What Do A Lion And A Wolf Share?

Into The Thick Of It

Hermione ran towards the library. She wasn't sure why she hadn't headed straight to the floo, back home and away from the manor But she'd always sought out books for comfort, finding solace in stories under the covers as a child or hiding in the back corner of the Hogwarts library. As soon as she closed the door, she sank to the floor and began to sob.

She replayed the conversation again and again in her head, trying to organize her thoughts about Narcissa, about her father, about her mother. Hermione's heart was pounding as she plucked a thought to focus on.

"Harper," she whispered, trying to remember everything Narcissa had said about her clever friend. Her hand flew to her earlobes, wishing she'd worn the over-the-top diamonds today, the only piece of her biological mother she had. Now that she had a name and had heard stories about her, she wasn't sure what to think of her biological mother. Confusion, anger, and pity swirled around her, but a wave of grief crashed over that, drowning them out. She'd lost someone she never knew, and a live she'd never lived.

Hermione cursed herself for her naivety, for the hope that had wormed itself back into her heart after Harry told her about the mystery woman asking to see her daughter. She had tried to push it out of her mind because logically she knew it was just some reporter trying to find out why she'd been in the hospital. But some part of her had taken hold of the idea that she had a parent out there, alive and conscious who cared for her. It's what she'd wanted ever since she wiped her parents' minds.

"Stupid," Hermione muttered, hugging her knees to her chest. She replayed that part of the conversation over in her head. As she'd talked about the hospital, Narcissa's brows had become so furrowed that wrinkles appeared on her forehead for the first time since Hermione became reacquainted with her. She had looked so emotional, so unlike herself.

The revelation that Narcissa was actually her Godmother resurfaced in Hermione's brain. Hermione shifted back against the bookshelf, letting her head rest against it. Suddenly Narcissa's attention, her comments, her immediate acceptance made more sense. It wasn't about her blood, not in the way she originally thought anyway. It was about being a family.

"I have a family," she whispered to herself, thinking of the parents she'd left behind. They'd raised her, and loved her. They'd changed her, and taught her to read, and cheered her on in her spelling bees. They'd gotten on board with magic, and listened to every detail about the foreign world she'd shared. They were her parents.

"And you've abandoned them," she scolded herself bitterly, the tears coming out faster now.

"Hermione," Draco called, his heavy footsteps pounding down the hallway outside. She buried her head in her arms, clutching her knees close. She heard the door creak open.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked, voice thick with tension. "Hermione?" he repeated with soft urgency, as he dropped to his knees before her. She glanced up, meeting his gaze as she wiped her face. His gray eyes flashed like the cold metal of shackles, chaining her and bringing her back from the emotional freefall.

"No," Hermione said. Draco leaned forward and wrapped her in his arms, holding her.

"I'm sorry," Draco murmured into her hair, his breath hot just above her ear. "I promise I had no idea about any of it." He pulled back to look at her, determination on his face. "I'm sorry about your mother, if I had known..." he trailed off.

As she studied his face, she realized that he shouldn't have been so surprised at how comfortable she was in his arms, how his touch brought her immediate relief. When she'd seen him crying earlier that day, it had been like the last lost puzzle piece, finally recovered, fitting into place and showing the full picture. She had feelings for him, but mixed in with the rest of the new information of the day, any clarity had been lost to the emotional fog unleashed by the older Malfoys.