A/N: What's this? A chapter that isn't total misery? Who knew!

P.S. Happy one week until back-to-Hogwarts!

Trigger warnings: n/a

Consciousness erupted.

It took several minutes for her to realise that her dreams had ended and she now lay staring wide-eyed into the dark.

Awake.

Again.

Light from the street below filled the room with a dim haze, and though she could see nothing but foggy silhouettes, she knew Narcissa lay asleep beside her. The sounds of her breaths coaxed Hermione away from the flickering remnants of nightmares.

But as the tension eased away, rest did not come to take its place.

So she crept out of bed and eased her way through the darkness.

"Good morning."

"Oh! Hello, Harry."

"Breakfast?"

"Yes, please."

"Can't sleep?"

She gave him a shrug.

"Yeah. Me neither."

Harry seemed to instinctively understand her want of quiet, as he said nothing while the kettle boiled. She settled in by the window, listening to the trickling as he poured it into cups… added a dash of cream, just as she liked… all in darkness, where everything felt softer…

She hadn't bothered to check the time, but it must have been very early if she and Harry could sit there by the window, sipping tea and nibbling toast (their new tradition, apparently) until it grew stale with no sign of daylight.

"Nice haircut," he said after they must've been marinating in silence for close to an hour.

"Oh—" her hand flew to hold a lock which grazed her ear. "Thanks."

"Did she do it for you?"

"No, I cut it myself actually."

"Oh, good. I didn't want to have to tell Mrs. Malfoy she did such an awful job."

It took about eight full seconds for her brain to process his sarcasm, during which she stared at Harry blankly. When the joke landed, she snorted. "Does that mean you'll start treating her nicely?" she snarked, and then bit her tongue when she realised her bitter thoughts had escaped into reality. Fuck.

Harry frowned and she immediately wished she could bring back his humour.

"It's not for lack of trying, you know."

"No, Harry, that's not it, I'm sorry I—"

"No. No, listen, actually." He shifted to face her directly and she saw the city lights reflecting in the lenses of his glasses. "Hermione, you're my best friend. Truly. And I want what you want always but it's… hard. For me. And the rest of us, really. I understand that you've had all these experiences that make it easy for you to trust her like that, but you have to remember that we haven't. To us, she's still the wife of a man who tried to kill us—tried to kill you—multiple times, and also the mum of Draco bloody Malfoy!" Harry took a breath. "But you trust her, and I trust you, so I'm trying. We all are. For you. But it's going to take a bit more time."

The monologue hadn't been something she wanted or needed to hear and Hermione now found herself awash in shame. "I didn't mean that, Harry, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know I'm putting you through an impossible task. I don't want to seem ungrateful."

"Hey, hey, you're fine." The cushion beside her depressed and she felt Harry's arm come around her shoulder. She forgot, sometimes, how much she missed the physical comfort of her friends; the warmth it brought settled deeply in the crevices of her bones. "I am curious, though," he mused from somewhere near her temple. "You're not called the brightest witch of your age for nothing and I don't believe for a second that anything you've been through has impaired your reasoning. So what happened? Not literally, I mean, I know what actually happened. But when did you start to trust her?"

For a moment, Hermione was back on the run with Harry, just the two of them waging war against an empty world, and she remembered why he was her best friend.

And then the memory faded and it was only her and Narcissa, enemies of common enemies at first, and then something vaguely more.

"I don't know. It wasn't like… a moment, or anything. I think I just had to. I was going to die, Harry. It didn't seem like I had much to lose and at some point on the way I realised that neither did she, really." She wanted to say more, to somehow capture in words all the tenderness and care she'd received from this woman everyone suspected of being so sinister, but, when she opened her mouth, nothing more would come.

"It's weird, I s'pose," mused Harry beside her. "Remember when we ran into her last year? In Diagon Alley, with Draco."

"Merlin, that was only a year ago."

"Yeah, exactly. Remember how awful she was?"

"Mm."

"I remember thinking it made sense Draco turned out the way he did. We already knew his dad was a piece of work."

Draco's eyes, terrified and helpless as he helped her and his mother to escape, reappeared and Hermione had to say she agreed.

