"Actually, it was… before." Hermione's stomach twisted itself in knots. "On the night of the Hogwarts celebration, she caught Draco and I leaving on a mission, and—" Hermione's throat was dry as sandpaper. "She was about to kill me. So Draco…"

Narcissa spun from the window, pacing to the fireplaces. Her shoulders rose with a sharp breath. "I need… Just give me a minute. I'll see you for lunch in an hour."

Any lingering relief Hermione felt evaporated like mist as she watched Narcissa walk away. Her shoulders shook as she turned the corner.

Hermione blinked out the window. She thought of her still waters, pushing her guilt and sorrow beneath the surface. And as her breathing steadied, her logic clicked into place.

How had she passed the barrier when the rest of them couldn't? And what were these wards? She turned her eyes to the sky, thinking.

Only one place would have the answers.

~*~

Standing outside of Lucius Malfoy's study felt like visiting his grave.

The wood was marred with burn marks and slashes, just like the library. But she knew the brass knob would warm beneath her palm when she gripped it, and that the door would swing open with a creak.

She stood on the precipice and peered inside, feeling her pulse in her fingertips. Everything looked exactly as she and Draco had left it the last time they'd been here.

The black cabinet containing his Pensieve was closed and locked. The chair behind his desk was turned to the side, as if someone had just risen from it.

She stepped over the threshold and opened the silver lock on the cabinet with a touch of her fingers. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she plucked the memories in the black vials from the shelves and slipped them into her pockets. She would keep them close to her for as long as the charges against Draco remained.

She prodded the memories in the basin with her wand, flicking through a few she'd already seen, and a few she hadn't. They might have been useful in another life, where Lucius Malfoy was alive and given a fair trial. But she supposed it would do no good to dwell.

As she locked the cabinet, she saw an image of long fingers running down the dark wood. Warm hands on her face, and grey eyes staring into hers.

That's not why I'll do it.

Her throat constricted, and her eyes stung. She tucked the image away and turned to the bookshelves.

The top drawer of Lucius's desk contained an old leather book with a worn strap. She unwound it, and the pages fell open to show a datebook of sorts — almost a journal, enchanted to hold years upon years of information. The dried petals of a pink flower were pressed between the front pages.

She thumbed through it, finding appointments, passwords to the Slytherin Common Room, Gringotts vault numbers. But about halfway through the journal, a picture of Narcissa in a wedding gown fluttered to the floor. Hermione picked it up, marveling at how beautiful she looked. Someone out of frame made her laugh before her demure smile returned.