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It was a misty December morning and Hermione sat huddled in the awning of their tent, leaning into the little warmth at her back as her breath turned into translucent clouds in front of her face. Leaves and frost were crunching underneath her whenever she shifted, shivering when the cold crawled beneath her skin. She smoothed over the parchment for the hundreth time and kept thinking. Trying to think of the words that could and at the same time could not be read. Could only be read by the one they were meant for. Yet any secret signs she could devise could easily be decoded, and any hidden meaning would only prove motivation to find it if the letter fell into the wrong hands. In the end, she decided to hide her message in plain sight and the key to it in a foreign signature. She only hoped that the other woman would understand.
Dear Professor McGonagall,
Garrick and I are becoming increasingly concerned about the safety at Hogwarts. I must say
that I am quite distressed about leaving our children in your care in such dangerous times.
We have still had no news about any security improvements, and while I know that most likely
everyone is alive and well, I still lie awake at night wondering.
We are thinking that it would be best for our children to return home. This has been a decision that
is not about you, nor the protection that your school can offer, but simply about our family.
Surely even you must agree that in these times, one feels safer united. Therefore, I do
not ask your permission but demand that our children be allowed to come home. We only
have their best interests at heart. They can always catch up on their education later, as may
any other student currently enrolled at Hogwarts. Sincerely,
Helena Thirdsworth
When the ink had dried, Hermione brushed the leaves off her jeans and stood. “Harry?“ A muffled noise answered from within the tent. “I’m going for a walk. Be right back.“ She did not wait for the reply, just absentmindedly folded the parchment as she went to look for an owl. Harry did not have one anymore and Ron - never mind, she thought, and strode on. The ache of missing a friend settled in right next to the familiar ache of missing a lover, and she traced the parchment thinking of skin, warm and soft beneath her fingertips. It felt like she had wandered around for an hour until she found a bird that could carry her message, a small fluffy little thing that did not shy away from her touch. It brought the first little smile to Hermione’s face in what felt like forever.
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Narcissa Malfoy’s brows pulled together again, as they had when she caught the bird in flight and brought it down. Her slim fingers closed around the feathered thing, gently, she did not mean to hurt it. Now she was trying to decipher the words in the message it had carried. The bird had flown away an hour ago, still carrying the message onwards, as its copied words fluttered around in Narcissa’s head.***
Minerva McGonagall was no less surprised at first. She had had letters like this before, of course, and each one rendered at her heart and patience, but this one seemed to make no sense at all. It was clearly addressed to her by a Mrs Thirdsworth… but there
were
no Thirdsworth children in her house, and clearly any parent would know which house their children were in! As far as Minerva knew, there were no Thirdsworth children in
any
of the Hogwarts houses.
It was odd, and there was something oddly familiar about the writing as well. It had clearly been brooded over almost like a homework assignment.
Almost like…
a gentle smile curved her lips as she recalled Hermione Granger, handing in essays that were much too long in the early years, until Minerva had had to take points from her assignments to teach her how to be concise. Her most recent works had been wonderfully crafted, and now –
never mind,
Minerva thought, for the absurdly sad truth was that she would never grade one of Hermione’s essays again.
She returned her attention to the parchment in front of her, trying to chase Hermione from her mind, but the more she tried to forget, the more familiar the letters seemed, the capital
H
in the signature, the precise and even structure of the lines… something about those lines. A few long moments later, a light went on in her brilliant mind.
With a simply radiant smile, she took a feather and crafted a reply:
Dear Mrs. Thirdsworth,
while I thank you for contacting me before taking matters into your own hands, I must
sincerely discourage you from following your proposed plan of action.
It is my firm belief that your children are indeed much safer at Hogwarts. While I know that what
we hold dear feels safest the closer it is to us, we cannot always keep it from harm that way.
