A/N: MAN, this chapter turned massive. I planned on splitting it, but didn't really like how I'd end up doing it, so there ya go. Had a bit of fun with this one. Hope you enjoy!
~Naralanis
Saying Hermione felt relieved once Narcissa excused herself from her quarters to spend Christmas Day with her family was the understatement of the century. Hermione thanked her lucky stars Narcissa did not seem to notice anything amiss in her behaviour as she saw the blonde out. It was a damn miracle too – Hermione was sure Narcissa would be able to hear her heartbeat pumping away maddeningly by the strength of pulsing she felt in her eardrums.
It was shock, it had to be. Such an idiotic realization to have, Hermione thought bitterly. Every wizard and witch on this green earth knew Narcissa Black was beautiful; that wasn't exactly news. Knowing she was beautiful wasn't exactly news; what was news was how Hermione's stomach turned itself into little knots whenever she looked at the blonde too long.
Hermione wanted to bang her head on her desk in frustration, but she'd end up knocking a bottle of ink or several in her path of self-destruction. There had to be a logical explanation.
And there was, she suddenly thought, overtaken by a wave of optimism. It was Narcissa's mysterious allure, Hermione was sure of it. It wasn't that she was attracted by the woman, Merlin no. That was evidently out of the realm of possibility. She was simply intrigued, because Narcissa Black was an enigma that needed solving. And Hermione Granger was, first and foremost, most importantly, above all else, a problem solver.
That had to be it, the young professor concluded, more than happy to ignore the wretched shred of doubt that tormented her as soon as she even thought of it. She had other things to attend to.
"Happy Christmas, Narcissa. Come in!" called Astoria's pleasant voice.
Narcissa walked into the modest foyer with a smile – she could already hear her son and grandson in the kitchen, probably up to something that would see half the house covered in flour before they were done. It was absolutely heart-warming.
"Happy Christmas, Astoria. How are you coming along?" She said, linking arms with her daughter-in-law as the two made their way to the dining room. Astoria showed practically no signs of being pregnant despite nearing her fourth months. Just as with Scorpius, the young woman's pregnancy would likely only become blatantly obvious in the later months – with her firstborn, the Malfoys had managed to keep the secret up to the seventh month.
"Very well! No morning sickness with this little one thus far, but I'll let Draco tell you all about my odd cravings. He didn't appreciate having to track down a bulbous Norwegian wild garlic for my soup the other day."
"That's because I'm positive that blasted thing doesn't exist!" Quipped Draco, carrying a giggling Scorpius on his shoulders.
Any worries Narcissa had about being a grandmother at her age always melted away at the sight of her chubby grandson laughing away. Seeing Draco's family always made her want to cry a little – tears of happiness for the opportunity he had to build a family of his own, free of the awful burden she and Lucius had unwittingly placed upon his young shoulders. Nothing made her happier than seeing Draco smile like he did now.
"Of course they do!" Astoria huffed indignantly.
"You two can bicker on your own time" Narcissa said, stretching her arms out to Scorpius. "Let me hold this beautiful boy – it's time for his Grandmother to spoil him."
True to her word, Narcissa had spoiled the kid rotten that Christmas Day. As the Malfoys settled in after a good Christmas roast to exchange gifts, Scorpius was clearly having the time of his life opening present after present from his doting grandmother. Narcissa openly laughed when Astoria turned a little green at the toy broom set she had gifted him – Draco, however, was incredibly excited.
"Look, Scorpius, you'll fly just like Daddy!" He exclaimed cheerfully, kneeling with his son among the piles of torn gift-wrap. Before long, little Scorpius was being herded by his father on a diminutive broom that floated about two feet off the ground. Narcissa couldn't tell who was having more fun going around the living room – Scorpius, who grasped the broom handle with pure childish delight, or Draco, who followed on foot grinning ear to ear.
"Narcissa, you know I was hoping to not get this kid on a broom for at least a few more years!" Astoria chided her humorously.
"Nonsense!" Narcissa quipped over her cup of tea. "Why, Draco had just turned three when Lucius bought him his first broom." She reasoned.
"Yes, I've heard that story" Astoria retorted with a chuckle. "Didn't that first broom also lead to his first trip to St. Mungo's, as well as several broken heirlooms?"
