July 1999 – a year after the end of the second Wizarding War

"Welcome to this special airing of Our New World. I'm here today in heather moorland with Auror Captain Hestia Jones, Mafalda Hopkirk from the Improper Use of Magic Office, Narcissa Malfoy, and Harry Potter himself. It's chilly here, as things tend to get when you have a dozen starved dementors in a warded enclosure less than twenty yards away."

Lee Jordan's voice boomed through radio stations scattered in thousand of British homes. Because of lingering public distrust in the Daily Prophet, most mages had taken to tuning in to Our New World every evening at 8 PM.

"As you all know, we decided that rewarding dark creatures who'd happily become Riddle's attack hounds by giving them access to an increased number of prisoners, for the second time in less than twenty years, was pretty stupid," Lee cheerfully said. "Thanks to Harry and Narcissa -and you should see that pointed look I just got for using her first name. I do like to live dangerously- we now are able to destroy those soul-sucking, happiness-destroying, horrid-memories-awakening wraiths. And you know what? That is awesome!"

"I hope you all did your homework. The recap for dummies is that dementors are not quite in the present time, and not quite in our physical plane. I mean, most of you must have noticed it's hard to munch on feelings. And that trick they use to fill your mind with your worst memories? It's similar to time-turner magic. Bottom line, normal spells don't hit them because they're designed to strike here and now, whereas dementors fade between cracks of time. And if that sounds disturbing, it's because it bloody well is."

Beneath the boisterous tone, no-one could mistake the very serious undercurrent to Lee's commentary. This was River, former host of Potterwatch, whose fierce commitment to the free flow of information had not waned after Voldemort's fall.

"And they've begun! It's... interesting because it just looks like regular old ward crafting. We're starting to feel the first effects : no more unnatural chill and the grass beneath the dementors is now a puddle instead of an ice-ring." Lee sucked in a breath. "Oy, Harry! Explain to us what's the deal with dementors making things freeze!"

"They disturb time itself." There was no mistaking the contained hate in Harry's slightly breathless voice. "Everything close to them slows, and slowing down things makes them freeze. To use your words, the cold is gone because we've dragged them fully here and now."

"Brilliant!" Lee whistled. "Folks, instead of twelve angry-looking dementors floating behind wards, I have twelve dementors on the ground. Like giant beached sea-monsters, except with cloaks. They're pinned down by a weighted net. The net's shimmering with light, it sort of reminds me of a patronus."

"So now you destroy the wraiths," Mafalda Hopkirk breathed from somewhere behind Lee.

"Here and now, they're no more resistant than an average body. Confringo!"

The crunch of shattering bones that followed Harry's incantation did not need to be commented. Sudden silence, broken only by wind and magical static filled the stations.

"The dementors are trapped in a noise-cancelling dome," Lee said, subdued amazement lowering his voice. "They're being destroyed, one by one."

"It looks like they're screaming," Hopkirk said, her voice trembling slightly.

"Twelve gone, two hundred to go," Lee said cheerfully after a tense pause. "Captain, are you confident your aurors can master such a spell?"

"Quite," Hestia replied. "The blasting curse is standard, and the dark component of the anchoring ritual is not more concerning than many legal healing spells."

"Healing requires some accommodations," Hopkirk said hesitantly, "but use of Dark Arts for destructive purposes..."

"I'm no expert, Ma'am," Lee cut in amiably, "but it looked like all the destruction was done by the blasting curse. The ritual was just a hook of sorts. It's hope-fueled, right? Like those searching and scrying spells of old."

"It is, Mr. Jordan," Narcissa agreed. "And it's not a spell that will ever know widespread, daily use. You don't have to worry about it marking the beginning of a generation of dark wizards, Ms. Hopkirk."

"You nevertheless have readily admitted to wanting to rehabilitate Dark Arts."

"You guys need to stop being scared of magic." Harry's voice held none of the patience or mildness that Narcissa's did.

"Mr. Potter, how can you of all people -"

"Come on, at eighteen, Fred and George Weasley enchanted shielding cloaks that revealed themselves to be stronger protection than what most adult mages can cast. That's sad. The Ministry was at the time very keen on making sure the whole of Hogwarts had no practical Defense Against the Dark Arts knowledge. Are you scared such spells may fall into disloyal hands, Madam Hopkirk?"

"This hostility is uncalled for," Hopkirk protested. "Dark Arts are dangerous -"

"Dark Arts are dangerous when misused, like any kind of power," Harry snapped. "But I don't hear you arguing against a Ministry. Money breeds greed and corruption, yet nobody's fighting for equal distribution of wealth. You know, Ginny, Luna and Hermione together were a match against Bellatrix Lestrange during the Battle of Hogwarts. They're brilliant, but they're also teenage witches who'd been practicing advanced defense, as in extra-credit NEWTs stuff, nothing arcane, for less than a couple of years. Anybody can do that if they bother to try."

"Harry suggests that instead of viewing all powerful magic with suspicion, everybody should make the effort to improve their skills, to craft their own spells. With such knowledge, you'd no doubt find all this a lot less intimidating."

"If you say so, Mrs. Malfoy." There was no mistaking Hopkirk's skepticism.

"We'd have buried less people -" Harry's angry reply was abruptly cut off, as if someone had kicked him.

