Hannah Longbottom smiled nervously at Narcissa as the woman settled at her kitchen table. She waited for the sneer dismissing the stained formica or a grimace of genteel snobbery at the fact that they were sitting in the kitchen rather than some pointless room designed just for sitting, but the woman just smiled at her and said, "You have a lovely home, and the garden looks delightful. I think I am envious of that greenhouse; I might have to have one built. This is really such a nice environment to raise your boy."
"Thank you," Hannah stammered as she fished tea bags out of a jar and dropped them into mugs while she waited for the kettle to boil. "I'm sorry I don't have anything to offer - "
"Don't be silly," Narcissa Malfoy brushed her apology off. "I'm sorry I've had the absolute bad taste to simply show up unannounced at your door but I admit I was afraid if I asked you to meet with me you'd refuse."
Hannah looked out and watched Neville show Dillan how to tell weeds from herbs. The two sat together in the greenhouse, visible from the window, grubby and plain with a pile of what she could tell, even from inside, were only partially weeds next to them. Neville never got angry, never snapped at the boy for pulling the wrong plants. When she'd asked him about it he'd shrugged and said, "New seedlings will grow more quickly than feelings can mended."
Looking back at the elegant woman in front of her she said, "That's probably fair."
"I have a reason for coming here," Narcissa said with what Hannah thought was remarkable directness. "I have a favor to ask."
Hannah jiggled the kettle back and forth on the burner and wished the water would boil so she could keep her hands busy holding her mug.
"I'm sure," Narcissa continued on, "you think that's very presumptuous of me but I do request that you hear me out."
Hannah nodded.
"Hermione is planning on reconfiguring the Wizengamot to be just representatives of the traditionally powerful families," the woman began and Hannah immediately stopped her.
"I'm not a pureblood."
Narcissa raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows and said, "And you think that matters because...?"
"It's always mattered," Hannah said, watching the woman at her table. "It's mattered my whole life."
"It doesn't now," Narcissa said. "With Hermione in power blood status is going to shortly mean very little. Family will mean quite a lot, I think, but blood, no."
Hannah stared at her for a moment, then turned back to her stove and jiggled the kettle again. "Do you take cream or sugar?'' she asked without turning around.
"No. I prefer things straight up," Narcissa said.
"Pure, even?" Hannah asked, grabbing the kettle moments before it began to whistle and adding water to the mugs. She put the mugs on a cheap, dented tray and brought them to the table. As she handed one to Narcissa the woman smiled at her.
"If you think I am a zealot on the matter of blood you fail to understand me. Lucius was - let's call it 'limited' - in his thinking. I am not." She took a sip from her mug. "You are the heir to the Abbott family, and your children will be the heirs after you. If you took a seat on the Wizengamot you'd have the power to shape the way people think about blood status, to shape our world's future. Just by being openly half-blooded you'd be a role model."
Hannah frowned and swallowed some of her own tea. "You'd also bring a different perspective," Narcissa continued. "After what's happened Hermione has become very untrusting of anyone outside her immediate circle and that circle is almost wholly made up of Slytherins. There's Luna, of course, but you and your husband would help to balance the..."
"You want me to be your token Hufflepuff," Hannah said, flatly.
"Not how I would have phrased it but - "
"I thought you liked things straight up," Hannah said.
Narcissa took another delicate sip and looked out the window and watched Neville and Dillan work in the greenhouse for a few silent moments. "You have the opportunity to be someone girls can look up to, can see as an example of what a woman who isn't pureblooded can be, a woman who's openly a half blood" she said. "Real change doesn't come from marching in the streets, not even from elections. It comes from the slow, steady shift in how people perceive what is normal."
They sat in silence after that, until Narcissa added, "He's a handsome boy. How has the transition been?"
"Mostly good," Hannah said. "He's scared of the dark, still, and scared of being alone."
Narcissa nodded. "You should talk to Theodore Nott. Æthel's a bit older, of course, so some of the issues are surely different, but you probably can offer one another some support."
"I'll do that," Hannah said, looking with some surprise at the other woman. "Do you think he'd..."
"Oh, of course he would," Narcissa smiled conspiratorially. "I'll let him know to expect a note from you."
"Why?" Hannah demanded. "Why help me?"
"Well, because I want you to feel mildly beholden to me, of course," Narcissa returned her gaze to the man and boy in the yard. "And because that orphanage is a disgrace. That is not how magical children are treated. Not ever. Children are… beyond valuable."
