Part I

End of Second Year

Chapter One: King's Cross

She stood in the crowd, a thin girl with a mane of bushy hair, next to a strange piece of luggage nearly half her size. People walked by, casting curious glances, but no one paused to ask what such a young girl was doing all by herself at London's King's Cross Station when the clock was about to strike seven.

The muggles didn't know this, but the Hogwarts Express had arrived three hours ago, depositing its horde of eager students excited for summer break. They were all gone now, whisked away by parents via floo, apparition, or even just conventional muggle means.

The railway station came to rest, once again, under muggle dominion. Neither witch nor wizard strolled through the grand halls; that is...except one.

Hermione Granger stood alone, nervously biting her lower lip and clenching the handle of her trunk so hard that her fingers had turned white. Her parents were supposed to have picked her up three hours ago. Needless to say, they hadn't.

At first, she hadn't been worried. She'd waved goodbye to Ron and the rest of the Weasleys – shaking hands with their father, Arthur, and bravely insisting to their mother Molly that, no, she was perfectly fine by herself, her parents were just probably running a little late because they worked very hard and traffic must have been bad. Then she watched Harry being led away by his uncle – a burly, red-faced, and angry man in his mid-40's. Harry, straining under the weight of all his things – his trunk, broom and Hedwig's cage among them – trotted after him, looking miserable. He had declined Hermione's offer of assistance; instead, he just asked that she write him over the summer.

Hermione promised she would and then waved again when she saw him peering out of the back window of a passing station wagon. He raised his hand and smiled sadly, but then another car rode in-between them, blocking her view, and she couldn't find him again. So she sat on a bench and started to wait.

An hour later, she was officially worried. Her parents were punctual and serious individuals – they worked as dentists – and they would have informed her of any scheduling conflicts. So she walked over to one of the big red phone booths and paid for a call using the few spare coins in her purse.

That was when the first shock of the evening came.

An automated reply promptly informed her that the number she had dialed did not exist, and she should try her call again. Hermione frowned. After retrieving her coins, she inserted them once more into the machine, and double-checked her movements, making sure to press the numbers in the right order. Despite her efforts, the melodic female voice returned with the exact same message.

Hermione took several steady breaths to calm herself. Maybe, she thought, their home phone was broken, or there was a problem on the line. That would explain her inability to connect. And as for her parents...there'd probably been an accident on the freeway, and they were stuck in traffic, worried just as much as she was. All she had to do was be patient and wait.

So she returned to the bench where she'd left her trunk and sat down again, fidgeting nervously. Her mind chose this inopportune moment to kick into overdrive.

Her last contact with her parents had been during winter break. Even then, she remembered now, they had seemed distant and confused. At times, they would stare at her like they couldn't quite figure out who she was or what she was doing there. Hermione hadn't payed their behavior much attention, though – all of her thoughts were focused on discovering the Heir's identity.

Now she was kicking herself.

Five months...and she hadn't heard a single word from her parents. True, she'd been in a petrified state for most of the time, but...hadn't Dumbledore notified them? Shouldn't they have visited her in the hospital ward? And why hadn't they replied to the letter she sent after Professor Sprout's mandrakes revived her?

The clock chimed six, a steady clang that pounded into her eardrums and nourished a growing feeling of dread in her chest. The most reasonable explanations seemed feeble now. There was just too much wrong, and all at the same time. Her parents' absence, combined with the broken phone line and the lack of correspondence bode nothing good.

Hermione took another breath and opened a book, but the words within offered no comfort.

Six thirty.

She shut the book, wiping off a few beads of icy sweat from her forehead. All of the Hogwarts students were gone now, and the portal to platform 9¾ was certainly closed. She was surrounded by people, but all of them were strangers. Hermione rose from her seat and paced uncertainly, gulping down a nauseous sense of worry. She glanced at the clock – six forty-five.

Hermione knew she didn't have the money for a cab, as her several attempts at calling her parents had used up the last of her muggle change. Her purse held only a handful of sickles and a single galleon, but the gold and silver was useless here.

By now, she'd cursed her decision to let the Weasleys go. They could have helped her, but she just had to flaunt her independence. Unlike Harry, she didn't even have an owl to contant anyone; no, instead, she was the proud owner of a small mountain of books, and a fat lot of help they were.

Hermione sniffled, blinking rapidly. She still hoped for a rational explanation – an accident, a delay, something. Anything.

