A/N: *skulks in, under cover of darkness*

*ferrets around in your room, looking for a good spot to hide the chapter*

*spies the drawer where you keep other decadently forbidden and naughty things*

*stashes the chapter there before scampering away*

Tip of My Tongue

By Kittenshift17

Chapter 35

Lucius Malfoy paced back and forth across his office relentlessly, his mind churning as he tried to figure out just what had gone so wrong with his plan. He had warned Narcissa to attend something public and to stay away from the hospital. He'd as good as told her the time and date that the little wretch would be spirited away by Dolohov. And instead of listening to him, she'd done the exact opposite. She'd gone to the hospital, where she'd been one of the last people to see the girl alive!

Worse, Draco had gotten involved. His son – usually so willing to look the other way and to avoid involving himself in Lucius's affairs – had thrown himself right into the thick of things, as well. And all for a cheating little trollop who'd gone and gotten herself knocked up by some twat who was neither as handsome nor as rich as Draco! What was the world coming to that his wife and his son had stopped relying on him to handle things his way? When had they wrestled control from his vice-grip and begun asserting their own plots without bothering to consult him and with an utter disregard for his own schemes?

This was unacceptable!

What was worse, Narcissa had known about the Granger bitch and her spawn for years! Years! And she'd never told him! Not once throughout that time, even when they'd feared that Draco and Astoria might not be compatible for the sake of reproduction, she'd never uttered a single peep about the grandson they already had.

What the devil was that all about? This was beyond reconciliation! The spawn of a mudblood, supposedly rife with Malfoy genetics – the purest of blood running through his impure veins, polluted by the wretchedness of muggle affliction. It was an outrage! A scandal! Draco, he could entirely be surprised about. No matter Lucius's lesson on the matter, the boy had always had a soft spot for that wretched mudblood bitch. Always. No amount of discouragement of disdain had dissuaded his interested, though Lucius had laboured under the delusion that while he might not have prevented the boy's attraction to the witch, at least he needn't fear such disgrace as having Draco bed the bitch.

Clearly, he hadn't enforced his stance on the matter strongly enough, and now his wife and his son and the entire bloody wizarding world were claiming that the bitch had birthed a little beast of Draco's seed.

Well, he was no grandson of Lucius's! No half-blood with a mudblood mother was ever going to set foot in Malfoy Manor claiming to be the heir to their fortune. No, sir! No, Lucius's plans for handling Astoria and her sprog might've been skittled thanks to the meddling of his wife and his son, but that was because he'd foolishly put his faith in a useless twat like Dolohov to handle the matter swiftly and without incident.

Poor planning, really. That's what it came down to. He ought to have known better than to send a lunatic to do a professional's job.

No, if he wanted to handle this new threat to his family's pristine bloodline, he would just have to ensure that he entrusted it to no one who could go cocking it up. Which meant only one thing.

He was going to have to do it himself.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Narcissa Malfoy would confess that she had expected a lot of things when she landed in the entrance hall of their French hideaway, but it hadn't been to be greeted by a muggle.

Merlin, even knowing just who that muggle was and knowing they shared a grandson, for a long moment after she'd landed, Narcissa's lip had curled back from her perfectly straight and bright white teeth as her oldest and most ingrained prejudices reared their heads.

"Oh, thank goodness you've come," Wendy Granger blurted out by way of greeting, hurrying toward Narcissa, heedless of the danger of surprising a witch trained in the art of duelling by masters of the craft.

Without thinking, Narcissa drew her wand on pure instinct, narrowing her eyes when the muggle woman immediately came to a halt across the room and eyed her warily

"Narcissa?" Wendy asked uncertainly, and it became clear to Narcissa in a heartbeat that Hermione had obviously taught her about such magics as Polyjuice Potion.

Distrust shone in her eyes and she took a hesitant step backward, apparently thinking to run should Narcissa prove to be anyone but herself.

"Wendy," Narcissa nodded in greeting, lowering her wand and straightening her robes. "Apologies. I wasn't expecting you."

Wendy nodded, still looking uncertain and more than a little rattled. Her hair was all in a mess as though she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly and she had care lines etched into the crinkles around her eyes and chiselled into the frown line on her forehead.

