"Excuse me," Narcissa said to the clerk at the St. Mungo's Archival Offices. She as a mean-looking old witch who was actually rather kind and sweet, as the newest addition to the Potions Research and Development Department had come to find out—she was just hard of hearing.
"Excuse me?" Narcissa repeated a little more loudly, discreetly moving the stacks of files she held so that they woman would notice them in her peripheral vision eventually. "Excuse me, Mrs. Hickins?"
"Oh! Narcissa, darling, didn't see ya there," the woman exclaimed, her usual frown stretching into a wide grin once she caught sight of the blonde. She pushed a little tin of sweets towards Narcissa. "Lemon drop, dear?"
"Thank you, Mrs. Hickins," Narcissa replied politely, already cognizant of the fact that the quickest way to the Head Archivist's good graces was by the acceptance of any offered treats and casual, polite conversation. "Could you pull some of these files for me, if it is not too much trouble?"
"No trouble at all, darling. That's what I'm here for," Mrs. Hickins quipped happily, toddling on as she took Narcissa's stack and looked it over on the way to the shelves. She spared another glance to the researcher by her desk.
"My, my, Narcissa, you look rather thin, dear. Have you been eating? Are you sleeping alright?"
"Yes, Mrs. Hickins, I have been" Narcissa said through a forced smile.
"Always hard at work, aren't ya, sweetie?" the old witch babbled on, absent-mindedly waving her wand. The shelves at the end of her small nook in the Archival Offices began to shuffle and rotate in place; assorted pieces of parchment and index cards hovered about, zipping through the air in several directions.
"You know me," Narcissa quipped, holding in her anticipation as the archivist looked as if she had found what she had been looking for. "Always working."
"You are just like my son, my Edmund," Mrs. Hickins laughed. "Maybe you'd like to meet him, someday? I'm sure you two would get along mightily fine." She said suggestively—it wasn't the first time.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hickins—I'm sure your son is quite lovely, but I am not looking to meet anything at the moment" Narcissa said, as politely as she possibly could.
"Oh, I would imagine so! Though I must say, you've been handling the divorce remarkably well!" She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "between you and me, I don't think my Edmund would mind a divorced witch—I'm sure he'd be willing to overlook that little detail!"
Narcissa gritted her teeth, hiding the action of distaste behind another forced smile. She counted from one fifty, backwards and in French in her head in a concentrated effort to not sound too acerbic when she next spoke.
"I'll certainly keep that in mind," she said sweetly, looking over at the papers summoned from the shelves by the lazy movements of Mrs. Hickins' wand.
"Have you found them?" Narcissa asked, begging for a deviation in their conversation.
"Oh, yeas, give me one moment, darling, and I'll check them out for you."
Mrs. Hickins bent over her desk to look over the files. Her brows furrowed.
"Oh dear, I don't think you have the clearance required to check out the originals..." she tutted looking through the parchment, then winked, "but there's nothing that says you can't have some slightly redacted copies! You know how these rules go, dear, can never be too careful. In fact, I think it was my Edmund who once said..."
Vingt, dix-neuf, dix-huit, dix-set...
"Thank you ever so much, Mrs. Hickins." Narcissa interrupted. Quinze, quatorze, treize... She tugged her smile a little wider to make it believable as she delicately grabbed the newly-created copies.
"Don't mention it, darling," Mrs. Hickins said, winking again. "Do give that date with Edmund some more thought, will you, dearest? Oh, and don't forget to eat—do take another lemon drop, you look far too thin to be healthy!"
Quatre, trois, deux... un.
"Certainly, Mrs. Hickins."
It had been no surprise to Narcissa, receiving heavily redacted files. Part of her was surprised the Head Archivist had given them to her at all.
But it had gone better than she had expected. Now she could finally have the details—beyond what had been in the papers, beyond what a certain sister had told her years and years ago.
The files were incredibly thorough, but ultimately not as helpful as she had hoped. They had no information that Narcissa did not already know, save for some questionable Ministry procedures that were certainly not her problem, nor worth her attention. They were more useful to tell her what had not worked, as opposed to what had.
She did not need the names that had been redacted—she knew them far too well. After all, how many people were there in the world who had utterly and completely lost their minds in such a terrible, cruel way?
