Narcissa regarded the unsightly black mark staining her robe sleeve with quiet consternation. The stain – an ugly blot of ink that had bled through the fine woven fibres of her expensive robe – happened after some careless strokes of her quill, which had been overladen with ink. She looked down at the parchment she had been writing on.

Her sleeve and hand had left an unpleasant streak of ink. The usual loops and curls of her handwriting, once praised by many a teacher, had become erratic and clumsy – she could barely recognize those pointy L's, those boxy A's. To her horror, it seemed she had written the same line twice in her distraction.

The ugly stain seemed to regard her right back, responding to her dismay with a brand of unique disdain she had come to associate with her mother. Her mind idly wondered what Druella would think of such atrocious penmanship, or such clumsy writing practices. "Undignified", her mother would most likely say, with her signature scowl and cold voice. "Poor and inelegant, and clearly indicative of your weakness of will. Sharpen your quill and write the line 'I shall mind my penmanship like a lady befitting my most undeserved station' one thousand times."

Narcissa had to shake the image of her mother's disapproving scowl from her mind; a twinge of a long-forgotten pain made her stained writing hand twitch and contract involuntarily. The quill she held dropped to the parchment with the uncontrolled movement.

The Potions Professor flexed her hand, disheartened at the return of an action that had been painstakingly curbed years and years ago. Her eyes found the mess on the parchment before her once again – the streak of ink, her illegible scrawl, the stains on her hand and sleeve.

She reached for her wand, muttering an annoyed Tergeo at her soiled sleeve. Watching the ink being slowly siphoned away by her magic gave her no satisfaction; the fact she had to perform it at all made her uneasy.

This was unlike her, this distraction. Narcissa had always prized her ability to compartmentalize her feelings and emotions. It was the one skill she had been thankful to learn from her mother; it had helped her tremendously through life, even if the arduous process of mastering it scarred her deeply. But now, her emotions were scattered and unkempt in her mind – it was as if the carefully spun yarn of her feelings had been unravelled and now lay in a messy pile.

And who had been the one to pull the thread? None other than Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of Her Age, Gryffindor's Golden Girl.

It was madness – that much Narcissa knew. Friendship, companionship – that was one thing. Thinking she had misread the girl's gaze had been a fluke – Narcissa had never misinterpreted anything at all. It had all been wishful thinking on her part, a part of her that hoped that what she was seeing so plainly was not the truth.

But that night, in the Astronomy Tower? Not even her strong, wilful ignorance could misconstrue the intensity with which Hermione's eyes burned then.

It was desire.

Narcissa felt foolish for deliberately dismissing the possibility from the start. She had thought the pull she felt towards the young Gryffindor had been one-sided – that Hermione's fondness was merely a product of a natural curiosity begging to be sated.

She could see clearly now, it wasn't so. Hermione's gaze had been as clear and bright as the constellations they named in the obsidian skies, burning like embers in the night.

The question was now, what could she do?

The obvious answer was to put an immediate stop to it – to change their dynamics, to be nothing by cordial until Hermione understood that Narcissa needed to establish limits and boundaries they should not ever cross. That would certainly be the most sensible thing to do.

However, Narcissa had meant what she told Hermione: she was a selfish, greedy woman. Plus, she had already tried cordial, and the way it made Hermione look at her like a complete stranger made her utterly miserable.

Could she dare give into her selfishness and keep the young professor's company, in whatever form it was given? She scoffed to herself. A young Narcissa would not have hesitated to take it – it would be advantageous in all fronts to befriend Hermione Granger. But the present Narcissa, with all she had lost – and all she had gained – knew how precious such a gift could be.

Because that is what Hermione Granger was. A gift. Narcissa could not help but look at the Gryffindor with absolute awe, because Hermione was awe-inspiring and formidable, an astonishing presence in her life she could never have predicted.