"Many have argued that they were helpless." Narcissa said her voice cool but calm. "Well, we made ourselves so, by choosing, collectively, to prize many things over magical proficiency. Most Death Eaters weren't remarkably powerful, nor the spells they used particularly obscure."

"Not obscure for someone born to a family that clung to the old ways, no doubt. You were born in the family in which Bellatrix learned to craft spells."

"True." Narcissa acknowledged mildly. "But by choosing to stay ignorant, you're exposing yourself to being powerless next time someone decides the Isles are theirs to conquer. I have made many mistakes. I am tired of making mistakes. Our children deserve better."

"Valuing power above all else was You Know Who's -"

"See, this is part of the problem!" Harry was clearly struggling not to shout. "You're looking for flaws in every single thing we say. You didn't come here to listen. You came to prove us like you didn't win the war. You barely even fought it."

"Mr. Potter -"

"Worse, you did your damnedest to make it hard for us to fight. Defense classes for adults, with a transparent curriculum, supervised by Ministry officials, aren't what Voldemort meant when he said only power mattered so why are you even suggesting that it is?"

Lee Jordan's smooth voice took over. "Folks, let me say that Harry Potter has a lot less patience than Narcissa Malfoy when faced with... disagreement, but that nothing more intimidating than some fierce scowling is going on. Wands are sheathed, fists aren't clenched and everyone is standing a respectable distance from each other."

"This is our future, Lee," Harry hissed. "Not a debate club. Ms. Hopkirk has held her position for thirty years. We chose to give her chance, value her experience over the fact that she, for years, valued her job over doing what was right. We decided to believe that when you're not coerced, Ma'am, you can do good, honest work. So now, I will definitely hold you responsible for every choice you make, just like you hold me responsible every time I open my bloody mouth."

"Mr. Potter you are being emotional. I only-"

"Perhaps if caring was not considered a flaw, things would have been different," Narcissa cut in. "Note that I say this without emotion, as I was raised under the old regime."

"Mafalda," Hestia Jones intervened, "whereas you speak of Dark Arts in the abstract, in terms of policy, Harry remembers the feel of a dementor attack. He recalls his godfather, stripped of a lifetime's worth of happy memories. He believes that you are arguing that Dark Arts use is more concerning than such suffering, than all the people whose lives were destroyed by dementors. All the people who died under the wands of Death Eaters."

"No," Hopkirk spluttered, "I never said -"

"Alright folks," Lee said as the silence grew uncomfortable. "As usual things aren't cut and dry. How about we all go our ways, take the rest of the afternoon to digest this. I'll be to be taking questions for the next hour, so floo them in, call one of our house elves or come directly to us in Diagon Alley. I'll be of course sending a recap of our discussions over to the Prophet's office, and I'll be sure to comment anything published on the topic at 8pm on the day it comes out. Don't forget to tune in to Our New World!"

Harry groaned as soon as he and Narcissa had apparated back in Grimmauld Place.

"I'm pants at this! I wanted to throttle her. Hestia's right though, Hopkirk is worried about precedent and policy and not purposefully being a pain. If I can't talk people like her without losing it-"

"The argument was good for her and everybody listening," Narcissa soothingly said. "She's in a position of power, nobody can afford her to stay removed from reality and peoples' concerns. She's been surrounded for decades by mid-level officials who shuddered at the idea of Dark Arts. Before today, I'm not sure she realized that people that she doesn't consider criminals may hold different views."

Harry huffed. "Change is so slow. Can't anybody else do her job?"

A rhetorical question. Morals and good ideas unfortunately did not make one a good administrator. Mafalda Hopkirk was strikingly efficient and not a bad person. A Ministry of Magic that required the brilliant and heroic to run it, lest Britain fall into chaos, was a defective Ministry. A healthy system was one that was a success when manned by mostly average witches and wizards, with the occasional exceptional talent.

"Our spell worked," Narcissa pointedly said.

Harry matched her smile with a broad grin. "It did! Shame we can't reform the Ministry with a few hexes."


Narcissa held her breath as she walked through Hogwarts' empty green grounds. Fifteen months after the Battle of Hogwarts, the scars left by the war were now only visible to those who knew where to look : chipped stones yet to be repaired, temporary windows that didn't quite match the others, saplings where once had stood proud trees.

The late July morning was still young, and students and staff were away for the summer. Narcissa slipped through the ajar front gates and into the side corridors.

Immediately, the silence was broken by the chatter and bickering of portraits. Many canvases were empty, odd considering how uncomfortably crowded the rest were. Narcissa frowned when she realized that, while beautifully crafted, the empty canvases had to have been added after the war. The wood and metal had that shine of newness.

"Our portraits have... high standards. Modern frames are beneath them."

Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress since the end of the war, greeted her with a bow of her head.

The exasperation in the older witch's tone tore a small smile from Narcissa. "Did you expect any less from portraits inhabiting the most prestigious locations in Britain?"

"Well, they're going to have to wait another year at least for the artists to repair the originals."

McGonagall led Narcissa to the inner courtyard of the castle's ground floor and invited her to sit on a stone bench in a shaded area. Her letter had not said why she wanted to see Narcissa, only something vague about Hogwarts' future.

And so her request took Narcissa wholly by surprise.

"But I'm not a teacher," Narcissa said once she was certain she'd not misheard. "I... I do like children, but -."

