Heinrich Grindelwald and the Tide of Darkness
Chapter 4
"Time and time again," three purple colored spheres departed together with a cacophony of sounds and a flurry of what seemed to be wings of a dark red color, soon followed by a shattering sound of broken glass, while the ground rumbled as if an earthquake was just then happening. Few seconds later, a veritable hail of glass shards flung back together with explosive shrapnel of wooden consistencies while dark thick black smoke oozed forward in the shape of a sort of hand.
The next moment a strong gust of wind erupted and knocked away the smoky hand, as a volley of dark orange and dark green lights flew back as a courtesy, before few greyish and smaller pebbles launched themselves in the air and landed with unexpected graciousness in front of their intended target.
Heinrich Grindelwald had enough cool, in that moment, to wave his wand in front of him in a sharp right to left movement with a sharp jab forward, "Flatus!" was what he screamed as he made a barrel roll backwards, "Scutum!" he added just to be extra sure, as he ran to the other side of the room, the bits and pieces of furniture having banged together to form a bronze floating shield following him, which was being puckered by yet another hail of curses.
"I said that you should think laterally!" Once more Gellert Grindelwald spoke just as Heinrich tripped on a transfigured pebble that had returned back to its original form of…metal bucket. Tripping, he fell on the ground just as two sickly yellow curses hit him on the back. The sharp bouts of pain were soon replaced with tremors, chills and terrible sense of nausea as his inner organs were literally beginning to liquefy beneath the strain of the dark curses.
A flick of Gellert's wand later, and while trembling and probably with a sickly green colored face, he was no longer risking to die. Pushing against the back of the wall to catch his breath, Heinrich looked into the blue eyes of his teacher and personal torturer and sadist. It had been two weeks. In two weeks, he had been subjected to some of the vilest curses Gellert Grindelwald could have come up with. Of course, this was relating to those that were not immediately lethal.
The British thought that 'Avada Kedavra' was the worst thing ever to have been birthed. After all it killed and was unblockable. They never heard of the old Roman curse 'Morior' or its variants 'Emorior' and 'Demorior'. The first withered away a person's inner reserve of water while at the same time making holes in the inner organs of the victims as if they had spent months as dead corpses. The variants were strangely more merciful, as the first brought the victims into a coma and slowly left them to die while the second simply killed the target by making their hearts explode.
'Avada Kedavra' was nothing. It was actually a painless and kind form of mercy killing to say the least. Heinrich shivered at the thought of what was Gellert's favorite spell. It wasn't a curse or a hex, but a Charm. The Charm changed the entire weight of the human boy by making the skin heavier and the bones brittle. It resulted in squashed human pancakes and Heinrich retching for three minutes straights after seeing it on a transfigured pig from a stool.
Still, it wasn't as if he had much of a choice. Gellert had come to term with the fact that he could train him only as long as he actually tried to kill him, as he wouldn't be 'in the right state of mind' otherwise. The feeling of organs liquefying and blood vessels exploding wasn't of the best, but it still was nothing compared to Bellatrix' Crucios. The fact that Grindelwald actually taught him things and wasn't entirely mad was a welcomed bonus to him.
The furniture in the room was repaired within mere seconds, and as Heinrich slowly walked over to his 'father' to get his opinion on the fight, he couldn't help but feel a bit nervous. This hadn't been the first skirmish they had fought, but it had been the first one he had been confident in enough to say he had fought well. Transfiguration was apparently something he was good at, and the idea of transfiguring noxious vapors into a more dense fog-like form had actually been his idea…something he prided on.
"Well." Gellert began slowly, "Two weeks huh? Got you here on the eleventh, two days of rest and now it's the twenty-seventh of July…well, what can I say? I'm an excellent teacher." The man nodded, "You're still no better than dead meat, though at least you might manage to bring down with you a sucker or two." The old magical Hitler spoke quietly, before humming a light tune. "Time to plan then: we've got to get you your birthday gift after all."