The first file was for a wizard, twenty-seven years of age at the time of admission to the permanent wing of St. Mungo's Spell Damage Ward. Symptoms had included dementia, hysterics, phantom pains, and severe memory loss. The cause—what a surprise—an unnaturally long exposure to the Cruciatus. Actual duration of said exposure? Unknown.
Unknown to the Ministry, perhaps. Narcissa knew it neared a full day of unstoppable torture.
The second file was for a witch, twenty-five years of age, under similar circumstances. Of course, no one but Narcissa knew that, compared to her unnamed husband, this woman had gotten off lightly.
She shuddered when she thought of Frank and Alice Longbottom and the agony they had suffered at the hands of her sister and Rodolphus. They had been a few years her seniors at Hogwarts; Frank had been in Bella's year, Alice one grade below, in Andromeda's.
Narcissa also thought of James and Lily Potter, and how their fate, despite utterly tragic, was much preferable to the one befallen Frank and Alice
With a deep, long-suffering sigh of uncertainty, Narcissa gathered her files and got to work.
She had offered to meet with him at a public location for his convenience—and peace of mind, but was not surprised when he wrote back saying he would prefer to not be seen with her.
What did surprise her, however, was his suggestion to meet her at home. As in, her home. As in, Malfoy Manor.
Narcissa had replied to his owl politely, saying that he was welcome to come, but that she would understand if he chose not to meet with her at all.
She dismissed the thought. All she wanted was to be welcoming, but there was very little she could do in that front at Malfoy Manor.
Despite her worries, Neville Longbottom was at the Manor gates, promptly at their scheduled time. He eyed everything from the Manor gardens to the foyer with intense, barely concealed disdain.
"I got your owl." He said brusquely and foregoing all pleasantries as Narcissa led him to the nearest sitting room. She could not fault him.
"Mr. Longbottom. Perhaps you would like to take a seat?"
He did so with an impatient huff.
"Would you care for some tea, Mr. Longbottom?"
"No, thank you. I would like to get to the point as quickly as possible, Mrs. Malfoy." He grimaced, then corrected himself before Narcissa could do it for him. "Sorry—Ms. Black. Congratulations, by the way. On the divorce."
"Thank you," Narcissa replied, shocked at the young man's plainly visible sincerity. "Though I do believe more timely congratulations are in order for yourself—I understand I have the pleasure of speaking with Hogwarts' newest staff addition? Herbology, is it not?"
"Yes. Yes, Herbology." Neville said, his surprise evident—it was enough to cut through a bit of the tension.
"Congratulations, then. A noble discipline—I wish you the very best of luck in your academic endeavours."
"Thank you..." he looked puzzled. "I didn't think someone like you would care much for Herbology."
Narcissa smiled—she hoped it came across as friendly and nor sarcastic.
"Oh, Herbology is one of the most important disciplines to be learned. Potions and Healing would be absolutely nothing without it."
The young man sagged into his seat, eyeing Narcissa with curiosity and a sort of unabashed interest Narcissa was surprised to see in his gaze. She sensed that the time for small-talk was coming to a close.
"Potions and Healing" he repeated as if he wanted to test the words out on his tongue. "That's what you do now, isn't it?"
Narcissa crossed her legs, leaning back into her seat and meeting his gaze directly. It was odd to see how much he looked like Frank.
"Yes," she confirmed. "It is, in fact, part of the reason why I wanted to speak with you."
The young wizard looked conflicted, and once again, Narcissa thought she couldn't blame him for the uncertainty. She had no idea how she'd react were she in his shoes, but she could guess she wouldn't be so calm.
"I..." he began, then stopped abruptly, evidently searching for words that escaped him. It took him several long, pensive moments before he could speak again.
"I almost didn't respond to your letter," he finally admitted. The statement did not surprise Narcissa in the least; what did surprise her was the intense shame with which he had said it. Shame made no sense whatsoever, not coming from this young man.
"I've been trying hard to put things in perspective, Mrs. Malfoy," he groaned at the slip and once again corrected himself. "Sorry, Ms. Black. I've been trying to... understand the whys and the hows of several things."
Narcissa nodded, uncertain with what the Longbottom boy wanted to convey.
"It's not easy," he confessed with a wry smile. "I'll admit that my first instinct when I received your letter was to tear it to pieces, then burn those pieces."
He looked at her like a child who had just been scolded—it puzzled Narcissa to no end.
