Chapter Text
Narcissa did not take debts lightly. The old ways had been carved into her bones from birth—first as a Black daughter, then as the new matriarch of the Malfoy line. Debts were magic older than wands, older than the first stones of Hogwarts itself. So few saw it this way, but for the most stringent traditional families. Debts were the threads that bound magical society together, invisible but stronger than dragon heartstrings. When she determined to connect with other pureblood families in the region to assist Hermione in finding her birth parents, it was not merely an idle effort. Her husband's actions against the girl had created a stain upon their family magic that she could taste like copper on her tongue. Debts were sacred magic, and Narcissa had sworn upon the Black name and upon her own name that she would make amends for what Lucius had done. The alternative was to let the debt fester, corrupting their magic until it manifested in ways she dared not contemplate. No, she would see this debt cleared, for the sake of her son's future if nothing else.
But it was her conscience that led her today.
It had been a long time since Narcissa had walked this familiar path to the Slytherin table. The marble floors still held their polish, reflecting the floating candles above like scattered stars. For a heartbeat, she felt seventeen again - young Narcissa Black with her perfect posture and carefully arranged hair, not yet Mrs. Malfoy with all its weighty responsibilities. The memory brought a subtle curve to her lips. She had grown into herself since those days, no longer bound by the strict expectations placed upon unmarried pureblood daughters. Still, there was something sweetly nostalgic about these halls that made her steps lighter.
The Slytherins up and down the table grew still as Narcissa approached. Their faces held the same measured respect she remembered wearing in her own time here, when distinguished parents would appear in the Great Hall on matters of importance.
She glided past the curious stares from other House tables—particularly the poorly concealed gawking from the Gryffindors—as beneath her notice. The morning's Prophet that had brought Lucius and herself there lay scattered across various tables, its headlines no doubt fueling the scrutiny.
"Good morning, Mr. Zabini, Miss Parkinson, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis, Miss Bulstrode," Narcissa said smoothly, nodding to each student in turn. "Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle." She turned her attention to Hermione. "Miss Granger, might I have the pleasure of your company? There is a matter requiring your attention."
"Mrs. Malfoy." Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice carried from behind her as he approached from the staff table. "To what do we owe this unexpected visit?"
A quick glance told her Dumbledore was absent his position, but Minerva was beside his empty seat, eyeing Narcissa with pinched lips. She was glad the less biased Flitwick had come in her stead.
"Professor Flitwick," she said, with a gracious nod to the Charms professor despite her annoyance at the interruption, "I do apologize for my intrusion upon the students' mealtime. However, Severus has kindly allowed me to fetch Miss Granger while he is with the Ministry officials. My son is with the Ministry now, and they wish to follow-up with Miss Granger upon some small matter."
Flitwick frowned at this broken protocol. "Severus could have sent a note."
"It is my fault, Professor," she said, deliberately dropping back into her schoolgirl habits. The relaxing of his suspicious expression said she had done well to do so. "I insisted on accompanying them myself—one does wish to ensure one's son's friends are well after such trying events."
Flitwick did seem accepting of this, if the way his face softened was any indication. "Miss Granger? Is this acceptable to you?"
And suddenly, the annoyance she had felt at being questioned fell away, as she understood the true intent behind the professor's actions. The Charms professor had turned toward Hermione, who looked surprised at the question of her consent. But it quickly evaporated, and she nodded, a small smile on her face.
"Yes, sir."
"Then I will give my permission," Flitwick said. "Go along, Miss Granger, and do feel free to stop in the kitchens afterward if you still feel hungry."
"Thank you, Professor."
This girl had allies across the school, Narcissa noted. First, the little display with the youngest Weasley boy she had seen as she stood in the doorway, now Flitwick. Did she realize it? A strength was not a strength unless known and tended. As Hermione walked beside Narcissa toward the doors, she made careful note of which sons of the other pureblood families were looking after her. Pucey ducked his head as they moved past, though Hermione didn't seem to notice. Davies—that could be an issue, the sons were both attractive Ravenclaws. Burke, naturally, but he was a shopkeeper, essentially, which would not do.
The Weasley gaggle, of course, which was too horrifying to even consider.
