In the city, the weather had turned dark and surly even with the end of June approaching. Hermione walked through the streets of muggle London after a day of sitting by Ron's bedside. She would go early in the mornings so she would be the first to see him, though she would often run into a Weasley on her way out. She noticed they were taking shifts, making sure to have one sibling or parent by his bedside at all times.
She didn't belong at Hogwarts or the Ministry now, so she spent long hours with Ron, talking to him, writing letters for him to read when he woke up. But it was far from relaxing. She usually left St. Mungo's jittery and annoyed.
She caught her reflection in a darkened store window. Her hair was plaited back. Her face was bare. Her clothes were dark and nondescript, neither muggle nor witch. A corner of parchment poked out of the top of her handbag. McGonagall had asked, in a brief but kind note, if she intended to stay at Hogwarts. She hadn't responded yet, feeling ashamed. But there was so little of the school year left that she didn't see the point. The jury selection had gone on without her. There was nothing to do.
A bus slid into view as she approached the curb. She had been staying at Grimmauld Place. On the bus, a woman with large sunglasses was fast asleep in the seat nearest to her. A gaggle of teenagers shared a Walkman and bopped their heads along to the music. She enjoyed this part of her day, when she could blend in with the rest of the city. Most people in the wizarding world recognized her, which she had found out the hard way when she went to buy new robes for the school year last summer. It had taken hours just to get out of Madam Malkin's after a horde of people had appeared in the store, desperate to shake her hand or speak to her.
Nobody bothered her as the bus made its way through London, nor when she was deposited on the corner of Grimmauld Place and made her way down the block. She let herself into the front door, careful to avoid the troll foot umbrella stand. It was time for a sandwich and a good book, if she was able to concentrate. The building was quiet. She suspected Harry wouldn't be back until late at night, which was just enough time to cool off and possibly finish the book on legal proceedings she had borrowed from Mr. Weasley.
At least, that was what she thought. As she approached the kitchen, she heard the low murmur of a conversation. "Hello?" Hermione said, her hand moving automatically to her wand. "Harry?"
"Hermione," Harry called, his head poking out into the hall. "Er—we're over here. Come to the kitchen."
"I didn't know you were home."
"Bill's here. We were just leaving though," he said, apologetically pointing to his cloak, which was draped over his arm.
In the kitchen, Bill was perched on the edge of the counter. A leather jacket was draped over his shoulders and his hair was buzzed, giving his skull a orange glow. He still looked unspeakably cool. "Your hair!" Hermione hugged him quickly. She hadn't seen him since the attack last month, when all the Weasleys had come to the hospital.
"Hermione," Bill grinned, hugging her and revealing a newly chipped front tooth. "Fleur says hello."
"What are you doing here?"
Bill glanced quickly at Harry. "Boring Ministry stuff. I should actually grab some Floo Powder before we leave—downstairs, you said?"
"Oh, yeah," Harry nodded. "In the bowl shaped like a turtle near the fireplace."
"You're Flooing somewhere?" Hermione said, watching the end of Bill's jacket disappear around the doorway.
"Yeah, just work stuff," he pushed his glasses up his nose.
Harry had always been a poor liar.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"Bill's coming along to lend his expertise on something."
"How very top secret. You can tell me, they're not going to fire you."
Harry reddened. "They could," he said defensively.
"Ministry-grade Floo Powder...somewhere you can't Apparate out of if you're not an Auror?
Harry shook his head. "I'm not playing this game."
"Oh, come on. I haven't had any fun in weeks," she joked, though it came out sounding dark. "It's just that I feel so useless," she said quietly.
"You're not," he said definitively. His brow furrowed. He seemed to be thinking something over with great effort. "If you must know, I'm going...to Malfoy Manor, actually."
"You're joking," she said.
"Here," he said, fishing something out of his pocket and pressing it into her hand. It was a small piece of parchment that looked like it had been furled and unfurled many times. The handwriting on it was elegant and small, all thin ink and bending coils. She squinted at the text and turned the parchment over. It was gibberish.
"Harry, I can't read this."
"Oh, right," he jolted. He tapped on the parchment with his wand and the letters peeled off, lifting and rearranging themselves until Hermione could see a message. An ornate and glittering M appeared at the bottom of the page, as though pressed into the note by a seal.
HP
I would like to discuss an exchange. Remember the forest.
NM
"NM? Is that...Narcissa's signature?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah," he placed the note back into his pocket. "It took me a while to figure it out, but I think I know what she wants."
"Is this such a good idea?" she asked, lowering her voice. "Does Bill know what you're up to?"
He glanced at the doorway. "No. We really are going for the Ministry. But I'm going to try and talk to Narcissa."
"Harry, I don't know," she said. This could be a trap. She still didn't trust the Malfoys.
"From what I know about the attack," he said slowly, "I don't think Draco was involved. And that's what you said too, remember?"
