On the last day before students left for their short Easter Holiday, Hermione took some time off in the evening to go to London. The errand wasn't urgent or even terribly important, but she just needed to know. That was what it always came down to – she needed to know things: the hows, the whys, and the why nots and everything in between.

She could have asked Narcissa first, but after their emotionally charged conversation a few nights prior, Hermione felt like she needed some space. There were too many thoughts swirling in her brain, too many emotions connected to memories that were starting to make sense. Most importantly, she had come to recognize that there were feelings attached in her quest to make sense of the enigma that was Narcissa Black.

What an idiotic realization, she thought bitterly to herself as she walked through Muggle London. There was fondness, and then there was attraction, and now Hermione couldn't pretend the latter didn't exist as far as Narcissa was concerned. The breathlessness that overtook her whenever she was around Narcissa had been nearly unbearable during their last conversation, and Hermione wasn't so deeply entrenched in the land of denial to say Narcissa in a bathrobe didn't have anything to do with it.

No, it had had a lot to do with it, and she couldn't in good conscience keep pestering Narcissa with personal questions without first doing a little self-reconnaissance. The perplexing attraction was obviously there, but then, what did it mean for them? For her?

Hermione loved unpacking complicated things, but this was a little too complicated, even for her. So she would leave it alone for the time being.

Her arrival at the Ministry came nearly on auto-pilot, even if it had been years since she last stepped through the grandiose atrium. There were very few witches and wizards about, as it was far past closing. She made her way to one of the lifts still functioning and spared the glowing button of her old department floor a nostalgic look before jamming the button for Level 1: Minister of Magic and Support Staff.

Hermione stepped through the open lift doors without batting an eye to the security wizards posted at every corner, happy that she still retained enough security clearance to do so despite not being a Ministry employee any longer. Being a war-hero and such certainly came with a few perks. Plus, she had been one of the warding engineers to make this space as secure as it was now – she felt a hint of pride as her wards welcomed her with familiarity. Anyone without the proper clearance would simply find themselves in the Atrium again and again.

A uniformed Auror spared her a nod of acknowledgement as she approached Kingsley's door. She responded in kind before moving to knock, but the door opened before her knuckles connected to the shiny golden plaque with Kingsley's name and position.

"Ms. Granger, what a wonderful surprise," came Kingsley's rich, booming voice. He stood by his opulent desk with a smile on his face; Hermione spared a smile of her own as she walked in and the door closed behind him. "I was intrigued to receive your owl yesterday," he continued, getting straight to business and motioning for her to take a seat.

"Hello, Kingsley. I'm sorry intrude, and for requesting an audience on such short notice."

The good-humoured Minister waved her off, settling into his own chair with a contented sigh. "I will always have a few minutes to spare for Gryffindor's Golden Girl, decorated war-hero." He reached into a drawer on his side of the desk and pulled out a sheath of parchment bound by red strings. The top page had been stamped; bold letters aggressively read ARCHIVED in deep red.

"I pulled the files you requested" he pointed out, tapping his wand onto the central knot holding the pages together and making the strings vanish; the pile practically doubled in size. "But I must admit I'm curious. The Records Department, or even St. Mungo's would have been able to help you with this. May I ask why you solicited my assistance specifically?"

Hermione leaned over, her eyes scanning the first page over, already finding some of the evidence she had come looking for. "Is that all of it?"

Kingsley nodded solemnly, eyeing the brunette curiously as she flipped over a few pages, her eyes darting rapidly over lines and lines of text. "Yes," he confirmed, "every file on your parents' memory recovery the Ministry has. From initial search to treatment to post-recovery check-ups – all that St. Mungos and the Memory Division here at the Ministry have to offer."

Hermione hummed appreciatively, still busy skimming page after page – she was already a third through the stack. Every sheet of parchment had been formatted in the usual way of Wizarding bureaucracy, requiring a flurry of signatures at every turn. The ones Hermione had been looking for were popping up with incredible frequency – the initials N.B. could be found at varying intervals.

