On any given day, I can expect a number of significant visitors to my office. The Minister for Magic, for example, stops by nearly monthly. Usually because I've done something to upset someone, admittedly. I'd be hard pressed to go a week without Harry Weasley (née Potter) himself stumbling into my office to share (redacted) stories of his recent adventures as an Auror. I've more than once looked up to find the heads of various departments waiting patiently for me to finish some inane piece of paperwork or other.
My point is, I am not unused to significant people as company. Though, if you had asked me this morning if I expected Narcissa Malfoy to be sitting across from me an hour before I get off of work, I'd have laughed in your face. I may have come to terms with a lot of things in my life, but even my friendship with Draco is unsteady at best. The last time I remember looking Narcissa Malfoy in the eyes, she was standing behind Bellatrix Lestrange, looking disturbingly unbothered by the act of torturing a teenager. Now, though, she looks calm. Poised - hands folded in her lap politely.
We've been sitting across from one another in silence for nearly five minutes. I'm utterly baffled by this turn of events. Narcissa Malfoy, in the office of the Head of the Department for Magical Creatures. Sitting and waiting expectantly. As though I'm supposed to know precisely what she's here to speak about.
Looking into her eyes, I find myself drifting back to old memories. My scar itches. I force my mind back to the present, finally managing a sentence. "How can I help you, Mrs. Malfoy?"
If I had not grown so used to her resting face, I may not have noticed how her eyebrows knit ever so slightly together. Perhaps in confusion? The movement could've been a twitch, for all I know. Several seconds after the silence has once again become uncomfortable, she speaks. "I have come to request your assistance on a personal matter, Mrs. Weasley."
My eyes close slowly. I take a deep breath. "Granger." She inclines her head slightly in acknowledgement. I do not explain further. She does not need to know how many tears were shed over that particular change. "May I ask for further information?"
"As you may be aware, Miss Granger, a good many people have distanced themselves from my family and I. With the exception of Draco, we are effectively outcasts." I withhold a grimace of satisfaction. "I have come to the conclusion that I have very, very few people who may view me favorably." Mrs. Malfoy's face finally breaks its calm mask, briefly, in sorrow. "Up to and including my husband."
"I am sorry to hear that, Mrs. Malfoy, but I'm afraid that still doesn't explain why you're here. With me. In my office." She gives me a pointed look as though I'm rushing her. I suppose I am - this conversation isn't exactly pleasant for me.
"Black."
"I'm sorry?"
"Ms. Black. Please." The last word comes out slightly strangled like she'd had to force it out. Due to reluctance or emotion, it is hard to tell. It's my turn to nod in acknowledgement. "I admit, this is something of a last resort, Miss Granger. My sister, Bellatrix." I can't help but wince at the name. My scar, previously itching, now burns. I do nothing to soothe it. I do not want to show how it still affects me. "She's alive." It feels like the air has been robbed from my lungs. Internally, I'm transported back to the all-consuming pain of Crucio. I realize she's still speaking, so I force myself back into my mind. "Or, she might be. I need to find her. I need to see if I can bring her back."
"Absolutely not." I can't help how quiet, scathing, furious I sound. I can't believe the audacity of her to come to me for this. "I knew you were a selfish, vile excuse for a woman, but this? Asking me to help you save the woman that's haunted my nightmares for the past ten fucking years?"
Mrs. Mal- Ms. Black stands sharply, her face utterly, purposefully blank. "Have a good evening, Miss Granger. I apologize for taking up your time."
I silently seethe as the door swings closed behind her, using every ounce of self control within my grasp to not lash out with my wand and Bombarda the nearest fragile object. Several minutes of slow, deep breathing later, I manage to get my emotions back under control. I look down at my desk where a small pile of paperwork still remains. Even thinking of doing it makes my stomach twist.
I force myself through the remainder of my work more out of a need to do than anything else. By the time I sort my things into their places and make my way to the designated Apparition lobby, I feel mostly normal. Mostly. The faint buzz of anxiety and frustration still lingers just under my skin.
When I appear with a crack in my flat, I look around to see that Crookshanks is off… doing whatever he does. I quickly make my way to the bath where I plan to spend the next hour or two soaking to help decompress. Instead, as I turn the water on, a sharp, loud rap sounds at my door. Three quick taps.
Deep breaths, Hermione. Just get it over with quickly, whatever it is. I reluctantly turn the water off and make my way back to my front door. I leave my wand in the bathroom, just in case. I live in a muggle area - it's nostalgic.
