The Replenishment Decree

“Hermione?” Narcissa said quietly, her hand still rubbing the other woman’s back.

“Yes, I’m awake,” Hermione answered, her voice equally soft.

“Would you like to go over your apology for Gringotts? Then it can be dropped off at The Prophet and you and Harry can get on with whatever you were planning to do after?”

“Do you think we should bring a copy to Gringotts, as well?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

Hermione sat up, “would you like to join us? Or meet us for lunch afterward?” Her voice was a little higher pitched than usual, less sure of herself.

Narcissa weighed her options. She wanted to spend the day with Hermione, get themselves feeling like they were back on solid ground...on the other hand, she knew it was important for Hermione to spend time with her friends.

“Maybe I’ll go with you to the Daily Prophet, I wanted to stop in the office there and inquire about certain goings on now that I know I’m one of the owners. But maybe you and Harry should go to Gringotts alone?”

“Okay, sure. No lunch then?”

“Why don’t you check with Harry first? He might just want to have lunch with you, Hermione, you’re his friend.”

Hermione tried to smile and nod in agreement but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Let’s just go over the apology first.”

“Of course, here it is,” Narcissa leaned forward to pick it up from the table in front of them. “I, perhaps, changed too much. I made corrections right on the parchment you brought so you could see what I did.”

“Thank you, that was smart, let me just read it over.” Hermione scanned the page, realizing Narcissa’s word choices themselves were more mature than her own. “I think,” she said after finishing, “I need to work on my apologizing.”

Narcissa bit her lip, “I don’t mean to offend you but I think you do, too. When you wrote ‘We are sorry that our plan cost those Goblins their lives but we had no other choice’ what you’re saying is ‘We think the lives of those Goblins were acceptable collateral damage for retrieving the object we were after and we take no blame for their deaths’ and I don’t believe you really think that, do you?”

“No! No, of course not. I really am sorry all those Goblins were murdered because of our break in.”

“That’s why I changed that sentence. It’s important, Hermione, when we apologize that we do it meaningfully. Acknowledge that we’ve done something wrong, for example, I was quite cold to you this morning and it was unkind. Admit that we regret the action, I’m sorry I shut down and made you feel anxious. Commit to making a different choice in the same situation, next time I notice that I’m getting irritated I’ll talk to you about it instead of pulling away. And ask forgiveness, can you please forgive me, Hermione for the way I treated you this morning, I’ll do my best to never do it again.”

“I understand,” Hermione nodded. “I’m sure I’ll need you to remind me of that occasionally, but I do understand.”

“And you forgive me?”

“And I forgive you. Let me just get Harry back in here to read this over and then, we can go.” Hermione quickly stepped away but stopped and turned back when she got to the doorway. “Um, actually, Narcissa, there’s one other thing I should tell you.”

Taking a deep breath first, Narcissa bit her lip before nodding.

“Harry and I are planning to make most of Ron’s restitution payment for him. The Weasleys have never had much money and, we don’t think Ron kept all of the twenty million he got for himself. If, um, if that’s not okay...” Hermione trailed off, tilting her head back against the doorframe and looking at the ceiling. “Narcissa?” She started again in nearly a whisper.

“What is it, darling?”

“I’m feeling a little overwhelmed.”

Narcissa immediately stood up and moved over to Hermione, “I’m very thankful that you said something. Can you take a deep breath and think through what it is that’s overwhelming you right this instant?” She grasped Hermione’s hands and held them between their bodies.

“I feel like you’re going to think I’m being irresponsible with money if I pay five million galleons of what Ronald’s supposed to pay. We’re planning a wedding, a huge wedding, that’s quite likely going to be extremely expensive. I shouldn’t be throwing money at Ron, I should be talking to you about it and making sure I have enough for our wedding and our honeymoon and our lives after that.”

Narcissa waited until Hermione opened her eyes and looked into Narcissa’s own before asking, “Hermione, is it okay if I hug you right now?”

“Oh, Narcissa, of course,” Hermione opened her arms to the other woman, “you never need to ask. Never. I will always want you to hug me.”

With her arms wrapped around Hermione’s waist and the other woman’s face pressed into her neck, Narcissa spoke quickly and quietly, “Hermione, listen to me. You have every right to spend money however you wish. I paid for Harry and you, not Ron. It was not unintentional. If word came back to anyone that I had paid the restitution fees, I didn’t want it to seem like I was trying to buy the Weasleys off. If you and Harry want to pay Ron’s part of it, you should. However he may have angered you these past months, you’ve been friends for seven years and that does count for something. If I may be so bold, you should feel free to pay the whole of Ron’s fee and let Harry keep his money. I think perhaps we ought to take a trip to Gringotts together, perhaps I can meet you there after you and Harry are done?”

“You can just come with us from the Prophet,” Hermione said, her voice muffled because she stayed pressed against Narcissa.

“I could...but maybe it would be better if you and Harry went without me? You are a strong, fiercely independent woman, Hermione. Don’t lose that because of us. Your independence is one of the things I most respect about you.”

Smiling against Narcissa’s neck, Hermione placed a slow, open mouthed kiss on the skin there and then leaned back to thank Narcissa. “I’ll go get Harry now. Be back in a moment,” she kissed Narcissa properly and left in search of Harry.

He was only in the kitchen, wanting to be nearby in case they needed something.

“Harry, come on, Narcissa and I talked about...what happened. We’re okay. She made some changes to the apology we wrote, come have a look and then we can take it to the Prophet and the bank. Yeah?”

His friend had clearly been crying some more but appeared to be in better spirits than she had been just a little while earlier.

“Alright then, if you’re sure,” Harry followed her back to the sitting room.

