"What an unpleasant affair, this business with that girl."

Narcissa could only just hear her mother's strident little whisper over the crackling fire and the garbled sounds of the Wizarding radio, so engrossed she was in her book.

There was a rustle of newspaper pages, and her father's long, weary sigh acknowledging his wife.

"What business, dear?"

Druella made a rather strange sound; it was an eerie mixture of a scoff and an evil cackle. It made Narcissa glue her eyes to the page in front of her as she felt a chill running down her spine.

"Why, Cygnus, haven't you heard?" her mother said in a deceivingly sweet tone. "I would think you'd be well-acquainted with the matter; surely you and your associates have discussed it at some point."

Narcissa watched her father roll his eyes over the edge of her book. He folded his newspaper slowly and deliberately—reading was futile now that Druella had captured him in conversation.

"Evidently not," he replied, removing his reading spectacles and carefully wiping them clean with his embroidered handkerchief.

Druella smiled wickedly; her sharp, pointed fingernails tapped the black top of her writing desk with a loud, clacking sound that made Narcissa's stomach turn.

"That is most surprising; most surprising indeed," she drawled through her shark-like grin. "One would think you men would deem it appropriate; what must Lord McNair be going through in these trying times for his family?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Narcissa saw her father's jaw muscles twitch.

"We do not concern ourselves with these petty family matters," he said, his voice unnaturally hard.

Druella was not in the least fazed by his tone. She snorted a sarcastic laugh; her wicked smile widened eerily,

"One could hardly call what Letitia did petty," she argued, her voice cold, yet sardonically giddy in a strange, wicked way that made the hairs of Narcissa's arms stand as if she had been caught by a sudden chill. "Whoring herself around like a little worthless tramp, with no regard..."

"My dear," Cygnus interrupted with an angry hiss. He glanced at Narcissa momentarily; his gaze briefly connected with his daughter's before she quickly hid in the book she held like a lifeline. "Do mind your language in present company."

Druella scoffed, waving him off. Narcissa caught the glint of the fire reflected in her mother's rings with the dismissive gesture.

"Let her listen," she said venomously, turning to look at Narcissa with fire in her eyes. "She ought to know what will happen when she's old enough to be tempted to spread her legs open to scum..."

"Madam Black, you forget yourself; she's not yet nine!" Cygnus roared vociferously. "Spare her, and myself, of this sordid talk. I won't have it in my house. Enough." He growled, crumpling his newspaper in his fist.

His wife sniffed haughtily. "You are far too soft on them, Lord Black," she sneered, using his title in the most pejorative way Narcissa had ever heard. Her mother turned her gaze towards her, and she immediately wanted sink into the ground. "In a few years, if you're not careful, they'll be the ones birthing bastards like brooding mares, tainting the good family name."

Narcissa was frozen under Druella's gaze; she did not even dare breathe in fear until her mother turned to look back at Cygnus with disdain in her eyes.

"Mark my words, Cygnus. Your weakness will breed little whores who will bring nothing but shame to your House and your name..."

"I said enough!" Cygnus whispered, his voice lowering in a warning that went unheeded.

"As you wish," Druella quipped mockingly. She stood, menacing and imperious in her full height. She turned back to Narcissa, eyes narrowing.

"Come along now, child," she drawled, and the chill of her voice made Narcissa's hands tremble in fear. "It is time for your lessons."

Narcissa swallowed, trying to stop her shaking hands. She made to stand, but was clearly not quick enough to satisfy her mother.

"Now, I said!" Druella screeched, startling Narcissa so badly the book she held on to so tremulously tumbled to the floor with a loud thump.

"Narcissa, stay where you are."

Cygnus' commanding whisper stopped both witches in their tracks. Druella's eyes widened in a viscerally angry expression; the prominent veins of her neck pulsated, a visible sign of her wrath. "I beg your pardon?"

"There will be no lessons today," her husband said calmly, carefully unfolding his newspaper and straightening the crumpled edges. He perched his spectacles atop his nose with a hum of satisfaction as he began to read again.

Druella's lips pressed into a dangerously thin line; her left eye began to twitch in utter fury.

