The air left Hermione's lungs as she turned to look at her. Narcissa's blue eyes were warm and open. Steadying. Slowly, Hermione nodded again.

Narcissa hovered her teacup and saucer over her lap, her spine held straight. "Perhaps it is time to create a new book," she said on a low hum, the words carrying to Hermione on a platinum thread, looping through her eyes and entering her mind like gossamer. "Perhaps," Narcissa said, "you can visualize only the things you want to present."

The words whispered into her mind. A slow thread without a needle wove through her bookshelves, tapping at covers and rustling pages. Hermione breathed deeply, relaxing in her chair.

A leather cover appeared in front of her bookshelf, open and barren of pages. Untitled. Pages fluttered down to fill it, drifting slowly. The platinum thread curled through them, prodding some to the side, beckoning others forward.

Nott Sr. catching her eavesdropping — his cane under her chin.

The One O'Clock Gun at Edinburgh.

Voldemort hovering over her on the Malfoy's drawing room floor.

They all fluttered down, down, nestled into the leather cover.

The thread tumbled through the pages of Draco throwing her on her bed, ripping her slip open. Hermione tried to close the book, terror and humiliation and pained sympathy flooding her library, but the thread tugged more insistently, and the pages fell, joining the others.

More of Edinburgh. The dinner parties, the Lounge. Half a page of Cho kissing her while Draco watched.

Hermione's entire body tensed as the thread slithered through the pages of Draco pinning her hands to the wall, his thigh sliding between her legs. His hands on her hips as she straddled him on the chaise — her gravity flipped, back thrown on the cushion as he slipped between her legs. The platinum thread paused over his muttered, "Okay?" and as if on a needle, it wove through the page — over, under, cross stitch, over, under, cross stitch — erasing the word from history until just a pattern of platinum remained.

And finally, the thread zoomed through her shelves, turning pages, skimming words, before stopping over a memory.

Dolohov and the Mediwitches

From far away, Hermione felt her legs jerk.

The thread cut the page away from its book, letting the memory tumble down to join the others.

Hermione twitched in protest. Wouldn't it be dangerous to know what Narcissa had done? If Bellatrix knew Narcissa had Obliviated a member of the Dark Lord's inner circle—

The platinum thread shimmered through the memory, finding the moment a green light rose from her fertile ovary. Hermione watched as the thread snaked forward, twisting around the green light, twirling tight like a ball of yarn, obscuring it — and then burning red. As if the test was negative.

The thread fell away, and a red light remained.

The page sliced in half, and the moments following the reveal of the green light fluttered away. The top half fell into the book.