"There is a dearth of qualified teachers, so I have to settle for talent, potential and good intentions," which would have been a nice compliment had it not been said so sharply, "and I also want you as Head of Slytherin House."

Defense and Head of House? Was that all? "Am I not too... controversial?"

"Hogwarts is, it must be, a school. Not a covert battleground. Slytherin has been vilified for decades and this vilification has encouraged the worst in too many students. You will know how to talk to the Slytherins better than any of the current staff. And you are proof no one is a prisoner of their blood or upbringing." There was no hostility in the Headmistress's words, on the contrary, Narcissa was stunned to see a certain desperation. McGonagall cared, and she truly seemed to think Narcissa might be a solution. "If teaching is not for you, then that gives me another year to find and train somebody else. The children are now used to seeing new faces."

A professor. Her. "Any new faces I know?"

"Yes. Bill Weasley began coordinating the repairs of the Room of Requirements in the Spring and managed to banish Binns, so he's taking over History." The Headmistress' crinkled eyes belied her stern tone. Narcissa had also heard of Binn's 'accidental' banishment. "He's also Head of Gryffindor, at least until I find someone suitable who accepts to live in the castle."

"Could I take part in the repairs of the room?"

Minerva's thin smile was ruthless. "Only if you accept the job."

Hogwarts did not easily reveal its enchantments to those who hadn't proven themselves to it, but if Narcissa became staff... "It does make the offer more tempting."

"I must do all I can, mustn't I? Amos Diggory applied for transfigurations after refusing all of Kingsley's attempts to lure him back to the Ministry. I am cautiously optimistic he might become a permanent member of staff. He will take the first, 5th, 7th and half of the 4th years, while Hermione Granger will take the rest."

"Granger?"

McGonagall chortled. "Oh that girl won't be staying three years. She... I'm having her handle some deputy tasks along with Filius. I want her comfortable with the new board of directors and the Ministry. So when she leaves, she'll be as prepared as any-"

"Well-born witch?" McGonagall's lips thinned in distaste, but Narcissa had no problem saying it. Yes, Lord Voldemort was dead but society had barely begun to change. If Hermione wanted to get into politics, she would need some grooming.

"She understands the magic, she's matured enough to realize she needs more time to understand the people. We need people like her at the Ministry, but she has still has a lot to learn."

And clearly, Narcissa would get her head chewed off if she said a cross word about Hermione Granger. Changing the subject seemed wise.

"Harry doesn't seem too apprehensive about mixing with the other seventh years."

Minerva smiled, some of the worry lifting from her lined face. "I'm glad. I've worked the time-tables so he'll be free when you're teaching the fifth and sixth years. I believe seeing the two of you work together will do the students good."

"Horace has agreed to stay another year?"

"Part-time only, he's mentoring Ian Redclove who will be our sole Potions teacher from next year on. He was Slytherin, perhaps you remember him?"

Narcissa nodded slowly. "The half-blood in Regulus' year. He was good, academically."

"Quite. Very determined to prove he was better than his better-born housemates. He's not... Severus, but he is indeed a good potioneer and he's quite a remarkable teacher. He was a senior instructor of the healers' training program at Saint Mungo's. He's also married to a Hufflepuff. It cannot hurt to show the children that people can take different paths."

No. And it was nice to see that Hogwarts still hired Slytherins to teach.

"Our last newcomer is Penelope Clearwater. She applied for defense last year but she's better suited for charms, Flitwick has had her shadow him and she's now taking the second through fourth years so he has more time for his deputy and Head of House duties." McGonagall caught Narcissa's frown. "Ravenclaw class of 94. Prefect. Muggleborn. "

Ah. Hence the unfamiliar name. "I hear they're not all bad. My sister married one of those. He'd not even made Prefect..."

That tore a smile from the older witch. "Penny's finding her footing still, but she'll be a great teacher." The smile died. "Controversy will be inevitable. I had parents question Bill Weasley's presence. They were concerned his scars were a too vivid reminder of the war for the students."

Oh. Wow. "You kept your cool?"

"Absolutely," McGonagall said frostily. "I calmly answered they were free to not send their children to Hogwarts."

Laughing softly, Narcissa pulled a small envelope out of her robes. "I have something for you, Headmistress."

Inside the envelope was a photograph of a sunset taken from Hogwarts' roofs. In the foreground, a tabby cat stared not-quite at the camera, her demeanor both stern and indulgent.

"There's a message on the back. He told me to tell you it's your fault."

'Thanks for giving me the kick in the ass I needed to go after that Horcrux. RAB.'

"I remember that sunset..." McGonagall whispered. "Glad to be useful." She sighed, her eyes suddenly pleading. "Narcissa... You won't be a worse Head of House than I was."

The sudden guilt in her old professor's tone was... baffling. "Truly, you consider that you failed?"

"I kept my door open, but I foolishly expected them to come to me. Some did. Many did not and I should have gone to them. Teenagers cannot be expected to figure out the world without any guidance."

"I don't remember Slughorn offering much guidance outside the Slug Club either."

"And you do not think you would have benefited from a positive adult presence at Hogwarts?"