Narcissa quirked a brow with mirth. "It certainly taught Lucius not to leave his things everywhere" she commented. Astoria sighed dramatically.
"Here I thought I could keep this house intact for a couple more years..."
Narcissa laughed at her daughter-in-law. "Dream on, Astoria. I heard of what little Scorpius did with the taps – he's remarkably young to show such magic. He'll give you plenty of trouble yet!" She added, practically giggling at Astoria's groan.
"Although, that reminds me" Narcissa continued more seriously. "Draco! Come over here. I've got another gift to you two."
Draco wordlessly spelled Scorpius' broom to keep floating in lazy circles as he flopped back down onto the couch. Astoria seemed to have sensed Narcissa wanted to discuss something important.
"Now, I know how you two are sick of hearing me complain about this house." She began.
"Merlin, here we go again" Draco complained. Narcissa silenced him with a glare.
"Don't you start with me, young man. This house was perfect for a young couple just starting their life together. But you have Scorpius now, plus another little one on the way."
"Mother, the baby won't come for a good few months. Could we not have this discussion then?"
"Absolutely not." Narcissa retorted firmly. "Scorpius' room used to be your home office. You have no space for a nursery, for a library, for entertaining." She reasoned.
"We're wizards. We'll make the space." Draco countered.
"Unacceptable. You won't magic a house for years on end – that is simply not practical. I want your children to have a good, happy, carefree childhood. This gift is not for you, but for them." She produced a small box from her robes, handing it to Draco with a look that brokered no argument. "It's time for them to make happy memories."
Draco took the box from his mother with a sigh of defeat. He quickly undid the white satin bow; his hand paused on the polished lid for only a moment before opening.
Inside was a sizeable skeleton key made of gleaming silver. Draco could hear Astoria's muted gasp from his side.
"Mother..."
"Do not start with your protestations, Draco. My mind is quite made up." Narcissa interjected. "I am not a Malfoy any longer; I don't belong in the Manor. You're the head of the family now – take them there. Make it a happy place."
"How can I?" he whispered, uncertain.
"Redecorate, for a start" Narcissa quipped, coaxing a smile form him. "Look around you, Draco. At your beautiful wife, at your son. The moment you step through those doors, you'll have started already." She said, holding Draco's cheek like she had done so many times before. No matter how he had grown, no matter that he had children of his own, she would always see him as the cooing bundle of happiness Lucius had placed onto her chest after a night of pain all those years ago. He was worth every tear, every wound, everything.
"What about you, Narcissa?" Astoria asked, tears of happiness in her eyes. "Please, come live with us, at least for the summers, when you're not at Hogwarts."
"We shall see" Narcissa conceded, very much aware Astoria would not let the matter drop. "For now, I am quite happy where I am. But do not even entertain the notion I won't be visiting – and often!"
"Hermione, dear, you've barely touched your pudding – and it's your favourite!"
Hermione played with her spoon for a bit, her mind wandering. "Sorry mum" she apologized, still a bit distracted.
As was her custom every Christmas Day, Hermione went to visit her parents. After the war, she and the DMLE had tirelessly worked for over a year to track Wendell and Monica Wilkins down and restore their memories.
Removing her parents' memories of her had possibly been the hardest thing Hermione had ever done. Finding them after their move to Australia had been a frantic exercise in hopelessness for far longer than she had anticipated them. Nothing in this world, Wizard or Muggle, could even begin to describe the relief she felt when she not only found them, but was able to fully restore their memories. That was her grandest accomplishment, as far as she was concerned. Not her part in the war, not her Order of Merlin, not her teaching, but her parents' memories of her.
Of course, William and Katherine Granger's first reaction to the news – memory erasure, life as the Wilkins, then memory reconstitution – was of complete and utter outrage, especially when Hermione explained the circumstances that led her to alter their memories in the first place.
Knowing your only child is off fighting a shadow war would do that.
Thankfully, the Grangers had taken long, laborious steps to repair their fractured relationship. With time, Hermione's parents came to understand why she had done what she did, though they would never truly approve.
Hermione, for her part, was just glad to have them back.