“I’ll read it to you, it says, we, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger, are writing to make clear to the wizarding community an incident that occured last spring. While we were working to bring about the downfall of Tom Riddle, or Voldemort as he preferred to be called, we hatched a dangerous plan. One that required the use of shameful spells and dishonesty and ultimately ended up costing the institution of Gringotts an untold sum of money. Not only did our foolhardy plan damage an historic building but, in Riddle’s anger at our success in moving one step closer to his demise, he also killed a number of Goblins, all employees at Gringotts. We are so sorry for this. We are sorry that our plan cost those Goblins their lives. We are sorry that we caused damage to Gringotts itself. We were wrong to execute that plan without attempting to work with the Goblins of Gringotts to protect lives and prevent the damage we caused. Gringotts has graciously agreed to work with us to determine a reasonable restitution so that no one has to pay for those repairs but us. We ask the forgiveness of the Goblin community and hope that the witches and wizards of Britain continue to patronize Gringotts as there is still nowhere safer for your valuables than a Gringotts vault.”

“Narcissa. That’s brilliant.”

“Just a few word changes, Harry.”

“No, Narcissa, you have a real gift for language. That was quite carefully crafted, I’m very impressed. Thank you for your help,” Hermione leaned in and kissed the other woman slowly.

“You’re both very welcome. Are you going to re-write it so it’s legible before we go? And maybe contact Ron and let him know you’ve taken care of most of his third of the restitution?”

“I’ll go get parchment. Harry, you explain the money,” Hermione bossed.

Narcissa merely raised her eyebrows.

“Hermione realized earlier that the seventy-five million galleons you paid, thank you for that, by the way, wasn’t actually two thirds of the amount Gringotts wanted. It was five sixths.”

“Five sixths? Why? Though I did wonder why the total was such an unusual figure.”

“They didn’t split the damages - or the amount they want - by three because we can’t all afford to pay the same amount of money. They looked at the money we were awarded this summer and charged each of us the same percentage of that. So, I was given sixty million galleons, Hermione, forty million, and Ron, twenty. Hermione’s theory is that I then owed Gringotts forty-five million, Hermione owed thirty million, and Ron fifteen million.”

“Exactly,” Hermione chimed in, kneeling at the coffee table to copy the apology onto two clean sheets of parchment with her best quill and ink. “Gringotts understands, better than anyone, the enormous wealth disparity in the wizarding community. And even though you and I are about to get married and, I guess they could have been manipulative and said I owed more because I would soon have access to your money - oh! Which I’m not, like, assuming or anything - they didn’t do that because the restitution amount should have been set long before we announced our engagement or news of our relationship hit the wire.”

“Very astute, Hermione. You’re so brilliant,” Narcissa smiled.

“Actually,” Harry smirked, “she’s just highly logical which allows her to look past extraneous detail and perceive clearly that which others overlook.”

“Yes, well, ‘you’re so logical’ just doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Narcissa said dryly, “And logical or not, I still think you’re brilliant.”

“Well, thank you. When Harry, Ron, and I were on the run, one night I was cutting Harry’s hair - a task which no one should ever entrust to me - and I realized something or other. Harry called me brilliant. And I countered with that bit about being logical.”

“The ‘something or other’ she realized? Out of the clear blue, Hermione remembered that the Sword of Gryffindor is goblin-made and all of this information about the properties of goblin-made silver, meaning it was able to defeat the horcruxes we needed to destroy. It was a huge turning point for knowing what we needed to do after that,” Harry explained further.

“See? Brilliant. Harry and I agree, darling. No use fighting it,” Narcissa smiled, not expecting the sad look that passed between the other two. “What am I missing?”

“Just after Hermione’s revelation, literally moments later, the night turned quite sour. It ended up being one of the worst nights of the entire year,” Harry said gravely.

When it became clear Narcissa still didn’t understand, Hermione spoke up from her seat on the floor, “Ron left. He, um, he was having a hard time with the whole thing. We were taking it in turns to wear Slytherin’s locket and it was affecting us all badly. Ron was facing his own jealousy every time Harry and I spoke. While we were excited to know we could use the sword, he was furious. It was one more thing added to this list of tasks and it seemed insurmountable. We had a huge row, the three of us, and he left. Middle of this huge rainstorm, late at night, no way to find us again, he left.”

To say Narcissa was shocked would have been a gross understatement. She was no longer surprised that Hermione struggled with their friendship. Though the younger woman might not admit it, loyalty was one of the most important traits to her, that had been clear to Narcissa for years. “What? How? That’s not part of the story the public heard.”

“Of course, not.” Hermione shrugged. “Who is served by knowing Ron couldn’t cut it on the run? Would it have helped him? His family? The public? The Ministry knows, the Death Eaters knew, but we didn’t tell anyone else.”

Silently deciding she and Hermione had their whole future to discuss their pasts, Narcissa said honestly, “You are two of the kindest, most loyal people I have ever been lucky enough to know. I am so deeply appreciative that my son and I can now call both of you friends.”

Hermione just looked at Narcissa and smiled while Harry answered, “I feel the same way about you.”

For a few pleasant minutes, the only sound was the scratching of Hermione’s quill on the parchment and the occasional tap of the tip against the inkpot.

“Okay, I’m finished,” Hermione said, “can each of you proofread one? I just want to change my, um, shirt, I’m just uncomfortable. Be right back!” She grinned and ran upstairs.

Narcissa and Harry looked at one another. “She’s not changing her shirt, is she?” Harry asked, confused.

“More likely she’s checking her makeup but she feels uncomfortable saying that out loud because she has some silly notion that serious women don’t worry about their makeup.”

“Hmm. Intriguing, isn’t she? Our Hermione?”

Narcissa grinned, agreeing wholeheartedly while proofreading the letter.

Hermione came back downstairs a short while later ready to go and asked the others how they wanted to travel.

“Well, your fireplace isn’t attached to the Floo network, so we’ll have to Apparate, right?”

“I was actually thinking, Narcissa, we could maybe take the tube?”

“I love the underground,” Harry grinned.