"I didn't mean to startle you," the woman offered by way of apology, looking rather like she wished the need for niceties was beyond them and a bit like she needed help, if Narcissa was being completely honest. "I was just a bit too excited to have someone come who can get us out of here."

"Is everything alright?" Narcissa asked, frowning. "Are the children well?"

"They're fine. They're upstairs, asleep," Wendy sighed, waving a dismissive hand as though the fate of Narcissa's two grandsons was of little consequence. "It's Hermione that I'm worried about."

"What's the matter with her?" Narcissa wanted to know, striding forward and intent on getting to the bottom of this immediately now that she'd recovered from the shock of a muggle standing in a Malfoy dwelling. Lucius would have a whole herd of hippogriffs if he could see them now, she was sure of it and as she moved, she noted the wild gesticulating portraits of Malfoy ancestors lining the walls, all silenced, by the looks of things.

"Well, she read the paper this morning… I don't know if you saw the article Skeeter wrote? Outing her secret about Aurelian and insinuating such things! She wanted rather desperately to get out – likely to do the wretched bitch some well-deserved harm – but I assume the entire property is heavily warded because she stomped over every inch she could access, screeching in fury when apparating kept failing."

"She's claustrophobic, isn't she?" Narcissa asked, recalling that small fact about her grandson's mother. "But then… this is hardly a small space."

She waved her hand toward the grandeur of the estate indicatively, doubting that anyone could ever feel like it wasn't big enough.

"Claustrophobia presents most often as simply a fear of being trapped, and currently, we are trapped," Wendy explained quietly.

"I take it that she's not handling the situation very well?" Narcissa asked seriously, eyeing the other woman sternly and not about to suffer any more hysterics from anyone.

She was a sensible woman and had never been prone to hysteria or theatrics like her sisters. She preferred to be cool, calm and collected at all times. Poised, her mother had called it. Narcissa had dedicated her life to remaining as poised as possible at all times, no matter the situation. It was a skill she'd relied on when a red-eyed demon had invaded her home during the height of the war, and it was a skill she would carry with her to her death bed, she was sure.

"She's taken over the potions lab and won't come out," Wendy confessed, wringing her hands together. "Even the children can't lure her out."

"What's she doing in there?" Narcissa frowned, wondering if the girl had gone mad.

Given the things she'd endured during the war and the PTSD that Narcissa knew she secretly suffered from, she wouldn't be surprised if the pressure of not being able to escape – failing at something so simple as freeing herself from a building – could certainly have caused a few cracks in the young witch's unruffled façade.

"Working, or so she claims," Wendy sighed, leading the way down the hall in the direction of the potions lab as though Narcissa were a guest in the house, rather than the owner. "Whenever I manage to peek inside, the benches are a mess. She hasn't showered since Draco left, I'm sure, and she's been in there working and muttering to herself about fairies and a virus and Dolohov and, and I'm quoting here "that fucking beetle I should've crushed when I had the chance". Narcissa, my daughter's always been something of a mutterer, but I confess, I'm concerned."

"I'll see to her," Narcissa assured her.

"Oh, but listen to me, fretting myself and upsetting you when you've already had such a rough go of things, dear. I saw the article. Arrested! The nerve of that Harry Potter! You wait until I see him again, I'll twist his ear for even thinking such a respectable and upstanding woman could be involved in a kidnapping."

Narcissa smiled tightly.

"Yes, well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that he was wrong in assuming I had information that could help him, given that my idiot husband was the one who let Dolohov loose and had him kidnap Astoria in the first place," Narcissa admitted quietly. "In any case, I'm sure Potter rather regrets his meddling, given that he's lying unconscious in a hospital bed, half dead from a curse known to freeze its victim's hearts."

Wendy gasped dramatically and Narcissa might've thought the woman would've clutched her pearls, were she wearing any.

"And Draco?" Wendy asked in a tight voice. "Astoria?"

Narcissa turned to look at the other woman seriously. They shared a grandson and an urge to get their children romantically involved. Muggle or not, Narcissa supposed they could be cordial.

"Draco is exhausted. The magic he performed to rescue my ex-daughter-in-law from the clutches of that psychopath depleted his energy reserves. He is recuperating in the hospital, though he woke long enough to tell me what curses Potter and Astoria had endured, and to insist that I bring you, Hermione, Aurelian and Scorpius back to England at my earliest convenience."

