Birds become Dragons Chapter 47: Like A Bird Through a Spider Web, a harry potter fanfic

Rowle House, July 18th, 2013

She comes to in a soft bed. It smells musty, but the sheets are silken. She is not wearing her robes anymore, nor the simple dress she had on underneath.

"Don't move, Miss Black. I have tended to your hands, but I must take care of this burn on your back as well. I've never heard of injuries like these caused by globes of prophecy…"

Euphemia's voice is lost to mumbling then, about the damage a prophecy is capable of causing someone's mind and how she had never seen magical burns such as these. If only she knew just what sort of damage the orb inflicted her. Delphini sobs into her pillow, just once, as quietly as possible. She will not show weakness, not before a stranger whose intentions she is not sure of.

"I'm sorry it hurts, my precious Augurey, but the Murtlap Dittany wouldn't stick to your wounds at all. It just slid right off your skin."

"Don't call me that," she manages to order, biting into the pillow to keep from openly sobbing, "don't ever call me that."

The anger in her voice elicits some sort of knee-jerk reaction from the witch, and for a moment Madam Rowle seems to forget her previous deference, a mask of confusion descending upon her face.

"Why not? You are-"

"Because I've told you not to," she keeps her voice steady, but the emotion in it is not restrained, "because I am not a damned bird and I am certainly not yours!"

She doesn't mean to, not really, but her magic is already alive around her, she can feel it sparkling just beneath her skin, ready to lash out, tearing at the wounds in her back, itching at the wounds in her hands. So can Euphemia.

"The prophecy has unsettled you, I see. Well, I'm done here for the moment, so I'll leave you to rest." Her voice is perfectly composed once more. And entirely subservient.

She is nervous, Delphini knows, her tone is guarded but there are no barriers to her mind, no safeguards. The thoughts of this witch are easily accessible, so she knows that Euphemia has done this before. She was the Healer the Death Eaters turned to during the war and she is no stranger to wild tempers flaring up under the rule of pain and injury.

"Don't bother checking up on me. I'll summon the house-elf if I need anything. Lapbey, isn't it?"

Madam Rowle nods a couple of times, closing lids and stoppers over dark coloured concoctions and ointments, before bowing to her and leaving. She nods, not realizing that she never mentioned the house-elf's name in Delphini's presence.

Her mind isn't just easy to access. It isn't used at all to being probed and pocked and picked apart at a Legillimens' pleasure. Willing or not, Euphemia will be a source of knowledge about her parents. About what the wraiths that haunt her dreams now used to be when they had flesh and magic to them.

Delphini takes a deep breath as soon as the door closes, wincing at the pain it causes her. She bites down on the pillow once more, forcing her unyielding sobs down together with her magic. She cannot give into desperation, not now, not as long as her fate is at risk.

She looks to her bedside table, where her wand and the button sit next to the blue velvet bag, now clearly containing the strange black cube. Reaching for her wand is even more painful, but she wants to make sure Madam Rowle won't come inside unless bidden.

She feels full to the brim, there's simply too much nervous energy coursing through her. Her body can't stop, she feels like she is flying at full speed on her broomstick, over fields and Muggle villages, as she likes to do, when she knows without any shadow of a doubt that she'll die should she fall. She usually revels on the feeling, finding comfort in the aftermath, but this time it's different. She is not flying, but she feels like she's falling already.

She feels absolutely weightless on her long way down, plunging towards the unforgiving ground as some birds are known to do. There's a rush to this feeling, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, the tang of iron coating her tongue, her heartbeat at the back of her throat.

Would anyone care if she crashed into the earth and never rose again? Would the wraiths of her parents welcome her beyond the Veil? Would anyone miss her?

They would, her mind answers, your family would. Teddy would.

All of them ties to keep her steady through the storm.

Aunt Cissa, Uncle Lucius, Draco, Astoria, Scorpius, Teddy.

One by one, her mind enumerates all the people that would care, those who would miss her, a prayer that her lips let escape though there's no sound to it.

