{ Chapter Six }

Six months later

"Five years it's been since the Final Battle. In that time, we've seen Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry rebuilt to it's former glory. We've seen most of the fine establishments of Diagon Alley restored and opened for business. And we've seen the young soldiers of that horrible war grow into fine, outstanding adults, many of whom protect us still today as members of the MLE."

A round of applause echoed through the Great Hall at the Minister's speech. Draco sat back in his chair with something that sounded a lot like a snort. As Kingsley continued to drone on and on about all of their accomplishments, Draco let his eyes roam. They really had done a fantastic job rebuilding Hogwarts. Aside from a few marks left as residue from dark curses, you could not tell a great battle had taken place there only five years earlier.

Once the speeches were finished, dinner was served. Draco sat at a table with Harry, Luna, Blaise and Pansy. Conversation stayed light between them, mostly they talked about their days at Hogwarts.

After dinner, Draco slipped away and began wandering through the halls. He ran his fingers over the stone walls, and down the wooden banisters. He didn't have a destination as he walked and he paid no attention to where he was going, so he was surprised when his feet suddenly stopped moving. He focused in on his surroundings and groaned slightly to himself when he realized exactly where he was.

The fourth floor hallway.

There was no sign of the destruction that had been there during the battle. He ran his fingers across the stone silently as he replayed the scene in his mind. He spun around quickly, wand drawn and pointed at the empty hallway behind him.

He didn't remember every spell, every block or every parry.

What he did remember was the pure adrenaline rushing through his veins. He remembered the acceptance that he was going to die. He remembered the determination that he was taking that bitch with him.

He remembered standing, frozen in shock as Hermione jumped in front of a powerful curse that was meant for him. He remembered being shoved around the corner. They had both stumbled to the floor and he had reflexively wrapped his arms around her shoulders, protecting her from the falling stone and debris.

He opened his eyes to find that he was once again sitting on the stone floor. Only this time he was alone, and the threat they had faced then was now a distant memory.

"Is there a reason why you're sitting on the floor in the hallway?"

Draco jumped, reflexively reaching for his wand before his mind could tell him there was no threat in the woman standing in front of him.

"I'm just thinking, Mother."

"Yes, well Malfoy's do not sit on the floor. Now stand up before someone sees you." Narcissa left no room for argument from her son as she stepped back to allow him room to stand.

Draco contemplated her for a moment, wondering what she would do if he didn't comply with her 'request'. With a sigh he realized he probably didn't want to know, so he pulled himself up and leaned against the stone wall.

"I don't like this place. It feels cold and dark." She was staring down the hallway, around the corner from where Draco had been sitting. She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling her cloak tightly around her shoulders for warmth. "Do you think a dark wizard died here? It feels like it, doesn't it?"

Draco regarded her carefully before nodding his head in response.

"That's where Bellatrix died, Mother." He watched as her eyes widened and she took two steps back, stopping only as her back hit the wall.

"How do you know that, Draco? They never gave any details of her death."

He sighed deeply, not sure how much he should tell her. Surely she wouldn't want to know the whole truth, would she?

"I was here when it happened." True. Very true. But certainly not the whole truth.

Her hand flew to her mouth, many questions tried to tumble out at the same time, but the one she finally decided to ask was "Who was it, Draco? Who killed her?"

He noted the excitement in her eyes and wasn't sure what to make of it. Would she really be happy to hear who killed her sister? She was a deranged lunatic, of course, but still, she was (unfortunately) a blood relative.

"Does it really matter after all this time?"

"Of course it matters! Whoever finally managed to kill her should be commended! They should have medals and statues and a holiday in their honor! Whoever it was, Draco, did the world a great service and should be recognized for that."

Draco laughed in relief at her words. For some irrational reason he thought, for a brief moment, that she would want revenge on the witch or wizard that killed her sister. He should have known better. For as long as he could remember his mother had hated Bellatrix.

"I hate to tell you this, but that will never happen. She more or less killed herself."

"More or less? What does that even mean?" She narrowed her eyes at him, but allowed him to lead her away from the fourth floor corridor.

"It means that she cast a reducto spell that was deflected and it brought the ceiling down on her head."

She stopped walking, then, forcing him to stop as well. He gave her a questioning glance and was surprised to see her face had gone pale, her pale blue eyes wide.

"I've seen her use that spell many times, Draco. It would take a very powerful shield charm to deflect it. You didn't have that kind of power five years ago. I'm not entirely sure you have that kind of power today."

Draco gave her his patented smirk, to which she raised an eyebrow and waited.

"Thank you for that vote of confidence, Mother. Truly, I'm touched. You might recall that I never claimed to have cast a shield charm."

If possible, Narcissa's face went even paler and she reached out to the wall for support.

"Are you okay?" He grabbed her arm and led her to a bench situated along the wall. She sat down slowly and he noticed that she was trembling. "Mother? What is it?"

"Who was the curse intended for, Draco?" Her words were barely whispered and she was shaking like a leaf.

He sighed deeply. He never should have said anything to her about it.

"The curse was intended for me." He ran his fingers through his hair. "It was five years ago, Mother. As you can see, I'm perfectly fine. I'm alive and she's dead. There's no point in dwelling on the what-if's now."

Narcissa took his words to heart and slowly began to calm herself. A few deep breaths and she was back to normal, cool and collected.

