A/N: Remember how I said this chapter would come quickly with an explicit date of February 1st? Yeah, I'm sorry, life's been a bit of a bitch and I'm trying – sometimes rather unsuccessfully – to try and get back to writing this. For that, I'm really sorry and I'll try to make more of these quicker. Can't believe we're already at the end of August, isn't that crazy? Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this one.

Chapter 11: Le monde caché (The Hidden World)

Don't forget to breathe.

Hermione allowed the air to rush from the world and into her lungs.

The worst thing you can do is not breathing; it makes you nervous.

She opened her eyes and allowed the light to seep in. A large chandelier lit the entire room, ensuring everything was visible. The fiery light bounced off of the people adorned on the walls. They were staring at her like the several dozen moving around her. She locked her eyes to the fleur-de-lis motifs on the walls in an attempt to ignore the tempest in her stomach. Though she could manage the dizzying effects of a Portkey, she couldn't shake the idea that she did not belong here. It was as if she had assumed a different skin, an impostor amongst the people.

Take deep breaths, Hermione.

Everything of her melted into the crowd as her eyes focused on the couple approaching her. The man's hair had all turned white though his wife was certainly youthful. Save for a few splotches of white, she seemed almost Narcissa's age. The man's eyes were so blue they were like the ocean. He was sporting such a wide smile it might tear his face in two. Hermione curtsied as Narcissa taught her; right feet placed in front of the left, right moved in a semi-circle touching the left heel, bend the knees while lowering your head at the same time.

She said, 'Monsieur le Châtelain, Madame la Châtelaine. C'est un plaisir de faire vos connaissances. (Lord and Lady Castellan, it's a pleasure to be acquainted.)'

He said, 'Tout le plaisir est pour nous, Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce. (The pleasure is ours.)' Castellan Pellissier bowed deep for a man his age. 'Bienvenue au Château Gourneaux, Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce, ou peut-être devrais-je vous appeler la Mademoiselle la Baronne ? (Welcome to Château Gourneaux, Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce, or was I supposed to I call you Baroness?)'

'Merci de m'avoir invitée, Monsieur. Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce suffira. (Thank you for inviting me, Castellan, Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce will suffice.)'

As they continued to exchange pleasantries and engage in small-talk, eyes from every corner of the room glanced at her and their mouths opened to spew gossip and news. She was then directed to the dinner hall by the Lady Castellan. Hermione thanked her and followed her direction. Much of the Castellanship of Mérignac had been invited, some 60 or so guests were to arrive, three-fourths of which had already arrived. Once escorted, Hermione wandered through the long U-shaped table and sturdy chairs to a private little alcove where no eyes wandered.

'Hermioné de Bonnegrâce?' She turned to the brown-haired witch walking towards her. 'Je vous avais pas reconnue.. (I didn't think it was you.)'

'Pardon, est-ce qu'on se connaît ? (I'm sorry, have we met?)'

'Non, mais je t'ai vue à l'Académie. (No, but I saw you at the Academy.)' She smiled as she extended her hand. 'Professeure Associée Aurélie Dumont. Enchantée. J'enseigne l'Alchimie aux étudiants de la première à la troisième année. (Associate Professor Aurélie Dumont, pleasure to meet you. I teach Alchemy to First through to Third Year students.)'

Hermione shook her hand. Floral air crashed over her; bergamot, orange blossom, narcissus, everything. 'Enchantée, Professeure. Je suis désolée, vous faites assez jeune. (Pleasure, Professor. I'm sorry but you seem rather young.)'

'J'ai été diplômée qu'il y a sept ans. Le professeur de Bouclier m'a demandé de l'assister il y a deux ans. (I graduated merely 7 years ago. Professor de Bouclier asked me to help him in teaching students at Beauxbatons a couple of years ago.)'

'Oh, très bien ! Ce doit être génial d'enseigner aux enfants qui débutent tout juste leur apprentissage de la magie. (Oh, that's great! I imagine that it's incredible to teach to children who are starting to learn more of magic.)'

'C'est le cas. (You're right.)' Professor Dumont leaned in. 'Maintenant, est-ce qu'on peut se parler plus sérieusement ? (Now, can we skip the courtesies?)'

Hermione ignored the ever-increasing beat of her heart. 'Tout dépend de ce dont vous voulez parler, Professeure. (That depends on what you want to talk about, Professor.)'

Professor Dumont laughed. 'Please, call me Aurélie, Miss Granger.'

Miss Granger. Hermione turned her attention to the coming guests, trying to keep her racing heart from jumping out of her chest. How did she recognise me? Is she an enemy or a friend? Should I trust her? The voices in her dissipated as the woman started to speak.

'I'm half-English, you see; I was even considering a transfer to Hogwarts in my early years. Hannah's talked a fair bit about you, the brain of the Golden Trio. Plus, you have a rather unique name.'

'Hannah? Hannah Abbott?'

'The very same. We're cousins thanks to my mother, Harriet Abbott. I offered her to move to France after Aunt Elaine's murder but she refused. She said that she can't leave her friends behind, which I applaud.'

'She's never mentioned any magical relatives.'

'Uncle Brandon marrying a muggleborn ruptured the family. He and my mother reconnected when I discussed a possible transfer in 1981 but the damage was done.'

'You didn't keep in touch?'

'Barely.'

'I see.' Hermione swallowed her fears. 'So, what do you want to talk about?'

'Before we start…' Professor Dumont flicked her wand and a flute of champagne wafted in her hand. She took a sip and cleared her throat before starting her topic.

