Always a special thank you to my beloved beta, Annaelle. *heart*


Draco had prepared himself for the unpleasantness of Potter's presence, had braced himself for it when Sirius Black had been called for—but what he had not expected was the presence of one Hermione Granger. She stepped through the floo a few minutes after her best friend, shaking her hair to rid herself of the fine dusting of ash, then rolled her eyes and fluffed her hands through Potter's hair—the idiot hadn't even thought to clean himself off from the floo like any gentleman would do. Even Sirius Black had elegantly used a wandless and wordless charm to vanish the ash that had clung to his form immediately after exiting the floo into Thornhill Cottage. It was something any Lord or future lord or lady would have learned from the moment they were able to hold a wand.

Narcissa fought to sit upright as soon as their guests landed within the foyer, and Draco assisted her as best she allowed him to until the trio were standing at the entrance to the living room, awaiting permission to be admitted by the house's Lady.

"Please, come in, Lord Black," she gestured gently, indicating the chairs and couches placed around the room, all surrounding the fireplace which was purely used for heating and decorative purposes.

Sirius strode forward, face blank, and lifted one of Narcissa's hands into his, very softly pressing a kiss against her knuckles. "A pleasure to see you again after so many years, Lady Malfoy," he murmured against her hand before guiding it back down towards her lap and dropping it.

Draco watched as his mother eyed who she had professed to be her favourite cousin, even over Regulus, and was startled to find that he finally had some minor inkling as to why she was his favourite. The man had charisma in spades and, despite being a Gryffindor among snakes, could control every ounce of his countenance—except for in moments of extreme rage, he had heard.

"It is always a pleasure, Lord Black—" she started, but Sirius—rather rudely—interrupted.

"Sirius, please. We are family, and some of the only family we have left," he replied with some small sense of irony.

The man was… not what Draco had expected.

Not even two sentences in, and Draco was experiencing internal whiplash from the emotions and posturing swirling around them all.

So, instead, he focused on two individuals whom had been constants in his life, at least for more of the last five years of his life than even his mother had been: Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.

Potter was well-dressed for once, in a robe cut in a style he recognized from the higher end brands of the market in the British Isles. Despite that, he still looked as if he'd been thrown into a room with cornish pixies let loose, with his hair disarrayed and his glasses askew—as always , it seemed—and there was even a button that had been placed in the wrong hole, making the entire ensemble look off-kilter in a way that Potter alone seemed to manage.

His ability to access Thornhill Cottage was not truly that surprising, if at all, as Draco figured he was the de facto heir to House Black (and House Potter). It was no surprise at all that Lord Black had requested his godson's presence when they had requested Sirius Black's aid. Potter even carried the requisite blood to allow him through the wards (no matter if the travel request had been permitted, only the lord of the manor could invite non-blood related travelers, and Draco hadn't had the will to invite anyone other than blood through the wards in the wake of the Dark Lord's attack) through his grandmother Dorea Black.

Which…

Why…

Draco stood up slowly, letting his growth spurt help him tower over every other person in the room. His borrowed wand slipped from its holster with a minimal flick into his left hand, though he kept it hidden from obvious notice.

She spotted it, of course. Potter might have been too naively focused on his godfather for protection, but the bushy-haired swot's eyes had instantly narrowed in on the movement of his wrist, as discreet as he'd made them. She'd never missed much, that one; always the brains of the trio. The most tactical, the most conniving, the most intellectual, the most talented, the most… the most most of the Golden Trio. And hadn't that just stuck in his craw all this time?

The fact that she would've made a fantastic Slytherin if not for her unfortunate lineage was also mildly infuriating.

"What is she doing here?" he'd bit out, almost immediately after his mother had welcomed the two schoolchildren to join them on the chairs about the fireplace.

Potter bristled immediately, but Granger's hand on his own was enough to settle the young man down into a… semblance of peace. For the moment. What Draco hadn't expected was the sudden stillness and stiffness of the other man in the room, Sirius Black, and the whites of his eyes that were suddenly making themselves quite visibly known.

Silence reigned for long moments, second after second after second for so long that he couldn't keep track of it anymore, where all parties were frozen to their seats. Even Draco's mother was frozen, all except her eyes, which were flitting from Sirius Black to Granger and back again, over and over and over.

With a huff of exasperation, Granger sat up very primly on the edge of the stiff armchair she had chosen when offered. She didn't quite roll her eyes, but she was close to it, he could tell—five years of even moderate exposure was enough to know so many of the other houses' members' micro-expressions, and Slytherin thrived on knowing them—and she glanced at Lord Black as if in some form of… apology? before answering the question no one else seemed to answer.

