H0: Narcissa is innocent of all charges.

That was my starting point, the null hypothesis. Thinking objectively was the only way I could handle the chaos rolling around in my head. It was already hard to pick out details in the hazy memory of my interrogation.

"Come on," Lorelei said, hand on my back as she led me through the security gates. No one else was there anymore. Having her behind me felt like she was invading some invisible bubble, and it was difficult not to twist away from her. At least she gave me my wand back. It almost seemed to share in my relief at being reunited.

We apparated to the Tube station near my apartment. Coming up to street level was jarring. Vehicles drove by, people walked along the pavement chatting, the weather was gray and drizzly―everything seemed so normal, a regular Sunday. I pulled the blanket tighter around my pyjamas, trying to adjust.

There were other hypotheses. Alternatives. I made a mental list, H1 through H6. They'd accused Narcissa of all sorts of things, and I would have to test them against the evidence. The memory vial and parchment were my best bet. They were hidden well, as requested. I concealed them in a little pocket added to Crookshanks' collar with an extension charm. Even if someone looked around my apartment, Crookshanks wouldn't let―

"Oh, no! My cat!" I cried, running into the apartment building. "He must be so hungry! What if he ran out of water?!"

Lorelei hurried after me, saying, "Hermione, slow down! It's probably fine."

Having forgotten to bring keys, I used alohomora to unlock my door. "Crooks? Come here, buddy," I called, flicking the lights on.

The apartment was trashed.

I surveyed my belongings strewn everywhere. Kitchen cabinets hung open, contents spread on the counter. Books lay with their pages splayed in the air. Clothes littered the floor around my wardrobe. All of my furniture, even my woodstove, had been disassembled. Some things were broken open.

"Crookshanks?"

I was at the end of my rope, and coming home to this was...

Lorelei's voice interrupted my thoughts. "I'm sorry our investigators left such a mess. Narcissa likes to stash things in multiple places, we've found. Can I help you get everything sorted?"

My temper flared at seeing her walk around my apartment like she owned the place. How would she like it if I pillaged her home? Maybe I should do that, to make her feel like I did right then.

"Hermione?"

I shook my head, refocusing. "Thank you for taking care of me." It was hard not to grind my teeth together. "I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"What? You should stay home to recuperate―"

"I'll feel better if I have something to concentrate on," I said, then added angrily, "Like taking down the witch who manipulated me."

"I can relate," Lorelei said with a grim expression. "Years ago, You-Know-Who murdered someone precious to me. Hard work and dedication to a cause were the only things that kept me from falling apart." She stepped closer, breast brushing against my arm, and pushed my hair away from my face. "So come to work if you'd like. And remember, you're never truly alone. You have a lot of friends and admirers." She kissed my cheek too close to my mouth to be friendly.

Play along, Granger! I smiled tightly and tried to look bashful. "That's really sweet of you to say." My anger was close to the surface, self control all but gone. Afraid of revealing my true feelings, I turned away and opened the window, calling for my half-kneazle. He didn't come. I knelt down, fist clenched on the sill, forehead resting on my cold skin. My outer two fingers went numb. I didn't care.

H1: Narcissa was manipulating my emotions

I'd never been afraid of the dark before. Now it felt like the hood was back over my head, suffocating me. Waking up was a struggle, but I opened my eyes and whispered lumos. My wand lit up, casting a soft glow around my apartment.

Lorelei must have left. Crookshanks hadn't returned. I was alone, curled up in a ball below my open window with freezing air pouring indoors.

You're never truly alone.

Lorelei's statement was designed to be comforting, but it felt threatening. My home was almost certainly being watched in case Narcissa tried to contact me. I shook feeling back into my hands and cast a messenger patronus.

"Working undercover to prove your innocence," my message said. "Be careful, sweetheart. Eyes everywhere."

