They landed with a violent, painful thud onto hardwood floors that creaked loudly upon their harsh impact. Hermione felt the weight of her own body knock the air out of Narcissa's lungs, and her elbows throbbed with pain as they hit the floor—she immediately knew she would be sporting two new bruises as souvenirs.
"Narcissa? Are you alright?" Hermione called out worriedly, scrambling away at the sound of the blonde wheezing in pain.
Her sudden movement seemed to bring Narcissa considerable pain; her eyes were tightly shut and Hermione could see the hard set of her jaw. Narcissa's arms lay at her sides, hands balled into fists with so much force they trembled.
"Narcissa?" Hermione tried again, kneeling by the blonde's side, growing increasingly worried and desperate by the lack of response.
"Narcissa? Please answer me." she attempted a soothing touch to the Slytherin's shoulder, but was surprised to see the other woman flinch away, recoiling from her touch.
Hermione began to panic, unsure of how to proceed. She could see movement behind Narcissa's shuttered lids, and the blonde's breaths came in increasingly shorter bursts and puffs that hissed past her gritted teeth.
"Narcissa?" Hermione spoke once more, deliberately making her voice and tone as gentle and even as she possibly could. She leaned over the Slytherin's trembling body and softly held her head in her hands.
Narcissa's blue eyes snapped open, wide and confused, clouded with abject panic.
"Narcissa." Hermione said softly, urging the blonde to look at her. "Cissy," she tried, and there was a flash of something, perhaps recognition, in that frightened blue gaze. "Focus on the sound of my voice," the brunette continued, thumbs grazing gentle circles on Narcissa's cheeks in a manner that she hoped was soothing.
"You're safe. I'm safe. There are no Dementors here." There was a flinch at the mention of the soul-sucking beasts, but it was nowhere nearly as violent as Narcissa's initial recoil, so Hermione chose to count it as a victory, or at least a step in the right direction.
"You're with me. We're both safe and sound—you got us out of there and it was amazing. I'm proud of you; what you did was very brave."
Narcissa's trembling was slowly beginning to subside; her breathing began to even out as Hermione continued speaking in soft, hushed tones. Hermione dropped a reassuring kiss to Narcissa's forehead, then another to her cheek, all the while whispering as gently as she possibly could.
After several minutes, Narcissa began to take deeper, longer, and overall more controlled breathes. Her body stilled, and her azure gaze fixed itself onto Hermione's. The brunette returned the gaze with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
"Hi there," she said, once Narcissa was no longer shivering and her breaths were evened out completely.
To Hermione's relief, Narcissa smiled back—it was tentative and full of something that looked to be embarrassment, but it was a smile, and most importantly, it was a response.
"Are you alright?"
Narcissa gave a slight nod in response, closing her eyes and turning her face away, her embarrassment now painfully evident. Hermione waited patiently for her to really answer her question.
"Yes."
The answer was a whisper so low Hermione strained to hear it. She kept caressing Narcissa's cheek, gently rubbing away the pool of tears that had gathered under Narcissa's eyes.
"I'm glad," she finally said, letting out a sigh of relief she had not known she was holding. "You had me worried for a second there."
That was possibly the understatement of the century—Narcissa's unresponsiveness had nearly made Hermione forget about the ordeal with the Dementors. Nearly.
"I'm sorry," Narcissa breathed out, still not looking directly at Hermione. "This... this hasn't happened in years."
Hermione immediately waved off the apology; it was completely unnecessary. "Don't apologise. I'm just glad you're alright. When was the last time this happened?"
She immediately realised that had been the wrong thing to say; Narcissa's entire body stiffened with a sudden ripple of shock and guilt.
"I..." Narcissa began then paused, swallowing uncomfortably. "I would prefer not to speak of it."
"Of course!" Hermione quickly backtracked, mentally kicking herself for her lack of tact. "Didn't mean to... uh... No worries, I mean, it's totally up to you if... you know what, I totally underst—oh, um... Don't worry about it. Yeah. Don't worry about it."
By the grace of some unknown force of fate, Narcissa seemed to find Hermione's rambling thoroughly amusing. The blonde smiled a little more broadly, enough to overpower the pain hidden in her eyes. Hermione felt completely fine in making a fool out of herself if that was the effect.
"Not your fault. The memory simply..." Narcissa drifted, gaze moving somewhere far beyond Hermione, to some distant, unseeing horizon. "Remembering just brings me pain and sorrow."
