Counting the Stars
Chapter Twenty-Five
It Happened Quiet - AURORA, Goodnight - Lennon Stella, Familiar - Agnes Obel, and Iris's Song for Us - Vashti Bunyan
O
Hermione's grandfather died when she was nine.
It was on Christmas Day, and they were at her house. He hadn't been feeling well, but since he was always on the healthier side, no one had paid it any attention.
"He's got a bit of a chill, I think," his son, Hermione's father Richard had said to Hermione while pressing a kiss to her cheek.
Her grandfather died in his sleep that night.
Hermione couldn't remember much from that time period. If anyone asked her how her grandfather died, she wouldn't be able to tell them. But she could tell them that she remembered her father not breaking down in front of anyone in public.
But there was one thing she could remember with such vivid detail that it was like it had been imprinted upon her mind.
It was two nights after her grandfather's funeral. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, watching the telly. Late at night, she'd woken up, gathered her blanket to her, and trudged down the hall towards her room. Her parents' bedroom door was open. She glanced inside.
Richard was sitting on the edge of the bed beside Hermione's mother, Elizabeth. He was hunched over, shoulders shaking as he sobbed openly into his hands, the normally stoic man having completely crumbled. Elizabeth was beside him, the strongest of guardians, with her hand rubbing circles on his upper back. She was murmuring something that reminded Hermione of the way her mother comforted her after her nightmares.
It was at that moment that Hermione realized her father was a human being, and not just a moniker for provider and warrior of the family. He was real. He lived, and he breathed, and he laughed, and he wept. And when he wept, his wife, whom he loved so much, was right there to hold him upright.
Loss was something Hermione understood. It was something she knew well. It rose and set with her, like the sun as the Earth traversed the universe.
She knew loss intimately, like she knew the network of faint green veins that criss-crossed their way up the backs of her hands. She'd studied her veins as she wrote essay after essay in Hogwarts, watching them fade into the flesh of her tawny beige skin. When she read books, she watched the way they moved with her fingers as they trailed under sentences, as though they were the only web of life that was holding her together.
Hermione held Draco while he shook and forced back sobs. He was just like her father, trying to be strong for reasons known only to him. Even though there were so many things going on between them, so many arguments that they had had, Hermione would never forget what her mother had done for her father all those years ago.
She'd just held him.
Breathe, she thought to him, hoping off-chance that he could hear. You have to breathe, or you will pass out.
His answer was to gasp aloud as though he were coming up for air only to be pulled back under.
She kept her arms wrapped tight around him, pressing herself so firm against his back that it was as though she were trying to absorb him. To absorb all the anguish because she knew how to cope with it. She'd been doing it for so long that she just wanted to take it all away from him, and she didn't want to think about all the nasty words they'd spat at one another this past month.
Draco remained on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest, his elbows on his kneecaps, and his fingers tangled in his hair. He was panting for breath, his chest seeming to spasm as he fought for air.
Hermione knew that feeling well, too. The panic and anxiety he was probably feeling, knowing that his mother was never going to open her eyes again. That everything he had done to try to save her had been for nothing. That no amount of running, hiding, or fighting had been enough to keep her alive.
He did not cry, but this was just as palpable.
And just when she thought he might burst into tears, she felt one of his hands dropping to cover her fingers. He squeezed tight. So tight that she worried he'd break them. She closed her eyes against the pain.
You can take it from me, she thought, hoping he heard. Whatever you need.
There was no reply, but she felt the gentlest whisper of a cold air against the front of her mind. Then, as soon as she registered it, it was gone.
Lucius wept himself into catatonia. Hermione had never heard weeping that sounded so anguished. It made her eyes sting, but she knew she couldn't let herself fall apart. She didn't have the right. Lucius was weeping over his wife, the love of his heart and the woman he had married. Hermione had no right to thieve from his grief.
When his sobs finally tapered off to deep, pained breaths, and even Draco's breathing had calmed, Hermione realized that it was quiet. Too quiet.
Narcissa had taken the only light with her, and now it was dark.
The seconds ticked on into minutes. They all sat in the silence and emptiness of death for so long that Hermione's knees began to ache and her calves went numb from sitting on them. She held tight still, taking warmth from his body island hoping that he was doing the same.
Draco had since let go of her hands. He had folded his arms on his knees so he could bury his head in them. Hermione wished she could see into his mind, to see how he was feeling. To see what he needed exactly.
