Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

Darlings, I bring you an entire chapter of Narcissa. Is there really anything more to say? Please review... I'm staying up late to write another chapter for you tonight and I would love your comments to keep me company. xo

PS, I might've figured something out for next week... Thank you for all your suggestions!

Narcissa stepped out of the Trebax headquarters and pulled on a black cloak with a hood that covered her hair. She had a lot to get done in a short amount of time, and the fewer interruptions from people who recognized her, the better. With the sharp echo of her heels against the cobblestones, she took off at a brisk pace down the lane.

It had been an interesting few days, to say the least. The horrifying descent of the years since the War was halted and flipped on its head after that article in the Prophet, and as a result, everything changed in a matter of minutes. She had previously resigned herself to the likelihood that she and Lucius would soon be pushed out of the Manor, forced to rely on some sort of charitable service to survive. They had a few contingency plans in place, each more depressing than the last. Poverty was a new experience for her, and it was one that came with hard lessons. Equally so for Lucius. They had tried to be resilient, but they had quite literally begun to go hungry every evening. She had resorted to stealing supplies from the back room of a nearby Muggle grocer. Humility tasted like canned goods and stale bread.

It was not the poverty, however, that really rattled her following the War - it was the sudden disappearance of everyone they knew. Most of their social circle had fled the country, the rest had gone underground, and they were all laying as low as possible. Living life quietly. Staying out of the public eye.

Everyone except the Malfoys.

How did it happen that her family was the one singled out to take the brunt of the public's blame for the War? She wished she knew. The Macnairs, the Lestranges, the Dolohovs, the Carrows, the Rosiers... All heavily implicated, all extremely active, and in many cases, much more deadly. But only the Malfoys were publicly torn to shreds. Everyone else faded away, avoiding Narcissa's attempts at correspondence, and when things got really bad, turning down her requests for financial assistance. Most of them she hadn't heard from since the Final Battle.

Until now, of course. Until Draco saved Hermione Granger's life. And then, only to express their disappointment. Draco had failed their Pureblooded expectations, even in a post-War climate where blood status should be the last thing on anyone's mind. Hadn't they all learned?

After reading those letters, Narcissa decided that it was time to clarify her loyalties. The Malfoys had always had strong connections with Dark magic and had a central role in supporting Voldemort throughout his first and second rise to power. That was true. Historically, they were proud of their Pureblooded status, and lived their lives accordingly. That was true too. They had also been courted by the prospect of said power, a weakness that went back for generations, deep in the ancestral roots of both the Malfoy and the Black families. All true. Power had an appeal that tended to warp even the sharpest minds, and prejudice was easier than questioning one's beliefs.

But the motivating factor in all of this had always been family. What would keep them strong and resilient? What would guarantee the family line? Malfoys were infamously protective, and they had hedged their chances for growth and survival with the Dark Lord. As more and more of the old families died out over the years, they identified Voldemort as an opportunity to stay relevant.

It had been a drastic error in judgement. She could see that now.

Still, without Voldemort hanging over their heads, the motivating factor had never gone away. Family. How to keep them safe and strong, how to make sure there would be Malfoys for generations to come. Apparently the answer was not in aligning themselves with power-hungry maniacs and their Pureblood supremacist supporters. These were not loyal people. She had learned the hard way how little they cared for her family when times got tough. The Malfoys were on the verge of being wiped out for good, their blood status more of a liability than a blessing.

And then, as though the universe decided to humble them all, in walked their chance at salvation. Someone they had taught their son to hate. Someone they had watched be tortured in their own home. In she walked, free of the judgement she was certainly entitled to, and turned their fortunes around. Hermione Granger had somehow shaped Draco, a boy who might well have grown up to be a monster, into an unlikely hero. Narcissa would be forever grateful for it, and noted with equal interest that Draco seemed to have developed some protective instincts for the girl. It was surprising and unsurprising at the same time. Malfoys always protected their own. Whether or not she wanted it, Hermione Granger had become one of them. Draco saved her, and she had returned the favour. It was a bond that granted her the same privileges as a blood relation.