'Just before this school year started, Madame Maxime called for a faculty meeting. These meetings are routine, usually to discuss curricula, activities, and events. However, the last topic stuck out to me: the admission of two foreign students into the Seventh Year: Draco Lucius Malfoy and Hermioné de Bonnegrâce. Both of you had been sponsored by Professeur Supérieur de Bouclier and we couldn't very well refuse that. Then I heard whispers of your "project". That was the moment I began to, let's say, view our beloved alchemy professor under a different light.'

She curled an eyebrow. 'Should I doubt his intentions towards me?'

'He's always been known for being an ardent defender of light, and I have no reason to doubt that. My quarrel with him is more professional. He had been teaching for over 30 years; he could have retired with a large pension and relaxed in his estate in the Loire. That was, of course, until he was offered another extension followed by substantial – and I really do mean substantial – grants.'

'Offered, not given?'

'I imagine that he's delaying to see if the board will give him more years or just the five.' She shrugged. 'Normally, I would be glad for him – he was, and still is, my mentor and teacher – were it not for the fact that him continuing to teach is putting a damper on our ambitions and paths. Plus, we hadn't received any budgetary adjustments so his grant came from the junior ones.'

'So, Associate Professor Aurélie Dumont, what's my part in this?'

'Tell me what procedures he's doing on both of you.'

Hermione scoffed. 'No,' she turned away, 'that's—'

She grabbed her arm and pulled back. She leaned in, her voice mere puffs of air. 'I'll swear an Unbreakable Vow if privacy's a concern. In turn, I will support you. The Dumont family is prominent here in the south, and my brother Duvet has connections in the État-Général itself.'

The bell rang, and the attendants announced that dinner time had arrived. While guests were flooding into the centre, taking their seats as was indicated, Professor Dumont still held Hermione's arm in place. The crowd moved around them like wind moving around a tree.

She whispered, 'Just think about it, Hermione.'

Hermione nodded and Professor Dumont let her go. She assumed her place, over half a dozen seats away from the Castellan himself. Professor Dumont sat a few seats next to him. The Castellan lifted his glass and started his speech. At first it was the usual greetings but before she could doze up, he aimed it towards Hermione.

'Certains d'entre vous auront peut-être remarqué qu'une nouvelle tête nous a rejoint. Je vous présente Mademoiselle Hermioné de Bonnegrâce, la Baronne de Baigneaux. Si ce titre vous semble inconnu, c'est normal ; la baronnie de Baigneaux a été créée par Napoléon Ier pour récompenser l'un de ses généraux. J'ai le plaisir de l'accueillir dans ce lieu historique pour dîner avec nous. Bienvenue !'

(Some of you may be seeing a new face among us. Today, I introduce you all to Mademoiselle Hermioné de Bonnegrâce, the Baroness of Baigneaux. If this title seems unknown to you, that's normal; the Barony of Baigneaux was created by Napoleon the First as a reward to one of his generals. I have the pleasure of welcoming her to this historic place to dine with us. Welcome!)

The entire room repeated Bienvenue! as they raised their glasses up. The Castellan sat and the first course appeared on the table. Despite the succulent fish that had appeared for the entrée, she was rather attuned to the attitudes of everyone else on the table. In the corner of her eyes, she could see side eyes and glances from the Castellan as he was in conversation with someone.

'Bonsoir, Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce.' Hermione turned to the short man sitting next to her. 'Je suis l'adjudant Matthieu Chassagne, de la Châtellenie de Beaune. C'est un plaisir de faire votre connaissance. (Good evening, Miss. I am Adjutant Matthieu Chassagne and I come from the Castellanship of Beaune. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.)'

'La Châtellenie de Beaune, à l'est ? Que faites-vous ici, à Bordeaux ? (The Castellanship of Beaune to the east? What are you doing here in Bordeaux?)'

'Au vu des attentats possibles au sud-ouest, Saint-Étienne m'a muté à Bordeaux pour accroître les unités d'Aurors en Nouvelle Aquitaine. Et puis, j'avais envie de vous rencontrer, mon ancien commandant m'a beaucoup parlé de vous. (In light of possible attacks in the southeast, Saint-Étienne transferred me here to help increase the Auror units in Nouvelle Aquitaine. Moreover, I've been wanting to meet you; my former commander has spoken a lot about you.)'

'Votre ancien commandant ? (Your former commander?)'

'Oui, le capitaine Eugène Beaufort. Vous le connaissez, n'est-ce pas ? (Yes, Captain Eugène Beaufort. You knew him, no?)'

'Oh, c'est vrai. (Ah, that's true.)'

'Oui, nous sommes toujours en contact. Il se demande lorsque vous reviendrez le voir. (Yes, we still talk to one another. He's wondering when are you going to see him again.)'

'Il ne devrait pas s'inquiéter, puisque je peux maintenant le contacter grâce à vous. (He shouldn't have to worry now that I can contact him through you.)'

'En effet. (Indeed.)'

'Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce.' Hermione turned her head to the head of the table. 'Comment trouvez-vous cette soirée ? (How have you enjoyed this evening?)'

'Excellente, Monsieur. Cela me rappelle les dîners chez ma grand-mère. (I appreciate it, Monsieur. It reminds me of the dinners at my grandmother's.)'

He laughed. 'J'espère la rendre fière. Bien, la Professeure Dumont m'a dit que vous étiez l'une des meilleures étudiantes de Beauxbâtons. Professeur ? (I hope to be able to make her proud. Right, Professor Dumont has been telling me that you're one of the best students in the Academy. Professor?)'