I open the door to a painfully familiar face. Narcissa Black, again. Once again driving me into instant frustration. I keep my voice as level as possible as I speak. "What could you possibly want, Ms. Black?"
"To apologize. I… was perhaps insensitive-"
"Perhaps?" I get a sharp look for interrupting. I pay it no mind, forging onwards. "As I previously stated, you asked me to save the woman that tortured me."
"Yes, and that's why I am here to apologize. If you will allow me inside, I would like to properly discuss this. Instead of standing in the entryway where your muggle neighbors could hear us discussing the fact that you were, indeed, tortured." I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and step back, gesturing her inside. She's right, as much as I hate to admit it.
She makes her way to my humble living room - no more than a small couch, a chair, and a television. She sits on the chair, not even looking disdainful about the fact that it didn't cost me a small fortune. Though, I suppose, if her husband has cut her off, she may be lacking in luxury.
This time, Ms. Black speaks first. "I wanted to make it clear that I had no intention to dredge up the past. Surely, you realize that you were my last choice in this, not because of your ability, but due to history?"
Part of me is too startled by the outright compliment to register the rest of the sentence. "Regardless, I'm quite sure I never should've been on the list."
"You were not, initially. I exhausted every option I could possibly think of. Used every tactic I could to try and convince someone. Nobody listened, obviously." She pauses for several seconds, thinking. "Your life does not deserve to be forever tainted by the cruelty of the Dark Lord."
"The cruelty of your sister." A brief flash of pain crosses her face before she schools her emotions under control again.
"I suppose that is also true. We have very different understandings of who Bella," my scar flares in pain again, "was- is as a person. You only ever knew her at her worst, Miss Granger. Years of abuse and torture left her… broken. But that is beside the point, I concede. I never should have brought it up."
"No, you certainly shouldn't have."
For a long, quiet moment it seems like the conversation is over. Ms. Black will stand, Disapparate, and I will never hear from her again. Instead, she continues speaking. Her voice is quiet, broken - though her face remains painfully blank. "I want a chance to see my sister again, Miss Granger. Not the twisted, horrific woman that she became. You understand why that would drive me to extremes, yes?"
It occurs to me then that her own son is effectively her only family left. I know he has recently begun spending time with his old Hogwarts class. That must leave even less time for them to spend together. Even more time sitting… wherever she is now, waiting for some kind of connection. Some chance at hope.
Nobody is likely to go out of their way to befriend Narcissa Black. She will probably spend the rest of her long life almost utterly alone. Possibly even more so if Draco ends up becoming a real part of the group with myself and the others. My heart breaks a little for her. The news that her sister, whoever she may have been to me, might have come back must have been nothing short of true elation.
She walks past me, apparently leaving. I must have been lost in thought for so long that she was under the impression I had no response. Instead I reach out, grasp her arm lightly. She freezes in place, apparently shocked. Nearly a minute passes, by my count, while my brain tries to figure out why the hell I just did that.
I want to let go. To say nevermind or forget it. To break her heart even more. To return the favor of her watching me slowly broken. Instead, what comes out of my mouth is, "I- tell me about… her? The real her. I can't promise I'll help, but…" I have no idea what I'm doing.
A small, sad smile worms its way onto her face, and she sits down - next to me, this time, though at the far end of the couch. "One of the earliest good memories I have is Bella," I resolve to talk to Ms. Black about saying her name anymore - at some point, the pain will be too much to bear, "teaching me how to make bracelets from clover flowers. Not by hand, like muggles do, but… all the same, it was bonding. She used little games like that as a distraction from the pressures of our family."
Her sad smile is even sadder now. Her eyes well with unshed tears. "The first year she came back from Hogwarts, she would transfigure tiny, pointless objects into animals for myself and Andie to find throughout the house. Anything that wouldn't be missed or noticed - a spare button, a Knut dropped under some furniture, a small bit of wood if we were outside. It was her favorite little trick." She pitches her voice a bit to what must sound like her older sister as a child. "Look what big sis Bella can do!"
Her desire to speak of her eldest sister seems to wane, replaced by a profound sadness. "I hate the fact that I may never get to hear her like that again. Even I cannot get that damned cackling out of my head." Ms. Black stares off into empty space, looking pensive. Part of me wants to ask about the drawing room. I choose not to - now is not the time. After several moments, she lightly shakes her head before standing abruptly. "Thank you for listening, Miss Granger." She walks to the door as poised and proper as ever.
Not wanting to let her leave without hope, "Would it be too much to ask why you're starting to search now, ten years out? Whatever your reasoning is, it may be enough to give me the push I feel like I need."