There were still hours left before sunrise, but sleep didn't sound appealing. I brewed a cup of chai tea in quiet defiance, holding the warm cup between my hands and breathing deep. It evoked memories of Narcissa, and suddenly I felt guilty. Painfully guilty. I nearly stopped trusting her. How did they do that? How did they make me forget about everything outside that room?

A manipulator would try to isolate me from friends and family, but Narcissa joined us willingly. She didn't try to make me dependent on her or undermine my self-confidence; she complimented me and encouraged me to pursue my dreams. Her lies were protective, her absences explained, her weaknesses genuine. In the light of day, I couldn't believe H1.

But thinking of my friends startled me. Another thing forgotten in the interrogation. Did Harry and Ron try to visit me? They probably weren't allowed.

And Draco! Unfamiliar worry twisted in my gut, not quite motherly, but protective. Did he endure the same treatment I got? Draco had a lot more time to master occlumency, and maybe the hasty polyjuice alibi helped. That was my only comfort. Was he back at law school now? I needed to find and talk to him.

There was so much to do. It would be nice to go to the library and find all the answers there, but this was uncharted territory. I needed to collect the information myself. I started planning.

H2: Narcissa murdered an auror.

Most shops weren't open yet in Diagon Alley, but the headquarters of the Daily Prophet never slept. I slipped into their storefront and purchased a newspaper from Saturday, reading it while listening to the half-magical, half-mechanical printing press churn out fresh papers.

Murder at the Manor

WILTSHIRE, Dec 26 – Yesterday Narcissa Black apparently murdered an auror, Edgar Huber, 48, during a Christmas day ball at Malfoy manor. Huber and his partner Raymond Carty were at the manor responding to an escape attempt by Black's ex-husband Lucius Malfoy, who has been living comfortably under house arrest despite his many serious crimes. Black evaded arrest and remains a fugitive. Those close to her have been brought in for questioning to uncover any involvement.

The rest of the article included interviews with guests and details of Lucius' crimes. I skimmed it, but couldn't bear to read statements from guests who thought Narcissa had broken the trust built at the ball. I picked up today's edition as well, hot off the press.

Betrayal

LONDON, Dec 28 – Hermione Granger was released yesterday afternoon after a long day in ministry custody.

Long day? A long day?! I had to stop reading, so furious my blood boiled. A LONG DAY. I clenched and unclenched my fists, overwhelmed for several moments before I could continue.

No charges have been brought against her in connection with Narcissa Black's murder of the auror Edgar Huber on the 25th. Acquaintances confirm that Black and Granger were romantically involved, and some have expressed sympathy for this predictable but painful betrayal. A source in the ministry revealed that Granger has agreed to assist with the murder investigation. Black's trial is set for the 31st, and her nonattendance will be considered pleading guilty.

My anger faded, replaced by urgency. It might be impossible to find enough evidence to set the record straight, especially before the trial. The 31st was Thursday, just a few days away.

My first day working in the Department of Mysteries should not have been like this. Narcissa and I should have arrived together excitedly before parting to do our respective jobs. I shouldn't have been alone, dejected, and unsure whether I could trust anyone here.

I crossed the Planet Room and went up the hidden stairway to the offices overlooking it. Walking down the hall toward Maria Edgecombe's office, I overheard her arguing loudly with Lorelei.

"But why did you have to kick me out?" Edgecombe asked angrily. "I already suspected she helped Black get away. What exactly did you do to make her admit it? We have a code of ethics, you know!"

I remembered how startled Edgecombe looked when the hood went over my head, and suddenly understood that she didn't realize what was going to happen. My new mentor didn't deliberately throw me to the wolves. Some of the tightness in my chest loosened.

"The remainder of her questioning is highly classified. You shouldn't have tried to interfere," Lorelei snapped. "We do not discuss things in front of detainees. I told you, she wasn't cooperating."

Lorelei was there the entire time. The entire time. I'd suspected it, but hearing it confirmed was staggering. She must have been laughing inside when she assured me that anyone watching my interrogation would be suspended.