Anger stirred as could-have-beens brushed Narcissa's mind, ghosts of three sisters who'd only ever had each other until even that had fallen apart. "You're right, we must do better. But you're also too old to carry around such guilt. It's bad for your heart. Look at what your Gryffindors achieved without you. Now, they'll be unstoppable."

McGonagall's lips pinched. "I do admire your ability to bounce back." Nevertheless, the flush to her cheeks betrayed it had been the right thing to say.

"I suspect many students will be quick to remind me they haven't forgiven my crimes."

"Yes." Clearly, McGonagall had not forgiven either, but Narcissa was touched by her willingness to extend her trust. "My hope is that your presence will help them come to terms with the beautiful complexity of our world."

The beautiful complexity indeed.

Her. A teacher. Head of House. Suddenly, fiercely, Narcissa missed Severus. He'd been so overwhelmed when he'd started. There was so much she now wanted to ask him.

"I don't expect you to teach seven year levels and take on house duties alone. There were three other promising applicants for the Defense position. My idea was to you let you choose who to work with."

McGonagall had clearly mistaken her turmoil for nerves.

"I remember him striding through the Manor as he was wont to do," Narcissa said softly, "his robes billowing behind him, telling me Albus Dumbledore had to really hate Slytherins to name him Head of House. Morgana, that man could complain about his students."

"You should have heard them complain about him," McGonagall's light tone was betrayed by the haunted look in her eyes. She stood up. "There's something you should see. In my office."


A portrait of Severus Snape hung among a dozen others on one of the round office's stone walls. His eyes were closed, as if sleeping upright. Brushstrokes in the background showed the outline of a potions' lab, and, oddly enough, a pensieve.

"I'm not sure if he's sleeping because the portrait isn't finished, or to aggravate me. For the first year, the portrait was black, then he appeared, his back to me. His face has only been visible for a few months now."

"How?" Narcissa breathed. "Who painted him?"

"In Hogwarts no painter seems to be needed. The frame just suddenly... was."

Eyes bright, Narcissa stared at her friend. The curtain of lanky raven hair he hid behind, the sheen of potion fumes clinging to his skin and hair, those long black robes that would have looked stern already in a man twice his age.

"Mrs. Malfoy, my greetings."

Narcissa snapped towards the voice. Her eyes narrowed at the bearded man in colorful robes, a multitude of conflicting emotions forcing her to take a slow breath. She didn't answer, turning to the living witch beside her instead.

"Is he the Albus Dumbledore you know?" Will Severus be the man I remember?

The Headmistress was suddenly hard to read. "Albus looked to the future. His portrait is a treasure of memories but it does not make plans. He is only what he gave to Hogwarts : Albus the Transfigurations Professor, and Albus the Headmaster. Albus the leader of the Order, Albus the Supreme Mugwump... those are lost to us." A wistful smile softened Minerva's eyes. "When he speaks of his years here, of his love for Hogwarts and her secrets, yes, I recognize him."

"But... Harry told me this portrait instructed Severus during the war."

"Albus had a year to prepare for his death, I think his portrait was a little more than it should have been. But with the war over, that purpose seems to be gone."

"Were you two able to talk?" He manipulated you, Narcissa didn't say. He robbed you of the chance to say goodbye.

The silence grew as McGonagall remained silent. Albus-the-portrait suddenly busied himself with a sweet.

"Not to my satisfaction," McGonagall finally said. "Albus was human, fallible, ruthless and overworked. He was brilliant and the most driven man I knew. I never doubted that he tried his best. We put him on a pedestal and to protect us, he let us. We were complacent about not challenging him because we didn't want the responsibility." I have many regrets. She didn't have to say. I still love him.

Narcissa turned back towards Severus' portrait. There was even that burn scar on his left thumb, the one he'd acquired it making a breakthrough on Wolfsbane and had always worn like a badge of pride.

Who was Severus without the war? The wars. Severus as Headmaster only made sense in a world where Hogwarts had failed to stay a school. Even Severus the Teacher had been a man shackled by his regrets. The best of Severus, her Severus, was the wizard excited about potions and spells, the man who even after twenty years still struggled to hide his pleasure at being welcomed and treated like an equal in the halls of Malfoy Manor. The friend who had never once held the Unbreakable Vow she'd asked of him against her.

Narcissa had to look away, tears rolling out of her eyes. The portrait would be better than nothing: History would not be allowed to forget him now. The Headmaster who should never have been. The Headmaster without whom they would have been lost.


'There is something else I would like you to do.'

They called Slytherin the house of the ambitious, but Gryffindors could wield their principles with just as much ruthlessness. Tentatively accepting McGona- Minerva's offer had only led to more demands.

After the war, Gregory Goyle and Theodore Nott had been sent to Azkaban for use of Unforgivables, but only for a year, because of their youth, the pressure exerted by the Carrows, and circumstances. The other students who'd cast the cruciatus on their schoolmates had failed to muster enough intent to make the curse powerful enough to cause the typical after-effects, and so had avoided prison. Davies, Greengrass, Zabini and Bulstrode had returned to Hogwarts the year before, stubbornly determined to show that Slytherin House wasn't condemned to stay the enemy.

Pansy Parkinson, had not come back.

As Narcissa walked among the wild growth of the unkempt garden of the loftily named Parkinson Palace, she wistfully recalled the little girl awed into silence by the Great Halls of Malfoy Manor. A little girl who would have been absolutely mortified by the state her house was in now.