Narcissa shook her head, a little of her frosty demeanour melting away as she thought of how brave and selfless her son had been.

"Astoria, I am uncertain of. She was in surgery when I spoke to the healers about the curse Dolohov had used on her. They refused to allow me into the room, but I believe she would be in a very bad way. Antonin Dolohov is not known for his mercy or his patience. He'd have done truly unspeakable things to that girl – such things that would make a quiet death in the hospital a mercy. If she lives through this, she will never be the same – never be right again. He doesn't just enjoy violation and torture, our Dolohov. He likes to worm his way inside their heads. He kept that girl prisoner for days, tormenting her, trying to break her. He likes to bring other down to his level. Should she survive… well… let's just say that a restraining order might become necessary."

Wendy's eyes widened in shock at the very suggestion and Narcissa shrugged her slim shoulders. She was tired and she was more than ready to return to the Manor so that she could shower off the events of the days since she'd been arrested.

Turning away from the muggle woman once more, Narcissa's heels clicked on the marble floors of the mansion as she made her way to the potions laboratory. When she reached the door, she found it locked and warded, but a few jabs of her wand undid the enchantments.

Hermione Granger looked manic when Narcissa unlocked the door and pushed it open. Her riot of curls was frizzing out of control and there was a look in her eyes that warned against getting too close.

"Wendy?" Narcissa asked, her wand still in her hand as she eyed the witch who'd lifted her gaze to Narcissa's without blinking, looking rather like a wild animal waiting to pounce. "Why don't you be a dear and round up the boys? We'll be leaving shortly. Chandy?"

The elf appeared with a pop and gasped in horror at the mess within the lab before beginning to cluck her tongue, tsking the young woman for daring to make such a mess.

"Mistress?" Chandy asked.

"Pack everyone's things," Narcissa said. "We're leaving."

The elf nodded, disappearing to set about her task, but not before throwing another disgusted look at the lab.

"But…" Wendy began, obviously worried about her daughter.

Narcissa closed the door in her face before she could continue.

"You look a fright, Miss Granger," Narcissa informed the mudblood girl she had grown so fond of in recent years.

Hermione didn't say anything, though she did break her unnerving stare to add something to a potion she was brewing, dropping what looked like an entire bat's wing into the mixture and causing a small, controlled explosion.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, forgoing the manners she usually displayed.

"Bringing you home," Narcissa said. "Astoria has been rescued, and Dolohov has been apprehended."

"I saw," Hermione nodded slowly, and Narcissa wasn't sure she liked the way the other woman's mouth twisted bitterly.

"The paper?" Narcissa guessed, knowing Draco's picture had been plastered across the cover as he cradled a broken Astoria and shouldered the weight of Britain's Head Auror as the Saviour of Wizarding Britain dragged the half-dead body of an escaped Death Eater in his wake.

Hermione nodded again, tipping her head to one side and regarding her with all the cool detachment Narcissa had once seen on the face of Fenrir Greyback when he'd regarded her son. A shiver ran down her spine. It was an unsettling sort of focus caught somewhere between intrigue, distaste, and a vicious urge to lash out.

She'd never liked it from the werewolf, and she liked it even less from Hermione.

"You are… upset about it?" Narcissa guessed, frowning a little as she regarded the girl warily.

There was definitely something wrong with her, and a strong Calming Draught might be in order.

"What's to be upset about?" she asked detachedly. "I assume they're all still live?"

"I believe they are, yes," Narcissa nodded.

"That's a shame…" Hermione said quietly, and Narcissa hoped very much that the witch was referring to Dolohov, alone, and not to anyone else within the party that had featured on the front cover of the newspaper.

"I'm sure that once Potter regains his full strength, he will be determined to wring a good many truths out of Dolohov regarding his numerous crimes before he will be administer the Dementor's Kiss, or perhaps simply receive the Killing Curse," Narcissa explained quietly, knowing the man would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law before they would even consider killing him. He would be forced under Veritaserum to reveal the truth of every misdeed he'd ever done before he'd be put to death, no matter his attempt on an Auror's life.

"Oh, I know," Hermione nodded, her eyes leaving Narcissa's face. "But they can't kill him yet… I need him."