The admission tugged at Hermione's very core. "I'm sorry," she said, not knowing how to proceed from there. Narcissa moved to sit up, and Hermione leaned back to give her enough space. The creaking of the floorboards diverted her attention to the room they found themselves in.
"Where are we?" she asked, standing and offering her hand to Narcissa.
"Charles House, in the cellar specifically." Narcissa answered, shooting the young professor a grateful glance as she took her hand and stood. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise.
"Charles House?" she shuddered, dreading another encounter with Druella's upsetting portrait. "How? Was the locket a Portkey? I've never heard that spell before."
"It was a Portkey of sorts," Narcissa confirmed, bending down to retrieve the locket from where it had clattered onto the hardwood floors. The chain had snapped in their less-than-graceful arrival, and its single decorative obsidian shard emitted a faint green glow. Narcissa smiled at the question in Hermione's eyes.
"I created the Remettrium charm as a safety precaution when Draco was born. I wanted to have the ability to take him somewhere safe no matter what. It works under most Anti-Apparition charms and wards."
Hermione tried to wrap her head around that impressive bit of magic. She had no idea how someone would create a charm-activated Portkey that could bypass wards specifically designed to stop general instantaneous magical transport.
"How in Merlin's name did you manage such a thing? That is seriously impressive."
It was more than impressive. Hermione shuddered at the thought of Death Eaters in the possession of such knowledge and ability during the war. Thankfully Narcissa had only wanted to keep her son safe.
There's too much you don't know about me. Narcissa's words echoed briefly in her mind, and Hermione resolutely ignored them.
Narcissa looked sheepish for a moment.
"I..." she began, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "The Remettrium charm uses... a different sort of magic."
Hermione was only more confused; her mind raced through all nefarious sorts of Dark Magic that might exist in the world to make such a charm possible. She couldn't come up with an answer. Narcissa seemed to sense her utter puzzlement. She looked even more uncomfortable as she rushed to explain.
"While the word of a Wizard activates the charm, the enchantment itself was placed upon the locket by a House-Elf."
Hermione was certain her jaw had disconnected from its hingers; it was likely lying somewhere on the floor. Whatever she had expected from Narcissa, it certainly had not been that.
"How..." she started, unable to even phrase the question—or questions, since there were many in her head, given by how the Pure-blood families she knew treated their House-Elves.
"Dobby." Narcissa said simply, as if that explained anything at all.
It didn't. It only left Hermione with several more questions. She quickly ran through everything she knew about Dobby—remembering how Harry recounted the Elf's time at Malfoy Manor, and how he suffered needlessly at the hand of his masters, how awful were his punishments—such as ironing his fingers. She remembered S.P.E.W. and the horrific customs she had encountered as she researched the House-Elves' history of servitude. Finally, she remembered the macabre decorations adorning the walls at Grimmauld Place, once upon a time.
"Why..." she tried, unsure and partly unwilling to ask. Hermione had never stopped to consider the part Narcissa had to play in Dobby's life. If her husband and her aunt were so brutally inhumane, what would have stopped Narcissa from doing the very same, given her upbringing. It was a hard pill to swallow.
"Why would Dobby do it?" she finally asked, then grimaced, aware her tone had become defensive, wishing she had not opened that can of worms. Dobby had been Narcissa's servant for a good part of his life—he could not deny her anything she asked of him. That was how a witch could get her hands on such magic.
Narcissa looked every bit as distressed as Hermione felt; she seemed to be trying hard to read and gauge the Gryffindor's mood without any success.
"I... I was worried, when Draco was born, you see. Things... things had begun to get violent. Terribly violent. I was intrigued when Dobby told me about a charm that could..."
Hermione whirled her head in Narcissa's direction so fast she interrupted what the other witch was saying. Narcissa huffed, seeming both frustrated and desperate. "You... you wouldn't understand. Draco was just a baby. Things were getting so unforgivably vicious, and I just wanted... I just needed a way to protect my son no matter what." Her voice trailed off into a harsh whisper, an exhale of sheer frustration.
"Dobby... Dobby offered to help?" Hermione asked, incredulous. "You. Dobby offered to help you. Didn't you..." she snapped her mouth shut, choosing not to finish that sentence.
Narcissa's discomfort seemed to reach new heights.
"I...I know what you must think" she sighed. "I know Dobby's time at Malfoy Manor was quite frankly terrible. But you must understand Hermione... If I could have released him from Lucius, I would have."