And the fact that Hermione seemed so resolute in taking the good and the bad that made Narcissa... that was what tempted her most in the brunette. Not her extraordinary intelligence or her spectacular magic, but her fierce convictions and understanding nature. If Hermione had found the strength within herself to comfort Narcissa as she cried for Bellatrix, was there anything the Gryffindor could not do?

Would it be so bad if she knew the whole truth?

Perhaps not. But what if Hermione's understanding and fondness also had limits, and the truth pushed past them?

That would be catastrophic.

Her self-reflection was interrupted by a tentative knock on her door. Narcissa's heart swelled with anticipation; there was usually only one person in the castle who ventured down to her office at this hour of the night. A certain Transfiguration Professor.

"Come in," she called, tossing the streaked parchment in her wastebasket.

Narcissa was surprised to see none other than Harry Potter himself standing awkwardly at her open door. Despite growing into a tall, strong Auror, some of his manners could still be decidedly adolescent in their timid nature. It was nearly endearing.

"Good evening, Ms. Black."

"Mr. Potter," she greeted back, standing to receive him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"I'm just bringing you some post" he quipped, brandishing an envelope.

Narcissa smiled. "The Boy-Who-Lived, reduced to a post-owl. How the mighty have fallen" she joked.

Harry smiled widely, adjusting his spectacles. He walked purposefully to her desk, handing her the envelope addressed to William White. Narcissa looked at him appreciatively.

"She received his last letter, then?"

Harry nodded in confirmation. "Not using owls certainly makes it more difficult, but I think yours was the right call. Bones has an eye on the house, so she's keeping me updated."

Narcissa took the envelope, taking a minute to inspect William's mother's handwriting. It was very small and cramped, shaky and nearly illegible. The envelope was quite thick, as if Mrs. White had written several pages to her son. Narcissa could understand why – they had no contact during the first semester, and she knew how much a mother could miss their child the first time they were away.

It had taken very little time and observation on Auror Bones' part to determine that Robert White was an aggressive, controlling sort of man. His wife Martha, so meek and loving, clearly missed their son dearly – her longing was punctuated by frequent visits to the boy's empty bedroom whenever her husband was not around.

The odd post-delivery system had been her idea once Hermione informed her Harry had put one of his Aurors in charge of watching over the White residence. William seemed desperate to contact his mother, but clearly the usual owl post had been out of the question. So she had offered for William to write his letters and give them to her – she would in turn make sure they found their way to Susan Bones, who would ingeniously deliver them along with the residence's usual Muggle post.

"Thank you for bringing it to me. William will be pleased to hear back from his mother," she said truthfully. "But did it warrant you coming all the way here? An owl would have sufficed."

The Chosen One gave her a sheepish grin. "Ah, yeah, well. Figured I'd drop by and see Hermione too, y'know."

Narcissa quirked an eyebrow. For someone who had eluded Voldemort for years, Harry Potter was an atrociously bad liar. There was something he wasn't telling her.

"Would you care for some tea, Mr. Potter?" Narcissa offered with a knowing glimmer in her gaze, already snapping her fingers to summon for some tea before the Auror had the chance to respond.

"Don't mind if I do" he said, taking a seat on one of the chairs facing her desk. "I also wanted to thank you, you know, for helping with William."

Narcissa took her own seat, bemused. "No need to thank me. William is a student of mine, and a Slytherin. I do no more than my duty."

"That's not true," Harry argued as a tea set floated in, clattering onto the desk and distributing the teacups. "You could have just let WiSer deal with it."

"Ah," Narcissa interjected with a knowing look. "I believe you should thank Hermione, then. She's the one who thought to contact you – I'm afraid she's more familiar with ministerial incompetence than I am." He raised an eyebrow, and she backtracked. "No offence intended to the good work of the DMLE." she added hurriedly.

Harry laughed openly. "None taken. The bureaucracy is... a little disheartening, for sure. But I don't mean calling me – I meant this" he gestured towards the envelope she had set aside, "making sure he could still talk to his mom, even if he can't contact her directly. Thank you for giving him the opportunity."