Now she could even recognize Narcissa's signature; the sharp N and the way the s's of her name were dashed together in a seamlessly neat script; the elegant curve of the B followed by the assertive loop of the L. It had been undistinguishable from any other signature before, but now she dusted her fingertips over the dried ink almost reverently, sending a silent thanks to the woman who had undoubtedly made her parents' recovery possible without ever telling her.

There were no other signatures.

"How many specialists were assigned to my parents' case?" Hermione questioned, still tracing the name beneath her fingers.

"There were several experts from the Memory division working on their case at any given time" Kingsley said, eyes narrowed as he tried to remember; there was a hint of confusion in them as well. "I believe four of five, total." He smiled. "Not that they were needed, might I add. Your talents with Memory Charms were more than up to par."

Hermione nearly scoffed – she very much doubted they would have been up to par without Narcissa. "How about from St. Mungo's?"

Kingsley froze for a moment – Hermione only caught it because she knew him too well. He eventually leaned on his elbows over the surface of his desk, his hands steepled in front of his face.

"I believe they assigned one specialist, one of their best." He said, eyeing her carefully. Hermione could see, plain as day, he was hiding something and gauging how much she knew. "Why do you ask? Is there are problem? Are your parents doing well?"

"No, no problem. They are doing very well, thank you," Hermione replied, thankful for Kingsley's genuine concern. "But I was wondering why you kept Narcissa's involvement a secret from me."

The large man sighed deeply into his seat, eyeing Hermione quizzically. "How did you find out?"

"Does it matter?" Hermione retorted, then winced, aware she sounded a bit too harsh. She took a breath. "Narcissa told me."

"Oh?" Kingsley interjected with a raised brow. "And how did that even come up in conversation?"

Hermione scowled not liking the Minister's tone. "She and I talk." She shrugged. "We've worked together for some time now. We have a professional rapport."

"And that rapport has come to include conversations about one of the most difficult times of your life? That's the sort of professional rapport I have with my therapist." Kingsley quipped jokingly, softening his tone. Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a deep breath.

"What do you want me to say, Kingsley? We're friends." Or at least she supposed they were. They were friendly, of course, but there was also more to it. More to it as in I will hold you while you cry over your dead crazy sister who tortured me in your home while you watched more to it. "But my question remains. Why did you never tell me?"

"Friends? I must admit that surprises me." He sighed. "In case Ms. Black has not told you, she was the one who wanted to keep the secrecy – I was against it from the beginning." He defended kindly.

"If you were so against it, then why have her work the case?"

Kingsley exhaled heavily, looking more tired than he had in years. "There was no one else, Hermione. Narcissa was – is – the best. Some of the best Healers and Memory experts didn't want to touch your parents' case with a ten-foot pole."

Hermione winced. It was true – that had been the source of much despair while she searched for her parents. William and Katherine had been living as Wendell and Monica Wilkins for nearly three years by the time Hermione finally found them. Her memory charm had been so specific, so intricate and such a one-in-a-million shot that it had stumped some of the Ministry's most experienced memory specialists. She had managed to erase one particular part of their memories – herself – while rebuilding an entirely new network of memories, filling in the gaps where needed. For all intents and purposes, she had expected it to be permanent – there had been a part of her that doubted she would survive the war. Truth be told, she had amazed herself when it worked; now, there were academic articles written about her feat.

Kingsley continued, his voice brimming with an unknown frustration. "No one knew exactly how to undo what you did – not without some catastrophic consequences. After the Memory Division turned into a dead-end, I went to St. Mungo's. They're more research-oriented; I thought that maybe they would at least take an interest on the case. Which they did; one person in particular."

"Narcissa," Hermione whispered.

"More or less," Kingsley responded. "She didn't know the case was your parents', but what she told me seemed promising. When I finally told her who it was for, she said she would only continue to work on it if you never knew she was behind it." He exhaled heavily through his nose at the memory. "My hands were tied. She was the only one who knew what to do."

"So she single-handedly saved my parents' memories." Hermione murmured, mostly thinking aloud. Kingsley was quick to shake his head.

"You did a lot too, Hermione. Memory charms are tricky things to work with."

"Yeah," Hermione confirmed, but she was smiling now. "If it weren't for Narcissa, I could have destroyed their minds forever."

