Hermione always loved the turn of the seasons at Hogwarts; they always made the castle seem even more beautiful and grand, not to mention fresher, somehow. She liked the colors and smells of Autumn or the blossoming of spring as much as the next witch or wizard, but what she truly loved was the gradual descent into winter. There was something magical – she laughed at her own observation – about Hogwarts in the dead of winter. The grounds were blanketed with snow, and everything turned quiet… That is, until students started their merry snowball fights and other activities.

The weather was not quite winter-cold yet – November had only started, after all, but she could feel the beginning of changes in the wind. She could track the progression of the seasons quite beautifully from her office window; she had a perfect view of Neville's greenhouses and the flora surrounding it.

She frowned, remembering her encounter with Narcissa at the greenhouse a few weeks prior. Hermione had been a little embarrassed by her loss of control, but to her credit, Narcissa had taken it in stride. They had even discussed William White.

William White. Hermione groaned, letting her head fall onto the quizzes she was grading with a painful thump.

Miraculously, after her little heart-to-heart with Narcissa, something had clearly changed with the boy. Hermione had called off the Gryffindor prefects she had tailing – checking in with – him, and stopped looking expectantly at him whenever they were in class. It seemed to help, as she recalled.

Hermione had been going over a few theoretical rules of Transfiguration, asking questions as she went, to make sure her students had been reading along. Many seemed to think transfiguration was simply some wand-waving with a clear vision of the end product; that could not be further from the truth.

She had made some question about one of the hardest physical qualities to translate in the transformation of one object to another. To her utter surprise, William White raised a tremulous hand in the air.

"Mr. White!" She all but gasped, clearly startling the boy, whose eyes widened.

"T-the, uh, the t-texture of a p-particular object can b-be tricky. A lot of people f-forget to visualize it." He stammered, a furious flush creeping onto his cheeks at his every word.

Hermione must had had an utterly bewildered expression, because he only got redder when forgot to respond immediately. Her jaw hanging open was an unfortunate addition to said expression, but to be fair, it was the first time William White had opened his mouth in her class, save for attendance.

"Correct. Five points to Slytherin." She finally gasped out – students were beginning to look concerned.

That was the first time, but certainly not the last, that William had been participative in her class. Nowadays, he always tried to answer questions; and always got the right answer, too. Incidentally, she remembered correcting his first quiz, and being so shocked by it she went to speak with him the day after – all answers were correct, down to the bonus question on the origins of the Transfiguration formulaic alphabet. It left Hermione puzzled. He was clearly ahead of the class in terms of reading, so how come his practical results were still below par, even if they were a little better than when he had started?

It was then that she started to realize something. In class practicals, she walked about the room, keeping an eye on the students' work. Once, as they were trying to transform a match into a needle, she could tell William's wandwork was close to perfect. Happy and intrigued, she immediately came closer, and as soon as she did, William looked like a deer caught in headlights and botched the last wand movement, creating only a slightly pointier match. He looked at her without a single word, she could only look back with the unsettling weight of her newly-discovered predicament.

She was scaring him!

She thumped her head onto her table again. After her realization, she took a few – or several steps back. Not that she wanted to, but as soon she started to almost ignore William White in practical lessons, the boy began to show results. They were not impeccable like his theoreticals, but they were far from reproach for a first year. In fact, Hermione could see that William White was decidedly average in her subject matter. Ironically, his main trouble lay in visualizing textures. It lead Hermione to come to two conclusions: one, William was simply not naturally gifted in Transfiguration. He'd be able to make good grades, but he would never be astounding. And two, and perhaps most unnervingly, Narcissa had been right on the bloody mark.

Hermione sighed, rubbing her forehead. She had wanted to pull the other witch aside and thank her, but actually speaking to Narcissa Black had proven to be an exercise in futility. The older witch had disappeared from meal times ever since their last encounter. Hermione knew she was still obviously at Hogwarts; they ran across each other every now and then and Potions lessons were still happening.

Clearly the witch was avoiding her. So Hermione decided to try alternative methods. She had gone back to the greenhouse, only to find Neville happily fertilizing some disgustingly stinky pots – it made her miss the eucalyptus smell. She went to Narcissa's classroom, only to find it locked. She had even gone so far as to try to corner her after a staff meeting, but the witch seemed to always have some pressing matter to attend to.