For the second time in mere moments, Hermione was stunned into silence. The statement lit up some happiness inside of her, but it also stoked curiosity. Narcissa seemed to sense the latter.
"Not all my family were like Orion and Walburga," she said simply, somehow knowing it would be enough, at least for the time being.
Hermione made a conscious choice to curb her curiosity. She had faith and Narcissa, and she was resolute about not letting the woman's past cloud their future. Because Hermione wanted to have a future that was theirs.
"That's... that's good. I'm glad you had the locket on you," she relented. She still wanted to perhaps ask Dobby a thing or two about it, but she would let it go for the time being.
"I always do," Narcissa said, looking relieved and thankful at the same time. She repaired the snapped chain with a flick of her wand and put it around her neck. The locked came to rest low on her chest, below the Time-Turner she also wore. "But I wonder why I couldn't Apparate us out."
"You're... you're certain it wasn't... panic?" Hermione asked. She didn't doubt Narcissa's ability, but one had to admit that spell-casting while under attack by a horde of hundreds of Dementors was bound to be... stressful.
Narcissa looked mildly offended.
"I'm positive. I felt the spell work. Then it... didn't."
"Alright," Hermione relented, still unhappy with the significance of such a thing. "Maybe my ward-revealing spell triggered something, though that is unlikely."
Hermione let out a distressed sigh. "I suppose this warrants more research. Back to Black Library it is," she lamented. Never in her life had she ever thought she'd be unhappy to return to a library.
"Not with Dementors on the property" Narcissa declared emphatically, shuddering. "We must notify the Ministry at once."
Hermione grimaced, thinking of what Harry had told her earlier that very day. It seemed like a distant memory now. It was just her luck to find exactly what he was looking for at the worst possible moment.
"They left—well, they disappeared from Azkaban this morning." she said. She doubted that Harry had meant for her to share that information with just anyone, but it now seemed so trivial after their narrow escape. "Harry mentioned it to me this afternoon—all of the Dementors in Azkaban just disappeared overnight."
Narcissa's face blanched to an unnatural pale colour.
"All of them?" she hissed, eyes wide with terror. "And the Ministry has not seen fit to warn the populace?!"
Hermione shrugged. "They most likely did not want to cause a panic," she defended weakly. After seeing just how frightening Azkaban's full horde could be, she was inclined to think there was more than enough reason to panic.
"Too many secrets have been kept in the dark to prevent panic," Narcissa retorted bitingly. "One would think the Ministry had learned their lesson after so many catastrophic failures."
Hermione could not argue with that logic.
"Well, now we have to tell Harry where the Dementors went." Hermione furrowed her brow, a thought just now occurring to her. "Where exactly is Black Manor?"
"How is that rel..." Narcissa cut herself off, evidently beginning to think along the same lines as Hermione. Her expression belied abject horror. "The property is in Cambrigeshire," she said gravely.
"Cambridge?!" Hermione yipped, not liking the implication. Her mental map of Great Britain helped her draw some terrifying conclusions, and Narcissa seemed to follow that exact same train of thought. She looked sombrely to the Gryffindor before her.
"When did you say the Dementors disappeared?"
Hermione swallowed dryly. Azkaban was located far up North, past Scotland, somewhere in the desolate, frigid waters of the North Sea. Harry had been expecting the dark creatures to come to Hogwarts by that afternoon, when in reality they had moved much farther south in a matter of hours. Dementors moving that fast anywhere was a terrifying prospect.
"This morning."
Narcissa looked solemn. "We must alert the Ministry; this matter is much more urgent than we could possibly imagine."
Hermione nodded an enthusiastic agreement. "Yes," she said, remembering where they were. "Let's do it now! We're in London, aren't we? I can get an audience with the Minister in no time!"
"Hermione, be reasonable. The Ministry is closed for the evening, the Minister won't be there. We must owl the DMLE; they'll notify them."
Hermione huffed. "Absolutely not, we can't wait that long." An idea occurred to her. "You can apparate us out of this house, right?"
Narcissa quirked a confused brow. "Yes. Where?"
Hermione took a deep breath, aware Narcissa would not like it one bit.
"Grimmauld Place."
A very confused Harry Potter opened the door to greet them after Hermione's insistent knocks. Hermione had half-expected him to still be out in the field due to the Dementor breakout, but he had clearly just gotten home after a late night at work—he still wore his Auror uniform under his robes.
"Mione?" he greeted them, puzzled as his curious emerald gaze darted from his friend to Narcissa and back again. "Ms. Black? To what do I owe this visit?"