Professor Dumont glanced at Hermione with a twinkle in her eyes. 'C'est vrai. Je n'ai jamais été sa professeure, mais mon mentor, le Professeur de Bouclier, m'en a dit que du bien. J'espère pouvoir lui apporter mon aide, maintenant que nous nous sommes rencontrées. (Yes, that is true. I've never taught her myself, but my mentor, Professor de Bouclier, has sung praises of her. I hope to be able to help her now that we've met.)'

'Qu'en dites vous, Mademoiselle ? (What say you?)'

Hermione sat straight as a ramrod. 'Le Professeur de Bouclier est trop modeste. Mais oui, il est vrai que je suis douée dans ce que je fais et toute aide de la Professeure Dumont me sera utile. (Professor de Bouclier is perhaps too modest. But yes, I am certainly great in my studies and I will appreciate any help Professor Dumont wants to give me.)'

He smiled, the edges of his lips near-tearing his face. 'Très bien. Puisque vous êtes guérisseuse-étudiante, vous pourriez peut-être transmettre mes salutations à la Professeure de Montagnard ? Elle enseigne toujours les Sorts de Soins, n'est-ce pas ? (That's good. Since you are a healer student, perhaps you could give my greetings to Professor de Montagnard? She still teaches Health Charms, right?)'

'Oui, et c'est une très bonne professeure. Je les lui transmettrai, Monsieur. (Yes, and she's a wonderful teacher, I will do that, Monsieur.)'

'Est-ce que vous avez réfléchi à ce que vous allez faire après votre diplôme ? (Have you considered what you're going to do after graduating?)'

'Plus ou moins, mais… Tout est encore flou. J'ai l'intention de postuler à l'Hôpital Saint-Louis des Maladies Magiques de Versailles. (A bit but it's all up in the air. I intend on going to the Saint-Louis Hospital for Magical Maladies at Versailles.)'

'Je vous souhaite bonne chance alors. (I wish you good luck then.)'

The conversation died as he peeled his eyes away from her and turned to someone else. Yet, Hermione kept contact for just a second longer, enough to see that grin fall to a frown and back up to a grin in the span of several microseconds. Hermione returned to the food on her plate, content on having done the best she could've done.

The dinner was largely uneventful, just a five-course meal with plenty of drink and conversation. However, it was clear that there were other intentions at play. In spite of the good-hearted talks going around the table, Hermione could see the looks that lingered on her, the hurried glance away when she caught them, and the conversation quieting down whenever she spoke to someone new. It didn't take long for the dinner itself to end, the clock hitting the 11th hour mark. Guests congregated around the room, chatting and discussing with various digestifs in hand. Hermione was standing aside when a familiar bouquet tickled her nose.

Hermione asked, 'Should I thank you for the introduction?'

Professor Dumont laughed. 'No, not particularly. It's just a show of goodwill on my part, Hermione.'

'Qu'est-ce que vous préparez, Professeur ? If you want me to do this, I have to know why. It can't be as simple as me telling you what Draco and I were subject to; it has to be more than that.'

Professor Dumont took a step and turned towards her. 'After the fall of Grindelwald, France and her fellow European nations considered the Dark Arts as something that is too chaotic and dangerous to manage. After all, that was what Grindelwald did. That was until a certain English student by the name of Tom Riddle arrived on the shores of Norway, better known as—'

'—Voldemort.' Hermione's heart leapt and a frigid winter flew over her in an instant. 'Yes. What— What did he do? I know he was a prodigy in Alchemy and many other fields, but I didn't…'

'He revolutionised everything. With the help of several friends at Durmstrang, he was able to use Dark Magic to create magic in an unprecedented manner. The Dark Mark was the gold example: instant Apparition without having to imagine your destination, summoning someone else by will, so much more. To be able to replicate that would be extraordinary.'

Hermione scoffed. 'I'm surprised you didn't study imprisoned Death Eaters.'

'It wasn't possible at the time.' Professor Dumont shrugged. 'His "death" in 1981 seemed to have closed down the Mark's capabilities so all we could see was a blurry mass of Dark Magic. That was until a group of neo-Death Eaters attacked a number of French patrons and patronesses during the Feast of the Assumption event and Professor de Bouclier inspected Draco Malfoy's Dark Mark several months ago, realising that every single alchemical arrangement was able to be experimented on and researched.'

'Why didn't the Mark close up again, or better yet, just fade away?'

'He didn't expect to die.' Hermione snorted and Professor Dumont nodded. 'Professor de Bouclier seems to think that Norway is harbouring alchemists versed in the Dark Arts to provide further modification to the Dark Mark. Modifications that would allow them, for example, to fool national wards and essentially move from country to country without detection and without difficulty.'

'So, you think that Professor de Bouclier's doing this because he wants to stay ahead of the curve? Doesn't seem malicious.'

'Ever since the rise of Voldemort and his later re-emergence after the Triwizard Tournament, France has always pushed Britain to be more ruthless but they didn't listen. Even the British government itself fell to the Death Eaters for months. Now, thanks to that, France is experiencing attacks like Grindelwald's reign of terror. France is willing to fight fire with fire.'

France is willing to fight fire with fire. Hermione pondered on that choice of words: fire with fire. Did she mean to fight the Dark Arts with Dark Arts of their own? The capabilities of the Dark Mark were certainly interesting but she didn't see how it was all connected. Questions flooded over her to the point where she didn't notice Chevalier Charbonnier approaching her.