Under the woman's carefully cultivated tone Hannah could hear her outrage. Whatever else Narcissa Malfoy may want, Hannah thought, whatever she may do, she was genuinely furious about the conditions those children - Hannah's own child - had been kept in. She considered Draco's lack of siblings, wondered how many losses of her own Narcissa didn't talk about. That glimmer of sincerity, the sudden sympathy she felt, made Hannah ask, "If I were to take this seat you want to me to take - and I'm not saying I will - would I be able to shut that place down."
Narcissa looked back at her and shook her head. "That place is going to be shut down whether you take on your leadership responsibilities or not."
Hannah nodded, glad that no one would hold that over her head, impressed, against her own wishes, at the other woman's honesty. It would have been easy to tell her that her participation was crucial to shutting that place down, easy to manipulate her that way. The phrasing – ' your leadership responsibilities' – made her brow furrow a bit; was it true? Does she have an obligation, because of who she was, to do this? After the casual discrimination she'd always faced as a half-blood, could she turn down the opportunity to be that role model?
"I'll think about it," she said finally. "It's a lot."
Narcissa was looking out the window again. "He's a good father, isn't he?" she asked.
"Neville?" Hannah said.
"Yes. He's patient. I've watched that child pull up sweet woodruff three times in a row and your husband hasn't so much as frowned."
"He's a good man," Hannah said.
"He is," Narcissa said, then, "I worry about Theo's Æthel. Putting you two together isn't wholly to your benefit; you might be able to help him too. That girl, she grew up in a group home too, always around other children and now she's an only child. Draco was an only but he never knew any different. I worry Æthel will be," she paused as though searching for the right word. "Lonely. I worry she'll be lonely without..." Then she stopped. "But I shouldn't burden you with my worries when I've already imposed on you so much."
Hannah smiled and reached out her hand to gently touch the older woman. "No," she said quietly. "A burden shared is a burden lightened."
. . . . . . . . .
Pansy looked at Blaise. Marriage suited him, even marriage to that daft Luna. "I haven't offered you congratulations yet," she said quietly. "I wish you much happiness, old friend."
"She's just amazing, isn't she?" Blaise had a dotty, besotted smile. "I never thought I'd be…" he shook his head. "It feels wrong to be so happy with her when everything's gone to shit."
"We won," Pansy said. "It's not all gone to shit."
They'd met in one of the coffee shops staffed by members of the underground, the working classes that had propelled Hermione into popularity. They'd repeated limericks, watched and reported on the Order, longed for her to make them feel like their lives had meaning in a larger world. She'd given them everything they wanted, been everything they wanted. Blaise picked up his coffee and stared at the ring left on the paper napkin. "If you say so," was all he said.
"It's horrible," Pansy agreed, "but – "
"Just stop there," he said. "It's horrible. And it's going to get a lot more so." He leaned back in his seat, the head of the Lady's intelligence service, such as it was, a leader of men. "Do you know Shakespeare, Pansy?"
"Muggle writer?" she made a face.
"Of course you don't." He took another sip of the coffee and then pushed the drink away from him. "Luna does. Things will go forward, Pans. Everything you want, it's all going to happen. But she's going to – what were the words Luna used? 'massacre them all, raze their faction and their family, make them know what 'tis to let a queen sue for her son's life in vain'."
"I thought you hated Muggles, hated mudbloods. What's with the sudden love for their books?"
Blaise gazed at her, a long, silent stare that made Pansy squirm. "I care about protecting our world," he said finally. "Muggles are a threat. Muggle-borns are a threat as long as they stay connected to their families. I don't care about blood at all. And, if you're smart, you don't either."
"But I do," Pansy said.
. . . . . . . . . .
"Yes," Shacklebolt said, walking rapidly enough to seem like he wasn't lingering but slowly enough to talk to the reporter, "I am very concerned. She's just suffered a terrible loss, was tremendously physically harmed by the experience, and, if I understand correctly, is just starting to get around again. I ask myself if this is the time to ask her to take up the burden of governing. And, of course, though we've been most generous in understanding the pressures Mr. Malfoy felt at that moment, I think we should examine whether his response to Mr. Weasley's attack should be considered murder or, as it's currently being treated, as self-defense."
. . . . . . . . . .
"I need," Draco said, kneeling in front of her, doing that vassalage thing, "your permission for something."
"Get up," she muttered, "you aren't my servant."
"I am," Blaise dropped to his as well. "And your humble one, and I would beg your indulgence, Lady."