But there was something... off about the attention. The stares held an unusual intensity, almost magnetic in nature. Even young Longbottom's gaze lingered longer than proper. Narcissa had seen such focused male attention before—on Bella, in fact, starting during her fifth year at Hogwarts. Their parents had consulted specialists in secret, which Narcissa only learned reading her mother's diary after her passing. They had been concerned about spontaneous magical manifestations. Nothing had come of it, but Narcissa remembered the whispered conversations, the worried glances, during that period of time. The way their father had increased Bella's defensive training that summer. And there had been another student she suspected had the allure, one who had even captured Lucius' attention, one who had defied her mother for Rosier…
The memory came back with a jolt, and she glanced anew at Hermione. She filed away this memory for later consideration. The possibility required investigation. The sheer power that could be available to her son, although he would not be happy about the consequences…
Narcissa watched the girl from the corner of her eye as they walked. Rosier's daughter or not, the child carried herself with natural grace that spoke of good breeding. It was there in the lift of her chin, the measured pace of her steps. The very qualities Narcissa had once been trained in herself, as all proper pureblood families taught their daughters to this day. But while those other girls would be all calculated charm, this girl possessed an unconscious dignity that could serve her well in pureblood society—if properly guided. And guidance, Narcissa knew, was precisely what the girl would need in the coming months. The vultures would begin circling soon enough, seeking to capitalize on an unclaimed Rosier heir, if they had not already. Better the girl have protection from those who understood the games of their world.
The day before, Narcissa had hoped to clear her debts when Draco and Hermione were engaged, since her first goal to reduce her debts had been usurped by Hermione herself. It would be easier to clear her debts when they were engaged, with the closeness that would naturally happen between Hermione and the Malfoy family. And it fit her selfish nature, to want her debts to also benefit her son.
However…
Narcissa could not do so now. Neither could Lucius pretend that they did not owe the girl. Barty Crouch had always been mindless in his hatred of Muggleborns. If Lucius had not pushed the girl into investigating her heritage, if it had never been called into question, the girl would not have been a target.
Did she realize? The girl seemed oblivious to most everything as they stepped out of the Great Hall, her eyebrows furrowed. Did she realize that she had garnered a debt from Lucius Malfoy—and what that entailed? Not only a debt, but his support.
Narcissa let a small smile grace her lips. Hermione would soon find out.
Instead of leading Hermione to the second floor classroom that her son, Lucius, and Severus were in with the Ministry officials, Narcissa led Hermione to the faculty lounge on the first floor. She checked the cupboards and wardrobe, noting only chipped cups and spare robes, before she cast privacy wards with practiced elegance. The girl watched her movements with intelligent eyes, taking in the precise wand work. Good. An appreciation for proper magical form would serve her well.
"Miss Granger, there is no Ministry meeting." Narcissa settled into a chair, arranging her robes. "Please, sit. We have matters of importance to discuss."
The girl hesitated only briefly before taking the seat across from her own purple armchair. "Is Draco alright?"
"My son is quite well, thank you for your concern." Narcissa studied the way Hermione's shoulders relaxed slightly at this news. "I would like to discuss your situation. Specifically, the attempts various families will make to secure your future now that your heritage is known."
"I don't understand."
"You are the sole heir to the Rosier line. Unmarried. Unclaimed. Unfortunately, in the news for actions outside your control." Narcissa kept her voice gentle but firm, even as Hermione's throat bobbed. "There are those who will seek to take advantage of this situation. Already, I suspect, you've noticed increased attention from certain young men?"
A flash of recognition crossed Hermione's face. "Adrian mentioned something about his family requiring an undeclared match."
Narcissa tucked away that knowledge for later. They were a good family, but Hermione would be wasted as an undeclared witch.
"Indeed. The Puceys are merely the first. There will be others—some far less honorable in their intentions." Narcissa leaned forward slightly. "Dorian Burke, for instance, has already made inquiries about any Rosier debts with Gringotts."
"Burke?" Hermione's brow furrowed. "The seventh year prefect?"
Narcissa was glad Hermione hadn't asked exactly how she had learned that information. But the sacrifice of a few unnecessary, ugly goblin-made items could assist one at Gringotts, with the right goblin.
