The haste with which Narcissa Malfoy sent her owl in reply stunned all three. Hermione had written in polite and formal terms requesting an interview in the strictest confidence about Fabian Prewett's liaisons with the Death Eaters, particularly romantic liaisons, to assist in a confidential investigation into his allegiances, expecting a firm rejection.
Mrs Malfoy eagerly welcomed them into her home and invited them to chat over tea. In her middle age she had taken on a slightly batty disposition, perhaps as a defense against all the allegations of evil wrongdoing to escape the arm of justice in the post-Voldemort world.
They were led into the most wondrous garden in this part of Wiltshire. It was warm and abuzz with colour and exotic spices from far flung regions. There was a distinct if somewhat colonial Indian theme to the garden, probably betraying parts of Malfoy history Hermione would rather not know.
Mrs Malfoy had the elves bring out the finest tea from all over in the daintiest bone china. Hermione was unable to restrain herself from asking if these elves were now in paid employ. Mrs Malfoy indicated the affirmative, though from her expression it seemed grudgingly so.
After several sips of a multilayered, aromatic tea and a few nibbles of the thinnest cucumber sandwiches, Hermione cleared her throat and began. "Please be assured, Mrs Malfoy, that everything you say will be in the strictest confidence."
"Oh, please call me Narcissa. And honestly, one doesn't mind if this gets out. One feels one is getting on, and one simply must tell this story before one loses it. Even if it is...it is..." She trailed off.
"It is?" Hermione prompted.
"...too late now!" Narcissa sighed dramatically.
Harry and Ron exchanged incredulous looks. Narcissa carried on, unaware of the reception to her melodrama. "Oh poor cousin Evan!" She sighed.
"Evan? Do you mean Evan Rosier?" Hermione prodded.
"Yes! Aren't we here to discuss Fabian's romantic liaisons? Ah! Cousin Evan was on the brink of redemption. If only they could be in love again and things went back to the way they were..."
From somewhere behind her, Hermione could hear Ron choking on a mille-feuille.
"Do you mean to say Fabian Prewett and Evan Rosier were romantically involved?" She questioned.
"Oh they were, back in Hogwarts, but they fell out in year seven. One maintains that they always had affection for each other even after and if only they would rekindle that flame..."
Ron began glugging down copious mouthfuls of exquisite osmanthus tea in a bid to restrain from choking.
"Please tell me more!" Hermione prompted through a forced smile. She was trying very hard not to break into laughter at her husband's behaviour but worried if she would first die of social embarrassment.