"Relax." Agatha murmured to herself.

Agatha had really given it her best. She wore a swimsuit, and got plenty of towels and even a summer appropriate cocktail. One that her father would like, but tasted like raw sugar to her. She was laying on the fine gravel, almost sand, of her little lake-beach, listening to the birds and her imps in the trees, while trying to think of nothing.

Nothing at all.

Silence. In. Her. Head.

Why was her beach so hard?

No, no thoughts at all. Relax. Emptying the mind. Occlumency exercises. She really didn't need those, given the special sort of landscape any Legilimancer would find in her head, but it couldn't hurt. How was Harry doing in that regard, anyway? Had he already started to learn?

It would be important for the coming battles. Voldemort's greatest weapon was his mastery of the mind. Ironic, given his psychotic state, but sanity had never been a prerequisite for the Mind Arts. In fact, insanity helped. Hence, why she didn't need any Occlumency barriers. Even half a demon's mind was close enough to the Abyss to be unhealthy to look at.

Half a demon. If she was honest with herself, she dreaded showing herself anywhere. Sure, now as an Executor, very few people insulted her to her face. She could still hear and see them talking behind her back. Nothing had changed since the day she understood, to now. She didn't need anything from anywhere, so there was nothing to gain from her being amongst people.

She sighed. Of course, there were things to gain. Her father had spelled it out for her. Wasn't it also some sort of responsibility? She, a grown, adult Tiefling - Executor and Professor - should probably be at the forefront of any campaign to defeat the raging ignorance plaguing the lands. She would be, anyway. With Davis remaining as a Faun, others would no doubt follow. Forty-four students, primed and ready to let go of their pretense, and especially their exponentially worse growing pains.

While Umbridge was at school.

She hummed, enjoying the light wind over her face, and the sound of lazy waves washing to shore. Should she kill Umbridge? The investigation would be enormous and thorough, as it should be with the assassination of the third-highest ranking bureaucrat of the state. Which means it would have to look like an accident, or maybe something out of anyone's control? Maybe just use a gun in some London street and blame it on muggles?

On the other hand, she would love to see Umbridge faced with a bunch of teenage halflings, her true nature laid bare. Then again, no matter what plan she set in motion, kids were always off limits. She wouldn't use the students as pawns, or worse. No, if anything, the students would have to be protected.

Which brought her back to the whole assassination thing. Maybe she could go the Bellatrix route? Kill Umbridge and replace her with a doppelganger?

Ah, but for that she'd have to know how to make a doppelganger. Summon one? She had no idea how, which was also probably the maximum legal amount of knowledge she should have about making one.

This relaxing thing really didn't work. Not on her own, anyway. Agatha sat up, and went straight into the house. "Fleur?" she called out. With the french witch now working as a Cursebreaker, it was hard to know when she would be at home, or at work. Schedules were a luxury the goblins had no patience for.

"Oui?" came from somewhere on the upper levels of the library. Fleur's blond hair popped up between stacks of books, on one of the small desks that barely fit onto the balconies, or reading nooks.

Agatha quickly climbed the stairs that were artfully built into shelves and the boulder on which the entire house leaned. She arrived at a scene of organized chaos, with Fleur finishing some note in a leather-bound notebook.

"That looks like work?" Agatha read some of the titles lying around. "Ancient african magic? You're looking for something the French haven't already found?"

"Not quite," Fleur quipped. "We aren't looking for something human-made. The artefacts are said to be made by original elves." She turned in her chair, to better look at Agatha. "That is not why you are 'ere?"

"No," Agatha laughed. "I need someone to sit at the beach and drink cocktails with me. But…"

"Désolé, cheri." Fleur peeked at the beach, and the bright red drink on the side-table, and sighed. "The council of Oyo 'as only agreed to the next three days as our window of opportunity. We'll leave in an hour."

"Oyo?" Agatha frowned. "They're not exactly known to accommodate treasure hunters. You're sure about this?"

"Bill said it was a deal between the council and Gringotts." she pouted. "And we are no treasure 'unters."

Agatha sighed, so deep her chest visibly in- and deflated. She then picked up a small, broken quill, and drew her wand. "Protea," she whispered, while imbuing the feather with a little alert. "Listen, Fleur. Deal with goblins? Any african ministry allowing european cursebreakers? Call me paranoid, but that doesn't sound like a clean operation. Take this. Burn it if you're in trouble, blow the ashes into the wind, and I'll find you."

