The Potions Research and Development Department was the complete opposite of the rest of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. While the hospital held a bustling energy with its never-ending movement of patients and Healers and all sorts of strange things – he had just seen a boy who had a literal beak for a nose – the Research Departments housed deep in the bowels of the magically altered building were starkly different.
The Potions Department reminded him a little of his time at Hogwarts – it was in the lowest floor, a basement that could have very well served as the damp, eerie Dungeons where students learned the first things about the difficult discipline. There were few lights, and the department itself was quite small; only ten or so witches and Wizards silently worked at their expansive benches, jotting down notes as their cauldrons simmered.
He didn't even realize all the benches were separated by magical glass until he got close enough to see his reflection. A few of the researchers there spared him a glance as he walked by, his deep purple robes billowing behind him – it wasn't every day that the Minister of Magic himself came to such a place.
None of them interested him in the least – the problem in his hands was far beyond their capacity, of that he was sure. No, none of them could help him, with the exception of the woman standing at the bench in the far corner of the room, somewhat isolated from the others. Her blonde hair was tied into a tight bun; she wore the white frock and protective apron that were the standard around dangerous brews, along with thick dragon-hide gloves. She had a golden cauldron on a low heat, her wand hand drawing lazy circles in the air atop it while the other busied itself with writing on a long piece of parchment already littered with notes.
If Narcissa noticed Kingsley Shacklebolt's approach, she did not show it. He stood in her space, leaning over the bubbling cauldron with honest curiosity.
"I would not breathe in too closely if I were you, Minister" her soft voice admonished gently, giving him no other acknowledgement. "That is an Elixir of Lunacy you're about to inhale."
Kingsley reflexively held his breath – a wave of Narcissa's wand enchanted a golden lid upon her cauldron. She concentrated solely on the notes before her.
"Madam Malfoy." He greeted politely, making sure to include a formal bow. Narcissa's face scrunched up in distaste.
"Black." She said coolly.
"Right. Terribly sorry."
The blonde raised an eyebrow, still not looking at Kingsley directly. "It is quite unusual for a Ministry official of your calibre to grace us with their presence" she said simply – Kingsley could not detect any malice in her tone, only a slight curiosity.
He laughed a little. "You're quite right. I'm afraid I'm in need of assistance, Ms. Black."
That caught her interest – Kingsley found himself on the direct line of sight of a pair of gleaming blue eyes. "How may I be of assistance?"
Kingsley produced a thick wad of parchment from within his robes – the file was incredibly detailed and had been ultimately useless in an endeavour he now feared was to become an exercise in futility. Narcissa was their last hope.
"I thought you might be able to help me with a case I am working on." He said sombrely, placing the file on the woman's bench and motioning for her to open it.
Narcissa did, after eyeing him curiously for a few moments. Kingsley noted she was an incredibly fast reader – her eyes scanned each page madly, and no more than a few seconds went by before she flipped each one and began looking at the next.
The witch got perhaps halfway through the considerably large file before her head suddenly snapped up and she was facing him again.
"I'm sorry, I can't help you," she said flatly. "Perhaps someone in the Ministry's Memory Division would be better suited for this case."
Kingsley tried not to let the immediate rebuttal rattle him – he had expected it.
"Narcissa" he pleaded, and he could tell that she wasn't happy by his usage of her first name. "I would urge you to reconsider. You are the only one who can help. Let me assure you, this matter" he placed his heavy hand onto the half-open file for emphasis "is of the utmost importance."
The look she gave him was guarded. "What makes you think I would be of any help in this – provided I'm even willing to entertain the notion of helping you in the first place?"
Kingsley took a moment to exhale deeply before speaking. "Do you remember November, 1981?"
Narcissa visibly stiffened; her gaze turned impossibly colder, and Kingsley had a very clear memory of seeing that set of icy blue eyes in the Wizengamot as Lucius Malfoy was tried for his crimes and found innocent on account of the Imperius Curse allegedly used against him.