Narcissa smiled indulgently and agreed to go back underground. “I do find it interesting,” she said, “I just didn’t necessarily appreciate the odors.”

Hermione laughed right out loud and Harry followed suit, “When you’re right, you’re right, Narcissa. That is definitely a downfall of the tube.”

Seated side by side in the metro car, Narcissa took the opportunity to lace her fingers through Hermione’s, a smile lighting up her face.

“What are you thinking about?” Hermione pressed her lips to the hand holding hers.

“Our conversation on Friday, the first time we sat in one of these belowground trains together,” Narcissa leaned over and pressed their lips together instead.

Hermione hummed happily into the kiss before asking what they had discussed.

“It was when we decided to publish our own Engagement Announcement. I think, for me, this all started to feel more real in that moment. You know? Deciding together to make a public statement?”

“I know what you mean,” Hermione agreed, lifting their linked hands and pulling Narcissa’s arm around her shoulders instead, “it’s pretty real now, though, yeah?”

“Yes,” Narcissa kissed Hermione again to the apparent distaste of another woman nearby.

“Oi!” Harry said loudly, “there’s plenty of open seats in the car. Move on if you don’t like us!”

Hermione and Narcissa both stared at Harry, surprised at his reaction.

“What? She was being rude,” he defended. When neither woman answered, simply looking back at him with half smirks on their faces, he spoke again, “okay, listen. Things are different in our world. Nobody cares that you’re two wi-omen, right? They’re more concerned with where you stood a year ago than whether you’re a lady or a gent. Muggles aren’t like that. There’s a lot of...of struggle gone on here for equality and visibility. People have pushed hard in both directions. So, taking the underground might make for some moments where we have to be the people who push back. Because in our world, we don’t have to.”

“You were right, Narcissa. He does have a Hero Complex,” Hermione teased.

“Harry, you have a heart of gold, you’re probably a truer Gryffindor than Godric himself but you can not fight every battle on every front. Sometimes you have to choose,” Narcissa said seriously.

Harry looked frustrated. He turned away from them, watching the woman who had scoffed at his friends in disgust only moments earlier.

“But it’s all the same battle in the end. I believe in every sentient creature’s inalienable right to determine one’s own fate. The Ministry wants to choose who we marry. So does that lady. The Ministry thinks you should marry Ron,” he tipped his head at Hermione, “and you, Lucius,” he tipped his head at Narcissa, “and that woman would agree with that without a doubt. So putting my foot down with her is the same thing as pushing back against the Decree. I just did it with less finesse here.”

Hermione slowly nodded, eyes scanning the ceiling but taking in nothing, “I wonder if we should do it with more finesse here.”

Harry and Narcissa both turned and looked at Hermione.

“Sorry, hear me out. I wonder if we’ve, what’s the phrase? Brought a knife to a gun fight? By fighting the Ministry’s Decree so stealthily? And perhaps here...you used a bullhorn in an echo chamber. Maybe we should swap tactics?”

“An interesting idea to be sure but one we are not going to take on today. Harry, be a crusader and right the wrongs you find in the world. I love it. Today, though, let us focus on just what we’ve planned to do. Now, didn’t you say Oxford Circus?” Narcissa stood, refusing to relinquish her grip on Hermione’s hand.

“Oh, yes! We’re here, let’s go,” Hermione said and started to move toward the door away from the nasty woman sharing their train car. Narcissa, however, had other ideas. She pulled her young fiancée to the exit the woman was sitting beside.

Just before Narcissa stepped out of the train car, she looked the woman square in the eye and said very kindly, “I hope you remember, when you judge another person, you do not define them, you define yourself.” Narcissa shook her head sadly and ended the moment with, “I hope you have a better day.”

Harry and Hermione stared at Narcissa as the three of them stood on the platform.

“Just focus on today’s plan, eh?” Harry teased, one eyebrow up.

“We have to switch here, right? Trains or lines or something?”

“Oh, Narcissa,” Hermione laughed, “You’re just wonderful. Yes, we switch to the Bakerloo line and take it just a few stops to Charing Cross.” Hermione tugged Narcissa’s hand as she started toward the nearby stairs.

When the trio finally made their way through the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley a little while later they were, once again, laughing.

“I swear it,” Harry said, holding his left hand up and his right hand on his heart, “it was so disturbing!”

“I can’t believe,” Hermione was giggling too hard to complete her sentences in one go, “you never told me,” she stopped to breathe again, “Moaning Myrtle was trying to sneak a peek in the tub!” She collapsed against Narcissa, hysterical.

“I’m a man of mystery, Hermione. I have to keep some things secret!”

“Yes, Mister Potter,” Narcissa chuckled, “from Myrtle!” She and Hermione laughed again.

They arrived in front of the offices of The Daily Prophet and stopped to compose themselves. “It won’t do to walk in there in a fit of giggles,” Narcissa said, still trying to get herself to stop.

“Why did you want to go in there again,” Harry asked her.

“Well, I found out yesterday I am a partial owner of the Prophet. Last year or maybe two years ago, I’m not quite clear on the exact time frame, the Prophet was printing a lot of false stories about you, Harry, and when people found out they were untrue, they all canceled their subscriptions and the Prophet almost went bankrupt. Lucius and a few others bought up those shares to keep the Prophet in business. I’m here to find out exactly what percentage Draco and I own and what I can do with that.”

“You mean, like, can you stop them from printing Skeeter’s garbage?”

“Or, perhaps, no writers for the Prophet are allowed to use a Quick-Quotes Quill anymore,” Narcissa replied, no longer laughing.

“That’s the one,” Hermione agreed.

“And, also, stop printing Skeeter’s garbage,” Narcissa smirked.

Harry and Hermione both nodded and the three of them entered the office. The young woman sitting at the receptionist’s desk smiled at them and asked how she could help.

“You two go ahead,” Narcissa said quietly.