Fleur took it with the utmost care and placed it amongst other expeditionary tools gathered on the desk. "You are sweet to worry."

"I am right to worry." Agatha sat down next to the desk, on a small stool and the three books laying on it. "Africa has not forgotten what their muggle counterparts endured. They're suspicious of cursebreakers, and rightly so."

"Bill 'as promised me." Fleur patted Agatha on the shoulder. "Also, they wouldn't take me somewhere dangerous, with my green ears."

"Behind the ears." Agatha chuckled. "The expression is 'green behind the ears'."

"That explains some looks I received." Fleur mumbled, thinking back to some interactions, in a different context now. "Anyway, I will be save."

"As long as you have that feather, yes."

"Extra save, now." Fleur smiled.

"Bill is coming?"

"'e is my mentor. So, qui, 'e will." she quipped, with a small smile gracing her lips.

"Then one last adjustment." Agatha flicked her fingers, and the upper button on Fleur's blouse opened. "There you go. Let the man have a look at the real treasure."

Fleur began to laugh in earnest. One hand swatted Agatha, while the other was busy trying to get the button back into place. Of course, with little success, as Agatha's enchantment made the button insist on staying free. Just a wave of Fleur's wand, ending the charm, made the shirt behave again. She threw her a dirty look, undercut by the smile she still wore. "I 'ave to behave professionally."

"Oh, please." Agatha snorted. "Cursebreakers are the rowdiest band of capable wizards I know. You'll be dancing on a table in some shady pub in Lagos, half a bottle of gin in you, in no time."

"I will not."

"Will too."

"I will be a professional employee of Gringotts." she proclaimed, voice serious and official sounding.

"You'll be topless on the beaches of the Ivory Coast, is what you gonna be." Agatha answered with a chuckle.

"In your dreams, mon cheri."

"Indeed,"

Fleur was caught off guard. She had opened her mouth, but no answer came out. She just giggled, and tried to hide the blush on her face by busying herself with her books and notes.

Agatha kept a sultry smirk on her face, as she did often enough. It was a trained and perfected expression. Her insides, on the other hand, had twisted into a tight knot of regret, panic and the frustrating feeling that she was too old to be this nervous about an innocent flirt, yet felt so anyway.

"Anyway, how long are you going to be away?" Agatha forced out the question, if only to fill the suddenly heavy silence between them.

"'opefully, no longer than a week."

"A week?" Agatha's brows furrowed. "Are you planning on dungeon-diving, or…?" she trailed off.

"Yes, actually." Fleur's entire demeanour changed. Her eyes shot back to Agatha, focusing on her with a bright look of excitement. "We suspect the location to be graves, and…"

"You're not going." Agatha interrupted. Her tone had immediately changed to dead-serious, leaving no room for interpretation.

"Excusez-moi?" Fleur stood up the moment she realized Agatha wasn't joking. "I guess I must've misunderstood."

"You heard right." Agatha's voice was like steel. "Looting graves? Fleur! Africa is Lich central. The chance of you finding one of those undead fucks is so high…"

"Enough." Fleur began to collect her books in her travelbag. "I know what I am doing, Agatha."

"You don't."

In the blink of an eye Fleur whirled around. "'ow dare you?" Fleur's voice rose. Her eyes burned, and her entire body became as if it was growing slightly. "We are roommates. We share a 'ouse because of circumstance. Me going to Africa is not your decision, it is barely a note on the counter I leave you."

"You're very obviously biting off more than…"

Fleur picked up her travel bag, turned and disapparated, before Agatha could finish her sentence.

"...you can chew." Agatha let out a deep, long sigh. "You idiot." she mumbled, looking at the empty spot where Fleur had just vanished from. Yet, as she thought about it, she felt like she meant herself with that insult. Fleur was right. Who was she to deny her? Fleur was also wrong. Looting graves was all fun and games in Europe, where the oldest Lich was maybe a millenia old before someone found it and killed it.

Africa had many hiding spots, far away from any civilization. Birthplace of humanity that it is, only the omniscient would know how many things waited underground for several millennia, maybe even hundreds of thousands of years, hidden away in the endless reaches of the african wilderness.