"I guess what I'm really trying to say is... I wanted nothing to do with you. I didn't want to hear what you had to say because what in Merlin's name would someone like you have to say to someone like me?"
Narcissa said nothing. Longbottom was right. There was absolutely nothing she could say to him—and yet there were so many things she really should.
"I did tear your letter to pieces," he said after a few contemplative moments. "But my wife... Well, let's just say she has a knack for knowing what people need." Neville raised his gaze to meet hers directly. "She said that this may be something we both need. Closure and atonement. And, maybe, some hope."
Narcissa found it in herself to smile. "Your wife is a remarkable witch, Mr. Longbottom," she said, meaning every word. "She's a rather intriguing woman, with a rather peculiar intuition."
It was the truth. Narcissa remembered quite a lot about Luna Lovegood. The young woman was possibly the oddest witch Narcissa had ever met—particularly under the rather unfortunate circumstances their few but memorable encounters had taken place.
Not that she would ever mention that to the Longbottom boy.
"Thank you," he said, looking at her a little oddly. He sighed deeply, as if he were about to take a plunge into dark, deep waters.
"I don't know why you're doing this, Ms. Black," he finally breathed out. "I don't know what you need out of it, though I'm sure Luna would have a good guess or two."
Neville straightened in his seat, his eyes filled with a conviction he tried to hide without much success. He looked so much more like his father than Narcissa had even realized; it was like seeing a memory of Frank Longbottom materialize itself in her sitting room.
"All I know," he continued, his voice carrying the same conviction that Narcissa saw in his defiant gaze, "is that I've got nothing to lose in hearing what you have to say."
It was then that Narcissa saw something beyond all that conviction in his eyes. It was a kind of plea, an implied, desperate question that Longbottom yearned to have answered. Can I trust you?
There was another exhale. The young wizard narrowed his eyes and steeled himself as if preparing for a blow. His voice was resolute when he next spoke.
"Tell me about my parents."
It was gone.
Hermione could not believe her eyes as Kingsley and Harry transported them via Portkey to take a look at the state of Black Manor.
She had gasped with horror once they had popped into existence on the spot where there once stood a great, magnificent fountain overlooking the impeccably manicured gardens of the well-maintained estate.
The fountain and gardens were no more. The ornate wrought iron gates at the property's entrance were bent out of shape, half-molten and contorted in odd, sickening angles.
The main house... It seemed impossible that it was still standing. The front of the building had crumbled to dust. The remaining windows were shattered and a portion of the West Wing had all but collapsed to the ground.
Several Aurors and other Ministry officials milled about, performing diagnostic spells or taking notes as they surveyed the damage. A few wizards—all of them wearing Ministry badges, Hermione was relieved to note—were taking pictures of the nearly collapsed structure.
Narcissa stood, completely impassive and utterly silent by Hermione's side. Harry and Kingsley did not speak, choosing instead to give the two witches a few moments to process the scene before them.
"How..." Hermione started, but was unable to continue.
"What is the extent of the damage?" Narcissa asked, her voice stoic and business-like. It lacked any emotion whatsoever, which threw Hermione so badly she found herself openly staring at the blonde.
"What you see before you," Harry said, looking miserable. "I am so very sorry, Ms. Black."
"So none of the outbuildings or annexes were affected?" she inquired, barreling through Harry's apology so quickly even the young Auror looked surprised at her abruptness.
"No," Kingsley was the one to answer, as Harry seemed to have been stunned into silence. "Some ruins by the creek bed were effectively pulverized, but no functional edifices have been damaged beyond the main house."
"Good." Narcissa's answer was curt; her jaw was set so strongly Hermione could practically feel the tension.
"How did this happen?" the brunette asked incredulously. "How do Dementors cause this much damage?"
Narcissa's lips pressed into a thin line. Harry looked rather uncomfortable.
"This wasn't just a gaggle of Dementors," answered a voice from behind Hermione. The young Gryffindor turned to see a rather tall, slender witch with curly black hair and inquisitive dark eyes that peered from behind large, square-framed glasses. She wore Auror robes similar to Harry's, but with an additional insignia that designated a particular Research Department within the Ministry.
"Hi," she said bashfully, perhaps a embarrassed for interrupting the conversation. She raised her hand to Hermione in greeting. "You probably don't remember me, but we went to Hogwarts together—I was in Ravenclaw. I'm..."