As Harry and Hermione asked to have their statement printed the next morning, Narcissa looked around at the framed papers hanging on the walls. Old articles preserved behind glass traced the history of Wizarding Britain throughout the Daily Prophet’s time. Notably, there was nothing hanging that had been written during the most recent war. She started her perusal over, noting names more than stories her second time through. Narcissa realized that as the years passed, the noteworthy articles became fewer and fewer, as did the noteworthy journalists.

“Narcissa!” Hermione practically shouted next to her.

One hand pressed to her heart, Narcissa stared incredulously at her younger partner.

“I said your name no less than five times!” Hermione defended.

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry,” Narcissa reached for Hermione, relieved the other woman stepped into the embrace, “I was lost in thought about something to do with the Prophet.”

“Hmm,” Hermione hummed, kissing Narcissa quickly, “maybe you should start making your own list of all the wrongs you wish to right.”

They glared playfully at one another for a moment before separating so Harry and Hermione could go to Gringotts ahead of Narcissa.

“You’ll meet me there? And then lunch?” Hermione double checked.

“Yes,” Narcissa reassured, pulling her in for just one more kiss, “I’ll meet you at Gringotts, we can go over some things and then go for lunch.”

Narcissa watched Hermione leave with Harry, looking for signs of trouble or unhappiness...she saw none. Turning back, she found the receptionist staring at her.

“Is there...is something the matter?” Narcissa asked, suddenly unsure of herself.

“You really are into her?” the woman, Samantha, asked.

Narcissa relaxed, smiling. “To the very depths of my soul,” she replied. “Is Barnabas in?”

“He doesn’t take visitors,” Samantha said awkwardly.

“Good thing I’m not a visitor,” Narcissa grinned, knowing she had the attention of the other woman.

“What…” Samantha cleared her throat, “What are you then?” her cheeks went pink.

“I’m Narcissa Black. I’m an owner,” Narcissa planted both palms on Samantha’s desk and raised her eyebrows. “Is Barnabas here now?”

The receptionist nodded but looked around conspiratorially, “Listen, Narcissa Black, don’t tell him I told you...but he can’t afford to buy you out. The Prophet’s in big trouble again.”

“Good thing I’ve got just the fix,” Narcissa winked and walked into the back room, head held high.

She expected a crowded, noisy newsroom. She found a dark, stale, empty shell of a place. It was musty. It hadn’t been properly used in far too long. There was no aroma of coffee, no clattering of type-writers competing for speed, no scratching of quills.

Barnabas Cuffe stood in the frame of his office door, ten yards away from Narcissa, watching her absorb the sad view. When she saw him, he jerked his head toward the chair behind him, silently beckoning her over.

“Barnabas...what?”

“Death. Fear. The war. A lack of resources. The Quick-Quotes Quill. Take your choice. Put ‘em all together, that’s what I do.”

“But you’re still going to print every day twice a day. How?”

“All my reporters work in the field. None have families, they all use the triple Q. Gets articles done so much faster. What we lack in accuracy we make up for in speed.”

“Are any other owners left?”

“No. They’ve all given up. Didn’t want their names attached to it. Just you and Draco are left.”

Narcissa smiled, a small smile, grim but filled with determination. “It’s better that way. No one to convince then.”

“Convince? What in Merlin’s beard you talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Barnabas, we’re going to save the Prophet. First - no articles will be printed if the writer has used a Quick-Quotes Quill. Second - all factual articles will be written by educated journalists not opinion-writing hacks. Third - we’re now charging to print people’s op-eds. Fourth - hire a damn journalist who’s actually studied journalism and understands the word ethics. Fifth - if Rita Skeeter ever publishes another negative word about my fiancée in this paper, we will ruin it...completely. Hermione is a wonderful, brilliant, logical, caring, beautiful, thoughtful, ethical, kind human being and Rita Skeeter doesn’t deserve to even say her name. Are we clear?”

“I can’t bloody do that overnight! Are you crazy? If my writers can’t use Quick-Quotes they can’t write fast enough to print twice a day.”

Narcissa pursed her lips and remained silent.

“You don’t want an Evening Prophet printed?”

“I said no such thing,” Narcissa folded her hands primly on her lap.

“But you think it, don’t you?”

“I think a lot of things. The first being that you need to get every single writer into this office today and explain their new expectations. If you can’t do that before the Evening Prophet prints, well…” Narcissa shrugged and glanced away before meeting Barnabas’ eyes once more.

Barnabas, elbows on his desk, dropped his face into his hands rubbing his tired eyes. “Do you really think this is going to help?”

“At this point, can it hurt? You’re losing money, hand over fist. You should be raking it in with the Decree out and new couples announced every day but the writer working on it, Trecus? Just isn’t doing it justice. Your other articles aren’t holding water either. You're mostly printing fluff or hit pieces and even your advertising looks five years old.”

Barnabas stood and walked to the window, shaking his head. “I loved the Prophet when I took over. I loved the intrigue and ferreting out a good story, chasing a lead, arguing over whose story should make it above the fold and who should get the bigger byline. It’s just...after all this time, it’s become...less intriguing and more tedious.”

Narcissa took a deep breath, This is worse than I thought. “Then let’s make a plan. The Daily Prophet is the most widely-read paper in the United Kingdom and Ireland. Let’s keep it that way.”

“I want out, Narcissa. I’ve been here too long. I’m done,” he turned and looked at her.

“And we can make that happen, Cuffe, but don’t just trash the Prophet on your way out. Don’t make that your legacy. Don’t leave behind a Ministry rag in place of the paper you poured yourself into. You worked hard to become Editor-in-Chief, don’t forget all that. Don’t let this be just another casualty of war.”

He tucked his hands deep into the pockets of his wrinkled trousers, “I don’t know how not to.”