Kingsley didn't confirm or deny that statement, but Hermione. She could just think back on the time she scrambled with memory theories, potions and charms to try and create a fix so that the damage she had caused did not become irreparable.

She spared one last look at the whirlwind of N.B.s on the pages on her lap before returning them to the stack. "I just wish I could have known, so I could have thanked her." Hermione turned her gaze to Kingsley's. "Thank you, Kingsley. I think that's it, for now. I just needed... confirmation." She said, standing to leave.

Kingsley smiled broadly. "You are more than welcome, Hermione. Please do not hesitate to reach out, whatever you need." He began to walk her to the door. "For what it's worth, I'm glad Narcissa's presence at Hogwarts hasn't affected you much."

Hermione quirked a brow. Something in the way Kingsley had phrased that last statement didn't sit well with her.

"She's a wonderful colleague to have" said a little defensively. Kingsley waved her off.

"Of course, but you remember dear Alastor: constant vigilance!" He laughed a little. "It is always best to keep one's guard up around a certain kind of people."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. Did she hear him right? "A certain kind of people? What on earth does that mean?"

The Minister of Magic regarded her quizzically. "You know, Hermione. Death Eaters, Dark Wizards and the like. We can never be too careful."

The Gryffindor felt anger simmering within. "Are you talking about Narcissa?" She said through gritted teeth; she could tell the intensity of her response surprised Kingsley. "Has she not done enough to prove she's changed?"

Kingsley was taken aback. "Hermione" he began to reason "You mustn't forget who she is."

"Who she was. And what she wasn't. As in, she was never a Death Eater!" Hermione hissed, eyes gleaming with an anger she didn't quite recognize, but embraced all the same.

"Hermione, don't forget," Kingsley continued, and Hermione's blood boiled at the patronizing tone his voice had taken, "she was married to a Death Eater for a long time, and her son eventually became one as well. Her own sister was Voldemort's right-hand. We cannot ignore that."

"How can you say that?" Hermione questioned angrily, taking a step to face Kingsley head on, not caring that the man towered over her small frame. "Narcissa was never a Death Eater herself. Narcissa lied to Voldemort when it mattered most. Narcissa gave me my parents back, and I couldn't even thank her!"

"Why the rousing defence?" Kingsley asked, looking genuinely stumped. "I thought you, of all people, would understand the need for some caution."

"Caution?" Hermione retorted, incredulous. "She's a co-worker, a friend!"

"One that you should keep at arm's length" he warned, levelling Hermione with an odd look. "Is this not an instance of 'keep your friends close, your enemies closer'?"

Hermione scoffed, bewildered. "Enemies? Narcissa is not the enemy, Kingsley. She hasn't been for a long time!"

Kingsley groaned. "Hermione, don't let yourself be swayed by what Ms. Black did to help your parents. It is good she has so much to contribute, but there were always reasons why she stayed on the other side for so long." He lowered his voice in warning. "You don't know what she is capable of."

Hermione could only scowl in disbelief. Kingsley, always so fair and just and willing to see the best in people, now sounded like a completely different person.

"Her husband still writes to her, did your friendship ever touch upon that subject?" He asked knowingly. "It is part pf the reason she's still under surveillance."

Ex-husband, Hermione's mind furiously wanted to correct, but she had been effectively side-tracked.

"Under surveillance?!" she practically screeched. "It's been a decade, Kingsley!" Her eyes narrowed, and she felt angry tears pooling at her lids. She wiped them away furiously. "Will nothing she does ever be enough to make up for her mistakes?"

Kingsley looked gobsmacked at the strength of Hermione's reaction. "I thought you, of all people..."

"You thought wrong!" Hermione retorted, ignoring the nagging thought in the back of her mind that she would have very much agreed with Kingsley just a few years prior. But that didn't matter now – she didn't know Narcissa then as she knew her now.

"Very well," Kingsley said solemnly. "I won't push the issue. Just... don't get too close, Hermione." It would have been easier to be angrier at Kingsley's statement if Hermione couldn't tell there was genuine concern in his tone. "We don't know what Narcissa is capable of." He repeated.

"Will you stop the surveillance?" Hermione bit back, fury still thrumming in her body.