There was a chance that he would never say what he needed aloud. There was a chance that he would bottle it up, like he seemed to do with everything else. That meant that it was up to Hermione to take control. It was up to her to be strong and fight for him and for Lucius - yes, Lucius - in spite of everything that had happened because if she didn't, the entire house would fall to ruin.
They were all she had, in a morbid way, and she was a Gryffindor. She would never put herself ahead of anyone else. She would always put the people around her first.
Extricating her arms from around Draco's torso, she stood.
Draco's head snapped up. He looked pale and haunted, even in the darkness of the corridor. Hermione almost felt like she was looking into the eyes of a ghost, like she was seeing right through him into his center.
"Where are you going?" he whispered.
Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "First, I'm going to get you and Lucius both blankets. Then, I'm going to take your wand and use it to call a Healer with my Patronus. It's faster than an owl." If I can even still manage one after this long without magic.
Draco nodded, his gaze falling. "Quickly."
More words hung unspoken in the air between them, dangling off the edge of a cliff Hermione didn't yet understand.
I need you.
Hermione nodded, turned, and dashed off to her room. She knew a blanket wasn't a lot, but it was only the first thing she'd have to do these next few days. She knew things were going to be tough. She grabbed her coverlet off of her bed and then went to the room beside it.
Draco's.
The door hadn't disappeared, so she assumed he was the one who had to make it do so. She hesitated for a brief moment. She was about to walk into his bedroom. It was more than a little overwhelming.
Inside she went, aiming straight for his bed. It was dark, but after a quick glance around, she saw that it looked very Victorian, with heavy gossamer curtains and a black chandelier. There was a lot of furniture, a fireplace, a four poster bed, and armchairs. The carpet was much softer and thicker underfoot than the carpeting in the other parts of the Manor. If she could describe his room in one word, it would be "cozy."
Not at all what she expected from Draco Malfoy.
She pushed aside the curtains on his bed, her gaze washing over the coverlet. She touched it. It was satin. Massive in size.
Why did she feel so weird about this?
"Hermione."
Hermione's eyes widened. He'd said her first name. When he'd seen his mother, he'd said her first name. Years and years of calling her Granger, and the first time he used her first name was in his most open, painful moment.
What did it mean?
Pulling the blanket with her, she walked backward until it came off. Then, dragging both of the coverlets along, she returned to the hallway outside of Narcissa's room.
Draco was still sitting on the floor with his knees up, staring blankly into the room. Lucius was lying on the bed with Narcissa's body, his arms wrapped around her and his leg hooked over hers. Hermione's heart wrenched with pity.
She went to him first.
Taking her coverlet, she tossed it over the two of them. Lucius barely stirred. Hermione couldn't look at his face for longer than a second. His eyes were closed, but he looked to be silently crying in his despair. It was too much, with everything between them. But she understood.
Then, she went back to where she'd left Draco's comforter in the hall. She glanced at him as she passed. He was sitting cross-legged now. His face was blank. More than blank. It was the vastness of space between every star, that bleak, cold emptiness that stretches for too far to fathom.
He looked defeated.
She grabbed the coverlet and came around to kneel in front of him. She wrapped it around his shoulders, pulling it tight until only his head poked out from the top of it. Her mother had done this for her when she was a young girl when she was sitting on the floor, whether it was to watch the telly or to read. Hermione knew how comforting it was to be enveloped.
"Is your wand in your room?" she whispered as she stood, not wanting to disturb Lucius. "I can -"
Draco's hand shot out and he snatched her wrist. Hermione let out a small cry of shock. In one movement, without looking at her, he pulled her down into his lap inside the blanket. She went rigid in her surprise, even as he pulled the blanket around them both. His arms slid around her waist and held her close, with her arms crushed against his chest and her head slightly higher to the left of his.
Hermione took a breath. She could feel the softness of his hair as he ducked his head, resting it on her shoulder and the curve of her neck. He inhaled so deeply that she felt his chest swelling. His body was warm, made even warmer by the blanket surrounding them. She felt his heartbeat slowing down and hers speeding up, like she was taking his panic and his woe and making it a part of herself.
He was shaking.
Hermione's compassion kicked in again and she wrapped her arms around his neck. One of her hands pressed against his head by his ear; the other combed through the hair at the top of his head.