Professor Dumont said, 'Here's another one of my shows of good faith. À la prochaine fois, Mademoiselle.'

Before she could answer, the Chevalier said, 'Mademoiselle, le Châtelain demande votre présence. (Miss, the Castellan has requested your presence.)'

Professor Dumont winked at her as Hermione walked with the Chevalier down several corridors and doors to another double-set of doors. The doors opened, and Castellan Pelissier was standing in front of a roaring flame. Banners were unfurled around the room, making the large room seem smaller. The Chevalier nodded, Hermione curtsied, and he left. It was just the both of them.

The Castellan gestured to the sofa. 'Asseyez-vous, je vous prie. Nous avons des choses à nous dire, Mademoiselle. (Please, sit down. I believe we have some things to discuss, Mademoiselle.)'

Hermione nodded and she walked over to the red sofa. Her back, however, never touched the back. Her back was as straight as a telephone pole. She cleared her throat. 'J'avoue être surprise que vous m'ayez fait venir pour une conversation privée. (I admit that I'm surprised by being granted a private audience with you.)'

'Shall we dispense with the pleasantries, Mademoiselle Granger?' Hermione's heart stopped for a second. He leaned in and focused on her. Under his ocean gaze, waves were eroding everything in her. 'Why is it that you hadn't claimed your ancestry? Such a line should not be kept hidden.'

Hermione darted her eyes to the banner atop of the fireplace; Honneur et Famille. A flash of blonde flew past her; Appeal to him, Hermione.

She cleared her throat. 'Yes, well, let's say that it wasn't advisable to flaunt your heritage in a world that recognises mine as beneath them.'

The corners of his lips quirked. 'Ah, yes, the British wizarding society. I'm sure France has enlightened you in how we comport ourselves compared to them.'

Oh, come on, as if France isn't much better. France is—

The retort in her mouth died as another flash of blonde appeared. Men can be rather fickle if you appease them.

She smiled at the sparkle in his eyes. 'It has been wonderful to see the honourable ways French wizarding families hold themselves. It's… better.'

'A sentiment you've taken to heart, it seems, what with your efforts in the Ministry as the largest Patron of the Bureau of Magical Creatures. In that regard, why the Bureau of Magical Creatures? It's not the bureau one would typically patronise.'

'I simply consider them worth preserving, Monsieur. The first wizards were servants of nature, so preserving nature and its creatures should be a concern of all. Moreover, just because they are deemed useless now does not mean that they're not in future. Muggles used oil left over from fossils to fuel their cars; who's to say we won't design something as ingenious?'

'A wise thing to say, Mademoiselle.'

He reached over and grabbed a bottle from the cabinet. A large red bottle was produced, condensation covering it like a snowy blanket. He poured it in two glasses and gestured to it. She sipped it and hints of flavour jumped out at her; sweet like cherries and strawberries, powerful with hints of brandy but without the burn in her throat. The flavour danced around her tongue, giving off almost the fresh smell of flowers in spring.

'Je sais que c'est censé être un digestif, mais je suis tombé amoureux de la saveur (I know it's not your typical digestif but I fell in love with the flavour). Could you tell what it is?'

She smiled. 'A Pineau. It tastes spectacular.'

'Thank you. It was a gift from a friend at Angoulême.' He took another sip and placed it on the table. 'I'm sure you are wondering as to why I've asked to see you.' Hermione sat up just a little straighter. 'When your name had started being uttered in the lips of those who matter, I've had some research done. Your family is interesting, Mademoiselle, almost as interesting as your personal life.'

Hermione nodded. 'I thank you, Monsieur, for having said that. I hope to do right by my family and be… honourable and just in doing so.'

'An impossible task.' At Hermione's look of confusion, he took his glass. 'In this world of ours, secrecy is the ultimate standard, and we must do everything to make it so. It is a fact of life as sorcerers, something I myself am not immune to.'

'In spite of your family words?'

She uttered them without thinking. The glass stopped a millimetre away from his lips. Lit by the fire, filtered by the glass, the glimmer in his eyes hardened. She opened her mouth to reply when he laughed.

'We're all hypocrites in some fashion or other.' He took a sip, eyes still locked on to hers. 'Sometimes we put on so many masks we wonder who we really are in life. I do hope we'll be open with one another in private.'

'E-Erm, yes, of course. It also makes sense in a way. With so many people with as many differences, a direct answer would be inappropriate.'

'Such so.' He put his glass down. 'Tell me, do you regret not being able to exercise your heritage in public life?'

Sometimes, I'm glad I didn't. 'No, not particularly.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Interesting. Sure, you are an Imperial and not Royal noble but a noble nonetheless. If any sorcerer were to have even a portion of what you are they would be clamouring to claim it. If there's one thing aside from our love of France that we all agreed on is that we miss our old titles and responsibilities.'

'I thought the magical system preserved that?'

He huffed. 'Barely. My family used to be comtes who would have spacious estates and many people whom we protected. Now, my family is reduced to a humble city mayor, susceptible to opinion and judgement.'

Humble? You're still one of the richest Pureblood families, you— Hermione cleared her throat. 'Yes, I see your point.'

'Exactly. Of course, I imagine your upbringing and noble values are what guide you in life. Your studiousness, tenacity, and tendency to protect those unable to do so… Very noble qualities, Mademoiselle.'

He took a sip of his wine and placed it on the table next to him. His eyes wandered over to the roaring fire as his fingers drummed on the chair.