"Who cast the shield charm?"

He sat frozen in mid-movement for a moment before slowly lowering his hand to his side.

"Honestly, I'd rather not say." His eyes implored her not to press the matter any further than that. She studied him for a long moment before nodding her head in ascent.

"Very well. Someday, however, I would like to properly thank this person for saving my son's life."

"Of course, Mother. Someday I hope you'll have that chance."

Later that evening, Draco found himself alone in the library at Hogwarts. It had been rebuilt beautifully. After the battle there had been nothing left. The wall had been smashed down by one of the giants. The shelves had all toppled over. Many of the books had been destroyed. Now it looked exactly the same as it had before the battle.

He remembered after the battle, when everyone was taking stock of the damage, he had wandered into what used to be the library. She was there, sitting in the seat that had become her seat over the years. She was devastated. He knew that the tears flowing down her face were not solely meant for the library. It was a mixture of relief that it was over, sorrow over the friends that had been lost, and anger any of it had to happen at all.

He had slipped out of the room unnoticed, recognizing her need to be alone in that moment. As he stood there again, five years later, he wished that she was with him. He wanted her to see how well it all turned out. He wanted her to know that it wasn't all for nothing.

He had managed to track down every book, journal and article on her list, with the exception of the last two. They had all been similar accounts of women that had been subjected to the Perfect Wife curse. In every case, the woman had died young, either as a result of her husband's death, or as a result of an unexplained accident. Every account that he read caused a surge of fresh anger coursing through his veins.

It appeared, by all accounts, that the curse acted much like the Imperius Curse. The wife is compelled to act a certain way, even if she doesn't want to. By the journal entries it appeared that the wife was always aware of the fact that she was not in control of her own body.

He tried to imagine what that would be like. He could only imagine that for Hermione, who was a strong-willed witch, it would be complete torture. She wasn't taking it lying down, though. True to her nature, she had researched this curse, looking for any and all clues as to how it works. He could only hope that in the last two entries on her list there was also a clue as to how to break the damn thing. By his count, he had roughly six months left to her deadline, and he wasn't entirely sure that was enough time.

The second to the last item on her list was a newspaper article written in 1915. It was entitled "Perfection is not so Perfect After All". He had already searched through the archives at the Wizarding Library, but to no avail. His next obvious choice was to check in the Hogwarts library. So as the party in the Great Hall continued, he once again found himself searching through the stacks.

He had resigned himself to spending the rest of the evening in the library, but he was surprised to find the article he needed in the first fifteen minutes of searching. There it was, lying on the top of the stack labeled "1900-1915".

He laid the paper out on the table and started reading.

Nicolaus Wayland was a young man when he married his wife, Elizabeth. He was nervous about their nuptials as he didn't have much experience with women. Also because this was to be an arranged marriage and he knew nothing of his betrothed. He confided in his older brother, Jonathon, before the wedding. Jonathon gave his brother the same advice that had been given to him by their father. To ensure a happy marriage, you must perform an ancient marriage rite known as 'The Perfect Wife' on the same night as your marriage bond.

Nicolaus thanked his brother and performed the marriage rite just as he had been instructed to do. He was pleased that his wife always kept the house clean, always had dinner ready for him. She always looked beautiful and satisfied him at any time he desired. He was quite happy with their marriage and came to care for Elizabeth a great deal.

However, as the years passed, he came to realize that something was missing in their relationship. Though she was always available for him, he felt no warmth from her. She simply did not seem happy. Nicolaus himself did not feel as though he had a companion, he began to feel more like he had a servant. This did not sit well with him.

He began trying to figure out what was wrong with his wife. Why was she so unhappy? He found his answer in the form of her journal. He read the words she had written, explaining how she wanted to tell him to go to hell, but she simply couldn't do it. She wrote that when she was sick and her body physically couldn't move without pain or discomfort, she still felt compelled to cook and clean and dress herself up to look 'presentable' for her husband. He realized he had never once known her to be sick. She wrote that she hated him for taking away her free will.

Nicolaus was heart-broken. He had never realized the marriage rite he performed would have this kind of effect on her. He began researching the rite and trying to find a way to break the curse. After many years of searching, he found nothing.

Elizabeth slipped into a deep depression and he realized that he needed to do something drastic or he would lose her forever. In a move of desperation, he petitioned the Wizengamot to have their marriage bond disolved. Eventually the Wizengamot approved and the marriage bond was disolved. With the disolution, the curse on Elizabeth was broken.

After eight years of marriage, she was once again able to think for herself, control her own movements. She was grateful to Nicolaus for finding a way to undo the horrid marriage bond, and she fell in love with him. A year later the two remarried, without a curse binding them together, and they lived happily ever after.

The two devoted the rest of their lives to educating young people of the horrors of "The Perfect Wife". They also petitioned the courts for a solution. Years after their deaths, their son Joshua was able to finally get legislation passed, though the usefulness of the legislation has yet to be seen.

The moral of the story, of course, is that nothing is perfect. If something appears to be perfect, of course, dig deeper.

Draco re-read the article twice before making a copy and placing it in his robes.

Legislation had been passed.

There was a solution.

Tomorrow he would find the last entry on her list. He had no doubt it would be the legislation that was mentioned in the article. It was the last piece of the puzzle.

Feeling more optimistic than he had in years, he returned to the party in the Great Hall and let himself kick back and relax.