Narcissa wasn't bothered. If Hermione had reached that status in the eyes of her son, then she would be granted the same status with her. Hermione probably didn't realize it, but to Narcissa, her and Lucius's lives had been saved by extension.

Which brought her to her current situation. Narcissa ducked into an alley and disapparated before anyone could slow her down. She had reason to suspect the girl was in trouble, and since Draco wasn't going to tell her what was going on, she would simply have to find out for herself. Why force him to break a confidence when she had a skill-set of alternatives? These weren't the sorts of things that noble Gryffindors carried around in their bags of tricks. This was Slytherin cunning, longing to stretch its legs, happy to be broken out for a worthy cause.

She reappeared on a small path in a winding garden. To her left, an old stone hospital sat, its residents completely unprepared for a determined visitor in need of some answers.

Martha Bothwick, a nurse at St. Mungo's and Healer-in-training, was taking her lunch break outside the stone building where she worked. It had been a tiring shift so far and she was grateful for the reprise. There were only so many ridiculous magical accidents one could deal with in one day before wondering about the general intelligence level of the population.

Out of the corner of her eye, there was a flicker of movement, and she looked over to see what it was. How odd. Just a lilac bush. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Must have imagined it. She went back to her sandwich, deciding that the lack of sleep must be affecting her worse than she thought.

An eerie little melody reached her ears and she looked around again for the source. Was there a staff member out walking? Or a patient enjoying some fresh air? Very strange that she couldn't see anyone, since the voice sounded so close. Perhaps her senses were playing tricks on her. She shivered as a cool breeze blew past.

"Bloody weird day," she muttered. "I could use a good long nap."

Suddenly, a face appeared in front of her, a beautiful woman with white-blonde hair and perfect high cheekbones. Her lips were blood red. Martha dropped her sandwich in shock.

"I can help with that," said the woman.

"Aren't you...?"

Martha tipped over onto the bench, unconscious.

Calmly, Narcissa removed a flask from her robes, plucked a hair from Martha's head, and dropped it in. The mixture started to bubble and froth.

"Perfect," said Narcissa, looking at the flask with satisfaction. "You'll do just fine." She sipped the liquid and waited. Ten seconds later, she was no longer Narcissa Malfoy... She was Martha Bothwick. Studying the sleeping woman, Narcissa adjusted her clothing to look more like the robes worn by the medical staff. It didn't need to be perfect, it just needed to buy her enough time to get what she needed. As a safety measure, she pulled Martha's security card off her robe pocket, noting the information for future reference.

With a flick of her wand, Martha's body was lifted and deposited on the soft, mossy ground behind the lilac bush.

"Sleep tight, Martha," Narcissa said, strolling through the main doors. "I won't be long."

"Back so soon?" smiled a woman behind the main desk. "You're a total workaholic, darling. You only left five minutes ago."

"Guilty as charged," smiled Narcissa, who was still getting used to the feel of Martha's facial structure as she talked. Her eyes travelled around the space, noting details she might have overlooked the times she'd come here as a patient. What she needed to find were the records, probably off in a storage room somewhere. She glanced at the woman's name tag. Susanne.

"Susanne?" she said, making her voice sound as sweet and bubbly as she could. It didn't come easily.

"Yes sugar?" smiled the woman without looking up from the envelope she was scribbling on with an old quill.

"Apparently there are some old medical files relating to one of my patients. Might help figuring out what they've got. I'm going to go have a look."

Susanne looked up, surprised. "You mean the Smythe boy? With that funny rash?"

"That's the one," Narcissa smiled. Sure. Whatever you say.

"Hm. Thought it was his first visit here, but if it will help, you should definitely check. You know where to go." The woman tilted her head down the hall with a friendly wink.

"Of course," said Narcissa. "See you soon."

She strolled down the hallway with practiced ease, remembering the last time she was here. It wasn't a pleasant memory. Lucius had fractured his wrist and punctured his vein falling off one of the horses at the Manor, back before they sold them for cash. The Healer refused to give him treatment. Narcissa had to break out the Imperio to get the job done, and then wiped the old man's mind.

This time, she had the upper hand. This time, she didn't look like a Malfoy. She looked like Plain Jane Martha, someone who responded to the pet name "sugar." Ridiculous.