Ms. Black turns and looks me straight in the eye before waving me over stiffly. "What I am about to share with you must never be spread among others, Miss Granger." She looks painfully serious.
"I understand, Ms. Black." I stand and walk over to her. She opens the door, leading me to a small storage closet - I assume she Apparated nearby my flat and walked over.
A thought occurs to me as we crowd into the unlit closet. "How did you find my flat, by the way?"
"Draco has been over to visit a few times, yes? I asked him under the pretense of having left something in your office and going to ask you to let me in to retrieve it." That really shouldn't be a surprise.
She offers a hand which I take. But before she Dispparates, she pauses. "Are you comfortable coming with me to the manor?"
"It's been ten years."
"That is not an answer, Miss Granger."
"I need to face it at some point. It's about time to just get it over with." Ms. Black nods, and we arrive in front of the Malfoy manor with a loud, echoing crack.
The manor is different from my memory, though that could simply be the distortion of horror and time. I've thought about this place hundreds of times, maybe thousands. Sometimes I wonder if it really was as horrific as the images my mind conjures, but I suppose I won't be learning that today.
Ms. Black rather stiffly releases my hand before starting into the manor at a brisk pace. I struggle to keep up, at first, but eventually find myself matching her step for step as she guides me past the drawing room without even glancing at it - her speed and seriousness hardly give me time to acknowledge it in my mind.
Eventually, I find myself standing with her in front of a wooden door that looks decidedly out of place - plain, unstained brown wood set with a golden handle. She pushes the door open and takes several steps in and turns so quickly that her robes billow out. "Welcome to the Malfoy library, Miss Granger." I can't help but wonder how she has access here, with the divorce, but that's not really my business.
"A book showed you something that makes you believe she might be alive?" I take a cautious step into the library, looking around in what I am sure is hardly-contained wonder.
"Not as such, but it is where I store certain important documents." She raises her hand, and a small black journal flies from the depths of the library to her hand. Wandless. Impressive. "Such as a prophecy I received several weeks ago."
"You received a prophecy?"
"I would not have said as such if I did not." She flips through several pages in the journal before removing a scrap of parchment and holding it out towards me. I approach and take it, twisting it to read.
A witch once golden seeks death, a bright witch rejects it
An unlikely union, Black and Strange
It's written in Ms. Black's handwriting - graceful and steady with tall, looping letters. She speaks, when she sees me look up. "I wrote it down as soon as I could, and I'm confident it means exactly what I think it means."
"The last line is pretty damning." I can't help the bolt of fear that grips me momentarily. Bellatrix Lestrange is alive.
No. Not necessarily. Ms. Black said that she wrote this. It's possible the lines aren't meant to be capitalized - "black" could mean any number of things in this context.
"So, Miss Granger. Is this enough reason?"
Being shown proof that Bellatrix Lestrange might be alive is more than enough motivation to make me search for her. She deserves to face her dues for what she did - to the Longbottoms, to me, and to so many others. "Yes. I'll help you. When I can, of course - I'm not exactly soaking in free time."
Ms. Black nods sharply, a very slight pleased curve to her lips. "I will owl you all the information I already have later tonight. As it stands, there is not much we can do from here any longer. I have exhausted everything in the Malfoy library, unfortunately."
When she does not continue, I gather that the conversation is over and turn to make my way out of the manor. Hopefully, I'll be able to find the path without too much trouble. "I'll be waiting for it, then. Goodbye for now, Ms. Black."
Upon arriving home, I sit in silent contemplation for some amount of time, almost completely lost in my mind. I've never seen someone as proud as Ms. Black so totally lost. An outcast on all sides, trying desperately to bring some kind of connection back into her life. She hasn't the resources she once did - money, perhaps, but not nearly as much. Connections? Power? All of those would have left her the instant that her lie was revealed.
And Bellatrix? There's no way she'd still be alive, right? Helping Ms. Black search could bring her some form of closure - even if it doesn't reunite her with her sister.
But why does Narcissa Black deserve that? She stood and watched me cry, scream, and break. She shows up in my nightmares, at times. Coldly, emotionlessly gazing.
Emotionless, not cruel. I'd seen earlier today how good she is at turning everything off. Was it an act? A coping mechanism? Self-preservation?
Complicity is guilt, though. Even if she did not condone their actions, failing to try and stop them makes her just as evil as the Death Eaters.
But if she had tried to stop them, she too would have been tortured - possibly worse than even myself. Not to mention what they would've done to Draco, or her Mr. Malfoy.