"Vividly." She said simply, her voice as cold as her gaze.
"Then you remember how I was a young Auror at the time. How I interviewed your husband and yourself before the trials began."
"Now that I don't remember so vividly." She quipped venomously.
"I do" he responded. "I also interviewed Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange – both of whom said you trained with your sister Bellatrix quite frequently. Bellatrix, who always used her superior skills and understanding of the human mind for nefarious purposes."
He pushed the file closer to Narcissa, who looked at it as if she were willing it to burst into flames. "Now tell me – why would the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange take the time and effort to teach her housewife sister anything at all? Wouldn't she be busy with her own work for Voldemort?"
The blonde flinched at the name; Kingsley pressed on. "Surely you supported your husband, but you were never nothing more than the Lady of the House, no?"
Narcissa raised one defiant brow, and Kingsley felt emboldened to keep going. "So I took the time to look over your Hogwarts records. Top of your class, impeccable work in Potions and Charms. I put it in my head then you had something to do with Lucius odd memory loss, but I could never prove it. Maybe I was wrong then. But now, you work here" he gestured around the quiet laboratory – some of Narcissa's co-workers abruptly turned their heads back to their own work, "and let's just say, a common Pure-blooded housewife wouldn't be here researching neurological pathway reconstruction."
The blonde scoffed. "Then it seems to me you greatly underestimate housewives and their considerable talents."
Kingsley sighed. "Listen, this is an opportunity to do some good. At least take a good look at the case. I won't lie to you – we are pretty desperate. I've been to the Memory Division already—no one wants to touch this one."
"Now that doesn't surprise me at all" Narcissa quipped, taking the file from under his hand and flipping it to a particular page. "This goes far beyond memory erasure, or even memory manipulation," she explained, brows furrowed in what seemed to be a mixture of awe and frustration. "This is... this is like a memory implant. Whoever did this clearly did not want the original memories to be restored."
"I assure you, they did – they still do, desperately so. The complexity of the spell was borne out of extreme circumstances, which are now no longer an issue."
Narcissa looked unconvinced. "Extreme circumstances notwithstanding, even attempting a full memory restoration with this amount of memory tampering would be... reckless."
"Never mind reckless. Would it be possible?" Kingsley insisted, holding onto a faint flicker of hope that this would not be the end of the rope – it couldn't be.
The Minister could see he had been too transparent in his tone – Narcissa looked at him like she thought he was hiding something. She wasn't wrong.
"Tell me who this is for." She demanded.
"Answer my question first. Is it possible?"
Narcissa let out a long breath, then looked at the pages before her once again. She flipped them more carefully now; her eyes no longer darted rapidly over the parchment. Kingsley waited patiently as the witch spent several minutes looking over every single page of the file, right to the very end. When she looked back up, she seemed terribly conflicted.
"Hypothetically speaking..."
"Please," he interrupted. "No hypotheticals. Can you do it or not?"
"Theoretically" Narcissa silenced Kingsley's oncoming interjection with a glare. "Theoretically," she repeated, eyes shining with uncertainty. "There might be a way. But I have never tested it."
The dim flicker of hope sparked anew in Kingsley's chest. That was already more than they had gotten from all sorts of Ministry specialists. He chose to count it as a small victory.
"Are you confident in your ability to do it?" He asked, unable to keep that hope out of his voice.
"Yes." Narcissa affirmed strongly, but then looked downcast. "At least, I'm quite certain my theories are sound. I've had neither opportunity nor reason to test them."
"Then let me give you both. Right now." Kingsley insisted – there was no way he was letting this opportunity go, not when they were the closest they had ever been.
"There is another problem" Narcissa added glumly. "Another reason why I've never tested my theories. The method..." she took a deep breath, sounding pained. "It is not Ministry-sanctioned – nor should it be, and for good reason."
"That won't be important" he said gravely, knowing at once he meant it. Narcissa's posture shifted completely in her shock.