"Isobel MacDougal," Hermione finished for her, dazed and blushing up to the roots of her hair. She realized how bloody lucky she had been when using Isobel's identity to escape Druella's wrath—the Black matriarch clearly was very chummy with the MacDougals, for there was no earthly way Hermione could have passed for Isobel otherwise. They really looked nothing alike.
Isobel smiled, looking beyond pleased Hermione had remembered her name.
"Yup! That's me! I'm the Warding Specialist with Auror Potter's team for this operation," she blushed, and her voice became shy. "Of course, I'm not as good as the legendary Hermione Granger, but I do my best. Let me just say, I am a huge fan of your work! Particularly your research on alternate geometrical parameters in Warding Charms!"
"Oh, uh, thank you. I'm sure you're more than up to par," Hermione quipped awkwardly, hoping she was being polite. She was still having difficulty processing.
Isobel looked absolutely ecstatic at the praise. "Oh, thank you so much! Can I just say, your research absolutely changed the game when it comes to security wards? The ambient extensions and geometrical constraints you published are wicked brilliant—my specialty thesis was on that amazing piece of work you had on the interdimensional application of Warding Charms following Mortcombe's Law. I would so love to pick your brain sometime, if you wouldn't mind, of..."
"If we are finished with this riveting school reunion," Narcissa suddenly interjected, her voice as cold as Hermione had ever heard it, which startled her—it made Isobel flinch and squeak in surprise, "I would like to know more about how my family estate has been nearly destroyed."
Hermione was shocked at the abrupt change in tone and demeanour, but not as much as Isobel, who squeaked once more at Narcissa's tone, eyes widening comically behind her tortoise-shell squared spectacles.
"Oh, of course, of course! My apologies, Mrs. Malfoy, I..."
"Black." Narcissa corrected icily. "As in Black Manor. As in the place you are currently assigned to oversee."
Isobel was red as a tomato. "Yes! I'm so sorry, Ms. Black. It won't happen again." She turned back to Hermione as if seeking permission to continue speaking. Kingsley was the one to give it.
"Tell Ms. Black about the warding spells, Miss MacDougal."
"Yes, of course, of course," Isobel stuttered, shrinking under Narcissa's steely gaze.
"There were previously undetected warding provisions placed upon the ruins by the creek. The reveal of the Rune Circle—wicked sort of magic, by the way, absolutely brilliant—was what set it off."
"Warding provisions?" Hermione wondered aloud, incredulous. "Impossible. I've been researching these wards—dissecting them, really, for months. All warding provisions on this property were removed in the 1930s."
"What exactly are warding provisions?" Narcissa asked, sounding rather impatient. "And how have they destroyed my property?"
Hermione turned to face Narcissa, but Isobel launched into an explanation before she had the chance.
"They're like a fail-safe measure in case the original wards don't work as intended or are broken into," she said very quickly, looking to Hermione much like her students did when they wanted confirmation that they were on the right track with their spell-work. Hermine could only nod.
"They're not very common," Isobel continued, confidence bolstered by Hermione's acknowledgement. "In general, they're a last resort, used to destroy everything within the wards that have been compromised."
"Compromised?" Narcissa asked, narrowing her eyes. Isobel swallowed.
"Yeah," she kept on, clearly intimidated by the witch eyeing her through a stoic gaze. "They were outlawed by the Ministry in the early twentieth century—mostly due to Dark Wizards using them to destroy evidence whenever the Ministry performed raids. It wouldn't surprise me if a family like the Blacks managed to keep a few," she said, then her eyes widened as she squirmed under Narcissa's glare. "I mean no offence, Madam Black," she added quickly.
"Compromised." Narcissa repeated, brow furrowed. "How could we have missed such provisions?"
"We didn't," Hermione said, her brain running through all of the painstaking research and testing she and Narcissa had done over months of hard work. "We didn't, I'm sure of it," she repeated adamantly.
"They are notoriously tricky to spot," Isobel said, sounding sympathetic. "You just happened to trigger them when you revealed the Rune Circle."
"No," Hermione interjected again, desperately sifting through every possible scenario in her brain, going over hundreds of mental diagrams and calculations in the span of a few seconds. It couldn't be—had she missed something, something this crucial? Had she neglected a key piece of information, had she overlooked any signs? The possibility filled her with intense dread to such a point she felt her stomach turn with unease.