"What are you talking about?" Heinrich asked perplexed.
"I'm talking about Azkaban, Heinrich." Gellert rolled his eyes, huffing in annoyance, "We're working on finesse, not brute force."
"Oh." Was all that he replied as he blinked carefully, "But…you didn't teach me the Expecto Patronum…" He whispered. His knowledge of Dementors' physiology came more from the curiosity in his first year concerning the core of his wand, and the fact that he had quite nothing else to do but study and read. He had thought they'd be going after having been taught how to do the spell, and yet…
"There is a common belief," Gellert spoke, "That dark wizards cannot use the Expecto Patronum spell," he added carefully, "There is also another belief that states that they do not need to do so, because Dementors do not attack evil since they are evil themselves." The old man smiled bitterly, "And that spell in particular? All that flashy display of silver light? Do you want us captured my boy? We're going on a mission that requires finesse, not wand blazing!" Gellert shook his head slowly.
"I will teach you a…let's say a state of mind, all right? It's really the only reason Dementors don't attack Dark wizards as much as they should: Despero." And then Heinrich's world went black.
"Here you are. You scrawny thing, you are the one born with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord?" A suave voice spoke, old and crinkly was the face that looked at him with dark eyes as long fingers grabbed a hold of him, lifting him up from the playpen. "Don't know me? You're not even crying I see…good," the man added with an afterthought. "You'll do nicely. Revenge is a dish served cold…" Then he turned around to leave, holding him against his shoulder. Harry didn't know why he was being brought away, but he saw that in the playpen there was another small figure sleeping. He didn't want to leave the house and so he screamed.
Heinrich opened his eyes blearily, smelling a strange aroma in his nostrils as he could hear Gellert's voice commenting.
"Well. Drink it lad: it is coffee mixed with chocolate. The Italians call it 'Mocaccino'…albeit it usually also has cream on top of it." He didn't stop to think much on the moment, instead merely accepting the warm glass with his hands and taking sips of it quickly. It was warm and burned through his throat as it went down, the mixture of caffeine waking him up as chocolate did what it did best: calm him down.
"What…what was that?" Heinrich asked carefully. The thing had…he had only seen the wand depart a light black fog, right? Yet it had been but a puff of said dense smoke and he…he had lost it. His mind was a bit fuzzy still, but he remembered an old man, didn't he? A man with dark eyes…and dark hair. Where had he seen such a figure already?
"Despero." Heinrich flinched as Gellert spoke, "Is a spell that mimics the natural aura of a Dementor. It also eclipses the other similar auras' effects nearby, thus making you one of them and at the same time immune to them. Of course it doesn't work if a Dementor decides to kiss you, but I hope we won't come to have to do that to reach the cornerstone of Azkaban."
"You just said the word…you…didn't move the wand." Heinrich whispered back, "W-Why don't the…good guys use it too?"
"Because do use it, one must start by focusing his mind on despair itself." Gellert replied, "Not just any form of despair, no. The deepest one, the most pitch black, the one that has no hope of safety…one must imagine what it would feel like to be completely and utterly in despair: without hope for redemption, without hope for safety, without hope for a future or even a present. A hopeless situation does not mean despair, but despair is usually found in hopeless situations…and yet it's not enough."
"W…what did you think about?" Heinrich asked quietly, looking wearily at the old man.
"In Berlin, there was this cellar built beneath an old pub." Gellert began quietly, "The Russians were storming in and the few Germans with a gun were answering back. There was a tanking coming up from the road, and I apparated there, in the middle of the gunfight. Albus was just behind me of a little bit," the old wizard whispered, "The tank shot at the same time I collapsed the building on Albus. The cellar didn't stand a chance."
"S…so?" He asked meekly.
"So…what if in that cellar was a young child, afraid of war? What if…what if the child had been in there and heard the gun rattling, and then the building collapse and then the explosion? What if he had found himself alone among the corpses of the others, trying to claw his way out of the rubble and failing as his strength gave way and he died of thirst and hunger? Tell me, is there anything that could define despair more than this?"
