November 20th

Hermione sat alone in her tiny office, her door firmly shut.

During her first few months at the department, she had kept her door open at almost all times. She'd enjoyed the occasional visit from her colleagues, and keeping an eye on what was going on outside. After her relationship with Lucius had become common knowledge, however, her attitude had changed. And after Patrick had started to act strange - by first giving her the silent treatment, then the strange strange attempt to persuade her from her chosen path, and then tense silence again - she'd felt more comfortable with keeping the door closed.

And now that most people thought she lived with a man who was trying to kill her, she rarely went outside her office except for lunch and mandatory meetings. They weren't mean or anything, but she didn't feel like adding other people's curiosity or concern to her list of things to worry about.

Luckily, Hermione was certain she was on the verge of a real break-through with her research, which gave her ample distraction. Finally. After first hoping to prevent the use of the Cruciatus curse altogether, and then looking into the possibility of protecting people from it, she was now determined to at least find an efficient cure for its aftereffects.

The idea had been growing in the back of her mind for months, but truly blossomed after a trip to Malfoy Manor a few weeks ago. Lucius had insisted on bringing her out into the gardens, even though most of the work was being done at the other side of the building. Once out there, he had herded her rather randomly along the pathways until they had heard the sound of rustling leaves and spotted a tall with broad shoulders and dark hair at work pruning a huge rose bush. Lucius had, with a very smug look upon his face, proceeded to introduce her to his head gardener.

For a moment, Hermione had just stood there and gaped. Then she had rushed ahead and thrown her arms around her old friend.

"Neville!" she had squealed while he mumbled something about being dirty from digging up the flowerbeds, probably inhaling a mouthful of her hair in the process.

"You're the new head gardener?" she laughed. "Why didn't Lucius tell me before?"

"I wasn't sure about the job, so I asked for a trial period", Neville shrugged in that humble and endearing way of his.

Hermione squeezed him harder. She had missed him more than she'd realised. Him, everyone, Hogwarts. And now Lucius had employed him - could she love that man any more? Looking over her shoulder, Hermione found that he'd vanished back into the Manor. Frowning, she decided he wasn't going to get away that easily. She would positively assault him with kisses later, whether he wanted her to or not!

"You gave Lucius a trial period?" Hermione giggled. "What did he say about that?"

"Called me an insolent Gryffindor", Neville grinned, picking up his secateurs when she finally released him. "I've heard worse."

She had spent the next hour or so walking around the garden with her friend. Even in on a overcast day in November, the gardens were lovely, and she and Neville had a lot of catching up to do. He had heard about her and Lucius, of course, but unlike most other people, Neville seemed to take it in stride. He'd admitted to being rather shocked by the news, but argued that strictly speaking it was worse to be Malfoy's employee than his girlfriend.

"He pays me a salary", he had explained when the logic wasn't immediately obvious to her, "so I'm technically his subordinate. I can quit of, course, but until I do, I pretty much have to do as he says. You, on the other hand... Well, perhaps I'm making assumptions, but you were never one to give up when you thought you were right about something."

It took a few moments to name the feeling Neville's words brought her: relief.

They'd proceeded to talk about Neville's work, which led to a discussion of the healing properties of different herbs and stuff he was going to plant. Thinking back on it now, as she sat by her desk, Hermione made a list of the plants he had talked about. She smiled fondly, and silently admitted to herself that she wouldn't be satisfied until she had found a way to cure all kinds of Cruciatus-after effects. Not just the normal anxiety, trembling, panic attacks, dissociation and the like. She wanted to help those who had suffered so long and so cruelly that their lives were shattered. Whose minds were lost. People like the Longbottoms.

She had already been studying a variety of subjects – herbs, potions and healing as well as muggle psychiatry and medicine. She'd talked a lot to the doctors and healers that Lucius had hired, slowly mapping out a research plan for herself. But she'd felt that something was missing, as if her ideas needed something else to fall into place. It wasn't until she'd started studying philosophy and theology that she thought she might have found the corner piece of the puzzle.

Like all other traumatic experiences, the Cruciatus curse would cause a person's inner world to be so shaken it would end up completely disconnected if they were exposed to it for long enough. Everything would become a jumbled mess, and the very act of living through a day would become unbearable. And that disconnectedness, she had found, was the every essence of evil in the biblical meaning.

The Greek word for the devil, diabolos, meant something along the lines of "to cast asunder", while symbolos had to do with putting things together. What if there was a correlation here? After all, the driving force behind the Cruciatus curse was malice. The will do hurt and destroy. Hatred. Evil.

What if the people who'd suffered such malice could be healed by providing them with the opposite: genuine care and love? It sounded a little cheesy, but she'd found several treatments that were already in existence, and wanted to try different ways of combining them. Normal muggle therapy combined with healing potions and a variety of other cures. What if she could find a way to begin to reconnect the internal world of people?

A discreet knock on the door interrupted her musings. Expecting it to be Lucius she called for him to enter.

But instead of Lucius, she was once again graced with the presence of his ex-wife. Hermione drew her breath sharply from annoyance as well as apprehension. She didn't think Narcissa was the attacker. But she couldn't know for certain. And while she knew that Narcissa wasn't stupid enough to attack her here and now, neither did she feel up to another interrogation.

