. There is no way to avoid the law. I've checked every line, countless times, researched for loopholes and found none. That being said, I am not averse to meeting with you, if only to find out what you feel I might offer to you besides my unvarnished, ill-educated opinion.

As for your elitism or prejudice? One assumes that both still fit you far easier than not, though I am willing to see for myself if this is no longer true. I would like to speak to you in any case as I am sure you could help me learn what happened to my...Ronald Weasley in the late fall of 97. Call it tit for tat if you will. I can help you navigate the law as well as tell you a few things that were not released to the general populace so that you and Draco can make a better match for him in exchange for this knowledge.

My only request is that our meeting not take place in your home, for obvious reasons, unless you can personally assure me that I will not be unduly affected by doing so.

With regards,

Hermione Granger

As soon as the owl had launched himself away, Hermione hustled to her living room and the large fireplace there. She had to call Harry! He'd have a better grasp on the situation, intuitively, than she did. After all, intuitiveness was Harry' job. Logic had always been her wheelhouse and Ron...well Ron was the strategist who took both of those things and combined them, brilliantly. With a shake of her head, she banished thoughts of their missing third and continued into her living room.

She could think about Ron, later.

For now? She'd call Harry.

Harry's head appeared over large and odd, his face a shimmer of green flame which reflected badly against the round protuberance of his eyeglasses. Amazingly enough, she'd caught him before he'd departed for the Burrow for yet another round of wedding planning and he'd taken a few minutes to listen to her news.

"So. Narcissa reached out to you because of the opinion letter," the tousled-haired young man asked, his face drawn up in confusion.

"That's what she said, Harry. Of course, I assume there are more reasons than that but if she can help us, you and me, get closure than I suspect meeting with her could be the right thing to do."

"Why do you think she knows anything," he pondered. "We have no proof that her family was involved in any way, discounting the things her rabid bint of a sister said to you when the Snatchers got you that time."

Hermione nodded and tucked a curl behind her left ear, "I know but something tells me Bellatrix wasn't supposed to tell me anything. She was trying to get information on your whereabouts. We both know that Voldemort had taken up residence at Malfoy Manor at that time so anyone captured was taken there. Remember Luna, Dean, me? It just makes sense."

Silence except for the crackle of the flames, the green flicker reminding her of Hogwarts and the Dungeons. Finally, Harry shot her a wry grin. "Meet with her. IF anybody could learn anything, it would be you. Plus you do share some of the same opinions as the average pure-blood. Maybe you could earn yourself a mentor of sorts."

"Okay, Harry. I love you. Come to check on me tomorrow before you go afield. I"ll be in the office around eight. Tomorrow's my long day since today was a short one."

"Love you too, Hermione. You should at least come to dinner tonight. I am sure Molly and the rest of 'em would be happy to see you."

Hermione glanced at him with a sad smile, one which even the flicker of flames couldn't hide. "No Harry. The wedding...I just don't want my bad mood to dampen the excitement you two are rightfully experiencing. I will come on Sunday, like always. Good night."

The flames dwindled and were then gone, leaving her fireplace empty once more. With a murmured charm, Hermione cleaned up the soot and ash, whisking the dust into oblivion so that the vast expanse resumed its original cleanliness. Then she rose from her knees and headed for the kitchen to reheat the leftover bangers and mash fro the night before. She had far too many things on her mind to worry about cooking something fresh.

In a cheerily lit study, in a large imposing manor house, a slender, beautiful woman sat behind a stately desk and debated the pros and cons of contacting a certain muggle-born witch, once more. The information garnered could very well be helpful but the price for that could be more than she was willing to pay, at least out loud.

A thought then.

An offered memory?

The conversation wouldn't be needed nor would she get in any trouble. Those who had been responsible for the young man's death were dead and that memory could help ease the minds of those who had lost him, including the witch who had proffered the trade.

Yes.

The memory would do.

Within moments, and with the merest flick of her wand and a whispered incantation, Narcissa had retrieved the specific memory needed to keep her end of the bargain. Moments later, she had the silvery wisp bottled and stoppered. In even less time than it took to write this sentence, she'd called her owl to her side, once more, and gifted him a small package with firm instructions to: "Take this back to Miss Granger, Aeneas. You do not need to wait for a response."

With her final chore finished, Narcissa retreated from her study. A nice cup of tea would put an end to her day.