"I know what that is. It's a boy, innit?" her father said, comically narrowing his eyes. Hermione accidentally inhaled some of her pudding, and the resulting coughs only made him laugh. "See! I told you, Katie, 'Mione's thinking about a boy. What, with that far off look and all."
"Not a 'boy', for Merlin's sake. I'm thirty!" Hermione protested over her coughing fit.
"Fine, a man then. Tell us about him." William pressed, still laughing.
"Oh, Will, leave her alone. Whenever she does find somebody, I'm sure she'll tell us." Katherine defended, only to immediately look at her daughter with an odd look. "Right, darling?"
Hermione glared at her mother. "There's nobody! I'm just thinking about some research I'm doing, that's all."
"Oh, what about? Anything interesting?" William asked, his interest evident. After their reacquaintance to the Wizarding World, William and Katherine had resumed their friendship with the Weasleys – Hermione's father was known to spend hours with Arthur in the latter's shed, discussing Muggle objects and how tinkering with magic would affect them.
"Very, actually" Hermione said, happy to talk about research and academia – it had always been her forte. "Though quite complicated, if I'm honest. I'm trying to find a way to alter very, very old spells to do something different than they were designed to." She simplified. There was no need to go into the intricacies of Runes and Ancient Blood Wards.
"Sounds difficult. What are they designed to do?" questioned Katherine, drawn in at once.
"Well, they're called wards. They were made to keep certain people out of a property." Hermione explained.
"Like a magical gate, then?" William asked.
"Of sorts" Hermione confirmed, trying to summarize it in the simplest terms. "But invisible. It keeps certain people out, prevents others from even seeing the place. We want to make them not keep people out, but it's quite hard since the magic used is terribly old and unbelievably complex." she explained.
"We? Who's we?"
"Oh, I'm helping Narcissa. Narcissa Black; she's the Potions Professor this year.
"Black? Is she related to that man you and Harry spoke about, what was his name..."
"Sirius" Hermione said, slowly getting uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading. "Yes, they were cousins. Narcissa is also Draco's mother."
"Ah!" Katherine exclaimed in recognition. "Yes, of course. I don't think we've ever met her, have we?" she asked. Katherine adored Draco – he had taken the Grangers to visit Hermione in St. Mungos every day once her mental state deteriorated. Hermione had never expected it of him, and yet, there he was with her parents, day in and day out, unwavering. She was glad he had grown to be such a good friend.
"Yes. She's turning her old family estate into a Wizarding Wellness Ward; she plans to treat several magical maladies there, but we're running into some issues because of the wards I'm researching" Hermione explained, fighting the blush that she felt creeping up for Merlin only knew why.
"Oh, that's wonderful! So good of her. I imagine her family home must be quite big then, no?"
Hermione could only laugh at that. "You have no idea, mum. The Blacks are one of the oldest, richest Wizarding families in Britain. Remember when we visited Chatsworth House? It's got nothing on Black Manor."
The Grangers seemed suitably surprised, and with reason.
"Good God, they must have been rich indeed then" William grumbled.
Hermione wished she could put into words the amount of wealth amassed by families such as the Malfoys and the Blacks. The thought had just occurred to her – Narcissa, the only lawful Black descendant since Andromeda's banishment and recipient of most of the Malfoy fortune. She might have even gotten the Lestrange fortune, seeing as Bellatrix and Rodolphus were the last of that line. In any case, one thing was crystal clear: the woman was filthy rich.
"Were and still are. Narcissa is the sole heir of the Black family, plus she got the bulk of the Malfoy fortune when she divorced Draco's father. She must be the wealthiest woman in Wizarding Britain, or something like that." T
Katherine laughed incredulously. "You don't say! And she teaches at Hogwarts, you said?" she pondered for a moment. "I wonder why such a woman would choose to teach if she has so much money lying around. It's hardly the most rewarding profession."
"Hey! You're talking to a teacher, mum." Hermione quipped, annoyed.
"Didn't mean anything by it, honey. But you've got to admit, it's not the easiest job in the world" her mother reasoned. Hermione could only sigh.
"Maybe, but it has its own kind of reward. And in Narcissa's case, it's the first time she's been able to do anything for herself."