The feather was still on the desk. Agatha noticed it lying in between a few notes. It hurt, seeing it there, she wouldn't deny that. But still, she was but her roommate, right? Just that weirdo Tiefling that happened to sleep in the room next to hers.

Maybe that was what she was to Fleur. Fleur was a bit more to Agatha, even if she would be hard-pressed to define it. Ignoring the knot in her stomach, she grabbed the feather, transfigured her swimsuit into a robe outfit, and disapparated after Fleur.

The next moment, she appeared in Diagon Alley. Fleur had apparated into Gringotts proper, she was sure, but following would be rather detrimental to Agatha's health.

While not inside, she did apparate close to Gringotts. Close enough for the goblin at the door to pull a crossbow from under his scarlet-red robes in an instant. "Not one step further," he grunted out, and added, "No soul, no service."

"I don't need anything from your bank, goblin." Agatha slowly lifted the feather up. "I just need to get this to one of your cursebreakers. Can you get Fle.." Agatha stopped, paused. "Could you get Bill Weasley for me?"

"Get him yours…"

"Do I have to play the Executor card?" Agatha leaned her head, as if to tell the goblin "try me".

"Five galleons,"

Her hand grabbed for some coins in her pockets, just as she remembered that her swimsuit had nothing in it before she'd transfigured it. Relaxing day, indeed. She shook her head at the goblin, and then just conjured her Patronus.

"Hi Bill. It's Agatha. If you're inside Gringotts, would you come to the front entrance? Nothing ICW related. Promise." with another swish of her wand, she sent the Patronus into Gringotts. As her ghostly wolpertinger vanished through the outer walls of Gringotts, she made sure to flip off the goblin guard, before falling onto a bench on the side of Potage's Cauldrons.

While she waited, she twirled the feather in her hand. She had been right. Fleur and Agatha were barely even acquaintances. She had to think back to the session on top of the alps, and how for one of them, that statement wasn't true.

No, Agatha felt something. What it was, she had too little reference to compare. She had never loved anyone in a romantic sense, and love was too heavy a word to use, anyway. Maybe this was what a crush felt like, she mused. Maybe just friendship. However, if she could mark one thing down as truth, it was that Fleur was important enough for her to jump into Diagon Alley in a transfigured swimsuit and nothing but her wand on her person.

The greatest irony of her life, wasn't it? She had become a master at lust, at control, at manipulation. The passions and desires of others were something she had been able to bend to her will since her fourth year at Uagadou. Her own, on the other hand, were confusing and chaotic, and entirely untameable.

"Agatha?" she heard a call from the entrance of Gringotts. Bill stood on top of the stairs, and waved down at her, a big smile on his face. "What took you so long?" he shouted across the Alley before starting to walk to her.

She stood from the bench, and made her way to him. "What took me so long? I settled in. The question is why you didn't help with the moving."

"Move what? One trunk for your weapons, one trunk for the five other things you own. Done."

"I'll have you know, I own a lot more things now."

"Right, ten things, then." Bill held his arms out wide. "What do you need me for?"

"The wisecracking," she chuckled, and fell into Bill, who closed his arms around her for a hug. Not just any hug. Their hug. She leaned her head down, so his chin would fit right between her horns, and her head leaned right against his chest. Just like his hands wrapped around her, so did her tail wrap around his ankle.

"I feared you'd be angry with me." she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. "That's really why I didn't check in."

"I know," Bill whispered back. "And I'm not."

"You're not?"

"Not if you agree that you owe me fifteen thousand galleons."

"You owe me twenty years in Nurmengard, so…"

"Alright," Bill laughed and began to let go of her. "We're even?"

"Even." Agatha laughed with him. Her tail let go of his ankle again, and more so to not make anyone else see something in their closeness, than because they felt uncomfortable with each other, they took a half step back.

"Still, I'm sorry about Istanbul."

"It was a shite expedition. You could make a play out of that insanity, though." Bill quipped. "Who knows, maybe I'll get my fifteen back as a playwright."

"They'd pay you to stop, yes."

"Hey," Bill held his chest in mock outrage. "I'll have you know my words are the bestest."