“Start by calling in every writer and printer for a meeting at 3 o’clock this afternoon - including any freelancers you regularly publish. You can tell them then that there will be absolutely no more Quick-Quotes Quills used by this publication. The Evening Prophet will only be sent out if there is breaking news during the day for the foreseeable future instead of sending out two nearly identical papers like we are now. I’ll be back here, with my fiancée, at half two to discuss some of the other changes I’m going to suggest. Don’t worry, Barnabas. You’ll go out on top and the Prophet will hopefully stay there.”

Barnabas stepped forward and reached a hand toward Narcissa, “Okay, Miss Black, let’s try it. I’ll see you at two thirty and I’ll bring the others in at three.”

Narcissa stood up and shook his hand firmly, smiling. “If you have a cleaning group that comes in, you might want to see if they can do a quick tidy before this afternoon. I’d be happy to pay for it. I think the staff might be more apt to work with us if they feel like the newsroom is ready for them.”

“Too true,” Barnabas chortled, his mood improving with the idea that the paper might also improve, “I’ll ask Samantha to get them in right away. And see if we can’t stock the inkwells and quills while we’re at it and the magical typewriters, too. Make it a right proper newsroom before they get here. They way it used to be.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that! Newspapers have always been such a fascinating place to me! I’ll see you after lunch, I’m off to Gringotts to meet my Hermione,” Narcissa smiled brightly.

Narcissa left him standing next to Samantha discussing the things the two of them had to complete for the afternoon. She stepped out onto the sidewalk in Diagon Alley, slightly anxious at the larger number of people than she liked. Nothing I can do about it. Just get to Gringotts, Hermione is there waiting. It’ll be fine.

It had rained while she spoke with Barnabas and Narcissa deftly avoided a few puddles as she made her way up the first block. Not daring to glance around, Narcissa kept her eyes on Gringotts nearly constantly as she passed the entrance to Knockturn Alley. Only a few steps later, however, she said a quiet, “Excuse me,” as she avoided a puddle and a couple who were walking in the opposite direction. Apparently someone did not excuse her...and instead shoved Narcissa sideways - quite forcefully - into the puddle of muddy rainwater. Stunned, she did not immediately rise. In a terrible display of mob mentality, no one nearby offered a hand and, in fact, someone stepped on Narcissa’s.

“Dirty Death Eater,” a woman spat.

“I thought they were cleaning up these streets,” another man said nastily.

“Filthy traitor,” came a growl, too close for comfort.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on out here?” Narcissa heard as she saw a hand reach toward her.

“Protego,” she cried, her wand sliding out of the wrist holster she kept it in.

The few witches and wizards still near her were forced back a few steps, only solidifying the circle around her. She knew she was in trouble.

“Narcissa?” She hard from a quiet old voice. “Narcissa is that you? Are you hurt, dear? Come, come, up with you. These stones get so slippery in the rain. Come in for a spot of tea to warm up.”

She looked up to see none other than Ollivander himself stretching out a hand to her.

“You can’t help her!” Another wizard shouted. “She kept you locked up in Malfoy Manor for ages!”

“Fool,” Ollivander scoffed, pulling Narcissa to her feet. He carefully tucked her injured hand into his elbow before looking at the man who had yelled. “Were you in Malfoy Manor with me, Treavus?”

“No. Er, that is, no, sir.”

“Then you should not presume to know who kept me locked up where. Miss Black in fact did no such thing to me. Some day, you shall all know the whole story and then you’ll be sorry for how you’ve treated her. She deserves your thanks. Not your scorn.”

Narcissa tried to hold her head high and ignore the people around them, saying quietly to Ollivander, “Thank you, ever so much. I’m afraid I can’t come in just now. I’m due to meet my fiancée at Gringotts and she’ll be quite worried that I’m late.”

“She should be worried,” he murmured back, not wanting to be overheard. “That mob could have gotten dangerous, Narcissa. Be careful. You ought to clean yourself up before Miss Granger sees you or she’ll be very upset. And we need to heal your hand.”

“Yes, I think he may have broken my finger when he stepped on it,” she fought back her tears, the pain throbbing stronger now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

The crowd had begun to disperse but a woman, by herself, stepped toward Narcissa. Wand still in hand, Narcissa eyed her warily.

“I’m very sorry about what just happened, Miss Black. My name is Angelique Sasson, I’m a healer at St. Mungo’s. I think maybe you should let me take a look at your hand?”

Narcissa stepped back, her breathing quickened, eyes glancing around.

Angelique raised both hands, empty, palms forward. “Honestly, I just happened to be walking up as the altercation ended. I saw you on the ground and thought you might need help. I can see from here that two of your fingers are discolored. That often signifies a broken bone. I’m going to open my cloak so you can see my nametag.” Angelique did so, her nametag verified the information she had just supplied, that she was a junior healer at St. Mungo’s. “I can perform a simple diagnostic spell on your hand to see exactly what’s wrong and we can mend those bones or get you a potion if the injury is to the cartilage, ligaments or tendons. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Ollivander had slowly led Narcissa just inside his shop so they were off the street and she finally nodded at the other woman.

“Before I check on your hand, are there any other injuries?”

“I may have a few bruises on my leg and my pride but nothing that won’t heal with time.”

“Ostendo,” Angelique said, pointing her wand at Narcissa’s left hand. A ghostly blue image rose from her skin pulsing purple right where it hurt. Angelique circled the area with the tip of her wand and it magnified itself, displaying multiple fractured bones. “Mmm, just as we thought. You have a few breaks here, Miss Black. I can heal them now with no problem, they’re all, thankfully, clean breaks but your hand will be quite sore for a few days. I recommend putting ice or a cold pack on it for about twenty minutes at a time a few times a day. I can tell you what potions to take if you’d rather go that route but…”

“I don’t prefer pain relieving potions, thank you.”

The healer smiled, “You seem like a woman who likes to be in control...of her faculties, I mean,” she finished with a little shake of her head. “If you could, Miss Black, just rest your hand here, on the arm of the chair, and I can heal those breaks for you.”