"His family owns several establishments in Knockturn Alley. They would be quite interested in accessing the Rosier vaults through marriage, so naturally they inquired whether those vaults would be worth making the effort. Of course, they didn't succeed—only the Ministry and the vault owner can access that information." As irritation flared in the girl's eyes, Narcissa rejoiced. "You require protection, Miss Granger. Guidance in navigating these waters."
"And you're offering this... why? Why now?"
Smart girl. Narcissa allowed a small smile. "The House of Black owes you a debt. We do not take such matters lightly."
"I see." But the girl's tone suggested she didn't, not fully. Narcissa was pleased to explain.
"There is old magic in debts, Miss Granger. Magic that demands balance." Narcissa smoothed her already perfect robes. "I intend to ensure your protection, regardless of any personal hopes I might have had regarding your connection to my son." While the girl blushed, Narcissa continued, "As to why now, it is my fault I did not offer sooner. I had thought to wait until matters between you and my son developed naturally. It was prideful of me, perhaps, to assume I could clear our debt through such means. But recent events have made it clear that you require protection now, not when it might conveniently align with my hopes for Draco's future."
Disarming honesty was a mighty method to gaining trust, which Narcissa dearly needed to do quickly. It seemed it worked, as Hermione shifted in the fluffy blue armchair, her face flushing a bright red. "I appreciate your honesty, Mrs. Malfoy, but… well, Draco and I agreed to be cordial housemates. He seems quite happy with his current relationship."
Her eyebrows ticked up. "With whom?"
She looked stricken. "Perhaps... that's a conversation best had with Draco, ma'am."
Draco wrote her at least once a fortnight, if not weekly. He had mentioned taking Pansy Parkinson to the Yule Ball, but Narcissa had been left with the impression it would be as friends. "Indeed," she said, her smile a little sharper. "Regardless. The old families will not wait for you to come of age, Miss Granger. Already they circle, testing your defenses, measuring your worth against their ambitions. The Puceys, the Burkes... they are merely the first. Without proper guidance, you risk being caught in contracts and obligations that even I would struggle to untangle. And while my son may have his... aspirations, your safety must take precedence over any matchmaking schemes I might have entertained."
Cheeks still reddened, Hermione said, "Professor Snape gave me a book about those topics. I haven't read it yet, but he said it would help me, too." She seemed hesitant, and Narcissa gave her an encouraging nod. "I don't think Adrian would do something like that. Honestly, we're just casual. He was my date to the Yule Ball," she explained as Narcissa's eyebrows rose in question. "I've heard he was… Well. I don't think he would try something, anyway. He's a good wizard."
Narcissa suppressed a sigh at the girl's trusting nature. She had been much the same at that age, believing the best of everyone's intentions despite her mother's warnings. Even now, she could recall Druella Black's knowing looks when young Narcissa would defend some wizard's questionable behavior. Youth bred such dangerous innocence.
"Which book was this that Severus provided?"
Her forehead wrinkled, showing she had truly neglected Severus' gift. "The Art of Refined Company."
"A fine starting point. Though I confess surprise that Severus had access to such a text." She adjusted the silver clasp of her robe, considering. "It is typically passed down through the family. Draco's copy bears the signatures of three generations of Black women."
The girl's face fell slightly at this reminder of her lost heritage, and Narcissa felt a flash of regret for her careless words. But Narcissa could not correct the past, only address the future, which was so much more hopeful.
"As for young Mr. Pucey..." Narcissa chose her next words with care. "I hope you are correct. Unfortunately, I have seen the trusting be burned when they put their hand out."
Trust was not something one handed out lightly. If she were truly socially intelligent, Hermione would distrust everything Narcissa said. After all, it was Narcissa who had encouraged Draco's schemes to win the witch's affections, although she never would have condoned his current approach. This dalliance with this unknown girl, one she suspected would be Miss Parkinson. It showed an alarming lack of finesse. If he had chosen someone of consequence as his false pursuit... The potential complications made her temples ache.
Hermione looked troubled, but thoughtful. Good. Narcissa decided now was a good time to continue, while doubts were in Hermione's mind. "Professor Snape has made an admirable start, but there are nuances that books alone cannot convey." She paused, then added, "Once you read that, please owl me if you have any questions. I would welcome a correspondence with you about any questions you have. Whether you choose to accept my son's courtship or not."