I need more time. His voice in her head was muted. Flat.
She supposed they could wait a little longer to call the Healer.
They sat there for a period of time, Hermione resting her cheek atop Draco's head. She melted against his body, curling up in his lap and stroking his hair until he was calm.
For a moment, she felt like they were still at Hogwarts. Sixteen or seventeen, huddled up together in a blanket under a dark sky void of light.
It was the strangest thing.
For the first time in years, she felt like Hermione Granger again.
O
It took a little bit, but Hermione was finally able to get up to go collect Draco's wand.
She tried a few times to cast a Patronus in Draco's room, but none of her memories seemed to work. She felt sad. Had things in her life really gotten so bad that she couldn't even cast a wisp of blue?
You know, her thoughts had whispered to her when she'd given up on the Patronus. You could hex both of them right now and run.
But even as she entertained the thought for the briefest of seconds, she just couldn't do it. She didn't want to. The thought of leaving now, with so many things unresolved was nightmarish. If she left now, she'd always wonder what the truth was. Something inside of her told her that it would be something that Draco would never forgive.
Hermione wasn't sure why she would need his forgiveness, nor why that would keep her from running. She just knew that she wasn't leaving.
Not yet.
Perhaps an owl would be best after all, Hermione thought.
She went back to Narcissa's room after that, and knelt beside Draco again. She tapped him on the shoulder and he gave her a bleary-eyed look.
"You'll have to do it," she whispered, pushing back her forlorn feelings. Not being able to cast a Patronus was nothing compared to losing your mother, and she knew that. "Or send an owl."
"Later," he mumbled, their fingers brushing for an extended moment as he took his wand from her.
She offered him the first genuine smile she'd given him in weeks. "Later, let's take care of this, yeah?"
His eyes searched hers like he was seeing for the first time. "Together?"
Still smiling, Hermione nodded. "Together."
They decided to leave Lucius alone with Narcissa for a couple more hours while they tried to get some more sleep and prepare for a trying day. Draco paused at his open doorway, still clutching his blanket around his shoulders. He looked like an overgrown version of his younger self.
Hermione looked to him, her hand on her doorknob. "Did you need anything? I can get you water?"
His brows twitched together for a moment before he shook his head. Then, he averted his eyes. "You . . . Left your coverlet. You don't have anything to sleep under."
Hermione shrugged. "It's nearly Summer. I'll be all right."
He bit his lower lip, peering into his room and then back at her. "Did you want to . . . I mean, my bed is quite large."
Hermione held her breath. Her blood rushed in her ears and her throat went dry.
"You mean," she said, clearing her throat, "share?"
He gave her a short nod.
Hermione tilted her head to the side. "You could just Transfigure me a blanket."
He looked away. "You know that's not the same."
They stared across the distance at each other. It felt like they were challenging each other in some strange way. Even now, hours after his mother had passed, they were still playing the same game they'd been playing since the beginning.
Because what if it wasn't just sharing a bed for him? What if he was looking for solace?
Hermione wanted to help him, but that wasn't what she'd had in mind right now.
And yet it would be a small price to pay in return for the things he'd done for her. When she took her anger and set it aside, she could see that not only had he rescued her from a wyvern and werewolf attack, but he'd given her a safe place to live where she had a bed, nice clothing, a full stomach, and all the books she could dream of.
She still had questions, and they still had things to work through, but he needed her.
"Okay," she said.
Draco watched her as she padded up to him, and then he turned and walked into the room. Hermione felt a slight spark of amusement. She had to wait for the blanket to trail by before she could follow. There was something so strangely domestic and un-posh about an aristocratic Pureblood wizard like Draco Malfoy trundling about with a giant coverlet around his shoulders.
He pulled the blanket off and reached to pull his bed curtains open. Using his wand to settle the coverlet back onto the bed, he prepared it for them to sleep in. Hermione stood off to the side, watching him work with her hands clasped behind her back.
She was glad she'd worn leggings and a large shirt to bed. If she'd been wearing a camisole, awkward would have been an understatement. Especially given what had occurred between them in the clearing, and in her room.
He climbed in first and slid over, running his fingers through his hair and yawning. Hermione went next, tentative and slow as she took her place beside him. It was the most comfortable bed she'd ever laid in and the moment she relaxed back against the extravagant number of silk-covered pillows, she felt the sleepiness starting to settle in.