Narcissa looked at her mother, cowering under her wrathful gaze, then turned beseechingly to her father, who continued reading without sparing his wife another glance.

"Don't be ridiculous," Druella hissed, holding out a hand for Narcissa to take. "She will not miss her lessons," her voice was equal parts command and threat. "She likes her lessons; she wants to be a proper lady, don't you, Narcissa dear?"

Narcissa did not know where to look of what to say; her immediate response was a weak nod that only served to incense her mother further.

"Don't you, Narcissa?" Her mother repeated in an angry hissed, eyes narrowing further.

"Y-yes, Ma'am," Narcissa swallowed dryly against the lump in her throat.

"There; it is settled," Druella said through a worrying smile, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Come along now."

Narcissa hesitated for only a moment—just long enough for her mother to send her a warning glare and for her father to absent-mindedly turn another page of his paper. She put her book down; Druella stretched her arm out further in impatience. Narcissa had scarcely taken a tentative step towards her mother when Cygnus' voice broke the tense silence.

"You don't have to go if you do not want to, angel."

Narcissa thought her mother's eyes would pop out of her head—they went wide and white in unhinged fury at her husband's words.

"Your father seems to be under the impression that insolence is humorous," she squawked, her voice rising dangerously with every word. "Pay him no mind, Narcissa; come to me at once."

Cygnus lowered his paper and smile, patting his knee, beckoning Narcissa. "Come sit with me, angel. Show Papa what you've been reading."

Narcissa looked from one parent to the other, tempted by her father's kind offer, yet petrified by her mother's icy gaze.

"Narcissa," Druella insistent, voice stringent in a wrathful whisper. "Come to me at once if you know what's good for you. I forbid you from humouring your father's silly whims!"

Narcissa felt like she was about to cry; her bottom lip trembled in fear of her mother. Druella's eyes went white with rage.

"Come to me at once, you insolent, disobedient brat!" she shouted; Narcissa flinched.

Cygnus suddenly stood, dropping his paper to the floor as he towered over his wife and daughter.

"You forget yourself, Madam Black!" he said through gritted teeth, using his wife's title in an eerily derisive tone as Druella had done to him earlier. His voice was no more than an angry murmur, but there was a sudden authority in his tone that was unmistakable. It made Druella physically take a step back in shock.

"I am the Lord of this House, and you would do well not to question my authority," he drawled angrily.

Narcissa watched in utter amazement as her mother seemed to shrink in place, cowering at her father's tone. She had never witnessed such a thing. Druella's eyes were still openly defiant, but her posture had changed entirely as Cygnus straightened to his full height.

"Now," he continued, turning to Narcissa, who still stood in shock. His voice softened with every word he spoke. "Cissy, my darling. The choice is yours—would you rather go with your mother or stay here with me for a while longer?"

From behind her husband, Druella shot Narcissa another venomous glare; an open warning.

Narcissa flinched at the clear threat in her mother's eyes, but her father's smile was warm and his gaze was kind. "I..." she began, trying not to crumble under Druella's menacing glare. "I think I would like to stay and read," she finished shyly, looking away from her mother for a moment. "Just for a little while."

She could see her mother was fuming—her face was an angry shade of red, and her jaw was clenched so tightly Narcissa could see the muscles twitching as her mother glared daggers her way.

Cygnus clapped his hands, slumping back into his seat. "That's settled then," he said brightly, all traces of anger and authority evaporating from his voice. He patted his knee once again. "Come, little bird, show me what you've been reading so intently on your little perch."

Narcissa took her book, sending a worried glance towards her mother before making her way to her father and settling on his knees. She leaned against the comfort of his chest, feeling safe and warm, enveloped by the familiar scents of eucalyptus and pipe tobacco that were all Cygnus.

Druella fumed at the corner, hands balling into fists at her sides. Narcissa did her very best to ignore her, choosing instead to enjoy the safety of her father's arms.

"Mrs. Black," Cygnus said coldly after a few moments, watching Narcissa open her book and flip through the pages. He did not look at his wife. "Why don't you find a way to occupy yourself... elsewhere?"