I let out a wordless shout of frustration. My thoughts are bouncing back and forth so much that I can't make sense of anything. I stand and march back to my wand and grab it, taking a steadying breath while I focus on happiness and joy.
"Expecto Patronum!" The otter flashes into existence after just a moment's hesitation. I can't help but frown slightly, though I don't have time to think about why my Patronus might be weak. I lean down to it. "Take this message to Ginny Weasley when she's alone. I'd like to invoke 'best friend law'. I have something of a conundrum and need someone to talk it out with. Come over? I'll buy food." The otter darts off, and several minutes later there's a loud crack from my living room.
"Hermione! I can't believe you invoked best friend law!" Ginny shouts the instant she's able. I make my way to my living room, already tensing in preparation for the hug that meets me as soon as I cross the threshold.
"Yes, yes. It was an emergency, and I couldn't think of a faster way to get you here."
"Okay! Food first, talk later. Harry was just putting food on the table when I got your message - I'm starving!" Ginny wanders off to sit at the small two-person table that makes up my dining area.
"Ginny, you didn't need to drop everything to come here. This could have waited until tomorrow, really." Despite my words, I sit across from her. It is something of a relief to not have to sit alone with my thoughts.
"Nonsense. Best friend law is serious business. Now, order something so we can get this really going." Ginny. Same as ever.
As soon as the dishes are Scourgified and put away, Ginny sits on the couch and excitedly pats the cushion next to her. "On with it, then! What's bothering the great Hermione Granger?"
Hm. Where to start? "Today, I had an… interesting visitor come to my office." While I pause to collect my thoughts, Ginny is gesturing (with increasing fervency) for me to continue. I decide to keep things vague, for now. "They showed up suddenly, unannounced, and asked me for assistance in a personal matter. They weren't someone I expected to see at all, and they asked for my help with something significant and very serious."
"Hermione, we both know I can't really help you if I don't know what the problem is. I'm not so good with hypotheticals."
"Too many bludgers to the head?" Ginny gives me a flat look, completely unamused. "Right, sorry. Nervous, bad jokes. Sorry, it's just hard to talk about this directly. I want to get an unbiased opinion, and - as much as I love you Ginny - I'm confident I wouldn't get one if I were more straightforward with this."
"I solemnly swear to try my best."
"Right, then. Draco's mother asked me to help investigate some kind of hint that her sister might still be alive."
Barely a full second passes before Ginny is on the floor laughing. "Oh, shit, that was good. Spot on delivery." She manages to calm down and pull herself back up on the couch, now sitting cross-legged facing me. "Seriously, what's going on?"
"I'm serious, Ginny."
"Oh. Well, obviously you said no, right?" I don't respond. Several tense seconds pass as Ginny's face grows increasingly concerned. "Right, Hermione?"
"Well, not exactly-"
"Hermione! How could you even consider helping her! And with that of all things?!"
"She's all alone, Ginny!"
"And she damn well deserves it, by my count! She's part of the reason Fred died. Remus, Sirius, Tonks, your parents."
That last one stings. "My parents aren't dead, Ginny."
"But they still don't remember you, 'Mione. Somehow that's worse, to me."
"It's beside the point! She didn't cause any of that, Ginny."
"She let Voldemort live in her home!"
"Mr. Malfoy is the Death Eater. I doubt she had any say in it."
"Even so!"
"Even so, we're looking at here and now. The only person who talks to her anymore is Draco, and since he's spending more and more time with all of us… she must be basically sitting and staring at a wall. Mr. Malfoy divorced her - she goes by Black, now."
"And that's supposed to make me feel bad for her? My brother died!"
I take a deep breath instead of continuing the argument. I see Ginny trying to rein her own temper - closed eyes, likely counting. When we've both come closer to normal, I speak again. "Look, Ginny. I'm going to talk you through my thought process here, and see what you think. I understand that you probably don't want her to see happiness - and I won't tell you that you're in the wrong for that."
"But?"
"But! I need you to at least try to see this impartially. She's… clearly troubled by the state of her life."
"You and your damn heart. Fine. Talk me through it."
"I've discussed her state of life. She's basically alone. Almost everyone on our side has branded her just as bad as her ex-husband. I'm not saying she was a saint, but she most likely was put into that situation - as opposed to choosing it for herself. More than that, her role in getting Voldemort killed has ostracized her from her prior social circle. I don't imagine Ms. Black was ever the kind of person to keep much company, but keeping none must be torture."