As she answered, it became increasingly obvious that it was her secret to tell, truly, and no one else's. It was understandable why there had been such a détente between the three of them and their two unwilling observers.

As if awkward in her own skin, Granger gripped both hands together and fiddled with a ring of some sort upon one of her fingers. He couldn't quite get a good glimpse of it, but her words completely pulled him away from the observation—and well they should .

She wasted no time at all in answering the unspoken question that was on Draco and Narcissa Malfoy's mind: why a young woman of dubious birth would be allowed past the Black family member-only wards of the cottage.

"My name is Aquila Hermione Black," she stated with conviction, though Draco could see it wasn't quite the same conviction with which she answered questions during classes. And yet, it was a conviction that rang true to his ears and to the evidence before him. "I prefer Hermione, please," she added with a smile. "And Ms. Granger if not, as I have only recently been informed of my Black parentage. It is why I am allowed here, to Thornhill Cottage, is it not? My Black blood?" She tilted her head at that, an escaped curl swaying with the motion and partially obscuring one eye.

Draco sat down abruptly, his world in further chaos than it already was.

Hermione Granger, a Black?

Hermione Granger, mudblood, muggleborn, a Black?

Hermione Granger, plain old nemesis to one Draco Malfoy, the progeny of his mother's side of the family?

Hermione Granger, in all possibility, his Merlin-damned third cousin?

A snarl escaped his lips before he could contain it, but he apologized to no one, instead staring the witch down where she sat so poised—as if she had had a lifetime to train for a pureblood coming-out party and its various scrutinies.

She was wearing a deep sapphire blue outer-robe over bronze-coloured under-robes, with a twisted belt of both colours tying them together. She had obviously been hastily prepared to come visit, as her hair was in a ridiculous braid that hadn't been the height of fashion since before his mother's mother was born, though he had seen her around Hogwarts in the hairstyle before, but it didn't detract from the more cultured look she—or whoever had dressed her—had been aiming for. She carried a beaded bag that clashed horribly with her robes, especially as they were distinctly of a very fine make, and her amber eyes glared with suspicion at Draco from across the room.

They had both chosen chairs backed immediately against a wall, not near a window, and with all other possible people within their field of vision.

Draco wondered if even the Boy Wonder had thought of that.

In that, at least, Hermione Granger… Hermione Black, if it were… had proven to be more her father's daughter than his godson was.

And she was Sirius Black's daughter, correct?

Narcissa was the first to break the silence, as was her right as hostess, especially after an introduction like that .

What Draco did not understand in the least was her reaction to Granger.

Narcissa shot bolt upright and placed one hand on her knee, one hand against her sternum, and both legs firmly on the floor, no matter how unladylike the position may have seemed. Her mouth was agape, moving slightly as if searching for words, and then her eyes abruptly started to well over with tears. Tears Draco had only ever seen four times in his life, and three of them after the Dark Lord had come to 'visit' their estate.

"Sirius," she choked. Her words were the least ladylike he'd heard from his mother in a long time. "Is she—is she really—did she not…" She couldn't finish a single sentence, and Draco was frozen in his seat, unable to do anything for the mother he loved, who was currently a woman he knew absolutely nothing of.

Sirius walked forward, steps somewhat unsure to Draco's mind, and then knelt before Draco's mother, producing a small piece of parchment. He couldn't see what it was, but he passed it over all the same. Narcissa's eyes ran over the words, back and forth, back and forth, and then again from the top, and her eyes welled up with tears. "Are you sure?" she whispered to Sirius.

"Yes. I felt the bond-pain myself," he murmured back to her, his black locks tilting towards her haphazard blonde ones, completely undone by the Cruciatus of mere hours earlier.

His mother's expression went through so many emotions all at once that it was hard for Draco to quantify or recognise them. He'd spent so little time in her presence simply for the joy of it, for recreational time or fun, for the simple… pleasure of her company… that he could not recognise half of what his mother was saying with her facial and body expressions. But they were intense, immense, and he would remember how Narcissa Malfoy looked in that moment for the rest of his life.

Narcissa let go of Sirius' hands, having clutched them tightly to her during the onslaught of her emotions, and stood up to pace before the fire. She did not spare Potter nor Granger a single glance, and that confused Draco almost the most; Potter he understood being here, Granger he did not. But his mother was all business. He listened to her, hoping to derive some clue as to what was happening from her vast intellect for strategizing.

"We will need to get them both new robes; a complete set," his mother said after some moments of contemplation and pacing, staring at no one and looking as if she hadn't suffered a Cruciatius in the last decade, let alone the last hour . "A new one for Draco as well, as this will affect him considerably also."