Edgecombe said fiercely, "That isn't reassuring. I swear, I'll go straight to Chun and tell her―"

"No need to bother the department head. I didn't break any rules," Lorelei said dismissively. "Goodness, you're acting like we cursed her fingernails off. Hermione is fine; in fact, she's helping with the investigation now. All we had to do was show her what kind of woman Black really is."

"What about the hood, then? In The Manipulation of Human Behavior, Biderman and Zimmer's contributors found that sensory deprivation may reduce cognitive function, and severe interrogations lead to impaired memory recall and less reliable―"

"You Ravenclaws and your books. We softened her a little, and it worked. Your methods failed."

"I made a mistake! I shouldn't have let you convince me to use a legilimens. It takes time and care to build rapport. You Hufflepuffs are supposed to be patient."

"You have no idea how patient I can be," Lorelei replied.

Edgecombe grumbled, "Excuse me. I'm going to wait for my mentee to arrive and hope that my relationship with her hasn't been completely ruined!"

I hurried back to the stairs and pretended to reach the hallway just as Edgecombe stormed out of her office.

"Oh! You're here already," she said, slowing her steps.

"I wasn't sure where to go," I said. "Sorry I'm early."

"No, that's good. Most Unspeakables get here early to catch up on overnight developments. Come on, we need to talk." She reached for my arm, and I flinched away reflexively to protect my wrists. Her hand froze in midair. "Granger...?"

Struggling to stay grounded, I reminded myself the interrogation was over. I wasn't in that room anymore. "Sorry, just a little jumpy. I'm fine."

"So I've heard. But I think I've been misinformed," Edgecombe said, looking me over as if she could see the damage. "Were you tortured?"

"Not really, it was just minor things," I said, unable to admit it, even to myself. "The ministry wouldn't actually torture me. We're all on the same side."

"The ministry isn't a monolith. There are all sorts of people working here, just like anywhere else. And 'minor things' can combine to be just as intense as torture. Believe me, I'm a trained interrogator."

I took halting breaths, trembling as I started to accept what she was saying. After the war, with Kingsley in charge and my status as a hero, I foolishly felt untouchable at the ministry.

Through a nearby office window, I could see the entire solar system. My eyes found Saturn, then skipped to Neptune. Brin was right.

Lorelei came down the hall toward us. "Hermione, will you help me search Narcissa's office? We might've overlooked some hint of her whereabouts."

My mentor turned around and stood in her way. "Granger needs training. She's staying with me."

"She wants to help with the investigation," Lorelei insisted. "I can train her on the job."

They glared at each other, tension rolling off them in waves. I was torn, desperate to get away from Lorelei but well aware that staying close to her was the best way to find out more.

Ignoring the leaden feeling in my stomach, I tugged on Lorelei's hand and pulled her toward me. "I want to go with you. Let's hunt down Narcissa together."

Appeased, Lorelei led me away.

Edgecombe called out, "Send a memo if you need me. I'll be looking into a few minor things."

I gave her a tentative smile, and she returned it.

"Nothing," I huffed, closing a folder. I sat down in Narcissa's desk chair and shut my eyes, imagining she was right there separated only by time.

"Don't get discouraged," Lorelei said, tossing another folder my way. The venus fly-shredder in the corner swayed hungrily at the smell of parchment in the air.

I sighed and opened the folder, finding a stack of stubs from Narcissa's pay cheques. The amounts were small―very small. One galleon and nine sickles a week, increasing only a little over time.

"Merlin's pants, she gets paid like a..." Realization struck. "...like a house elf."

"You're exaggerating," Lorelei said absently, searching elsewhere.

I flipped through the stack, recognizing each raise and becoming certain that this was another rule Narcissa had to follow because of her trial in the house elves' reconciliation court. Some of the pay stubs had handwritten insults from the accounting department.