She looked over at him, but he was already lying curled up on his side, his back to her.
It was easier to drift off after that.
O
The day passed slowly.
Hermione woke before Draco, rising from an unmemorable dream. He was still in the position he'd been in the night before, curled on his side. She pulled the curtains aside and sunlight filtered in, illuminating his back. She hadn't realized how dark it was with them drawn.
It took a gentle, jostling hand on his shoulder to wake him. When he opened his eyes, he looked unwell. It was like his eyelids weighed ten tons each. Like he couldn't see any point in waking up when someone he loved would never wake again. It was a bit jarring to see him looking so human when she'd spent so long thinking of him as a monster.
Hermione knew that feeling, too.
The morning was spent waiting for the Healer, Aurors, the Prophet reporters, and the executor to come to the Manor. The Healer would be coming to make the confirmation. Aurors would take Lucius' statement and collect the body. The reporters would collect the official death announcement and then the executor would read the will.
All before lunch.
Draco was in muted, dampened spirits. Lucius was stoic and his eyes were blank. Both dressed in formal wizarding robes, looking dark and dreary. They took to the sitting room downstairs to wait for the guests by the Floo.
During that time, Hermione went to the kitchens to try and take stock of everything that was inside of the pantry and the refrigeration room. It was almost laughable to her that their refrigeration was as archaic as a Catholic nunnery in 1970's Romania, but she wasn't surprised. Pureblood wizards lived their lives steeped in ideals from the past.
Draco had given her his wand to use for the day, so she used it to help make a quick, light breakfast for them all.
Just run. The thought continued to wiggle at the back of her mind, all through the morning. Just take the wand and run.
But she couldn't bring herself to do it. It felt wrong and cruel.
She used the wand again to float the wizards' plates and silverware into the sitting room. Lucius sat on one end of one black chaise and Draco stood near the window. While Lucius looked shrunken and frail, Draco's presence seemed to fill the room with regality. He was gazing out at the peacocks on the estate with his arms crossed over his chest and his hair swept back away from his forehead.
"Here is some breakfast, Lucius," Hermione said, her tone soft. She tried not to focus on the way he'd treated her, and instead let her compassionate nature drive her. She held the plate out to him with one hand, using the other to hold the wand and keep Draco's plate afloat.
Draco turned his head away from the window, watching Hermione.
"Hm?" Lucius blinked and then looked up at her, appearing disoriented. He gave her a strange, twitchy smile. "Yes. Well, then. On the table, please. Thank you, Miss Granger."
Hermione felt sad as she floated his plate to the table, where she suspected it would not get eaten. If Lucius was showing gratitude without even the slightest hint of malice in his tone?
Narcissa had taken him with her.
She returned the smile with a polite one of her own and then went to Draco's side. She floated the plate into his waiting hands. His expression was unreadable, but no less intense than usual.
"Can you eat?" she asked, lowering her voice.
He gave a nod. "I'll try."
They stared at each other, like they had that morning. Hermione thought back to their cold war. It felt silly now, when she looked back on it. All of it felt like such an immature waste of time. But it wasn't that long ago that Hermione was the one on the receiving end of questions on hunger.
They'd both treated each other horribly. She'd been a brat for refusing to eat just because he was asking. He'd been cruel for trying to force it or starve her out. The only way they were going to overcome the animosity was for Hermione to put it on the back of her broom for a little bit.
She wasn't going to forget all of the things she didn't trust about him, but she would agree to put them on hold.
"If you can't, it's all right," she said, offering him the same polite smile that she'd given Lucius.
He tilted his head to the side as he looked down at her, and said nothing.
She went back to the kitchen to eat her own breakfast alone.
While the Prophet reporters were here, taking statements and snapping photos, Hermione thought it was best to stay upstairs. The slight hope that even just one of her friends was alive kept her aware of the fact that if anyone knew that she was living safe and sound in the Malfoy Manor, they'd be enraged with betrayal.
She didn't quite know what to do, so she went into Draco's room to make the bed. It made sense, since she'd slept in it. She set the wand down, wanting the effort to take up more time. When she was done with that, she looked around and noticed with surprise that Draco's room was actually quite messy. It was mostly clothing and accessories like belts and shoes, but it was a mess nonetheless.