Narcissa complied, looking at the healer with narrowed eyes. Is she flirting with me? How odd. Everyone must know Hermione and I are engaged at this point.

“Vulnere sano,” she gently pressed on one fracture.

“Vulnere sano,” she gently pressed on the next.

“Vulnere sano,” she gently pressed on the final break in Narcissa’s pinky.

When Angelique looked up at Narcissa she found her face quite pale with little beads of sweat appearing near her temples. “Are you going to be okay, Miss Black? Narcissa?”

“Yes,” Narcissa exhaled, “I wasn’t expecting that to be so painful but I felt my bones moving back together. It was...disconcerting. Thank you, Miss, ehm, Healer Sasson. If there’s ever anything I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask. Thank you, Mister Ollivander for helping me today. You’ve always shown me such kindness. I really must be going to meet Hermione now, she’ll be wondering where I am.” Narcissa carefully stood, making sure she would be able to maintain her balance. She looked down at her robes, seeing the muddy streetwater had left a large stain.

“I’m heading toward Gringotts, can I walk with you for a few minutes?” Angelique asked.

“Certainly,” Narcissa answered, relieved not to be heading outside alone, “I want to step into the alley and Scourgify my robes and shoes before Hermione sees them, though. She’ll be so worried and feel so guilty for making me walk alone if she sees this mess.”

The women waved goodbye to Ollivander who had already gone back to working on his wands and Angelique kept a wary eye out while Narcissa cleaned herself up.

“All better?” Angelique asked when Narcissa joined her on the street.

“Yes, thank you for asking,” Narcissa answered very quietly, eyes darting everywhere, wand gripped tightly in her right hand.

“Let’s step off the sidewalk and just walk right in the street. It’s less crowded and you might feel safer.”

“That obvious, am I? You’ve just met me and you can already tell I feel unsafe here?”

“Well, the death grip on your wand kind of gives it away.”

Narcissa took a deep breath and tucked her wand back in its holster; she rolled her shoulders and adopted her typical regal pose.

“Ah, so this is the Narcissa Black that Hermione Granger’s expecting to see, is it?”

Narcissa nodded, smirking.

“And if she saw the disheveled, dirty, hand-broken, wand-gripping mess she would’ve worried?”

“Panicked, more like. Though, I don’t appreciate the description, thank you very much.”

“Panicked?” Angelique ignored the unappreciative part of the comment.

“If she saw my skirt soaked with muddy streetwater and my hand broken? Yes, she’d have panicked and felt so guilty,” Narcissa said, bringing her left hand up to her chest.

“Hmm,” Angelique intoned.

“What?” Narcissa looked at the blonde women with whom she walked, mentally noting that her hair was nearly the same shade as Fleur Delacour’s.

“Sounds like love,” the healer smiled, “and it looks like she’s right there looking for you. This is my stop,” she pointed at Flourish and Blott’s, “I’m here for some books. Maybe we’ll run into each other again Miss Black. Take care of that hand.” Angelique winked and stepped into the bookstore just as Hermione reached Narcissa.

“What? What’s wrong?” Hermione asked. “Narcissa? Are you okay? You look...gobsmacked.”

Narcissa glanced back and forth between Hermione and the door to the shop. “I am...I’m fine. I just, I don’t know.”

“Who was that?”

“Um, Angelique Sasson,” Narcissa answered, saying it with a perfect French accent.

“Oh?” Hermione, who had been reaching for Narcissa, stepped back.

Narcissa, of course, noticed immediately and reached out to Hermione right away. “Yes, a healer, or junior healer actually, from St. Mungo’s. I had a…” Narcissa sighed. She had no desire to have this conversation in the middle of the street. “Can we pop home for just a second? Is Harry waiting for us somewhere?”

“No, he went back to the flat to do some reading. Is everything okay?” Hermione wrapped her arm around Narcissa’s waist as they stepped toward the bank.

“I’m fine, darling. Can we just pop to the Manor for a minute so I can tell you what happened, and then we can come back and go to Gringotts?” Narcissa looked at Hermione, waiting for the younger woman to make eye contact.

“Of course. I’m ready, go on,” Hermione answered.

After Apparating just outside the gates, the women entered the property and sat on a garden bench together while Narcissa explained what had happened both at the Prophet and then, on the street.

“Hermione, really, please stop apologizing. It wasn’t your fault. I was in Diagon Alley just yesterday by myself and I had no trouble. It was just a poor moment. It did, however, give me another idea.”

“Is your hand really okay?” Hermione held Narcissa’s left hand so very gently in her own, placing a careful kiss on her pinky and ring fingers.

“Yes. My hand will be okay. That’s why I was walking with Angelique, she healed it. I’ll be just fine. Now, let’s go to Gringotts and then lunch, okay?”

“Only if you’re sure you’re okay. I’d be just as happy to go inside, put on some comfy clothes, and watch some trashy muggle shows on the telly with you,” Hermione said before pressing a kiss to Narcissa’s lips.

Returning the kiss first, then Narcissa answered that her hand truly was going to be fine. “While a day inside with just you sounds like heaven right now, I don’t want to let what happened scare me away from the plans we’ve made. We have a lot to accomplish in a short amount of time.”

Hermione shook her head, a little grin on her face, “You’re amazing, Narcissa.”

The two stepped outside the gates and Apparated back to Diagon Alley, just outside of Gringotts. Hermione made sure Narcissa’s sore left hand was tucked gently into her right elbow where she covered it with her own left hand keeping it safely protected. Once inside, Narcissa asked to speak with Garnjee once again.

“Please wait a few minutes for Garnjee, Miss Black and Miss Granger. He is escorting someone from their vault right now.”

“Of course,” Narcissa smiled.

The women stood huddled together talking quietly as they waited. “The Wize Wizard again?”