"Money doesn't lie. Now we know how much you're really worth," I read aloud, then found another taunt. "Maybe they'll give you a raise if you actually do something useful." And another. "Will you ever be an asset, or just a huge liability?"

I scowled at the needless bullying. The fact that Narcissa was still willing to work for such low wages spoke volumes about how much this job meant to her. No one should belittle her for it.

"Maybe she did something useful," Lorelei mused, perusing a small notebook. "Extracting material from dementors to make items that suppress magic... Do you know about this?"

"No, but I knew dementors could have that effect. We both saw it," I said, reading over her shoulder. Narcissa's notes were as meticulous as mine. Merlin, I'd love to collaborate on a project.

Lorelei said, "Death is the division for anything involving dementors. Stay here and keep searching. I'm going to the Death Chamber to take a peek at her laboratory experiments."

"A lab in the Death Chamber? That's a little disturbing," I said. "Are all of her projects related to death?"

Lorelei scanned a concise list on the first page. "Yes. She's a disturbing individual."

H3: Narcissa has an ally in the ministry.

Obviously, I did not stay there. With my robes reversed to be invisible, I stealthily followed Lorelei to the Death Chamber, approaching the stone benches around its edge. I avoided looking at the silent, fluttering Veil in the center of the room, but it was impossible to avoid thinking about Sirius. Did Narcissa know this is where her cousin died? Would she care?

"Ah, here it is," Lorelei muttered, waving her security badge over the name Black etched into a stone bench. It shifted with a grinding sound to reveal a large laboratory table with crafting materials and slightly familiar racks of test tubes full of a dark substance.

"Can I help you?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a raspy voice spoke behind me. Saul Croaker approached us from some dim corner. To my relief, he was talking to Lorelei, not me.

"Hello, Saul," Lorelei greeted, holding up the notebook. "I'm leading the Black investigation, and one of her projects caught my eye. You both work in here, right? Do you know about her research?"

"I do," he said. "Narcissa was a good colleague before all of this. Which project?"

"She wrote about making two prototype items out of dementor material," Lorelei said, turning pages and glancing at the lab table.

"An amulet and an armband," Croaker confirmed, gesturing to a tray full of necklaces. "The amulet dims your magic enough that it won't interfere with muggle technology. The armbands prevent you from using magic entirely."

"Now that is useful," Lorelei murmured. "Do the armbands work?"

"Of course they work," he responded, letting out a hoarse laugh. "That's what Black would say if she were here. But they're not finished. She's still trying to reduce the long-term side effects. Depression, despair, the usual. They―" He frowned and touched an empty tray. "―should be right here. Over a dozen pairs."

Lorelei searched all over the table. "Maybe someone else has them. Is anyone helping her?"

"Not that I know of, except me, regrettably. I've helped test them since she refuses to touch the damn things."

"There's no one else? Any other colleagues or allies?" she asked.

"Not really. She's rather off-putting until you get to know her. Oh, a friend visited sometimes. The young mister Terence Higgs really looked up to her. He works in your division, doesn't he?"

"Terry. Yes." Lorelei narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Will you come with me to the Brain Room to ask him about the handcuffs?"

"The armbands?"

"Right."

When they were gone, I picked up one of the metal amulets from the tray. The dark pendant hanging from it felt cold to the touch.

"How about that," I breathed.

Lorelei was keen on the armbands, but to me, this would be way more handy. When I put the amulet on, it felt like wearing a wet blanket, but it wasn't bad.

I hunted for a way to test it and spotted a Gameboy. My heart clenched. I nearly got burned alive after my magic interfered with that kid's game. There were plenty of other devices Narcissa could've used for testing, but she picked this one. She made these necklaces because of me.

I figured out how to turn the Gameboy on. A logo appeared, no glitches. Smiling to myself, I put everything down and headed for the door, hearing the stone bench slide back into place behind me.

Lorelei returned to Narcissa's office and found me right where I was supposed to be, searching through files.