'It reminds me of our struggle in the war, the things that Grindelwald did to us French sorcerers. Out of shared suffering and struggle comes bonded brotherhood. The generational pain of war and conflict is something we all share, sorcerer or not.' He turned his eyes to Hermione, sharper than before. 'It's also something you share, is it not?'

The room melted away; the chairs turned to seats, and the walls to books. Beside her was her grandmother, telling stories of their family. The severed lines, the ruptured names, the blotted parts; the story of how two wars devastated her family. People fell like leaves in autumn.

The sound of the sofa creaking sent her back to reality. 'War takes its toll on everyone, even the descendants who've never felt personally its impacts. However…' He reached out to her, holding her hand in his. 'That's not the case for you, isn't it, Mademoiselle? You not only know the generational pain of war but also recognise its personal pain.'

Hermione released a restrained breath. 'Yes, I do. The things that Voldemort had done; they are unspeakable, heinous. I admit that as someone who is born of non-magicals, the politics of the wizarding world escaped me but no matter how hard I tried, I still got involved in it. Ignorant insults used to be thrown at me by pure-blood families who knew nothing but that their blood made them unique. Sometimes, I wonder if I became who I had become by my values or by the spite caused by those families.'

'It all renders the heart weak. However, I've found that it was through these things that one can become stronger in the world. Tragedies are a staple in our lives, little or large, and we have to endure. You've endured quite a bit, haven't you?'

She nodded. She locked eyes with him and his eyes were glistening. Not of tears, but like light reflecting in a blade. One corner of his lips curled before he leaned back. He swirled his glass on his hand, his eyes keeping contact with hers. In the cracking of the logs, all she found was hot pokers waiting to burrow deep.

'Yet… That makes me confused. You've endured so much against the pure-bloods who see you as nothing but pests, and yet you ally yourself with a family who has spent their lives fighting against people like you. Furthermore, from what I've heard, your ally was also your bully. That does not seem to have sense.'

Hermione sat up a bit straighter, heart pounding. 'All of that is true. Draco Malfoy was my bully and the Malfoy family was a major supporter of Voldemort. However, they're willing to make amends and they are honest. I trust them now.'

'How have you assured yourself of that? I suppose that I don't have to tell you, as a veteran instrumental in the British war, that trust should be deserved.'

'No, you don't, Monsieur. I know full well that trust should not come cheap.'

'But the Malfoy family?' He narrowed his eyes.

'Monsieur Pelissier, I know that what I've said seems ridiculous – sometimes it does to my own ears – but it's the truth. I know that trust does not come cheap and that trusting them after experiencing the things they've done is a folly. However, they've had every opportunity to harm me and they never took the chance. Besides…'

Hermione took a long sip of her glass. The fortified wine coated her tongue in a sweet yet strong flavour; it loosened her tongue. Everything Narcissa had advised her, they all disappeared. All she wanted to say was the truth.

'… Good deeds almost mean nothing against a system rigged against you. Voldemort – and Grindelwald too for that matter – did not exist only because they were who they were, they existed because the system allowed them to exist. We both know the system favours pure-blood families like you. The Malfoy family is one of the oldest continuous magical lines in Europe and one of its richest too. High society will always favour a Malfoy because they underestimate those born of non-magicals and half-bloods. That will be their mistake, not mine.'

He chuckled, nodding while he did it. He took a sip of wine and stood up, his tall stature bathing her in his shadow. With a move of his hand, Hermione stood up.

'Vous êtes une femme dangereuse, Mademoiselle. Ambitieuse, sans pitié, et maligne. J'aimerais entretenir de bonnes relations avec vous. (You are a dangerous woman, Mademoiselle. Ambitious, ruthless, and cunning. I do wish we can maintain a good relationship.)'

'Moi aussi, Monsieur. (I wish it too, Monsieur.)'

She let out a breath and took his outstretched hand. They said their farewells and Hermione walked out of the room. Walking through the empty meandering corridors of the chateau, the silence screamed at her. With the warm air of the chateau engulfing her, the Castellan's words echoed in her mind. She nodded at every noise whoever was there made but her eyes were fixed to the brick fireplace.

She walked through the open flames back to the Château de la Fierté. The cold pierced through her. She pushed open the doors, the pale moonlight paving her way, illuminating nothing but the walls. Hermione let out a breath. She turned on the heater and, in a few seconds, warmth embraced and comforted her. She took off her gown, holding it like it might shatter. She changed to her normal wear and returned to the fireplace room. As she was walking down the corridor, something caught her eye. It was a painting of an ancestor of hers. Silver and gold adorned his uniform as he sat in an old plum chair. She glanced down to the plaque underneath.

Colonel Henri Guillaume de Bonnegrâce

The third Baron of Baigneaux

1 December 1816—6 August 1870

Her eyes returned to him. Though the man didn't move, his eyes narrowed in appraising her. If he were a magical painting, what would he say? What words of counsel would he say to her? Would she understand him? Would he understand her? Though she was magical and he was not, would that prevent the two veterans from understanding each other? Nothing stirred her attention to his cerulean eyes, not even the wafting whispers borne of the winds.

She turned and walked away, her heels clacking and stomping. She went up the steps to the bedroom when a stray ray of light blinded her. She turned to the ajar door, candlelight streaming from the gap. She walked over, the light seeming to intensify as if the heavens lit up the way. She peered over the gap to the corner. Six months ago, her and Draco sat there, peering over books. Kissing. She closed the door and walked back; her mind filled with nothing but that moment. She looked at the clock: 22.27.