It was almost eerie, being upstairs and knowing that Narcissa lay dead in her room. There would be no more trips back and forth from the potions lab to her room. No more reasons to forage. No more reasons to keep the moonflowers. All of her research, fruitless though it was, meant nothing now.
I'll just have to hold onto them, she thought with a sigh. For later.
And Draco had been right about one thing yesterday.
She would never get to have answers about the fall of Wicklow Sanctuary, and there was nothing she could do about it except let it go.
While she was picking up the mess on Draco's floor, putting it in a neat pile in the center of his bed, she heard voices coming up the stairs. Lucius, a female Healer, and a couple of men she didn't recognize. She didn't focus on them. They were the Aurors, so she already knew why they were here.
She stood out of sight in Draco's room, holding a jumper of his in her hands while she tried not to be discovered. The Dark Lord knew about her, but that didn't mean he'd be okay with her picture and name being splayed all over the news tomorrow. Especially when he was still deciding what to do with them.
What are the chances that Narcissa would pass today, before we get summoned? Hermione thought as the crack of the Aurors DisApparating with Narcissa's body reached her ears. At least she didn't have to watch her son die.
O
The executor arrived after lunch.
He, along with Draco and Lucius, went into Lucius' study to do the reading of Narcissa's will. Hermione went in five minutes or so after they took their seats. Lucius had conjured two armchairs before his desk, and the executor was in one of them. Draco was in the other, and Lucius sat in his own chair behind the desk. Lucius kept his hands clasped on the desktop, his face sad yet impassive while Draco maintained a stoic, cold appearance.
Hermione set the tea tray that she had prepared down on a table by the door, interrupting the executor's train of speech.
"Is this . . . ?" The executor, a tall, thin man with an equally thin beard said. "Your wife, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco answered. "No, but she can stay."
As Hermione began preparing the teacups, she feigned disinterest at the pregnant pause.
The executor cleared his throat. "Well, sir, typically, the will can only be read in the presence of family members -"
"She's family," Lucius said, his tone clipped. "She can stay."
Hermione nearly dropped the lid to the sugar dish. Had Lucius just . . . Called her family? She gulped, her hands trembling as she tried to focus.
"Is she a sister, or perhaps a cousin?" the executor replied.
"She is family," Draco said this time, his tone firm. "Please, continue."
Hermione thought her heart might come out of her throat. She didn't know how they could consider her family when to be honest, they'd all treated each other horribly. Draco and Hermione bickered, Draco and Lucius rowed, and Lucius had literally beaten Hermione.
Yet here she was, cooking for them and ensuring that they were taken care of and supported in their grief. Like a friend, or a family member.
She didn't know how she felt about this new development.
The executor finally continued, and Hermione focused on the tea. For Lucius, she had no idea what he liked and he hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch, so she wasn't sure he would even drink it. She went with simple for him, just in case: one sugar cube and one drop of cream.
Draco was a different story.
He was the type to give her Hell for it later if she got it wrong, so this was going to take some contemplation. She quirked her lips and thought hard. Would he like two sugars? Three? Did he want honey or milk? She looked at the tray filled with all the necessary ingredients.
Draco was not a sweet person on the outside, but the way he'd always seemed unable to not care for her when she needed it showed her he had a softer side. The way he'd cared for her after her accidental poisoning, the way he held her hand in the forest so she wouldn't trip, and the fact that he'd given her so many apology gifts that actually seemed to have some thought behind them.
He was salty on the outside, sweet on the inside. Therefore, he probably liked sweets like candy and tarts, things like that. She put three lumps of sugar into the cup and stirred until it dissolved.
Hermione looked to the milk and cream. Draco was thoughtful in the sense that he seemed to think a lot more deeply than he looked on the outside. But he was emotional and built thin walls up that could never possibly hold, giving and giving and giving until he broke. That much was evidenced by the fact that he'd taken all those rounds of the Cruciatus just to keep her role in Carrow's death a secret.
Milk was lighter, airier than cream. Cream was thick and filled all the empty spaces of a liquid until it became something a little more hearty. Draco definitely liked milk.
Hermione gave herself the same sort of determined nod she used to give herself when she was sure she'd found the correct answer on an exam in History of Magic or Arithmancy, and she tipped the milk into the tea. She didn't put too much - he wasn't that emotional. Not like Ron, whose anger was a bit more explosive, or Harry, who made decisions with his heart and not his head.
