It was an impossibly cold September first. Rain had been coming down hard throughout the south of England and Northern France for two weeks straight, and while this wasn't exactly out of the ordinary, Ron had never been so cold in his life.

The old passenger carriage wobbled on its bogies while his compartment's window was entirely fogged up due to the temperature difference from within the compartment, to the outside world. It was ironic that after so many magical enhancements, including the use of an invisible railway, they still couldn't have charmed the windows to keep them from fogging up.

The dreaded cold was not only a result of the rain, but of everything that had transpired in the last two months. His sister had gone missing at the end of June. Then, the Ministry was taken over by Voldemort and his forces. Harry's house was destroyed, Draco Malfoy had left the country – presumably to France - Narcissa Malfoy had continued her residence in Crail, and Hermione, Dean, along with the Creevey's, had been taken to France.

Meanwhile, England had been thrown into chaos. The muggles were essentially unaware. Voldemort had yet to do anything too drastic. Well, besides the muggle-born trials, of course. Other than that, which wasn't a small thing, Voldemort hadn't done much of anything. The world still believed that the new dark lord was muggle-born, or a muggle sympathizer. The werewolf laws had all remained intact, something that Remus believed was a move to lure Greyback onto Voldemort's side.

There was just so much that hadn't changed, yet it all felt different, nonetheless.

Of course, the cold could never fade not because of the political climate, or the weather, but because it had been two months since Harry and Ginny had gone missing. Two months of being told by private investigators that it was a lost cause. Two months of hearing his mother crying in the middle of the night. Two months of visiting Sirius to pass the time, only to be met with a man driven by anger and regret. Two months of a one-eyed Percy watching the family clock like a hawk. Two months of Ron feeling like he was stuck in a whirlwind of pain, remorse, anger, and sadness. Two months of nothing.

The sound of the compartment door sliding open brought Ron out of his stupor. He turned to face the door and was met with the elegant appearance of Daphne Greengrass. She eyed him shrewdly for a moment before stepping in, sliding the compartment door shut, and drawing the blinds. Then, she faced him again, only this time a light smile graced her lips.

"It took a lot of convincing to let me leave my compartment…" she trailed off awkwardly and sat opposite Ron. "Was you summer up to-"

"What do you want?" Ron interrupted. "You know damn well that my summer wasn't great."

Daphne nodded, seemingly unbothered by his outburst. This only frustrated Ron further.

"This new Dark Lord… they're quite menacing, wouldn't you say?" Daphne whispered from across the compartment.

Ron sighed and nodded. He couldn't say anything, especially to a Slytherin. It was a shame, really. He'd grown quite fond of Greengrass, and now it just wasn't safe to be seen with her, let alone speak to her. "Yes… he is."

"He?" Daphne inquired. "I don't remember the Prophet mentioning anything about the sex…"

Ron cursed under his breath. She was as smart as Hermione. He should've taken that into account. "I'm only assuming."

"No, you aren't," Daphne announced. There was no doubt in her voice. She was stating a fact. "You spend your time with Black and his little group. I know you helped the Malfoys, and I know who's really behind this."

Ron gaped at her. "How… how do you…"

"Astoria told me. Draco spent some time with her over the summer… not that I was aware of that until a month after he'd gone but… still."

"And whose side are you on?" Ron asked with a flicker of hope burning at the back of his throat.

Daphne stood up and shuffled over to the compartment door. "The winning side, Weasley," and with that, she was gone.

Regretfully Uncaring

Chapter 38: Journalistic Instinct

Ron's ride to Hogwarts was quiet after Daphne had left. There wasn't much to do but think.

So Greengrass knew about Voldemort, which was moderately surprising. Her response to Ron's question hadn't been unexpected. Her father was a well-respected pureblood. He'd either fall on Voldemort's side, or he'd remain neutral. If Ron remembered correctly, there had been a meeting with the Order in August, shortly after Ginny's birthday, which had included much speculation over who was on Voldemort's side, and who would be neutral in the oncoming future of Britain's wizarding society. In that meeting, the name Greengrass had been brought up, but it didn't seem to be of any concern to Sirius and Remus, who were essentially spearheading the conflict. Either they were neutral, or they were so obviously on Voldemort's side that it was irrelevant in the discussion. That was all Ron knew.

As the train pulled into Hogsmeade station, Ron noticed that Hagrid was missing. Supposedly due to his mission with Madame Maxime in search of the giants. Ron knew all about that, of course. He'd been allowed to sit in on Order meetings with the help of Percy's persuasion and Sirius's encouragement.

The trip in the carriages up to the school was a bit of a blur. Ron noticed the horseless carriages were being pulled by something this year, which was rather odd, but he figured it was part of the security changes Umbridge and the Ministry had put in. According to Remus, the new education system was tailored to introduce the Dark Arts to young witches and wizards in an incredibly subtle way that wouldn't anger any parents but would leave the students wanting more. Which was the danger with such things. Ron was determined to fail all of his classes if that's what it took to keep him away from the stuff.