Narcissa took a moment to ponder that as she sipped at her tea. "You sympathize with him," she said, looking down into her teacup. "I was only recently made aware of your extended family. The Dursleys?"

The young Auror shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "They were... well, living with them was terrible. I mean, Dudley – that's my cousin – he came around after a while. I don't speak to my uncle at all, but sometimes my aunt writes me."

That surprised Narcissa, especially after Hermione's recounting of Harry's life before he finally came to Hogwarts. Harry could see her surprise plainly.

"I suppose 'Mione told you about how they hated magic. My aunt and uncle still do, but sometimes..." he took a deep breath, and his shoulders sagged considerably. Narcissa could see a much older Harry Potter, one that had carried the weight of his responsibility to the Wizarding World for far too long when he was far too young for such a task. "I don't know anything about my parents. Most people who could tell me about them are dead." He said simply, his green eyes sad.

"Surely that can't..." Narcissa began reflexively, only to be stunned by the realization. After all, who were those closest to the Potters? Pettigrew, the mole. Her cousin Sirius. Remus Lupin. So many others from the original Order of the Phoenix.

All dead.

Harry gave her a sad smile. "Aunt Petunia still doesn't like magic... but she tolerates the occasional letter whenever I want to know a little about my mother's past."

Narcissa began to comprehend just now how little Harry knew about his own parents. She could not relate, not even a little – her family's history had always been a point of pride, painstakingly recorded for future generations to learn and commemorate. It struck her that she would be one of the few people to know of how Lily and James had been at school – they were in the same year, after all.

Her memories flashed back to her many tense interactions with Lily Evans. Perhaps she could tell Potter a little more about the woman his mother was, omitting certain details – like how she had nearly drowned Lily in a tub. Intentionally.

"I suppose I wouldn't be of much help in this" she began, sending him the most comforting gaze she could muster. "But I would be happy to tell you about her, if you wish."

His green eyes – Lily's green eyes, so intense and defiant – widened in genuine surprise.

"Oh! Could you, please?" he asked, his body language shifting to match his excitement. "I didn't know you knew one another."

"Well," Narcissa continued rather sheepishly. She'd have to filter her interactions with Lily somewhat. "We were not exactly friends, as I'm sure you're aware. But I worked with your mother on a few occasions – Potions assignments, namely. We were also Prefects together."

Harry's smile was wide. "I always heard about how good she was in Potions – mostly from Slughorn, but still."

"Yes," Narcissa confirmed, a little embarrassed by the memories. "Quite good, in fact. I believe she and I were spirited rivals in the subject during our entire acquaintance."

She didn't know exactly why, but whatever she said seemed to have brought some quiet happiness to the Auror's eyes. His lips were still quirked in a shy smile, as if he appreciated immensely the little that Narcissa was able to provide.

She truly had never met someone as transparently genuine as Harry Potter.

"Thank you," he said. "Could you tell me more, some time? If you're willing?" His question was tentative, and he reminded her so much of a young Draco. How must it have been for this boy, this mark in Wizarding history, to grow up with no family to love him like a family should?

"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you." He stood and bowed a little awkwardly before directing himself to her once more. "There was actually another reason I wanted to meet you today, Ms. Black."

"Oh?" Narcissa questioned, unsurprised.

"The Anniversary Gala is coming up soon. I wanted to encourage you to attend this year."

Narcissa frowned. The Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts was solemnly celebrated each April, culminating in a grand gala at the Ministry after memorial services for those who had fallen in battle. Narcissa received invitations every year, and every year she declined, sending instead a generous donation to the school.

"I was just thinking," Harry continued, evidently sensing her hesitation, "things have changed. You've helped so much, and you're a Professor here now. It just feels right." He didn't push her. "Consider it, please?"

Narcissa nodded. "I will think about it, Mr. Potter. Thank you again for the letter."

His smile returned, and it was blinding. "Great! I'll leave you to your work then – maybe I'll say hi to Hermione."

Narcissa returned his grin. "Do send her my regards."