Of course I understand your need to unite the family at home, but please be aware that the
education they miss might be the lessons that save your children’s lives one day. I therefore
hope that you will reconsider your determined plan once more, not only to accomodate anybody,
but especially so that everybody’s best interest will truly be pursued. I would urge you to do
so very much once more before contacting me again. Sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall
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Narcissa shook her head when she read the second letter. For somebody from without the castle to write a letter was a measure of stupidity that could be expected, when there were much safer methods of communication to be used, but not everybody might be advanced enough to send a patronus. For somebody within the castle however to reply in kind, especially somebody like Professor McGonagall, who (as Narcissa grudgingly had to admit) was at least moderately gifted and halfway intelligent, was nothing but foolishness. Not that Narcissa had been able to gather anything more than the obvious from the letters so far. It was nearing Christmas and Malfoy Manor transformed itself into a fort of festivity. Green, gold and silvery decor had been tastefully arranged in all the halls, supervised by Narcissa herself of course, and Draco would be home for the holidays soon. That thought almost had her smile in front of the servants that were preparing one of their weekly December feasts. She went up into her chambers to change for the dinner, no longer smiling even inwardly, since she had invited her least favourite guests to this one. She was politeness and composure incorporate in front of the guests later, of course, barely listening to any of them until Lucius asked a very disgruntled looking Severus how things were going at Hogwarts. Severus Snape, despising the very fact that he had to be at this polite gathering for so much as an hour at all, told him that they were just as always. “I wonder that you should have any students left at all, Severus, so many of them turn out as mudbloods or traitors or run home for their parents“, Lucius commented with a lift of his eyebrow and a disdainful twist to his mouth. “I assure you, everything is under con-“ “Is it true that the Thirdsworth children are also leaving Hogwarts?“ Narcissa had not been thinking, had interrupted Snape before he could finish and now his cold black eyes were fixed on her. Even though she called him a “friend of the family“, a shiver went down her spine. In his slow, sardonic way, Snape replied: “There are no Thirdsworth children at Hogwarts, Narcissa, so I doubt they would be missed if any of them were to … disappear. As … headmaster… I should know.“ Narcissa mumbled an apology and lost track of the conversation again, only now and then aware that Snape was still looking at her in his cold and calculating way. She shrugged it off, eventually. She could be cold and calculating, too. It ran in the family.
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It was the night before they were meant to go to Godric’s Hollow. Hermione did not know which day it had been, had lost track of the days what felt like weeks ago. She only knew that it was always cold. That they were always on the run. But making plans with Harry had felt good, even though it could not compare to the burst of happiness in her chest when her little owl had returned unharmed with Minerva’s reply. She had received it in the middle of the woods where the bird returned to her, and she had broken down and cried. With relief, with missing the people she loved most, with shaking hands as she opened the letter. She considered burning it on the spot, probably should have done, but then she had to read it again and now it was folded and hidden in her clothes, somewhere close to her chest. Like a charm that kept her warm, only if for a night. She woke up before Harry and sent the owl away with a reply:
Dear Professor McGonagall,
since apparantly I cannot convince you to see that really these are none of your affairs, I will not
and I cannot stand by and let you keep the children at Hogwarts. The holidays are coming and you
must not wait for my children to return to your school after, we are keeping them at home!
Are we to wait until something terrible has happened to them? Dementors around the school,
and their kiss as terrible as some of the changes in staff we have heard of… I therefore
demand that you instantly stand by and do not seek to return our children to your school!
(and no, a few missed lessons do not pose a major threat to their security,
thanks a lot). Sincerely,
Helena Thirdsworth
Hermione sent the owl away, feeling years younger, like she had whenever she and the boys had been up to something, and she went into the tent for a few hours of happiness before Godric’s Hollow took it all away.
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“They are camping in the Forest of Dean!“ Dumbledore’s image appeared in the little frame that hung in Minerva’s office, making the transfiguration teacher flinch at the sudden excited announcement out of nowhere. She looked up at the deceased headmaster, who explained: “Phineas Nigellus heard Ms. Granger name their location as she pulled his portrait out of her bag. I was present in the current Headmaster’s office when he delivered his report. Professor Snape is on his way to deliver the sword as we speak, as per my instructions. He claims to have a plan to pass the sword to Mr. Potter. If you wanted a chance to see Ms. Granger, this is it Minerva.“ It took Professor McGonagall a moment before the full amount of information sank in. Then she gave a curt nod, said “thank you, Albus“, grabbed her coat and strode out of the office and all the way to the gates from where she could disapparate. It was time to see Hermione. *** Hermione was sure she had just seen something. Of course it was hard to tell in the vanishing light where the trees cast ever growing shadows and every shifting branch looked like a deatheater, but there had still been something there. She got up and took a few steps until she was standing at the very edge of their protective enchantments. Another step and she would be defenseless but for the wand in her hand. But nobody was attacking them. A few feet away a small shape was pacing. It was only a cat. She sighed in relief. And then in surprise. She barely dared to hope, but she still dropped the muffliato charm and whispered: “Minerva?“ The cat looked up at her. Then it transfigured itself into a tall, stern-looking woman with a wand steady in her hand. “Hermione?“ Hermione took a step forward, then another, right into Minerva’s arms.