"I don't think you understand..." she began tentatively. Kingsley waved her off.
"I understand perfectly well, Ms. Black. This is important. Trust me – the Ministry will gladly look the other way if these individual's memories are restored. No matter the means."
Narcissa looked wary; her brows furrowed, distrusting. "Is that so? And should I fail? Would the Ministry look the other way then? Would it meddle even more in my affairs – perhaps it would step up the surveillance? Or should I prepare for Azkaban?" she challenged hotly.
Kingsley raised his hands in surrender. "You're our only hope, Narcissa. You'll have carte-blanche to work on this however you see fit." He assured her. Inside, however, he was undeniably impressed Narcissa even knew of the surveillance – the ones assigned to her case were the very best when it came to discretion. Clearly Narcissa was better.
The witch still looked doubtful. "Tell me who it is." She demanded firmly.
"Give me your word you'll work on it." Kingsley countered. "I need your word, Narcissa, or we may lose everything."
Narcissa took a long time to decide. She looked at him, then her gaze was diverted back to the file on her desk, sitting there like an awkward pause, overladen with their heavy mutual silence. He released a breath he hadn't known he was holding when Narcissa finally looked back at him.
"I cannot make any promises." She said after an eternity. "But I give you my word, I will try."
Kingsley could barely contain an exclamation of relief. "Just give it your best shot" he insisted. "That's all we ask. You'll have access to all of the material we have gathered on the patients' condition, as well as any notes from other Healers and Memory Experts that have seen them thus far."
"Alright," Narcissa sighed, looking equal parts curious and resigned. "Can you tell me who they are now?"
Kingsley took a deep breath. Fair was fair.
"They're Hermione Granger's parents."
Narcissa visibly flinched at the war hero's name; the hands that rested on her desk immediately balled into fists, and her eyes were wide and... terrified.
"Absolutely not!" She hissed with a grimace. "I'm sorry, I can't help you. Not with this! Not for her."
"Narcissa!" Kingsley pleaded. "You gave your word."
The Potions researcher looked utterly furious. "That was before I was aware I'd be meddling with Hermione Granger's family affairs!" She seethed, pushing the file to the edge of her work bench as if merely looking at it were some sort of crime.
"You gave your word! Think of the good this can do – think of how much it could help your image." Kingsley argued – surely Narcissa would understand how this was an opportunity someone like her ought not to throw away? "Let the Wizarding World see your improvement."
It had been the wrong thing to say; he knew it as soon as he saw her eyes change from a sea of calm to a wrathful ocean in the span of a second.
"That has nothing to do with this!" She nearly screeched. Several heads in the lab turned in their direction; Narcissa cleared her throat and continued at a more discreet volume. "She will never accept my help – nor should she. I would think her insane if she let me within a mile of her parents!"
Kingsley was baffled. "Narcissa, whatever differences you and Hermione have had in the past..."
"Differences?!" she interrupted wrathfully. "Differences? You don't understand at all! I was there, Shacklebolt. When Bellatrix tortured her in MY living room! I did nothing!" There was one moment there where Kingsley thought the former Lady Malfoy would burst into tears – something he was woefully unprepared for. However, she deftly schooled her expression again in one fell swoop, settling it back into the Ice Queen mask he was decidedly more familiar with. "She hates me – she won't want my help."
"Let her be the judge of that," Kingsley contended. "I think you may be..."
"Absolutely not." Narcissa interjected, then paused for another breath. "I will help" she declared, then immediately raised a hand to stop him from interrupting. "But she must never know." Her eyes turned cold again. "I mean it, Shacklebolt. One word of this to her, and I walk out - I don't care if you send me to Azkaban."
Narcissa's eyes burned with such intensity he had no choice but to believe her.
"You've got yourself a deal."
"Oh, gross! Don't step there – Hagrid's left some rotting slugs out!"