Could she have caused this destruction?
"It can't be," she said breathlessly, feeling the fear and anxiety gripping at her chest. "It can't, I... I... I would have seen it, I would have found it!" she insisted, turning a desperate look toward Narcissa, who remained impassive.
Isobel looked sympathetic, overtly so; Harry and Kingsley said nothing, and merely exchanged a look Hermione did not like in the least.
"Don't beat yourself up about it, Hermione." Isobel said kindly, raising a hand to Hermione's shoulder. "These wards are just too bloody complex. No one would have found them either."
"No, no!" Hermione gasped, shaking the hand off her shoulder and looking desperately from Isobel to Narcissa, panicking that such an oversight on her part could have caused such a massive setback to something Narcissa had been working on for so long.
"I... I would have spotted it! The... The magical imprints would... The charm's arithmantic composition, or even the runes would have... would have..."
She felt another hand on her shoulder, a much more welcoming pressure than Isobel's had been. Narcissa looked at her with... not the kind of sympathy Isobel had sported in her gaze, but something else entirely.
It was understanding.
"It's alright, Hermione." She whispered softly, her tone starkly different than it had been merely moments before. "This was not your fault."
Hermione felt like crying for some unfathomable reason. Her mind kept racing through all of the research she had done, desperately trying to find a link, a connection, even the flimsiest explanation and failing. It was as if her thoughts were scrambled in her head, swirling in her mind just out of view, just out of reach.
"Hermione," Narcissa spoke again, her voice drawing out Hermione's name like they were completely alone. "It's alright, I promise."
The Gryffindor took a deep breath, steeling herself against the paranoia before it could set in. She was Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of her Age—she was not infallible.
It was a bitter pill to swallow.
"We're very sorry, Ms. Black," Harry spoke as if he had personally destroyed the Manor himself. "Please, let us know if there is anything we can do to help you rebuild the Manor."
"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Narcissa said, her eyes never leaving Hermione's. "But I'm afraid this is beyond the Ministry's help."
"How so?" Hermione asked, alarmed by the finality of that statement.
Narcissa sighed. "The Ward has already been excessively delayed," she said simply. "Add in a Dementor attack and all of this destruction... There won't be many investors and sponsors willing to back this venture—I suspect even St. Mungo's might want to reconsider."
Hermione felt her jaw unhinge. "So... this is it? This is the end of all that work?" she cried angrily, feeling even worse about the hand she had potentially played in the destruction of the Manor. "This can't be it," she hissed. "We have to rebuild it, Narcissa!"
"Oh, it will certainly be rebuilt, "Narcissa assured her, though she smiled sadly. "But I have my doubts I'll be able to make it into a hospital without backing. Perhaps it'll become a private rehabilitation facility."
"That doesn't make any sense!" Hermione cried. "Is it just money? We'll get the money from somewhere!" she said, thinking out loud. How expensive was this venture? She knew Narcissa was a woman of considerable wealth, but how much of that wealth had been sunk into what was now not much more than a pile of rubble?
Narcissa sighed once more. "Money itself is not the problem—at least not entirely. For a Wizarding hospital to open with the proper permits and functionality, there must be sponsorships and partnerships and investments from several companies and individuals—think apothecaries, healers, researchers, etc. St. Mungo's doesn't have the budget all on its own" her gaze narrowed towards Kingsley. "Especially if there is absolutely zero government funding to maintain the project long-term."
Kingsley bristled, but Narcissa continued speaking, without giving him a chance to interrupt.
"Plus, I doubt the news of a Dementor attack of this scale will stay off the papers for much longer. That will surely drive away anyone with potential interest in this venture."
"But... but the press doesn't know." Hermione argued weakly.
"It is only a matter of time," Kingsley said, his voice grave and thoroughly displeased. "News of the breakout in Azkaban will be in the morning papers. And there is very little we can do to justify the displacement of so many Auror units without transparency."
Hermione frowned, not liking what she was hearing.
"So that's it?" She turned back to Narcissa. "None of this is your fault!"