He walked through the oak doors to the Great Hall. Sat next to Neville and across from Fred and George as the sorting hat sang a song of meaningless wanderings, listened to Dumbledore's longwinded speech, and waited for the food to arrive. Not that he was particularly hungry, but his brain felt like mush, and he'd rather be doing something with his muscles than just staring at Remus's false smile at the staff table.

Once it was clear that werewolves were here to stay, Sirius had pressured Remus into disclosing his disease to the Ministry and the greater magical population. It had been met with some backlash, but for the most part, it was nice to see something relatively progressive on the front page of The Prophet over the summer.

"Any news on Harry and Ginny?" Neville whispered into Ron's ear, breaking his dissociation.

Ron shook his head. "Nothing."

There was a long pause, filled with the sounds of students chattering about, digging into the feast. Ron spooned himself some mashed potatoes and left it at that. He took his fork and picked away at it. Making small lines in the mush.

"Damn… I'm sorry to hear that, mate-"

Ron cut Neville off. "How was your summer?"

Neville certainly noticed what Ron was doing, but he answered accordingly. Detailing whatever nonsense, he and his grandmother had gotten up to with plants, reading, and parties. Ron appreciated it. The normalcy of Neville. It was a rare thing as of late, so Ron took in every detail.

When the feast was over, and the plates had been cleared, Ron and Neville, along with the other returning Gryffindor students, made their way through the stone hallways and many staircases to Gryffindor Tower.

That night, Ron fell asleep easily thanks to the complete silence. No tears, no wailing, just the wonderful familiarity of the castle.

Ron spoke to no one the following morning. He nodded to Neville while getting dressed, choosing to leave his tie undone. His breakfast consisted of a truly pathetic portion of cereal, and he acknowledged Professor McGonagall's distribution of schedules with little more than a grunt.

He had Defence first, which wasn't exactly unpleasant. Professor Lupin would be heading it for the third year in a row. An incredible accomplishment when held next to the last two decades of failed staff.

After Defence would be Divination, something he ought to have dropped the minute he'd discovered its true contents.

Brushing those thoughts aside for the moment, Ron hauled his bag over his shoulder and made his way out of the Great Hall, choosing to loiter around the Defence classroom a little earlier than usual.

"Ron! Ron, wait up!" Neville called from behind him. Ron stopped in his silent march and looked over his shoulder.

Sure enough, there was Neville, rushing his things back into his bag and making his way over to Ron.

"Alright. Let's go," he announced cheerfully. Ron gave him a faint smile, which felt more like a grimace, and continued on in silence.

Neville got the message and didn't make any attempt at starting a conversation until they'd arrived at the locked doors to the classroom.

"If you ever need to… just unload your… whatever's on your mind… I'm here. I'm here and… I can just listen." Neville blurted out earnestly.

Ron felt a light tugging at his lips, finally letting himself smile. "Thanks, Neville… I'll keep that in mind." There was an awkward pause before Ron added, "That goes for you too. You know… if you ever need to-"

"Talk… yeah," Neville finished, his cheeks reddening by the second at the uncomfortable interaction.

Ron bit his lip to keep himself from groaning at the unpleasant silence. Neville was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"You know," Neville said, his sudden break of the silence somehow sending another round of discomfort Ron's way. "Everyone's going on about this new dark lord but I swear I'm the only one who's worrying over the Azkaban breakout."

Ron chuckled despite himself. He didn't know how much Neville knew. "I haven't heard much about it, come to think of it," of course this wasn't necessarily a lie, it was just a bending of the truth. Yes, the press hadn't gone on about the entire population of Azkaban being freed, but Ron had come face to face with nearly all of the high-security prisoners while getting Hermione out of the country. "You'd think that would be a genuine concern."

Neville nodded, his eyes on the floor. "Bellatrix Lestrange got out and… no one's said a word,"

Ron nodded slowly. It was odd for Neville to specify Bellatrix but she did carry a sort of reputation.

Then it hit Ron like a knife in the gut.

"Your parents," he breathed, his eyes darting to the side of Neville's face.

Neville halted his fidgeting motions. "Who told you about that?"

Ron racked his brains for the information. He'd heard it over the summer, that was certain. His mother had kept details of the first war under wraps for the longest time, but now no one seemed to care, especially since he'd been allowed to come along to Grimmauld Place.

"Sirius," Ron muttered in answer to Neville's question. "I was visiting Sirius and he was talking about the Lestrange's and their crimes."

Neville continued his bouncing with a long sigh. "Please don't go telling that to the whole school. I've done a good job at keeping it quiet so far and I don't fancy being pitied for attention."