With heavy steps that could shatter the floors, she went to her bedroom and slept alone as usual. She closed her eyes, tuning her ears to the water pelting the roof. Yet, in the noise, his voice slipped again and again.

'Ambitious, ruthless, and cunning.'

She could not sleep, no matter how much her eyes begged. She sauntered out, wandered the halls, and noticed the Floo connection to Wreath House open. She kept the house under Stasis and walked through. Warmth and joy ripped through her; its force palpable even when blocked by a set of double doors. She placed her hand on the double doors, ready to push, but something else pulled her aside.

She turned left, down one set of stairs, and reached a spacious room. Inside was a near-complete recreation of the entire Black line, perhaps missing half a dozen or so generations from the original at Grimmauld Place. She traced the lines along the walls, fingers weaving through the leaves and branches to the farthest branch. A smiling blonde woman was smiling in the centre, and to her right, one leaf appeared: Draco Malfoy. Her fingers stopped at his face.

'Welcome back, Hermione.'

She glanced at the woman standing in front of the door. Though decades had been lived between them, the lady standing in front of her now didn't seem to age from the picture on the wall. Her fingers returned to the boy, barely touching his lips as if it would smudge and fade. Narcissa closed the door and uttered a whispered Silencio. Narcissa walked up to her, standing almost shoulder to shoulder.

'What's the matter?'

The Castellan's remark echoed in her mind. She whispered, 'Sometimes I don't feel like… myself.'

Her voice hitched in her throat; there was nothing but cold air. She put her finger on his lips and traced it; the cracks of the paint were like the cracks of his lips. Gusts of wind filled the silence. Narcissa was standing next to her, face uncertain. Her eyes darted all over the wall, so vague and aimless.

'We were raised to exult our blood, our traditions, and most importantly, our families. When I met Lucius in Hogwarts, it was like all of my dreams came true; a Malfoy and a Black united in blood. What other family was as loyal to blood purity than ours? But then, Andromeda eloped with Ted Tonks. I didn't know it at the time, but that's the moment I lost my family. Andromeda was the enemy, Bellatrix became addicted to Dark Magic and was imprisoned, both of my parents died in the fighting, Lucius was in court, and I was all alone with Draco. I thought that we weren't loyal enough, that we were too fallible, so I embraced what I believed in even more.'

She, too, put out her arm. Her fingers grazed her younger self on the wall, tracing the lines and letting herself run all over the cracks and imperfections. Her fingers slowly travelled down the branch, touching Hermione's finger over Draco.

'When Draco received his assignment, everything within me shattered. I had placed so much faith, so much of my life and legacy, in this man, and he turned around placing such an order on my son? I knew he would be called upon; I knew he would be Marked, but I hadn't imagined it like that. The heir of two of the oldest pure-blood families had been practically sentenced to die. If blood didn't prevent him from doing this, what did?'

Tears flowed from her eyes, down her cheeks, and down to the carpeted floor. All Hermione could do was curl her fingers over Narcissa's.

'I didn't know what to believe in anymore. I was raised to believe in family and yet I was abandoned by near everyone who loved me; I was raised to believe in traditions and lineages yet they amount to nothing in the eyes of a madman; I was raised to exult our blood and yet so much of it spilled on the floor of our house. From then on, all I saw was Draco and only Draco. I didn't care what I would do or not do as long as he survived. You should have seen his eyes, Hermione, how dead they were. Now, I wonder, if I were to take a Time Turner to the past, how would I recognise myself? Would I see her as the enemy like I used to with Andromeda or someone else? When I look at this room, all it feels like is a betrayal of all the ideals I was raised with.'

Narcissa released her hand from the wall and let it hang next to her. She turned to Hermione, expectant blue hues shining through her lashes. Narcissa inched closer, her hand touching Hermione's. With that warmth in mind, Hermione started speaking.

'There were so many things that I found problematic with the magical world – things I still find problematic – coming from the Muggle world. I was brought up with principles and ideals that are near-unrecognisable in the wizarding world. I tried to fight for them, I tried so hard, but after what's happened, everything seemed so tiring. Why fight if the ideals you're fighting for can't even be understood let alone conceived by others around you? And if your ideals are so important, at what cost should you pursue them?'

Hermione walked away from the wall, her legs itching to move. She paced around the room, eyes following the various branches and leaves painted on the walls. The names became a blurry mess of text.

'So, I compromised. In Fifth Year, I launched an ambitious initiative. After some backlash, I compromised but as little as possible; I still thought they were worthwhile. In Sixth Year, Ron dated Lav-Lavender Brown; I compromised by accepting it, by just ignoring him even though I was taught to be reasonably persistent. The more I compromised, the more I became less like myself, whatever that is. You and Draco are emblematic of that. This, this should not be happening. I was supposed to be with Ron, working on our relationship while he went to training and I returned to Hogwarts with Ginny. Yet…'

The words were already on the precipice of her lips, thoughts already waiting to be made into reality. She had led up to it. She needed to say it. She took a deep breath, the air near-exploding from the tension.

'Yet… I have fallen in love with someone who has tormented me. In my darkest moment, deep within my aching body, I thought of him. Why? I despised him so why is it him that I ran to? At first it was only a tickle so I wanted to imagine everything but him; now, I can't imagine anything else but him. The way he laughs, the way his lips quirked into that aristocratic smirk, his cool hands on my cheeks, his swirling silver eyes – eyes I could drown in. I am not afraid of falling in love with him, Narcissa. I've already fallen in love with him… and that scares me. What happened to me – and to him for that matter – to enable us to fall in love and be together? This should not have happened.'