“Two weeks in a row?”

“Seems cute,” Hermione shrugged, smirking.

Narcissa reached up with her right hand, twirling one of Hermione’s curls around her finger, “A coincidence or a standing date?”

“Hmm,” Hermione teased, as if she didn’t know what she wanted to say already, “I’m going to go with definitely a standing date. Tuesdays. Lunch at the Wize Wizard.”

“I can only think of one we’re going to break.”

Hermione frowned, tilting her head for a moment before realizing what Narcissa meant. Together they said the day they would be skipping lunch at the small Diagon Alley pub, “Tuesday, the twenty-second of December.”

They shared a quick kiss and only seconds later, Narcissa heard a familiar voice call her name. She waved and the women followed him along the almost familiar corridors to his office.

“Miss Black, back already with your betrothed?” He grinned in that eerie, toothy way Goblin’s have.

“I am, Garnjee. I was hoping you might be able to show her the details of the Black Family Vault here at Gringotts and the accounting book that you showed me yesterday?”

“Of course, we can also begin the process of adding her name so that the moment your marriage is official, Miss Granger - or Lady Black? - will also have access to the Vault.”

“That would be perfect, thank you. We’ll both be using the name Lady Granger-Black I believe. Though, that could get confusing.” Narcissa frowned a little and glanced at Hermione, who was looking back at her calmly. “We have time to discuss our titles, I suppose,” Narcissa smiled back.

“Here is the accounting log, Miss Granger. You can see from the green entries where the deposits have come from and the red entries where the expenses go to. The black line is the amount in the account at the end of business. Until recently, the expenses were all related to the upkeep of Black Manor in Enfield and Maison de Black in Paris with small amounts for groceries and the like. In the last week, you can see there have been various expenses throughout London and Paris, wedding related I assume. I keep an eye on it to make sure no one is trying to use the Black Family Vault without authorization.”

Hermione was flipping through the accounting book, nodding in understanding. “This is very straightforward. Is it updated magically? When Narcissa and I purchased clothing in Paris last week, were those galleons removed magically or did someone have to physically enter Narcissa’s vault to remove them? Was a bill sent or did the transfer happen magically? How does it work?”

“Good questions,” Garnjee rubbed his long-fingered hands together and leaned forward on his elbows, “when a witch or wizard with a vault here does business with another person or company with a vault here, everything happens magically; a bill is sent in, received by our transaction department, reviewed, and cleared. If only one party has a vault here, a bill is sent and a Gringotts employee summons the galleons, sickles, and knuts required to satisfy the cost. However, that only applies to vaults at a depth of five hundred or deeper. Any vaults more shallow than that may not be billed, all transactions must take place outside the bank.”

“And what’s the determining factor in whether one may have a vault above or below five hundred?”

“Gold, Miss Granger. This is Gringotts bank. One must have enough gold to move their vault to level five hundred or below. We do offer a certain, shall we say, grace period for accounts with a balance that drops beneath the standard for their level.”

“My fiancée currently has a vault in the two hundreds, I believe, as she never before needed to maintain a magical banking account,” Narcissa joined the conversation. “With the amount of Galleons she currently has in her account, would it be prudent to move to a deeper vault or would it make more sense to simply hold her simple vault now because we’re going to combine finances in a few months?”

“Narcissa, are you sure?” Hermione asked. “I don’t want to assume access to the Black family fortune. There’s hundreds of millions of galleons here that don’t belong to me.”

Garnjee smirked and watched as Narcissa leaned forward to hold Hermione’s attention, “Darling, listen carefully. Imagine, if you will, that in the dissolution of my marriage to Lucius I lost everything. All I had were a few thousand galleons to my name and an old Manor. While you, well, you’re the Brains of the Golden Trio. You have forty million galleons and a promising future. Shall we keep our finances separate?”

“Of course, not.”

“Then there’s no reason to do so now. The moment we are married all the gold in the Black Family Vault will belong to you just as it belongs to me.”

Garnjee hummed and tapped his finger tip on his chin, “I need to read your marriage contract before December the twenty-first to know how much access Miss Granger will have and to understand the clauses.”

Narcissa fell silent. She glanced sideways at Hermione before biting her lip. “Of course, we’ll send that over,” she finally answered. “In the meantime, Hermione and I had discussed the possibility of creating a separate wedding account from which all of our wedding expenses would be drawn. It would be easier for us to keep track of it that way. Would we be able to shift some of each of our gold into a five hundred level vault and have two ledger books created so we each have one that is magically updated at the same time?”

“Absolutely. How much gold?” Garnjee asked, pulling open a locked drawer.

The women looked at one another, matching expressions of questioning innocence on their faces. Hermione shrugged and spoke first, “Five million galleons each?”

“That should easily more than cover it,” Narcissa agreed, “if the balance runs too low, simply add galleons from the Black Family Vault.”

“Okay,” Garnjee said, “you’ll need to sign here, Miss Black, to move five million galleons. Miss Granger, we will need to visit your vault to do so. While we do that, I would recommend, Miss Granger, as Miss Black suggested, that you move your entire fortune to a deeper vault. There will be purchases you make that will cost more gold than you wish to carry. I can draw up that paperwork to be signed before we go as well?”

Hermione hesitated only a moment, knowing she was doing this for such a brief time felt like a waste but Garnjee did have a point and Narcissa obviously trusted him, “Yes, sounds like a good plan, Garnjee, thank you.”

“Before we finish, may I offer one more suggestion?” the goblin asked.

“Absolutely, you know I trust you,” Narcissa replied immediately.

“I suggest we open both of these vaults on the six hundred level or lower. The five hundreds are good but if you do need to visit them, they’re accessible only by levatator or stairs.”

“Wait, there’s differences between each level more than just banking?” Hermione asked.