Ron nodded, accepting Neville's wish. It wasn't exactly rational to assume that the information was secret. More so the fact that people hadn't gone looking for the story of Neville's parents.

"Has any treatment worked?" Ron asked in a whisper.

Neville shook his head. "I don't personally think it's worth trying at all… not anymore,"

Ron hummed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Sometimes I hear her."

Neville turned to Ron with a raised eyebrow.

Ron shrugged his shoulders and pushed himself off the wall, taking great big steps to distract his body as his mind focused on telling the story at hand. "I hear Ginny. Crying… laughing… talking… I can hear her. When I'm sleeping… when I'm awake." He held his arms out to the side and pressed his lips together. "It's weird, I know. Most of the time I'm sure I'm imagining it, but there's that part of me that hopes it's real, even if I can't do anything about it."

Neville nodded slowly and opened his mouth to answer just as the doors to the classroom swung open, and Professor Lupin smiled in greeting.

It didn't reach his eyes.

"Well, you two are the only early ones so pick some good seats." Lupin whirled around, his robes – no longer patchy and frayed – swishing about like a great floating liquid.

Ron instinctively went for the middle of the room. Not too far back to be an absolute tosspot but not too far forward to be an arrogant twit. He pulled out a chair and dropped his bag to the side of the two-seater table. The scraping of a chair further off caught his attention, and Ron turned to see Neville had gone to the table across the aisle from his, leaving the spot next to him open.

Ron stared at the empty chair, expressionless. Harry should've been there. Harry should've been around the whole summer.

Swallowing hard, Ron shook his thoughts away and collapsed into his chair.

Slowly but surely, as the clock approached the start of classes, students filed in. They all seemed to consciously avoid the seat next to Ron, who saw the lack of Draco Malfoy in between Crabbe and Goyle as distinctly unnerving, even if it had been like that all of last term.

Ron turned his attention back to the front of the class, watching Lupin pick away at a patch of dead skin on his palm.

He wondered where Harry and Ginny were. He hoped they were out of the country, escaped from wherever they were being held. Fighting some greater evil that Ron and the Order had yet to discover.

The door shut, and Ron heard the footsteps of high-heeled boots draw nearer to his spot.

The chair next to him, Harry's chair, was suddenly drawn back. Ron caught a flash of blonde in his peripheral, causing him to close his eyes in irritation.

Greengrass.

She undid the clasp on her robes, letting them drop to the crook of her elbow. She folded them delicately and placed them on the hard surface of the wooden chair. Then, she flattened the underside of her skirt before sitting on her makeshift pillow. Waving her wand, she muttered a summoning charm, bringing her notes and quill onto the table. With a final flourish, an ink bottle flew out of her bag and landed neatly next to her roll of parchment.

Ron let out a breath, choosing to ignore his tablemate for now, and focused on Professor Lupin.

"I'm sure you've… heard about my announcement," Lupin said to the class.

Practically everyone shifted awkwardly in their seats.

"I am, in fact, a werewolf. Yes… I am teaching. Yes… I am perfectly safe. For as long as I have lived there have only been… two incidents." Lupin continued. Ron rolled his eyes. One of them was the infection of a student, and the other was a prank gone wrong. The variation in severity between those two was monumental. "Just remember that it is perfectly legal… and if you have an issue with the man who is teaching you today and for the foreseeable future," Lupin paused and smirked. "Take it up with the wolf."

That got a good few chuckles out of the class, and everyone's shoulders seemed to loosen up as Lupin began his lesson.

The class went by in typical first-day fashion. Nothing learned, just some assigned reading and a pat on the back. It was clear that Lupin was cautious about the new material, as he didn't seem particularly enthused with anything in his syllabus, but he managed to avoid any significant looks with Ron, so it was considered a win.

The bell rang, and Ron immediately got to his feet. He slid an arm across his side of the table, pushing all of his things into his open bag off the edge of the desk.

He slung his pack on his left shoulder and turned to Daphne. "Stop trying to talk to me," he deadpanned. "I don't want to hear it. The game is up. Fight for the winning side,"

He took the long way around the classroom to exit. He could've been an immature prat and shouldered past her, but it wasn't worth the effort.

As the week progressed, so too did the new curriculum. It was incredibly apparent with History of Magic, which was leaning heavily into the muggle violence side of Wizarding history. The worst part of it all was that Ron could see it working. He could see the shocked and horrified expressions on people's faces at the twisted history. Even if the events discussed were true, the fact that modern events, as well as any peaceful or progressive magical/non-magical dealings, weren't getting any exploration in class only added to the one-sided weight of everything.

Defense classes were most certainly not following a Ministry guideline. Ron could tell because Lupin's smiles remained genuine no matter what spells or techniques he taught them. Ron knew that if they were being taught dark magic, he wasn't likely to notice. It was something his mother had warned him about.