"Has she changed, do you think? Is that how you're able to get along?"

Madam Malkin's shop echoed with Malfoy drawls, insults which struck low, jagged and aimed to stick, Narcissa's defence of Draco fearsome and with a body count to match. Arms, soft and benevolent and yet firm, protecting, shielding Hermione with the same ferocious passion…

"No, I don't think she's changed. Not in her character, at least."

"But her beliefs? I can't imagine she would be like this if she genuinely believed the nonsense about blood purity."

Hermione shook her head, remembering their conversation-turned-argument through the mossy hills of Ireland. "Maybe not the worst of it, but she still buys into some of it, at least a little… and she's getting better. I mean, she does listen when I tell her she's wrong." And scream at her, and shout. "I dunno. It's different. I can't explain it. But I mean it when I say she's trustworthy."

The breaking of dawn illuminated Harry's features just enough for Hermione to watch the progression of thoughts across his features. "Well," he said at length, "if it's enough for you, then it has to be enough for anyone."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she let his words settle into the morning rays which lightened the furniture shade by shade. The flat came into relief, Harry's disarrayed hair and rumpled pyjamas revealing themselves at her side.

The rising of the sun brought incredible peace, Hermione thought, even if the sounds of traffic outside became denser with commuters and business. Something about the colour of the light, not quite as warm as a sunset, felt pleasantly empty. Void of worries, perhaps. She wished the symbolic waking of a new day would also bring with it a fresh path through to the end of this war, but the world around her stayed frustratingly unchanged even awash in dawnlight.

Looking about the flat, her eyes landed on the doors firmly shut; behind one slept Narcissa, and behind the other, Ron, whom Hermione had last seen dashing off in a fit of… something. He had always been a somewhat temperamental boy, prone to bouts of anger and frustration (as were they all), and clearly the war had taken its toll on his emotional management to the point where he had abandoned his friends once—a wound which Hermione didn't care to admit was still somewhat raw.

But she wasn't sure whether his self-isolation ought to be taken as a sign of progress or not, and the unpredictability of his behaviour tugged on her peace of mind. She remembered the little boy on the train with dirt on his noise, fond of sweets and unashamedly excited by everything—not to mention wickedly good at chess. She missed him.

"How is he, Harry?" she finally asked.

She felt Harry follow her gaze to the shut bedroom door, heard his sigh. "I know it doesn't look great, but I think he's learning. He has his moments, y'know, but he's getting… self-aware. His dad's had to give him a talking to a few times, just to tell him to reign it in and all that, remind him that he's not the only one having a rough go of it. So when he's feeling… out of it, he'll go and shut himself up for a bit until he's calmed down enough not to take it out on anyone else. Works really well, actually. I'm… proud of him."

This new Ron, frayed at the edges and yet so careful not to let it scrape anyone else, took shape in Hermione's head.

"Do you think he'd walk out on us again?"

Harry didn't answer immediately. The thoughts, heavy and cumbersome, clunked around his head for several stretched moments and Hermione was glad for it; wasn't' sure she'd have believed an answer that wasn't deeply thought through.

"No."

There it was, then. Hermione released her breath.

"Just make sure you let him take his space when he needs it, yeah?"

"You think I wouldn't?"

"No, I'm just saying you—you have a history, I s'pose, of… pushing people. It's not a bad thing! You're my favourite kick in the arse and Merlin knows where I'd be without it but, just for him, when he's like this, it really is best to let him deal with it on his own."

The last of Harry's words were lost as Hermione curled up, desperate to keep her laughter quiet. "Your 'favourite kick in the arse?'" she gasped.

Swatting her with a cushion, Harry grinned. "Oi! Shut up."

"No! I think I'll get that on a t-shirt, actually. I'm Harry Potter's favourite kick in the arse!"

Hermione smothered her own giggles with her hand, trying desperately to embed herself into the cushions and not wake the rest of the flat, while Harry did a rather terrible job of trying to look put out.

"Look, I know I'm shite at comforting people, but—"

"You're right, you are shite at comforting people."

"Oi! Trying to say something!"

