A/N: The scene with Narcissa in this chapter was more or less entirely written before the news of Helen McCrory's passing came out today, and I'm relieved that this was the case, too, because writing it would've hit differently otherwise. I do write Narcissa more with an idea of how she's described in the book (you're all free to envision whatever you want, of course), but man, speaking especially as a huge Peaky Blinders fan...we lost a great today.

I am but a lowly fanfic writer, so I won't wax philosophical about it, but I didn't want to post a chapter that included one of her characters without acknowledging her passing - especially on the very day that it happened.

Draco's mother was in her conservatory when he found her, tending to a very specific (and very expensive) sort of flower that only bloomed at night. When she saw him she smiled, but then when she really took him in the smile was gone in an instant.

"Does the name Lennox mean anything to you?" He asked before she could question him.

"Draco, what's the matter-"

"I need to know. The Lennoxes. Who are they?"

One pale blonde eyebrow twitched, as though she was tempted to reprimand him for his shortness, but then she seemed to dismiss the idea, more and more concern filling her eyes the longer she regarded him.

"It...It does sound familiar. But why?"

"I can't tell you," he hesitated, and then added "Not yet. But I need to know - and quickly."

"Do you have a first name to go with it?" She smoothed her robes and made for one of the benches by one of the windows.

Yet again, Draco hesitated. He wasn't even sure why. Word would be sweeping the Ministry by now, and he knew he was very much on borrowed time - both in terms of Marilyn's fate, and his own. His father would soon hear of this, and come looking for him. And then he'd be unable to help anybody, not least Marilyn.

"Serana - Serana Lennox," he said, joining her on the bench.

His mother's brow furrowed as she visibly searched her memory for where she might recognise the name from.

"There was...some sort of scandal," she said slowly, looking around the room as though it might provide answers for her "It must've been a while ago, if I can no longer remember it well. Long before the war, at least."

In their world - the pureblood world, not simply the Wizarding one - there would be a new scandal every other week. Some housewife spending an eyebrow-raising amount of time with another's husband, some family heirloom being seen in a pawnshop window. It never ended. If he had to sit here and wait for his mother to rifle through even a year's worth of scandal in her mind, he'd never see Marilyn again.

Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph from Granger's file. It was a typical employee ID photograph, showing a young blonde woman gazing directly at the camera before turning her head this way and that to afford the viewer a side profile view. His mother accepted it, but not without a suspicious glance in his direction. But whatever she saw in his face must've made her realise that he wasn't in the market for a potential bride when it came to his curiosity about this women, for she made no comment along those lines.

"She looks like...ah."

"Ah?"

"She's the double of her mother - Serena Lennox."

"Serana," Draco corrected.

"No, the mother was Serena."

Oh, Merlin give him strength. His scoff of distaste was drowned out by his mother continuing.

"Of course, we only ever knew her as the Lennox woman in our circles. She had an affair with Nott, not too long before the birth of Theodore. This," she handed the photograph back to him "Was the result."

"Which makes her…"

"Theodore and Tabitha's half-sister. Not that they'd ever acknowledge her, unless they wanted to face the wrath of their father."

"But she's his daughter."

It was difficult to listen - difficult to sit still as he listened, even. Doing his best to comprehend and make sense of what he was being told, all the while searching each thread of new information for something that may be of use, and all of this while he was fully aware that this may be the last civil conversation he had with either parent for a long time. Perhaps ever. Last, but certainly not least, the whole thing was wrapped up in a thick blanket of terror knowing that Marilyn's time was running out. Who knew what she was being subjected to even as they spoke. Or if she was still alive.

His mother's voice sounded miles away as the thoughts spun around in his mind, until he had to forcibly shove them aside so that he might bloody well listen and make use of what he was hearing.

"There are many who believe it was the stress of the affair, and what it produced, that sent his wife into an early birth. A difficult birth - which is what killed her in the end. Either the Nott patriarch wished to distance himself from such rumours, or he agreed with them, for he'd have nothing to do with the Lennox woman, nor her spawn, from thereon after."

A blood purist with something to prove, indeed. While beforehand he'd been so concerned with missing anything that he may have found himself unable to connect the dots, now they were connecting themselves with little input from him - like a shattered vase under a Mending Charm. The Nott patriarch may have been unwilling to have anything to do with his bastard child, but his children may not feel the same way. Not Theodore, Draco was already certain of that. He'd have been too nervous about the potential challenge to his position as heir, and anyways, word was these days that he saw the bottom of a bottle more often than he saw any friends or acquaintances.