Hermione felt nothing but the arms of a mother. Narcissa rested her chin on her head. 'I should not have befriended you, let alone comforted you, yet I have and I am. Thinking about what should and should not have become is a waste of one's time; I should've learned that after Bellatrix. I don't know what you will do but as long as you do it with conviction, everything works out.'

Hermione closed her eyes, soaking in the entirety of Narcissa around her. Then, a low hum permeated the room. In the notes and melodies, memories start flooding in. The house in the marshes, the smell of tea around the corner, the coos of a newborn, the heavy steps of those who had lost everything…

'This is what my mother used to sing when we were upset. It's strange to remember both this being sung to me by my mother and me singing it to Draco as his mother. I became her, for better or for worse. I just hope that the things I do are enough to make you not become me.'

Hermione released herself. 'For what it's worth, Narcissa, your love for Draco was what killed Voldemort. Without you telling him that Harry died, I wouldn't be here today. I don't know your mother but if she loved you as much as you love Draco, she could've been a wonderful woman too.'

'Thank you, Hermione. Shall we go up? It'll be Christmas soon.'

Hermione nodded. They walked out of the room and walked up. With every step she could hear the cacophony growing louder and louder. Yet, the closer she was, the more her feet wanted to stop. Her footsteps, a few seconds ago in sync with Narcissa's, slowed down until she outpaced her. Narcissa glided through the hall and continued up the steps to the bedrooms. Hermione walked up to the large doors and put her hand on it. She pushed, allowing the light and noise to pierce through her. She wanted to step inside, to allow the noise to wash over her, but she couldn't. Her legs couldn't move.

'Ambitious, ruthless, and cunning.'

Another set of footsteps closed in. 'I thought you wouldn't be coming.'

Hermione glanced to the deep voice next to her, red liquid dancing in the glass in his hand. 'I thought you couldn't stand me, Zabini.'

'These past few days have dismantled that idea.'

'In regards to me being, in your own words, "Weasley's Mudblood", or just mudbloods in general?' His eye twitched. 'I know you, Zabini, everyone does. You act as if anyone other than pure was beneath you, you grimace every time you see someone who is neither pureblood nor Slytherin.'

He smirked. 'I've no idea you were an admirer.'

'Not an admirer, an observer; something that a Prefect would have had to be. So, Zabini, which is it?'

'The latter option.'

He took a sip of the red in his hand, the liquid trembling as he put the glass on his lips. He walked over to the door but stepped back. With a nod of his head, Hermione followed to peer inside. Everyone was partying and playing all around the Christmas tree. Laughter and screams flooded in her as she tried to remember putting it up a few days ago. The chaotic ideas of Theo, Emma helping as best as she could, Daphne and Blaise observing from the background… Different, yet alike.

'They're all so close. Sometimes I wonder about the things I had missed.'

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. 'I thought you grew up with them too.'

He shook his head. 'My parents separated when I was seven years old. Like many Italians, my father ended up falling in love with the Muggles, wanting to make peace with them, and follow in their footsteps. My mother, however, didn't. She even called Muggles gli scarafaggi – the cockroaches. Anyway, after the separation, she moved back to her native England, and I first knew Draco a year later when she married Alistair Orpington.'

'Death Eater, unconvicted in the First Wizarding War.' At Blaise's look of confused amazement, she shrugged. 'I kept a record of all suspected Death Eaters after— after Dumbledore died. You have to know your enemies to defeat them.'

He nodded. 'What do you do as a lonely eight year old who has just found a group of possible friends following the ideals that your mother and new father held? You latch onto them, internalise them. I believed that I was the best, not only above the half-bloods and mudbloods, but over pure-bloods too. That was until summer of 1996 when—'

'—When Draco was marked.'

He nodded. 'In the ceremony, you were asked to provide two witnesses; Pansy and I were chosen. I remember how stressed and downtrodden he was, how he shut everyone off, even Pansy. He had always treated her like rubbish but at the time he didn't even acknowledge her existence. I didn't know he was tasked to kill Dumbledore.' He chuckled. 'And yet I thought he was stressing over the idea of marrying Astoria.'

Hermione's heart dropped. 'Was it a betrothal agreement?'

'Yes. Daphne takes Theo, Astoria takes Draco; bind one family to two. If you're worried about that, don't be. The contract was annulled by the Dark Lord himself later in the year; one of the rarest moments Draco ever showed a hint of emotion after the Marking. Regardless, he's much happier now, much like his old self but without the hatred and a bit of the superiority complex. I have you to thank.'

'I don't want you to thank me, Blaise, I want to know if you could tolerate me, tolerate us. Whether you like it or not, I'm going to be here. Draco misses you, he misses everyone, and I don't want him to either accept you or me.

'The issue is not whether or not we accept you, the issue is whether or not you accept us.' He stepped closer, the vapour in his breath nearly reaching hers. 'If you're sticking with him, with Draco, you'll be seen as one of us. You may not feel it now but if – when – you return, that's what people will see: the Death Eater's whore. Are you sure that you want that, Hermione?'

Narcissa's voice blew through her like the breeze. Follow your gut. 'Yes, I do, Blaise. Besides, I don't know if I'll return to England or stay in France.'

'You will return, Hermione, I guarantee it. We're both children of two countries, of two cultures, of two ideals. No matter how much we want one, we will always have both. In France that's not an issue, but in England it is. I ask you again, do you want this, truly and really want this? This is unlike your relationship drama with Weasley; this is serious. You'll be throwing your lot with a group of people who had considered you scum.'

