I'm sitting at home, book in hand, when a thought crosses my mind. I haven't been able to see Narcissa for research since our last meeting over a month ago - just too much work. The last project I was working on just finished, though, and nobody in the department is clamoring for my attention. This is finally my opportunity to put together more hands-on activism! I leap to my feet and rush to my desk - no time like the present to start planning.

An owl startles me out of my work by landing on my shoulder. Was I paying that little attention? I reach up and scratch the owl on the head before taking the piece of stationery tied to its leg.

Hermione Jean Granger,

You are hereby invited to the first annual Black Family Yule Ball, to be held at the Black Family Vineyard in Nice on the twenty-fifth of December.

On the back are instructions to RSVP to Narcissa (simply sign on the dotted line), as well as the date and location again. I sit and run my hand along the edge of the thick stationery, letting a bit of my magic seep into it. Nothing happens, of course, but having that much control over my magic is still novel and exciting.

I've been practicing meditating using one of the old galleons from the Order days. I started by holding it in my hand to feel the magic, slowly increasing the distance between it and my hand until I could feel it from the table in front of the couch. Now, I can feel the coin easily. I've become so familiar with the spell on it that I can feel it even when I'm not focusing on it.

I've found that, if I focus, I can finely control my magic to a degree I couldn't before. Intricate spell work - while something I could do with effort - is now as simple as focusing and feeling. Narcissa was right, of course. I've taken to wandless magic as easily as I took to magic in Hogwarts.

I quickly sign my name on the back of the invitation to RSVP, then push it to the side of my desk and affix it with a sticking charm. Now, back to work…

Several days later, I receive a letter from Narcissa - likely a continuation of the correspondence we have maintained whilst I've been working.

Dear Hermione,

I find myself restless. I have read every book in the Malfoy library at least twice, and I have even fewer answers than before. If we are still functioning under the idea that Bella was under an Unbreakable Vow, we need to find more information about her personal history. I have combed through the items I was allowed to take at least a dozen times by now, and yet I've found nothing.

I wanted your thoughts about possibly reopening Black Manor. As I am the only legally recognized member of the Black family left, I have the capacity to do so, but I admit I am reluctant. That place is dark and dangerous, yet it holds records of our childhood that may offer us insights we can't find elsewhere.

I ask because the danger Black Manor poses is not to me, but to you. Many of the wards in place are specifically designed to punish muggleborn witches and wizards who attempt to enter. It is impossible to physically remove or copy books in the library, so you would need to attend in person.

I can deconstruct the wards that will prevent you from entering, but of course I am no warding expert. Please let me know your thoughts on the matter.

Sincerely,

Narcissa Black

P.S. - I have been researching more into the question you asked about the creation of a potion to permanently alter eyesight, and I have news - though I admit a solution remains unclear. It seems that, with some significant alteration on a typical Polyjuice potion, it may be possible to affect specific parts of the body. Permanency remains unclear, but I am hopeful that this avenue could yield results. Some research was done into a permanent alteration potion in the 1700s, but it is unclear why the project was not continued. I am wary of brewing anything from the tome I found the information in, as it was from the cursed section of the Malfoy library.

I may be the first muggleborn ever invited into Black Manor. I wonder how many portraits of Narcissa's ancestors line the halls? How many of them will be like Walburga? I can more than handle verbal abuse, but if any of them say that word… I'm sure they would delight in it.

I shake off the thought. Narcissa inviting me to Black Manor is a borderline monumental step for the wizarding world, but I can't help but think about the personal implications. It didn't feel strange to be invited to her Yule Ball, nor does it feel unnatural to receive letters from her out of the blue. In fact, I'm delighted to hear news about that potion, and would've been more than happy only receiving that information from her. Friendship with Narcissa is easy, in a strange twist of fate. I'm not sure how it happened, but I do find myself pleased with the realization.

I retrieve a roll of parchment from my desk to write my reply, my plan already decided.

Narcissa,

If you think searching Black Manor would be helpful, then I am more than prepared to brave the dangers involved. You may not be a warding expert, but I am skilled in most defensive magic - including wards. Between the two of us, I doubt we'll have much trouble.

Let me know when we can start dismantling the wards. It will likely have to wait until after my new project at work - I'm drafting a proposal for a new workshop on the rights of magical creatures. That will leave me quite busy for some time.

Yours,

Hermione

P.S. - News on the potion is always good to hear. I agree with your judgement not to brew anything from that book - even though I trust your skills, there's no reason to take such an unnecessary risk when further research may present clues. Keep me posted! I think this project has potential.

I read through the letter one more time before rolling it up and slipping it back into the metal tube on Apollo's leg. A few treats - because he waited quietly and politely - and he's on his way.

It's only a few days later that I finally have to set everything down and face my fears. I know I've been putting this off since the last nightmare, but willingly reminding myself of Bellatrix is a hard thing to do. I just sent off a letter inviting Narcissa over for the evening. Now, I'm sitting on my couch with the briefcase in front of me.