Siryanna, Sigmund, Freya, Radagast. Even Potter, she knows, in that utterly selfless way he has of caring about others. Even Mrs. Weasley.

The rosary of names plays again and again in her mind. She keeps it playing until she can no longer hear the prophecy. She sleeps, for a little while, and she does not dream. Her mind is tethered, so it does not drift.

Delphini wakes up to the sun well on its way to disappearing beneath the horizon. Her time here is running out, her family will fret over her absence come the night. She must make haste. If they come, and they will, she has a feeling that Euphemia will not let them go unscathed.

She pushes her upper body off the mattress, regretting it immediately. It's not her back. Whatever burns she might have there are absolutely painless now. It's her hands. It's always her hands, singed by magic once more, as if she were being punished for it. Dropping back unto her pillow, she chooses to throw her legs over the edge of the bed and then sit up. Her back bothers her, but nothing like it did before. The chill in the room makes her skin crawl, a dozen frozen fingers running over her, sending shivers in all directions.

She is down to her nickers, she only now realizes. All of her clothes are carefully folded on a nearby chair. Robes, dress, stockings, brassiere, even the ribbon that held her curls off her face. Her black shoes carefully set by the side of the chair, somehow shinier than when she got here.

The door knob turns once, then twice more. But no attempt to open it with magic is made.

"Miss Black? Is everything alright?" sounds the voice of Euphemia from behind the door. "May I come in? Your wounds need tending to..."

Looking to the state of her hands, Delphini figures she doesn't have much of a choice. Her bandages have come off and the sight left behind is not pretty. There's blistering and bleeding and an unnerving redness to her palms. With a careless wave of her hand she unlocks the door, while reaching for the covers to hide her nudity. About that she does care. She is exposed like this, the picture of frailness. A pale young girl with a mane of tumbling curls and a red velvety, if musty and moth-bitten, quilt wrapped around her. She tucks her legs back up, next to her body, not quite covered, leaving two feet of porcelain on display.

"Come in, Madam Rowle," she makes sure to establish a hierarchy once more, "my hands do need tending to." She smiles that coy little smile of hers, the velvet glove over the iron fist.

The witch bows to her. When their eyes meet again, she catches the glimpse of a memory. Her Mother sitting just like this, terribly injured and yet demanding to know where her husband was, where her Master was, whether they had been injured or not. It's a fleeting thing, but it appeals to her. The ghost of her Mother is a powerful thing.

Euphemia can't remember ever feeling like this. This unsurmountable reverence, such overwhelming adoration. It's the lack of fear, she figures. You couldn't stand in the presence of either of her parents without being on edge, without the terror of doing the wrong thing or saying the wrong word, without that terror coursing through your veins, blood made ice and heart turned into a frantic bird fighting its cage.

She is not afraid now, not really, not like she was before when the prophecy shattered. This is the girl that was promised, to be raised in Darkness and to raise Darkness to its might. A promised girl to defeat the boy who lived. A Dark Lady to stand at the right hand of the Dark Lord returned.

She was given to the Malfoys to raise though, rather stolen actually, and they didn't raise her properly at all, that much is clear. Delphini knows nothing of the promise she holds, of why she came into this world, of the extent of her abilities. The Malfoys kept her from the truth.

She would have raised her right. She would know exactly what to do. She would have kept her out of Hogwarts and teach her right here, at home, under the song of the augurey in the study. She would have kept her apart from the world until she was ready. They would have all been blindsided when the Dark Lord returned with his perfectly groomed daughter by his side. In that world, Euphemia would have been rewarded beyond measure, she is sure.

She was never a warrior like Bellatrix, but she would have figured out a way to teach Delphini how to fight. This treasure of a girl before her is supposed to be a natural at it, a magical prodigy, all she would have to do was provide the right environment for her gifts to flourish. That was the deal. Sooner or later, the girl would have been entrusted to her, for her to raise. Euphemia would be the one to nurture this perfect flower to blooming in the night, like a rare orchid, and deliver her to the world, free to thrive.