His wife stormed out with an angry huff. Narcissa flinched when she heard the door to the study slam shut and the sound of her mother's angry footsteps pounding the stairs to the upper floor.

Narcissa felt her father's body relax with a deep exhale. He leaned back into his seat, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

"Cissy, sweetheart," he spoke after a few moments, his voice noe soft and serene. "What have you been reading today?"

She flipped the book's pages open until she found the one she looked for. "The Warlock's Hairy Heart," she said.

"Hm," her father hummed. "Will you read it to Papa?"

Narcissa smiled, her mother's fury forgotten. She leaned further into her father's chest and began reading as he listened, eyes closed and a little smile tugging at his lips.


She finished reading all of the Tales of Beedle the Bard. Her father's breathing was an even, deep, comfortable cadence at her back—Narcissa thought he may have dozed off while she read.

That was not the case. Once she closed her book after the Tale of Three Brothers, Cygnus let out a deep, rumbling chuckle.

"Thank you for the read, princess." he said, mussing her hair affectionately. "It was delightful."

"You're welcome," Narcissa replied, preening. Even though she hated when Bella messed up her hair like that, it was always alright when Father did it. It was one of his ways of saying 'I love you."

"I haven't heard these stories since I was about your age," he pondered aloud, his hand outstretched for the book on Narcissa's lap. She handed it to him with a smile.

The corners of his lips turned upward in a smile as he flipped through the pages, delighting in the beautiful illustrations that accompanied each tale. "Thank you for the delightful diversion," he said with an affectionate hug. "I've got a great deal on my mind, and this little interlude was of great help."

Narcissa smiled. "Better than reading the newspaper?"

He winked. "Much, much better."

She hugged him back, smiling. However, something had been nagging at her mind ever since her parents' frightening confrontation.

"Daddy," she began, uncertain. "What happened with Letitia?"

Her father's expression soured. Narcissa felt bad for asking, but she could not contain her natural curiosity: she knew Letitia; she was only a couple of years ahead of Bella at Hogwarts. She was a cheerful sort of girl—Narcissa remembered her as a guest at the Black Manor one summer; Letitia was happy to play with her and Regulus when most of the older children chose to simply ignore them. She was kind and bright, and always invented the best of games for them to play.

Cygnus exhaled unhappily.

"Letitia McNair is a young, impressionable lady who made some rather unfortunate choices."

Narcissa wanted to ask what he meant by unfortunate choices, but he seemed to anticipate her question; he held a hand up to stop her.

"You're a bit too young to understand it, sweetheart. But her choices will regrettably affect her entire family in a rather poor way," he sighed deeply. "I'm afraid your mother is right to expect only the best from you and your sisters. We must all strive to do right by the family, always, to remember the good of one person is not above the good of the family. Family is the most important thing."

Narcissa frowned, not much liking to hear that her mother was right in any capacity. Her father chuckled a little at her expression, but lifter her chin to tell her, very seriously.

"Remember, Cissy: family is everything."


Her father dismissed her shortly after their conversation so that he could tend to his affairs quietly in the study. Narcissa roamed the house, bored, chatting with family portraits and running giddily after rogue Dust Pixies that had miraculously escaped the House-Elves' meticulous cleaning.

It was lonely at home, with both Bella and Andromeda away at Hogwarts for most of the year. Sometimes her cousins Sirius and Regulus came to visit, but with them always came Aunt Walburga, whom Narcissa disliked intensely, even if the woman seemed to have an odd soft spot for her. She could find ways to quietly entertain herself most of the time, but eventually the solitude and silence got to her.

She couldn't wait to go to Hogwarts. Bella liked to tease her, saying she would be sorted into Ravenclaw, but Narcissa knew she would find a home in Slytherin. She could feel it in her bones. It wasn't far-fetched to think so—it was in her blood.

Her daydreaming was stopped abruptly short as she rounded a corner, nearly colliding with the waiting force of her mother, who faced her with a frigid, tempestuous expression.