As for the other subjects, well, they remained somewhat unchanged. As far as Ron could tell, anyway.

He missed Hermione. Which wasn't exactly a mystery. He'd fancied her for quite some time. Now, however, she was gone.

His grades seemed fine. His happiness was fine. The letters he received from home went on about how everyone was fine.

It was a hollow life to lead.

Daphne Greengrass continued to be a mystery to Ron. She rarely responded if spoken to, and she never chose a predictable moment to pull him aside and speak to him.

It was all very odd, especially since whenever she spoke to him, it was about quite literally nothing. She'd speak of the weather, or her hair, or on one rather uncomfortable occasion, his hair.

And so one night, midway through an uneventful September, Ron voiced his confusion to the now three-man dormitory.

"…I just feel like she's trying to get information out of me… or something. I don't know." Ron finished, running a hand through his hair and pouting up at the ceiling.

Seamus sighed from across from him. "Do you reckon she could be a spy? I mean… there's ought to be one."

Ron sat up. "A spy against who? I'm a fifteen-year-old bloke with a famous missing best friend. There isn't much to get out of me."

Seamus chuckled lightly. "It's not you… more…"

"It's the people you're involved with," Neville finished. Seamus snapped his finger and pointed to Neville, as though to show he approved of what he'd said.

Ron groaned and cupped his face with his hands. "The people I'm involved with haven't done anything against the Ministry…" Or Voldemort. Of course, Ron couldn't say that, could he?

He pointed his wand at the ceiling and muttered the goodnight charm, causing all candles and lanterns to go out, shrouding the dormitory in darkness.

There was a long silence. Ron could faintly see Neville fiddling with his bedsheet in the moonlight.

"They're a part of the rebellion. Are they not?" Seamus asked tentatively.

Ron gapped at him. "What rebellion? There is no fight, Seamus. There's nothing going on,"

Seamus eyed him warily before flopping down to his pillow and shutting off his lamp. "I'll leak that to your spy, then. I'm sure they'll get a kick out of it," his tone was inexplicably harsh. As if what Ron had said had deeply offended him.

"Where'd you even get that idea?" Ron asked, equally irritated.

"I just figured your lot had some… plan. Some way to get out of this." Seamus explained.

Ron sat up. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? My lot?" Ron flopped back down. "You don't start a rebellion by laying about waiting for it to start for you, Seamus,"

"Very wise," Seamus spat. "Go on and talk to the ever-useless Dumbledore while you're at it. Maybe if you put your two wise little heads together, you could find your dead sister."

Ron didn't say anything. He swiveled on the spot and lifted himself off the bed. He quietly walked to Seamus's side of the room, something which rarely received any light at this time of night, and stood by him.

Then, he struck. Punching Seamus straight in the nose. It cracked under his fist. Then, he hit again, this time feeling the warm oozing of blood on his knuckles as Seamus yelped in pain.

He leaned down so his mouth was in line with Seamus's ear. "My sister isn't dead,"

Seamus didn't respond. He sniffled and groaned. If anything, Ron was rather impressed with the fact that Seamus hadn't been louder about the whole affair.

"Erm, Ron, what just happened?" Neville asked quietly from his corner.

Ron waved him off as he walked back to bed. "Oh, I'm sure you'll see in the morning."

The train slowed with squealing wheels and the now familiar metallic clanging of a diesel engine. The platform extended in front of Narcissa. It was rather plain compared to King's Cross. Though if she traveled this far south, she wasn't necessarily surprised. An older man helped her lift her suitcase onto the platform.

"Thank you," Narcissa offered graciously. The man nodded to her and left.

Then, she set out on foot. Even with Mr. Lupin's muggle teachings over the summer, she was still quite afraid of that whole pay a muggle with a car and get somewhere else system. It wasn't nearly as effective as the Knight Bus - which she had no intention of ever riding - but still.

Her summer had been rather awful if she could say so herself. Her son, Draco, was unable to contact her through owl since owls wouldn't deliver to someone who held no magical signature whatsoever. Narcissa wasn't even a squib. She couldn't read The Prophet. She'd been magically, and otherwise, forced out of her society.

She'd learned to cook, clean, travel, and manage money the muggle way. None of it was entirely complex, it was only slowed by the fact that she'd been desperately clinging on to her magic the entire way through her instruction. She'd learned through Lupin, that when living in the muggle world, it was best to fully immerse yourself within it.

She had no choice, really. It was either learning the muggle way of things or dying along with her magic.

So now she was on her first real trip. More than taking a train to a bigger city, or buying groceries from the corner store on the high street.

Today, she was visiting her sister. She'd put it off for nearly a year, which was a touch shocking, really. In that time she'd recruited for the Order across the country and throughout the continent. She'd helped in multiple plans and had lost her magic in the process of it all.