In the eighteenth century, condemned to strip the crumbling historical Parkinson manor of its enchantments and sell it to muggle nobility, the impoverished Parkinsons had built a large house of moorish inspiration. At the time, many Noble and Ancient houses had thought to disguise their family's decline with eccentricity. The two-storey white building, with its arches and graceful inner courtyard had undeniably been beautiful. Now, the facades were darkened by humidity and neglect.

Pansy had been a bright-eyed child who'd followed Narcissa everywhere, with her best smiles and manners, desperate for approval.

'I must have been wonderful, to grow up here,' the girl, perhaps eight then, had once said.

'I didn't. I moved here when I married Lucius.'

After that, Pansy had followed Draco everywhere.

Dianthus Parkinson was an even-tempered man fascinated by clockwork mechanisms and History. He was mine of knowledge on seafaring and the great explorations. The last he had shared with Lucius, who'd enjoyed trying to piece together facts from fiction in the Malfoy's family's journals. Dianthus was also one of those awkward men who did not know what to do with children except give them gifts. Never strong-willed, he'd always failed to stand up to his parents, and later, his wife. It was this lack of spine that had once made him, in Cygnus and Druella's eyes, a prized suitor for their daughters.

Patricia was the fourth child from a Nott branch so minor she'd been mostly ignored by good society. Clearly, being overlooked had burned, and Patricia had grown into a stunning woman, willful, and viciously ambitious. What she'd failed to achieve for herself, she wanted for her daughter. A daughter she never forgave for not being beautiful, for not being academically gifted, for not being perfect.

Pansy would stare, until she was old enough to know better, when Draco slowed past Narcissa, and tilted his head to demand a kiss or a caress. He'd grin at her, her boy, and Narcissa would smile back.

"Mother knows what's best for me," Pansy answered firmly, aged eleven, the day Narcissa felt the need to take the child aside, and tell her her mother was being too harsh.

Narcissa had made a point to come every month since Patricia and her father-in-law, the former Lord Parkinson (a man who loathed the Dark Lord for having made him a slave, but who'd expressed his rage and powerlessness through cruelty against muggles and mages, and that was not forgiven), had been sentenced to Azkaban. Dianthus, who had never taken part in Death Eater activities, had been merely heavily fined. Pansy had shut down after the war, and seeing Narcissa grow happier had only increased the chasm between them. Still Narcissa had come, staying away from big conversations and teaching the young woman household charms (which Meda had taught her. With house elves, Narcissa had never felt the need to learn).

The inner wards were locked. Narcissa enchanted a piece of parchment and sent it flying for the house. 'It's Narcissa, please let me in.'

"Yes, I've grown fat," a disheveled Pansy in casual, almost frumpy, robes tersely said. Shame clouded her eyes, and she looked like she'd rather not have opened, only, she'd never been able to say no to Narcissa.

"I'm not Patricia. You're fine."

"That sounds rather hollow, coming from the most beautiful woman I know."

Narcissa's faint smile didn't reach her eyes.

Pansy looked away. "Come in, Lady Malfoy," she muttered. "You really shouldn't have bothered."

"We need to talk about your future. And about this wrong impression you have about not having one."

A mirthless, incredulous smile bared Pansy's teeth. "This is worse than when you came because Draco wanted to make sure I didn't do anything stupid, but couldn't be arsed to say so in his letters..."

"Enough."

The young woman's anger was instantly washed out, replaced by a stiff mask of forced politeness.

"Father lets me be as moody as a wish," Pansy muttered bitterly. The witch was nineteen, well into young adulthood, and yet Narcissa suddenly saw a teenager desperate for boundaries and guidance.

The house was a mess. Kept clean by lingering enchantments, but everything from books, plates and clothes were strewn haphazardly all over the living room. Narcissa pretended not to notice. Pansy pretended not to flush, her eyes lost in the distance.

With old newspapers banished from two armchairs, they finally had somewhere they could decently sit.

When Narcissa broached the topic of returning to Hogwarts, Pansy blanched.

"Are you out of your mind ! They will want to punish me for everything the Carrows -"

"Blaise and Tracy talked last year. The trials helped people see that Slytherins weren't exactly... pampered by the Carrows. It will be hard, but you won't be in danger."

"Right. They still hate us. They hated us before and they hate us even more now. They loathe me. I'm the one who said to turn Potter over to the Dark Lord!"

"So you're going to hide? Where's your ambition?"

"That's not fair! You hide your own son half-way across the world and send me to walk Hogwarts' corridors so you can feel better?"

"No. You need to fight. You had your reasons, like I had, to not push back, not like the Gryffindors did. They fought, and died, for the future they wanted. You need to fight now, for the future you want."

"We died too! Mother... You think she was happy the Dark Lord returned? There was no choice, he owned them! He-. And now she's in Azkaban, for life. We have the house but nobody's ever going to hire Father. The money we were allowed to keep is going to last another year maybe, and then what?"

"And then you'll have your NEWTs, and you'll stop paying for your parents' mistakes." Narcissa frowned. "Do you believe they were mistakes?"

"What, to end up enslaved to a Dark Lord who crucioed people on a whim, drained our resources and didn't even manage to win the bloody war?" She sneered. "Who wants to be around a Parkinson these days?"