"Even so," Narcissa said kindly, "there are not many in the Wizarding World who are eager to follow a business venture from someone like me. All of our current investors were painstakingly convinced to support this project by Mr. Longbottom—they are not terribly fond of me." She sighed, defeated. "If they drop out, St. Mungo's will have no choice but to do so as well—they don't have the budget to keep it going in the long-term."
"That's not fair!" Hermione hissed. She wanted to say something, say that they were talking about a hospital that would fulfil a great need in the Wizarding community, not some frivolous business venture like brooms ergonomically designed for the modern witch. However, she was not naïve enough to make such a statement—there was business and money everywhere. In that regard, Wizards were not as different from Muggles as they liked to think.
"Ms. Black, if I may..." Kingsley interjected pensively. "I believe that if you would be willing to provide certain services to the Ministry, we could come to a... mutually advantageous arrangement."
Narcissa turned to face the Minister slowly, raising a perfectly sculpted brow in question.
"I'm listening."
Harry looked guilty; Hermione was more confused than ever before.
"MacDougal, you're dismissed." Kingsley said curtly. Isobel quickly made herself scarce, waving a shy goodbye that Hermione awkwardly returned. Kingsley directed himself to them once more.
"Let's talk in my office, shall we?"
Hermione found herself sitting in Kingsley's office far sooner than she had anticipated after her last visit.
The past two days had been so oddly eventful she caught herself wondering how on earth she and Narcissa would be able to return to Hogwarts in time to grade and administer more exams.
Judging by Narcissa's impassive features, Kingsley's challenging gaze, and the slowly setting sun visible from the Minister's office window, they would not be returning any time soon.
Bummer.
Hermione sipped at the tea that Kingsley had offered as soon as they arrived to his office. She had forgotten that her last meal had been that unbearably tense dinner at Grimmauld Place. Harry himself munched discreetly at a biscuit, looking rather awkward standing in full Auror garb behind the Minister as he ate.
Narcissa's tea and biscuits sat untouched in front of her. The glaring between the Slytherin and the Minister had yet to let up several minutes after their arrival.
"Ms. Black," Kingsley finally relented when it became clear that Narcissa wouldn't. "I want to first apologize for this unfortunate situation."
"Minister," Narcissa drawled, her voice deceptively sweet. "I know you are quite the expert on wasting my time... but could you please refrain from doing so, just this once?" She crossed her legs and elegantly leaned into her seat, the action somehow driving her point home. "I have had a rather tiring couple of days."
"Of course, Ms. Black," Kingsley said, smiling wryly.
"What is this 'mutually advantageous agreement' you speak of?"
Kingsley leaned over his desk, summoning a swath of parchment from a nearby cabinet.
"The Ministry has gathered intelligence on a few individuals of interest..." he began, spreading the files over his desk. "I assume you recognize some of these names?"
Narcissa sniffed haughtily, and Hermione eyed the papers with interest. She could recognize some prominent Pureblooded family names—some whose family Heads were imprisoned in a now Dementor-less Azkaban.
"Individuals of interest," Narcissa drawled, her sarcasm evident. "You mean people kept under surveillance, despite their innocence being proved at trial?"
"People who would stand to gain something from removing Dementors from Azkaban, Ms. Black. People of questionable allegiance." Kingsley retorted, eyeing the blonde in front of him knowingly.
"Regardless of their allegiance, Minister, what part to they have to play in this... arrangement?"
"Absolutely none." Kingsley said. "It is you, Ms. Black, who would have a part to play with them."
"I see." Narcissa said, eyes narrowing in evident anger. "You want me to do your dirty work for you. You want me to spy on them."
"What?" Hermione interjected, feeling like she had missed some crucial detail—she had no idea what was going on.
Harry sighed. "Ms. Black, the truth is, we're grasping at straws," he said. "We don't know who is behind the breakout, but former Death-Eater families are the only lead we have." He said it as if the admission pained him.
"What!" Hermione barked, turning to look at Harry in confusion as the realization hit her. "Tell me that's not it." The Auror was pointedly silent. "Harry?!"
"Looking for new investors and sponsors creates a legitimate reason for you to frequent those circles again, Ms. Black," Kingsley explained.
"This is insanity!" Hermione exclaimed, not believing what she was hearing and the turn the conversation had taken.