So, with nowhere to turn to, she had asked Neville – he had spoken of his and Narcissa's research and how well it was progressing. He was shocked she had even asked.

"Oh? She's probably trying to give you some space, make you more comfortable. She knows it's not easy for you, having her here." He said, tucking into his shepherd's pie contently.

His response had Hermione seeing red. She had specifically told the woman she did not wish to be treated any differently! She was also inexplicably hurt Narcissa had deliberately gone out of her way to avoid her.

Hermione had left the staff table immediately after dinner, intent on seeing the witch whatever the cost. She would camp out in her office if need be.

She had just turned the corner on her way there when she ran into none other than William White himself. They nearly collided with each other; William was so startled that he dropped a phial of what looked to be Albanian pepper grounds, judging by their bright purple color.

Hermione groaned. She was on a roll for shattering phials.

"Ms. Granger! I'm sorry, ma'am, I did not see where I was going, and…"

She waved a hand in dismissal, flicking her wand impatiently. William's eyes followed the phial with interest as it reassembled itself, grounds and all, and floated back into his arms.

"No need to apologize, Mr. White. I was in a rush." She looked at his bounty. "I see you have a lot of Potion ingredients there; have you been to see Professor Black?" She asked, trying to sound as gentle as possible.

"Yes, ma'am" he said, nodding a little too fast. "She was giving me some ingredients for our Hiccoughing Potion" he explained.

"So she is in her office?" she inquired.

"Yes, ma'am, I was just there." He confirmed.

"Splendid. Thank you, Mr. White, have a pleasant evening" she said as he scurried away. With confirmation Narcissa was present at her office, her effort to confront the witch was renewed.

The door to Narcissa's office was slightly ajar, which was why Hermione walked straight in after a courtesy knock which had been merely a formality; she was a woman on a mission. Thus, it was quite vexing to find it completely empty. She looked towards the desk; there were a few papers scattered across its surface.

"Ms. Black?" she called tentatively, furrowing her brow when she received no response. "Narcissa?" she tried again.

When no answer was forthcoming, Hermione walked over to the desk. There was nothing interesting; the papers were Potions quizzes Narcissa had probably been in the middle of grading before William White showed up.

The boy had left with some ingredients; perhaps Narcissa was still in the stockroom. Hermione made her way there – Narcissa had obviously rearranged the office, so much so that she was not sure which door actually led to the Potions stockroom.

Just in case, she knocked on the door to the left of the other witch's desk. It creaked open, so Hermione took that as an invitation. The room she had walked into was dark, with only the light of the moon peering in through the half-closed windows. It smelled faintly of eucalyptus.

"Professor Black?"

The fireplace roared to life, and candles floating all around the space lit themselves. Hermione realized these were Narcissa's private quarters, her sitting room to be exact. The rational Hermione Granger told her to leave immediately, but the annoyingly curious Hermione Granger was held in place by the comfortable room, with its fireplace, several bookshelves, and comfy chairs.

Her eyes snapped to one of the aforementioned chairs in complete and utter shock. There, sleeping soundly on the chair cushion, was a beautiful white fox. Hermione tilted her head in confusion; she had never seen Narcissa with a familiar before. The fox was obviously quite comfortable: its chest moved slowly up and down and again as it snored softly.

Hermione turned away from the animal, resisting the urge to run her fingers through its beautiful, snow white coat. She looked to the bookshelves and the walls, instead. They were filled with heavy tomes, most having something or other to do with potions. Moste Potente Potions, Bewildering Brews, Brewing for Healers, Perilous Potions…

The Gryffindor could never resist books. She turned away from one shelf to more closely examine the other, accidentally brushing by a stack of books that rested precariously on the edge of a side-table. The entire stack came down with resounding thuds; and the sudden noise woke the sleeping fox – it stared straight at Hermione through narrow slits in its icy blue eyes.

Hermione groaned as she leaned down to pick them up. Upon further inspection, she realized the heavy stack was composed not of books, but photo albums. She figured it out as she picked the first one up by its binding, only to have a flurry of loose photographs fall out from between the pages.