Narcissa looked supremely uncomfortable, but Hermione had no time to address it; her words came out in one quick, breathless gasp.
"The Dementors, Harry! They're at Black Manor—all of them!"
Harry's eyes widened almost comically behind his spectacles. He spared a glance toward Narcissa in question, but the blonde could only nod to confirm Hermione's breathless statement.
"Shit, are you alright?!" he hissed, though looking simultaneously relieved when Hermione nodded. "Come in, quick. I need to alert my unit—they're all in Scotland." He took a coin out of his pocket—one emblazoned with the DMLE insignia—and murmured something into it. It glowed for a moment, and he put it back in his pocket, turning to Narcissa/ "Where is Black Manor?"
"Cambridgeshire," Hermione answered for Narcissa, who looked a little uneasy as they stepped into her cousin's childhood home.
"Cambridge!" Harry repeated with an angry hiss, hurriedly buttoning his Auror's coat. "That's practically our backyard! Can you apparate me there, or at least close by? I can get the rest of my unit to come once I'm there."
"Give me something to make a Potkey," Narcissa interjected before Hermione could voice her resounding yes. "Ms. Granger has already overexerted herself with Dementors, and I'm not keen on seeing them again anytime soon."
Harry ran to rummage through the cabinets in the foyer, and Hermione bristled as she turned to face Narcissa.
"I'm perfectly fine," she said.
Narcissa simply quirked a brow. "For now. Don't forget you performed a multi-corporeal Patronus under extreme stress. That kind of spell-casting can take its toll."
Hermione felt oddly defensive. She didn't know why it sounded like Narcissa was putting her abilities in question.
"I can handle my Patronus. I've been through worse," she retorted, a little more brusquely than she intended.
"Of course you can," Narcissa said, and Hermione did not like her dismissive tone, "up until a thousand or so Dementors extinguish it completely. Better to be safe than sorry."
"I was protecting you!" Hermione defended hotly. Harry had just returned, looking at them oddly.
"Uh..." he tried timidly.
"And were it not for the sheer luck of having my locket, we would both be dead!" Narcissa retorted, her voice ice to Hermione's fire.
"Maybe we could have lasted longer if you could cast a Patronus!" Hermione hissed. She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips—the look of utter betrayal in Narcissa's eyes completely destroyed her inside.
The Slytherin physically took a step back, and Hermione inwardly cursed herself and her damn mouth.
"I don't want you back there." Narcissa whispered, her voice hoarse and pleading. Hermione was thrown for a loop—she had expected rightful anger, not fear. "Please," the blonde pressed on. "Please do not go back there."
Hermione was speechless. Narcissa averted her gaze, and Harry stood rather awkwardly between the two witches.
"Uh..." he tried again, holding out an empty inkwell for Narcissa. "Will this suffice for a Portkey?"
"Yes," Narcissa whispered, very deliberately keeping her eyes downcast so as not to meet Hermione's gaze even by accident. She took the inkwell from Harry's hand and muttered an incantation, waving her wand in distinct and complex patterns. The silence became heavy with the sudden, palpable tension.
The inkwell began to glow when she was done, and she handed it to Harry.
"Thirty seconds, Mr. Potter."
Harry nodded, murmuring a 'thank you.' He turned back to Hermione, smiling awkwardly. "It's probably best like this, 'Mione—better not to get any civilians involved, you see. Thank you so much for the tip-off!"
The newly-made Portkey began to glow more brightly, and Harry hurried to speak before it popped him away.
"Feel free to say for a bit, have some dinner. Ginny made some shepherd's pie, and if I do say so myself, it is bloody deli-"
The young Auror disappeared with a loud pop and a burst of blue light. The two witches stood facing one another, still shrouded in tense silence. Hermione felt wretchedly idiotic, and Narcissa refused to look in her direction.
"Narcissa..." she began, apology primed and ready and most certainly not enough to make up for her blunder.
"There is nothing" Narcissa cut her off, eyes brimming with tears and jaw painfully clenched, "nothing on this earth that terrifies me more than those creatures."
When she finally did turn to look at Hermione, the young professor wished to be swallowed to the deepest, darkest depths of the earth. Blue eyes brimmed with tears, with anger and disappointment, but most of all they were consumed by fear.
Hermione tried hard to come up with a response, but for once her remarkable brain failed her completely. Her mind's scrambling for a response was interrupted by a waddling Ginny Potter, who cut through the palpable tension with an annoyed grunt.