"Think of it this way," Kingsley continued, giving Hermione a look. "Ms. Black has been snubbed by the Ministry and now needs new investors—I would imagine there would be people willing to accommodate this need. And, by reinserting herself in those circles, we would be privy to any illicit transactions that take place, or any chatter over the Dementor breakout. I would think there might be a witch or two in that midst that would be willing to sponsor the Ward as an... apology of sorts due to the breakout."
Hermione could not wrap her head around it. Apology? Terribly sorry our potential covert breakout destroyed your mansion... here's some money to rebuild it. In what world did that make sense?
It clearly made some sense to Narcissa.
"What do I get in return?" She asked, her voice as cold as her gaze.
"I would personally guarantee public funds and security for the Ward upon completion. We would make sure to keep it running long-term."
Narcissa's lips pressed into a thin line.
"And if I refuse?"
Kingsley steepled his hands onto his desk, meeting Narcissa's icy gaze in a deliberate challenge.
"The Ministry could make things harder."
"Kingsley!" Harry barked from behind the Minister. "That was not the agreement!"
Hermione seethed in her seat, but Narcissa raised a hand, stopping her and Harry from speaking up further. She stood, elegantly, and Hermione was quick to follow.
"I will think about it." She said venomously, stepping out with Hermione hot on her heels after a last glare to the Minister, for good measure.
"I cannot believe Kingsley had the gall to drag you into this!" Hermione hissed as they apparated onto the castle grounds, arm in arm for Side-Along. They walked briskly to the castle, though Narcissa remained silent for long moments as they approached.
"I mean, you're a civilian! And what was that earlier about zero government funding? I thought the Ministry would be all over creating another Wizarding hospital." She wondered aloud, still angry and admittedly confused about the whole situation.
"You thought wrong," Narcissa quipped, her mind clearly elsewhere. Hermione subconsciously followed her through the darkened corridors as Narcissa made her way to the Dungeons.
"I don't get it," Hermione finally admitted. "Why send you? Your estate was just attacked by Dementors—randomly or not, we still don't know. Why would that make you a good person to spy on people?"
"Probably because of my past connections to them," Narcissa said, brows furrowed. "Was the MacDougal girl right?"
Hermione shook her head, confused by the sudden redirection. "Isobel? About what?"
"The warding provisions" Narcissa said, sounding impatient. "Are you sure you didn't miss them?"
Hermione felt herself shrink in place. "I... I was. Now, I... I don't know." She admitted guiltily. "Narcissa, if I had anything to do with..."
"Spare me," Narcissa said brusquely, but with no malice. Her hand rested under Hermione's chin. "Forget what MacDougal said. Do you think you could have missed them?"
"I..." Hermione began, still thrown for a loop at the turn their conversation had taken, particularly with Narcissa's steely blue gaze boring so deeply into hers. Something about the conviction in Narcissa's eyes brought back some of her confidence. "I went over those wards with a fine-toothed comb. I didn't see any signs of warding provisions."
The statement was rewarded with a gentle kiss to her cheek.
"I believe you."
"I just... I just don't understand. I know there were no warding provisions, but the effects... they certainly look like warding provisions. I guess it's lucky the Minister was there to stop it before it destroyed the entire main house," Hermione said, still with a tinge of guilt.
"Would revealing the wards usually trigger such warding provisions" Narcissa asked, raising a hand to Hermione's lips before the brunette began rambling. "Provided they exist in the first place?"
Hermione smiled, gently removing Narcissa's hand so she could speak. "Not usually. I suppose different magical imprints could potentially trigger them, but that is exceedingly rare."
"So... let's imagine there were warding provisions you somehow missed in your very thorough research... a different magical imprint could potentially trigger them?"
"Correct," Hermione confirmed glumly, confidence in her research and abilities plummeting.
"Hermione," Narcissa whispered, sounding exasperated for some reason. "What was the first thing I did to you in your first visit to Black Manor?"
Hermione eyed Narcissa quizzically for a few moments. Narcissa raised an eyebrow, bringing their hands together. The mirroring silver scars on their palms jolted her memory.
"You bound me by blood to the Black estate!" Hermione yelped, realization dawning.
Narcissa smiled. "Meaning..."
"My magical imprint would be the same as any Black that set up the wards OR the provisions!" Hermione completed, thoughts running a mile a minute in her head. "Isobel doesn't know that."
Narcissa nodded solemnly. Hermione came to an unsettling conclusion, doubtlessly the same one Narcissa had.
They were being played.