"Bugger, bugger, bugger, shit!" she cursed under her breath, lowering herself even further to gather all the pictures.

The first one her hand came into contact with had her drawing in a surprised breath. It was a black and white shot of a heavily pregnant Narcissa. She was wearing a black sleeping gown of some sort; an opening at the front showed her swollen belly, which she caressed tenderly, a serene smile gracing her features, partially hidden by her flowing golden locks. She stood by huge windows, no doubt at Malfoy Manor, as the rays of the afternoon sun peered into the room, giving the entire photo a pleasantly ethereal feeling as it shimmered off her hair.

Hermione shuddered – she knew she should not be looking. These were obviously private. And yet, as she picked up picture after picture, she could not help giving almost every one of them at least a second look.

Another picture showed Narcissa and Lucius, obviously on their wedding day. Hermione had to admit, the two made a strikingly beautiful couple. Narcissa looked absolutely radiant in her intricately ornate white dress. Lucius Malfoy was smiling, and Hermione was astonished by how genuinely happy they both seemed to be. As far as she knew, the Malfoy marriage had been arranged, like so many other Pureblooded unions. And yet, the young pair – Narcissa looked not a day over seventeen – were positively beaming, exchanging loving glances with one another before looking back at the photographer.

Hermione gasped at another picture. It was the wedding, still, but now Narcissa and Lucius were joined by their respective families. Hermione could easily recognize Malfoy's strong genes in his father; the two looked exactly alike, and she knew Draco, too, had inherited the looks. Narcissa's father, Cygnus Black, looked extremely proud, her mother, Druella, a bit more understated, but still happy. It was the two other people in the picture that had Hermione gasping; they were none other than Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange.

It was unbelievably odd, to see Bellatrix before Azkaban, and how beautiful she had once been. If she thought Andromeda looked like her sister before, the picture made them look like twins – though Andromeda was noticeably absent from the photo, as she had likely already been blasted off the Black tapestry for eloping at that stage. Still, Bellatrix smiled confidently to the camera, a happy look on her face, something Hermione did not think possible for the dark witch. Rodolphus, a handsome young man, had his arms around her waist from behind, and the two raised their glasses to the new couple, who looked on appreciatively.

She quickly put that picture behind the others; for some reason seeing a human version of Bellatrix made her feel uneasy inside.

The next picture had her holding in a laugh. Draco, no more than a toddler, whizzed by in and out of frame on a toy broom, giggling happy. Narcissa, sitting on an easy-chair reading a book, was startled every time the boy zoomed past her; Lucius, looking every bit the proud father, openly laughed as he cheered his son on.

How strange it was, to see the lives of her past enemies in such a way. For some reason, Hermione had always imagined them in stiff Pureblood dinners to the sound of screams in their dungeons, in darkened rooms full of Dark artifacts, possibly torturing someone as entertainment later. She knew it wasn't logical or accurate by any means, but it was still a shock to her system.

The last picture was clearly the oldest from the bunch Hermione had disturbed; it featured the three Black sisters in their childhood home, or so she guessed. Bellatrix was the only one wearing her Hogwarts robes, which led Hermione to believe that was her first year at the school. A five or six year-old Narcissa was on her back; Bellatrix seemed perfectly happy with giving her youngest sister a piggyback ride, which felt surreal to Hermione. Andromeda, one or two years younger than Bellatrix, stood close to them, brushing Narcissa's blonde hair out of her eyes as the three sisters laughed.

"To what to I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit, Ms. Granger?" called a voice from behind her.

"Ah!" Hermione exclaimed, none-too-gently tossing the albums onto the table in her fright. She whipped around to see Narcissa, perfectly poised on the chair the fox had previously been lying on, a cocked eyebrow in waiting for a response. Hermione at once recognized the fox's icy blue eyes as Narcissa's.

Her brain cycled through thousands of possible excuses to her clear invasion of privacy. Her mouth, however, was determined to disappoint her.

"You're an Animagus!" she blurted out.

Narcissa smirked wickedly as she slowly stood up.

"My, my, Ms. Granger. Surely a Transfigurations Professor of your caliber would be remiss not to check the Ministry's Animagus Registry every now and then." She drawled.