"I suppose I have you two to thank for my husband skipping out on his dinner" She accused, bemoaning the fact with no real bite. Her look and tone, however, brokered no argument.
"Come eat. It's getting cold."
Hermione wanted to scream out of guilt and frustration. The guilt came from her disgraceful display earlier in the entrance hall od Grimmauld Place. Her regret had been instantaneous, but that was not enough—she couldn't take her words back.
The young professor felt like the biggest insensitive bastard on the planet. How had the euphoria of discovering the ever-elusive wards and the incomparable bliss of feeling Narcissa's lips on hers come to deteriorate so quickly.
Her frustration had a different source, though Hermione supposed that being left to stew in it was the very least that she deserved. The frustration came from Narcissa and Ginny, and Ginny's admittedly delicious shepherd's pie.
Hermione watched the two eat and make small talk as if they did so every other week, or like they were old friends that had happened upon one another by chance at Diagon Alley or something. Presently, Narcissa bounced an increasingly sleepy James Potter on her knee as she ate her serving of pie with otherworldly elegance.
It was almost frightening, the way the Slytherin could switch her emotions on and off with such practiced ease. Now that Hermione had been privileged enough to see Narcissa's raw emotion, this Narcissa was like some strange caricature of the woman Hermione had fallen for. The Ice Queen had nothing on Narcissa's airs of practiced affability.
"My, what an energetic little one," Narcissa commented as James fought his hardest to stay awake. "Isn't it far past your bedtime, young man?"
"No!" The young boy protested, even if his eyes were halfway closed already.
"Merlin help me if this next one is as hard to put to bed as their older brother," Ginny quipped, rubbing her swollen stomach. Narcissa laughed and Hermione forced herself to chuckle. How could they just sit there when there were Dementors on the loose? How could Ginny sit and laugh and eat with Narcissa when her husband had gone out to face the creatures head-on? How could Narcissa talk and laugh so freely and easily when Hermione felt her guilt eating her up from inside?
Hermione glanced at the clock the Potter's kept in their dining room. It was one Harry had commissioned after the Weasley's family clock. Hary's hand was sitting squarely on WORK.
"I still worry." Ginny said suddenly, noticing where Hermione's gaze rested. Hermione looked down, moving her dinner around her plate. Ginny continued, her expression kind.
"After all, he is an Auror. There's always some danger." She took a deep breath, rubbing her tummy subconsciously. "But as long as his hand does not move to DANGER, I've made a conscious decision to keep calm and carry on."
Hermione nodded glumly, unable to argue with her friend's logic, but still feeling like sitting and enjoying dinner was the last thing they should be doing. Part of her felt like she should be out there with Harry—and Ron, who would undoubtedly be called from his post in Wales for an operation of this magnitude. It was at times like these—and times like these happened so rarely nowadays—when Hermione missed her DMLE job, despite the havoc it wreaked on her life.
"Now," Ginny quipped with a smile that Hermione could now see didn't quite reach her eyes despite her best efforts. "I believe this little man should go to bed. You guys are welcome to help yourselves with dessert."
Narcissa handed a sleepy James back to his mother with a smile Hermione could see was just a tad forced, tugging her lips upwards in an unnatural fashion. Before she left, Ginny turned back to Hermione, eyes shining with determination and hope.
"Feel free to wait for Harry. You can use any of the guestrooms if you'd like to spend the night." Her voice grew thick—not with sadness or worry, but with a resolute strength Hermione deeply admired.
"He will be back." Ginny said, and Hermione could not doubt her. "He always comes back."
Hermione was back to wallowing in misery and guilt. It exhausted her; her body felt like it had been tightly strung and then loosened, as if she were a rubber band stretched just a tad too far to ever come back to its original shape. She barely heard Narcissa when she spoke, but what the Slytherin said surprised her.
"She is a strong witch, Ms. Potter. Much like her mother."
The brunette turned to face Narcissa in question, but she was startled by the pained look in her blue eyes. Narcissa did not look at her directly, and Hermione sighed deeply, feeling utterly exhausted and saddened by the turn their night had taken.
"Ginny might just be one of the strongest women I know," she said, echoing Narcissa's earlier sentiment.
Narcissa nodded pensively. "Yes. She takes after Molly in that way. Mr. Potter is a fortunate wizard to have such a witch by his side."
The silence grew heavy. The Potters' clock ticked on by, steady and deafening. Harry's pointed did not leave WORK.