All the rooms she was passing were equipped with beds, so she continued to walk, hoping she'd be able to find what she was looking for. In one room she spotted a young woman in a full body cast. In another, a young boy covered in red spots.

"Must be Smythe," she murmured, noting the miserable expression on the child's face. She resisted the urge to smirk. Healers were probably not supposed to find amusement in the afflictions of their patients. A pity, really. Nobody had a sense of humour anymore.

Finally she reached a door that simply said 114. It was at the near end of the hall, so if this wasn't it, she was going to have to start rooting around in people's minds for the answers she needed. That was always such messy work, and she hoped to avoid it. Lifting her pass up to the blue security square above the handle, she was pleased when she heard a cheery "beep" and then the sound of the door unlocking. She slipped inside.

Jackpot. It was a dark, musty room, filled to the brim with aging filing cabinets.

"Accio Hermione Granger's file," she said. Nothing happened. Damn security features. It was as if they didn't trust anyone around here.

With a sigh, she began to follow the alphabet with her finger, wandering up and down the rows until the reached the "GR - GU" section of the shelves. Opening it up, she sorted through the folders until she saw the name she wanted. Hermione Granger. Out came the file. Narcissa began to read, her forehead creasing as the flipped each page. Muggle pharmaceuticals? Overdose? Oh dear. This was not what she expected.

"Heavy addiction."

"Inability to cope with stress."

"Damage done to liver and nerves."

"Insomnia."

Ah. It was starting to make sense now. Didn't Draco find her collapsed somewhere after her fiance's affair was exposed? The article claimed it was due to exhaustion, but now that she thought about it, the excuse seemed a little precious. Drug overdose was really much more fitting, especially with the over-achieving personality she associated with the girl. It was always the Type A ones who fell the hardest. The ones who seemed to have it all together. Narcissa knew the signs all too well.

"Informed client that irreparable damage would be done to her system if she does not stop abusing the painkillers."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Blah blah blah," she muttered to herself. "Do they really think people want to hear that tripe when they are recovering from an overdose? Imbeciles." She scanned the last page to see what they had given her for treatment. Her eyebrows shot up. "Greenswith potion? What sort of a weak-minded dunce would prescribe something so mild for such a strong addiction?" She closed the file abruptly and slid it back into the drawer, a much clearer picture starting to form in her mind about what was going on with Hermione. It seemed she would have to complete one more task before leaving this Godforsaken building.

Whistling her favourite melody, Narcissa slipped back out of the room and took the stairs up to the second floor. After a few minutes of searching, she found the door she needed. Laboratory.

She walked in quietly and assessed the scene. Two medical staff were working at a bench full of bubbling cauldrons. They had their backs turned to her, but would no doubt look in a moment to see who entered.

It would really be much easier if they didn't turn around at all. Less trouble that way.

Both workers dropped to the ground, unconscious. Narcissa smiled and locked the door behind her. A quick look at the supply cabinet told her she was in luck. The potion she needed to make wasn't difficult, but it was sometimes hard to find the ingredients. Thank Merlin for fully-stocked hospitals.

Half an hour later, a woman who looked like Martha Bothwick exited one of the lesser-used side doors of St. Mungo's, stowing a bottle in her robes. Narcissa took another sip of the Polyjuice potion, knowing that the remainder of her chores would be easier to accomplish if she wasn't attracting attention everywhere she went. Before disapparating, she ducked behind the lilac bush and slipped into the real Martha's mind, making sure the young woman would have no recollection of the pale face she saw right before she passed out.

"You'll wake up soon, sugar," she whispered. "I hope you'll feel extremely well-rested."

Narcissa looked up at the building where both her son and Hermione lived. She was curious if the girl was there, but decided against snooping around to check. Draco seemed worried enough to take care of that investigation himself, and besides, Hermione was bound to be in quite a state at this point. Narcissa's presence would only complicate things.

She closed her eyes and concentrated, wanting to make sure proper safety mechanisms were in place to guarantee that Hermione and Draco wouldn't be in danger while they sorted out their problems. Just a quick scan to see if any precautions had been taken. Focusing all her powers, she opened her eyes and looked at the building again.

