On the coast of Fetlar in the Shetland Islands, two disheveled figures appeared at the apparition point outside a centuries old Viking tower that had long outlived its original purpose. The lightning storm cracked louder than the sound of their arrival and frothy waves rolled quickly to shore from winds ripping over the water off the coast. Not that they really needed such cover to avoid being seen. The island held a sparse population and the nearest settlement was miles to the south. Not many tourists would travel this far north of the main town of Houbie during a storm just to see old stone walls and towers.
The two wizards groused about the weather as they sloshed through the slippery grass towards the structure.
"Bloody weather," said the first, a flash of lightning revealing his gaunt face and sunken, exhausted eyes. "Everyone's 'ere tonight, ya think?"
"The fuck I know!" snapped his companion. "Be happy this place isn't compromised. 'Bout time we got this sorted so we can meet often and such."
They trudged up the muddy path and passed through the rectangular entrance of the tower finding cover from the rain. Inside was quite stuffy from humidity and mildew seizing the stone work. Patches of green sprouted from varying corner rocks to reach out and over take its neighbors and old piles of leaves and grass were scattered about on the ground form old nests.
The surlier of the two stopped by a particular patch of wall that looked no special than the rest. He raised a hand and pressed his damp fingers against the cold surface.
"Bluebottle!"
The stone grated along the ones it surrounded as it pushed inwards, stopping halfway. Nothing else happened of note until the two wizards passed through the wall with ease, the barrier no longer blocked by magic. The two appeared on the other side in a room much like the space they had left - except it was far larger to accommodate at least a dozen people. A fire crackled and popped, giving the dank, darkened room, a comforting feeling and warming their chilled bones. Two torches flanked the only other doorway here that led to a short hallway and adjoining room.
In the middle of the room was a dining table, the surface rough with grooves and knots from the tree it was created from, with a bench on either side of it. Other wizards and witches milled about the room, conversing with one another. They appeared just as disheveled and bone weary as the two that just arrived.
As the room was cramped, the two wizards shuffled between the others and took a seat at the table. The timid one took the pitcher of water and shakily poured for them.
"Oh come off it." His companion scolded, snatching the tin cup from him. "Ya acting like a nutter. We're fine. Aurors can't find their way to their own arse nowadays."
"I know, Cox," he said reluctantly, not at all agreeing as he looked at the wall that they passed through as if the Aurors were about to burst through at any moment. "Just … we almost got caught back in Ormskirk when that fucking weasel Auror showed up with his friends!" He clutched at his sleeve jacket, nervously rocking on the bench as he remembered. "We're lucky to escape!"
"Aye, I know, I know, Dodger," Cox said, placating him. "We're lucky we didn't get caugh - like Miggs and Drake. But that doesn't matter now, eh? We're so close to getting things righted. Get revenge on those fuckers!" He grinned from ear to ear before giving his friend a serious once over. "Sides. Ya know it's this or Azkaban. And fuck that I say!"
There were voices that chimed in, murmuring with agreement, but one cut through the din of the chatter with a commanding presence and small applause. The wizard owning that voice shifted from the shadows wearing once expensive, proud, black robes trimmed with an intricate design of silver and gold, long dulled with wear and weather. Never would Antonin Dolohov, a wizard of high status, have frayed sleeves and speckled patches throughout his clothing if the Dark Lord had won. His dark hair had grown past his shoulders over the years giving more prominence to his long face that still exhibited the same light stubble.
"And quite right you are in that," he said with dark eyes that offered something that hadn't been there in a long time. Not since Voldemort was at the height of his power during the second war. Hope. "We've haven't skirted capture all these years for nothing."
He came to a stop at the head of the table, angling forward with palms on the knobby surface to address everyone. "I assure you it hasn't been in vain. And it's why I called you all here tonight."
He smiled viciously, eyes filled with promise.
"Things are finally in place for us to strike back at our enemies."
"Are you really sure about this, Mother?"
Draco was hovering in Narcissa's study and watched her methodically pack up her belongings with simple flicks and waves of her wand. Scrolls rolled together, sealed ink boxes stacked gently against volumes of academic and personal books hovering through the air to be packed neatly in the slate trunk.
She regarded her only child with motherly affection, being quite patient with Draco despite his endless probing! "Quite sure, sweet one."
With a careful eye, she sorted through bottles and drawers of a dark mahogany apothecary box, noting what ingredients had to be replenished when she arrived at Hogwarts as Draco continued to fuss. A scroll hovered midair with a quill hastily scribbling down what was needed when Narcissa recited which ingredients were low.
"And you're really happy about the taking the position?"