"You will learn," Druella whispered acerbically, eyes clouded by unbridled fury, "to not ever disobey me, girl." Her hand grasped at the junction of Narcissa's shoulder and neck with bruising force, nails digging into her skin.

Narcissa blanched, heart suddenly in her throat, beating madly. Her knees went weak, but the sheer force of her mother's grip on her shoulder kept her from sinking into a heap on the hardwood floors.

"M-m-mother..." she stuttered, words evaporating into a whimper of pain as Druella's grip tightened.

"Insolent little brat," she hissed, forcefully dragging Narcissa up the creaky staircase of Charles House, to the upper floor sitting room. Narcissa held in her cries of pain; at every sound that escaped her, her mother's grip became more violent.

Druella dragged her into the sitting room, all the way to the far wall, where there was an intricate tapestry Narcissa knew by heart ever since she was old enough to talk: the prestigious Black Family tree.

"Look," Druella hissed, turning Narcissa's neck painfully to direct her attention to the tapestry. "Look at them; look at their names!"

Narcissa whimpered, holding back tears that stung in her eyes.

"Remember their names." Her mother continued. Narcissa held back a sob as her mother's grip tightened further still to punctuate her crazed statements.

"Don't take your place on this tapestry for granted, you loathsome, disrespectful little urchin. By sheer dumb luck, you were born into a noble station. Some of us had to fight for the Black name; you and your sisters were undeservingly born into it."

Druella's usually strident voice got lower and lower with every word she spoke, until it was nothing but a threatening murmur that Narcissa strained to hear.

"You must protect it, at all costs," her mother continued, her voice bitter. "The Black name may very well die with you, but its lineage must not be lost," she spoke resolutely. "Do you know what Letitia McNair did?" Druella asked airily, her clawed grip upon Narcissa's skin morphing into a menacing caress.

"I asked you a question, girl." Druella warned.

"N-no, Ma'am," Narcissa gasped out when her mother pinched her side painfully. "I don't know."

"Do you know what a whore is, Narcissa?"

Narcissa shook her head before remembering her mother could not abide by nonverbal answers. She rushed to speak before she received another pinch. "No, Ma'am."

"Well," Druella quipped, nails dragging over Narcissa's shoulders softly, but with bite. "I think it's time you learn... for educational purposes."

She turned Narcissa's body to face her, hands grasping at the young girl's cheeks and forcing her to look her mother in the eye. She held Narcissa in place by digging her pointed nails into Narcissa's cheeks.

"A whore is a woman with no principles or morals, who offers her body to any sort of scum who might want it for the sake of selfish pleasure. She spreads her legs to them, taking their filthy seed because she has neither honour nor shame, not for herself or her family. Do you understand, my darling?"

Narcissa nodded weakly, when really, she understood nothing at all. She was terribly confused by what her mother was telling her, but she dared not ask.

"Letitia," Druella continued spitefully, "is nothing but a dirty, shameful whore."

Narcissa desperately tried to make some sort of sense out of what she was hearing, but it was in vain.

"She took a mudblood into her bed," Druella said, voice dripping with intense disdain.

Narcissa's eyes widened at the word—her mother was always berating Bellatrix for saying it, because it was, in Druella's own words, dreadfully unladylike. To hear her say it now with so much venom in her voice made Narcissa's stomach turn uncomfortably.

"She took mudblood filth to bed, and now she's with child, carrying a disgusting half-breed in her rotten womb."

Narcissa gasped with shock; Druella smirked wickedly.

"In one fell swoop, that little tramp ruined her entire family—she has stained it, besmirched the honourable McNair name with filth and impurity—she is rot to the very root of the McNair family tree."

She turned Narcissa's head towards the Black tapestry, drawing her attention to a few burnt spots. "Tell me, Narcissa, my sweet," Druella whispered evilly at her ear. "What ought we do when a tree branch begins to rot?"

Narcissa could not answer; she trembled in place as her mother's nails dug deeply into her skin, drawing blood that trickled, hot and wet down her cheeks with her tears.

"We cut them."


As she watched the throngs of students filtering out of the castle and into the waiting Thestral-pulled carriages, Hermione felt a painful knot forming in her stomach.