Her parents' looks of confusion were enough to make her groan. It was time for another in-depth analysis of Pure-blooded customs; sometimes she forgot how little her parents actually understood of the Wizarding World.
"Narcissa and her ex-husband were part of very old, traditionalist Pure-blooded families. Their marriage was arranged, and Narcissa wasn't permitted to work."
"That sounds... old-fashioned." Katherine observed.
"Sounds utterly backward." William quipped.
"Sort of. Traditionalist families are like the nobility of old: several rules, restrictions, certain etiquette and customs... All of that is sort of a big deal to them. Narcissa was a good student in school and wanted to be a Healer, but being married forbade her from ever seeking a career. Her role was as the Lady of the House at Malfoy Manor" Hermione clarified. Her look turned dour. "She followed her husband as he followed that lunatic we fought against."
"So she was on the other side?" Katherine questioned.
"Yes, so was Draco" Hermione said, a little defensively. "She lied to Voldemort in the end. If she hadn't, I wouldn't be here." How strange that the fate of so many had been unwittingly bestowed to the hands of none other than Narcissa Malfoy. How ludicrous could fate and chance be? Hermione would sometimes lie awake at night, wondering what would have happened had Voldemort sent anyone – literally anyone else – to check if Harry had indeed fallen to his curse.
She would be dead, no doubt about it. Her parents would likely still be Wendell and Monica Wilkins – if Death Eaters hadn't somehow tracked them and killed them. Who knew what the possibilities were?
Hermione left her parents' house later in the day feeling happy, but drained. It was often difficult to remember how she had fared so well mingling in between two worlds when she was younger. As the years wore on, she found it increasingly odd to be in the Muggle world. The little things, such as switching on the lights or seeing the telly on, had drifted out of her everyday life to such a degree that she was always a bit startled when she returned to her parents'.
It made her feel like she was losing a part of her identity. Hermione didn't like the idea whatsoever.
The night was young, she thought as she walked through Muggle London, something she had decided on doing after that little identity crisis. After the initial transition, she found that those Muggle sounds were oddly soothing. But she couldn't just walk around London forever.
Her apparition to Black Manor was almost nearly as unintentional as an apparition could be; one minute she was walking down a darkened alley, the other she walked through the heavy iron gates of the massive estate.
Some more rifling through that massive library would do her mind some good. Maybe Hermione could even find some time to explore the rest of the place; Narcissa had made it quite clear she was welcome to without her company.
So, Hermione took the long way to the main library. She had yet to peruse the entirety of the main house, it was simply too big. The darkened halls were eerie when the only sound echoing from their pristine walls came from her trainers squeaking on the marble.
She tried to imagine what it would be like to be a child in such grandeur. No wonder the Blacks always behaved with such entitlement; how could one not, when surrounded by such splendour from birth? As much as Hermione tried to imagine she would have behaved differently in such circumstances, she found it hard to find any evidence to support it. Being accustomed to servants, grandeur, and so much money had to have some long-lasting effects.
Hermione passed several rooms she had not yet seen in her previous perusals. Narcissa had done a remarkable job in creating a medical care facility out of a family estate, but there were still certain rooms, certain nooks and crannies that belied the building's initial purpose.
One such room was a small sitting room in the East Wing of the House. It had clearly been connected to sleeping chambers in the past – which had most likely since been turned into patient lodging or other such purpose of more utility. But what caught her eye in the space were the massive bay windows overlooking the manicured gardens.
Hermione instantly recognized them: Narcissa had once stood by them, heavily pregnant, tendrils of light illuminating her from behind. It had been the picture she had seen in Narcissa's study all those months ago, when she unwittingly intruded the Potions Professor's quarters.
How odd that the picture was taken there; Hermione had thought it was at Malfoy Manor. Did Lucius frequent Black Manor? If not, then who had snapped the photograph?
Hermione leaned closer to the window; it provided a stunning view to the beautifully arranged beds of flowers surrounding the fountain by the main gates. If she leaned closer still, Hermione thought she'd be able to see as far as the edges of the forested area that delineated the Lycanthrope Readjustment Range. So she did, grasping onto the ledge of the window nook for support.