This time, I won't let my fear of Bellatrix consume me. I will be working by the time Narcissa gets here. I will not let her win.

I flip open the clasps on the briefcase and open it, only to be immediately met with a wall of magic. It's an icy, unyielding sharpness that would make me flinch if it weren't for the fact that I braced myself first. I reach in and grab the first thing I see - a small black book wrapped with leather cording. I slam the briefcase closed and take a breath that I didn't notice I needed.

There have been dozens of these journals in this briefcase. Bellatrix was clearly studious and focused in her time at Hogwarts, and it seems as though that mindset inadvertently carried over into her personal journaling. I've left all of them up to Narcissa before now, but since she isn't here…

I stop and focus for a moment to Accio my wand to me. I'm not as skilled as Narcissa is, but she has more experience. Really, the skill difference only drives me to be better. A quick flick of the vinewood undoes the enchantment placed over the knot - a simple locking and privacy spell, which makes me think this is still from Bellatrix's Hogwarts days.

I prod the book a few more times with my wand, just in case, to check for any stinging jinx or langlock traps, which we've found on several of the journals. Nothing happens, so I take another deep breath and untie the leather knot on the front.

Je n'ai jamais rencontré une telle idiote et pleurnicheuse avant! Je préférerais travailler avec un Griffindor qu'avec-

French. Damn it all, one of the few European languages I don't speak. Yet. Have all of Bellatrix's journals been in French? I'll have to ask Narcissa when she arrives… Until then, though, I suppose I ought to start with something I can actually read.

I tie the journal closed again and leave it beside the briefcase. The magic radiating from it isn't as… sinister… as whatever else lies inside. I don't even want to imagine what kinds of dark artifacts lie in there, taken from the Lestrange estate.

I quickly flick open the briefcase once again, this time grabbing something that looks like a sheaf of papers - I make sure they're in English before I close the briefcase. They are, so I sit back to read them and try to forget the feeling of whatever lies in that case. The first is written in a sharp, slanted script that I assume is Bellatrix's, though I don't have any proof that this wasn't Rodolfus's. The pages appear to have been ripped from a journal.

I have no idea how they always get away with this! No matter what we seem to try, they're nearly always one step ahead of us. We must have a mole, but who? No one here would be stupid enough to betray the Dark Lord. Now I feel I cannot trust any of the idiots below me. Every single one of them could be a mole - even dear old Roddy. I know it isn't him, because he's the clearest example of an idiot I've ever seen, but it could be anyone! Even Lucy, though I doubt Cissy would even let me try to check.

So this must have been Bellatrix's writing. She already seems a tad unstable, though not so bad as she eventually became… Did she truly suspect a mole? I have to wonder how Professor Snape held up against her scrutiny. I find myself leaning forward, poring over the pages as though they will simply show me the past.

Most of them are too stupid to do it. Most. But not all. We've seen signs of someone poking about where they're definitely not welcome. I've started leaving surprises on the door handles in the manor. Anyone who lives here will know to check. Anyone that doesn't… Well, we won't have a mole problem anymore.

I need to find leads. Start pulling at them. Snivellus sticks out. My instincts tell me that something is wrong about him. If I didn't know better, I'd say he messed with my memory. But I've had the Dark Lord check. I've even had Cissy check, just in case. Nothing. Not that he could ever beat me well enough to use Legilimency on me.

I see. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that he was suspected. He may have been an exceptional Occlumens, but you can't pretend to be a mole for the other side and not come across as untrustworthy for your actual allies. Though, in this case, I suppose he was untrusted by both sides.

Lucy comes to mind again. Pompous prick. Spends too much time caring about those damn birds when he should be spreading the word, being the face. That's his damn job in this, and he's barely said a word about it! The bastard's weak and ineffectual. Cissy could do better.

It's utterly bizarre to me that Bellatrix was able to spare thoughts to her sister. In my mind, she was nothing more than a one-track-minded murderer, bent on kicking people like me out of the wizarding world. Or worse. I shake the thought and turn back to the page.

I'd love it if it was Roddy, so I could finally get him off my back, but it's more likely to be Rabastan. Shifty bastard's been pissed at the world since I married his brother. He's always side-eyeing me in a way I can't describe - like he doesn't trust me. I'm dangerous, but I'm no traitor.

The last page is written in much sloppier handwriting. Rushed, almost panicked… But I'm probably just imagining that. More likely, she was just manic. Insane.

I know who it is, I know who the fucking mole is, that little bitch, I'll fucking kill her myself if I have to. Make her scream for her sisters and beg me to leave her sane. Nobody can know that I know, not until I have her trapped. Soon.

That's where this trail seems to end. I don't see anything else written on the few small pages I'm holding. Even opening the briefcase again, I can't find another page that seems to match these or fit into this series of events. If Bellatrix made an Unbreakable Vow, it might have something to do with proving her loyalty to Voldemort.