Hermione flushed in embarrassment. How come she had never thought of that?

Narcissa stopped right in front of Hermione, her eyes resting upon the photo albums the brunette had disturbed earlier. A few photos had slid back out in Hermione's fearful disposal.

"Ms. Black, allow me to apolo…" Hermione began, only to be interrupted by a finger wagging in her direction.

"You might as well call me Narcissa. It seems you got to know me rather intimately just now." She accused, though her tone held no censure.

Hermione sighed, furiously trying to fight the intensifying rush of blood to her cheeks.

"Narcissa." She said, amazed at how easily the name rolled off her tongue. "I am so very sorry for… for" she stammered out, somehow unable to complete her sentence. Narcissa leaned closer, and her hand found one of the pictures that had slid out once again from the album; it was one that Hermione hadn't quite seen as she gathered them all. It showed a young Narcissa and her husband dancing thorough an illuminated garden – again, possibly in Malfoy Manor. They were beaming. With the witch so close, Hermione finally noticed the deep dark circles under her glassy eyes. The blonde looked like she hadn't slept in weeks – possibly due to that enormous batch of Wideye Potion Hermione had helped her bottle.

"You look very happy in that photo." She had meant to think it, not say it, but the words simply came out. Narcissa gave her a small smile.

"Yes. I was." She murmured and turned to Hermione. "I suppose it comes as a shock to you, seeing all these people you know as despicable creatures having happy, normal lives." She commented offhandedly, delicately nestling the photo between the pages of the album.

"I don't find you despicable." Hermione whispered. Narcissa did not look at her, but gave a sad laugh in response.

"Perhaps not now, Ms. Granger, but that was not always the case. Just like most of these people you saw" she motioned towards the albums "You once considered me a monster."

Hermione began to retort, but Narcissa waved her off.

"I do not blame you for the feeling. We all did monstrous things; to you and others like you."

"You didn't." the brunette muttered half-heartedly. Narcissa scoffed derisively.

"You are no fool, Ms. Granger. Please do not act like one." she said, grasping Hermione's arm and tenderly pushing away the sleeve to reveal the scar her sister had slashed into the Muggleborn's skin. Hermione shivered as she felt the chill of Narcissa's hands tracing the cursed wound.

"I did not do this to you, but I might as well have." The blonde said coolly, gingerly letting go. Hermione suddenly felt bereft. "I keep these pictures to remind myself no one is born a monster." Her voice turned severe. "None of us was. Not even Bellatrix. We were all made into despicable people – do not think this does not excuse our actions, because it does quite the opposite." Her eyes now seemed to glow as they reflected the light of the fireplace. "It shows we made the wrong choices."

Hermione trembled at the intensity of Narcissa's expression, suddenly out of breath.

"But you changed your mind in the end." She breathed.

Narcissa didn't answer, choosing instead to make her way back to her chair. Hermione followed, unsure.

"Have a seat, Ms. Granger." The blonde said.

Hermione did, looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. It didn't help that Narcissa ceased speaking completely – she looked pensively to the young professor. It finally compelled the Gryffindor to talk.

"I am very sorry about disturbing your evening."

"That is quite alright, Ms. Granger. What is it that you wanted?" Narcissa asked, summoning a tea tray with a barely perceptible flick of her wand. Hermione accepted the tea cup that subsequently came floating her way.

"Firstly, I wanted to thank you for your… advice in dealing with the young William White. He seems to be doing much better now that I've, ah, stepped back." She said, the flush to her cheeks returning once Narcissa smiled.

"That is quite good to hear. Mr. White shows great potential in so many areas, it would be a pity for him to be left behind in such an important subject as Transfiguration." She replied.

Hermione was marginally surprised that Narcissa regarded her subject with importance; however, the feeling was quickly wiped away to the sound of a duh! in her head. Of course the witch would know the importance of Transfiguration; she was a bloody Animagus!

"I actually ran into William on my way here" Hermione said. "He had a lot of supplies with him."

Narcissa nodded.

"Yes; unfortunately his family's financial situation did not allow for him to purchase all of the ingredients and materials he will need, so I have been discreetly supplying them to him. One can always buy used books or cauldrons, but such a thing cannot be done for potion ingredients, and those can be quite dear."