That left...Tabitha. Draco thought back to the entirely uninteresting glimpse he'd caught at her at his mother's last party, bored and distracted in the corner.

"I suppose he's relieved that few remember all of this after the war. It's the last thing he'd need, for this girl to make an obligation of herself and try in some way to profit from a name that's already wavering."

His mother spoke with a level of sympathy that seemed to be sincere, but only so far as what could come from a person who never imagined they might go through similar hardships. But she had a point. The name was wavering. The money was all but gone. Admittedly, there was probably enough left for them to buy themselves a comfortable home - one twice the size of the one Marilyn and her friends so comfortably shared - and live out their days there comfortably. Such gold would take care of their children, and their descendants for decades, and that was even taking into account the possibility of those offspring doing nothing to raise their own cash and pad out the vaults a little. But that wasn't living - not by their standards. They'd sooner go destitute in mansions and estates they could ill afford, than be comfortable and stable in a home the rest of high society would view as barely a step above the Weasley hovel.

Once upon a time, Draco might've agreed with them. Part of him still did, in all honesty. For all he fancied himself a changed man, he knew he'd balk at the prospect of living in some studio apartment barely bigger than his Hogwarts' dormitory. His stomach sank further still at the idea that those sort of dwellings may well be what he'd have to grow accustomed to depending on how the following weeks shook out. But if there was one upside about the problem - the great, mountainous problem - he currently faced, it was how inconsequential it made everything else look.

But most could not boast of such awakenings. Losing their money? Disastrous. Having their name on the line? A death sentence. Their blood purity was the one thing that could not be taken from them, and for somebody in such a position...well, there was no telling what they might do if they then began to hear stories of Muggles harnessing magic. They may even join up with those they previously thought beneath them in order to stop it. The enemy of their enemy.

"They've already put one of their oldest estates up for sale, you know. But nobody wants to touch it. The right sort understand how tacky it is to pick at the carcass, and well...the high and mighty won't want to own a property with that history. It'll be seized by the Ministry as collateral before the year is through."

'A property with that history'. A delicate code for 'a property where nobody can guarantee that helpless Muggles weren't tortured and murdered in the dungeons over the last few centuries'. The thought had Draco stilling, adding even more likelihood to what he'd been trying to kid himself wasn't a certainty.

"Where is this property?"

"Oh, I'm certain you'd have never been there, they were only there during term time so you'd have been off to Hogwarts when-"

"Where is it, mother?" He pressed again.

She looked like she was tempted to scold him for his rudeness, but seemed to decide against it based on his strange manner. Instead, she answered.

"On the outskirts of Wolverhampton."

"Do you have an address? An exact address?"

The Ministry would likely know of it - it would be on some file, somewhere - but on the off chance that it was not, he could not guarantee that they could afford the time it might take him to return and ask for it...or that he would be welcome to do so. Word spread fast, and scandal spread faster. If he returned and his parents knew everything, his mother would not help him if it meant helping Marilyn. Especially not if helping Marilyn kept her in his life. And his father? Merlin. A team of Ministry protection Aurors wouldn't be able to keep him safe from his father's wrath once he found out.

"I must have in my address book, but I can't understand why you'd need it."

"Theodore has something dear to me. He told me he thought he may have left it there."

She didn't believe it. He could see that she didn't, and the only thing that stopped him from tapping his foot or drumming his fingers against his arm as some sort of outlet for his nerves was the fact that he knew such a display would be the tipping point, that if she began to fathom or suspect the truly dire circumstances behind his nerves, she'd stop everything and demand to know what exactly was going on. The saving grace he was relying on at the moment was that worry and agitation looked remarkably alike, and agitation, along with disgruntlement, happened to be the official Malfoy pastime. If he could play off his annoyance at Theodore supposedly losing track of some belonging of his, he could get out of this relatively easily. He would worry about what came after...well, after.

"Pisky," she called after a delayed moment - perhaps during which she was hoping he'd spill the true story, or maybe she was just debating on whether to press him for more information.