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“I missed you“, Hermione whispered, barely taking the time and breath to utter the words before she kissed Minerva again. The hard line of the other woman’s mouth had long melted under the warmth of Hermione’s affection, and now her lips were open and her tongue was finding its way into Hermione’s mouth. Hands tangled in the mess of Hermione’s hair and stripped her bare of everything that had been weighing her down. She felt light and dizzy as she climbed onto Minerva’s lap, in the little space that was available on her bunk bed in the smallest chamber of the tent. Minerva still pulled her closer, holding on tightly to the young witch while expressing very eloquently (and absoloutely silently) just how much she had missed her. Hermione had one hand on Minerva’s neck and the other one tracing the tired lines on her face that spoke of a school year that had not been easy. But her hair was still dark and full in its usual bun and her deep green eyes were sparkling when they looked at her lover. “I missed you too, dear.“ “How’s Hogwarts?“, Hermione asked. She just had to know. “I’m afraid the school has not been the same. We do our best to look after the students of course, but…“, Minerva trailed off, and Hermione understood. She would not get reassurance from this woman when there was none to offer. It was one of the things that she loved about Minerva. “And who is looking after you?“, she asked softly, pressing a kiss to Minerva’s cheek. Minerva looked at her like she had never been asked such an absurd question in all of her life and teaching career. “I do“, came the prompt reply, but Hermione looked back at her with such worry in her eyes that Minerva kissed her gently and amended “and Filius does. And Pomona. And Rolanda. We all have to stick together in these times. I’ll be safe, dear.“ But as much as Hermione wanted to believe her, the sad and simple truth was that even Minerva McGonagall was not indestructible.
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Hermione had gone back to kissing Minerva with everything she had. She did not know how much time they had left. If she had a timeturner to relive these past few moments over and over, she would happily lose herself in an infinite loop of being with the woman she loved. While she usually hesitated to take what she wanted from her professor, her fingertips were now trailing beneath the collar of Minerva’s robes, until she felt brave enough to wander lower and cup a portion of Minerva’s chest in her hand. Minerva growled and shifted them on the little bunk bed so that she was lying on top of Hermione, thighs just sliding into all the right places as … “Hermione!“, a voice called, somewhere far off from beyond the tent. Hermione froze in place while the heated look in Minerva’s green eyes smoldered out and what remained was ashy gentleness. One last kiss and a whispered “I love you, dear“, before a grey tabby cat hopped off the bed as the caller came closer. “Hermione!“ They were close to the tent now, perhaps standing right outside, and by now she recognized Harry’s voice. She got up from her broken little bunk bed that a moment ago had constituted heaven and walked out of the tent. “What’s wrong? Harry? Are you all right? “It’s okay, everything’s fine. More than fine. I’m great. There’s someone here.“ Harry was standing in front of her with someone else standing right behind him. Neither of the two boys noticed the cat slip away. Neither of them seemed to care that no surprise could be better than the one she just had to abandon. Deep down, Hermione knew she was glad to get her friend back. She also knew that tomorrow, and in the days after, she would forgive them for interrupting her happiness and being gone in the first place and every other silly, stupid, meaningless little thing they had lived through… … But that moment was not now. Hermione launched herself forward and started punching every inch of him that she could reach while she screamed “you – complete – arse, Ronald Weasley!!!“ He ducked as she poured out her anger onto them relentlessly, and all of her frustration, and all the while the words “I love you, too“ kept repeating themselves inside of her head because she hadn’t had a chance to say them out loud.