I pause, allowing Ginny a chance to speak if she wishes. "I'll concede that loneliness is not a fun fate," she eventually says.
"Her sister is a serious issue. Molly killed her, so we know for sure she's gone." I try to ignore the nagging voice at the back of my mind that whispers, Nobody ever found a body. "If she somehow survived, she'd surely have been found and ousted by now. Or, at least, passed into harmlessly insane. Searching for her can't hurt anyone. It will give Ms. Black closure on her sister's death - and it could ingratiate herself to some people, proving that," I grit my teeth and force the name out, ignoring the fire that roars up my arm, "Bellatrix Lestrange is dead." The fact that it could give me closure as well, I do not mention.
"That… is a very good point, I'll give that." I can see Ginny holding back an argument, and I smile appreciatively when she gestures for me to continue speaking.
"Whether or not Ms. Black 'deserves' my help, though, is another matter. She did stand and watch this," I gesture at my arm, "happen-"
"That alone should disqualify her from your company, 'Mione." I fix Ginny with a withering look for interrupting. She has the wherewithal to smile sheepishly in apology.
"But she never helped any of it happen. And beyond that, she didn't seem to enjoy it." I pause, hum curiously. "More accurately, she didn't seem to feel anything at all - and I have reason to believe that 'turning off' is her way of coping with difficult situations. It's possible she was just as distressed as one would expect her to be."
"Then why wouldn't she help?"
"That's a harder question to answer, Ginny. Any number of reasons. I doubt she could have saved me without risking her own life - or Draco's, for that matter. Given what she risked to save him at the Battle of Hogwarts, what would have driven her to save me that night? Beyond that, a strangely strong sense of loyalty to Mr. Malfoy and, by extension, the Death Eaters? Or even to her sister - Ms. Black did mention that they were very close as children, earlier. It's also possible that it was simple fear keeping her from acting. She's only human."
"Even so, complicity-"
"-is guilt, yes. I know. I thought the same thing, earlier. But I find myself sympathizing more and more. She said I wasn't even on the list of people to ask - and Merlin knows who she's already asked. Like she ended up in my office purely by accident or by true desperation."
"Nothing you've said makes me want you to help her." Ginny leans back, arms folded across her chest, looking amusingly like her stubborn childhood self.
"I have my reasons, Ginny. Unfortunately, I can't share all of the information with you - I promised I wouldn't. Honestly, just seeing how… lost she was almost made me want to help in itself. She told me some stories from when she was younger before her sister met Voldemort and became… what she became. And there were genuine tears in Ms. Black's eyes. Sorrow for a sister that was stolen from her."
"I don't like you keeping secrets about this, 'Mione. It seems dangerous, especially with her. Couldn't she, I don't know, try to make up with Andromeda? At least that would bring some family back in her life."
"I'm not sure if Andromeda even wants to speak with her. I'll bring it up when I owl her - though I wouldn't expect Ms. Black to make first contact."
"You're going through with it, then?"
I sit quietly for several minutes. My mind isn't racing; my heart isn't pounding. I'm just focusing, trying to feel what I want to do. "I think I have to, Ginny. It feels like this was placed in my lap for a reason."
"And if it turns out that she is still alive?"
"That won't happen."
Ginny sits forward, hands gripping my own tightly. "If it does, Hermione? What then?"
"I'll do what I did in Hogwarts and figure it out as I go along." Bellatrix isn't alive. I know she isn't.
That night, Ms. Black's owl - small, young, and grey-feathered, arrives with a letter.
Dear Miss Granger,
I have compiled here the information regarding Bella's supposed death that I know to be true.
She was reportedly cursed to death by one Molly Weasley although no body was ever found. Mrs. Weasley claims that Bellatrix's body "turned to ash" when the curse hit her. No specific curse has been mentioned in any of the research I have done. The Killing Curse seems an appropriate guess, given the situation in which Mrs. Weasley found herself assailing Bellatrix, but it does not cause its victims to turn to ash.
I would request that you speak with Mrs. Weasley, if possible, and try to clarify some things.
Which curse was used? How, precisely is Mrs. Weasley sure that it struck true and killed? If a body was never found, how is everyone so confident that Bellatrix is dead?
I have many questions surrounding the incident though I doubt Mrs. Weasley will be capable of answering all of them. If you cannot learn anything specific, I am currently focusing my research on curses in an attempt to clarify which spell supposedly killed my sister. Continuing that line of research would be a valuable use of the time you can spare.
Awaiting your reply,
Narcissa Black
I lean back onto my couch, staring at my ceiling. "I can't believe I'm doing this."