But the set of his jaw and the frown on his face must've told her now was not the time. Were it not for the fact that he knew the truth would soon be washing over the Wizarding world like a tsunami, he'd already be mentally working on a cover story for next time he saw her.

The house-elf appeared at her call, bowing deeply and then silently awaiting instruction.

"Fetch my address book from my study."

"Yes mistress," she bowed again and vanished.

"What does this have to do with the Lennoxes?"

Draco tried not to let the internal wince show on his face. In his haste to answer whatever questions she flung at him in the moment, he wasn't exactly forming a very good overall cover story.

"Oh, that's a different matter entirely. Just...while I'm here, I may as well settle this."

"This belonging of yours that you gave to Theodore - what was it?" His mother questioned now that there was nothing to do but wait.

There was a certain smugness in her eyes - even if it was a warm smugness, that of an indulgent mother who knew that her child was telling fibs but trusted them not to truly be up to no good. If only she knew. Draco tore his focus from his guilt and drove it towards her latest question, though. What did he have that Theodore could possibly have any interest in? A bottle opener, perhaps?

"A book - on old alchemical ingredients. Last I heard, he was hoping to create some sort of potion to turn his family's luck around. Based on his current habits, he wasn't successful. I don't suppose he stopped to consider the fact that he got a D in his Potions OWLs, and didn't take the subject at NEWT level," he snorted derisively - and even sounded half believable, to his own ears.

"One might have thought he'd have simply bought some sort of luck potion," she still kept her gaze on every twitch of his face, searching for falsehoods in his expression where she could hear none in his voice.

"Felix Felicis is expensive - even the lesser versions in Knockturn Alley, and those have unwelcome side effects. He must've decided what coin they have that remains would be better spent...elsewhere."

The charade was stronger this time - more convincing. The haughty disdain, well practised, sounded genuine. Genuine enough for her to laugh, shaking her head in a show of very false disapproval. This was comfortable. This was familiar. To an outside observer it would seem like little more than petty bitching, using the misfortune of others to stroke their own egos. And maybe there was a hint of that involved, but at the root of it, it was bonding. Their own little private joke - them against the world, against the lesser masses. Draco basked in it. It may very well be the last time they could partake in this inside joke, this ritual of theirs.

"Firewhisky prices are back on the rise now that we're recovering from the war," she nodded in acceptance, a smile playing on her lips "Not everybody is as pleased by that as the innkeepers and barmen are."

Draco smirked, but he felt like he had to force his features into the expression - like the cold sweat that was taking over had frozen him entirely in place, and it required focused thawing to show anything but indifference or worry.

It was no small relief when Pisky reappeared, toting a black leather address book. His mother accepted it without a word, and the house-elf vanished again. Lips pursing in thought, she flicked through page after page of perfectly alphabetised dramatic cursive script. It took everything he had not to snatch it from her and look for it himself. All he could think the longer that time dragged on was how many bouts of the Cruciatus Curse may be wedged into each span of time. The length of time it had taken him to find Granger and co., the length of time if had then taken him to do the bloody right thing (which didn't feel so fun as Potter usually made it look), the time it was taking here and now for her to find this address. The answer he came up with each and every time was the same. Too many.

It couldn't have been more than one measly minute that she spent flicking through her little black leather-bound book, but to Draco she might as well have been combing through the Ministry archives file by file. He took in a deep, bracing breath only so that he wouldn't lose it completely, and when she did find it he could have cried with relief.

"Here. Do you have any parchment?"

Fuck. No. No, he didn't. Why didn't he?! That should have been the first thing he'd thought of before he came here. What if he remembered it incorrectly? They couldn't afford such stupidity, he'd have to re-summon the house-elf and then endure the wait while it got what he needed and-

"No matter," she shrugged easily when he shook his head.

With a wave of her hand, the address was copied exactly in her script from the book to the back of his hand. He paused for a moment and stared at it dumbly. Not because it was some especially impressive trick, but because he couldn't believe that it was done. They had the address. Now they could go. They could find her. They could save her.

"I have to go," he stood immediately.