"It…It didn't happen, right?" Heinrich spoke slowly, "It's…it's just something to imagine, yes?"
"But it happened, Heinrich," Gellert replied gravely, "Somewhere in the world, a child probably suffered from this. Somewhere in the world people die clawed by despair that hangs against their very souls…and tell me, Heinrich, tell me if it isn't enough to bring despair to your own soul too." The old man made a bitter smirk, before shaking his head slowly, "That despair is what makes the spell strong. We will start working on it tomorrow. For now, get a good day of rest."
Heinrich merely nodded, before wobbling back on his feet and starting to walk towards his room. He'd collapse on his bed there and sleep his worries away…what he had seen however…it seemed so awfully familiar. But that...those words that Gellert had said, they were filled with all the bitterness of old men that have seen the horrors of war and lived to tell the tale. The story furthermore seemed…seemed so real it made him shiver.
It placed things in perspective after all. To that point in life, all he thought of as 'despair' was him being forced to play in this sort of 'war' among two sides…he had never expected this. He had never thought that somewhere, somehow, someone could be in a worse condition than his. He still had magic at least: he could still change things and try to make things better. How could he just even think about letting everything slide by and stay in a corner, when he had the power to change things? He wouldn't run anymore…not after this. Not after learning of this.
*Hermione Granger*
Rat-man. She had decided to call the wizard that could morph into a rat with that name. It was either that or admitting she was having hallucinations. The small man was bald and looked quite a bit over his fifties, yet it was only because of the situation. Even she knew that somehow her lineaments had gone all old and probably her face had her aged of at least a good dozen of years. It was the prison.
Azkaban was not a happy prison. Azkaban wasn't even a Guantanamo however. Azkaban, simply put, was a place to let wizards die in without a fuss. The guards themselves were shrouded in a pitch black fog that made them resemble wraiths or ghosts. Every time one passed near her, to bring food or merely to look at her through the bars as if she were but a piece of meat left to hang, she'd feel all happiness leave her and despair claw at her innards.
She had some hope in the beginning, that there was a type of appeal or anything that would get her out. She had hoped that once Lily had been no longer petrified, she'd come and visit and get her out of there. The girl had that invisibility cloak after all: sure, it would be law-breaking, but they had been wrong to begin with! There was just no way she could survive much longer in this place. The only reason she ate was because every now and then the rat-man would come around to ensure she did.
The man never said his name, hence the need to call him Rat-Man or something like that. It kind of sounded like a super-hero name actually, but it was still better than nothing…and at least he brought news of Hagrid. The half giant was deeper down the corridor, and sometimes she could swear she heard him wail and cry about how sorry he was to his father. Hermione would have wanted to say something kind to him too, but every time her strength was sapped away when one of the Dementors came about.
She didn't know how many days had passed, what she did know was the guards had yet to even make an appearance in her cell to even check on her. It was always Dementors. Wasn't this supposed to be a mild cell? Dementors brought her food, and she suspected they even entered at night to take her chamber pot and empty it, because it explained many things…mainly the nightmares. She hadn't thought much about it, but the nightmares…they were always so vivid.
In those dreams she was paralyzed, blinking at a white ceiling as she couldn't move while another figure walked in, a figure with her very own face and with a pearly white smile. The only difference was that this other 'her' was evil. She would pluck at her hair repeatedly, and then leave her there. Sometimes she would be force-fed something vile too. She couldn't even gag it out, and the taste was of the foulest possible.
Evil Hermione always called her mudblood, in a snappish tone, saying that she was a good for nothing worthy only of being at best a toy for some powerful wizard. She hadn't understood why it had fallen on her. She had never understood why she had to suffer through all this…it wasn't her fault: it wasn't her hands that had done the deed. Someone else had! Someone else…and yet she remembered nothing, and just because of that she was found guilty.