"The very bestest." Agatha nodded, sagely, as if she had just been told great wisdom. "Maybe even the bestest of all."

"The theatres of New York are just waiting for my arrival, I'm sure."

They fell into giggles, and began to stroll through Diagon Alley. From time to time, Agatha felt like she experienced deja vu, as she walked along her childhood friend as if the last time they had seen each other was yesterday. Their little habits; their little rituals were unscathed and intact. She couldn't, and wouldn't fight the smile that brought to her face.

"So, what did you want to speak to me about?" Bill started. "Gotta be important if you send your Patronus after me."

"This," Agatha held up the feather. "It's a…" she was about to explain, when she remembered another problem. She sighed. "This is a protean charm that would send me your location in case something goes bad."

"Agatha, you…"

"Know that you're not gonna keep a tracker made by an ICW agent on your team?" she nodded. "Yup. Just remembered."

Bill leaned his head to her, only to see her defeated expression. With a sigh he said, "This is only on command?"

"If you burn it." she answered. "Truth. I promise."

Bill took the feather from her, and let it slip into a pocket of his robe. "I'll keep it on me. You owe me one." he winked.

"Actually," she got the feather back out of his pocket, all the while apologizing with her eyes. "That's for Fleur."

"Delacour? The newbie?"

"Yes, Bill, the new cursebreaker looking like Aphrodite hath descended Olympus. Don't - don't do that, Weasley." she pointed up and down his body. "You're a young man with eyes, you know who Fleur is."

"No, I'm just," he blushed, but shook his head. "I've actually seen her three times or so until now."

"Aren't you her mentor?"

"Yes, but that's not that involved. Well, now it isn't." Bill pushed her hand with the feather back towards Agatha. "She's not gonna need that, I'm afraid."

"What? Why not?" Agatha had a sinking suspicion that she could start preparing for a very upset Veela at home. "What do you mean? She left the house packed and ready for Africa."

"I know, I've seen her bag when I told her she wouldn't be going." Bill then learned back, shook his head and rose an eyebrow at her. "Left the house? You're living together?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"As I said, I haven't seen her a lot." he shrugged.

"Well, then, yes. Fleur is my housemate. Why aren't you taking my housemate to Africa?"

Bill steered them towards the Leaky Cauldron, where in front of the famous entry-wall, and right next to the entrance to Knockturn Alley, Tom seemed to have chosen this warm summer day to place a random selection chairs and benches out. Some people had already readily accepted the offering and enjoyed a few butterbeers in the sun.

Bill got them a two-people table made of a crate, with an armchair and a folding sunchair next to it. Agatha took the wide armchair, while Bill flopped down into the sunchair. Meanwhile, he had found an answer. "I know I'm not entering sympathetic ground with you here, but it's because she is a Veela."

"Fuck's sake, Weasley." Agatha let out an angry breath. "Why's that a problem? She's not even a full one. Quarter-veela, mate. Quarter."

"Well, she still makes the crew uneasy." He shrugged once more. "Can't have that. We need to be focused, and I simply can't make my way through Merlin-knows-how-ancient ruins, if I have to worry that my mates are too horny to have my back." Bill said, while gesturing to Tom, waiting the tables, to bring them two drinks.

"That's why I'd understand why you don't want me there. Fleur got herself under control, though."

"Didn't seem like it earlier." Bill answered. He pointed back to Gringotts. "I don't need to know what happened, but she was real angry when she came in, and my crew drooled away like they're fifteen-year olds." He threw his arms up. "That's when I had to decide, and I'm not getting one newbie over ten veterans, I'm sorry."

Agatha his her face in her hands. "So what you're telling me is that because I provoked her by asking her not to go to Africa, I started the string of events that led to her not going to Africa?"

"As far as I understand it, yes."

"Great." Agatha deadpanned. "Fantastic. That's going to be a fun week before she decides to move out."

"Come on," Bill waved her off. "You're not to blame. Fleur would be insane to break up just because of that."

"Break up?" Agatha turned her head in confusion. "We're not dating?"

"Oh," Bill blushed a bit. "So, you're not that sort of roommates?" He asked while gesturing a set of quotation marks as he said the word roommate. "You're actually just roommates?"