Euphemia feels robbed of a future where all this darkness that she surrounds herself with would have a greater purpose. She wonders if she can still keep the girl now. It is not too late; there are still a couple of months to go. She could still be prepared by then. She wonders if Delphini will stay if she shows her the rooms made ready for her, the ones that have been expecting her for fifteen years. Maybe, deep down at her core, Delphini knows that there's a greater purpose to her. Maybe she knows that together is how they achieve it. Maybe, under the façade she puts on for the world to see, she yearns for what should have been as well.

Delphini moves ever so slightly on the bed and she has to blink repeatedly, pushing the daydreaming to the back of her mind, forcing her mind to focus in the young witch wrapped in red. Her breath escapes her. She is made of sharp contrasts, black hair over red velvet, setting off her green eyes and her impossibly pale complexion. She is made of absolutes, of colours with tight and sharp borders that do not mingle. Her parents were like that too, they would be proud.

"I require help with my hands, Madam Rowle," Delphini's voice breaks through the haze in her mind, "and I would like to put on my clothes when you're done." Two swift commands disguised as requests, but her authority all too clear to be denied.

"Of course, Miss Gaunt," she answers before she can help the slip of her tongue.

"Miss Black."

Short but with such an edge that she flinches where she stands. Bellatrix used to talk to her like this, a whip of a word to set her straight, preceding a lash of magic most times. Euphemia bows her head in apology, definitely out of her stupor now. She is not afraid, but she'd be stupid not to be careful.

She moves towards Delphini, adjusting the cart by the side of the bed, so that she can lay her hands on it. She does so with graceful, slow movements, keeping her eyes on her at all times, while Euphemia takes a seat on a low stool.

Euphemia sets to work then, quietly. Maybe her silence will lure Delphini, maybe that will prompt the questions she would so gladly answer. She removes the half-fallen bandages from her hands, careful not to cause any more pain than that absolutely necessary.

Delphini does not flinch and does not hiss. Delphini does not talk through any of it. She simply keeps her eyes on her. Euphemia has to blink and shake her head slightly to concentrate again.

"This will hurt," she says, matter-of-factly.

She places a bowl beneath Delphini's hands and runs the back of them with cold water before taking a small vial with a deep blue liquid and dropping a few drops into every inch of broken skin. It sizzles in contact with the flesh, causing the wounds to bleed anew. Weathered duellers would move in discomfort at first, groan after that, some would scream and threat her. Delphini doesn't make a sound, though she can swear her toes are curled and her feet arched, despite the apparent lack of tension in her muscles. Bellatrix would be proud.

"Will you turn your hands, Miss Black?"

She does and Euphemia repeats the process on her palms. Again, she endures. Then, Euphemia takes a larger flask and applies a honey-like ointment with a silver spatula to the burns.

"This will help with the healing and make your hands numb," she warns her, "it will make the next part easier."

The next part is dressing her hands with gauze soaked in Murtlap Dittany and then wrap them in bandages charmed to keep dry, tight enough not to fall, loose enough not to constrict blood flow. The pressure on the wounds will build up, though, and the numbness will give way to pain once more.

"These pebble-like nuts," she says, opening a small box and offering Delphini its contents, "will help you with the pain. If you chew one twice a day there should be none. You may have a third one if necessary, without any side effects. More than three will make you sleep."

"Thank you," Delphini says, using only two fingers to take one from the box to her mouth, with a small smile on her lips. There is nothing nice about that smile. It's a mere courtesy of someone brought up in high society, but there is a charm to it.

Lord Voldemort would be proud. He, too, had a way to reach for things with the bare minimum of touches. He, too, had a way about people that had nothing to do with being nice. He was always terrifying, but he was charming. He lured witches and wizards as moths to flame, scorching their wings just enough to keep them useful.