At six fifty, she decided it was time to approach the police. Glancing around, she noticed the distinct constabulary helmet-and-badge bobbing through the crowd in the distance. She leaned down to lift her trunk and then heard a name that made her freeze in place.

"Draco," an exasperated female voice was saying in a rapidly approaching conversation, "I cannot believe you. Whatever possessed you to go to this muggle area? And to leave your broom behind – your father would be furious."

"We were just playing," came a sullen response belonging to none other than Draco Malfoy, bully extraordinaire. "But then Crabbe tripped, breaking some muggle sign–"

"How that boy ended up in Slytherin..."

"–and we hauled back, but I forgot I'd left my broom–"

"A Nimbus 2001. Most children dream of such a broom, and you just...up and abandon it near hundreds of muggles! You know, sometimes I fear we spoil you too much; if I'd ever done such a thing, my mother would have–Oh."

The pair – Draco Malfoy and an older woman that could only be his mum – came to abrupt halt in front of Hermione, who had straightened and was, once again, nervously nibbling on her lip. The last thing she needed was for Malfoy to start ridiculing her. She tilted her head up and saw a pair of pale-blue eyes staring at her curiously.

. . . .

"A Hogwarts student?" Narcissa asked with surprise, carefully inspecting the girl in front of her. She was dressed like a muggle, but the Hogwarts trunk blatantly proclaimed her status as a witch – either half-blood or muggleborn, as Narcissa knew all the pureblood girls her son's age. The girl's eyes were a little red 'round the edges and darted with panic. However, despite her obvious distress, the girl stood straight and even jutted out her chin a little, as if she was preparing for a fight.

"That's Granger," Narcissa heard her son sneer. "The Gryffindor know-it-all."

"The one that trumps you in every class?" Draco had certainly whinged about her enough; so much so that Lucius had forbidden the girl's name from any dinner conversation, because he was loath to have good food sullied by the mention of mudbloods. Narcissa cocked an eyebrow, giving the girl another once-over before expelling any thoughts of her whatsoever.

She wouldn't waste time on dirty blood; besides, it was already bad enough that Draco's forgetfulness that forced her to suffer such proximity to filthy muggle hordes.

"Come, Draco," she gestured to her son, watching the girl's eyes dim a little as if she'd been hoping for something. Assistance, perhaps. Narcissa scoffed at the foolish notion and turned to leave.

...Only to find that she couldn't.

It was the oddest feeling, like an invisible net or a magical current that tugged her back, and, instead of departing with haste, she found herself suddenly addressing the girl.

"You, why are you still here? Haven't your parents come to retrieve you?"

It was difficult to say who was more shocked of the three: Narcissa, Draco or Hermione. But her eyes lit up again and she squeaked, voice quivering: "They're...they're late."

"By three hours?" Narcissa asked in a slightly higher tone. Parenthood was a sacred duty, and she would never abandon her own son like that. Perhaps she did spoil him, but he had been a precious gift. "Are they coming at all?"

"Mother!" Draco hissed from the side. "Let's go! She's just a mudblood, why do you care–"

"Silence." Narcissa knew Draco must have turned pink with anger in response to her the command – her son was so easy to rile at times – but she didn't have the time for his tantrums. Her inner world was in turmoil, as the distinct pull of magic raged around her, leading her closer to this girl and insisting that she help her, protect her, and even…nurture her. And, much like a fish caught by the tide, Narcissa couldn't resist. She went along.

"I...I don't know," the girl stammered and then started to babble, all of her fears rising to the surface in one big exclamation. "They're late, and they're never late, so I tried calling them, but the phone doesn't work, and I haven't heard or seen them for half a year, so I don't really know what's–"

"Alright, there-there." Narcissa cringed at her choice of words. There-there? Really? Any more pedestrian, and she'd sound like one of those fish girls at the market, calling out the catch of the day.

"Oysters, clams and cockles!" Rang through the recesses of her mind, forcing a visible shudder. "Do you have any money?" she asked, to cover the dragging silence.

"Just a galleon and some sickles, but that's not good here…"

Of course it wasn't. "Is your home far?"

"We...we live in Sutton," the girl hesitantly responded, still obviously unsure of Narcissa's intentions.

Narcissa sighed. Sutton. How utterly middle class. "Very well. Stay here for a moment. Draco, a word." When her son leaned in, she whispered, "Remain with the girl and do not antagonize her. I know full well your feelings of hatred, but now is not the time."