The offer was genuine, even if her ultimate hopes remained unchanged. After all, the girl would need allies. And Narcissa Malfoy protected what was hers—whether by blood, marriage, or debt.
"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. I appreciate that."
As someone without a mother to guide her through these events would. Narcissa sympathized with the girl, and found herself growing increasingly cold toward the woman who had discarded such a gifted daughter to Muggles. To leave one's own child ignorant of their heritage, their birthright—it spoke of a deplorable weakness of character.
But Narcissa held onto her temper, and tucked it away to ponder on later. Later, when she could decide what to do with her anger. For now, it was time for Narcissa to relieve herself of one of her debts.
Slipping her hand into her pocket, Narcissa pulled out what looked like a small black compact, though its surface was carved with intricate celestial patterns that shifted beneath the light. The silver inlay formed constellations that moved when one wasn't looking.
"This is the Black Compass," Narcissa said as she held it to the girl, who opened it cautiously. "The more common ones are known as an Alliance Compass, but this particular one was crafted by my Uncle Arcturus." Hermione tilted the open compass, its dark surface rippling like liquid starlight. A delicate silver compass needle spun lazily.
"What does it point to?" Hermione asked. "It's pointing to you."
"I am your closest Black ally," Narcissa said with approval. "My Uncle Arcturus created this based on a traditional alliance compass, that shows you your closest ally. This one will only focus on the Black line, and those who it best considers your ally." Which meant it would never point to Azkaban, thank Morgana. "Given your relationship with my cousin and my son, I thought this artifact would be appreciated. When needed, it will guide you. Once you are old enough to Apparate, it can take you to the side of a Black ally, negating any protections in the way."
Hermione's eyes had grown bigger and bigger with every word. "You mean… is this a Black family artifact? But aren't those rare?"
"This is the only one in the world."
"Mrs. Malfoy—this is too much. I cannot accept this. Draco should be the one—" Flustered, Hermione shoved the compass toward Narcissa.
"My son has other items he can rely upon," Narcissa said, and carefully folded the girl's fingers over the compass. "This is yours. It is one part of the debt I owe you, the one in my family name. Should you ever need help, it will guide you true."
Narcissa was pleased that the weight of the gesture wasn't lost on Hermione, Muggle upbringing notwithstanding. It pained Narcissa immensely to give away the family heirloom, one she had carried in her own pocket once upon a time. Knowing it would be valued by Hermione made the loss a little less painful.
"Mrs. Malfoy, really… This wouldn't have helped me with Crouch."
The girl winced, and finally, Hermione's facade cracked. Narcissa had been waiting for it. Hermione had poise, yes, and a healthy tendency to maintain her composure for the most part, but recent events would have been top of mind for any young woman. So why had Hermione allowed Narcissa to go on about courtship and matchmaking schemes when there was something much more relevant to discuss? Narcissa had held her tongue several times in the conversation, wondering why Hermione did not seem exceptionally moved by current events. Why, even her first statement should have shocked the girl, and bade Narcissa to stop asking silly questions when she had just survived a nightmare. But now, finally, Hermione had brought it up herself, and looked all the more miserable for it.
A skill in compartmentalization, she thought. Which would be invaluable in other situations—but not this. A discreet message to Severus about the Mind Healers at St. Mungo's would not be remiss, she decided.
"No," Narcissa said quietly. "The compass would require you to have your full faculties to use it, and it likely would have only brought Draco into trouble if you had used it in a moment outside the Imperius and gone to him."
She held out the compass again. "Then…"
"But there may be other situations where it may prove useful," Narcissa said, once more shaking her head as Hermione attempted to return the gift. She tilted her head. "Crouch will not be the only danger in your life."
Hermione flinched. It was a physical, full-body motion, sending her back hitting the armchair's cushion. "I…" She closed her eyes. "I know, but..."
Narcissa leaned back, giving the girl space while maintaining an air of composed attention. Years of navigating delicate conversations had taught her the value of silence. She watched as Hermione's fingers traced the constellations on the compass, her eyes still closed.
"I hate that I can't remember."
"Is it only the lack of memory that disturbs you the most?" Narcissa kept her voice gentle, maternal. The kind of tone she used when Draco was younger and would wake from nightmares. She wished Hermione had revealed why she expected more danger to come, but those confidences would come in time. For now, Narcissa wanted to let the girl vent some of her sorrow, which she seemed to have tucked away.