Narcissa's second interruption of the night scared the living daylights out of her. She had been absent-mindedly tidying her desk and trying to forget her earlier writing mishap when she was startled by screams coming from her fireplace's general vicinity.

"AUNTIE CISSA, HI, HELLO! ARE YOU THERE?"

Teddy Lupin's head had sprouted from the dying embers of her fire, startling her enough to make her drop the papers she had just gathered.

"Goodness! Teddy, you scared me." She gasped, a hand flying to her chest in alarm. The boy seemed contrite, but only just barely – he was evidently excited about something.

"SORRY! HELLO, AUNTIE, I WAS JUST WONDERING—"

"Teddy!" Andromeda's head was now comically emerging from the embers, right next to her grandson. "You don't have to scream into the Floo, Salazar's Sakes, boy" her glowing eyes settled upon Narcissa with a bemused expression. "Oh, hello, Cissy. Teddy here wanted to ask you something."

Narcissa smiled at their antics, her heart warm with happiness. "I'm all ears."

"OH YES, ouch, sorry Grams! My birthday party is next week! I'm turning eleven! Please come!"

"Teddy, how do we phrase polite questions?" Andromeda admonished half-heartedly.

"Oh, yeah. Auntie Cissa, would you please come to my birthday party next week?" The boy's head turned to his grandmother as if testing the waters. "I would be, uh, so very honoured with your presence."

Andromeda's disembodied head nodded her approval, and Narcissa had to laugh. "Of course I'll be there, Teddy." Another opportunity to spoil her grand-nephew and irritate Andromeda beyond measure? Narcissa wouldn't miss it for the world.


"Knock-knock, is Professor Granger in?"

Hermione's head whipped up from the intricate Rune formation she had been tinkering for the past few hours to find her best friend leaning smugly against her doorframe.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, overjoyed. "Get in here!"

The two friends shared a long hug. "How are things? How's Ginny?"

The father-to-be (again) blanched comically at the question. "Pregnant and miserable and thus making me miserable. I still love her!" he added quickly.

Hermione chuckled. "Well, you've gotta – isn't that what the whole marriage thing is about?"

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Don't remind me."

Harry made himself at home, plopping down on one of Hermione's chairs and eyeing the work on her desk curiously. "That doesn't look like your normal Transfiguration fare," he commented, his interested evident.

"Very observant, Potter. Five points to Gryffindor!" She rounded her desk, gesturing towards her handiwork. "These are some security wards I've been experimenting with. Could you try to reach into this runed circle?"

"Sure," Harry quipped, stretching his arm over Hermione's desk only to have his hand bump into an invisible wall. "Ow," he said playfully, poking the unseen dome that formed the barrier. "Why does it feel so funny? Like I'm hitting a brick wall instead of a smooth one?"

"Oh, does it? Interesting!" Hermione exclaimed, eagerly reaching for her quill and dotting a few notes on a parchment already littered with her in-depth observations and complicated calculations. "Thanks for that – unfortunately the creator of the ward can't really feel the full-effects of it, y'know, because—"

"Because their magical signature is the same" Harry interjected with a knowing smile. "I remember, Professor Granger – your impact at the DMLE is not easily forgotten."

Hermione felt her ego inflate a little bit at the comment, but she felt it was deserved. She had been the youngest warding specialist to ever work for the DMLE – her ward designs were now some of the ones taught and tested in Auror training.

"What brings you to my humble abode at Hogwarts?" She finally asked after a cursory examination of her notes. She was getting close to unlocking the secrets of the Black Family wards, she could feel it. She couldn't wait to show Narcissa what she was working on.

"I delivered a letter from William's mother to Narcissa" her friend explained, and Hermione nodded in understanding. She was happy Narcissa had thought of a way for William to communicate with his mother discreetly. Harry had kept the two professors updated on the surveillance Auror Bones maintained at the White residence. Hermione still desperately wanted to do more for the young Muggle-born, but she was aware their hands were tied.