A musical laugh escaped her throat.

Wards everywhere. Red ones circling the entrance. Blue ones at certain windows. Huge green ones surrounding the building. A thin purple one that was particularly nasty. Was that reserved for the Weasley boy? If so, she quite approved of this girl's sense of revenge. This building had Hermione's Granger's handiwork all over it.

"I'll just make one small adaptation," Narcissa said, smiling to herself. She adjusted the ward that kept the journalists several feet away from the main entrance, believing it to be too kind for such a nasty group of gossips. Just a small change. Nothing too awful. Not in her opinion, anyway.

With a satisfied smirk, Narcissa prepared for her final task of the evening. A quick stop at the Trebax offices and then it was back to the Manor for her. Lucius was bound to be curious about how her evening went, and Merlin, did she ever have some interesting news for him.

Lucius's senses tingled when he heard a familiar pop of apparition off in the distance. He glanced out his study window to see a plain woman with mousy brown hair walking up the path towards the main door. Frowning, he wrapped his fingers around his wand, inspecting the intruder. People didn't tend to visit the Manor - they tended to run away. It seemed he would have to teach this stranger the rules of the house.

The intruder began to hum an eerie little tune.

His shoulders relaxed. Narcissa. Why on earth did she look like that? She had left on a mission for information hours ago. Coming back looking like someone else entirely was not a good sign. In fact, her robes looked vaguely like the ones worn by hospital staff at St. Mungo's. His frown deepened. Narcissa had a history of mischief and manipulation that almost exceeded his own. This was bound to be interesting.

By the time Narcissa reached his study, her features were her own again. She opened the door humming, her face impassive but a definite sparkle in her eyes.

"What of the girl?" Lucius said, brusquely, not wanting to waste any time. She could fill him in on the reasons behind the disguise later.

"She is as we expected, and then some," Narcissa said, calmly.

"And her motives for helping our son?"

"As noble as any Gryffindor," she responded, a hint of a smirk on her lips. "She is changing public opinion as a way of thanking him for saving her. She's also rescued the business, and by extension, us."

Lucius grumbled. While he was overwhelmingly relieved to hear that the nightmare they had been living was over, he was reluctant to lavish praise on the one responsible. Hermione Granger, one third of the Golden Trio, brightest witch of her age, and the bane of his bloody existence while he was hunting Harry Potter. The Muggle-born who bested Draco in every subject during school. One of the children - children - who had brought down his former master. It was hard to leave that mindset, no matter the reason. Grudges took time to fade.

He observed his wife. She looked dangerously smug.

"There's something else, isn't there," he stated.

She nodded.

"Go on then," he said, sounding annoyed. Lucius was not the type to fish for answers; he wanted all the information up front. Patience was not a virtue he was particularly good with. Narcissa knew that, of course, but she was toying with him.

"Well, underneath her noble Gryffindor exterior lies something very interesting," she responded.

"Which would be...?"

"An astounding amount of Slytherin cunning."

Lucius's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"She has also inspired a rather odd reaction in our son," she said, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. Narcissa was sold on Hermione, but Lucius would require some work to get him past his old beliefs. She might as well plant the seed in his head now. He had no choice but to come around eventually.

"What reaction would that be?" Lucius asked, suspiciously.

"He has become extremely protective of her," she said, letting her words sink in.

There was a long silence.

"That seems... Unlikely," Lucius replied.

"Unlikely, but very much the case. I witnessed it myself."

He frowned, his eyes becoming unfocused as he ruminated on what this might mean. Surely not. Not after what his family had endured, what they had stood for, what they had symbolized... Surely the universe wouldn't have such a cutting sense of humour.

"But Malfoys only protect their own," said Lucius, in a tone that, in any other circumstance, would have ended the discussion.

"Interesting, isn't it?" said Narcissa, pleased that he was responding exactly how she had hoped. She would let the information stew now, swirling in his mind until he came to the same conclusion that she came to earlier.

"There's more," Narcissa said. "I'll tell you about it over dinner. I think you'll find her situation quite intriguing, if not bizarrely familiar."