Draco simply blinked, not understanding half of what his mother was getting at, but letting her speak her mind—she knew far more of the wizarding world and its politics than he did. If his father were here, he would take direction from him; but as he was not, there was none better than his mother to turn a social disadvantage into an advantageous one.

New robes, check. For all of them, apparently, though he honestly had no clue as to why at this point.

"And for you ," she nearly snarled, all but pointing at Black. "I will assist you, because Morgana knows you need it, but I refuse to work with your scruffy sheepherder look, as that is too much for anyone of even my bearing to work with."

Never mind the fact the man had been a ghost story, a fugitive, for the last couple of years.

Narcissa did not care for such trivialities. "If you wish to see the rise of the House of Black again—" She glared at him until he capitulated with a very firm nod. "—then you will do as I say, when I say it, and how I say it. As will your ward, and your daughter, as that is crucial to a plea for your innocence."

Draco blinked, momentarily distracted from trying to figure everything out. "Daughter? Do you mean Granger?" It was one thing to guess, but it was an entirely other thing to have it confirmed for him, breaking his entire worldview.

He'd forgotten completely to shut up when his mother was talking, and was roundly ignored, though Granger's eyes widened a little more and she fiddled with what Draco now realized was the bloody heir ring to House Black, all silver and black.

"I have repudiated Lucius as far as the bank and government is concerned, and that has been to Draco's benefit as well, but I will further repudiate him to the public at large if you will accept myself as a ward, as a daughter of the house under duress, as far as all parties are concerned. I do not care what they call it, but you will accept myself and Draco as your family, under your protection, and not of the House of Malfoy, until Draco becomes of age and can fully accept the responsibilities himself as full Lord, rather than just the current head of house."

Narcissa took a deep breath and then inclined her head towards Hermione, something Draco could tell she was taken aback by. "My goddaughter, thought lost to me," she began, at first shaky but growing in confidence with every word, in an intonation that sounded like spellwork—and likely was. "I accept you unto my bosom, unto my heart, unto my thighs, unto my magic, unto my soul. You will always find home and succor with me, and will always have hearth and magic at my knee. To greet you again after all these years pains me as greatly as it amazes me, and I will do all in my power to protect you through your age of majority and even beyond. Our bond transcends time, universe, and power. So mote it be."

Draco couldn't decide who to watch during his mother's incantation, so his eyes darted between both of them—uncaring that Potter's and Black's were doing the same—his mother and Granger both, and was captivated as a vortex of power stirred up as if from nowhere, tying the two women together. It was an incantation he had become familiar with when researching his own bond between Severus, his godfather, himself, and he. His mother never made mistakes, and here she was, claiming Hermione Granger as her goddaughter? It was… it was… completely possible , it seemed, as the swirl of violent magic came to an abrupt halt and then shot equally into both his mother's and Granger's— Black's?— figures.

Granger obviously didn't understand the importance—the magnitude —of what his mother had just said, as she simply stood there awkwardly, as if confused by what had just been spoken. She likely had been, especially having not been raised by purebloods. If there was one thing for sure that he knew about Granger, it was that she was as muggleborn as they came, even if she was the top of her class (which definitely did not grate on Draco's ego; not officially).

Sirius looked at his… daughter (Merlin, that would take some getting used to) and had the grace to look entirely embarrassed. He'd obviously not thought this entire encounter through, which to Draco just seemed absolutely typical of the Gryffindor whom Potter idolized, Black lineage or not.

"Hermione…" he started softly. "May I present you to Lady Narcissa Malfoy, wife to Lucius Malfoy, mother to Draco Malfoy, and once a Black. My first cousin, if you could believe it." He smirked and struck an inelegant pose as if to contrast the differences that were… actually rather obvious, between his blonde-haired, elegant mother, and the uncouth raven-haired man who was somehow his cousin.

"What your father is trying in vain to work towards," Lady Malfoy said into the awkward silence that followed, shooting a quick glare of exasperation at her cousin, "is that I am your mother's best friend. Was," she admittedly sadly. "When your mother asked me to be your godmother, I was overjoyed. I'd not yet been blessed with pregnancy, and after many failed germinations, I was beyond ecstatic to be honoured by the request to become daughter to Marie Ophelia St. Claire's child. Her only child, in the end," she finished sadly, though her glance never wavered from Hermione's features. "And oh, you look so much like her." Those earlier tears seemed to threaten again, but she was stoic in the face of all.

Draco's mind stuttered temporarily at the fact that his mother was godmother to one of his archrivals at Hogwarts. It was… it was insane , is what it was. Becoming a godmother, a godfather… the link between the godparent and the godchild was one of extreme importance in the magical world, especially in Magical Britain. If even one parent were to perish before their child reached majority, the godparent(s) was expected to step into the role of whichever parent had died. To become their rock, their shelter, their guiding light in the world along with the surviving parent.