Euphemia stands then, closing the box lid. She moves on from Delphini's hands to her back, keeping the lightest of touches on the girl's shoulder as she leans to assess the damage there, before she asks that she lies down. She gasps when she finds none.

The blistering, oozing wounds that refused to be dressed are nowhere to be seen. She can't help but take a step back and look for the girl's eyes and in that moment she knows she is lost.

She sees the bone white wand emerge from the red folds that envelop the girl's body and for a second she remembers, oh so clearly, what being terrified to the brink of sanity feels like.

"Somnum," Delphini says, pointing her bony wand at Euphemia's forehead. She has been inside the witch's mind for a while now, appreciating her thoughts from a safe distance, without truly invading her mind. She was in there when she saw her back free of any wound, burn or bruise that the prophecy had left her with.

But now Euphemia is out, crumbled on the floor, and Delphini is alone in her own mind, looking at an unconscious witch, which is of absolutely no use to her. She puts together a plan quickly, shoving thoughts and ideas into neat boxes in her mind, filed away for later inspection. Now, she acts.

"Renervate. Confundus," she orders her magic forward, steadily and surely, for messing with minds is never easy and always dangerous, "Madam Rowle, you will forget the injuries on my back. The prophecy burned my hands, nothing else. You will help me dress now, and then pack everything I might need to take care of my wounds."

She watches as Euphemia blinks out of her haze, hoping she won't have to cast another spell to make her comply. She won't be able to go through her memories today, not after jumbling her mind like this. She is no longer absolutely sure that she wants to, not after the prophecy and the small snippets she saw of her parents, but knowing is better than being ignorant. She won't do it today, so she files that away.

She gets dressed in the least clumsy way possible, considering the state of her hands and Euphemia's fearful help. Then, she observes as Euphemia collects vials, jars and bottles, setting them all aside in an immaculate little stock before she Conjures a satchel where to pack them, together with the small box of nuts.

"Thank you, Madam Rowle," she is not giving her the remotest chance of taking the lead in this conversation, "I'll get going now. I will come to you again, when and if I deem it so, not the other way around. I will not be seen with you publicly, ever again. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Miss Black." There's a slight hesitation, and Delphini knows, even without looking into her mind, that Euphemia was about to call her Miss Gaunt yet again. Her Father's ghost is a terrible thing, but she will use it for now.

Euphemia offers to carry the satchel to the door, but Delphini declines, sliding one of her arms and her head through the strap, letting it sit on her shoulder.

"Show me outside, Madam Rowle," she orders, picking up the velvet bag with the box in it and cradling it against her chest.

The witch does so without another word. And although Delphini dares not look into her mind, she can't reign in her curiosity, so she listens to the clear thoughts irradiating from Euphemia's mind. Even if they only serve to mud her own thoughts.

"Good evening, Madam Rowle, thank you for having me." She will remember her manners until she is out of sight. She will not lose control. She will not let her façade shatter, not here, not without her family.

"I hope to see you again, Miss Black," Euphemia says, by means of farewell, when she holds the door open for her. The glare that Delphini shoots her at that is so positively murderous that the witch takes several steps back, holding her hands tight, at a loss for words.

"I will contact you again if I deem it so, not the other way around," she tells her once more, letting her eyes turn a dangerous shade of red, which makes Euphemia grow even paler, "and I will make you regret any and all attempts to reach me, as well as any mention of my presence here and the events you witnessed."

Euphemia nods frantically, bowing her head, avoiding her eyes at all costs. Delphini would feel much better if she simply Obliviated her, but she has jostled her mind enough for today. She needs it sound for later reaping. So she walks out the door without further ado, walking past the limits of the sorrowful little garden without as much as a look over her shoulder.

Delphini stands alone in the meadow at the bottom of the hill, haphazardly hidden from view by the dancing of the tall grass, watching the day fade away as the sun plunges beyond the horizon. She lets a couple of tears escape her eyes. She has tried using the button to go home, but the bandages between it and her skin keep it from working. So she waits, for she knows that they will come for her, sooner or later.