"Is your self-esteem so strongly tied to your name and so little to your abilities?"

Pansy slammed her fist against the armchair. "Get out! How you can stand here, like nothing happened, as if you weren't -." She pointed her wand at Narcissa. "Get out of my house!"

Narcissa slowly backed away. Not that she was afraid of Pansy, only there wasn't much to do with the other in such a volatile state.

Well... She had tried.

It wasn't until she was out of the wards that she clenched her fists.

No, she had failed.

If she was going to be Head of Slytherin House, she'd have to do better. 'Is your self-esteem so strongly tied to your name' what had possessed her to tell an objectively average witch born into one of the oldest pureblood families that? Of course the girl's self-worth was tied to her name!


"Cissy!"

Lyra had taken to aggressively jumping on Narcissa in greeting ever since she'd realized the witch sometimes stayed only minutes between apparitions.

"Hello you, how was your play-date with Wendell and Philomena ?"

"Fun." Lyra smile vanished, replaced by a scowl. "Mostly." The child grabbed Narcissa's forearms with both her hands. "Nobody here looks like me..."

"Teddy does now," Harry interjected. "Hi, Narcissa."

Narcissa grinned when she saw Teddy by the door, two fingers in his mouth, his skin Lyra's exact shade of brown. The toddler had taken to following the older girl around like an awestruck puppy, something Lyra was either thrilled or exasperated by, depending on her mood.

"Didn't you take an Indian girl to the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament?"

Harry winced. A huge grin slowly brightened his face. "Wait, Draco told you about that? He complained?" Looking all too proud of himself, he turned to Lyra. "She's right: Padma Patil. She and her twin were in my year at Hogwarts. They might even know kids your age..."

"She speaks Tamil?" Lyra said eagerly. "Wendell said I talk funny."

"It's called an accent. It's because you're worldly and he's never been anywhere."

"Right, tell the boy that," Regulus said, his smile sarcastic as he shook his head at Narcissa. "Is this how you taught your son to make friends?"

Oh her cousin wanted to go there? Narcissa smiled sweetly. "There are two types of people, Reggie, those -"

Harry cleared his throat. "I know Parvati speaks Ind- " he furrowed his brow sheepishly. "There's more than one language in India, isn't there?"

"Too busy staring at the pretty girl to ask, huh?" Regulus teased. "Wait, Parvati... I read of her in the Prophet. She was in your house, not just your year, and you never bothered to ask?"

Harry huffed. "I'm still working on the asking questions part, alright? Give me a break."

Still smirking, Regulus turned to Narcissa. "Did you come to see me or Harry?"

"Harry."

"Well now I'm jealous," Regulus deadpanned. "Come on kids, lets go play hide and seek in the attic before Harry finishes getting rid of everything that's fun and dark about this house."

"What? No, Uncle Harry, you can't keep throwing away-" Lyra's protests became shrieks as her father picked her up. Reggie grinned unapologetically as Harry glowered at being made the bad guy.

"You are good co-parents," Narcissa soothingly said.

"Your cousin's worse than Ginny with the teasing, and much less cute," Harry snapped. His smile belied his protests. He pulled out a chair for Narcissa, which never failed to make her smile. Muggle-raised. "What did you want me for?"

"I... what do you think would happen if Pansy Parkinson returned to Hogwarts?"

Harry huffed, all mirth gone. "Like, apologizing and then acting extra-nice, or acting... like herself?"

"She believes she'd be in danger."

"She's a nasty blood elitist, at least, that's the only side I ever saw." Harry muttered. "I... I just don't get how you become that way. I mean, it's so obvious that blood doesn't make the wizard. You just have to open your eyes and -."

"Do... would you like to ask her why? Perhaps articulating it -" Narcissa's voice trailed off. Would she have been able to answer, at nineteen? To untangle her own upbringing, the ingrained beliefs, the events that had strengthened them, the events she had chosen to ignore or misinterpret? No. It was absurd to put that burden on a witch who'd been expected to obey without question her whole short life.

"You know..." Harry lowered his eyes. "Sometimes, I think it would be simpler if people like Pansy just... went away. It's just... we use so much energy giving chances, again and again, to people who -"

"People like me?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on. You've not being sitting around waiting for people to help you."

"She's barely more than a child. And I'm not asking you to help," Narcissa decided. "I have to do this myself."

"Sure, good luck. I don't... I don't wish Pansy ill, I just... If she comes to Hogwarts with me, I promise I'll do my best to be civil. I... I don't expect to like her, but I won't look the other way if people get too vindictive. "

Narcissa smiled and ruffled his hair. He glowered, but she just had to. Funny how Draco's hair had never tempted her to ruffle them. Perhaps it was because Harry's was already all over the place.


Narcissa decided to write a letter. A letter would give Pansy more privacy.

My parents never asked me what I wanted, or when they did, I knew well what answers would be acceptable and what were not. My parents weren't interested in getting to know their daughters. All that mattered was that we mold ourselves to their expectations.

But at least we were superior. While the inferiors fooled around, we prepared. We crafted spells and made alliances. When we walked out of Hogwarts, we knew exactly what our place was. We had power.

It took me more years than it should have to make the connection between the warnings about dark arts overuse and my parents' callousness, their cruelty. Until I had Draco, I did not hate them. I was desperate to believe that they had my best interests at heart. But after my son was born, I realized they had no excuse. I finally allowed myself to be angry. I vowed Draco would be allowed to be himself. Some would argue I spoiled him.