Draco knew that his mother had lost a godchild shortly after he'd been born—it was suspected that the loss had been the reason for his premature birth—but it had never been spoken of afterwards. The only reason Draco had been aware of the fact was that he had always had a capacity for snooping and eavesdropping.

But for Granger to be his mother's goldchild, and a Black ? That was entirely outside of the realm of possibility in Draco's mind, and he found his mind completely blanking as he attempted to consolidate the information.

Granger wasn't doing much better, from what little he could tell, and his mother wasn't taking any chances in approaching the girl as if they had been bonded for all time. There was healing needed there, though Draco didn't have the first bloody clue as to what either of them required for that. For the moment, he sat frozen, watching, as his cousin Sirius attempted—and very much failed; it would be comical if it didn't hurt his mother—to bridge the gap between the two of them.

"Hermione, this is…"

"My godmother. I gathered as much," Hermione replied shortly, refusing to look his mother in the eye. She did a fair imitation of it, though Draco spotted the way she stared at the space between them rather than catching his mother's eyes, and the chilliness of Granger's voice that was likely only noticeable to those who knew her extremely well—he was surprised to find that he was able to discern the emotion himself, in fact.

Before he could think much more on that, Hermione swept a slightly clumsy—but rather more elegant than he'd thought she'd be capable of—curtsey towards his mother. Her blue and bronze robes were swept elegantly to the sides, despite her body's own lack of familiarity with the motion. "Lady Malfoy," she spoke strongly, in her usual brass tones of boldness. There wasn't any warmth there, but honestly? Draco didn't know if he'd be able to pick out warmth from the voice of Hermione Granger if he'd been put on the spot to do so.

Draco watched as his mother closed right up again, and felt a hint of anger towards Granger for the hurt he knew his mother was feeling. It didn't matter if he understood Granger's position—oddly enough, he did—but this was his mother . She deserved every happiness. If that meant a cordial relationship with Granger, then so be it.

Potter stood up and wrapped an arm around his best friend, which told Draco in unequivocal terms that she was as impacted by the matter as Draco's mother was, but before he could say anything, before he could defend his mother as any lord of standing would, Lady Narcissa spoke firmly.

"In return for providing myself and my son safety, Lord Black... Sirius," she corrected crisply at his pout, "...I will provide you with the power of my position, no matter if it has lessened in some circles with Lucius' arrest and return to Azkaban." She looked entirely too irate at that, but Draco was under no illusion that his mother had ever loved his father. "The circles my influence will still hold sway in are some that hold the most power on the Wizengamot, however, and we will focus our efforts first with them." Her tone brooked no nonsense, and Sirius Black eyed her warily, as if a wild animal faced with someone who could save or end his career with one swift word.

"We will petition the Wizengamot. I am fully aware that Pettigrew was responsible for the atrocities committed against the Potters and the muggles during your showdown. Any memories you or others have of the encounter or anything surrounding the event, which we can show in a Pensieve, will be absolutely essential. But also, there are easily four laws that they completely bypassed or ignored, and we will have the advantage there. Before the summer is out, you will officially be Lord Black once again.

"As for your daughter…" She eyed Hermione with a blend of fondness and nervousness, though Draco doubted anyone but himself could have noticed it. "She must be presented to society as the Black heir, and I know you agree as you would not have brought her here if it were not so. Though, of course, we will need her full cooperation." Granger sat up a little at that, her expression thoughtful as Narcissa continued. "There is much to do, and very little time to do it in, if we are to establish the narrative—and your innocence—before September 1st. Alongside my own provisions and the safety of myself and my heir." Narcissa glanced at Granger fondly, for only a brief moment, but immediately closed herself off again as she returned her gaze to Sirius Black.

"We have plans to discuss," Narcissa Malfoy said regally, maintaining eye contact with Black. "And it would not do to have the children here."

All three teenagers got their backs up, but before they could protest they were wandlessly waved out of the room, the power absolutely breathtaking as a combination of Narcissa and Sirius' talents working together.

"Well," Potter said, rather unhelpfully, "how long do you think they'll be?"

Granger socked Potter in the arm with an expression of oddly-familiar (to Draco) exasperation before Draco could even think to say anything to the boy wonder, and, honestly? It was a rather impressive punch. He rubbed his own jaw as a memory welled up, of his own encounter with Granger's fist, and walked away from the two before they could see the hint of a smile he barely suppressed.


Kudos and comments fuel my desire to write!

Next chapter up... well, how do you think these three will get along? I mean, honestly...-