Narcissa laughed as Hermione energetically brushed the soles of her shoes onto the bristly green grass trying to clean off some of the disgusting slime she had unwittingly stepped on.
"Hermione, are you a witch or not?" She asked playfully, taking care not to make the same mistake Hermione had thirty seconds before. The brunette looked sheepish, but Narcissa waved it away – along with the offending slime, though that was done with a lazy wave of her wand.
"Thank you," Hermione murmured appreciatively.
The two women had taken the opportunity given by the fair weather to take a long walk along the grounds. It was becoming a bit of a habit in the short Easter break – every day before supper, they would grade in the Teacher's Lounge for a little while, and then move to the beautiful castle grounds until it was dinner time. It was a time for talking, for discussing their wards research, or for companionable silence.
They were quickly becoming Hermione's favourite part of the day.
Hermione felt that they had reached a kind of understanding in the Astronomy Tower – well, at least she hoped. Narcissa certainly seemed comfortable with being a little more open, and Hermione was taking a step back, deciding not to push for the answers she so desperately craved before Narcissa was ready.
The Slytherin was full of secrets, and Hermione very quickly decided that was not necessarily a bad thing. There were so many things she knew about Narcissa, but there were many more she didn't - all of them secrets of all kinds. She longed to ask about all of them – about Narcissa helping her parents, about the letters Lucius supposedly sent her, about the surveillance she was constantly under, about whatever truth scared her so.
Those were the kind of secrets that obviously worried Narcissa a lot – the kind she felt guilty sharing, the kind Hermione would gladly wait for, because in the meantime, she would preoccupy herself with discovering all the other secrets Narcissa harboured.
Like her favourite colour – Hermione suspected the obvious answer of 'green' was too obvious to be accurate, and she had started to notice that Narcissa seemed to wear more and more deep blues and shimmering greys recently. Another would be her favourite scent – she could guess eucalyptus, but wouldn't it be thrilling to find out if there were more? Yet another, perhaps, could be Narcissa's favourite time of day – would she prefer the quietude of early mornings, or the warmth of the late afternoon sun, or even the silent solace of a starry sky?
Simple, perhaps, but what about other secrets, those that were more complex, more fascinating, more intimate? What was Narcissa's fondest memory of childhood? What could be the funniest joke she ever heard? How had she felt when she first walked through the mighty doors of Hogwarts as a first-year? Who did she consider her heroes?
Those were only some of the multitude of secrets Narcissa still held, and Hermione vowed to discover them all. Narcissa had once been some sort of enigma for her to solve; now she was a woman whose very nature was an exhilarating riddle, and understanding her was so much more worthwhile than solving any puzzle. The best part about it all was that Narcissa seemed more and more receptive to being understood – that thrilled Hermione to no end.
Hermione thought deeply about all those secrets as they approached the Black Lake. She had secrets of her own – she could only hope Narcissa was as interested in figuring them out as she was.
"What a beautiful sunset." Narcissa commented once they strolled by the calm shores of the lake. A large ripple near the middle of the massive body of water revealed the presence of the Giant Squid – its movement created a gentle cascade of little waves hitting the pebbles of the shore.
"It really is." Hermione agreed. The purples and oranges in the sky looked even more sublimely beautiful when reflected in Narcissa's eyes – it was as if they contained entire universes in their blue depths. She quickly looked down before Narcissa could notice her staring.
Looking at some of the round pebbles beneath their feet, Hermione was struck with an idea. It was childish, and perhaps a little stupid, but she felt comfortable enough around the Slytherin to have a little fun.
"Watch this!" She quipped happily, bending down and selecting the roundest, smoothest pebble she could see. Narcissa had raised a quizzical brow, but Hermione simply grinned, tossing the pebble in the air and catching it again with a challenge in her gaze.
"I am a champion stone-skipper." She proudly proclaimed, immensely happy her silly declaration made Narcissa smile.