Hermione frowned. It was not uncommon for Muggleborns to have some difficulty buying their school supplies. They did not own any wizarding currency to begin with, and the exchange rates could be quite intimidating, especially considering muggle money was not gold-based. She was very thankful she had not run into this problem; her parents had been quite well off in their professions. She wondered how William must feel in Slytherin, a House notorious for so many of its wealthy students.

The two witches sat in silence, sipping their tea. Hermione could not help but notice how downtrodden and weary Narcissa looked; she had never seen the witch in such a state.

"You have been away from the Great Hall for a good while." She mentioned. Narcissa let out a chuckle.

"Yes. I thought I would take a bit of time away after our last encounter."

Hermione's eyes widened. So she admitted it!

"Narcissa" she began, the name still a bit unfamiliar on her tongue "I've told you, you don't need to remove yourself for my benefit. You belong at the Staff Table, along with all of us."

The blonde gave her an unreadable expression, which worried Hermione.

"Ms. Granger" she began, her voice unusually aggravated, "what makes you think my absence was for your benefit?"

Hermione froze. What? Suddenly, it dawned on her.

Narcissa wasn't avoiding her to spare her the discomfort of remembering that night. She was avoiding her to spare herself the nightmares. The realization came with a pang to her heart – the old Hermione Granger would have scoffed at her weakness; after all, didn't Narcissa deserve the nightmares and whatever else came with them due to her past role – even if she had cast it aside when push came to shove?

The current Hermione Granger was hardened by war, and she had matured quite a bit – enough to not wish her nightmares even upon her worst enemy. And Narcissa was not that; not even close.

"I apologize for my presumption." She said. Narcissa waved her off.

"It's quite alright. Removing myself from your presence was a ludicrous idea to begin with; it helped very little, if not at all." She confessed.

Hermione was saddened by the woman's predicament. "Have you been taking the Wideye Potion?" she inquired. Narcissa nodded.

"Every night since that moon." She replied simply. Hermione felt guilty; she had interrupted the witch's first sleep in weeks. "The transformation helps, in a way" she continued. "The fox is not quite as burdened; it gives me a chance to rest."

Hermione nodded in comprehension. She knew that an Animagus' feelings, nature, and psyche were often different in their animal form. Sirius had used his to diminish the effects of the Dementors in Azkaban, so she was not surprised Narcissa used hers in a somewhat similar way.

"How long have you been an Animagus?" she found herself asking.

"I always wanted to try it. However, with the rise of the Dark Lord, I took a step back. I did not want to make myself particularly useful with any abilities. I was unsure if my rudimentary Occlumency skills would hold up to the Dark Lord's probing." She confessed.

Hermione was nothing short of stunned. Narcissa had held back powers that could have been useful to Voldemort from the very beginning. What did such a thing mean?

"You're an Occlumens?" she prodded, impressed.

"Yes" Narcissa said. "The nature of my marriage, and in later years living with the Dark Lord in my own home made it an absolute necessity." Her eyes narrowed. "The years provided me with ample time an opportunity to practice; so much so that Tom Riddle himself could not penetrate my thoughts." She all but whispered.

Hermione wanted to say that was impressive. Harry had often complained of his Occlumency lessons with Snape, but she knew Voldemort had been a master Legilimens, which made Narcissa's proficiency in Occlumency quite extraordinary. Hermione had attempted to learn some of it by reading, and got reasonably far. After the war, she tried to train with Kingsley Shacklebolt himself, only to give up a few months later. Her mind had been still too fragile after the war to endure repeated attacks, even if they came from a friend in the form of practice.

Narcissa suddenly looked intently at Hermione; her eyes gentle, but her voice tired.

"Ms. Granger, apologies for my rudeness, but if there is nothing else I may help you with, would you mind excusing yourself? I am quite tired and would like to retire myself for the evening" she said, not unkindly.

Hermione stood, nodding in understanding.

"Of course, Ms. Bla- Narcissa. Again, I am very sorry for disturbing your evening. I hope you have a good night's rest and return to the Staff Table soon." She turned to leave.

The last thing she saw as she turned to shut the door on her way out was the white fox, curled up where Narcissa had sat. It snored peacefully.