"Yes, we're just roommates." she confirmed, but felt the tensioning of her jaw muscles as she spoke the words.

Bill tutted. "Too bad. You two would've made a gorgeous couple."

"Idiot," she answered, but quickly saw that she couldn't fool Bill. The man had known to read her at the age of eight. He hadn't lost the ability since, it seemed.

"Oh, this is getting better and better. So you're roommates, you like her, she…?" he ended, waiting for Agatha to finish the sentence.

Agatha, even though her eyes scorched Bill, still answered. "She accepts that I am alive and around her, and is as kind to me as she is to anyone."

"Bollocks," Bill dismissed. He slid one of the butterbeers Tom brought over to her, took a big swig of his own, and then pointed at her like he was about to deliver a big revelation. "Nobody is that angry because some random stranger told them something upsetting. You matter to her, and it hurt her that you…?"

"I told her Africa is too dangerous, and that she couldn't go." Agatha let her face rest in one of her hands, leaning onto the armrests of the chair. "Ancient graves in Africa, mate. Couldn't you pick an easier target for her first?"

"I'm not picking the targets, you know that."

"But you pick the crew."

"Yes, and I recently removed the one I thought didn't fit."

"Just," she began, but ended up closing her eyes and sighing, to keep herself from shouting. "Now that you know what happened, could you let her back in? Don't punish her because of me."

"I can't…"

"She is a Triwizard Champion. She is known as one of the best Charms practitioners to come out of Beauxbatons, ever. She is a kind soul, an amazing witch, and doesn't lose her nerves in a fight, what do you want more?"

"There are a lot of people who are all that, but don't reduce my crew to blithering fools with a boner."

"Just give her a chance, dammit."

"If she messes up, it could bloody well cost us our lives, or worse."

"That's what you have the bloody feather for." Agatha was at the edge of her seat, her voice already begging. "Just, please, please, please give her a chance. If something goes wrong, I drop everything and get you guys out of there. As a friend, not an Executor."

Bill took a long time to drink his butterbeer, while staring at Agatha over the brim, reading her; mulling over his thoughts. Eventually, he set down the tankard, and also leaned forward. "You know what I think?" he began. "I think you got it bad for this one. I think this may finally be the one."

"No," Agatha sighed out the word.

"Yes. This is the one that makes Agatha Dumbledore finally, after all these eons, have an actual, genuine, human crush on someone."

"Well, yes, maybe a crush." Agatha relented. "But it's not going to lead anywhere."

"Why shouldn't it?" Bill threw up his arms in frustration. "You're gorgeous and intelligent, she is gorgeous and given what I saw, also very… academic?"

"That's how little you've spoken to her?"

"I don't have much time next to organizing expeditions, alright? Also, not the point."

"No, it really isn't the point." Agatha interrupted. "Because I'm not going to pursue this, because she has a crush on you. That's the bloody point, mate."

"On me?"

"Yes,"

"Why?" Bill had the most confused look on his face. "You've heard how little I know her. We've barely had a - one - conversation."

Agatha shrugged, and smiled. "I mean, she is gorgeous and intelligent, you're gorgeo…"

"Sod off," he chuckled. "But seriously, what? I mean, I don't say I'd completely dismiss the possibility that I'd be interested."

"Because, damn." Agatha whistled a short tone.

"Indeed, because damn." Bill nodded and whistled too. "But I don't know. I feel uncomfortable with this if you already feel something for Fleur."

"Mate," Agatha threw up her arms once more, not knowing what else to do. Truly, she had no idea what to do, and as if someone had pushed a button, that simple fact damned on her. She didn't know what to do. Her arms fell back on the armrest, and remained as still as she did.

"Look," Bill began. "I'll go back, tell her I changed my mind, and take her to Oyo. You owe me."

Agatha just nodded. She nodded, and despite herself, two traitorous tears of relief ran down her cheeks.

"Yeah," he leaned over, and used his sleeve to wipe away her two tears. "But I'm not gonna go for Fleur, romantically, I mean."

"No, don't," Agatha pleaded, but there was no real weight behind it.

"Yes. You know why?" He let his sleeve slip back, and held her cheek for a second, then her shoulder, her hand and eventually, sat back again. "I've seen you cry one time, in my entire life. Childhood included. That was when Fawkes burned up, and you didn't know what a phoenix was, yet."