She had hoped her parents would believe in her, but in the end they had just looked sad at her face as they brought her away. She had wanted to scream it hadn't been like that, she had wanted to scream and yet the Aurors had brought her away in silence, under a spell to prevent her from speaking, from saying goodbye.
Tears began to streak down her face as she realized that her thoughts moving to the most moments of her life could mean but one thing. She blearily looked forward for a second, and saw the familiar sign of a Dementor hovering just outside her cell. The figure clad in the dark cloak seemed an emaciated burned skeleton. Its voice was a mixture of shrieks and laments when it spoke, but gladly it never did in front of her. Only, she heard them speak sometime, in a strange language that sent shivers down her spine and made her skin crawl. She would have done anything to have her ears tarred to avoid hearing them.
She would have done anything to anyone just to get out of that horrible place.
"What?" She hissed, in a snarl. It wasn't lunch hour and it wasn't time for dinner. There wasn't a shower time of course and nobody ever asked for a bit of exercising time outside. The central courtyard was practically the nest of the entire flock of Dementors…it was a suicide. 'Going out for a walk' was the common term for those prisoners who couldn't stand it any longer and asked the Dementors to off them. The Kiss was said to be something painless…leaving behind but a dried up husk.
She couldn't help but shiver as the door of the cell clanked open. No. This wasn't supposed to happen. They couldn't have come in to kiss her, right? No. No. The tears, the cries, the pain. She was going to die and she didn't want to die, she was going to be kissed and she didn't want to, she had yet to beg forgiveness or be proved innocent. No. No. She was innocent: she knew she was innocent so why was that bony hand moving closer to her face? Why!?
"Follow." The Dementor shrieked close to her as she had been trying to meld with the wall with her back, screaming and crying and trying to claw her way out through the thick stone wall. Hermione watched in fright as the Dementor hovered out of her cell, and then pointed with its finger…towards the deeper areas of the prisons.
"No." She choked down a sob, "No, please…no." She knew what it was. She knew what it meant. Deeper down the hole Alice went wasn't it? Deeper down until she died, because she had so bloody fucking stupid to follow a mad bunny down a hole. She wasn't going to, no. She was going to stay there in the corner and remain there until…
"FOLLOW!" The shriek was stronger now, nearly deafening her as she screamed back in pain. The bony finger of the Dementor still pointing and…and she knew she wouldn't move. The Dementor had other ideas however, because it moved closer. Cries, tears, whining and fear clawed at her entire body as she was pushed out of the cell and in the corridor…and from there she ran. She ran until another Dementor stopped her from going straight and forced her to turn, she ran until she nearly fell off a flight of stairs and yet she kept on running. Maybe she could escape, maybe she could…
"HERE!" The shriek came at the end of her road. It led her into a smaller cell, one deep within the bowels of the prison, near…near a flight of stairs. Too close to too many of them, too close, too deep, they couldn't force her…and the bars closed behind her, and there she cried collapsing on the ground. They had brought her away. They had brought her deeper in. They had…they had decided to bring her where those who waited being kissed stood. The only positive note was the calendar, placed outside and on the stairs.
Thirtieth of July. It recited…as she huddled herself into a corner, she couldn't help but cry…wasn't the thirty-one Lillian's birthday?
*Severus Snape*
"Malfoy's done it, Albus." Severus remarked drily. "I told you it reeked of one of Lucius' ploys to get you sacked. He won't let the defense pass and he's pushing for the sentence of Kiss to be executed in a hush manner." The implications, of course, weren't lost to both of them.
He was eying with distaste the old man eating with ease a lemon drop, sitting at the other side of the desk with calm. The twinkle in the old man's eyes was gone, replaced with the usual cold duress of steely light blue that so many times the enemy of Albus had seen as the last thing on Earth. Not that Severus was afraid of staring in the man's eyes since the old Headmaster didn't resort to Legilimency on him: he knew he had him in his pocket. How deep he was, however, was something Albus had never deemed to look out for.