I never properly met him, but if he was as unstable as I suspect he was, then an Unbreakable Vow might have been the only way to prove that she wasn't a mole. Still, that wouldn't answer why it triggered when it did. She was loyal to her cause until Molly struck her with that spell. When she died.

When did my breathing get so shallow? I squeeze my fist hard enough to feel my nails bite into my palm, trying to stop the shaking in my hands. A knock at the door shatters my weak focus. It must be Narcissa. I wish it wasn't. I don't want to show her how much this still affects me. How much I still fear Bellatrix.

The door is opening in front of me, though I have no idea how it happened. I certainly didn't choose to open the door and let Narcissa in. Nor did I choose to make my way to the kitchen to magically prepare a pot of water for tea.

Before I know it, Narcissa and I have already started working. Did I pour the cup of tea in front of me? I must've, right?

Nothing comes into focus until some indeterminate time later, when a hand on my right wrist drags me back into myself with what feels like a sharp snap. "Hermione, are you quite alright?"

No. "I'm just a little tired. Lots of work." I offer a grin alongside my words, but the way that Narcissa's eyebrows pinch inwards just a bit lets me know I missed the mark.

Several moments of silence sit between us before Narcissa speaks again. "I hadn't thought how difficult this might be for you, now, Hermione." She withdraws her hand from my arm, and I ache for the grounding contact. Something other than the fuzzy numbness that threatens to overwhelm me again. "I… I apologize." She stands, and I find myself wishing to reach out to stop her from leaving. A few waves of her hands have everything back in its place. "I simply thought that, with… that… behind us, we could press forward." She stops in front of me and offers a hand to help me stand, which I gladly take and allow her to pull me to my feet. "I did not mean to bring your trauma back to the surface. The last thing I want is for this to hurt you, Hermione."

Finally, I find my voice. "It's not. I- It isn't. I promise." She definitely doesn't believe me. "I- I had… still have, sometimes… nightmares. The last one I had was the night before we trained wandless magic. It's still so fresh on my mind, and I just- it feels too real." I ignore the part of my mind itching with the reminder that she might still be alive. I have to assume she isn't. Have to.

Narcissa sits in silence for several moments. She still hasn't let go of my hand. Suddenly, I feel her knocking against my Occlumency. I'm confident she could get past my shields without me ever noticing, so I assume she's doing so very purposefully. Absently, I wonder if it's easier for her to use Legilimency than talk about emotions. I shake my head, and she inclines hers in a small nod. I can only assume that she wanted to see the dream, or to see I'm not lying, but I feel too vulnerable at the moment. "I could pretend this was just a research project before…" I gesture at the briefcase. "Now, though, it's harder to separate it from the real thing."

"Then we won't be doing any more research until after Yule. January, at the earliest." I open my mouth to protest, but Narcissa Black has never been accused of having an unthreatening glare. "That is final. Other calls and visits are, of course, welcomed." She pauses a moment, then continues in a voice that is noticeably more unsure, "As… your friend, I want you to take care of yourself. If this is how that has to happen, then so be it." Despite the fact that she's clearly still not entirely comfortable with the idea of having a normal friend, outside of the obligations of pureblood culture, Narcissa nods with false confidence.

Something about the scene reminds me so much of Ginny that I suddenly burst into laughter, unable to control myself. Unfettered joy filters through the haze and makes me feel whole again. Through the slight tears in my eyes, I can see Narcissa growing quite red and I try to rein in my laughter enough to assuage what must be concerns about my thoughts on our friendship. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you, I promise, Cissa, I promise." I pause and take a deep breath, wipe the tears from my eyes. "It's just that you reminded me of Ginny."

I thought, before, that I had seen what Narcissa Black looks like when offended. I was wrong. I have never seen a woman look more affronted. She rips her hand away from mine and presses it to her chest, mouth hanging open in an outraged gasp. "A Weasley? I thought we were friends." It takes a moment, but I can see the twitching at the corner of her mouth that signals her own amusement. Or, at least, happiness. Perhaps this is the only time Narcissa has ever had a moment like this. Or perhaps not, and I'm reading into things too much.

Regardless, I continue in a slightly mocking tone. "Oh, I don't know… I think you and Ginny would get along like a house on fire."

"Yes, I rather imagine we would set each other on fire." This inspires another round of laughter from me, to Narcissa's utter confusion. "What? What did I say that time? Surely that can't have reminded you of Ginevra."

"No, no- I'll explain later." I take another moment to get my laughter back under control, then reach out and grasp the hand she took away a few moments before. Much more seriously, but with a smile on my face, "Thank you for that, Narcissa. I think you're right, and I need to step away from this for a while." It's what my therapist would've said, I'm sure, but I stopped going when the nightmares became intermittent instead of monthly.

Still confused, but seemingly pleased with herself, Narcissa shifts my grip to her elbow and begins leading me to my own front door. "To that end, then, let us go find something to do in muggle London - as far away from these memories as we can get." I let myself get dragged along, still feeling the mirth simmering low in my gut. This moment. This is the moment, I know, that I will point to when people ask me why Narcissa and I are friends.