"Narcissa," Hermione began, feeling broken down and tired and woefully unprepared to continue dealing with the silence that had become utterly unbearable between them. "I... I am so sorry for what I said earlier." Hermione felt herself shrink with shame. "It was uncalled for, and... I want you to know I didn't truly mean it."
Hermione hated the way her words did not seem to register. The few moments it took for Narcissa to speak again felt interminable.
"Well," Narcissa finally, finally murmured, her voice soft in a way that Hermione did not like—it only made her feel worse. "Though your delivery might have left a bit to be desired in terms of tact, you were not exactly wrong."
Hermione gripped her fork with a little more strength than necessary.
"Please don't say that. I didn't mean to go off on you like that. It was inexcusable. You're a powerful, talented witch."
The Slytherin chuckled mirthlessly. "Your apology is accepted, but it doesn't change some unpleasant truths." She sighed, setting down her silverware and leaning back into her chair, looking defeated. "You were right. I could have been more helpful."
Hermione shook her head; the room seemed to spin in place as she did, but she resolutely ignored the feeling.
"You were more than enough help" she declared with all of her conviction. "If it weren't for you, we... we wouldn't be here."
The brunette noticed the shudder of fear that made Narcissa flinch into her seat. She felt just emboldened enough to continue speaking.
"Again, I'm very sorry. You got us out of there, and I'm thankful for that. "I'm sorry I sometimes say things without thinking them through." Hermione furrowed her brow. "Merlin, I don't know in which point in my life I suddenly became Ron."
Her little quip had the desired effect of cutting through a bit of the tension; Narcissa chuckled, and her eyes immediately softened as she finally directed her gaze to Hermione's. Once blue met brown, however, worry etched itself in Narcissa's face.
"Hermione, she whispered, moving quickly to stand, stepping toward Hermione with a look of caution. "Are you alright?"
Hermione tried to follow Narcissa's movement with her eyes, but that made the room spin again. She suddenly felt unbalanced in her chair; she tried to blink the dizziness away.
"I'm fine," she lied as Narcissa approached. Even as her vision began to blur, she could tell that the other witch was not buying it at all.
"Gryffindors," she heard Narcissa mutter with exasperation before the world went black.
Hermione woke to a throbbing headache of the kind she usually only experienced when she had a few too many Butterbeers the night before.
The room she found herself in was mercifully dark; her eyes adjusted easily to the dim light coming from a lamp sitting on the nightstand by her bedside.
This was not her room in her Hogwarts quarters. Blinking away some of her confusion and sitting up in bed against some rather fluffy pillows, she began to recognize one of the guest rooms in Grimmauld Place.
Hermione sensed movement by her side; she turned to find Ginny at the door, holding a tray of phials and water and tea.
"Oh, goodness, you're finally awake." The redhead said with a kind smile. "You've been out for hours."
"Hours?" Hermione whispered, her voice hoarse. "What time is it?"
Ginny placed the tray on the nightstand, urging Hermione to drink some water—the brunette complied, realising how thirsty she was.
"Quarter past four in the morning," Ginny said, chuckling as Hermione choked on her drink. She uncorked one of the few phials on the tray and handed it to Hermione with a look. "Here, Narcissa gave me very specific instructions to give you this as soon as you woke up. It's for the headache you supposedly have."
Hermione downed the bright orange liquid without question. Its effects were instantaneous; her headache had begun to recede by the time she placed the phial back on the tray.
"Where is Narcissa?" she asked, unable to ignore the worry in her heart. "What about Harry? Did the Ministry..."
"Harry is fine, and the Ministry has been alerted to the Dementors thanks to you and Narcissa. From what I understand, there are several Auror divisions in Black Manor as we speak; Ron's is one of them."
The worry Hermione felt expanded as she noted how Ginny had pointedly ignored her first—and most urgent—question.
"And Narcissa?"
Ginny's expression did nothing to assuage her apprehension. The redhead looked like she knew something that would make Hermione unhappy—or worse, angry.
"Gin?"
Her friend sighed and raised a hand, as if to interrupt Hermione's protestations before they could even begin.
"Before you say anything and go storming out of here in a hurry, Harry went with her, and he'll make sure everything is done as it should be. Narcissa was worried about you because you may have overexerted yourself with some multi-corporeal Patronus or some such thing, so she..."
"Ginny!" Hermione hissed anxiously. "Spit it out! Where is she?"