Almost immediately she felt the forceful tug on her navel that signalled something akin to Portkey travel. The room began to spin, and Hermione instinctively tried to let go of the ledge, only to find it impossible.
She landed heavily in a heap onto a hard floor. Hermione panicked for a brief second upon hearing a loud snap, thinking it was her wand, but the sudden jolt of pain up her arm told her it was her wrist – she was too distracted with the pain to even ponder if she should be relieved or not.
"Augh!" she groaned as she moved, taking a moment to inspect her left wrist. It was definitely broken, just how badly she couldn't tell. Perhaps a simple Episkey should do the trick, but Hermione did not want to risk doing something wrong without knowing what exactly was broken and how badly.
"Ferula" she intoned with a groan, grateful for the conjured splinter and bandage that magically tightened themselves just enough around her arm to immobilize it, easing her pain considerably. It would have to do.
Hermione turned around to ascertain where she had ended up. The whole room smelled heavily of dust; her body had left a grotesque imprint on the layer of dust covering the floor. It was dark and musty; the only light came through threadbare curtains on the other side of the room. There were few furnishings, all covered with white sheets: a side table, a couch, and a high-backed chair. Wherever she was, Hermione did not plan on staying long enough to find out.
She turned on her heel and concentrated on her private study, clearing her mind for apparition. As she waved her wand, however, there was no crack, no tugging. Nothing but a few measly sparks coming from her wand.
Wherever she was, she couldn't apparate out. To make matters worse, whatever had served as a Portkey there was nowhere to be seen. That certainly complicated things; she had to find a way out, at least to somewhere that made apparition possible.
Hermione made to walk to the curtains to look outside, but she was startled by a shrill voice coming through the door.
"Who goes there?! Is it you, you insufferable pest? Spoiled, ungrateful child, come and look at me when I am speaking to you!"
Breathing deeply to get over her initial fright, Hermione armed herself with her wand and stepped through the open door into aa long corridor, following the sound. Whose house had she been transported to?
"Hello?" She called tentatively.
"Come to me when I speak to you, child!" shrieked the voice, much closer now. Hermione turned to an open door though which the voice seemed to have come from. She stepped inside, only to find it as empty and abandoned as the one she had been in before.
"What in Merlin's name..." she murmured, before once again being startled by the same screams.
"Who are you? How dare you invade my Noble House! Away with you, scourge of the street!"
Hermione looked to the side of the room, only to see a massive portrait of a rather severe-looking woman, with black undulating hair, pink lips and hard, heavy-lidded eyes. She wore old-fashioned, but intricately decorated, doubtlessly expensive robes. The frame surrounding her was made of ornate gold; a nearly identical one made of silver hung next to her, but the portrait was empty. Hermione took one look at those harsh eyes and recognized them almost immediately.
She was looking at painting of Druella Black.
The woman in the painting was evidently not happy with Hermione's look of utter befuddlement. She glared at the brunette, her mouth contorted into an expression of sheer displeasure.
"Who are you, loathsome little chit? Speak!"
"Uh... My apologies for the intrusion, Ma'am" Hermione said, quickly thinking on her feet. If this woman was anything like the portrait of Walburga Black, it would be wise to keep her cards close to her chest. Judging from her outbursts, Hermione wasn't willing to take her chances. Not a word that would betray her heritage, extreme politeness, and perhaps with a little luck Druella may help her find her way out. "I'm not quite sure how I got here; it was an accident."
Druella looked sceptical at best.
"One does not get into my home by accident! This is Narcissa's doing, isn't it? That deplorable girl, careless, and irresponsible, bringing strangers to her ancestral home!" The woman shrieked, her eyes wide and practically popping out of her head.
Hermione's breathed had caught; ancestral home? She only knew of one Black ancestral home beside Black Manor.
"We're in Grimmauld Place?" she asked on reflex, even if deep down she knew that couldn't possibly be the case: Harry had been living in Grimmauld Place for years.
Druella looked all-consumed with impatience at her ignorance.
"Of course not! Grimmauld Place is my sister Walburga's home, you ignorant peasant!" Her eyes narrowed. "How come you know of Grimmauld Place? You don't seem the kind of witch to frequent it." she said acerbically, pointedly looking at Hermione's Muggle attire.