The part of him that yearned to stay and enjoy the last few moments they might have before he took a bout of dragon's fire to their relationship was there, but it was small. There just was not the time. If anything happened to Marilyn because he'd been dragging his feet when he had her potential whereabouts literally written on his hand, he'd never forgive himself - and rightly so. Then there was the fear he had deep in his chest that if he stayed any longer, he wouldn't leave at all. He was in the habit of doing the wrong thing, and people were entirely correct when they spoke of old habits dying hard. It wasn't that he really wanted to do the wrong thing, just that he was all too aware of how easy it was to do. He didn't want to give the cowardice dwelling within him a chance to rear its head. Not knowing that he'd have to live with the weight of that decision for the rest of his life...and that Marilyn might not live at all.

Turning, he made to leave - he'd go to the outskirts of the gardens and apparate from there - but his mother caught his arm.

"Draco?"

'Yes?" He asked, impatience finally showing.

Her lips were pressed into a thin, worried line as she reached up and smoothed his hair as if he was still five years old.

"Once you've seen to this pressing business of yours...you'll tell me the truth of it, yes?"

"You'll know everything soon," he said tightly.

She squeezed his arm and then let him go. And go he did.

There was pain, and then there wasn't pain. Then the pain returned, and then it was gone once again. Each time it lasted only enough for her to fear it would never end at all, and then when it ended it did so for as long as it took for her to take in a breath...and then it was back. Gone was fear, confusion, and hope was nothing but a distant memory. Just pain. Then nothing.

Typically, there were procedures to follow when entering a location that had not been fully swept and secured. Such procedures, however, were time consuming and usually relevant only when it came to searching for dangerous artefacts, not rescues. They did not have time, but they did have the element of surprise. Harry didn't intend to fuck this up for the sake of a few ticks on tomorrow's paperwork. He'd take a half-hearted reprimand over spending tomorrow morning filling in a black-lined casualty form any day. His supervisors wouldn't care so long as the mission was a success. In his mind, it was the same sort of logic that had him risking house points in order to defeat Voldemort back during his school days.

So, a trimmed down version of the protocol it was.

Rather than the full-scale perimeter searches they did, it was a handful of detection charms, followed by a protective barrier covering the grounds much like the one at Hogwarts that prevented anybody from apparating or disapparating. Now all they had to worry about was the floo network when it came to the captors making a hasty escape, but people back at the Ministry had been on top of disconnection this particular Nott estate from the floo network ever since Draco had barrelled into his office brandishing the address on the back of his hand.

He'd tried to insist on coming with them, and it had taken the threat of having him locked in an interrogation room until morning to disabuse him of that notion. Harry sympathised with him, in truth - something that surprised and disturbed him in equal measures, truth be told. Had it been Ginny locked away in this place, angry hippogriffs couldn't have stopped him from coming along. But he didn't understand the way things were done in the heat of battle in Auror teams, and he would've been more of a liability than a help...especially given the general attitude towards him and his family among the great majority of Aurors.

As it was, Draco stood alongside Hermione a good quarter of a mile down the country road. Hermione's presence was mainly needed to keep him where he was. Merlin knew she'd love a good opportunity to stupefy him, if the situation demanded it.

Harry, Ron, and three of their best coworkers stood against the wall at either side of the great wooden double doors that led into the estate. This team was assembled for speed and precision, not force. But all it would take was one spell to bring the full force of the Auror squads in, should they be needed. They stopped for a moment, each listening carefully for any sign of life before they gave away their presence. For a moment there was nothing. Nothing wasn't a good sign - the absence of screams could often have more sinister implications than the presence of them. Were he not in Auror-mode, he would've been filled with dread. But he was, so he pushed emotion away and instead listened to instinct.

The wards on the door weren't impregnable, but they were undoubtedly too strong a match for a spell as simple as Alohomora. The purpose of the wards was obvious - not to make the building unbreachable, but to necessitate the use of force. The sort of force that would give away their position. Similar wards were placed over every entrance - the windows, the back doors, the servant entrance, even the bloody chimney. He was just about to raise a hand to give the order for them to blast the doors off of the damned place, but then something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Light - cold, bright light, the signature sort that was brought about by the Wand-Lighting Charm. Looking towards the source, he saw the thinnest of windows set into the wall right where it met the ground - the basement. A nod from the others told him they saw it, too. The light moved around a little, matching the distance of a person pacing. It didn't come towards the window, though, so he knew they hadn't been discovered. Were they aware of their presence, the light wouldn't be there at all. It gave away their coordinates. Just like he was forced to do when he gave the signal, and the doors were blasted off of the building.