She paused.
The person who was sitting in that chair right now? That was a person who had lost his mother. A person who had just watched his father sob uncontrollably over her dead body, and who had possessed the self-awareness to ask Hermione to share his bed because he didn't want to be alone. That person deserved some cream, too.
She added three drops of cream, stirring it into the mixture until it became a pale beige color.
It was ready.
Using the wand and her peripheral vision, she delivered the tea to Lucius first, and then to Draco second. She didn't turn around, not wanting the executor to recognize her, so she was unsure what they were going to think. Once it was delivered, she gathered up the tray and headed for the door.
As she left, she felt ice in her mind. Draco's voice came in her head.
Swot.
O
Later that night, Hermione decided to go check on Lucius.
It didn't make any sense why she would want to, but she couldn't get the sounds of his sobbing out of her head. It had humanized him in her mind and even though she didn't forgive him, she was not cold-hearted. She would help get both Malfoy men through the day, or the week, or whatever it was they needed, and she would be glad to do it.
Compassion was not a weakness; holding grudges was.
Draco was in the gym and had been in there for hours. Hermione had left him alone, only intruding to leave a plate of dinner on the bench by his water. He was fighting the dummy so violently, so passionately, that Hermione didn't have the heart to remain in the room. The clanging and clashing of the sabres followed her out, like a cacophony of sadness mingled with anger and defeat.
She knew he probably felt like he'd failed, she just didn't know if it was her place to address it.
She knocked on the door to Lucius' study.
"Lucius?" she said, voice tentative. "Would you like some dinner?"
There was silence, but Hermione heard the fire crackling in the hearth inside. It was only a few moments before he bid her enter, and then she was stepping into the room.
"Come sit for a spell, won't you?" he drawled from the armchair. He sat in it with one leg crossed over the other, a glass goblet in his right hand, and his chin propped in the palm of his left.
Hermione hesitated. There was a chair across from his by the fire as well, but she wasn't so sure it was a good idea. What if he was back to his old self already? She didn't think she could take any negativity on today of all days, especially with how much she'd helped them.
"I would just like to speak with you," Lucius said with a sigh, tearing his eyes away from the fire. "Please."
With some reservation, Hermione slowly made her way to the chair. She sat down on the very front edge of it, perching with no desire to settle in. "What did you want to talk about?"
"I apologize," he said, his grey eyes piercing across the firelight at her, "for my actions."
Hermione stilled. She didn't know what to say. She hadn't expected this.
He went on, "I don't know what else I can say, Miss Granger. Only that I am deeply sorry for the way that I treated you. You have shown all the grace and character of a Pureblood witch today with your kindness and decorum, and I do believe that neither I nor my son deserve it."
Hermione averted her eyes. How much could it really mean if he still held the same ideals about Muggle-borns?
"And, Miss Granger, I know that you may never forgive me. I'm not asking for your forgiveness, nor your understanding. But as a gift to my wife, I thought it would be best that we speak. However, I knew that would not be possible until I apologized."
Hermione pursed her lips, biting her tongue. She wanted to call him out for apologizing for reasons other than feeling guilty, but her curiosity was too great.
"Did Narcissa have something she wanted me to know?" Hermione said, her hands curved tight over her kneecaps atop the fabric of her dress.
Lucius took a sip of his liquor. "Yes. She did."
Hermione leaned forward with eagerness. "What did she say? Did she say it before - when she -"
Lucius interrupted. "Yes, this is something I have known for a long time. I was not a part of it, but I have kept it hidden out of love for my wife. Had I known that she would not . . ." He closed his eyes and Hermione saw the grief flickering across his brow. When he opened his eyes again, they were glassy. "I would have told you when you first arrived."
Hermione gritted her teeth to stop them from chattering. She waited until he continued.
"I knew my wife was a member of the Order of the Phoenix," he said, gazing into the fire once again. "I knew she had joined in Draco's Sixth Year to award him extra protection, but I declined to pay any attention to it. I knew that the Dark Lord could look into my mind quite easily. You see, it is the Black side of the family that excels in Occlumency. I used all of my power just to keep the knowledge hidden. My fear of the Dark Lord's retribution was too great.