There was just something—well, there were actually a great many things—that simply did not sit right with her. Perhaps it was all that mess with the Dementors and Black Manor. Perhaps it was the Ministers dodgy tactics and Narcissa's blasé acceptance of it all. Perhaps it was the easily overlooked fact that the End of Year Banquet had been fraught with an underlying fringe of anxiety and panic as students leafed through all the Wizarding newspapers that featured news of the terrifying breakout in bold black letters—all while the Headmistress made an honest attempt to relay a hopeful message of unity and strength; one eerily reminiscent of Hermione's own time as a student, when the threat of Lord Voldemort loomed heavy in the air.

No wonder she hadn't worked up much of an appetite.

It had been disconcerting and strange, to see the frightening—though admittedly ridiculous—headlines on papers scattered over the House tables over the last few days of term. The atmosphere that should have been bubbly with excitement with the approach of the summer holiday was dampened by nervousness and uncertainty.

Stranger still was seeing Astoria's article on the Phoenix Gazette. Even though Narcissa had explained to her the hows and the whys, Hermione still felt confused by the seemingly convoluted strategy Narcissa had come up with—she was beginning to realize there was a lot to the woman that she simply didn't know or see. It was odd to see Narcissa, so soon after the destruction of the biggest project of her lifetime, posturing—there was no other word for it—at the last banquet. She pretended everything was absolutely fine, commenting on the weather and food, humorously bragging about Slytherin winning the House Cup, and just generally acting as if nothing were amiss.

It threw Hermione, it really did, almost as much as when Narcissa had reverted to coldly calling her 'Ms. Granger' when Harry was present. It left her at a loss—she thought she had come to know Narcissa rather well over the course of the year, but evidently, she did not actually know Narcissa enough to keep up with her confusing actions, not even a little.

It was a rather small thing, a small insecurity that should have been all but completely insignificant, but Hermione had the terrible habit of letting little things like that fester until they consumed her from within.

She had left as soon as the banquet ended, needing some space away from everything and everyone. The Astronomy Tower had always been a grand place to stop, take in the breath-taking views, and think. She didn't know how long she stayed out there, leaning against the railing and watching the world go by around her. Surely it had been a few hours; the coming dusk began to tinge the edges of the horizon with pinks and purples, and the waning sunlight dappled the clouds with shades of orange.

Hermione felt Narcissa's presence before she heard her voice; she smiled, even if she did not quite know whether she was happy to see the witch or not.

"I thought I'd find you here," Narcissa said, her voice warm like the sun. Hermione's smile widened, even if Narcissa couldn't see her face.

"You were very quiet at dinner," Narcissa remarked as she approached Hermione, leaning over the railing herself.

Her very presence radiated warmth, and she looked so utterly beautiful under the colours of the twilight skies, Hermione's heart swelled in her chest. Happy; she was definitely happy to see her.

"I had a lot on my mind." Hermione said simply.

"Hm," Narcissa hummed, directing her attention to the rapidly thinning crowds of students making their way to the carriages. In the distance, a little beyond Hogsmeade, the thick steam of the Hogwarts Express rose in a dense column of smoke before dispersing into the horizon. "Yes," Narcissa continued after a few moments of serene observation. "Yes, I suppose you must have a lot occupying your mind at the moment."

Hermione chuckled a little. "I've got so much to think about, my head can't just pick one thought to focus on. It's quite annoying, really."

Narcissa smiled, still looking at the departing students with a pensive expression. She kept looking down, but angled her body slightly towards Hermione.

"Is there any way I could help you unburden your mind?" she offered.

"Ha, you can try, I suppose," Hermione laughed. Down below, she spotted one little blonde head, walking alone and far slower than the others, lingering on the castle pathway wistfully.

Narcissa focused on what had grasped Hermione's attention.

"William," she whispered as they both watched the young boy walk dejectedly to the carriages. "I do hope he is not returning to something awful at home."

Hermione nodded, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "We can only hope," she murmured, "I gave him my parents' address... In case he wants to contact me through the Muggle post."