"You remember that?" Agatha chuckled with the wet undertone of her tears that threatened to follow the first two.

"I do. That's why I know how precious those tears are." Bill smiled. "Only shed for someone you truly feel for."

"I…"

"And here you sit, and tell me you want me to date the one you just cried for? Nah, mate." Bill shook his head. "Not happening."

Agatha felt tears coming free as she spoke. She felt the weight of a boulder set on her heart as she spoke. She felt regret, and shame, and many things she usually held herself above. "I missed you." she chocked out.

"I missed you too."

The Dementor's dark maw opened. The hole in the eyeless face, wide around his body, swallowing, chewing, gnawing on his bones and muscles. He tried to scream, to move, but his body wouldn't obey.

The whispers of rattling breaths pierced his ears. "As the masters commanded."

"No,"

"What was promised shall be ours." the voice whispered. He was still in darkness, and his body was being pressed and pierced and ripped apart. There was no respite, and no escape. "Mine to torment."

"No," he tried to twist and turn, but nothing. "No, please."

"I hunger," it whispered again, and the maw slammed shut.

Harry's eyes shot open. They burned from the dream. His clothes stuck to his body, and he was lying in almost a puddle of his own cold sweat. The mattress was thoroughly wet. He sighed, and could already feel the headache building. The clock on the sideboard, and the bit of light from the window, showed him that it was too early to stand up, but too late to get back to sleep.

Quietly, he threw on one of Dudley's massive shirts, the ill-fitting pair of trousers from the day before, and made his way down to the kitchen. It would still be a good three hours until eight, when the house began to wake up one by one. Until then, he would make himself some tea, and hope that Hedwig was around to have someone to talk to.

Instead of his owl, what he found was Narcissa Malfoy - now Black, he remembered - sitting alone in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea. In front of her were letters, some newspapers and a small, stuffed owl. Her platinum-blonde hair was loose, hanging down to her hips at the longest parts. It also hung partially over her face, but still did a bad job at hiding the deep sunken, red eyes.

"What are you doing up?" she asked, not looking at him.

"I couldn't sleep." he answered, standing in the doorframe. "I figured I'd make myself some tea, but nevermind."

"Sit," she more or less commanded. "I could use some company."

Harry chose to sit on the other side of the table, facing her. Even in this state, she was a stunning woman, he had to admit. Even in her state, she was intimidating.

"Why does Draco hate you?" she suddenly blurted out without warning.

"'scuse me?"

"Ex-cuse me," she corrected him. "You are a Potter. The least you can do to uphold the name is to use proper pronunciation."

"I… I'm sorry?"

"Why does Draco hate you?" she repeated. "My son, even so far away now, cannot stop complaining about you. Why?"

"I don't know?" Harry shrugged. "He never did like me."

"Hmm," Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "If I wouldn't be convinced that my son has only interest in women, I would come to believe that he was into you."

"Why would you say that?"

"This obsession doesn't come out of nowhere. Rejection would have been such an easy explanation." she sighed, and sipped her tea. "Unfortunately, guesswork is all I have."

"May I?" Harry reached for the kettle, only to have his hand swatted away by Narcissa.

"You may not." she moved it closer to her, away from Harry.

"Why?"

"It's whiskey." she smacked her lips. "Earl Grey isn't hitting the spots I need to hit, right now."

"Isn't it a bit early?"

"It's too late to start getting hammered." she countered. "But just late enough for a good night's drink."

"Well, I, for one, need some tea." Harry stood up, and began to gather the items needed for a good cuppa. As soon as the water was set on the stove, he noticed that Narcissa had turned on her chair, and watched him with eagle's eyes.

"Are those your usual sleeping garments?"

Harry looked down at his clothes, the shirt and baggy jeans. "No?"

"So it must be a fashion statement… of sorts."

"No," he sighed. "It's my cousins. He grew out of them."

"Yet you never grew into them," Narcissa wrinkled her nose. "Why wear those rags, then?"

"That's my clothes?"

She let the cup of whiskey sink down to the table, and with effortless grace she moved to stand beside him. She poked the loose fabric, and grabbed on the seams to see how far away from Harry they would go. "Even the clothes say that they're not yours."