"Hm …" She plucked a vial and scrutinized it, clearly ignoring him. "Definitely need more rat spleen."
The quill scrawled across the parchment adding that to the list.
"Mother?" he pushed.
"No matter how many times you ask, or how you rephrase the question, the answer will always be the same." She set the vial back down with finality. "I'm quite delighted to be the new Potions professor at Hogwarts. This is the perfect opportunity to make use of my skills. To be a mentor for the children of our house, Draco. This is an honor."
Her eyes brightened as she tapped the apothecary box - drawers slid closed and the doors on either side swung inwards. A small click was heard when the brass lock secured the contents within. After setting down her wand, Narcissa grabbed either side of the case and carefully brought it over to the trunk herself. Her Potions mentor, Sage Wolpers, had gifted the cabinet to Narcissa on the successful completion of her mastery. It was one of the few items that she earned without using the status as a Black or the name Malfoy being attached to it.
She would treat the position of Potions Master at Hogwarts and Head of Slytherin House the same. It was all hers. The success and failures would be hers, and hers alone, and she quietly reveled in that fact despite Draco's concerns.
It wasn't entirely his fault. All he knew of his mother was being Lady Malfoy, the mistress of Malfoy Manor, wife to Lucius Malfoy, mother to Draco Malfoy - raised to believe that Narcissa would only amount to the successes of the family she married into. Only after the Second War did Draco realize who truly held the family together over the years. Narcissa was instrumental in brokering leniency given to Lucius by the Wizengamot after the last war, and then used her subtle influences to organize contracts through her husband that solidified the name Malfoy as the powerhouse in the wizarding world.
Yet old teachings were hard to break, even for Draco, who was unused to seeing his mother in this light.
"I'd think you'd be happy for me," she mused, shooing off Draco when he wanted to help put the case inside the trunk. "And you don't have to be worrying about me either. You should be spending more time with your wife here. You'll have the entire manor to yourselves."
She continued as she gracefully knelt beside the trunk, securing the case. "You're both newlyweds for Salazar's sake! Enjoy this time together instead of fretting over me. You do it far too much, Draco."
He winced at the scolding tone his mother took, knowing he was guilty of hovering around her - like now. It didn't help that she was also right. Astoria had not disguised her feelings about the very same issues that Narcissa brought up. His courtship with his wife had been lovely, both falling for each other quickly. After they married and Astoria moved into the mansion, she immediately saw where Draco's mind drifted for most of the day when at home. That needed to change, and it was going to change whether he accepted it or not.
"I'm more than capable of taking care of myself. Contrary to what the public eye may believe," she added, rising to her feet and retrieving her wand. "Or my son."
She resumed packing the last of her things - smiling brightly at the framed photo of a recently taken photograph of her and Draco. Narcissa was standing beside him, hand gently clasping her son's shoulder. They started off smiling towards the camera and then looked to one another with their smiles widening in true warmth.
"You're right," he finally said with a supportive smile. "If this is what you want, then this is what you were meant to do."
He sighed and reached out for her hand, taking it with a gentle squeeze. "I've been a prat about this. Apologies, Mother."
Her irritation with her son melted away and all was right between them. It's not as if she could stay upset with him for too long. "My sweet boy." She pulled him into a hug, which Draco returned tightly. "Thank you for accepting this."
"Still not sure of that Professor Astrum though. Seems a bit dodgy for a Hufflepuff," he naturally ribbed since Draco was still baffled that his mother had ever been friends with one.
She shoved him away playfully, her tone one of scolding despite the smile Narcissa was trying to fight. It didn't help Draco was laughing! "Had to ruin the moment! Didn't you?"
The school year was to start in two days. Returning students would be filling the halls as the first years would take the boats across Black Lake to the castle - all full of excitement, trepidation, and awe in seeing the castle for the first time. Professor Hermione Granger would greet them outside the Great Hall and lead them in procession towards the awaiting Sorting Hat - a tradition, and great honor, passed down to her from McGonagall.
For now, the castle buzzed with last minute preparations. House Elves were busy in the kitchens preparing for tomorrow's feast, teachers were making sure their classrooms were immaculate, and even the portraits were making wagers amongst each other as to which unfortunate dormitory Peeves would torment first.
Hermione was enjoying the atmosphere and took it all in as she walked towards the Great Hall for afternoon meal. She was always excited the day before term was about to begin and that hadn't changed as a Professor. As a student, she always checked and double checked everything in her trunk to make sure she was prepared the night before taking the Hogwarts Express to school - a fact that Ron and Harry, mostly Ron, teased her about. It was a good habit that did right by her because Hermione wasn't a certain forgetful redhead having to beg Fred and George to pick up supplies for him during a Hogsmeade trip in their second year. She had plenty of extra parchment and ink that she could have lent him, but it felt good to see Ron sweat it out for a time. As a Professor, not much had changed except there was exceptionally less teasing, basically good-natured professional ribbing, and sadly, the trips to the Burrow had stopped. Ron solidified that due to his boarish attitude after the breakup.