I married Lucius for love. One could wonder if I would still have loved Lucius had my parents approved of our marriage. They wanted me with a man who would bow to them. To me, Lucius was freedom.

Later, he came home with the mark on his arm. He could have chosen then, to refuse, to leave Britain with me. He would have sacrificed his father, which he loved. Which I loved. He would have given up his family home, his wealth. He chose not to, while believing he had no choice.

When the Dark Lord returned, I could have taken Draco and left. I would have sacrificed my husband, and most of everything I owned. I chose not to, while believing I had no choice. I lied to the Dark Lord not to save Harry Potter, but to save my son. I would have told you then, that I had no choice. Of course, that particular choice saved us.

I cannot tell you what to choose, but I can help you if you let me. I choose to help you because I believe people like you and me have a lot to offer Britain. I have a duty to you because I would today be nothing had people not helped me. It was terrifying then, to owe Potter of all people. And I cannot understate how fortunate I am to have a sister who welcomed me despite the way we cast her out.

Today, I'm not afraid anymore. I wish to see you unafraid.


Pansy still glared when she welcomed Narcissa, but she had dressed and done her hair and a clear effort had been made with the state of the house.

"I have nobody, Lady Malfoy. I mean, Father cares but... he won't get me out of here. I don't know what to think, who to trust. Theo and Greg speak to me, but only because they are cursed like I am. The others avoid me like the pox."

"Did you truly like Draco?"

"Does Pansy truly believe I'm perfect?" Twelve-year-old Draco had asked in a rare display of insecurity. "Or is she just after the Malfoy name?"

Pansy stared at the change of subject. She abruptly laughed. "Sure. He could be funny. He... he liked flattery. I mean, he often had to pretend to ignore me, it's a bloke thing, and he hated that people teased him about me, but -. He looked out for me, most of the time. He would have been an excellent match. And... you and Lord Malfoy looked so happy together."

"I drugged Lucius to question him about his father. They looked close, it struck me as terribly odd, considering the relationship I had with my own father."

Pansy giggled. "You drugged- that's messed up, right?" Her smile turned bitter. "You're saying it's the Gryffindors who are right. That Granger, with her brains and her friends that would die for her, I'm not superior to her."

"She is still rather ignorant of our ways."

"But she can learn," Pansy said with a grimace. "Me... What am I supposed to do? Perhaps if I crawl the Gryffindors will let me sit at the back of the class without hexing me."

"You hurt people."

Pansy straightened defensively. "I-"

"You hurt people. I did too. Our reasons may matter, but first we need to acknowledge what we did. You cannot demand people's forgiveness, and even if they grant it to you, they will not forget. They might decide to leave the room whenever you try to talk to them. You cannot demand warmth or respect, but you have a right to be safe, to be protected by the same rules as any student."

"I've never been a good student. What's the point? To prove they were right. That being pureblood doesn't mean anything?"

"To prove that you belong at Hogwarts. That you are a British witch, not an exile. That the future of our nation is yours too."

"No Slytherin will want to associate with me. It's hard enough for them-"

"I'm sure some Gryffindors, or Ravenclaws, or Hufflepuffs, will be delighted to show you the error in your ways and even be mostly kind about it."

Horror creased Pansy's face at that prospect. She swallowed. "I'm not sure I can do this."

"What do you want your future to look like?"

"I... I'm tired of being hated. Of losing." She sighed, arms spread in defeat. "Being pureblood, half-blood, muggleborn... It's always mattered so much. How can I just make it not matter?"

"Every muggleborn is born from a squib who was abandoned by, most likely, an old pureblood house. Interesting how Lily Evans had a sister called Petunia, a mother called Rose and a grandfather with a flower name who had been himself adopted."

"Wait... Potter's mother was a Parkinson?"

"I have no idea. But she could have been. Does that help?"

Pansy blinked. "Maybe... Okay, Granger has that huge curly hair, so she's probably related to Bellatrix. I'll remember that."

That- Narcissa furrowed her brow, quickly making an inventory of the squibs blasted off the Black family tapestry. Cassiopeia's brother Marius had been sent away in 1930, could he have -.

Pansy's lips were twitching, the insolent child.

"Bloodmagic dies in squibs, so our lineage spells are useless," Narcissa said. "But my sister tells me muggles have a recent technology to determine parentage. We should investigate."

"Is it true? It does sound plausible, but... are all muggleborn born of -?"

"The first wizards were half-breeds, muggle and creature. Merlin himself was the son of a demon. Magic doesn't just appear."

"No, it has to come from somewhere," Pansy agreed. "Only... they said it was stolen. That this is why our ancestors were more powerful than we are."

"How? If magic could be stolen intentionally, don't you think the Dark Lord would have drained all who stood in his path? If it's unintentional, a freak event... The world's muggle population has been multiplied by ten in two centuries, but we're not seeing ten times the amount of muggleborn. Countries that do not exclude their squibs have a much lower incidence of 'muggleborn' wizards, and most are found to have a wizarding parents who chose to dally with a muggle and skirt their responsibilities, often with the help of a few memory charms."

