July 2005
Bobbin brought porridge for breakfast the next morning. Hermione didn't feel like eating and ignored the tray while she paced around her room.
Draco hadn't come back since he'd left to see his father. She was sick of waiting. She wasn't going to just sit impotently in her bedroom and wait for Ginny to come and Draco to die.
She strode over to the door and pulled it open with a jerk.
"Don't!" A sharp voice screamed.
Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin and turned to find Narcissa had leapt out of her chair and appeared on the verge of attempting to climb out of her frame.
Hermione stared wide-eyed across the room at Narcissa, her hand against her chest. Her heart felt as though it had jumped into her mouth.
Narcissa stared back at her.
"You can't go out. Draco isn't on the estate." Her voice was sharp and imperious.
Hermione had somehow thought she'd sound more broken. She drew a deep breath and looked at Narcissa warily. "You can tell?"
Narcissa gave short nod. "The magic of the estate knows."
Hermione closed the door slowly and walked over to the portrait. She studied Narcissa, taking note of the traits that Draco had inherited. The same mouth. The same mannerisms. In school, she'd thought Draco took entirely after his father, but now she saw how Narcissa subtly shone through Draco's Malfoy traits and features.
"I want to save your son," Hermione said.
Narcissa's mouth pursed tightly, and she raised an eyebrow. "You can't. If you really thought you could, you wouldn't be stalking around the room like a caged nundu."
Hermione didn't blink. "Draco will die if I don't do something."
Narcissa's expression fractured briefly then it smoothed and she glanced away. "There are worse things than dying." She straightened the cuff of her sleeve. "You don't know what my son was like when you went missing. You don't have any idea."
It was strange to see a teenage girl refer to a man a nearly decade older than herself as her son.
"I saved him."
"You wouldn't have needed to if you'd just left sooner the way he'd begged you to. There were other people that mattered more to you than doing what he asked," Narcissa said, her voice cold.
She was so young, Hermione realised. Portraits didn't evolve or mature, they stayed the way they were. The fact that Narcissa's portrait showed signs of any trauma showed just how very deep it had been. Fundamentally, she was still Narcissa Black, sixteen years old and full of romantic haughtiness.
"Why didn't Narcissa run when Draco asked her to? Because of Lucius?"
Narcissa's portrait stiffened. "No. Lucius is... he-he..." her mask fell apart. "He loved me-her-more than anything. She wanted to go-after the triwizard tournament-but Lucius swore Draco wouldn't have to take the mark. When he was arrested, she was certain the Dark Lord would come for Draco. She was going to take him as he was home from school. But... the Dark Lord came here first. Then... then-then afterwards-"
"She stayed to keep him alive," Hermione said. "Draco wouldn't have kept trying once he knew she was safe. He would have been dead in a matter of weeks."
Narcissa looked away but gave a short nod of acknowledgement.
Hermione stepped closer. "I want to save Draco. If you told Lucius-if he knew-"