She hated how that turned out and missed the rest of the Weasleys. Molly still invited her to all the celebrations and Hermione politely turned each one of them down. Except for this last invitation. This weekend was Bill and Fleur's party celebrating baby number three and declining the invitation had been repeatedly postponed with last minute beginning of term plans interfering with a Hogsmeade visit to send the gift. She made note to do that tonight.
"Hey Professor 'Mione!"
The Gryffindor blinked with momentary confusion, the nickname bringing her back to the present. She turned around and grinned so brightly as she realized who said it. "Harry!"
They hugged each other in a bone crushing hug, it being far too long since the last.
"Oh, it's so good to see you!" she exclaimed before gently pushing him out at arm's length to give him a proper look.
Harry's unkempt brown mop was overdue for a haircut and behind his spectacles were the beginnings of bags under his eyes. She frowned. "You're here on Ministry business?"
"Can't put anything past you," he confirmed with a tight smile. "Though it's not bad. I swear."
She regarded him shrewdly before chastising him. "You're a bad liar, Harry. You look like absolute rubbish."
He shook his head in partial defeat. "No, really. It's not that bad."
Hermione eyes threatened to probe further, still unconvinced by that explanation. "Geesh 'Mione. You're worse than Ginny with the interrogating eyes."
"Then tell me what's wrong," she prompted, linking their arms together as they walked.
"Same problem as always." His voice held something that Hermione had not heard in recent memory. Resignation. "We get so close in finding the last of the Death Eaters. So close… but they're so just damn crafty. Even now. It's frustrating."
It was five years after the defeat of Voldemort, and the Aurors were still no closer in capturing the few left in hiding. Lupin's murderer was still free, and that truth was slowly eating away at Harry. Hermione just let her best friend vent, knowing there was nothing she could say that would help him. Rambling off empty, placating words certainly wouldn't do.
"I'm sorry." She meant it, squeezing his arm.
"Yeah, me too," he agreed and sighed heavily, regrouping his thoughts and changed the subject. "So, yeah. Just need a word with Professor Astrum 'bout a small matter. Why I'm really here. Was also hoping we'd run into each other. Otherwise, I was gonna hunt you down after."
"Well, aren't you sweet," she said with a disarming smile that made Harry believe he was in the clear. He was wrong. "Still, not sure why my best friend doesn't come to see me first when he needs help though. Just because I'm not at the Ministry anymore, doesn't mean I can't," she admonished with just enough force to make him flinch.
"It's not like that at all," Harry defended. "Astrum's been helping the Ministry with identifying dark artifacts in her spare time. As a favor to Kingsley."
Professor Astrum was just Nikole Astrum during the Second Wizarding War and a member of the Order of Phoenix. Her helping an old friend, and the current the Minister for Magic, didn't surprise Hermione in the least. "Fair enough. But that doesn't explain why you need to deliver a message in person to her. Why not just send an owl?"
"Because the Ministry isn't going to just send dark objects by owl, 'Mione. That wouldn't be very smart now, would it?" he said matter of factly, eyebrows raising well into his messy bangs.
"You have it with you?" she said with far too much excitement. "Could I ta-"
"No," he quickly answered and chuckled. "No, you can't. But… if Astrum's unable to crack it, I'll see what I can do to loop you in. Deal?"
"Deal!" Her excitement slowly veered into a hopeful look, eyes trying not to be too desperate. "Also … since you're here. Perhaps I could ask a favor?"
"Course. Anything," he said without hesitation.
"I've got a present for Bill and Fleur. Mind bringing it with you to the party?"
Harry could not hide his look of disappointment. "I thought you were actually coming this time. Molly too since you didn't owl back right away. We were … hopeful."
"Damn." Hermione muttered, feeling terrible. She stopped them just before the Great Hall, keeping enough distance for privacy as other professors were filtering in for lunch. "I'm really sorry, Harry. I was going to owl her tonight that I wasn't going to come. I just got distracted with work here."