It was Nymphadora who'd finally convinced her of it, about a week ago.

"You know, you've come a long way since July," Tonks observed as she sat at Narcissa's finely carved wooden table in her flat.

Narcissa paused in the sipping of her tea. "Why thank you. I like to think so too,"

Tonks nodded. The poor girl was always fidgeting with something. This time, she was picking at a scratch on the wood surface. It grated on Narcissa's nerves a little, but she tried to ignore it. "Mum would be happy to see you, you know,"

Narcissa scoffed. Her hands shook as she lowered her cup to the counter. "No, she would not. She knows of the Dark Lord's return… she'll have thrown me in with his lot and have been done with it."

Tonks nodded. "Which is why you should go see her,"

Narcissa sighed and held eye contact with her niece. "I don't understand your meaning,"

Tonks rolled her eyes at Narcissa's delicate tone and vocabulary. "Because you should want her to know that you aren't with his lot. That you're your own person, independent of anyone and… hell, a bigger part of the fight than her."

Narcissa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "She won't listen to me… unless you're there, maybe,"

Tonks shook her head. "Oh, no you aren't stringing me into this. You've waited long enough. If my mum is half as smart as she says she is, she'd have noticed your indifference to Lucius's arrest and will give you a chance to explain yourself," then, she changed her voice to imitate her mother's posh accent. "I daresay I've been expecting a visit from you, dear sister, for many moons!"

Narcissa laughed and shook her head. "I'll think about it,"

Tonks patted her on the shoulder and made her way out of the flat. "I find it's best not to think about these sorts of things. Just do it."

Which had been an interesting thing to say. It also explained Nymphadora's general behaviour.

Narcissa could see it now. The large house of her sister's. She'd had it described to her by both Nymphadora and Mr. Lupin. It was… comfortable, Narcissa decided. Not to her taste but, then again, she lived in a dingy upstairs flat, so she didn't have much right to criticize.

The narrow lane leading up to the house was nothing but a nice long walk to build stress like steam in a locomotive. Something she knew plenty of by now thanks to Mr. Lupin's books on The Industrial Revolution. Quite peaceful as far as revolutions go, but who was she to say such things?

Then, she came to a halt at the door. Her breathing came out in rapid exhales.

"You are welcome here," she muttered to herself. "She's your sister. Sisters stick together… I'm a good person," she wrung her hands out frantically. "I am a good person. I just need her to know that… because I'm a-"

"If you have to say it to yourself that many times it almost sounds like you're trying to convince yourself of it," a feminine voice spoke softly from behind her.

Narcissa whirled around. "Oh… Andi…"

There she stood. Elegant and proud in her home robes. She held a large brown paper bag full of vegetables. Andromeda Tonks was a sight to behold.

"You look… wonderful, Andi. Truly wonderful!"

Andromeda raised a single eyebrow. It had the desired effect. Narcissa felt rather cold and alone, trapped within her sister's stare.

"Why are you here, Narcissa?" Andromeda asked tiredly.

Narcissa noticed the use of her full name and fought the urge to cry a little. "I brought baking," she said, raising the basket in her hands and smiling awkwardly.

"You can bake?" Andromeda asked with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Narcissa frowned at her sister. "Yes… no… it's been a long process," she stuttered and paused. "I have a lot of things to talk to you about,"

Andromeda nodded slowly. "And I you," thunder clapped in the distance. "We should get inside. Come on," she pushed past Narcissa and unlocked the door with her wand. Narcissa felt a pang of envy but pushed it down. It was getting better, but she was still rather jealous of anyone who could still hold a wand and use it.

Andromeda led her through the sitting room and around into the kitchen. It was simple and comfortable inside. It screamed middle class.

"You can sit down. Ted won't be home from work until well after sundown," Andromeda said, her back to her sister.

Narcissa awkwardly pulled a chair out in the silence. The inconsistent squeaks and groans of the chair seemed to echo between them. She sat and hissed in pain as her tailbone landed just on the wrong spot to cause pain.

"Yes those chairs are not… the best, really," Andromeda acknowledged before falling back into a tense silence.

She finished unpacking her bag of groceries and waved her wand, sending a tray of crumpets and a cup of tea to Narcissa.

"Thanks," she murmured. Andromeda nodded.

After washing up and staring out the window above her sink for a moment, Andromeda turned to face her sister and sat opposite her.

"So why are you here?" she asked, simply.

Narcissa despised how much there was standing between them. Not the table or the tea, rather years of detachment and anger. Sadness and confusion. There was so much to say and yet no apology Narcissa had could make up for anything.

"I came here to tell you my story," Narcissa began shakily. "I know that you… I know that it may be difficult to…" she started and stopped. Unable to continue.