Ginny let out a breath of resignation.
"She's at the Ministry. She was taken in for questioning."
Narcissa felt drained. Her body felt physically empty; she was so utterly exhausted that she could not even find it in herself to be angry at the hapless Ministry worker that had been tasked with taking her statement. There was no space left in her body or mind to feel anything other than extreme exhaustion.
The righteous Mr. Potter, however, was in full form. He had refused to leave her side from the moment Unspeakables showed at his doorstep, looking for her. He had barely returned to his own home—again—but he imediately turned back to accompany her to the Ministry.
It wasn't that Narcissa didn't appreciate the support—she absolutely did—but she had to wonder how little Potter understood of his own Ministry to think there was anything he could do for her.
"Mr. Potter, sir" the young Ministry clerk tried to appease the Saviour of the Wizarding World for the third or fourth time. Narcissa nearly pitied him—he did not look a day out of Hogwarts. "As I've already told you, this is merely a matter of procedure..."
"Procedure!" Potter barked; the clerk gave it another shot, clearly running out of ideas.
"You see, because of Mrs. Malfoy's affiliations..."
"Her name is Black!" Potter nearly bellowed, his patience growing thin by the minute. The clerk shrunk in his seat. "And her affiliation is to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—perhaps you've heard of it?!"
The young wizard paled considerably; he shuffled the papers in front of him in a vain attempt to look somewhat professional. The air in the small waiting room they occupied seemed thick with Potter's impatience.
"Yes," the clerk shot a frightened, apologetic look towards Narcissa; she did not deign respond to it. "Ms. Black, I am truly sorry to keep you here for so long, but you must understand..."
"I will take it from here, Richards. Go home."
The young Richards looked simultaneously relieved and terrified when the Minister of Magic himself stepped into the dinky room, filling it with his commanding presence and grave voice. Richards bolted out of room, squeaking with relief.
Potter squared his shoulders as he straightened behind Narcissa's chair, not at all intimidated by the Minister.
"Harry. Take a seat?" Kingsley offered politely, sounding tired.
"I prefer to stand, Minister."
Kingsley breathed in deeply, taking a seat himself, facing Narcissa. "Very well." He produced a few papers from his robes, and with a snap of his fingers a House-Elf appeared, delivering a tray of tea and biscuits before popping away once more.
"My sincerest apologies for taking up so much of your time, Madam Black." Kingsley began after neither Harry nor Narcissa moved to take any of the offered refreshments. "I understand you've been through a rather upsetting ordeal this evening. If you would be willing to answer a few more questions, we'll do our best to get you home as soon as we can."
Narcissa didn't meet his gaze for a long time. She kept her mask of cold indifference despite her exhaustion. She wanted nothing more than to recede into the relative safety of her Animagus form and sink into her plush, heavy blankets.
Narcissa felt Potter shift uncomfortably behind her. It was truly a wonder that after a solid decade of working for the Ministry Potter still lacked the finesse required to navigate through the Ministry's political sphere. Kingsley, on the other hand, was much more practiced; he looked at her impassively, as if they had all the time in the world.
When she did speak, Narcissa made sure to keep her voice even and cold.
"I suppose I must be a very important witch indeed," she said, making sure to maintain an inflection that just bordered on civil as she crossed her legs, leaning back into her chair and feigning disinterest, "to have the Ministry of Magic himself interrogating me."
Another beat passed before Kingsley responded.
"This matter required some special attention."
Narcissa had a retort ready, but Potter interrupted with a scoff.
"Yeah, right! I wonder if Ms. Black being a civilian under surveillance had anything to do with this!" he said bitingly.
Narcissa could appreciate Mr. Potter's defence—misplaced as it was—but Salazar help her, someone ought to teach those Gryffindors a bit of tact.
Kingsley shot the Chosen One a look of warning.
"Ms. Black's surveillance status is not a concern of yours, Harry." He said gravely. "I trust that you have not told Ms. Black of the operation status in Black Manor?"
Harry clenched his jaw, but made no retort. When he replied, his tone was only bordering on respectful.
"No, sir. I was ordered not to." He responded bitterly.
That intrigued Narcissa. She had wanted to ask—it was obvious Potter was hiding something from the moment he returned to Grimmauld Place after Hermione passed out, looking haggard. Part of her admired the young Auror for maintaining the secrecy.
Kingsley sighed again, looking older than he had for years; granted, it had been a few years since Narcissa had last seen him in person.