Hermione looked up and Luna was standing there. "He likes begging," the other woman mouthed and she smiled at that, smiled at Luna, but made no effort to pay serious attention to the men at her feet until Theo dropped down as well.
Draco, she thought, had a bit of a dramatic streak and Blaise could be overwrought as well. Theodore, though, well if Theo knelt he wanted something and wanted it badly enough to openly force her to acknowledge their nearly feudal relationship so he could exploit it to his benefit.
"Speak," she said, straightening up in the seat and honoring the nature of the medieval bond she hadn't thought through quite clearly enough, honoring her obligations to them.
"We would like to collect the Aurors who were assigned to you the night of the election," Theo said, his voice soft and level in the beautiful room. "We would like to take them to the basement at Malfoy Manor, and not that fancy room you two set up, and we would like to make an example of them."
"You're asking for permission to kidnap and kill – "
" – six men, yes." Theo finished her question. "Daphne has their names, and Blaise has checked them, I've checked them. We know who to get."
"What do you plan to do with the bodies," she asked and Blaise and Draco exchanged glances.
"Dump them in front of their office," Draco said. "Within the Ministry."
"Dramatic," she said.
"They failed in their duties." It was Theo again. "They were assigned to protect you and they ignored a direct order from us when Ron started his diatribe."
"They need to die," Draco added.
"'Raze their faction and their family'," Hermione murmured, then nodded, "Permission granted with one condition."
"Lady?" Theo asked.
"Whatever you do to them, ensure they finally die by drowning."
"Your wish," he said, tugging at his forelock and the two of them looked at one another for a long moment in that civilized flat and Hermione finally said, in a whisper, "My command."
. . . . . . . . . .
Harry settled into the new room. It was nicer, he thought, than the hospital room, with a soft rug on a polished stone floor and comfortable furniture. He didn't remember coming here, didn't remember a lot of things.
There were no windows. That was strange. And the door was locked. There was one door that led to an en suite, another that just wouldn't open. He thought he should, perhaps, be more concerned about that but he was just so tired and things were so fuzzy.
Still, even in that fuzziness he was fairly sure Ginny was dead. He tried to list off things that he knew as solid facts and though that one was crushing he thought it might be true.
He missed Ron. Why hadn't Ron come by to visit?
He missed Hermione. Maybe she could explain where Ron was. Maybe she could help him understand what had happened. She was good at that; whenever he'd been confused, needed help, Hermione had been there. She was good at answers. If Hermione ever came by he'd ask her. He could trust her.
. . . . . . . . . .
They brought her George and Percy, her boys, her Draco, her Theo, her Blaise. They brought them to her old flat, to the place they still kept, and forced them to their knees in front of her.
"You plan to kill us?" George asked. He didn't even sound surprised but Percy paled, all the blood draining from his face and his eyes widening. "Make it fast," George asked, lowering his head. "Please don't make me suffer because of Ron."
Hermione looked up at her Slytherin princes, all three standing there behind the kneeling men, wands drawn. "You didn't explain?" she asked, amusement and annoyance competing for dominance in her tone.
Draco shrugged, Theo looked amused and Blaise almost, but not quite, smothered his grin. Devoted they might be, and wholly loyal, but anyone who mistook them for nice men, for kind people, would be fooling herself. They sometimes liked to play and all three of them had a mean streak hidden under their near impeccable social graces and perfect grooming. Letting the two Weasley brothers think they were going to die would have entertained them all.
"I tortured your mother," Hermione said, her tone idle, hiding the way she was charmed by her group's vicious mind games. "Or, rather, I had her tortured while I sat in your kitchen and I listened to her screams. Would you like to know why?"
"She knew, didn't she," George whispered. "Oh, God, she knew. And she didn't stop him." He began to cry at that, as he hadn't when the men had snatched him from his shop, as he hadn't when they'd thrown him to his knees at her feet."
"She knows about a lot of things, George," Hermione said, very gently now. "If you walk out of here, I suggest you ask her about the orphanage, about how much she knew about that. She knew about," Hermione paused, "most of everything."
Percy gulped.
"If I walk out?" George raised his head and looks at her, perplexed. "Aren't you going to kill us?"
"Maybe." Hermione shrugged. "I'm going to wander through your brain like a child in a toy store, playing with whatever interests me. And if you are loyal, if you were wholly ignorant of Ron's plans, then, yes, you get to walk away. If not, well, you don't. You're here for questioning, not murder."
When she was done with George he rose to his feet, croaked out a "Lady" and headed for the door.