Quickly deciding that attack would be her best line of defence, and rather desperate for the woman to just tell her what she was trying to accomplish, Hermione watched Narcissa close the door behind her and turn toward the same splindly chair as last time. Before Narcissa had a chance to open her mouth, however, Hermione did: "What did I ever do to you?"

Perhaps she a little too much of her frustration to seep into her tone, because the older witch seemed a little started, and looked at her questioningly.

"I can see that you are opposed to my relationship with Lucius", Hermione continued in a more conversational tone, "but if you're going to keep visiting me like this, I think I'm entitled to know why?"

Narcissa neither moved nor answered. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap, and Hermione met her impassive gaze. Not for the first time, Hermione noticed that Narcissa and Lucius looked rather similar in many ways. They had certainly been a well matched couple with regards to their appearance - so similar one might have mistaken them for siblings. Both had that white blond hair, pale skin, and grey eyes. But Lucius's eyes were light grey, glinting like steel. Narcissa's eyes were more like rain clouds. A little daunting, but with a surprisingly soft quality to them.

"Is it because I'm too young?" Hermione asked. She could usually provoke some sort of reaction from Lucius, and hoped the same would apply to Narcissa. "Or because I'm not ancient nobility?"

An eyebrow quirked. "No."

"Do you think I'm in it for the money, then? Or that I just want your title?"

"No", Narcissa replied again.

"Is it because I'm hauled as some sort of heroine?" Hermione pressed on determinedly. "Or am I just too unpolished?"

"No."

"Because I'm a mudblood, then?"

This time, Narcissa actually flinched and frowned. "No."

"When what?" Hermione was getting frustrated. She'd thrown in every possible reason Narcissa would think she was unworthy, but she'd learned noting. Her irritation with the woman was growing with every impassive no she got. "Tell me what I did wrong, then!" she said sharply. Picking up one of her quills, she started picking at it for something to do.

"You have done nothing", Narcissa answered. "If anything, I consider myself in your debt."

Hermione nodded to herself. She didn't know if she should be relieved that she wasn't the problem, or annoyed that she still didn't know what Narcissa's bloody problem was.

"So it's Lucius you're trying to punish, then." It was only logical. Hermione picked up her pen knife and began to sharpen her quill, perhaps cutting at it just a little more viciously than was strictly necessary.

When Narcissa neither confirmed not denied it, Hermione looked up at her again.

"What did he do to hurt you?"

"Nothing", Narcissa sighed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Back to no, then. "Did he hurt someone that you care about?"

"No."

"Then why are you doing this?!" Hermione exclaimed, slamming both quill and knife on the table in frustration.

Narcissa's gaze left Hermione's face and her eyes began to flicker to and fro, as if she was debating with herself, listening to two different voices. Hermione waited quietly, nervously, picking up her tools and continuing to carve at the ruffled quill while glancing up at the other witch now and then. After another few moments' indecision, Narcissa sighed and shook her head.

Hermione's heart sank as Narcissa stood up and took a few steps towards the door. No answer. Of course not. Hermione knew it would be pointless to try to stop her, and wasn't in the mood for parting niceties, so she resentfully returned her attention to the poor quill in her hands. She had cut too much from one side, so she turned it and put her knife to the edge to make a cut to balance it out.

"Ask him about Miss Rosier", Narcissa said, with her head bowed down.

Hermione looked up in surprise, and immediately felt a stinging pain in one of her fingers. She looked down, and found that she had cut her finger. It wasn't very deep, but it bled enough to drop down on the papers on her desk. When she looked up again, she realized Narcissa was looking at her with great sympathy. And that, for some reason, filled her with dread.

"Who is Miss Rosier?"

"Ask Lucius."

"Why won't you tell me?" Hermione asked.

Narcissa's eyes wandered down to the wound on Hermione's finger. She conjured a handkerchief and came over to take Hermione's hand in hers and began wrapping it around her finger.

"Ask him", Narcissa repeated quietly as she stepped back. "If he is truly changed, he'll tell you what he did. If he doesn't..." she shook her head and her gaze hardened, "then he is what he always was."

Lucius came in a few minutes after Narcissa left. Hermione was pressing the lended handkercief tightly against the cut, starting to feel a sharp sting, and was startled by his appearance. What had be done to Miss Rosier? Who was Miss Rosier? It wasn't as if Hermione had forgotten that Lucius had committed terrible crimes, but accepting his past didn't mean she liked to be reminded of it. And whatever he had done to the unknown woman, she was afraid it had to be really bad for Narcissa to mention it.

"What did she want?" Lucius asked warily.

"The usual", Hermione muttered awkwardly, trying awkwardly to wipe up the blood from her desk.

That's when Lucius saw that she was injured - or rather, with his vocabulary, mortally wounded. Immediately, he was kneeling at her side, unwrapping the handkerchief and pulling out his wand to mutter a healing spell. The sting transformed into a warm tingling, and Hermione couldn't help but to smile at how predictable some things still were. He may be acting strange, but he still cared - didn't he?