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“Dear Mrs Thirdsworth...“ Narcissa was sitting at her desk in her dressing room, three very similar sheets of parchment spread out before her. Only the words on them were different. Two of them were written in the same hand by the mysterious Mrs. Thirdsworth who did not seem to exist. The third one was written in the familiar style of Professor McGonagall. Narcissa recognised the writing from the official school letters that had been sent every year, as well as one or two personal notes that informed her that Draco was in detention with the transfiguration teacher again and that “it would be much appreciated if the education of the boy’s character at home could receive some more attention.“ Narcissa had thrown each and every one of those little notes into the fire. Her son’s character was perfect. She returned her attention to the letters in front of her and read them again, even though she had memorised the words by now. Mail was constantly brought into Malfoy Manor for her to rifle through, the strategically advatageous placement of the estate close to Hogwarts had been reponsible for that for three years now. All communication from and to Hogwarts was read by those who served the Dark Lord. Most codes, she had easily cracked. “There are no Thirdsworth children at Hogwarts, Narcissa, so I doubt they would be missed if any of them were to … disappear...“, Severus had said, in that peculiar way of his, with each syllable enounciated individually. Finally, an idea washed up on the sharp shores of Narcissa’s mind. She looked at the letters again and read them anew – at first it didn’t work, but the second try was a success.
Dear Professor McGonagall,
I am still alive. Thinking about you. Your best student,
Helena Thirdsworth.
She decoded the other two letters in the same manner, barely believing what she was reading. These were no parental complaints – these were love letters. And they concerned no one lesser than the Head of Gryffindor House herself and somebody who claimed to be
her best student.
Well, there was no question as to who that was. Narcissa smiled slightly as she listened to the echo of Draco’s complaints: “it’s not my fault Mother, the teachers all have their favourites, that Hermione Granger - “, her son had told her and Lucius what seemed like eons ago.
It seemed however that just this once, Ms Granger had overestimated her abilities.
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“HARRY NO!““- demort’s after the Elder Wand!““The name’s Taboo! I told you, Harry, I told you, we can’t say it anymore! It’s how they find -“ But by the time Ron shouted his warning, it had already been too late. All their defenses had broken down and the three friends who hadn’t spent more than a week together were taken prisoner. They were roughly taken to Malfoy Manor, the house imposing in its imminent doom, the deatheaters strutting up and down before them. Things had been bad, until they found the sword. Then things got worse. Now everyone was safely locked away in the cellar that doubtlessly held more of the deatheater’s captives. Everyone but her. “Tell me what else you took! Answer me, mudblood!“, Bellatrix demanded as the knife cut into Hermione’s skin again. She screamed when it found her veins. Terror curled inside of her as she looked up into crazed hazel eyes and found no way out. “It’s a copy… just a copy“, she lied, not knowing if Bellatrix believed her. Her captor did not seem to care for the truth anymore. Tears blinded Hermione’s eyes as as the kife dug deeper, as Bellatrix twisted the tip with a cruel flick of her wrist to match her twisted soul. ***“Help us!“ Green eyes looked up at her in desperation from the little square mirror in her hands, and Narcissa knew that the boy could see her blue eyes in return. She hadn’t been sure at first that it really was Harry Potter at the other end of the mirror, or she would have handed both over to the Dark Lord immediately. It was just a piece of glass, after all. Brought to them like so many other stolen things by Mundungus Fletcher. Now the boy was using it to call for help from the woman who was keeping them in their cellar. She did not intend to move. Narcissa had watched both the Granger girl and the goblin be subjected to her sister’s non-existent mercy. She did not interfere then and she was not going to interfere now. This was not like keeping a few little trinkets and the secret of the letters. This was beyond risking her life – it was throwing it away. She knew exactly that Bella’s silver knife would find itself in Narcissa’s chest, buried there to the handle, if she was ever caught in betraying their Lord and Master. Which was why she was careful not to get caught when she did betray him. It was only after she had seen Draco turn away from his aunt, a green tinge to his pale face and his steps hurriedly carrying him to the bathroom that her decision was made. After what the Dark Lord demanded of her son last year, the war was supposed to be over for him now. The bathrooms, the nightmares, the haunted look in his eyes were all supposed to be gone. But the war wasn’t over for any of them yet. And Narcissa was fairly certain that the only ones who would stop it were currently kept in her cellar. “Dobby.“ It was almost more of a thought than a whisper, but as her sister screamed and raged, she said it again. For she knew that even though the elf had been freed, he would still hear his old mistress.