"My dear Severus," Albus began quietly, "All is well…you may rest assured the matter will be settled with ease." Of course it would. Severus didn't need to read the Headmaster's mind either to understand. The man had known since the beginning who had been the real culprit all along. He had known and he had kept silent. He had been waiting for Lucius to overstretch like the man was doing in that moment, by forcing the execution of a Kiss sentence. The man would then hush it up on a suicide for the young muggleborn girl, and then he'd claim the Headmaster to have given off to the executioner's axe the wrong murderer.
Of course this would unsettle the board of Governors, who would get all mighty indignant over the fact that Albus Dumbledore had condemned an innocent child to be kissed and had nothing to prevent it by deliberately being the one to accuse the girl. Lucius would result out as the conscientious citizen who had had no reason to disbelieve the words of the Headmaster…and fault would fall on the old man.
Unless the man came up with a way to bring Lucius out in the open, after which it would probably be the opposite to happen…especially if…
"You know who brought the diary to Hogwarts." He accused. His voice lowering to a hiss, "You knew all along." Albus, for his part, merely smiled back and nodded.
"Ah Severus, I admit I did not have all the pieces in the beginning, but after I was told of a most daunting event I realize that sometimes things aren't done by a single person, but by more than one."
"So Granger's still an accomplice?" Severus replied hotly. "Of who?"
"No, my dear boy," Albus replied, "Not Miss Granger."
"Scamander?" Severus asked cautiously, "Or are you implying…Voldemort?"
"Only a house-elf could have entered the kitchens and meddled with the food delivered to Mr. Scamander." Albus noted quietly, "A swapping spell or a notice-me-not charm would have been noticed. Only cooked food could be sent up, and only by the hands of a house-elf. It's within the wards of the school since you know it as well as I do that Hogwarts house-elves are not permitted to harm the students."
Severus' right eye raised its eyebrow slowly, before both eyelids closed quickly. He could feel blood draining from his face as he shook his head slowly.
"You can't be accusing Draco of all people."
"Why would you think I'm accusing your godson?" Albus asked back gently, his grandfather tone still there as if they weren't possibly discussing to harm yet another child.
"If not him who then? Lucius wouldn't have trusted something this…this articulated to someone else, and Draco has Dobby at Hogwarts, and since he's a private house-elf he can do as Draco orders him. If…if the diary went from Draco to the Granger girl, then…"
"But my dear boy, how could Draco cause chaos in the common room with a Freezing curse, when he was next to mister Scamander?" At that notion, Severus' blood ran cold.
"No."
"Of course, it appeared that whoever did this was at the very least on the sixth or seventh year, or maybe even a professor to begin with." Dumbledore spoke seriously, his eyes never leaving Severus' face.
"You can't be…" He couldn't be accusing him, could he? He had nothing to do with it and…
"Now, Colin Creevey did not die because he was gutted, but because he was killed with the Avada Kedavra…on the same night that Mr. Scamander and Miss. Potter had their…altercation concerning my goodness of heart." Here Albus smiled kindly, "So the boy is innocent, for he had an alibi…but with Miss. Potter out, who was there to see Miss. Granger?"
Severus' eyes narrowed ferociously.
"You just said she couldn't be…"
"Of course not, but someone with Miss. Granger's face could." Dumbledore spoke slowly, "And if that somebody held a bit of contempt against Mr. Scamander the next morning, and was caught, then it would have come to term with accusing him publicly…luckily, or unluckily, she was not caught."
"Someone used Polyjuice to impersonate Miss. Granger?" Severus asked quietly. "But who? Why? How could they have…"
"Of course a prominent member of Mister Malfoy's family would have been sorely missed or at least noticed, unless…"
"I…" Severus' words died in his mouth, as he felt the bitter test of bile rise to the back of his throat. "She was…"
"So you see Severus," Dumbledore spoke carefully, "The execution of Miss. Granger will bring great shame to Malfoy's family and, of course…"
"You will redirect the fault to Lucius Malfoy." Severus shook his head calmly, biting down his tongue and clenching his fists. It was just another face after all, another sacrifice for the Greater Good of Albus.