"Yet you just said it was a shame he still lives," Narcissa pointed out, very much hoping that was what the girl meant.

Hermione sighed heavily, her shoulders hunching a little.

"Yes, well," she said. "It's a shame he lives because now I will have to talk to him."

"About what, might I ask?" Narcissa raised one eyebrow, never lowering her wand lest the girl be lulling her into a false sense of security.

"I…" Hermione frowned. "I know I seem… manic," she said quietly. "In truth, I feel manic."

Narcissa waited for her to go on, knowing the witch wasn't one to leave a conversation unfinished and a topic open in such a manner.

"I had to barricade myself in," she whispered hoarsely. "I wanted to…"

She mimed strangling something invisible and Narcissa lifted her wand a little more.

"It's the effects of the virus," she went on. "It's progressed. My headaches and tiredness were only precursors. Ginny grew needy, and Astoria grew whiny and simpering in the later stages. I thought, because the expression of those things is similar, that the emotional state of the witch was simply engorged and that I too might grow weepy and pathetic."

"You have not?" Narcissa guessed.

"The virus is much more insidious," Hermione explained quietly. "It strips away estrogen levels, which cause some of those symptoms, but it also eats away at the fundamental parts of a witch's magic where it's tied to her emotional… strength."

"Meaning?" Narcissa asked, trying not to grow impatient but wanting rather desperately to just go home.

"Meaning the personality traits we each hold at our very core become more easily accessible and exposed," Hermione explained. "And while Ginny has always craved attention and love and been desperate for Harry to want her, and I suspect Astoria has always been a whiny little swot, the effect on me has… uncovered the ruthless and cold-hearted bitch I can be at my very core. The witch who cursed a piece of parchment to disfigure whomever might betray me; the witch who stood idly by and did nothing to stop centaurs from making off with an admittedly vile woman– the witch who encouraged such a fate for that old toad, in fact, even knowing they were intent on raping her – she's the person I am at my core. Someone cruel and wicked and prone to exacting revenge on those who've wronged me."

"The children and your mother have surely never wronged you, Hermione," Narcissa said. "And in any case, I can scarcely see what that has to do with Dolohov."

"His ancestors created the virus," Hermione said quietly. "I've been… examining the blood of the afflicted."

Narcissa noticed the bruising, bloodstains and track marks lining Hermione's inner elbow when she turned her arm and regarded it with morbid fascination.

"I remembered seeing something I couldn't account for when I initially discovered the virus," Hermione explained. "Back when it was just the fairies who were afflicted, years ago, I kept coming across a magical pattern – a signature within the virus of it's maker. I thought, when I began testing my own blood, that it was affecting me more profoundly as a result of the excessive presence of that signature within my blood."

"I'm not following, Miss Granger," Narcissa said impatiently.

She'd excelled at Potions in school because the interaction of magical substances made sense to her. Chemistry, she understood. Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures – those subjects relying more on biology – had been her downfall.

Hermione slowly dipped a phial into the cauldron and filled it.

"The signature was more obvious in my blood because I've been cursed by Dolohov before," Hermione explained, pulling up the front of her shirt with her free hand to reveal the purple starburst of scarring on her chest where Dolohov had cursed her during their shenanigans at the Department of Mysteries so many years ago.

"And you need to speak with him as a result?" Narcissa frowned.

"I do," Hermione said before lifting the phial of potion she'd concocted to her lips and gulping in down quickly.

Narcissa gasped, looking on in concern when the girl began to shudder and tremble like she was having a fit.

"What did you just take?" Narcissa demanded, advancing on the girl when her knees buckled and she dropped the phial to the floor where it shattered while Hermione grabbed for the table, trying to keep her balance.

"Antidote," Hermione panted. "The antidote I made for the fairies when the virus swept through them. I had to guess the dosage of a lot of the ingredients to counteract differing metabolism, species, and size."

Narcissa would've slapped the witch for a fool had Hermione not suddenly gone cross-eyed before keeling over backward and cracking her head on the bench behind her as she lost consciousness.

NOTE: My novel, PARANORMAL DIVISION: AWAKENING by Ellie J Duck is on sale until 11PM PST January 22nd for 50% off to honour my recent birthday. Grab a great bargain and check it out! Links on my author page and tumblr.