"I know your story, sister," Andromeda said quietly. "I watched it all over the papers. I saw your whole life. Your wedding, the birth of your son, the grants and money you earned, your smiling face in all of Lucius's 'accomplishments'. I saw all of it… but not from you,"

Narcissa swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I know and… that isn't how it should've happened. It should… you should have heard it from me," she pointed to herself harshly. "You should have seen it through me. You should have… we should have been sisters… but we weren't,"

"You're right," Andromeda conceded. "We aren't sisters. You made your choice,"

"You're… you've…" Narcissa paused and collected her thoughts. "I am going to talk… I am going to talk for a long time. I need you to promise me that you'll listen,"

Andromeda eyed her warily before giving a curt nod.

"Thank you," said Narcissa helplessly. She took a sip of her tea and started from the beginning. She explained everything that went through her naïve young mind about Lucius and the respect of pureblood traditions. She described how quickly she'd regretted her choices. How she despised working with The Dark Lord so closely. She went on about how she vowed to raise Draco better, but how Lucius did everything he could to poison their son nonetheless. She went on in detail about Harry Potter's letter warning her of the oncoming trial and what he intended to do to Lucius. How she'd fought a battle within herself to do the right thing, and ultimately withheld the information from her husband. She discussed her sheltered living alone with Draco, writing letters to him at school, and noticing his growth. His change into a seemingly better man. Then, came the part of her story she could take pride in.

She described her run-in with Nymphadora. How they'd formed an awkward sort of alliance. How Narcissa had helped decipher the mystery around Bertha Jorkins' death. How she'd dismantled Sirius's character, and destroyed the Malfoy Legacy.

Andromeda held up a hand at this part, and Narcissa went quiet.

"You did all that… because my daughter came to ask you for help on a case?"

Narcissa nodded. "I'd been thinking about it for a while by that point as I said,"

Andromeda snorted quietly. "Even after all this time you're an impulsive one, aren't you?"

Narcissa felt her cheeks heat. "It was the right thing to do and… it solidified the stance in my mind. I'd chosen my side and… well… that's that,"

Andromeda shook her head in disbelief, a small smile on her face. "And you waited until now to come to talk with me? After You-Know-Who returns and… your husband breaks out of prison? Why wait? Why put me and yourself through so much unnecessary pain?"

Narcissa wiped her nose. "Fear. That's about it, really,"

Andromeda nodded. "I can understand that, I suppose."

There was another tense silence. "May I continue?"

Andromeda's eyebrows rose. "There's more?"

And so, Narcissa continued. She discussed her work for the Order with as much secrecy maintained as possible. Went on about how much time she'd spent with Nymphadora and their relationship with the release of Werewolves: The Truth Behind the Curse.

She briefly touched on Bill Weasley and his return to England but didn't bother going into the details of the mission that had killed Charlie Weasley.

Then there was the Third Task, the Ministry's takeover, and finally, the rituals. Draco was now a Black, as was Narcissa. Though of course, Narcissa's magic was in need of a rewrite, because she'd been well over age, unlike Draco.

There was silence after Narcissa's final words, "I am no longer a witch, nor a Malfoy,"

Andromeda frowned. "No magic at all? Not even a squib?"

Narcissa picked up what appeared to be a local muggle newspaper. "If I was a squib I'd be able to see The Prophet, wouldn't I?"

Tears began to form in Andromeda's eyes. "You see nothing?"

Narcissa shook her head mournfully. "There is not a spark left within me."

Andromeda cried. Covering her face with her hands. She got up from her chair and walked around the table to wrap her arms around Narcissa's petite frame.

"I'm sorry," she wailed.

Narcissa shrugged, patting her sister's arm affectionately. "It's alright, really. Your daughter and Mr. Lupin have been teaching me-"

"Not that," Andromeda interrupted. "You. I am sorry for you. That you were so trapped within your marriage. That you had to watch your son get corrupted by that foul, foul man. I'm sorry that I wrote you off so quickly. I'm sorry,"

Narcissa frowned. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she insisted. "I'm the one who…buggered everything up!"

Andromeda laughed. "Oh, Cissy…" there was a pregnant pause. "I'm glad you burned that manor to the ground."

Narcissa laughed.

Andromeda pulled away and frowned down at her sister. "What about Draco? After the blood adoption… what happened to him?"

A bottle flew across the alley and crashed into the brick wall behind Draco. "FUCK!" he screamed. Scrambling to his feet and running down the alley.

The group of men behind him were yelling in French, hot in pursuit. Throwing various items his way.

Draco reached a fire escape and climbed. His feet slipped on some of the rungs but overall, he was rather impressed with himself.

He reached the highest he could go legally, so he gripped the pitter-patter bricks and climbed the chimney to a flat rooftop. Paris stretched out in front of him. The sun setting behind the skyline, which was all perfectly level except for the Eiffel Tower standing tall in the distance.