They moved with all speed and precision possible after that. Seeing the lights in the cellar had saved them from having to sweep the whole house, but they still didn't know which door led to it. There were two fireplaces, one on either side of the door, a great staircase which led to the upper levels, archways lining the walls of the great hall that led into other rooms - a library, a sitting room, and a dining room, from what his quick glances told him - and then, tucked to the side, was a wooden door with a high, pointed arch to it. It was the same colour as the wooden panelling around it, made to blend in more than to draw a visitor towards it. His money was on that.

Knowing that their time was now very limited, they were presented with a choice - to allow those inside the room to choose when the door was opened, or to make that decision for themselves. A non-choice, really. The longer that door remained closed, the longer those inside were able to prepare...and the longer they were alone with Miss Baxter. The same spell that demolished the front doors worked wonders on this one, too.

A shout came from inside - by the sounds of it, shrapnel had hit somebody. He could only hope it wasn't the person they were supposed to be rescuing. And then Harry, true to form, was the first man in. They had to enter without trying to see inside the room first - the great bulk of the room was around the corner from the door, and they could see nothing from the doorway alone. A curse was levelled his way the moment he stepped in, and his deflection of it was more muscle-memory than consciously intentional. He jumped down the side of the small set of steps that led down to the basement - the distance was barely more than waist height, and it saved time - and the others were in before he even straightened up again.

Two hostiles - one Serana, and the other a brunette woman who must've been Tabitha Nott. Serana stood behind a crumpled heap on the floor. Marilyn. She was sprawled across the flagstones entirely unmoving, which should not have been the reaction of a Muggle to the sudden breakout of a magical duel. Emotion broke through now - just a little - as he felt his heart sink.

The fight was a non-fight, in all honesty. With two against five, the women could barely deflect all of the spells being launched at them, much less put forth their own attack. It was obvious they weren't expecting them - they didn't even put on a united front or show any kind of tactic, on opposite sides of the room as they were. The only surprise was when Tabitha shot finally raised her hands in the air and dropped her wand. Soon her hands were planted firmly on the back of her head, and she was following the orders of Ron - kicking her wand to the corner of the room before turning her back to them. Her only movement thereafter was when she hit the floor, having been stupefied.

Whether it was the rage at seeing her half-sister's surrender, or if it was simply down to her nature, instead of seeing that the fight was done and giving up - hoping that throwing her hands up and letting herself be taken in might afford her some goodwill from the law - Serana gave a shriek of pure fury that sounded nothing less than demonic and fought all the harder.

But it was futile. As Ron deflected a streak of green light that looked far too familiar to Harry, his own Disarming Spell hit her square in the throat. Her shriek cut off into a choked cry, and he caught her wand as it shot towards his head. Then, like her kin, she was stupefied. After all of the months spent speculating and wondering, it was almost laughable how quickly and easily the fight itself was over. He could see why she'd opted for cloak and dagger. Her brute force left plenty to be desired. Still, her fiery gaze glared up at him, brimming with hatred even as her face remained forcibly frozen. There was something else in there, too. Triumph. He dreaded finding out why.

There was no opportunity to take a breather and revel in their victory, though. Their colleagues hauled the two women up, preparing to drag them to the outskirts of the property so that they might apparate them back to the Ministry to face justice, while Harry shot bright red sparks from the tip of his wand, through the cellar window, shattering it in the process, and out towards the road on which Hermione waited with Malfoy. The sparks would continue until they found them, and they knew it would be safe to come. After that, all that was left to do was approach the heap that had once been the ex-ballerina they'd done so much to guard (futilely, it seemed) and hope that the lack of movement that he could see was due to the darkness, and not because there was none to be found at all.

A/N: Apologies for the times when reviewers get their chapter previews within twenty-four hours of the full chapter being put out. I realise it may feel like less of a show of gratitude if you end up getting both the preview and the full chapter at the same time - but I figure quick updates with full chapters are better than holding them back for that sake when the chapter is otherwise completely finished and ready to go.

Additional apologies for my habit of overestimating how long it'll take for the next chapter to be up in my review responses. Half of the time I think it'll be days before I update again, and then a burst of energy hits me and the chapter is done a few hours later. I'm at the mercy of my writerly whims.

Anyway, now that apology hour is done - I hope you all have a lovely weekend, and thank you again for the kind reviews!