She waits holding the box against her chest, both cherishing and fearing the familiar feel of its magic. It is clear, even through the velvet that shrouds it. It's the same as the veil over her bed, the same as the door to her rooms, the same as the case that held her necklace. Her parents have been dead for fifteen years now but somehow their magic endured. His magic endured, she suspects. It shouldn't, every law of magic sustains that once a wizard is dead so is the magic, but leave it to Lord Voldemort to push the boundaries of what magic can and cannot do. She cherishes its familiarity, because it soothes, never failed to do so. But she fears the intention behind it.

The thought of what sort of magic could live beyond the one who cast it is daunting. The thought of what may be inside it makes her skin crawl. The prophecy held her future. The box must hold her path to it. Instructions to bring her dead Father from beyond the Veil. And if knowing is better than being ignorant, then opening this box is a necessity. She must know, for only then can she discern what to avoid, how to keep clear of the path to doom, how to keep her family safe.

A creature of sorrowful song and sombre nature

The augurey of a new age

Born to raise the leader upon its dark wings

She is supposed to be the beginning of something new, but all she feels is final. She is the last Black, the last Gaunt. The last Lestrange too, in a way. She is also the last Riddle, loathe it as her father might have had. Once she leaves this existence, there will be nothing left of them, and maybe that's for the better.

She both craves opening the box and throwing it away, to the bottom of the ocean to be forgotten. She both wants to know what's inside and run from it. Curiosity is a terrible thing. Curiosity drove her to use the Stone, curiosity drove her to Rowle House. Curiosity keeps driving her to dark and darker places, but isn't that what she was always meant to do? Meant to be? Darkness made flesh and omen made bones, the prophecy said.

She feels like Pandora with this box of hers and the evil it may contain. Is that the omen in the augurey's song? Is that her curse? Unleashing it all back on the world?

Narcissa steadies herself at the top of the hill, listening for any sounds that might help her. She hears nothing but two small cracks. Her husband and her son. They are all doomed if their presence here is noticed. Euphemia will fight them and they will fight back, to the very last consequences. It's Delphini they're fighting for. Dying is the smallest price they could pay if that means keeping her safe from her own dead parents and the darkness that always clung to their skin.

In the dying light of day, they see her down below. Very still, standing amidst the tall yellowing grass, no movement to her shape but that of the wind in her hair and her robes.

Draco runs before anyone can stop him. The rustle of his robes and the crushing of his soles draws Delphini's attention to the hill and the silhouette turns to look at them. Narcissa takes her first breath since she landed. Lucius wraps one arm round her waist and rushes with her to where Draco already is.

"I couldn't get the button to work," she says when they approach her, "but I knew you would come for me. I didn't mean to upset you."

I knew you would come for me. Narcissa knows then that whatever damage Euphemia may have done can be fixed. Her wings can be mended.

She keeps very still, holding a box of some sort close to her body, and there's a linen satchel hanging at her hip, the strap visible across her chest. And even though she stands straight and apparently unburdened by them, Narcissa can tell that there's a greater weight to her niece. A shadow to her eyes, obscuring the usual glint.

But then they see her hands, or the tips of her fingers emerging from bulging bandages. Narcissa has to hold her husband's arm to keep him by her side. He takes his cue from her and settles down, providing the calm that Delphini seems to crave right now.

"What happened?" Draco asks, looking towards the house, more than ready to barge inside and leave nothing standing. "Are you alright, Delphini?"

"I hurt my hands, that's why I couldn't close them around the button, but I'm fine," she answers, leaning into Lucius waiting arms.

"Little bird, was it her?"

"No, Aunt Cissa, she took care of my hands," she replies, showing them one hand carefully wrapped while holding on to the box with the other, "can't we just go home?"

Lucius nods to her then, whispering into Delphini's curls for her to hold on and turning right with a sharp movement. Narcissa watches Draco do the same and then leaves as well. The void and the darkness pinch and pull at her body. For a second, there is a barrier, the wards of the Manor, and then her eyes open and they are all in the entrance hall.