"BLACK!" one of the men cried. They were close now. Draco let out a squeak and ran as fast as he could across the rooftops. The smoke from various chimneys blinded him as he went by.

"Bloody- buggering," he wiped at his eyes, tears streaming from the particles in the air.

The gang was gaining on him. He had to come up with some solution. He had to disappear.

Paris was a difficult city to learn, so he didn't have all the landmarks down. He was paying attention to the streets below, praying to see the statue he knew led to Place Cachée.

He was frantically checking street signs from above, looking for Montmartre.

Then, he spotted it. The statue of a beautiful young woman with her hand outstretched. Its oxidized copper surface gleamed in the sunlight.

Draco jumped down to a small terrace and maneuvered his way over the banister and down the side of the building. His calloused hands had no trouble holding on to the eavestroughs and various piping he used to get down from the rooftops.

"You think your little games can outrun us? You think you can hide? You cannot!" one of the gang members shouted after him. They all started climbing down from the roofs as well.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," Draco repeated to himself the entire way toward the statue. "Excuse me, sorry," he stuttered, pushing through the crowd.

The statue looked down at him and moved her dress out of the way for him to enter the Diagon Alley equivalent, Place Cachée. He passed through the magical concrete surface and finally came to a stop. His breathing labored, and his vision blurred.

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and forced him to stand up, even though the man who'd grabbed him was much shorter than him.

"Out of breath sweetheart?" Mungdungus Fletcher asked with a cheeky grin.

"Fuck off, Dung," Draco spat, wheezing slightly. "Thank god they were muggles… the hell were you selling them, anyway?"

Mungdungus shrugged. "Something illegal. I thought you'd've looked in the bag and known exactly what you was selling for me,"

Draco stood up tall and pulled Mungdungus through the beautiful plaza, and onto a side street. He held out his hand, and Mungdungus drew out a wad of muggle banknotes. "I never look at what I'm selling. It's less of a moral issue that way," said Draco, smirking. Mungdungus chuckled and dropped the counted cash in his hand.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you, as always, Mr. Black," Mungdungus winked.

Draco rolled his eyes and walked beside his employer. "So when's the next job?"

"I've said it a hundred times before, boy. The muggle jobs are harder to get. Their drugs are all… under surveillance and shit," he spat on the cobblestone and picked at his teeth. "Makes things difficult."

Draco pulled Mungdungus aside. "Mate, we're wizards. We can disguise ourselves like…" he trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The muggle police haven't got a clue about anything. Just let me do more jobs."

Mungdungus laughed. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you like this dangerous lifestyle."

Draco shrugged, waving the wad of money in his hand. "Pays well, keeps me busy. I don't see many downsides."

Mnugdungus nodded. "You're quick, inconspicuous, and smart. My best-"

"Only,"

"-Employee," Mungdungus insisted, ignoring Draco's intervention. "And I don't want to lose you,"

Draco held a hand over his heart. "Oh, Dung, you kind soul."

Mungdungus whacked Draco over the head. "Don't be a prat."

Draco held his arms up in surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it, darling,"

"Have you heard from your mum lately?" Dung asked conversationally, leading Draco through the plaza.

Draco shook his head. "No,"

"Have you written to her?"

"Nope. Don't plan on it either,"

Dung sighed. "I know I'm not one to give out advice," Draco rolled his eyes. Dung dropped a hand to his shoulder. "But family is quite nice to have around while you still have it. Even if at the moment they're your absolute least favourite people to ever exist,"

"I don't hate her," Draco clarified. "I'm just… I need time to figure myself out and… if I'm honest… I think she needs time to do the same,"

Dung smiled and patted Draco's shoulder before stepping away and waving goodbye. Draco nodded to him and went to the café he'd come to frequent.

"Just one of those… erm…" Draco pointed to a pastry consisting of chocolate wrapped up in a croissant.

The baker summoned it with their wand and put it in a bag. They held out a hand for Draco to drop currency in.

Draco counted his wizarding coins from his pocket and deposited them, taking the pastry in exchange. "Thank you,"

The café worker sneered in his direction.

"Posh French shitwhit," Draco hissed under his breath.

So distracted was he, that he didn't see the person straight in front of him. He crashed into the man, and they both fell to the stone road.

Whatever the man had been holding shattered on the ground. Glass went everywhere and Draco's head hit the cobblestone with an uncomfortable crunch.

The man was screaming all sorts of obscenities. Getting to his feet and hauling Draco off the ground by the collar. He was speaking in rapid German, not French, so Draco couldn't understand a word of what he was saying.

Then, the man raised a fist. Anyone knew what that meant no matter the language. Draco frantically raised his hands in front of him. "No, no, no let's talk this through let's… pa- patience before vi-violence or whatever,"

WHAM! The man decked Draco straight in the jaw, dislocating it.