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“Crucio!“ Even though Narcissa was the only one of Malfoy Manor left with a wand, she did not raise it to defend herself now. The prisoners had escaped and the Dark Lord was punishing all of those left behind. Narcissa. Lucius. Draco. Even his precious Bellatrix. The snatchers were all dead but for the werewolf. Yet when simple killing had lost its value, the Dark Lord had decided to resort to different methods of punishment. Narcissa was good with hiding her secrets and her pain. Draco was not. And Lord Voldemort saw it. An almost thoughtful expression came over his reptile face as he fixed his blood red eyes on Narcissa, like a child curious to see what would happen. He waved his wand and at first there was nothing. Then a dark corner of the parlour solidified into a dementor. The cloaked figure was gliding over the carpet, but it wasn’t coming for Narcissa. It came for Draco. Narcissa’s heart went missing mid-beat when she realised the Dark Lord’s intentions. “No- NO! My Lord, I beg you, I BEG YOU NOT TO DO THIS!“ She fell down onto her knees in front of the tall, pale figure and he looked down at her like with a smile. “You have a wand, don’t you, Narcissa?“, Voldemort taunted, knowing perfectly well that none of his servants had ever found themselves in the need to cast a patronus charm. It was not something he taught them. “Save him. It is up to you.“ Narcissa’s hand was shaking as she watched the figure draw closer to Draco, as her indomitable composure finally gave way. “Expecto Patronum… expecto Patronum… “ A wisp of silvery light shone at the tip of her wand and then it was gone. The Dark Lord laughed, delighted in watching her despair as he threatened to take her son’s soul for his own, reveling in waiting until the very last possible moment before he waved his wand again and the dementor disappeared. *** Miles away, the sleek and silvery shape of an arctic fox vanished into thin air. The words it had spoken were still echoing in Minerva McGonagall’s office: “we had them, but they escaped. She needs you.“ The voice had been close to unfamiliar, but if she had to guess, Minerva almost would have said it was Narcissa Malfoy’s. She did not know what circumstances enabled Mrs Malfoy to cast a patronus and send such a message, nor if she should believe a word it said. She only knew that somebody, somewhere, had taken an immeasurable risk to send it.
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“Are you coming, Hermione?“ “I… I’ll just be a few more minutes, Luna. You go to bed.“ She heard Luna make her way up to the house, into the smallest guest room that Bill and Fleur had given them to share. Hermione stayed where she was outside on the beach, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her gaze fixed onto the dying flames of their little fire. The heat went out along with the lights up at the cottage and cold seeped into her bones. She offered no resistance. The numbness was better than the pain. The sparks had branded images into her mind and her skin was aflame where Bellatrix had cut her open. It was better to stay in the cold beneath the stars and awake than to fall into the nightmares that would surely haunt her later. Just for a few more minutes. She didn’t turn around when she heard somebody walking up behind her. They had all tried. Luna, Harry, Ron, Fleur, their words could hold no comfort. But the voice that spoke was not one of those that she expected. “Hermione?“ It was like a shiver and a spark blown into one. Suddenly she was no longer numb as she felt Minerva’s arms wrap around her, holding her together. “I love you too“, she said, like the words had been a breath that she was holding and now she did not have to anymore. Minerva was there and Hermione finally let go. ***“Don’t go“, Hermione said, wrapping her arms tighter around Minerva where she lay halfway on top of and curled into the older witch on the beach, the blanket spread out under their bodies and a heating charm around them. “I had no intention to whatsoever“, Minerva said, as she kept playing with Hermione’s hair and stroking her neck. It was way past midnight and not a soul seemed to still be awake but for the two of them. “Okay good“, Hermione said, and lightly kissed Minerva on the lips. Minerva took in her face for the hundreth time, making sure Hermione was still as all right as she was going to be that night. But Hermione had decided hours ago that she was not going to let Bellatrix Lestrange break her. “I can take it“, she said, as Minerva’s gently questing fingertips found her bandages again. To prove her point, her mouth descended onto Minerva’s with more of a purpose than it had before. “Are you sure?“ “Yes. Fleur took very good care of me.“ It was nothing more than a flicker, there and then gone from Minerva’s eyes, but Hermione still caught it. “Why, Professor“, she teased, “don’t tell me that you’re jealous.“ Minerva’s answering kiss was all the confirmation she needed.