"Yes and no." Hermione's voice came out barely above a whisper. "I don't want to know… but I feel like there's part of me missing. I can't access it. And Madam Grimblehawk—"
"From the Department of Child Welfare and Protection?"
The sharpness of the question made Hermione open her eyes. "Yes."
"What did she say, Hermione?"
She wouldn't look at Narcissa, her gaze on her knees. "I was too calm, according to her. She said victims usually show more distress. But I can't remember it, so how can I?" Her gaze lifted, and they were a fierce, burning golden brown. "Isn't that unfair to say to anyone, much less a child? He put Memory Charms on me. The only thing I knew was the wizard questioning me last night wasn't Snape—and then my life fell apart."
The fierce defiance in those eyes stirred something in Narcissa's chest—a mother's pride and protective fury. Here was a child who had been violated twice: first by Crouch's attacks, then by the Ministry's callous questioning of her responses to trauma. To suggest a child should perform grief properly, like some grotesque theater piece... It was unconscionable. Narcissa had sworn to protect this girl, and she would start by ensuring no more Ministry officials traumatized her under the guise of "helping." The girl needed defenders, not interrogators.
"But why was Madam Grimblehawk present?" Narcissa asked. "No one from that department had requested to be present for Draco's meeting today."
Defiance died in those eyes, flickering with wariness. Grief.
"Hermione?" she asked gently.
"My parents are missing," Hermione said bluntly. "That's why."
Narcissa kept her face carefully neutral even as her mind raced through the implications. Missing Muggles who had raised a pureblood witch—this complicated matters significantly. No wonder Hermione expected danger.
"When did you last hear from them?" she asked, keeping her tone measured.
"November." Hermione's fingers tightened around the compass. "Professor Dumbledore showed me a letter they wrote then. They were... anyway, they were safe."
Were. Past tense. The girl had already begun to distance herself from hope. Smart, if painful.
"It is not Crouch's doing?" That news had not been printed in the article, or any other.
"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Professor Snape confirmed it with him."
As he would. Snape would not lie to the girl. If he had confirmed it, Narcissa suspected Veritaserum had been at hand.
"And now the Ministry seeks to determine your guardianship." It wasn't a question. Narcissa had played these games long enough to see the pieces moving on the board. "Has anyone made formal offers?"
"Professor Snape said he would help prevent Ministry interference." A pause. "And Professor Dumbledore suggested Sirius."
Sirius. Her wayward cousin who had already taken in one orphaned child. It made a certain sense—he was Lord Black now, with the resources and standing to protect the girl. But Narcissa couldn't quite suppress her instinctive distaste at the thought of Hermione being raised by someone who had rejected everything their world stood for.
By a Light wizard.
"I see." Narcissa smoothed her robes, buying time to choose her next words carefully. "While my cousin would be... adequate protection from certain quarters, there are other considerations. He has taken in Mr. Potter already, has he not? While I have not spoken to him at length about it, over the summer, he did tell me that the Ministry monitors him constantly due to the Boy-Who-Lived's presence in his home. Taking you in as well would only give them more excuse to interfere. They would watch his every move, question his capacity to care for two high-profile wards." She paused delicately. "The scrutiny might be... excessive."
Narcissa watched the girl absorb this point, noting how her shoulders tensed slightly. Good. She was considering the political implications rather than just emotional comfort.
"The Ministry will want someone appropriate," Narcissa continued. "Someone who can guide you through the complexities of your position as the Rosier heir. Someone with connections to help protect you from those who would take advantage."
"Like Professor Snape?" Hermione asked.
"Severus is..." Narcissa chose her words with care. "A highly respected Potions Master and educator. But his position is complicated." She didn't elaborate on exactly how complicated. The girl was clever enough to draw her own conclusions about a half-blood's suitability as guardian to a newly-discovered pureblood heir. "He does not have many connections that would help you."
"Then who would you suggest?" A hint of challenge entered Hermione's voice.
"There are several possibilities worth considering." Narcissa adjusted the silver clasp of her robe. "The Greengrasses, for instance, have maintained careful neutrality through several conflicts. Or perhaps Augusta Longbottom—she has experience raising a magical child alone, and her reputation is beyond reproach."