"A drink helps," Draco murmured as the man passed.
"Loyal, I take it?" Blaise asked as the door closed behind the shaken and shaking Weasley.
"Oh yes," Hermione looked at Percy. "Though he might be less so if he were to find out we were responsible for Ginny's death."
Percy looked up at that. He'd knelt, head down, through the chilling silence of George's examination waiting for her to order her attack dogs to kill his brother. When she'd shooed the man away he'd felt himself sag in relief, head still bent towards the floor, shoulders slumped. Now, hearing her confess she'd killed his sister, he stared at her.
"I'll not bother to shelter you, Percy," she said, eyeing him. "Your hands are dirty enough I don't think you'll recoil in horror at the blood on mine."
"I…" he looked down. Accept this or die. Her meaning was clear.
"The appropriate response," Theo said with a smirk, "is 'my life is yours'."
"My life is yours," Percy repeated without raising his head.
"Indeed it is," Hermione said and then added, "I do need you to look up. If you can't do it on your own I'm sure someone will be happy to hold your head for you."
Percy shook his head and followed her instructions, looked up.
He shook as she wandered through his mind; it didn't hurt, it just felt like standing by and watching someone read your diary and there was a reason Percy had never been a journal keeper. There were so many things he'd done over the past years he was ashamed of, so many things he wished he could take back. I am not a good man, he thought, as she looked for evidence he was disloyal, looked through his mind searching for a reason to kill him. I am not a good man, but I didn't know Ron would… I'm not good but I'm not that man.
He considered her claim his mother had known. He suspected his mum hadn't known all of it. If she had, he thought, she'd be dead now rather than home making dinner and holding herself together with rage and inchoate plans for revenge.
But then, he'd thought Ron's plans weren't likely to amount to anything either and yet they had.
At last it was over and she released him and someone shoved a drink into his hand. Why, he wondered, had George been hustled out the door but he was clearly meant to stay. "Welcome to the inner circle," Hermione said and Percy Weasley almost dropped his glass as he heard the low laughter of the men behind him.
Power. He'd never wanted it less.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Mr. Greengrass looked at Daphne. Such a perfect daughter, she was poised and beautiful and her expression was utterly vapid. This one, he thought, this one would be easy to manipulate, this one he could marry off to a man standing right behind power. She even liked the fellow, as far as he could tell. They'd certainly worked together on Lady Granger-Malfoy's election.
Pity about that curse, of course, but the Malfoy chit would be up and about in time for the actual transition of power in January and, if anything, that attack would just reinforce her trust in her own core team, her distrust of everyone else.
"Daphne," he said, "you're getting older and I think the time has come for you to think seriously about marriage."
"Yes, father," she said, with an almost perfectly admirable demure smile.
"I realize this might seem a bit old fashioned to you but I care about you and don't want you to make the same mistakes Astoria did so I've considered who you should marry and have made a decision."
"Oh, really?"
He frowned at her. That didn't sound quite as modest and accommodating as he'd hoped. Well, he was her father and she'd simply have to accept that he knew best in these matters.
"Yes. I've decided you should marry Theodore Nott."
Mr. Greengrass was wholly unprepared for the incredulous giggles that burst out of his daughter's mouth or for the way she bent over in indecorous, almost hysterical, mirth. "I think," she gasped, "you might want to talk to him about that first. He might – " she seemed to be having a really hard time controlling herself, " – he might not be so into the idea of a bride."
. . . . . . .
A/N – Thank you for your ongoing support and kind words about this little story. I'm just perpetually thrilled that people read and like this.
I'll find a day to massacre them all / And raze their faction and their family, / The cruel father and his traitorous sons, / To whom I sued for my dear son's life, / And make them know what 'tis to let a queen / Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain. ~ from Titus Andronicus by Shakespeare
As always, I've tried to respond to all the logged in reviewers personally; if I missed you it's because I suck. To my guest reviewers: Guest (Harry's 'safely' ensconced in Draco and Hermione's little torture chamber. What happens to him next, well, I think people may be surprised and some made sad.), Jadedlady (Well, regarding Molly, some of our little Slytherin boys like to play with their toys rather than break them the very first time they use them. I'm editing chapters 37 and 38 now and drafting 39 and 40 so weekly updates should continue for some time. I have a lot of stories going but this one is the "priority" for writing time.) Apple3 (Yes, she's going to get less and less canon-compliant as we go on, which is a bit of a given in a dark dramione.) General Mac (Revenge will continue to come…)