"I've met Walburga" Hermione said quickly. It wasn't technically a lie. Though Walburga had been dead for quite a while... She had no idea when Druella had died, but perhaps it was safer to refer to somebody that she had met in the flesh. "I work with Narcissa." She backtracked
"I beg your pardon" Druella said, clearly scandalized. "Did you just say you work with my ill-tempered daughter?" she squawked.
Whoops. Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say.
"I mean I do some research with her. Research. On... on Ancient Wizarding History" she lied through her teeth. Part of her was really curious about why Druella seemed to harbour such animosity towards her daughter, but that part was silenced by the priority of needing to get out of there.
Druella didn't look like she was buying it, but nevertheless relented. "A spoiled urchin, impudent child she is, always has been. How come you have found yourself in her wretched company?"
"I'm friends with her son, Draco. We knew each other in Hogwarts."
"Did you now?" Druella said, her eyes narrowing even further in her inspection of Hermione. "You do look slightly familiar to me... But you were not in Slytherin. A Hufflepuff Fawley? No, no, Ravenclaw, perhaps? Are you the daughter of one of the MacDougal's?"
"Yes!" Hermione said a little too quickly, desperately clinging to the lifeline Druella had unwittingly thrown her way: Isobel and Morag MacDougal had been sorted into Ravenclaw the same year she had found her home in Gryffindor. With any luck, Druella wasn't that familiar with the family to notice any difference. "Isobel MacDougal at your service, Ma'am."
"You look nothing like your mother, child. But we all know that is probably for the best; Meredith was never a pretty thing to look at." The woman said with the nonchalance Hermione had seen Narcissa display so elegantly. "I can see she also neglected to instruct her daughters on the proper manners befitting a lady of your station. Where is your formal greeting for an elder, Ms. MacDougal? Such incredible impropriety; not even Narcissa would forego a proper greeting!" She chastised Hermione.
How in Godric's name was Hermione to formally greet a Pure-blooded matron such as Druella Black? Their etiquette was so unnecessarily complicated!
"Uh..." she babbled, thinking on her feet. "Deepest apologies, Ma'am. The usual greetings have fallen out of fashion; I thought it would be improper to perform one given your status." She shot in the dark.
Could portraits flush with embarrassment? Druella certainly looked at little pinker.
"Narcissa, that impertinent child! How dare she not keep me informed!" Druella hissed angrily. Hermione had to contain her sigh of relief for dodging that bullet. "That is so like her, insubordinate and bird-brained!"
"Hm, Madam, if I may?" Hermione dared to interrupt. Druella looked vicious, but gave her a nod as if she was permitting her to speak. "But where exactly are we?"
"I shall forgive your ignorance just this once, Ms. MacDougal." Druella huffed. "We're at Charles House, my family home in London." She turned a severe glance to Hermione. "How exactly did you find yourself here, Ms. MacDougal? I heard your racket as you arrived."
Hermione felt just a little bit giddy when she heard she was in London. That meant she could get out and eventually apparate some place.
"I'm not quite sure; I believe I was Portkeyed here, though I have no idea how." Hermione said, the first completely truthful thing she had said to the portrait.
"Impossible!" Druella cried. "Only members of the Black Family can trespass the wards without the proper invitation. Who invited you?"
Hermione took a moment to ponder; her eyes subconsciously dropped to the faint silver scar on her palm. Druella followed her gaze.
"Impossible!" She repeated with a screech, clearly very aware of the mark's origin. "Who dared bind you by blood to the Black Family?! Narcissa, no doubt; oh how that insolent girl vexes me so! That is the limit of all impropriety, to violate the sacred bond of blood with another witch!"
"Madam Black, I assure you, there is no impropriety!" Hermione immediately retorted with a furious blush tinging her cheeks. Pure-blooded witches were obviously not too keen on context. She didn't want to stay another minute in Druella's presence. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I will find my way out. I've got to find somewhere to apparate from."
Her statement seemed to stop Druella in her tracks. "Are you unable to apparate within the premises?" she questioned darkly.
"I've tried and I couldn't" Hermione said, then looked at the woman in the painting. "Should I?"