"Sure, but who knows about Narcissa? She's unpredictable. Lucius certainly is. The whole family is."
"I don't think she wants to hurt me. Whatever it is she wants, I owe it to her to go."
"You don't owe her anything," Hermione said, dumbstruck by the suggestion. If anything, it was the Malfoys who should be groveling at Harry's feet now that the war was over. There were far worse fates than being on house arrest in a palatial mansion with all the luxuries money can afford. She didn't think that Draco Malfoy was involved in the attack on the Great Hall, only because she didn't believe him to be a good enough actor to fake being scared in front of her. The Malfoy she had seen in the classroom seemed genuinely afraid, like a child, his entire body freezing up when he saw that the Auror was dead.
But still. She thought of how she had read to Ron that morning and her throat tightened. She didn't feel sorry for Malfoy.
"You know," Harry paused, turning over his wand in his hands, "I've had a lot of time to think about Sirius since moving here. He's everywhere in this house. Regulus, too," he said quietly. "For me, Grimmauld Place has only ever had happy memories. But it must have been a terrible place to grow up. Sirius and Regulus wouldn't have done what they did otherwise. And then they died, and nobody knew what they did, and nobody wanted to believe otherwise."
"I think of them both often," she said.
"Yeah. Me too. And that's why I have to go over there," he said, looking her in the eyes, his green eyes bright and sure.
She felt her stomach flip over on itself. "Well, then. Do you have your cloak?"
He nodded.
"Bill doesn't have to know. I'll go with you," she said, feeling a buzz of electricity go through her body for the first time in weeks. "I'm not going to let you walk into a snake nest without any backup."
They Apparated onto a grassy patch of land from where they could see a long stretch of fence. Hermione clutched the cloak tighter around herself.
"This way," he led them closer to the gate, their feet squishing in the shallow mud, Hermione hastily casting a spell to keep her feet from making any noise. The grass was tall and thick and brushed against their knees. Through the gates, Malfoy Manor looked more foreboding than when she was there last.
Perhaps Harry thought the same thing, because he kept his gaze on the house, which had all of its windows dark and a few errant peacock feathers, broken and ghostly, scattered near the hedges. But if there were any birds on the property, they were nowhere to be seen.
The only sign of movement was a rustle of grass near the farthest point of fence she could see. She squinted, thinking, at first, that it was a dark horse. Then its head rose up from its grazing, and she could see it in sharp relief against the pale, dried out grass. It was a thestral foal, standing upright and still. Nearly forgetting that she was supposed to be invisible, she made to call out to Harry to point it out to him, but then remembered that she wasn't to make any noise. When she turned back to look at the thestral, it had disappeared.
She could tell from the shimmer of air near the fence that the Malfoys had some sort of protective charm up. Though, she wondered why it was necessary in a secluded place like this. The air was still and she couldn't even hear any cars. Overhead, the clouds moved in.
At the entrance to the long path that led to the front of the manor, the gate was closed, a lone hooded Auror pacing around the side of the building. As Bill, Hermione, and Harry got closer, she could see the figure had on shiny purple boots.
Harry waved at her. "Hello, Swain," he called out. "Bill Weasley's here with me."
The woman waved back. "Potter, we've been expecting you. You're cleared."
The gate swung open soundlessly and without any resistance. Bill went first and Harry slowly walked through, holding the gate door open for a few extra beats so Hermione could squeeze through the few inches of space this afforded her.
From afar, Narcissa appeared at the doorway of the manor, looking frailer than Hermione remembered but elegant nonetheless in rose-colored robes. She had a straight, pointed nose and a few lines around her mouth and eyes. Her skin was pale and clear. She had darting features that looked as though they could flip between passive observance and immense fervor at a moment's notice.
"Bill Weasley, cursebreaker," Bill strode forward, his tone curt. He extended a hand.
"I'd like this done quickly," she said to Harry without regarding Bill, her voice icy and carrying.
"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said, following her inside. "Bill, why don't you scout out the topmost floor and I'll get started down here with the paperwork?" he produced a tidy booklet of papers from his rucksack.
Bill nodded and ascended up the staircase.
"Where's your son?" Harry asked. She almost expected him to appear, the same way he had appeared the day of their exams, though she had had some warning then.
"Upstairs. He keeps to himself."
"Does he know you have...guests?" Harry asked.
"He won't bother us," Narcissa said curtly. She beckoned at Harry to follow her. They walked into a sitting area Hermione had never seen before.
Harry sat down on a couch with Narcissa across from him. Hermione tiptoed to a spot on the rug, hovering near them and suddenly very aware of how loud her breathing was.
"I'll cut to the chase," Harry said, his voice low. "I have it under good authority that Lucius is being kept at the Ministry, in a private cell."
"Dementors?" she asked sharply.