He screamed in pain as the man dropped him to the ground and waved his wand over the shattered object, repairing it.

Draco let out a confused yelp at the sight of it magically rebuilding itself. Why did he have to smash his head in if he could've just repaired the bloody thing?

Someone's hand wrapped around Draco's face and held his jaw in place. Draco hissed in pain.

"It's alright, it's fine I know some healing spells," the girl said in a hushed whisper. "Episkey!" she tapped her wand to Draco's chin.

It immediately locked back into place, causing Draco to let out another little scream. He rolled his jaw and rubbed at his chin. His nose was still numb, and he could taste blood on his lips. "My bnose," he mumbled. "My bnose is brokehn,"

The girl nodded and looked through her satchel, drawing out a vial of cream. "This'll bring down the swelling," she explained as she applied it around his nose. It stung, and Draco's injury still hurt, but it wasn't that bad.

He blinked away the tears that had naturally formed in his eyes so he could get a better look at the girl.

He could've sworn he recognized her, but he'd need to see her full face. He chose to close his eyes for now.

"I'd repair your nose too, but… well, I-"

"It's the same spell," Draco said grumpily. "Minor breaks and dislocations are always episkey."

The girl nodded and performed the spell on his nose. It made a sickening popping sound as it jumped back into place, but the pain was entirely gone. "There," she said, her tone seemed quite proud of her work.

She offered a hand and Draco fumbled through squinting eyes to grab it and haul himself up.

"Thank you," he said, genuinely. "I really appreciate it,"

"Oh, it was no problem…" she trailed off as she took in Draco's appearance. Her eyes widened.

"What?" Draco asked, dazed. Then, it clicked. Of course he'd recognize this girl. She was the bane of his existence. "Granger?"

Hermione let out a little squeak and ran across the plaza, towards a side street.

Draco really debated whether or not it was worth running after her. He knew why she was here. She must have come to escape The Dark Lord's regime, which meant that she must think he was working for Voldemort.

"Shit," Draco sighed. He didn't really care what Granger thought of him. He just needed people to know what he knew in his heart.

He wasn't his father. He was better than him. Better than both of his parents.

So he set off after her, the thirst to prove himself that so eloquently described his place in Slytherin burning within him. He followed her down a side street.

"GRANGER!" he cried. "Grang- Hermione! It's not what you think!"

Then, a spell caught him right in the chest, and everything went dark.

Audrey Williams enjoyed the gap between her work hours and when she had to pick Lucy up from daycare. It was a peaceful thirty minutes that she used to its fullest.

Quiet. Complete tranquility.

She'd buy herself some sort of pastry and sit on a park bench in the center of town. Today, however, she didn't feel like taking that route. Today she had an odd tingling in the pit of her stomach that today, she should sit along the river. Her mother had referred to it as a journalistic instinct. Whenever Audrey got these strange tingles, there'd be something to report on. Something exciting and fresh and… well… newsworthy.

So, she bought a croissant (though not her usual choice, it worked for today) and made her way to the paths that lined the river.

The tingling in her stomach only grew, so she quickened her pace.

The sun was low on the horizon, so the bright blue flashing of a muggle police siren was easily visible and reflected on the water and the buildings surrounding it. She swallowed past the lump of adrenaline in her throat and continued walking towards the police car.

It was surrounded by people. Other pedestrians like her. They all seemed dreadfully upset. Their hands covering their mouths or faces.

Suddenly, Audrey didn't know if she wanted to see what it was. She hesitated briefly. It was a muggle incident, surely. There was no need for her to pay any mind to it.

But her instincts worked against her. She took a step forward and pushed through the crowd.

Audrey let out a near inaudible gasp. Her unoccupied hand flew to cover her gaping mouth.

There was a body. Small, frail. It was that of a young girl. Her skin was entirely washed out. A sickening grey. Her hair, however, was horribly intact.

It was made up of every shade of orange, gold, yellow, and red you could name. Her face was immediately recognizable.

The police officer pumped with his hands on her chest one last time. He sank back on his knees and shook his head, a frown forming on his face.

It was the body of Ginny Weasley.

A/N: Friendly reminder that this is NOT A DRAMIONE FIC. Sorry to those who want that.

Also, Happy New Year! Thank you very much to the guest who wished ME a happy New Year, I really appreciate it. If you haven't already seen it, I'm posting a new story alongside this one. It's really helped bring back the motivation for me to write, and I'm enjoying writing both stories at the moment. Thank you as always for reading, I look forward to your thoughts and theories on these new chapters.

New act, new focuses. Here are the main threads for ACT FOUR:

Ron is hearing voices

Hermione and France

Daphne Greengrass

Greyback's new ritual

Newt Scamander's discovery

And the BODY OF GINNY WEASLEY.

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