To her surprise, Druella's features turned to complete and utter relief. "Oh! Merlin, my apologies, Miss MacDougal; I didn't mean to jump to conclusions so quickly. Only those born or married into the House of Black are able to apparate to and from Charles House without proper invitation. You see where my confusion came from." She said, her tone bordering on civil.
"Well... thanks, I guess" Hermione huffed, tired of dealing with the painting. "Now, my apologies, but I really must get going" she made to leave.
"Wait! Miss MacDougal!" Druella called. "You won't be able to leave. The doors will not open to your touch; they're enchanted, you see. You must leave the way you came, or with the proper invitation." She explained.
Hermione wanted to tear her hair out. Why were the Blacks so anal about their wards?!
"Then by Merlin, how am I supposed to go home?" Perhaps she could send a Patronus out. Would the wards allow her to do that, at least?
"Do not fret, Miss MacDougal. Give me one moment." Druella said, suddenly walking off her frame and into the silver one next to it. Hermione would never understand how Wizarding paintings worked.
"Cygnus! Get out of that blasted locket, there is a young girl here in need of assistance! Cygnus, come home at once!" Druella began screaming into the silver frame. After waiting a few moments, she returned to her own, an impatient look in her eyes.
Hermione was about to ask, but was interrupted by the appearance of a man into the other frame.
She had seen Cygnus Black in pictures and engravings before. Like the rest of his family, he always looked rather serious and harsh; his lips were practically always sealed into a thin line – the exception being Narcissa's wedding photo Hermione had seen. Either way, she could have never expected Cygnus Black to look like he did now.
The man before her now had a completely different demeanour. He looked much younger than Hermione thought him to be, though he had smile lines that crinkled around his eyes and cheeks with the grin he sported. His gait was light and unencumbered, his hair was fair, and his blue eyes held a glimmer of mischief.
"Now, what do we have here?" he asked, his voice as kind as an old grandpa's. Hermione's head was spinning in confusion.
"Miss Isobel MacDougal has been Portkeyed into our home somehow" Druella explained, her voice bordering on annoyed. "Do her a favour; go fetch our abominable daughter to come let her home. She cannot leave otherwise."
"Miss MacDougal, is it? Are you by any chance Meredith and Arnold's daughter?" He questioned genially; Hermione was so taken aback at the knowing look in his eyes she could only respond with a quick nod.
"Never fear, Miss MacDougal. I shall go and get Narcissa at once, she'll be able to take you home." He said with a kind smile, gingerly walking out of frame. Hermione was at a loss for words.
"That was Narcissa's father?" she thought aloud.
"Indeed!" Druella interjected with a mean look. "He is why she was such a difficult, obstinate child, why she still is an ungrateful spawn. Left me barren, the little brat, did you know?"
Hermione didn't know how to respond; was this how Pure-bloods made small-talk?
"You don't say." She replied dumbly. Druella didn't need further encouragement.
"Always a recalcitrant child; but she could do no wrong in her father's eyes. Married that presumptuous Lucius Malfoy, no matter how unhappy that made her mother. It was Cygnus' idea to name her Narcissa; evidently that gave her a syndrome of self-importance and pompous nature befitting her aggravating husband."
Hermione felt supremely awkward hearing Narcissa's dead mother badmouthing her own daughter. She wondered how Druella felt about Andromeda, but wasn't crazy enough to ask. She was rescued from further interaction by Cygnus' appearance into his frame once again.
"Hello again, dear. Narcissa should be here any second; she'll be waiting for you in the room you came through." He said. Hermione was only too glad to leave.
"Can't even have the decency to greet her own mother, the ingrate!" Druella cried.
"Uh, thank you, Sir. Madam Black." Hermione said, ready to beat a scurried retreat. Druella addressed her one last time.
"Do come visit again if you find the time, Miss. MacDougal. I've enjoyed our little chat."
Hermione was too baffled to respond. The last thing she saw as she left the room was the knowing twinkle of Lord Black's eye.
A/N: The reason Hermione's parents weren't really mentioned before now was because I was still deciding whether I wanted to kill them off or nah. In the end, I decided our girl Hermione has been through enough!