"I don't understand–" he began, but she cut him off.

"You don't need to understand. You just need to do what I tell you. So be a good boy, and I won't inform your father of the reason behind our little trip here. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Draco huffed sulkily, shooting a glare towards the source of his many academic misfortunes. Still, Narcissa knew he'd hold his word, so she straightened and asked: "Oh, and, Miss Granger, if I may: what is your full name?"

"Um, it's Hermione. Hermione Jean Granger."

"Hermione." The name sounded vaguely familiar, but why? Had Draco mentioned it in one of his peevish moods? "I'll be back shortly."

And with a flourish of her robes, Narcissa whirled to part the muggle crowds as if she were a queen striding through her subjects. Her destination in sight, she sighed again as one of her hands dipped into the purse at her side to retrieve a funny muggle contraption – a mobile, she believed it was called. She lacked any desire to use it whatsoever, but her circumstances offered no alternative. She needed time. Time to figure out what strange magic was stinging at her soul and directing her actions. Was it merely coincidence that Draco had left his broom in this muggle sector of King's Cross, forcing their return and subsequent run-in with Hermione Granger?

Well, Narcissa Malfoy did not believe in coincidences. Her keen senses had been tempered through a rigorous pureblood upbringing as well as by the treacherous waters of the Slytherin dungeons that housed the young snakes.

And all of her experiences were screaming one thing: she had just stumbled onto something big. Something dangerous.

But, if that was so, then what role was she about to play? And why did the girl matter?

. . . .

. . . .

Fifteen minutes later, her mission complete, Narcissa returned to find the two children glaring daggers at each other. The girl – with her large front teeth and strands of wild, bushy hair – looked like some angry beaver guarding its nest. The nest, in this case, was her school trunk, which the girl (Hermione, Narcissa scolded herself mentally. She needed to call her Hermione to reach some level of rapport) had placed behind her, as if worried that Draco planned on stealing it.

"I've informed the station master of your situation," she announced, breaking up the staring game. "If your parents arrive, then he will notify them of the fact that you are being escorted to your home by...friends."

"Escorted?"

"Escorted?!

The two cries rang as one; one with surprise, the other outraged.

Ignoring her son, Narcissa explained, "Yes, Miss Granger. I'm willing to...give you a ride, as I believe muggles say. Unless you'd prefer to stay here and wait?"

"Um, no, I mean–" She'd obviously flustered the girl. "It's fine, I wouldn't want to impose–"

"It's not an imposition, it's an offer. Miss Granger, if you are feeling reluctant because of the...bad blood between yourself and my son, then I am willing to give you my word as a witch that no harm will come to you. But I will not tarry in my accommodation, so if you would kindly make a prompt decision…"

"No, no," Hermione stammered, red in the cheeks. "I'm sorry...it's just I wasn't expecting...thank you." She looked so grateful that Narcissa almost rolled her eyes. "Will we go by apparition?"

"Ugh, do you even know anything?" Draco butted in, scoffing. "You can't apparate to places to you've never been in, so...wait. How are we going then, mother?"

Hermione, who had blushed even stronger after being called out by her school nemesis, raised a pair of curious eyes.

"By muggle car."

"WHAT? No–"

"Don't make a scene," Narcissa quickly leaned down to hiss into her son's ear. "We do not want to draw any attention to ourselves, is that clear?"

"Yes," he gulped.

"Good. Now assist Miss Granger with her trunk and follow me."

Draco flushed, but ultimately did as he was told, practically yanking the trunk from Hermione's hands. She was reluctant to let go at first, but finally relented to watch him with a just a touch of smugness.

Draco, puffing from exertion, looked mutinous.

Narcissa had no time for the children's silly squabbles. Setting a brisk pace, she led them out of the station and onto the loading/unloading area. Her words about not drawing attention had been deadly serious; until she figured out what connection she shared with the young Gryffindor witch, she wanted to play safe. Avoiding prying eyes and loose tongues was only the sensible thing to do.

Their car – a slick black limo, one of the stretched-sedan types – had already pulled up, and the driver was waiting. He opened the door for her (she was very careful not to let any part of him touch her), and then took the trunk and broom from Draco.

"Destination, ma'am?" he asked once the kids clambered in. Draco seemed repulsed, while Hermione glanced around with awe, and so it took her a moment to notice the question hanging in the air.