In that split-second, Hermione replayed everything she had heard and did for those several days. The political intrigue, the compromises, the comments… One could argue she had already made her choice when she decided to lessen Draco's sentencing, or even further when she decided to befriend Narcissa. Everything she had done up to that point wasn't something she would have ever imagined doing, yet she did them anyway. All for what? An anonymity that was quickly thrown away?

'I—'

A loud crash screamed through the open door and both of them rushed through. Everyone was there – except for Astoria and Tracey – all sitting down save for Draco and Theo. Everyone else had eyes as wide as their open mouths. Standing behind Draco, she couldn't see his face, only the open bottle of a 1984 Mouton Rothschild held behind his back; a bottle she remembered wrapping.

In front of Draco was Theo. He was swerving all over the place, back hunched, eyes bloodshot. His shirt was crumpled and creased like he tried to take it off. Theo took another step, and Draco put out his left arm while holding his right behind him. Theo took another step and Draco shoved him.

'Theo, I love you—'

'Sorry, Draco honey, but Daphne's already had me.'

'—but, for the love of God, I'm not letting you drink any fucking more.'

He gasped, looking around the room first to Daphne, to Emma, and then peering over Draco's shoulder to Hermione and Blaise. 'Blaisypoo, I see you've brought Herminnie too! Did you hear that? Drakey said a bad word! On Christmas Eve too! Are you going to punish him?'

Before Hermione spoke, Daphne stood up and cupped Theo's cheeks. She pulled and brought his eyes to hers. 'Theo, darling, maybe you should sit down.'

He locked eyes with her, took her hand in his, and kissed it. Theo, his head in the clouds, followed her and never broke contact as he sat down. While Blaise rushed to the sofa next to Emma, Draco walked over to Hermione.

He handed the bottle to her and said, 'Hey, thanks for the gift, it's wonderful, but do me a favour and keep it safe until tomorrow afternoon.'

She whispered, 'What happened?'

'Theo has… issues where alcohol is concerned.'

She pursed her lips. 'I feel bad for gifting him the bottle.'

Draco took Hermione's hands and rubbed circles on them. 'I should've told you.'

'It's fine. Can we… Can we talk?'

'Sure, sure.' They walked out, hands still intertwined, into the hall again. She let go and sat down on the steps. All she could perceive was his voice asking, 'What's wrong, Hermione?'

'I have to ask you something and please answer truthfully.'

'Alright.'

She lifted up her head and locked eyes with those silver pools of his. 'Have you ever thought about who you were before? About the Draco Malfoy in school?'

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. He opened his lips but then closed them. He wandered around the steps for a bit before sitting down next to her. He took a deep breath.

'Yes. All the time, especially now that my friends are here. I think about that Draco Malfoy, the boy that I once was. But then…'

He took her hand and looked at the folds. The warmth of his hand shot up hers, embracing her like a blanket.

'Then I met you again. I thought you were looking for some sort of revenge, some sort of reward for being on the right side. I thought you were going to be like Weasley. But no, you came in to listen to me. Not only that, but you also had a letter to deliver from my mother. There was nothing – and I do mean nothing – about me that could benefit you, and yet, you testified on my behalf. I could never forget that.' He glanced at the door, 'With them, all I see is my past,' he turned to her, 'and with you, all I see is my future.'

She smiled, probably the widest it had been for a few hours. 'That's sweet of you. It's just that I think of what I am now and what I used to be and I don't feel like I know myself. I used to have this conception of things of what I was supposed to do and how I was going to do them. I'm just afraid that I won't come out of this like myself, feeling like myself.'

'You're not the only one who has changed.' His shoulders tensed and he let go of her hand. 'I, erm… I had this arrangement. It's not really my arrangement but something that my father did, he—'

'–Betrothed you to Astoria Greengrass, I know.' She laughed at his shocked look. 'Blaise told me; he also told me it was cancelled so I'm fine with that.'

'You talked with Blaise? Amicably? I applaud you.' At Hermione's laugh, he continued. 'Anyway, I believed that I would've married someone else, maybe Astoria if the contract was revived or someone else; point is that they would be pureblood, to keep the Malfoy line pure. Now, it's almost certain that it won't be anymore, ending centuries of purity because of you. I would've never considered it if it weren't for you, Hermione. Our conceptions of who we used to be and who we really are don't have to align. I've accepted that; will you?'

The moment he said that, the clocks chimed, flooding the entire house with the rings of bells. Christmas has come. He stood up from the steps and offered his hand to her. Her fingers curled around his before he pulled her up and wrapped his arm around her waist. He escorted her to the doors again and pushed them open.

Inside, everyone was all over the Christmas tree. Emma trying to open her gift, Daphne holding a bag and seeming to explain something to a half-conscious Theo, and Blaise trying very hard not to laugh at Theo. Draco took one step in front of her and led her to the sofa. A few seconds later, the door opened again with Narcissa pushing them open; behind her, Tracey and Astoria stood by. Daphne rushed to hug them both as Blaise took over Theo duty. Narcissa, meanwhile, went to the kitchen area.

The voice echoed again. 'Ambitious, ruthless, and cunning.'

Surrounded by snowy grounds and new friends, Hermione turned to Draco. The silver in his eyes melted all notion of that voice, of the people around them, and of everything else. All she saw was him.

She smiled. 'Merry Christmas, Draco.'

He laughed. 'Merry Christmas, Hermione.'