"Have any luck?"

"No," I replied. "How about you?"

"A possible lead on Narcissa's ally in the ministry. The ally may have taken some of her research, but it occurred to me that they would require clearance to access her lab, which greatly narrows it down. There's only Kingsley Shacklebolt, Chun Chang, and Saul Croaker. And me, of course, for the investigation. Do you know if she was close to any of them?"

"I'm not sure. We didn't talk that much about work," I said, then grinned. "How do I know it's not you?"

Offended, Lorelei said, "I would sooner cut off my wand arm than ever help that bitch."

"Yeah?" My grin turned sharkish. I stood up and took a few steps closer. "You're definitely nothing like her." She backed up toward the corner of the office, looking uncomfortable when I held her hips. Was she even gay? I wondered. Just one more step, and...

Lorelei screamed, leaping to the side. The venus fly-shredder chomped happily on a torn-off piece of her robe.

"I'm so sorry!" I lied, trying my best not to laugh.

Flustered, Lorelei straightened her robes the best she could and said, "Work isn't an appropriate place for this anyway."

"You're right." She was wrong. I glanced at the desk, remembering a very heated encounter with Narcissa. Maybe someday we could continue where we left off.

"Meet me at Malfoy manor this afternoon to search there. Have a good lunch hour," she said, leaving quickly.

I tossed a paper ball to the venus fly-shredder. "Good boy."

H4: Narcissa made wands to arm Death Eaters.

Doing my best to avoid being followed down Diagon Alley after grabbing a bite to eat, I entered Ollivander's shop with another accusation in mind. A little bell tinkled, but it took some time before the elderly wandmaker appeared.

"Ah, Hermione Granger. Is your wand still treating you well?" Ollivander asked, more stooped over than I remembered. He watched cautiously as I did a few magical sweeps of the shop to detect eavesdroppers.

"Actually, I have a new wand that a... mutual acquaintance crafted for me," I said. "Do you remember teaching wandlore to Narcissa Black? Back when she was a Malfoy and you were―"

"A prisoner beneath their manor," Ollivander said, stroking his chin. "Yes, I remember quite well. Narcissa Black, walnut with dragon heartstring, like her sisters. Twelve inches, quite snappy. Merlin, the arguments we had! Did you know she had the gall to dispute a truth every wandmaker knows?"

I smiled wryly. "The wand chooses the wizard. Yes."

"She wanted to intuit the reasons why wands choose people and reverse engineer it―which is incredibly arrogant, you understand. Almost admirably so. A brilliant apprentice, really, no matter what side she was on. I wish we could've worked together under better circumstances. Haven't seen her since."

"I guess it's too late to reunite now that she's been accused of murder," I said sadly, wishing things were different.

"Ah, the murder. Casts a different light on things, doesn't it. You said she made a wand for you? Let me see."

I let him hold it, reluctant but confident I could trust the man who first sold me a wand.

"Hmm, same core, nicely done. You're still the same person after all. Eleven inches―slightly longer than your first. Pleasantly bendy―hmm, that wouldn't have suited you when you were young, but perhaps now... yes. And blackthorn―how curious..."

"It was close at hand," I commented.

"But not chosen as a last resort, I think. Are you a warrior?"

"I always thought of myself as a scholar," I replied. "But Narcissa saw a warrior in me." Memories rose of fighting alongside Harry and Ron in our Hogwarts years, then the struggles and brushes with death on our recent mission, then resisting my interrogation. "And I suppose I'm both."

Ollivander nodded in understanding, casting sparks with my wand before handing it back. "If you feel well matched to it, then I think Lady Black did well. There are no signs of tampering or hidden weaknesses or anything else you might be concerned about. Murderer or not, she made you a perfectly good wand. That much is clear."

"What?" My mouth fell open. "I'm not worried she did something to my wand. She would never―I know it's perfectly good."