Harry grabbed his clothes back, and flattened them out.

"I apologize," she said. "It's just… you're a Potter."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he fully turned to face her now.

"Oh dear," Narcissa closed her eyes in exasperation. "Understand, I'm not my son. In fact, I have no love nor hatred for you. I've been here for a few days now, and all I know of you is that you're not unwilling to talk to me, which is more than I can say for quite a few others in this house."

Harry didn't answer. He crossed his arms, and waited for her to continue.

"All I'm wondering is why you would do this to yourself?" she held out the loose fabric of his shirt again. "It's too large, its prints are washed out, and…" she poked a finger through a hole in a seam. "...it is simply trash. You are not trash, why dress in it?" she said, while sitting back down to nurse her cup of whiskey again.

"Well, I…" Harry stopped, furrowed his brows, and just looked at the softly rippling surface of his tea for a while. Maybe it was the early hour, or the unique company, but he caught himself truly thinking about it. Why was he content with oversized shirts and trousers that had all sorts of permanent stains, holes and thinned fabric? Only when he heard a humming from Narcissa, who looked at him over her cup of whiskey, did his eyes leave his own cup.

"I don't know." he answered, truthfully.

"Can I guess? Because I think I know."

He hesitated for a bit, but figured that except his ego, nothing was really at risk. He shrugged. "Sure,"

"You think you are trash."

"Guessed wrong, then." he chuckled, but Narcissa wasn't done.

"Oh now, you're laughing, but I know that face. I know that laugh. I knew two boys who were experts at it." she nodded towards the door, or rather the general place they were in. "Sirius and Regulus were both taught that they're unworthy excuses of life, barely worthy of note, definitely bereft of value. Their only saving grace, according to their mother, was that their blood was pure."

Harry stared at her, his tea forgotten in his hands.

"Regulus tried, and tried, and tried, but could never be good enough. Once he fulfilled an expectation, there was a new one set right away." Narcissa shook her head, and chuckled with no humour in her voice. "Imagine being a mother, so evil and twisted, that your son runs to the Dark Lords side for nurture? His side where there was only one, easily achievable expectation."

"What expectation was that?"

"Unwavering, unquestionable loyalty." she hummed. "I wonder if my cousin died because he fulfilled, or disappointed, this expectation."

"Sirius ran away from his family." Harry said. "He ran to my grandparents."

"The Potters were kind to take him in. Fools, but kind fools."

"It seems like the right thing to do?"

"Kindness makes you a surprising amount of enemies." Narcissa's eyes were staring through Harry, to somewhere only she could see. "I remember it well, the outrage throughout the family. The cruel hate no one as much as those that are kind in spite of them."

"Can I ask you something?" Harry asked, nerves laid bare.

"Go ahead, Harry."

"Why did you marry Lucius Malfoy?" Harry waved his hand, trying to make his thoughts into words. "I mean, you're not what I expected you'd be, when all I knew of you was who your husband was."

Narcissa sighed. She took another sip from her whiskey, while she thought of the answer. "Lucius was for me what the Potters were for Sirius. You understand?"

"I do," he nodded, a quick look at where the portrait of Walburga Black hung behind the wall in the hall. "The Black kids all fled?"

"All of us," she nodded. "And all of us found the consequences more bearable. I settled in a marriage that was… difficult to maintain, but content with my baby boy. Andromeda created a life, struggling to even clothe their newborn daughter until her muggleborn managed to make a better salary."

"They struggled?"

"There was little money to make in Britain for someone who had defied Arcturus Black." she chuckled once more, with that certain humorless tone Harry began to associate with her. "And Bellatrix? Well, for the longest time I thought my oldest sister was a lunatic behind bars, and I had accepted that." Narcissa sighed, necked the entire cup of whiskey, and let the cup fall on the table. "However, brilliant as she was, my sister had weighed down an abomination with all her responsibilities and vanished to nowhere."

"I'm sorry, I…" Harry began, but Narcissa wasn't listening anymore. Heavy sobs wrecked her body, and the oiled hardwood of the table below her got wet from her tears, falling from beneath her matted blonde hair. Narcissa's hands held her eyes, pressed tight against her skull, with her nails digging into the skin.