Hermione's brow furrowed. "But wouldn't they want something in return?"
"Of course." Narcissa allowed herself a small smile of approval. "Everyone wants something, Miss Granger. The trick is ensuring what they want aligns with your own interests."
"And what do you want, Mrs. Malfoy?"
The directness of the question, delivered with such clear-eyed intensity, reminded Narcissa sharply of her sister. But where Bella had been all fire and defiance, this girl tempered her challenge with careful observation, which Bella had never bothered with. More like Andromeda, perhaps. Since their mother had been a Rosier, perhaps it was something inherited from her.
"I want," Narcissa said, knowing more than ever she desired this girl as Draco's wife and hating that she needed to speak the truth, "to ensure you have the protection and guidance you need to navigate our world safely. Whether that benefits my son's interests or not is secondary to clearing my debt."
The girl studied her face, searching for deception. Narcissa met her gaze steadily. Let her look. Sometimes the most effective strategy was simple honesty.
"I'll consider it… that is, if it's an offer," she added. Her gaze was steady, evaluating, showing a maturity beyond her years.
Narcissa allowed herself to smile. "I'll send a letter to the Ministry today."
The simple confirmation seemed to crack something in the girl's carefully maintained facade. Her hands, still holding the compass, began to tremble slightly. She drew in a shaky breath, then another, as if trying to hold onto her control. But the events of the past few days - Crouch, the Ministry, her missing parents - had finally overwhelmed her defenses. Narcissa watched as tears spilled down Hermione's cheeks, the girl's palms pressing against her eyes in a futile attempt to hide her breakdown.
"I'm so sorry," Hermione choked out. "I don't mean to—"
"Here." Narcissa conjured a silk handkerchief and pressed it into Hermione's trembling hands.
The girl dabbed at her eyes, shoulders shaking. Narcissa waited, giving her space to collect herself.
"Your friends," Narcissa said softly. "Are you leaning on them during this time?"
"Yes, but—" A sob.
"What is it, dear?"
Hermione's fingers twisted the handkerchief. "I try, but I can't... The compulsions won't let me."
"Compulsions?" Ice slid down Narcissa's spine.
"He put them on me." Hermione's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "To keep me from touching boys. Even thinking about hugging my friends makes me feel sick inside." Her face flushed with shame. "I feel so stupid. I can't even be myself with them anymore."
The admission hit Narcissa like a physical blow. This child—this brilliant, brave child—had been violated in ways beyond the obvious. To twist her mind against comfort, against friendship...
Without thinking, Narcissa moved to the girl's chair and pulled her into an embrace. Hermione stiffened for a moment before melting into the contact, fresh tears soaking into Narcissa's robes.
"None of this is your fault," Narcissa murmured, stroking the girl's hair. She held her as the tears fell, offering the maternal comfort this child so desperately needed. Yes, she was most pleased that she had decided to come here today for Hermione. While she of course wished to be with her son, he did not require support in the same way Hermione did right then.
Eventually, Hermione's sobs quieted. She pulled back, wiping her eyes with the damp handkerchief.
"There is a way," Narcissa said, "to break a compulsion."
Hope flickered in Hermione's red-rimmed eyes. "What is it?"
Narcissa drew her wand. "Finite."
Hermione stared at Narcissa's wand, mouth slightly parted. Although the spell had been cast on her, there was no physical manifestation, as the Finite spell lacked such effects.
"But... that's it?" Hermione asked, dabbing at her eyes again.
"When a compulsion is not actively maintained by the caster's will, it becomes brittle. Fragile." Narcissa smiled as she lowered her wand. "Each time you feel the urge to pull away from contact, cast Finite on yourself. Or better yet, have a friend do so." Her lips curved slightly, and didn't resist the urge to add, "Draco is quite skilled with the spell."
The blush that colored Hermione's cheeks was most satisfactory.
"The compulsion should weaken with each casting until it dissolves completely," Narcissa continued. "Sometimes the simplest solutions are the most effective, dear." Rising gracefully, Narcissa bent to press a gentle kiss to Hermione's forehead. "Take a moment to compose yourself, then meet me in the entrance hall. The Ministry should be finished with Draco by now, and Lucius has something he needs to say to you."