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Blood red light was streaking across the sky as Hermione snuck up into the cottage that morning, past the boys slumbering in the living room and into the kitchen. “Did she come to zee you?“, Fleur asked, catching Hermione with a mug of coffee on the stairs. “She asked around in the Order where you were last night. Don’t worry“, Fleur said, with a slightly bemused expression on her face that was breathtaking even in the earliest of mornings, “only Bill and I know. ’e would have done ze same for me. Et moi pour lui.“ And I for him. She left a befuddled Hermione to find her own way into the guest chamber as Fleur went on into the kitchen to get started on breakfast. It was the first of many mornings at Shell Cottage, but it was the first night that Hermione would always remember in the days to come. “Can’t be easy“, Ron said to her one day, catching Hermione off guard where she head been lost in her thoughts of Minerva again. “Pardon?“ “Turning into her of all people, after… you know… “ He turned a light shade of pink and Hermione silently sighed with relief. He was talking about Bellatrix Lestrange. She considered her answer for a moment. “No, it’s not easy. But it has do be done, doesn’t it?“ He looked at her for a moment, trying to find the words, in the end only finding one: “Still“, he said, and gave her a pat on the shoulder before he was on his way to find Harry. Hermione joined them a few moments later so they could continue planning a break-in into the only place that rivaled Hogwarts’ security. Of course it was madness. And she was their only way in. That night, Hermione took out Bellatrix’s wand which she had kept hidden away, and fought the urge to break it in two. Every time she so much as touched it, it felt like a piece of her, and Hermione could almost feel its mistress’s knife cutting into her skin again. Think about what those two have done, she thought, and then decided rather not to. She put the wand away again and banned Bellatrix Lestrange as far from her mind as possible until the day came that she would have to become her. It was five in the morning and she stumbled on the stairs. A swift arm caught her to steady her fall. “Thanks“, Hermione said, as she discovered Fleur glowing faintly in the darkness. “Sorry, we did not mean to wake you.“ “I was already awake“, Fleur replied with a graceful shrug, standing on top of the stairs like the ghost of Helen of Troy. “Zat other time… did you tell anybody?“, Fleur asked, and Hermione did not have to ask what she meant. She slowly shook her head. Fleur looked at her for a moment, then said “don’t keep ’er a secret forever“, before she stood aside to let Hermione go.
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When Minerva McGonagall heard that her three most troublesome students had successfully broken into Gringotts and escaped on a dragon of all magical ways of transportation, she almost fell from her high-backed chair at dinner in the Great Hall. “Nonsense“, she replied and leveled a stern look at her friend, Professor Sprout, who only raised her eyebrows in return and discreetly handed Minerva her copy of the Quibbler’s special edition. The magazine had gone back to reporting the truth since Miss Lovegood had returned. “But this was only hours ago!“, she exclaimed, once she had read the entire article. Pomona nodded, and patted Minerva’s hand. “They have successfully escaped“, the Head of Hufflepuff house stated with an unusual amount of smugness, and in a whisper added “I’m sure they are all right.“ With “they“, she meant Hermione Granger. Though Minerva had never intended to tell a single living soul about their secret relationship, her friend had simply guessed. It should not have surprised Minerva really, but the unconditional support that Pomona always offered still touched her. Nothing could have prepared her though for the shock of encountering Harry Potter, the boy who lived, in the Ravenclaw common room later that very same evening where he simply appeared out of thin air to attack a death eater. Not that she had minded disposing of the Carrows for so much as a moment, but if Harry was there, then so is Hermione, Minerva realised. And Voldemort was coming. “You must flee“, she told Harry, but he did not listen to her. Not that she had really expected him to. He claimed to be on a mission left behind by Dumbledore, and how could she argue with that? She decided to do the only thing possible: “We shall secure the school against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named while you search for this – this object“, she said. “Is that possible?“ “I think so“, she replied dryly, “we teachers are rather good at magic, you know.“ They agreed to evacuate as many students as possible via the floo network. Those who can be persuaded to go, she thought, and hoped that no one would be unwillingly left behind. But some of them would want to fight. And deep down, Minerva knew that she simply could not save them all.
But I’ll be damned if I don’t try.