Hermione heard Narcissa make a small sound of surprise.

"That was rather inspired of you," she commented, and Hermione could not help but preen a little at the praise.

They stood in silence for long, contemplative moments. The last students boarded the last carriages, and eventually, dusk fell, dappling the dark skies with starts, and for one moment, the whole world fell silent.

Hermione eventually broke it.

"I... I still don't understand several things." She said, directing her voice not to Narcissa, but to the void of the night that surrounded them. "Your old circles, tipping off the press... I..." she exhaled deeply, unsure. "I don't quite understand the reason."

Narcissa hummed, considering it for a moment. "Call tipping the press a conversation starter," she said, fingers tapping on the metal railing, nails producing soft clinks that echoed in the emptiness of the tower. "Putting me at odds with the Ministry gives me, finally, something in common with the people I used to associate with. It'll be an easy way to bridge old connections."

"But I still don't understand how you can be so certain that will work," Hermione reasoned. "You've been removed from those circles for far too long; what makes you think you'll be so easily accepted back?"

"I never said it would be easy," Narcissa said with a little sad smile. "But I know these people. I know how they operate, because in a way..." her voice drifted off, as if she were admitting something shameful. "That is how I operate as well."

Hermione frowned. "I suppose it's the how I don't quite understand." She confessed.

"Oh, that is quite simple," Narcissa said, finally turning and facing Hermione. The brunette turned towards her, caught off guard by the eager glimmer of those silver eyes. "They will come to me."

Hermione quirked a brow in confusion. "How?"

"Tipping off Astoria planted the seed," Narcissa explained. "The next thing to do would be to show myself at a big event—a big, Ministry-sponsored event."

Hermione gaped. "Oh, shit," she exclaimed. "The Remembrance Gala. It's next weekend! Harry told me to try to convince you to come."

Narcissa smiled widely. "Well, that's that job done, I suppose." She straightened against the railing. "Most of my old acquaintances will be present—several of them have to—they are mandated to do so every year as part of their conditional freedom."

"Conditional freedom?" Hermione pondered aloud, brows furrowing. "That... that's a thing?"

Narcissa nodded sombrely. "Several of the Death Eater wives went through separate, private trials of their own. While they were not Death Eater themselves, many were complicit in their husbands' actions—some reached agreements with the Ministry that may include surveillance, donations to Muggle-related charities, community services and the like."

"I had no idea." She turned a disbelieving look toward Narcissa. "What makes you think they'll just come to you at the Gala, though?"

Narcissa's smile became a little intimidating; her eyes were hard. Hermione wasn't sure what to think about the expression. "If there is one thing Purebloods love more than anything, Hermione, it is gossip."

Hermione laughed, not expecting that, not with the seriousness of Narcissa's gaze. The blonde softened at the sound of Hermione's chuckles, and the strange tension that had hung in the air between them evaporated.

"Well. I guess some fun must be had while there is a gaggle of Dementors on the loose," Hermione quipped sarcastically.

Narcissa chuckled. "Indeed. If you'd like, we can go to Diagon and find suitable evening gowns together." Her perfectly sculpted brows furrowed. "I believe I must update my wardrobe; I can hardly show up in teacher's robes."

Hermione giggled. "I'm sure you'd still look stunning."

Was that a blush tinging Narcissa's cheeks with pink? It was too dark to tell, but Hermione felt her lips tugging into a smile all the same.

"Thank you, Narcissa said." Her expression became serious after a moment. "There is, however, one favour I must ask of you—one not so enjoyable as dress shopping with me."

Hermione took a breath. "Hit me."

Narcissa leaned closer, a hand finding its way to Hermione's shoulder in a tentative, pleading touch.

"I would like you to pay our friend, Ms. Isobel MacDougal, a little visit at the Gala."

Hermione frowned, confused. "Why?"

That predatory glimmer in Narcissa's eyes returned; it sent a shiver down Hermione's spine.

"I don't believe, not for one second, that you missed something with the wards," Narcissa said, voice lowering to a menacing drawl that somehow made Hermione's knees weak. "It's time to find out who's playing us for fools."