"I'm afraid not" Kingsley replied, then his voice softened. "But I suppose I can bring the matter under review."

Hermione scoffed. That was the best she would get for the time being.

She stomped her way out of the Minister's office without looking back.

It was late at night when Hermione found herself knocking furiously on Narcissa's door after her heated exchange with the Minister of Magic. Ideally, she should have waited until morning, but her mind would not let the matter rest. She had gone to Kingsley for answers, and while she had gotten some, she ended up leaving with more questions.

She had also left with a strange conviction beginning to grow in her chest; it grew and spread much in the same way the warmth she felt whenever Narcissa was around did. Coming to Narcissa's defence so strongly in Kingsley's presence had made it all-encompassing and all-consuming; she felt it in every fibre of her being.

The brunette knocked again after hearing no response, her heart thundering in her chest and ears. A light finally became visible from under the door, and Hermione took a deep, fortifying breath as Narcissa's shadow cautiously approached the door.

Hermione had expected the Slytherin to call out and ask who was there, but was surprised to hear the locks, followed by the grinding creak of the door.

"Hermione?"

Hermione had a great deal of questions to ask, but they all died in her throat at the vision of Narcissa, looking like a medieval fairy-tale queen in a floor-length night robe of velvety green fabric adorned with gold, her hair loosely braided and falling haphazardly over her shoulder. One of her cheeks bore a smattering of red, and Hermione realized they were the marks left by a soft pillow, and her blue eyes shone like diamonds in the darkness, reflecting the torches of the corridor.

She looked magnificent.

"Hermione?" came Narcissa's voice once more, laced with concern and confusion. "Are you alright? Has something happened?"

No, I'm not alright, Hermione's mind wanted to say, to scream to the heavens and to anyone who would listen. The conviction – and warmth – grew even stronger in her chest. I think I'm falling for you and I'm powerless to stop it.

"No" she said instead, lost in the other woman's jewelled azure gaze. Her voice felt raspy and breathless, and not quite her own. "I... I... I spoke to Kingsley today" she said dumbly.

"Oh," Narcissa replied with a raised eyebrow, evidently confused by the stuttering apparition to her doorstep. "Is everything alright?"

"No," Hermione murmured, lacking the strength to find her voice. "I... He said" she exhaled forcefully with her exasperation. "You didn't want me to know about what you did to help my parents. Why?"

Narcissa suddenly looked uncomfortable. "I should think the answer is obvious" she said after a moment of thought. "Would you want my help? Help from someone who watched as you..." her words got caught in a sudden strangled sob.

"But why keep it a secret?" Hermione questioned, desperately trying to understand. "For so long? Even after we started working together I... I had no idea."

Narcissa had no response; she simply stood at her door, her gaze downcast.

"Kingsley said you were the only one who knew how to help" Hermione continued, desperately wanting to reach out to hold Narcissa, or at least take her hand, but not trusting herself. "How did you even know how to do it? How..."

"Hermione" Narcissa interrupted, looking uneasy. "Please don't... Please don't ask me that."

"But why?" Hermione pressed, her confusion and desire at war with one another. "You've done so much for so many – has it all been for forgiveness? I could have forgiven you years ago, if only I had known!"

"Hermione" Narcissa pleaded, her eyes awash with a deep anguish that Hermione could not read. "Please don't... whatever idea you have of me, whatever you think you know... It's not – it's not the whole truth."

Hermione took a step forward and was crestfallen when Narcissa suddenly jerked back. "What do you mean?" She entreated sadly, tentatively taking Narcissa's hand in hers. The blonde flinched at the contact, but did not pull back. "I..." Hermione began, feeling the tremor in her voice but pushing through it. "I want to know more. If you'll let me."

Narcissa looked like she was holding back tears. "Some things are better left in the past where they belong."

Hermione was about to interject, but Narcissa's hand reaching up to softly touch her cheek stopped her in her tracks. She leaned into the touch instinctively, eyes fluttering closed at the feel of a gentle caress. It lasted all of two seconds before Narcissa pulled away entirely, taking a step far back into her quarters.

"Good night, Hermione."

The door clicked shut.