Pansy scrunched up her nose. "Lovely. It's not like contraception charms exist..." She looked down. "Not that it's excusable behavior, even when there's no child." She sighed again. "It... it shouldn't matter, whether they're secretly related to us or not, shouldn't it? That's what they'll tell me."

"Beliefs are hard to shake. You will have to do your best. Nevertheless if you have to lie a little to survive, I won't blame you." Narcissa smiled, the sight of this lost young witch making her ache for her far away son. "I sorted Slytherin. I believe in strategic lies."

Pansy chuckled weakly. "I'm terrified. I'm so fed up with being terrified."

Narcissa reached out to grasp her hand. It was cold. "I know."

Pansy shut her eyes and squeezed back. "Well," she whispered, "hopefully Mother will be pleased to see me getting back on track..."

"Why don't I come with you, next time you visit Patricia in Azkaban?"

Pansy winced. "She'll demand you get her free. She'll -"

"I can take care of myself, and whatever she says won't change what I think of you," Narcissa said firmly. "Why don't I tell you about my sister Bellatrix and my great-aunt Cassiopeia, who Bella adored for a time, and who made Bella miserable because she made Bella feel like she never good enough."

"Must we do this?" Pansy said in a tiny voice. "I know Mother's difficult, but -"

"You have enough courage to keep visiting her, you can survive a conversation with me. Patricia is the problem, not you." The witch had envied Bellatrix's position and stopped at nothing to reach that kind of regard in the Dark Lord's eyes (she'd not been foolish enough to challenge Bellatrix's position as favorite. She'd wanted Bella to like her.) By the end of the war, Patricia had been firmly in the Dark Lord's inner circle, valued especially for her mastery of the imperius. She'd been so supremely satisfied to stand above the Malfoys.

Pansy's sigh was resigned, but the gratitude in her brown eyes convinced Narcissa she'd made the right call. It was high time to break this vicious circle of children crushed by toxic expectations and, too often still, outright abuse.


The Daily Prophet announced Narcissa's nomination at Hogwarts two weeks before the beginning of the school year.

"It's beautiful, in its way," Andromeda said wryly as the second Howler of the day entangled itself in the wards, burning up in a shower of colorful sparks.

For over a year, Narcissa had kept away from the public eye. Now, between the destruction of dementors and this, she'd once more become the center of attention. Minerva had made a very strongly-worded statement in the Prophet reminding that teachers would be fired for improper behavior but that until such behavior occurred, hiring was her prerogative, and that any person using the war as an argument against Narcissa had better be prepared to see their own past actions closely scrutinized. That didn't stop parents who'd never worked for the Ministry from having strong opinions, but it did silence those who'd argued for their own political gain.

"It's the ones who are using this to undermine our efforts to curb the nepotism in the Ministry that I'm more worried about." That, and the parents who'd poison their children against her, but admitting her fear of being an inadequate teacher felt childish. As much as Narcissa craved to one day be able to lower her guard in public, she was fortunate to have been offered a position at Hogwarts at all.

"It's not nepotism when you're more qualified than the other applicants."

"I don't need you to appeal to my pride, Meda. I know the timing isn't ideal."

Since Harry had official ceded the title of Lord Black to Andromeda, they had stirred up a storm by dragging the more entrenched mages of the Prophet and the Ministry, those who always managed to slip through the cracks, in the public light. With the wireless and Lee Jordan, and occasionally the Quibbler, they had platforms willing to tackle uncomfortable topics. The push-back hadn't been too overt : gone was the time of assassinations or defamation campaigns, but obstruction could be insidious and they were working against a system that favored inertia. As tempting as getting rid of all the bureaucracy was, being too hasty would only cause problems later on.

Still, Andromeda stood serene. "Short term? You've indeed set us back. Long term? No. It'll shut up those who say we're on crusade against noble and ancient families. They'll have proof that if they're pushed aside, it's because they stink, not because of their names. You know how to be coolly polite like the best of them, if it comes to the worst, your shields are powerful, and this will reveal who's still a problem."

"Being suspicious of me doesn't make one a problem." Not that she didn't hate admitting it.

"I'm thinking about getting those concerned parents organized, have them name a couple of representatives. There are still two empty seats on the Board of Governors, and having parents of current students as rotating board members can't hurt. "

Temporary board members? How very modern. "Are you trying to buy social peace by handing out titles, Lady Black?"

Andromeda smiled wolfishly. "I might yet get good at this politics game. The question is who should be the one to suggest this? Me? Minerva? Kingsley? Perhaps we should find someone respected who doesn't like you but who is willing to be reasonable."

There were quite a few of those. "Augusta Longbottom?" Unlike Molly Weasley, Augusta couldn't be as easily accused of doing whatever Harry would ask.

Andromeda nodded thoughtfully, but her eyes betrayed that she a better idea. "Doesn't Garrick Ollivanders have a great-great nephew in second year?"

Narcissa sucked in breath. Did it have to be the man that had been tortured for months in the Manor's dungeons? Old guilt clenched her shoulders, guilt she suspected she would never be rid of.

"Well," she managed, "at least he'll be able to understand those who want absolutely nothing to do with me."

Still, it was wonderful to realize that her worst fear these days was not getting a job.


Next chapter, Hogwarts^^. Things are going to get... fun. Teenagers don't play by the same rules as adults and tempers are still running high.