"Ms. Black, I won't mince words with you. This morning, there was a report of a security breach in Azkaban."
Narcissa made no reply; Kingsley took his opportunity to continue.
"The breach consisted of a massive breakout of Dementors from the grounds. There are now no Dementors on site. Somehow those Dementors travelled across the country in less than a day and got to Black Manor."
"Yes, who would have known those vile creatures would have such impeccable timing." She quipped hotly. "Get to the point, Minister, if you are so eager to not waste any more of my time."
Kingsley gave a wry smile; it showed his tiredness more than anything else.
"Ms. Black... would the Ministry have any reason to believe you could have summoned the Dementors to Black Manor directly?"
"Kingsley, that it bang out of order!" Harry barked. The Minister shot him another look.
"Answer the question, Madam Black."
Narcissa smirked haughtily, her only defence in hiding a deep-seated fear. "Why, yes, of course. I always wondered why my sister went insane" she retorted bitingly. "I thought I would give it a go myself."
Potter hissed behind her, Kingsley's eyes were set in stone. Narcissa met them head on, refusing to give him a chance to push even an inch further.
The Minister relented under her icy glare.
"Very well." He said. "Now, before I tell you more about the operation, I want to assure you that..."
There was a commotion from outside that interrupted the Minister; it sounded as if someone had been shoved against the wall. There were angry grunts and more shoving.
The three occupants stood, wands in hand—Harry instinctively stepped in front of Narcissa, wand at the ready and pointing at the door. An Auror could be heard yelling.
The door burst open to a harried Hermione Granger—Richards could be heard berating her from further down the corridor. Her eyes were wide with anger, but the emotion evaporated as her gaze connected with Narcissa's from across the room.
"Hermione." Narcissa let the name out of her chest in a haggard breath; it even surprised Harry and Kingsley, who turned to her with questioning looks.
Hermione marched into the room, ignoring the wands still pointed at her out of shock.
"Are you alright?" she asked, side-stepping Harry and putting her hands on Narcissa's shoulders. Narcissa hadn't realised how untethered she felt until the brunette's touch grounded her back to the world.
Her body seemed to waver, as if her exhaustion had caught up with her in the span of a second; had Hermione's arms not been there to catch her in a desperate embrace, Narcissa was sure she would have fallen to the floor in one ungraceful heap. Tears she was not aware she had been holding started to burn in her eyes as Hermione hugged her tightly, as if she were the sole force holding Narcissa together.
"Are you alright?" Hermione whispered, to her and only her. Narcissa could not even process the looks of utter bewilderment the two others in the room sported.
"I'm tired," she murmured, feeling the heat of her tears marking wet trails down her cheeks. Being in someone else's arms had never brought her this much comfort. She had never felt so safe. "I'm so tired."
Hermione rubbed her shoulders soothingly. She turned them both around so she could face Kingsley and Harry, while shielding Narcissa and her tears away from their prying eyes.
"We are leaving. Right now." Hermione declared, her tone brokered no argument.
Kingsley stood; Hermione's gaze dared him to defy her.
"Perhaps we should all get some rest." He said sombrely. "I can tell you the situation at Black Manor has been stabilised. I would also like to ask you two to please not speak to the papers about this incident. There is a lot we still need to discuss."
Narcissa couldn't register anything but the soft pull of Hermione leading her away. She did hear the brunette retort:
"We won't."
Arriving to her beloved castle was a blur. She was vaguely aware it was morning as gentle rays of sunshine peeked through her window. Narcissa could tell they had made it all the way down to the Dungeons, through her classroom and into her private quarters.
It was as if her body was moving without her consciousness attached to it; her only point of reference to the world around her was Hermione's gentle touch, guiding her through the castle until they reached her quarters.
Her chambers were dark; her thick curtains had been pulled before she left that morning that now seemed to be somewhere far in the past. There was a mere slit letting a solitary beam of sunlight through, illuminating a golden path to her bed.
Narcissa felt Hermione gently lower her onto the plush mattress. It dipped under her weight, almost nearly as welcoming and comfortable as Hermione's early embrace.
Hermione cleared her throat; Narcissa was too tired to detect the worry in her voice.
"Would you like me to let you rest?" she asked, uncertain.
Narcissa's body seemed to respond for her, sagging into the mattress with the release of an exhausted breath. Hermione seemed to take it as a message to leave, and she began to slip away.
Narcissa's hand moved of its own accord, pulling on the brunette's robe sleeve.
"Please stay."