"We miss you," he said with a sad smile that deepened the frown on Hermione's face. "We understand it, you know. So, don't fret on it. Just … not the same without you at the Burrow. It's been almost -"
"Three years," she finished quickly. "I know." Hermione dropped her arm from Harry's to run fingers through her brown mane, clearly agitated. "I want things to go back the way things were. I really do. Just …"
She trailed off, unsure of what to say because what was there to say that Harry didn't know? Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, two members of the infamous Golden Trio, heroes of the Second Wizarding War, had fallen in love. What a romantic turn of events that should have ended with happiness. The news of their engagement had made the front page of The Daily Prophet and the wizarding world eagerly waited for one of the biggest weddings of the century - as Rita Skeeter had written.
There was no happy ending to the story.
Harry silently stepped towards Hermione for a hug, one she desperately returned. "He still writes me you know," she admitted quietly. "Not all the time, like before. Just … occasionally."
Harry crinkled his nose, working his jaw. "He's a fucking idiot." He paused, unsure of what to do with that information. "Want me to talk to him again?"
"He doesn't even listen to his own mother!" She pulled back and laughed grimly. "What in Godric's name can you do now that hasn't worked before?"
"Despite him being a complete arse in all of this, he's still my best mate. Maybe I can get through that thick skull of his to finally back off and move on. We were all friends first and he needs a good reminder of that. And to be honest?" he leaned forward and squeezed her hands. "As much as it might not be possible now, I hope for a time we can all be together again properly. Keep things in the past where they belong and be a family. May not be the family that we all thought, but … maybe it can be a good one again."
Hermione liked the sentiment and wanted that too. She fought a small smile at Harry's optimism. She understood where it was coming from and why Harry wanted to see the people he considered his brother and sister on speaking terms again - even years later - and the Weasleys were a second family to her too.
"Alright." She freed a hand and held it up in caution. "I'll let you have a go with this. I'm reluctant to do so considering it all, but … what you said? It really does sound nice. In theory though. It all depends on Ron's willingness to behave and be respectful. If he can't? Then I just can't be around him at all."
"I get it, "Mione. Really. And I wouldn't force you to either. We'll take it one day at a time." He pecked her cheek with promise. "Now I hate to do this, but I'm late. Supposed to see Astrum already. You're okay if I go, right?"
"Yes, for heaven's sake I am!" She asserted and brown eyes grew wide with guilt. "And you let me sidetrack you with my mess! Harry you should've stopped me!"
"Never. Always have time for you," he said, slowly backing away. "We'll continue our chat after my meeting. Get your gift too, alright?"
"Yes, yes. Now go!" she ordered. "Before it gets ever later!"
Harry couldn't help laughing as he started to head off at a brisk pace. "Yes, Ma'am!"
She grinned ear to ear watching him, feeling quite content after the charged conversation they had. Hermione didn't want to get her hopes at all, but Harry had a way of making her believe that some positive resolution may come from this.
"Oh, Professor Granger! What excellent timing in finding you here!" The excited voice belonged to Horace and it couldn't be contained.
Hermione turned her head to see him and the smile that Harry had a hand in making disappeared when eyes fell upon the woman that was accompanying Horace. His companion was taller than Horace, wearing dark blue robes trimmed with white that were clearly custom made to fit her slender frame. Perfectly straight blonde hair was worn down and cascaded past her shoulders, framing her face that accentuated high cheekbones. Blue eyes immediately sought out the brown ones staring her down in true Gryffindor pride. The Transfiguration professor was not hiding her mistrust of the new Potions teacher.
"You can accompany Ms. Black and I," he started, giving Hermione a gleeful squint and missed her look of dread. "Help welcome her to Hogwarts over lunch."
Narcissa inclined her head, not deterred by the bristling lion before her. Hermione's reaction was natural and warranted with their history. Still, she wouldn't back down from those piercing eyes, but she would let the young teacher decide if she wanted to interact, choosing to remain quiet and let Hermione answer first.
"Of course," the brunette replied with a forced, but polite, smile, believing it better to get her initial meeting with Black as teachers over with. "Welcome, again, to Hogwarts, Professor Black."
The biting tone was not overlooked by Narcissa. She knew precisely what Granger meant by that because the last time the blonde was here was in battle.
"Thank you, Professor Granger. I'm looking forward to this opportunity," she said undeterred. "Perhaps you can share how your first year went as a teacher and Head of House? The way Horace talks about it, I shouldn't have any troubles. But… it's been a few years" she teased sweetly, making Horace chuckle. "I think his perception is a bit colored."
"Possibly," Hermione agreed with a guarded smile. Horace was eager to retire and may be talking up how easy the position would be, showering her with the same platitudes he liked to do with the powerful and influential. "I suppose we can chat about it a little."
"Splendid!" Horace clasped his hands together and ushered them forward, oblivious that two of his favorite students were in eying each other in silent conflict.