Now Ollivander looked confused. "Then what did you need me for?"

"I was hoping you could make a statement for an affidavit," I said. "The ministry is accusing Narcissa of crafting wands for Death Eaters. You and I both know she makes wands for specific people. So if you look at the evidence and say for sure the wands weren't made for any of Voldemort's followers, then they can't charge her with arming the enemy."

"You want me to testify on her behalf?" Ollivander asked, incredulous.

I looked down. "Yes."

"And what if she truly was crafting those wands for Death Eaters?"

I grimaced but insisted, "I want to uncover the truth, no matter what it is."

He gave me a shrewd look and eventually said, "I'll close up shop for an hour and take a look. Lady Black didn't have to treat us prisoners kindly, you know, but she did. Despite the risk of throwing her loyalty into doubt."

Proud of her bravery, I said, "She didn't really support Voldemort the second time around."

Ollivander responded, "Hmm... not surprising. Most folk only followed him because their families were supposed to be elevated and given power. Instead, they were pawns. Disposable. He drew people in with promises, then used them."

For a moment, I remembered why I despised people like Narcissa in the past. "If they hadn't been so obsessed with power, we could have avoided all of this pain and destruction."

"Power is merely the ability to make things happen according to your will. It magnifies who you are, whether you're cruel or kind, greedy or generous. Your friend Mr. Potter is powerful, as was He Who Must Not Be Named. Both accomplished tremendous feats."

I made a face, not sure if tremendous was the word I'd use. Ollivander sat down heavily in a spindly chair.

"Will you ask Lady Black to come by?" he asked. "There's so much to pass on, so much that shouldn't be forgotten..."

"She's a fugitive," I muttered. "She can't visit."

"Oh, of course. Sometimes recent events don't quite stick," he said apologetically, voice fading as he said, "But I remember every wand I've ever sold." He looked very old right then, and I couldn't help but wonder how close he was to the end of his life.

Ollivander was so universally respected that the team of aurors searching the manor let him right in. Two escorted him to Narcissa's tiny, well-secured workroom to examine the evidence. I watched from nearby while flipping through the notes Narcissa had left.

"Hmm, yes, I see," Ollivander mumbled to himself, peering down the length of a wand. He flexed it a little, then set it down next to the others he'd inspected. "All of these wands were made for one person."

The two aurors looked at each other in confusion. "Who?" one asked. "Are they for Malfoy? Lestrange? Macnair?"

"Black," Ollivander replied. "Narcissa Black." He waved his hand over the array of wands on the table, littered with evidence tags. "She made every single one of them for herself. They're all variations on a theme."

I found pages of notes confirming it. "Trying to see how many parameters she can tweak before it's no longer a good match. Which you would know, if anyone had bothered to actually read this."

"Could Death Eaters use them, though?" the other auror asked.

"Hmm... I suppose, just as poorly as they could use your wand," Ollivander replied. "But if Lady Black had intended that, she would have chosen materials to suit them and tuned each one differently; she's more than capable of crafting bespoke wands. These are experimental, that much is clear."

The first auror blew his hair out of his eyes. "Huh. Carty was the one who assumed she was arming the enemy. Alright, Mr. Ollivander, take this and write your statement for our records. There'll be no false accusations on my watch."

H4 could be dismissed. I hid a relieved smile and asked, "Is Carty also the one who accused Narcissa of helping with the escapes?"

"No, some Unspeakable told us that," he replied. "A witch."

"Dark hair, gray eyes, taller than me?" I asked, picturing Lorelei.

"Sounds about right, didn't get a good look at her eyes. She had better evidence, though. A letter Black herself wrote."

H5: Narcissa wasn't loyal to me.

When Ollivander was gone, I wandered down the hall, waiting for Lorelei to arrive. That damned letter was on my mind. I needed to learn more about it, perhaps by finding the recipient. I didn't believe it was a lover, but it was someone Narcissa loved...