"If evidence were to be planted that somehow…he had gotten his hands on such an artifact in Knockturn alley, possibly in that shady shop you sometimes visit…well then, you have your job cut for you this summer." Albus finished, practically dismissing him as he walked as calmly as he could towards the door.
"Oh, and Severus?" Albus asked gently, making him turn his head to raise an eyebrow at the old man.
"Do not betray my expectations." Having so gravely spoken, Severus merely nodded and left the room. He would have felt a bit dirty, if it weren't for the fact that he knew that, deep down, he was being suspected of having helped too.
After all, just how could the woman stock on that much Polyjuice potion to last throughout the year? Someone had to have supplied it to her, but the question was…who?
*Heinrich Grindelwald*
"Desparo." He whispered, the sick cover of dread and despair covering his entire body just like the Tego spell would, only this one made him feel as if a century of grime and lime had settled on all of his skin and bones. He tightly held on the belief of being alone, clawing his way out of a deep pit with water rising to drown him. He held on to the feeling of being Crucio-ed to death while darkness and mocking yells came at him. He heard the gunshots and the strikes of war, he felt the feeling of pure unbridled betrayal clash against any lingering hope he could have.
He was despair, and just like the other man near him, clad in a dark black dense fog that masked his entire body and made him look like a Dementor from afar, he too was probably looking the same. They briefly touched the small wooden plank that had become a portkey, and afterwards with a sickening feeling of something pulling at his navel, he was no longer there, in Nurmengard…but in Azkaban in the dead center of the island: the only safe place they could land without immediately launching an alarm.
To the wards, it would be as if just two more Dementors had been birthed, and nobody would wonder any more about it. They were invisible to the eyes of the Dementors that felt emotions like happiness and good feelings. They were visible from afar as new Dementors, and the higher levels of the prison wouldn't see anything different. Their only hope was to hover convincingly and yet he knew he should not hope, and he did not.
It was difficult, but not impossible. He knew despair was gnawing at his soul and he knew he had to feed it with thoughts of failure and defeat, and yet they managed to float gently, to move quietly towards the doors thick and filled with protections. Only Dementors could pass through, and yet they didn't need to worry.
Two Dementors had just hovered through, forcing the doors open as a flock literally flew inside the central courtyard. Less guards around to them, and yet in his strength to keep his darkness deep and not to hope it would be easy he missed the most important thing of all: the fact that once the two of them entered the hallway, not a Dementor was seen around them as the doors closed behind their backs. Invisible as they were to the Dementors, something was wrong in the hallway in that moment.
"Notice-me-not charms. Now." The other 'Dementor' growled, as Heinrich found himself whipping his wand out quickly, followed by Gellert himself.
"Let's move. Cornerstone is near the execution chambers." Gellert whispered, no longer needing to hover and soon being followed by him...maybe they would actually succeed in this mission without troubles: everything was going their way, and if it kept up…as Hope blossomed in his soul, he could feel his shroud of despair suddenly slip out of his fingers. He tried to hold on to it, but it was too late. As soon as it disappeared he could feel that of Gellert bash against his entire body, forcing him on the ground and clutching his head in pain.
"Pettigrew, you will most handsomely be rewarded," the old man spoke as he held tightly onto his body. He didn't have a choice. He was wailing and crying but no sound was escaping his lips. He could see a man standing kneeling in front of the older wizard, pale and shivering. "Stand up, Pettigrew."
"M…Master, I…" As the figure trembled and stood, there was silence for but a minute. A minute that however made him stop crying, as he could see the man look paler and paler…yet the man's face was familiar too, wasn't it?
"So…you thought your pitiful plan would work, Albus? Interesting…thankfully I did not trust you with the date of my departure for Godric's Hollow, Pettigrew." The old man's voice was silky, as a wand came into view.