Delphini is still holding on to Lucius, her shoulders shaking rhythmically, while he pets her back and her shoulders.

"How about we put those things down, hmm?" He asks her, kissing the crown of her head, having to bend his neck just a little, now that she has grown so tall. She nods in reply, making a couple of tears fall off her face to leave darker stains on her robes and dress.

"You can talk to us, little bird," Narcissa tells her niece, taking the velvet bag and the satchel from her, "you're safe now."

"No, I can't. It's too dangerous for you."

"Oh come here you," Draco says, pulling her from his Father and holding her tight in his own arms, "of course you can. You can't keep it all hidden inside of you, Delphie. Let's go sit down."

Narcissa chooses to leave the bag and the satchel behind, and then follows her family into the sitting room. Draco takes a seat on the sofa and Delphini bundles up by his side, against his ribs and under his arm, making her shape as small as possible.

"Where's Scorpius? And Astoria?"

"Out. Astoria took Scorpius to the Avery's for a playdate, to keep him busy. It has turned to dinner and a sleepover. She should be back soon."

"Good, I don't want Scorpius to see me like this."

They give her time to talk, but she keeps things vague. She did find the prophecy at Euphemia's, she tells them, and it has been destroyed. Her magic reacted to it and that is how her hands got injured, the satchel has everything needed to dress her wounds. She does not tell them of the box inside the velvet bag. She does not tell them of the prophecy exactly. Narcissa knows not to push her.

Delphini has crashed through the last layer of their lies today and she is injured in more ways than one. The little bird flew through the spider web and her wings got tangled and twisted, but their world has not collapsed.

Narcissa knows just what she needs when Delphini falls silent once more. There will be no more words tonight.

"I'm taking you upstairs. A bath, a warm meal, and a bed. I'll have Narkey prepare them for you."

"I'll take that," Delphini says, her eyes lost in the arabesques of the carpet at her feet, "if you'll help me with my hands." She hesitates for a moment, before turning her bloodshot eyes up to hers. "Will you brush my hair please?"

Narcissa answers by getting up and extending her hands.

Delphini sits at her vanity, smelling of rose scented soap, examining her newly dressed hands. The pain is a dull thing at the back of her mind, small enough for her to handle a cup of tea with both hands. Aunt Narcissa dosed it with a calming potion before offering it to her, hoping to make her night easier.

She knows that there is a pair of grey eyes searching for hers in the mirror, offering her that exclusive form of comfort only the two of them share. But she will surely turn into a mess of tears and sobs if she meets them. Narcissa's hands on her hair and the careful running of the brush through her curls are all the comfort that she can take right now.

"Would you like me to braid it for the night, little bird?"

She flinches slightly at that, but manages to hide it well enough. She nods, buying herself some more time while she reaches into the right side drawer to pick a ribbon.

Little bird. Her aunt has called her little bird her entire life, so has Draco. Uncle Lucius has called her sweet star of darkness for years. It all adds up. She has always cherished the nicknames, the spoken proof of their affection. Until now.

"Why do you call me little bird?" She asks, finally meeting the grey stare in the mirror.

She notices how Aunt Narcissa's expression changes. How she schools her features, how she ponders her words.

"It was something your Mother called you, on your very first night. It stuck."

There's a little smile to the answer, a fondness for the memory it alludes to, Delphini can feel it irradiate off her mind. And no lie to it. No half-truth.

They become silent once more, as Delphini finishes her tea and Narcissa ties the braid with the blue ribbon set aside. She feels her Aunt's hands on her shoulders then, pulling her closer so that she can talk to her, whispering words just by her left ear, while steel and emerald meet at the mirror.

"Your fate is not set in stone. You are much more than a prophesised child, you were wanted well beyond it, and you were and are loved for being you. Just you. You are what you choose to be, Delphini, and we will always, always, love you."