And I was an idiot. No legal recourse? She loved a young wizard going to law school. Now there was another reason to speak to Draco soon.

I'd completely forgotten about my Christmas present until a friendly auror came up and gave it to me. He handed me a piece of mail as well.

"They go together," he explained. "You can't take home any potential evidence, but you at least deserve to see them. Black seems different than I thought. She really loves you, doesn't she. Sometimes things just go sideways."

Throat tight, I gave him my heartfelt thanks and carried the two items to Narcissa's room to look at them. My growing anger toward aurors faded as I realized that a few bad apples had given me a terrible impression in recent weeks.

The mail was from Andromeda, dated the day after Christmas, and felt thicker than a simple letter. I lifted the already-open flap and found a set of pictures. They were all taken at the Christmas ball. It hurt too much to look at them, so I set them aside and tugged the loose wrapping paper away from my present.

It was a photo album. The first picture was the one of me brushing Narcissa's teeth. She must've asked my mother for the negative so she could develop it magically. I laughed with tears in my eyes as I watched the two of us being so silly and happy and carefree.

The following photos were taken by Andromeda at the Burrow, capturing all the joy of our Yule celebration. There were some tender, candid shots of Narcissa and me amongst our friends and family.

Narcissa must have been waiting for the Christmas ball pictures before giving me this present. But even including them, most of the photo album would be blank, and that more than anything made me break down crying, because it felt like the beginning of something permanent, something so long-lasting we'd need photos to remember it all someday. It was not a gift you give to someone you intend to use and discard. The caricature of Narcissa they'd painted during my interrogation didn't match up to reality at all.

Lorelei found me crying there. I let her think the album was twisting the knife in my heart, though in truth it gave me a sense of peace I hadn't felt since Narcissa and I last parted.

I headed home after a long afternoon of searching. We found no signs of where Narcissa had gone, though I did find out where Draco's law school was so I could find him tonight. Out of curiosity, I also took a peek at the crime scene. It was just a room blackened in unnatural patterns from fiendfyre. But I started to wonder about the timeline. Carty was chasing Narcissa, so how did he have time to bring Lucius to prison? A portkey could work inside the manor, but even that takes time. And why would Narcissa stick around long enough to cast a Dark Mark instead of fleeing immediately? Something didn't add up.

A welcome sight greeted me at my apartment. I'd left my window open all day, and now Crookshanks sat in the middle of the messy floor, licking his shoulder nonchalantly.

"Crooks!" I cried, sweeping him up into my arms and burying my face in his dense fur. "I was afraid something happened to you! Did the search scare you off?" He smelled faintly of Phoebe's apartment. "Is that where you were? With Phoebe? I'll give her something nice for taking care of you. Even if it did make me worry. I missed you!"

He looked affronted by my overflowing emotions, so I sat down with him and gave him a good scratch. After bonding and eating and talking for a while―okay, I did most of the talking―I tucked my hand under his collar and pulled Narcissa's memory vial and note from the hidden pocket.

"Let's see what we have here," I mumbled, unfolding and decrypting the note first. It was a set of instructions on how to read messages passed through Dark Marks. Not too surprising, and now I felt sure the vial contained Narcissa's memory of the message she found in the cell block. But I needed a pensieve to view it. Perhaps I could kill two birds with one stone, since a magical law school might have one available. I'd have to be careful visiting Draco, since both of us were certainly being watched.

H6: Narcissa is helping Voldemort's followers escape.

The threat of constant surveillance felt like tight bands around my chest. I was new to all of this, but I finally had an inkling of what life was like for Narcissa. Using everything I'd learned in my training, I hopefully avoided being followed on my way to the law campus and looked around. No pensieves that I could find. Too expensive, I supposed. Maybe there was one in the Brain Room, but I'd have to avoid Lorelei.