"That's good," she commented, vanishing her research to give Harry her full attention.

"I also wanted to see you and ask a favour."

Hermione raised a brow. "A favour? What can a humble teacher such as myself do for the mighty Harry Potter, Head Auror of the DMLE, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Hero of the Wizarding World, The Chosen O—"

"Augh, save it!" Harry yipped, blushing up to the roots of his messy black hair. He shifted in his chair. "I wanted to talk about the Anniversary Gala?"

"Oh?" Hermione frowned. The Ministry's Remembrance Gala was a function she was forced to attend every year. The Golden Trio were always guests of honour – there wasn't much they could do to escape it. She liked having a memorial to those who had given their lives to their cause, but she loathed the gala. It never felt like the occasion to party, even if she understood that people wanted to celebrate the victory and commemorate more peaceful times. "What about it?"

Harry straightened in his seat. "I want you to convince Ms. Black to come this year." Before Hermione could answer, he raised his hands to stop her "I know, I know, but hear me out..."

"Harry," she interjected with a smile. "I think that's a wonderful idea."

"Oh," Harry breathed out. He broke out in a grin. "Great! That's brilliant – I've tried convincing her, but I figured since you two work together, maybe you'll get a little more leverage" he laughed.

"I'll do my best" Hermione replied, mock-saluting her friend.

Suddenly, she thought of her conversation with Kingsley. Would Harry know about the Ministry's surveillance of Narcissa? Hermione could think of no reason why he wouldn't - he was Head Auror, after all. But she also could not imagine him keeping such information from her.

"Harry, could I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

Hermione swallowed. "I talked to Kingsley a little while ago. And he told me something about Narcissa."

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. "Kingsley? Why were you talking to him about Ms. Black?" He over Hermione's chair, his features lined with worry. "Is something wrong? How can I help?"

"Oh, no, nothing's wrong. Not really" Hermione waved him off. "I suppose you might as well know... Narcissa was one of the St. Mungo's specialists who helped my parents regain their memories."

Harry let out a low whistle. Hermione knew she didn't need to explain the significance of her discovery – Harry, Ron, and eventually Draco had been there with her, at every false turn and dead-end in the arduous journey in restoring the Grangers' memories. He knew how grateful Hermione had been to the Potions Department – and now he knew how thankful she was for Narcissa's intervention.

By his look of surprise, Hermione surmised Harry hadn't known either. Narcissa and Kingsley had kept the secret well.

"That's... amazing, 'Mione. Kingsley knew?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "Narcissa asked him to keep it a secret from me. But that's not what I wanted to ask you about. Kingsley told me something else" she took a deep, fortifying breath. "He said Narcissa was still under surveillance."

Hermione could immediately see Harry didn't know anything about it. She didn't need Legilimency to read her friend; Harry was like an open book. Still, she felt compelled to ask.

"Do you know anything about that?"

"No," he said firmly, and Hermione could tell he was getting frustrated. No one had been as quick to proclaim Narcissa's innocence than Harry had been. "If there's surveillance, it's not coming from my department, or I would have known" he said bitterly.

The implication worried Hermione. "Would... would any Auror do this behind your back?"

Harry huffed angrily. "I would hope not. Unless Kingsley has Unspeakables doing it, I would hear about it."

Hermione's blood ran cold. "Would he?" she asked, voice wavering. "Would he have Unspeakables on the field, just to watch Narcissa?"

Harry looked defeated. "Had you asked me that yesterday, I would have said no. But I also would have said Kingsley wouldn't bother tailing anyone after ten bloody years." He hissed. "That's unacceptable! Ms. Black saved me!"

"And she saved my parents," Hermione added. "And she's doing so much for the Wizarding World. Has been, for the past decade." She sighed. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I" Harry said, his face solemn. "But bloody hell, 'Mione, I'm going to find out. This isn't right – Narcissa has done her share to make up for her time in the wrong side. It's enough for me, it should be enough for Kingsley."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. She had an ally.