With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she did the best magic she could do. She was almost certain by now that Hermione must be in the castle. And even if she could not go look for her … she was always on her mind. With a wide sweep of her wand, she ordered every statue and every suit of armour to do as she know must: “Hogwarts is threatened! Man the boundaries, protect us, do your duty to our school!“
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Narcissa looked around and saw the proud castle in ruins. Her gaze rested for a moment on the corpses of Andromeda’s daughter and her husband. She bent down to close Nymphadora’s eyes and left the werewolf untouched. She knew perfectly well who had done this. Our own niece, Bella. Then she strode from the castle to heed the Dark Lord’s call. They were all heading for the forest now. His voice rung out in ripples over the lake and grounds, demanding surrender. Offering mercy Narcissa knew he did not possess. I see why you love him, Bella. You two have so much in common. She stood with her husband, touching his hand briefly and then letting go again. Affection would not be tolerated here. An hour passed and the boy did not show. The Dark Lord was pacing, his own impatience betrayed in nothing else but his constant up and down turns. Just when it seemed that Voldemort had failed, however, the boy came to die. Narcissa saw him stand still without so much as a wand in his hands, and then be swept of his feet in a flash of green light. The moment that the boy fell, their Lord also stumbled. Seconds passed where the entire clearing seemed to hold its breath. Then serpentine red eyes opened again and a sharp tongue lashed out at Bellatrix. Their Lord had survived. But the relief that Narcissa was expected to feel made no attempt to settle itself in her heart. That was already taken over by bitter disappointment. As if the Dark Lord had sensed her disloyalty, he pointed his wand at her and a sharp flash of pain sparked through all of her nerve endings at once. “You. Tell me if he’s dead.“ She gladly went away from them and towards the boy who still lay on the dirty ground, unmoving. With a pang she realised that he was just Draco’s age. She couldn’t say why that fact hadn’t occured to her before, but it did now as she bent down to feel for a heartbeat… and found one. Turning her head so that her long blonde hair would shield them from sight, she whispered: „Draco – is he alive? Is he in the castle?“ The slightest of nods. And now the relief was there, washing over her like a tide. This is what matters, Bella. Not our Lord. Our family. She straightened and looked into their hungry eyes. “He is dead.“ They took back the castle like a kingdom. Storming forward in their false triumph, elated with victory. Where are you, Draco? The battle broke out again and she had not found him, Harry Potter vanished and reappeared and then there was the moment where Lord Voldemort realised that one of his own had lied to him. Harry Potter was not dead. “Avada Kedav-“ “Protego!“, another voice called, and a shield spread out in front of her, a shield so strong that even Voldemort’s killing curse could not break it. She whirled around and saw Minerva McGonagall, wand in hand and followed by two other professors, heading for Voldemort. Narcissa stood by to let her. For the fracture of a second, the two women locked eyes and Narcissa understood that this was a favour repaid. Her life for the patronus she had sent weeks earlier.
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Stone cracked beneath the duelists as Bellatrix whirled around three girls in a dance, forever next to her Master as he took on three enemies of his own. But they proved themselves equal, neither winning or losing, until a new challenger stepped onto the floor. “Not my daughter, you bitch!“
Where’s my son?
Narcissa was not there to see her sister die. She and Lucius were still looking all over the castle for the only one who mattered to them now. They found Draco eventually, hiding somewhere on the seventh floor, close to a room that seemed to recently have caught fire. Tears were streaking down his pale, soot-stained face as his mother wrapped him in her arms. Seven floors down, Harry Potter was holding Draco’s wand in his hand, the only thing between him and the darkest wizard who had ever lived. The crowd watched, mesmerized as he explained where Voldemort had failed. What he had failed to see. When they cast their curses, Harry’s disarming charm beat Voldemort’s killing curse, and the Dark Lord fell as Tom Riddle, with no way of ever being reborn again. Hermione and Ron ran towards Harry, not because he was the boy who lived, but because he was their best friend. They hugged each other so tight the air seemed to go out of them, as shouts of triumph raised the ceiling of the Great Hall to heavenly heights. When the hug broke up into three seperate pieces again, Harry was reaching out to Ginny and Hermione turned around to find Minerva with a glowing look in her eyes. No more secrets, Fleur, she thought, and strode toward the older woman to kiss her right where she stood. The few people who might have seen politely averted their eyes and accepted it as the public display of love that it was. A few shocked seconds later, Minerva wrapped her arms around the younger witch and kissed Hermione back fervently. They resurfaced quite breathlessly, Hermione just enough in control of herself not to kiss Minerva again on the spot. Instead, she said: “Professor, I would like to take you out on a date.“ Harry’s elbow found Ron’s ribs where he stood staring at their friend, and Ginny rolled her eyes. “Come on, Ron“, she said, and none too gently pushed against her brother’s shoulder while she took Harry’s hand to pull him along. “Did you see – was Hermione just – did she-“, he asked, and Harry had to hold back a laugh even though he himself was no less surprised. They passed by Draco and his parents who just seemed to come down the stairwell, and without so much as a thought Harry gave the other boy back his wand. Draco stared at him in utter bewilderment for a second, before they went their seperate ways. Nobody minded the Malfoys where they sat in the Great Hall, or Professor McGonagall down at the Gryffindor table who seemed to be holding Hermione Granger’s hand, not when they were sitting next to the boy who lived. The Weasleys were seated all around them, Fleur’s hair catching the morning light and Mrs Weasley finally resolving to knit her a jumper for christmas this year, and where they hurt, where pieces were missing from their lives and people had been ripped away, new memories would one day grow to live next to the old ones side by side.