I found Draco's room in the dormitories and slipped a message under the door to lure him out. He came out after a few minutes and walked down the hall with a textbook, thinking a classmate needed to borrow it. I sidled up next to him, invisible in my Unspeakable robes.

"Draco, it's Hermione," I whispered. "Don't react. Follow me so we can talk."

He hid his initial surprise well and followed my whispered instructions through an SDR―surveillance detection route―that I'd planned out. Over time, I noticed two wizards tailing him. It took five more minutes of evasion before I felt sure we'd lost them, though I cast muffliato just in case. We hid in the campus library amongst the tall bookshelves.

"Alone now?" Draco asked, starting to look angry.

"Yes, as far as I can tell. Are―"

He pushed me against a bookcase with his arm against my throat. "How could you!"

I gasped for air, unable to speak with the wind knocked out of me.

"How could you!" he said again, tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes. "She trusted you! She loves you! And all it took was one frame job to make you lose faith?!"

"Draco," I wheezed. "I believe her! Why do you think... I was so careful... to get us alone?"

His grip loosened. "You believe her? But the news..."

"I'm fooling everyone so I can find out what's really going on," I told him, breathing more easily. "Are you okay? Did they interrogate you?"

"I played my cards right and scared them with legalese. They let me go after a few hours. But you..." Draco's haunted eyes met mine. "Mother's pocket watch showed your hand on torture for a long, long time, Granger. I―I kind of hated seeing that."

"Narcissa must've been in agony," I whispered, covering my mouth as I struggled not to cry.

Draco swallowed hard and nodded. "But I was also proud, because... because I knew every moment that went by was proof you hadn't given up on her. On us."

"I almost did," I admitted, ashamed. "But I pulled through. We're going to get to the bottom of this and prove she's innocent, alright?"

He stepped back and looked away, painful emotions rippling over his face.

"Is Narcissa still at the safe house?" I asked. "Can we contact her?"

"No. I think... it's best if I don't tell you."

I winced and squeezed my eyes shut. "Oh."

"Just in case," he added, but it was clear he wasn't sure if I'd given up in the end. I couldn't blame him.

"Could you at least confirm something for me? My interrogators―they showed me part of a letter and said Narcissa wrote it. They tried to convince me she has another lover."

"That's absurd," Draco scoffed.

"I know. I knew as soon as I could think clearly. But more importantly, the letter said she's trying to relocate Voldemort's followers. Is it true?"

He chewed on his lip and wouldn't meet my eyes.

I pressed him about it. "If the letter is real, I know you're the one she sent it to. What else did it say? Help me understand. I don't want to believe she's helping them escape, after everything they've done. Did they take it out of context to make her look bad?"

"I knew you wouldn't understand," Draco sneered. "Mother thought you might come around, but I knew you could never sympathize with Death Eaters."

I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me again. "What? What are you saying?"

"I'm saying the letter is real, and you're a heartless, self-righteous Gryffindor who never walked a day in someone else's shoes."

"I'm not heartless!" I yelled, shocked. "I've learned to like some Slytherins. I've defended purebloods! I comforted Rookwood's wife, for fuck's sake." Narcissa's language must have rubbed off on me. "So don't talk to me about what a Gryffindor I am."

"Then why are you freaking out about the letter? I know Death Eaters have done horrible things, I know. I had a front row seat. But they're still people, and we're the only ones who know enough to help."

"It could be a lot worse, you know," I replied.

Disgusted, Draco turned away. I felt like we were talking at cross-purposes, but I couldn't figure out why. House arrest wasn't that bad.

"Wait! Please make sure Narcissa knows I believe her." I caught his arm.

He ripped it away from me. "Don't touch me, you―"

"Call me a mudblood. I dare you."

His lip curled. "―Crouchist." He walked away.

It took a moment for the weight of the unfamiliar insult to hit me. Crouchist. Like Barty Crouch Senior, merciless.

"I won't give up on her!" I called after Draco, but he was gone. And Narcissa might not be innocent of all charges.