Delphini lets a couple of tears stream down her face, incapable of stopping them, but her Aunt's thumbs keep them from falling to her dressing gown. Her mind feels fuzzy and she decides that she needs to sleep some of the sadness off, for her mind will be sharper without it. For she will crumble to nothing but a pool of tears disturbed by sobs and that won't do her any good. She must keep her wits about this if she is to succeed, she needs a sound mind to cross these woods.

She climbs into her bed and allows herself the little joy of being tucked to sleep as if she were little again. Aunt Narcissa stays with her until she falls asleep, hoping against all hope that she won't dream. Her mind gives in to slumber while repeating the prayer of names, so that it doesn't wander back to the prophecy.

But it does nonetheless, and she does dream. Despite the tethers on her mind, her brain conjures memories and builds up scenarios, and she soon feels like a little boat adrift amidst a storm. She dreams of the prophecy and of the way the voices were distorted when it shattered. She dreams of turning on herself, and it is terrible. The image of a version of her letting her wand drop to the ground, letting her knees give under her weight and just stay there, still, her curls over her face, waiting for a final blow. She dreams of finding her Father in the study and being punished for failing. She dreams of her family lying dead on the floor of the Manor, downstairs in the piano room.

Delphini wakes up screaming and sobbing in Aunt Narcissa's arms. Uncle Lucius runs inside, forgetting to knock and leaving doors ajar. He brings her Dreamless Sleep, and allows her exactly no argument when she shakes her head at first.

"I didn't keep you in this house, with me, to see you be driven mad by night terrors. I won't have it, and I won't let you do it, Delphini. I won't have this happen again."

It's harsh, it's so very harsh. Uncle Lucius speaks as if his words were blades, but they reach her and she understands. The ghost of her Mother is a powerful thing.

So she takes the spoonful of Dreamless Sleep and buries her body into the comfort of her bed and of the presence of her family.

And only then is she at rest.

Narcissa sighs once she leaves the room where her niece sleeps, leaning into her husband. Delphini has barely scratched the surface of Lord Voldemort's plans for her. Plenty is still amiss, she knows. Some of it, she suspects, she dares hope, they'll never know of. She will never know of. The only other person he might have confided in is as dead as he is. Still, she dwells on Delphini's question, and she remembers.

She remembers the summer night in which she was born, just as the day died on the horizon, and holding her close to her heart, heavy and warm on her arms, after Lord Voldemort had left, when the stars were bright against the dark skies. There was no moon that night, just starlight.

Bella had finally started to cave into exhaustion, but she couldn't stop staring at the pretty child in her arms. Narcissa found herself being disturbed by the voice of her sister for very different reasons. She was cooing, she was humming a lullaby. None of that baby talk that drove shivers down everyone's backs. A soothing, steady, absolutely sane voice, a loving tone she had never heard.

Remembering how tired she had felt after Draco's birth, she offered to take the baby and lull her to sleep so that Bella could rest. She had fought her at first, wanting to keep her close, refusing to give up her daughter, even to the arms of her sister.

"My little augurey, my precious little bird," she kept whispering to the bundle in her arms, wrapped in the pearl blanket, while she coursed her fingers over Delphini's features, committing them to memory.

Bella conceded in the end, worried that she might fall asleep and somehow hurt her daughter. She extended the soft bundle to Narcissa, who sat by the bed, caressing the solitary black curly lock of hair that adorned her sleeping niece's forehead, wondering if there was a way to keep her safe. Watching the shadows that the starlight drew on the impossibly pale skin, as pale as that of the little girl she had once held in her arms for a fleeting hour, as pale as Draco had been.

"She is a lovely little bird, Bella, your daughter is beautiful."Narcissa had told Bella then, shying from calling her precious. This baby girl could not be seen as a possession from day one, not by her own mother. "But she needs time to be a little bird before she becomes an augurey."

"My very precious little bird", Bella had said, right before she fell asleep, and always referred to her so from then on. To Narcissa she became little bird. Just little bird.