"Thanks", she sighed.

"Are you all right?" he asked as he looked her over anxiously.

Hermione explained what had happened, but left out Narcissa's parting advice. That was a conversation she needed to prepare for.

"How did your little excursion go?" she asked.

Lucius narrowed his eyes suspiciously, as if he could sense that she was trying to distract him. Slowly, he stood up and sat on her desk. He semed to debate whether to answer her question or to press her further about Narcissa, but Hermione stared him down.

"Well?" she demanded, determinedly ignoring the warmth that spread through her at his casual proximity. There was something about him today. He exuded even more of that self-assertive power than usual. She had hated it once.

"Blood", Lucius answered curtly, crossing his arms.

Hermione's eyes fell to the soiled handkerchief still lying next to him on the desk. Lucius flicked his wand and set it on fire, and turned back to Hermione.

"My blood", he clarified, but it didn't make much sense to her.

"I paid a visit to an old acquaintance", Lucius told her in a measured voice. "She was able to tell me that there is indeed magic that will enable a witch or wizard to control another's wand. But the only way for someone to exercise that kind of control is by convincing the wand that the one manipulating it has a superior claim to its allegiance." He paused, and Hermione could tell that beneath his cool exterior, he was truly upset. "By using the owner's blood."

Hermione stared at him. Someone used Lucius's blood to control his wand?

"Your blood?" she repeated dumbly. "But... how did they get it?"

Lucius raised a brow. "That, my dear, is a very good question. But I think the answer is quite obvious." Hermione was still struggling to follow him, and he spoke slowly: "In spite of the war and everything going on, I know for certain certain there have been very few opportunities to collect my blood without me knowing it for many years. But -"

Finally, Hermione's brain caught up with her. "The attack at the ball!" she gasped.

"I suspect I bled quite profusely on that occasion", Lucius agreed darkly.

"Bloody hell", Hermione whispered.

If someone had taken his blood that night, she would have noticed, surely? Frantically, Hermione began sifting through her memories of that night. She had called out to Lucius, he had turned towards her and then been hit from behind. When he fell to the ground, she had hurried to his side. Her fingers had become red with his blood when she fumbled around the back of his head to assess the injury.

Hermione looked up. "Would it be enough to gather your blood from the ground or -?"

"No." Lucius shook his head. "It had to be taken directly from the wound."

Hermione went back to her memories, only half aware that Lucius was watching her tensely.

She had sat by Lucius on the ground until the healers came and they had taken him to St Mungo's. And she'd stayed by him when the healers examined and treated him there as well. Racking her brain, she couldn't think of anything suspicious. Surely, she would have noticed someone taking a vial full of his blood? Merlin, this was frustrating!

Taking a deep breath to calm herself down, Hermione forced herself to slow down, to focus and remember every detail as clearly as she could. The healers had been very professional, fully intent on saving Lucius's life. They had cast diagnostic spells, forced potions down his throat, cast spells to help his wounds close, bandaged him. Not at any point could she remember blood being taken. And when the healers were finished, they'd been assigned a room, and the only people who came in were Draco, Harry and Ginny. And, of course, a mediwitch or two to check on Lucius's progress...

Hermione clasped a hand to her mouth. That was it! Wide eyed, she looked up at Lucius. He was staring at her apprehensively, holding the edge of her desk so hard his knuckles where white.

"The flowers!" she whispered.

It was Lucius's turn to be confused. "What flowers?"

"Don't you remember?" she rushed out. "The white lillies! There was no card. A mediwitch came in with them and then changed your dressings."

Lucius swore under his breath. "Did you have full view of what she did?"

Hermione shook her head. "She stood in the way and I had seen enough of blood earlier that night", she said. "She could have taken some of your blood! She said the wound was still bleeding." Hermione felt nauseous. "And I didn't notice."

She didn't notice Lucius moving, but a moment later, she felt his hands press hers firmly. "It's not your fault, Hermione", he said in that commanding voice of his that helped her snap out of her growing anxiety. She nodded, trying to stay grounded. He was right, this wasn't about her. They needed to figure this out. She took a shuddering breath.

"I didn't recognize her", Hermione said, blinking against the stinging in her eyes. "There was nothing even remotely familiar about her." She clasped her palm to her forehead, groaning to herself. "She was probably polyjuiced."

"Probably." Lucius frowned, seeming deep in thought. "But why the flowers? Where they just a means to gain entry to our room?"

"She was dressed as a mediwitch", Hermione objected. "No one would have questioned her coming in to check on you."

"A warning, then?" Lucius suggested. "White lilies for my funeral?"

"Or an apology", Hermione said slowly.

She had wondered why someone had first attacked Lucius and then used him to attack her. There was something incongruous about it. If it was really only one attacker - who was it they wanted to hurt? If Lucius, why not attack him again in Diagon Alley? If her, why had they snuck up on Lucius in the first place? But now it was clear to her. There was only one attaker, and that person knew exactly what he or she was doing.

She didn't want to say it out loud. She really didn't. But she had no choice.

"Perhaps the attacker never meant for you to get hurt", she said, her heart clenching at he increasing horror on Lucius's face. "They might have been aiming for me."