"However, by the end of the war, she was a full-fledged member. Any secrets that - as we now know - Severus did not share, she shared. And when the Order fell and Pot -" He stopped, shooting her a look that she could only describe in awe as respectful. "- Harry Potter was killed, it was discovered that she betrayed the Dark Lord in a way that could not be forgiven. Hence the reason why he knew that Harry was alive in the courtyard."
Hermione sucked in her breath. "What?"
"Narcissa was distraught," Lucius said, his voice choking slightly. "She and I both had received no word from Draco in hours. We had thought that he was hurt, or worse. And so when Harry came down to the forest, after the Dark Lord called upon him, her wits were not about her. She leaned down to listen to his heartbeat and when she realized that he was still breathing, she whispered and asked him if Draco was alive. Harry nodded. And when he nodded, the Dark Lord heard her thoughts. He knew then that he'd been usurped, and that Narcissa had failed him."
Hermione felt her heart sinking. That's why the plan hadn't worked. That was why the Dark Lord knew about the stone. He'd pieced it together. If Harry was still alive after the Killing Curse, that automatically meant that he had the Philosopher's Stone somewhere on his person. Anyone with knowledge of Alchemy would know that.
It wasn't Narcissa's fault, but she had caused the end of the war.
Lucius kept speaking.
"That is why Narcissa continued to assist the Order, even after the war was over. She helped as many people as she could without the Dark Lord's knowledge. She honed her Occlumency to a point where her mind was an impenetrable fortress. She was able to keep the Dark Lord from finding the information in my mind, even. She delivered as many people as she could to the sanctuary and when the Dark Lord found out, he was livid."
"And the Dark Lord didn't punish her? For lying?" Hermione asked, her mind spinning and reeling.
"He did. At first, he forgave her aloud for lying about Harry for love of her son. But I don't believe he ever did forgive her. When Narcissa was discovered Apparating to Scotland to deliver more to the sanctuary, she was punished."
"How?"
Lucius looked at her. "He cursed her. That is why you are here, is it not?"
Hermione could feel her mood changing. Something didn't sound right. "When?"
"Directly after it happened. It was a slow-moving curse that eventually caught up to her." Lucius swirled his drink, staring into the fire with a forlorn expression. "And now, it has finally taken her."
Hermione stared at the floor, panic increasing the pace of her breath.
The sanctuary fell in July of 2002.
Hermione had arrived in January of 2004.
Draco had told her his mother was cursed in December of 2003.
This was why it seemed like he didn't care what happened to his mother one we're summoned to Buckingham.
He knew definitively that Narcissa was doomed from the beginning.
Her hands curled into tight, clenching fists.
He lied to me. Again.
"Why would Draco wait this long to bring me here?" Hermione asked, her voice strained. "If he wanted to save his mother, why would he wait to enlist my help?"
Lucius gave her a strange, cautious look. "You'll have to ask him yourself, Miss Granger. The curse that the Dark Lord used was not of this Earth. He has . . . Power. Unimaginable power. And the curse was incurable."
Hermione felt faint. So that was why Lucius had been so hateful to her. Narcissa wasn't going to live. Lucius knew that. Draco knew that. They'd both just entertained a Muggle-born in their house for reasons unknown to her. In Lucius's eyes, her feeding a useless potion to his wife was mocking to him.
Why would Lucius let me live in his house if I was essentially pouring nothing down her throat twice a day?
"I held hope," Lucius said, as if sensing her thoughts. His eyes were bright. "I held hope that you could be the answer. I do not know what thoughts my son has going through his head, but what I do know is that he truly believed in your ability to save her. As for why he didn't bring you here sooner, I am unsure. But you must know . . ."
He downed the rest of his liquor, as if he needed it to say his next words.
"When Draco cares about something, he cares fiercely," he said, tone clipped again as he held Hermione's gaze. "Ferociously, like a dragon. He would not have done any of this for no reason. Please understand that."
He stood and walked toward her, holding his hand out. When she just stared at him, he gave her an encouraging nod. After a moment, she placed her hand upon his in a delicate manner. His skin was worn and leathery, contrasting greatly with the smoothness of the rest of his appearance. He pulled her to her feet.
"Thank you for saving my son," he said, searching her eyes. "If it weren't for you, Carrow would have killed him. And, please. Take care of his heart. It's too big for his own good."
He let go of her hand and left the study.
Hermione stood there for a long time, painstakingly creating a new box in her mind for her anger at Draco Malfoy and his constant barrage of lies.
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