Ever since her sister's confession about the meaning behind the necklace, she had vowed to protect the child, then unborn, even from her parents. She had sided with them for the sake of family, because it was easier to keep her husband and her son safe, because harbouring the Dark Lord in her own house meant being better informed, because if the Dark Lord was there so was Bella.

That night, Narcissa had vowed to keep the little bird safe as well.

Tonight, she wonders if she has.

Granger-Weasley House, July 21st, 2013

"I need to see you at your earliest convenience. I'll meet you, just tell me where.

Delphini"

The short note tied to the foot of the dark, stately-looking owl is burning into her mind, while Hermione dwells on it. Concise and straight to the point, without letting her in on anything at the same time. Simple, but admirably composed and well-thought of. Not a ruse per se, there is no malicious intention in it, but something definitively constructed to make her act. To leave her at ease, even, letting her decide on the where and when, without budging on the matter of the actual meeting.

The cunning creature, she thinks, reflecting on just how much of a Slytherin the girl has grown to be. Of Black blood and raised by Malfoys, she probably had little chance at becoming anything else. She immediately shakes her head at the preposterous thought. Hermione Granger, of all people, judging a girl for her blood.

Her position as Head of Department means this is a matter to be handled with great care and plenty of thought.

They can't be seen together out in the open. That will simply not do. She is not Harry, who makes sure to be seen with Delphini often, shielding her with his presence, in a way. They have agreed on the message to be sent, but not quite on the ways to do it.

Having her come to her office at the Ministry means making this Ministry business from the start, and she has a feeling neither of them want it to be so. Not to mention the Prophet and every other newspaper would be all over it the second Delphini came through one of the fireplaces in the lobby.

Malfoy Manor isn't an option, not really. She feels too exposed inside those walls, the memories they hold make it hard for her to think clearly. She has to force her hand off the scar that she finds herself pressing against, as if the pain were all anew. She dares not pull the sleeve and actually look at it. Delphini and its author look too much alike for her to go through with this meeting if she does.

Her own home is out of the question. She can't even fathom what Ron might do. He won't admit it, but fear of what Delphini's future might be is probably the main reason he left the Aurors. Ron has a way to see the game far beyond the current board, to watch it unfold in his mind. He knows the possibility of Delphini turning dark and going rogue exists, and he sees a way for it to come true, so he has changed his strategy. He has absolutely no desire to be forced by duty to stand between her and the ones he loves, so he removed himself from the game altogether.

Harry is seen with her all the time though...

Hermione dismisses the dark owl Delphini has sent her. She doesn't have an answer yet. The large bird seems offended by her lack of it, but spreads its wings anyway, plunging into the air from her window.

Author's Notes: Hello there! Sorry it has taken me so long, but I now find myself in possession of a working laptop and with plenty of free time, so I plan to get a fair amount of editing and writing done. Let me know what you thought of this chapter, I'm already well into 48, so any and all reviews will be put to powering my writing ;)

I know this one doesn't really move things forward, but I needed to flesh this out. Plus it includes some Malfoy fluffiness and I can't keep myself off it. It's so bad that there's a little Drastoria for you on chapter 48 as well. Things will pick up on the next one, I promise. Also, little tease, what was at the bottom of Pandora's box? How does it relate to what's coming? Is she ever opening it? What happened to her back?

She seems to get her hands hurt an awful lot, though. I think I'm projecting a bit (I injured my hands quite badly when I was eight). Just let me know if you find the descriptions icky enough to deserve a gore warning or something. I honestly don't know what the threshold for most warnings is.

What else? Well, I'm also back to my forum activities, so if you'd like little snippets of Birds Become Dragons on the side, feel free to send them this way, I'll probably find a prompt to go with them.

I am in need of inspiration for a little something coming ahead, so spoiler alert maybe? I need suggestions for possible Triwizard Tournament tasks. I just need to get brainstorming, but I need a little push and you guys usually provide me with great ideas.