"…I…I'm…" Quickly, the man held onto a button of his shirt, "Away!"
For a sheer moment, nothing happened. Then the old wizard laughed. He laughed so hard that he couldn't help but slowly lower his wand from the man's body.
"Oh Pettigrew…you poor fool. Haven't you realized it yet? You've been had."
The look on the man's face was of absolute terror, before a thick red light hit him straight in the chest.
"Well then…I could end it here and take you under my wing now, but the prophecy would still stand, wouldn't it?" The old wizard mused, locking eyes with him still held by his hands. "Well…maybe we can do something about that too, isn't it right, Harry?"
When Heinrich wearily opened his eyes again, he was pinned against the wall by Gellert, who was holding his mouth closed and his wand in the other hand. Just behind Grindelwald's back, however, loomed a group of persons walking towards the stairs near them. They were just passing close by, and yet Heinrich couldn't help but widen his eyes in shock and fear.
For passing by no more than two feet from him, was his biological family accompanied by the Minister and a few of its associates.
Author's notes
By now, all data is given on who the culprit for the second year was.
For those who still haven't understood it:
Narcissa + Dobby the House Elf.
Plot: The Diary of Riddle is powered up in the beginning by Narcissa (Gives credit for her stay in St. Mungos, in a private ward of course since she's a Malfoy and she's rich) and then handed over to the Weasley Family by Lucius. Ginny speaks with a fairly more powerful Tom who manages thus to corrupt her and bring her in Slytherin. (Albeit Corrupt is such a bad term). Then Narcissa gets Hermione and her parents in Diagon Alley, catching them alone and knocking all three out. Hermione is substituted to the 'nerve-wracked' Narcissa in the hospital and held under sedatives, while Narcissa becomes Hermione. From there, Narcissa enter Hogwarts and heads with the Gryffindor. She bunks together with the Girl-Who-Lived and later on is the one who takes the Diary from Slytherin, since having Draco with Dobby she just had the house elf bring her the diary. To top it off, Dobby is ordered to lie to Draco about what is going on (reason the elf self-punishes himself when Draco is asking) Dobby indeed did the deal with the Honor Guard of Harry, grabbing the snake one night and 'cooking' him. Since however the fault would have gone to him immediately (And Albus still gave it to him) Narcissa entered the Kitchens and butchered the elves that had their turn in the moment. 'Diffindo' did the trick.
Since the Basilisk apparently didn't like Diary-mort+Narcissa, Diary-mort had to come up with another plan, (meanwhile bringing his anger out on Creevey, who passed by in the wrong moment of course). As Narci-mione is the one that sends the freezing curse at Harry during the first message events, she launched it from the Gryffindor side, as she was the mysterious curser who also made his feather explode albeit in the beginning the Diary was acting out of pettiness for having a kid so young get the best of him and founding the 'King' of Slytherin as Narcissa had written to him in the diary. Diary-mort is then passed over to Ernest Macmillan who goes and grabs a rooster to try and get the basilisk 'offed' or on his side. (He is briefly seeing trying to battle with his will his way towards the infirmary, where Lily sees him…but it's too late and off he goes)
In the end Diary-mort goes back to Narcissa, and Narcissa uses Imperius on Macmillan to have him complete the job in safety. The rest is merely linear of course just as long as you consider in place of Hermione a polyjuiced into Hermione Narcissa. In the end, the two swap position during the 'capture' of Hermione, (Where Lucius comes to visit Hogwarts with 'Narcissa' under Imperius. Couple of charms and the Aurors stationed look the other way) and in the end…all is well that which ends well!
During Christmas, Narcissa gifts the Marauder map to Harry for some reason.
Pretty simple wasn't it?
Now however more questions pop up of course: Who supplied at least a year of polyjuice to Narcissa and did the same to the 'Hermione' counterpart? Why would Narcissa give the marauder map to Harry?
Anyway, for more clarifications, feel free to ask through pm/review.