"Oh." Hermione colored again and stammered out her address to the driver, who immediately started the car. As soon as he did, Narcissa pressed a little button next to her seat, raising a privacy barrier between the passenger compartment and the driver's area. Muggles came up with such funny things sometimes; a pity most of them were geared towards destruction.

"THIS IS A MUGGLE CAR!" Draco exploded the second their driver couldn't hear them. "I'm going to puke, mother!" he cried, but she was unswayed by the retching noises that followed. She loved Draco, but he could be so dramatic.

"You'll be perfectly fine–"

"No, I won't!" he yelled. "And why do we even have a car?! Or even this muggle...servant!"

Narcissa made a split second decision. She knew that the girl...that Hermione was listening closely, and this could be the moment that defined their interactions in the near future. So she let herself open up with the truth – or, at least, part of it.

Hopefully, her candor would garner a modicum of trust, making Hermione respond so much easily to her subsequent queries.

So she leaned back and said, "Our family owns a number of muggle assets, of which this car service is just a small part."

"But why?!"

Feeling Hermione's curious gaze upon her, Narcissa explained, "Because it is prudent. Muggles hold a lot of power– no, Draco, don't argue, they do – and knowing how their world works gives us an edge. This does not mean we have to love them, but following the path of blind hatred is also a foolhardy and deadly endeavor. Never let raw emotion govern your decisions. It makes you open to manipulation, and there will always be someone eager to exploit such a weakness. Remember, Slytherin is, above everything, about the ability to adapt. A snake must always be ready to shed its scales. Leave reckless stubbornness and entrenchment for the Hufflepuffs, the Gryffindors...well," she chuckled in a low tone, "I'm certain Miss Granger would disagree with me there."

Hermione had been watching her with eyes wide open, soaking up every word of her monologue, as if she were a professor lecturing students. But then, given the girl's lowly heritage, that metaphor was probably apt. Hermione Granger, despite her exemplary grades, knew next to nothing of the wizarding world, of its customs and traditions, the proud families, the lineages, or the private, guarded histories that retreated into the foggy mists of ancient time.

So Narcissa indulged her in a bit of conversation, weaving a tantalizing web of words to intrigue the young girl. Soon, Hermione was chatting excitedly, sharing her opinions, thoughts and many, many questions. Narcissa answered the safe ones and then followed up with subtle inquiries about the girl's background, seeking any grain of information that would explain their unlikely tether.

"Wait," Narcissa said when Hermione was in the middle of explaining the root of her current predicament, "you mean, you haven't heard from your parents since January?"

"Well...no," Hermione confirmed, fidgeting with her hands. "But, I was in the hospital wing for most of that time, 'cos I figured out that there was a basilisk in the walls and I was walking around with a mirror, only for it to find me–"

"And neither of your parents came to visit, to see if their daughter was safe? Did the headmaster even notify them?"

"I'm sure he did." Her tone said anything but, and Hermione's eyes suddenly grew moist. Narcissa quickly changed topics.

She carried on the conversation, listening for any clues. Draco stayed quiet, sulkily staring out the window, where the roads and walkways had become illuminated by bright street lamps. Neon signs advertised shops and wares; bars stood open, welcoming the Friday crowd. People laughed and hollered; couples strolled by, holding hands; children wove circles 'round exasperated parents.

Up above, over the mayhem and inevitable chaos of human lives, a full moon, fat as a glazed bun, rolled up over the buildings to shine with drunk, uncaring light.

"And that was the school where I attended primary," Hermione was saying. "That was before I found out I was a witch, of course. And that's our street. Our house is at the very end – it's a little separate from the others, but it's very nice, and mum planted a whole row of cypress trees that give off a wonderful shade in the summer; and, yes, we're about to see it, in fact, there it–"

Hermione's voice broke off suddenly, and Narcissa turned her head to observe the cause behind such an abrupt silence. Her eyebrows rose.

The place Hermione was pointing at, where – by her own words – the Granger family had lived since the date of her birth...was empty.

There was no house. Only the cypress trees stood, waving in a gentle breeze.

The car lurched to a stop, and Hermione stumbled out. "I don't understand," she mumbled shakily.

Narcissa, after making sure her wand was in reach, followed. She sensed clouds of decaying magic hanging in the air.

It was going to be a complicated night.

Corrections, thoughts, even hate mail - all appreciated!