Harry could just look on. It made him think, how fast things could turn around, in any direction. Not too long ago, he had been grieving, and scared, left alone to deal with everything on his own. Not too long ago, Narcissa had been the wealthiest wife in Britain, with a statesman husband, promising son and prestigious name.

Now she was a shadow of herself, breaking apart right in front of him, pushed there simply by reminiscing. He would readily admit that he had no idea how to comfort people. Sometimes he did it on accident, a lucky guess, but he missed the habitual comforting skill he had seen others possess. Harry had to observe and react, consciously.

That's why he stood, and went for the lounge upstairs. In there he opened the globe, took the oldest bottle of whiskey he could find, a crystal tumbler, and quickly, yet silently, made his way down to the kitchen. There he placed the tumbler down in front of Narcissa, poured her a few fingers of whiskey and took away the cup and kettle. The bottle remained standing.

Narcissa looked up from her hands. Bloodshot eyes saw the tumbler first, the bottle second, and then the young man who busied himself with pouring the contents of the kettle back into the bottle it came from.

Harry was no expert with whiskey, but the smell of the swill he poured back stung his nose, and made his eyes tear up. When the last bit had been emptied, he let water fill the kettle, and left it in the sink to soak.

He looked back at Narcissa. Her bloodshot eyes asked the questions she wouldn't be able to speak.

Harry's pity was plain to see as he said, "You're a Black. The least you can do is drink your dead uncle's best whiskey, from his crystal glasses."

She snorted, despite herself. "Well played, Potter." she croaked quietly, before taking the whiskey and sipping it like the luxurious, smooth liquor it was. She sipped again, her eyes closed. Two large tears ran down her cheeks, but the small smile on her face made Harry hopeful.

"Are you feeling better?"

"No," she answered, "but this one burns a lot better."

"Well, that's something?"

Narcissa pierced him with her eyes. "More than something. Thank you, Harry."

"Don't mention it," he waved her off.

"Oh, but I will." she slowly placed the tumbler back onto the table. "The only other person here I could talk to is Agatha, and I'm afraid of what would happen if I came too close again."

"She wouldn't hurt you." Harry shook his head. "She's not like that."

"No, I know, but I'd hurt myself. Such is the nature of demons, even if only half. Many don't even need to lift a finger for their prey to come." she sighed. "In my state, I feel I'd…"

"You'd break into a thousand pieces, for only the slightest bit of peace."

"Yes," she nodded. "I keep forgetting that you're an expert in such things. One as young as you shouldn't be."

"Shouldn't." Harry agreed. "Should, would, could are words I've heard a bit too much, to be honest."

"That's because things are mostly done to you. As far as I could see, you rarely do things others have to react to." Narcissa let the whiskey swirl in the glass, contemplating something as she watched the coppery liquid swirl.

"What else can I do? I'm not of age, I'm a lying attention seeker, apparently," Harry caught himself getting too loud. With a deep sigh, he continued. "I know nothing of this world, if I'm being honest. I have to react, because I have no idea how to act."

Had Harry not been so deep in his thoughts, he would have noticed the life returning to Narcissa's eyes as they shot wide open, just to narrow as a plan formed in her mind. "Sounds to me like you need three things. You need lessons in culture, you need representation, and…"

Harry's interest was peaked. He leaned forward. "And?"

"Clothes." she finished.

"Merlin, dammit, will you let it go?"

"Absolutely not," she jumped up, only to hold onto the table for balance. "We are doing this."

"Doing what?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Burn my clothes?"

"Yes!" she shouted. "We burn the wretched evidence of your unworthy family, get you something that tells the world that the Potters are back, and I'll teach you how you can tell all these stuffed pigs what a waste of space they are without them noticing."

Harry had to smile, seeing the woman work herself up. Her demeanour had switched completely, as she dreamed up the many ways in which she could form him.

"However," she pointed up, and one of her hands held her mouth. Her knees were wobbling, and her stance was unstable at best. "I'll go to sleep. Young man, I'll make a proper wizard out of you, tomorrow."

"She'll make a proper wizard out of you?" Ron laughed at Harry's blushing cheeks. He himself in a fit of giggles.

"She was really drunk." he defended, but his own laughs betrayed him. "But yes, I guess I got Narcissa Malfoy in my corner, now."