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(the morning after)
24 hours later, the sun was rising in Paris and Narcissa Malfoy stirred in the satin sheets of their summer home. Still half asleep, she considered ringing for coffee before she remembered they did not actually have a house elf anymore. With a graceful stretch, she got up from the bed and resolved to make it herself. Given the right amount of magic, it shouldn’t be too hard. She frowned at the different brands of French coffee in the kitchen but eventually selected one, and returned upstairs to their luxurious bedroom where Lucius, her husband and newly made secretkeeper, was still fast asleep in bed. They had turned their summer home into a safe house, until things quieted down and it was safe to return to England. For now, Narcissa pressed a kiss to Lucius’ head and when it did not wake him, went to check on their son. She had found herself lingering in Draco’s doorway a lot since they had come here, but she knew the constant urge to make sure he was all right would eventually fade. Even in sleep, her son bore an uncanny resemblance to his father, spread out over half the sheets and sleeping in just as late. Narcissa smiled and then resolved to write a letter. She did not know if her patronus could travel all the way to England, but she doubted it. It would have to be an owl. ***Days later, the bird arrived in England to tap on the window of Professor McGonagall’s private chambers, even though the letter was clearly addressed to a “Mrs. Helena Thirdsworth“. The insistent tapping on the window woke Hermione, who had up til then been slumbering in Minerva’s arms (as seemed to quickly become a habit). Her hair was nothing short of a glorious mess as she got up from the narrow bed to receive the letter. It was very short:
Dear Sister,
I am sorry for writing to you so belatedly, I long meant to invite you to our summer home.
All arrangements for your visit must of course be made immediately, I am sure that you
will find the neccessary means of travel and tourist information at your local bookstore.
Books always capture my attention and I know they do the same for you, so feel free
to just be you and buy as many as you like – my treat. Until we see each other, I hope that
you are well, with much affection,
Natalie Thirdsworth
“So that’s how she knew“, Hermione whispered, and crossed over from the window to the bed to get back under the covers and snuggle up to Minerva for a few more minutes. Remotely, she thought how nice it would be to actually have a sister who bought her so many books. Then she forgot about it again as she took in her lover and, giving in to temptation, kissed her awake. Twenty minutes later, her hands were roaming all over the body beneath her, lips trailing kisses up and down a toned thigh, until Minerva threatened “if you don’t hurry up, Ms Granger, I will take twenty points from Gryffindor“. Hermione chuckled and replied “you need a bigger bed, Professor“, before she deliberately proceeded to take her time just to make sure that the infamous Minerva McGonagall was two minutes late to her own class. Minerva skipped breakfast to be five minutes early. With a smug smile and grumbling stomach, she stood in front of the third years, settling in to her daily routine. Hermione was right. They did need a bigger bed. Maybe some place in Hogsmeade would be available? She resolved to look for one as she scolded one of her students for turning his friend’s hair a spectacular shade of green when they were supposed to colour the rabbits in front of them, and threatened detention when the student dared to argue.“It’s not my fault, I can barely tell the difference, Professor… ““Five points from Slytherin“, she countered, but re-awarded them later when they mastered their task.She was just in too good a mood that day.