Snickering again, Hermione did her best to calm her expression into one of polite attention.

It didn't work. Harry looked at her and broke out into chuckles himself, pulling her close into a bone-breaking hug that was all the wrong angles and left Hermione with an elbow in her ribs.

"It's been hell without you, Hermione."

"Right, everyone."

Narcissa halted, mid-chew of jammed toast, as Hermione and Harry ceased their conversation to look up at a very determined Ron Weasley, standing freshly bathed and cleanly dressed in the doorway.

"What's the plan?"

Three pairs of eyes exchanged glances of puzzlement before turning back to Ron, who quite impatiently explained, "We nearly lost Hermione to You-Bloody-Know-Who and now my sister-in-law is out there, somewhere, going through the same shite. And we've just been sitting around for weeks having tea and biscuits. So, what's the plan? How are we going to end this bloody war?"

Once again, everyone but Ron glanced around in mild bafflement. The notebook reappeared.

"Well," Hermione flipped through the worn pages. "We have a list of Horcruxes, but nothing for certain—"

"Doesn't matter. We have to just pick one and see where we can get. You—" he turned to Narcissa, "didn't you say there's one in your sister's Gringotts vault?"

"I believe it is a strong possibility, yes, though I have no way of knowing—"

"Good. How are we going to break into Gringotts?"

"Um… bribe a goblin?"

"They're too proud."

"Alright, then, can't we just Imperio a goblin to let us in?"

"Goblin magic isn't the same. A bit like elf magic, really. I'm not sure it would react the same way. I've got a book, though, that might know…" Hermione wasn't sure when the debate had turned from humouring Ron to genuine scheming, but her fingertips itched for her stash of encyclopedias and she went for her beaded bag, kept safe all this time by Harry and Ron.

"What if we're overthinking this? Mrs. Malfoy, can't you just go in and ask to access the vault?"

"Even if we disregard the fact that my sister is now a Lestrange and I a Malfoy, and therefore neither of us have entitlements to each other's families and their properties, I am quite certainly unable to waltz around in public any more than you are. If I were to present myself in Gringotts, a swarm of Death Eaters would be upon me before I could even open my mouth."

"Alright, so not that, then."

"Hermione, you've still got Polyjuice, right?"

"Yeah. It's really high quality, too. Snape made it."

Ron wrinkled his nose at that.

"Can we get one of Bellatrix Lestrange's hairs?"

"How on Earth do you plan to do that?"

"Can we lure her somewhere?" Harry gave Narcissa a pointed glance again. "Imperius?"

Narcissa pressed her lips together. "Perhaps the most viable of all your proposals thus far, which is to say though it is not utterly impossible, I do not think it is advisable by any means."

"Hermione—put it on a list of Plans Which Stand A Chance in Hell of Working."

"On it."

"Who else do we have access to?"

"Lucius?"

Narcissa's gaze sharpened to a blade of ice. "Go on."

"Could we persuade him?"

"To help us?"

"Willingly or unwillingly, I'm not fussed."

The notion of persuading notorious Pureblood aristocrat Lucius Malfoy into aiding their scheme to bring down the Dark Lord seemed laughable, and indeed the image of Lucius in Hermione's mind from that day she first met him in Flourish and Blotts at the age of twelve seemed to curl his lip at the very idea. Yet the Lucius she had last encountered, who gripped at the bars of her cell and gazed at her with wide eyes, unseeing with panic, begging her for a confession true or otherwise, just anything so that he could get a fraction of dignity back and start digging his family out from the hole in which he'd buried them, who had tried to kidnap Narcissa back to the same end—

That Lucius might help them, if driven purely by desperation, but his instability frightened her almost as much as Bellatrix, and they'd never dream of asking that witch for help outright.

"Ron, I don't think Lucius is a good idea."

Ron shrugged.

"What about Snape?"

"Hermione," started Harry, "I know you said he helped you, but I really don't think—"

"He did help us!"

"Even so, how do we contact him? He's bloody headmaster of Hogwarts."

"I don't know, but—look, I'll put him on the list."

"Hang on, what about Draco?"

"Absolutely not."

"But—"

"I said no!"