"War hero, warding specialist, accomplished duellist, and now stone-skipper?" Narcissa chimed through a little laugh. "My, my, Ms. Granger. You truly are a woman of many talents."
Hermione puffed up her chest and straightened her shoulders; she got into position at the very edge of the dark waters. She turned to Narcissa with a wink. "I have many skills."
With that, she hurled the pebble, minding the angle and the speed of her turn. The sound of the little stone hitting the water – about nine times, if she counted correctly – was incredibly satisfying as it echoed through the entire surface.
"Ha!" the brunette exclaimed in childish, gleeful triumph. "And that's how it's do—"
She was interrupted as another pebble zoomed past her at incredible speed. Hermione nearly felt her jaw disconnect as the stone thrown by Narcissa skipped on the waters an astounding sixteen times before it finally sunk to the bottom of the lake.
"What in Merlin's name!" She blurted, turning bewildered to face Narcissa, who stood looking very satisfied with herself a few paces behind, tossing another stone in the air and catching it repeatedly. "How did you do that?"
Narcissa smiled broadly. "The secret" she explained, cheerfully smug "is in the angle of the wrist." With that, she whipped the stone at the water – Hermione counted nineteen skips this time.
"I can't believe it" Hermione groaned, overplaying her defeat. "I've been dethroned!"
Narcissa laughed. "I suppose all those summers at Black Manor finally paid off" she commented. "I haven't done this since I was a little girl."
"Bullshit!" Hermione wheezed, and the cursing, along with the brunette's overly dramatic tone, were more than enough to send Narcissa into a fit of giggles. "If this is you out of practice, maybe I never was the stone-skipping champion to begin with."
"With a mere nine skips to your name, I'm inclined to agree." Narcissa quipped, and Hermione's heart swelled inexplicably with the knowledge that Narcissa had paid enough attention to her little dumb stunt to actually count the number of skips.
"Ouch, hurtful." Hermione sighed dramatically. "And I thought I was teaching Teddy well. Maybe he needs a new teacher."
"Hm, perhaps that is for the best. Stick to transfiguration – that is more your area of expertise." Narcissa joked.
Hermione brought a hand to her chest in mock-hurt. "Rude! Who knew Narcissa Black could be such a cheeky little jerk?!"
Narcissa's grin was blinding. "Anyone who knows even a little about your average Slytherin."
"Touché. But you're not your average Slytherin, are you?"
"Evidently not. You forget I am also a stone-skipping champion."
Hermione raised her hands in surrender. "I concede defeat. You can take over Teddy's instruction over at his party this Saturday," she grinned. "Andromeda told me you were coming. We could go together if you'd like."
"That would be good... though I may have to stop by Diagon Alley first – I must pick up his gift."
Hermione raised a brow. "Pick up? Could they not owl it?"
Narcissa shook her head. "I'm afraid not – it's a new item, and so there are some restrictions on shipping." She rolled her eyes. "Such an inconvenience for a broom."
"Oh?" Hermione prompted. "A broom?"
"A Firebolt Ultimate – it just came out" Narcissa explained. Hermione didn't have to know much about Quidditch to know that any Firebolt broom was a big deal – Harry and Ron had made sure she knew that little tid-bit. "It has a chestnut handle and bristles made of holly, which I personally found to be an odd choice considering that all previous models had been made with..."
Hermione knew full-well that Narcissa, much like herself, didn't like Quidditch; that was no secret. She also knew that Narcissa had most likely been extremely thorough in her research – she wouldn't buy a broom simply because it was said to be the best – she would find out exactly what made it the best, even if she could not care less about it. Because she cared about Teddy. Hermione had slowly come to discover how dedicated Narcissa was to little things that had no bearing in her life which could matter quite a lot in somebody else's. Like getting Teddy a good broom. Like finding a way for William to communicate with his mother. Like helping her parents – she guessed – or even creating Black Manor.
And that was why hearing Narcissa ramble about brooms for the next several minutes was completely enrapturing.