He shook his head. "It's official Ministry policy that Dementors aren't being used anymore."
"Thank you," Narcissa said her shoulders slumping forward in relief. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and opened them. "That does quite a lot to quell my fears." She looked very young, Hermione realized. Her parents were much older than her friends' parents at Hogwarts, and the Malfoys were no exception. A result of the Grangers attending dental school and living a life without war.
Harry sighed. "Let's not dance around this. I'm not opposed to hearing what you have to say. I owe you. You're the reason Tom Riddle is dead. We both know what happened with Pettigrew," he said thoughtfully. "And I reckon I don't want to die again. At least, not for a while."
"I'm certainly versed in the old ways of magical indebtedness, and I don't—I don't know, exactly, what we exchanged that day. But I know that I-I have to see my husband," she said all at once, her hands shaking. "They won't let me speak to him, because they suspect me. If I can just speak to him, even for a moment, I can find out if he did this or—or if there's someone else behind this who's making him do it. You're the first person who's stepped foot in here from the Ministry in many months. They won't give me the time of day, not even when my lawyers speak to them. It's only gotten worse since—since Lucius left."
"This case is being dealt with," Harry's brow furrowed. "Even if you're not seeing any progress from where you're standing."
Her lip curled. "From what I can tell, the Ministry doesn't care whether I die here. You," she pointed at him fiercely, her voice rising, "were a last resort. And I don't appreciate you bringing him," Narcissa said, and Hermione realized she was talking about Bill.
"I had to. Getting this inspection pushed up was a nightmare. Bill is here as a personal favor to me," Harry said, getting up. "Speaking of, I do have to look through this floor before he gets back."
Narcissa rose. "Wonderful. So I'm finally able to make contact with the outside at the cost of more charges for illegal activity."
Harry looked grim. "Mrs. Malfoy, you told the Ministry last year that you don't have any more Dark Artifacts in your home."
"I couldn't possibly comb through this entire house on my own. For all I know, the damned paperweights are from Borgin and Burke's!"
Harry rubbed at his temples. "I can't lie on these forms. I didn't come here to set you up," he said. "I told Bill—I told him we were just here on a formality."
Narcissa rolled her eyes. "He's related to your friend, is he not? He's not going to leave here without finding something."
Harry blinked, confused. "What—Ron?" he asked. Hermione's shoulders stiffened. She reached out a hand to steady herself on the plush fabric of the couch but realized this could give her away.
She glanced at the entrance to the sitting room. The initial rush of adrenaline that had led her here was beginning to wear off.
"Harry," Bill called out from the hall. "Do you mind coming over here?"
Narcissa gave Harry a scalding look.
Harry nodded quickly. "Fine. I'll get it done. You have my word." He ducked out of the room and Hermione followed, nearly tripping over her feet.
"Bill," Harry said loudly. "Er, what have you got?"
Bill's hands were gloved, and he was gingerly pinching a tiny gold box covered in dust. "This turned up. I reckon it's too dangerous to open up here."
"Nonsense," Narcissa scoffed, her arrogant tone back at once. "That thing's full of Doxies at worst."
"Just doing my job," Bill said coldly. He looked triumphant.
Narcissa looked livid. "Isn't this a conflict of interest?"
Bill shrugged. "There are other cursebreakers and Dark Arts experts who can confirm what I'm seeing here," he turned the box over. "Seems to be something that can only be opened by the owner. Is this yours?"
"It's my husband's," she snapped. "Have you tried Alohamora?"
"Speaking of," Bill said nonchalantly, "There are a few rooms that are locked. Blood magic. Looks like they're only able to be opened by members of the Malfoy family. We ran into the same problem at the Parkinson residence the other day. Coincidentally, the family of another one of your son's classmates," he made searing eye-contact with Narcissa.
Hermione glanced at Harry, who looked worriedly at Bill. She pressed a hand to her stomach. This all hardly felt above-board for the Ministry. She hadn't expected to agree with Narcissa Malfoy of all people, but she had been right—Bill inspecting Malfoy Manor probably was a conflict of interest. She wondered why Harry hadn't foreseen this.
She felt nauseous, and the fear of throwing up while under the Invisibility Cloak in Malfoy fucking Manor seized her. If she could just get into another room, she could cast an anti-nausea spell without anyone hearing her—she didn't quite trust herself to do a medical spell silently yet.
She backed slowly away from the room, praying that Harry would stay put for just a few minutes longer. She didn't dare move quickly, hoping that the Malfoys had reinforced their wooden floorboards with magic so they didn't creak. Soon she was a few meters away, then she was in the doorway of the hall, which seemed to be empty. Her hand felt for the wall behind her, her torso still facing Harry, Bill, and Narcissa, when she bumped into something—someone—her heart catching in her throat, the telltale stab of the end of a wand in her middle.
"Oh, fuck."