Everything in the room stilled as Narcissa stood, arms braced on the table, glaring at Ron with a fury that stayed the tongues of everyone.

She breathed deeply.

"I said no," she restated, quietly this time, and sat back down.

"Um," began Hermione, very much feeling the need to keep the peace and yet alarmed by the raw emotions bristling on all sides of the table. "We told you that Draco helped us escape, yeah?" The boys nodded. "The thing is, what he did was probably fairly obvious and—and I'm not sure if he could've gotten away with it." She tried to will them to understand with her eyes. Don't make me say it! She silently begged while Narcissa's breaths grew more ragged.

"What, you're saying you think he might be dead?"

Dammit, Ron!

"Oh, we could've told you ages ago. He's fine, Hermione. He's been spotted all over the place. Alive."

Narcissa's head fell into her hands and, for lack of something to do, Hermione gently put a hand on her back, genuinely a bit bewildered that Draco had survived and that they hadn't thought to ask Harry and Ron about him earlier. Stupid.

"If he really helped you escape like that, then I reckon he's our best bet this time 'round."

"NO!" Narcissa exploded upwards and Hermione could see wetness around her eyes—not elegant tears, but messy grief which inflamed the skin and made Hermione feel as though she were witnessing something she oughtn't.

"Mr. Weasley, I have told you before: My son is not an option for your suicide mission. I will send myself in before I send him."

"But—"

"Please, I will beg if that's what it takes."

"Narcissa, sit down," coaxed Hermione, "No-one is going to send Draco into anything he doesn't agree to." Her hand made gentle circles across Narcissa's spine. Would Narcissa agree that Draco was an adult who could make his own decisions? Probably not. He was barely an adult, and the passion of a mother's love wasn't as binary as maturation laws.

"What if…" Harry mused quietly. "What if Draco were willing to help us in a way that wasn't quite so… obvious?"

"I will not have him in danger—"

"Well, I think that ship has sailed awhile ago, Mrs. Malfoy, if you don't mind me saying. He's in the den of the Dark Lord. He's going to be teasing Death every second of the day regardless."

Narcissa bit her lip as she appeared to mull this over. Hermione thought it sounded like the words were being torn out of her as she lowly queried, "What would you have in mind, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "Can I see your list, Hermione? Thanks…" He traced her bulleted notes absently with his fingernail. "Draco's a full-fledged Death Eater, right? With access to all the… goods?"

"More or less."

"So, what if we can get him to give us a hair from Bellatrix? Or lure her to the bank somehow so that we can access the vault? Or if he can go in on our behalf, even."

It was one of the more refined drafts of a plan Hermione thought she'd ever heard from Harry's lips. Not only was it almost logical, but the wide distribution of risk meant it was relatively safer for all involved. Brilliant.

"That could work, Harry."

Ron nodded. Harry looked to Narcissa.

"My son," she all but spat, "is not a pawn to be used in your ridiculous misadventures—!"

"No but listen! Listen, Narcissa, please." In a desperate attempt to console, Hermione's arm came around Narcissa's shoulder, holding her close while the other took her hand. "Draco's in danger, no matter what you do. But if he helps us, then he'll get off easier at the end of all this. Commuted sentencing, whatever. We'll advocate for him. And with his help, we stand a real chance of winning this war."

"And, if we don't," chimed Ron, "we'll all be dead anyway, which I think would be preferable to living in whatever's left if You-Know-Who has his way."

"Fair point," agreed Harry.

Hermione couldn't really argue that, either. "Anything he does will be of his own free will. We can guarantee that much," she promised with more gentle swirls of her fingertips across Narcissa's skin. Guilt stirred, somewhere, with the knowledge that they really were trying to exploit this woman's only son for an almost definite suicide mission. But what other choice was there?

Hermione couldn't guess what had changed the witch's mind, but when Narcissa looked up with glistening eyes, Hermione could see that they'd won.

"Very well," Narcissa acquiesced softly. "But if this ends with my only child dead, I will kill you myself, Harry Potter."

Harry grinned and Hermione wondered if they were all finally seeing eye-to-eye.

"Deal.