Chuckling again, Garnjee teased before he explained the security changes from level to level within Gringotts, “Miss Granger, for a bankrobber, you’re rather ill informed. Ground level, vaults before one hundred, are protected by a simple identity charm. Level one hundred, down a hidden ramp, is protected by an identity charm and handprint. Level two hundred, adds a key. Level three hundred adds a staircase. Level four hundred adds the levatator. Level five hundred and deeper you are assigned a personal banker. Starting at level six hundred you have to take the mine carts. For level seven hundred and the Family Vaults you have to have a Goblin with you for access or any number of enchantments, traps, and protections will ensnare you.”

“Thank you for explaining all of that to me. I truly regret the harm I caused in May and I am deeply sorry for the goblin lives lost as a result of my actions,” Hermione said somberly.

Garnjee nodded deeply in response. With the paperwork for vaults in the six hundreds drawn up and signed, Garnjee had a Key Maker meet them below at their new vaults.

Hermione and Narcissa joined Garnjee as they made their way to Hermione’s vault, which was filled with gold. A worker-level goblin in a blue jumpsuit met them there. He and Garnjee had a quick conversation in Gobbledegook about what would be happening with the fortune from Hermione’s former vault. Once it looked like both parties understood, Garnjee asked Hermione to open the vault.

“Be careful, though, Miss Granger. It’s very full,” he snickered.

He wasn’t lying.

Hermione slowly turned the key and when the doorknob clicked free of the frame, the gold inside forced the door open and came spilling out. The goblins nearby laughed hysterically. Hermione blushed furiously but took it in stride. “Well, now, Garnjee, I’m rather glad I took your advice and agreed to move this gold to a deeper vault.”

Garnjee finally stopped laughing and patted Hermione’s back, “Come, come, Miss Granger. Back up the stairs to a minecart. We will go to your new vaults now.” She couldn’t help but smile at Narcissa as she heard Garnjee continue to occasionally chuckle.

When they reached the loading level for the minecarts, Narcissa stopped suddenly before stepping in front of Hermione to climb in first. It had been so long since Narcissa had been in one, she had forgotten how small the carts were. “I’ll sit furthest back, Hermione, Garnjee needs to sit in the front. You sit here.” Narcissa patted the wooden bench in front of her, smirking up at her fiancée.

“Gladly,” Hermione said, stepping into the cart and settling quickly, her back to Narcissa’s front, her hands holding Narcissa’s arms around her. Hermione turned her head to speak quietly to Narcissa, “If I remembered how tightly we had to pack into these minecarts I might’ve suggested a trip to your vault every day.”

Enjoying having Hermione in her arms, Narcissa quietly whispered back, “Every time I have the opportunity to wrap my arms around you I find myself looking forward more and more to our honeymoon.”

“We needn’t wait that long,” Hermione answered in a singsong voice.

“We are going to be so busy for the next three months, one week, and six days, my dear, we will have to wait.”

The cart jerked loudly forward, silencing their conversation. The two women simply enjoyed the moment to sit together as they took the cart down through the mines of Gringotts to the six hundred level.

“Miss Granger, your new vault will be here, number six hundred eighty-seven,” Garnjee pointed to her new vault. “Lisknok has your key there.” Next to Hermione’s new vault stood a very, very short goblin with spiky white hair. The goblin held a gold key out for Hermione.

“Oh! That’s funny,” Hermione smiled at Garnjee and Lisknok. “Harry just emptied this vault today and moved his gold to Sirius’ Vault, seven hundred something. Thank you for the key.” She nodded at Lisknok. She bowed to the key-maker and turned to go back to the cart but felt a dry hand on her wrist, stopping her.

“No, Miss. You must use your key. While the Key Maker is here, you must open the vault. That’s how the magic works.”

“Oh! I didn’t know. That’s quite interesting.” Hermione looked at the vault door but couldn’t seem to find a keyhole. “I’m not...um, I don’t quite understand. Where do I use the key?”

Lisknok leaned toward her and said quietly, “It’s up to you. Where do you want the lock to be?”

“Right in the center,” Hermione answered, knowing it was a spot she wouldn’t forget.

Lisknok lifted Hermione’s hand with the key in it, circled it around the center of the door, and then pushed the key into the wooden door itself. It sunk as though entering a keyhole! One slowly appeared around the key, Hermione turned it, and the door swung open. The vault beyond was still empty but would soon be fairly filled with galleons.

“Wow,” Hermione was in awe, “Goblin magic is amazing.”

“Your joint vault for wedding expenses will be number six hundred three. Lisknok will make two keys for you there,” Garnjee said, gesturing for Hermione to rejoin them in the cart.

She happily clambered in, quickly resting her body back against Narcissa’s and quietly hoping for a longer ride. They were, sadly, disappointed; their ride was barely two minutes.

“Interesting that the vaults are not arranged in a linear pattern,” Hermione commented as she stepped out of the minecart. She turned and offered a hand to Narcissa, assuming they would both be getting keys at their shared vault.

Narcissa stood directly in front of Hermione and held direct eye contact for a moment, eyebrows raised. “Darling. I understand that you have a highly logical mind which allows you to look past extraneous detail and perceive clearly that which others often overlook,” Narcissa smirked, “however, after you’ve successfully robbed a bank and they allow you back in and kindly offer you financial advice, you ought not comment on the layout of their vault arrangement or how curious it may seem to you.”

Hermione’s cheeks burned crimson, even in the darkness of the six hundred level of Gringotts bank Narcissa could see it. She leaned in and pressed her lips to one of those red cheeks, “I’m sorry, Hermione, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No. I didn’t.” Narcissa looked right into Hermione’s teary brown eyes. “I will never seek to embarrass you on purpose and I will never lie to you.” Narcissa kissed her quickly. “I will tell you the truth even when it’s hard, though, and the truth is, dear, you need a better filter sometimes.”

Hermione couldn’t help but agree with that and rolled her eyes.

“Your keys,” Lisknok offered.

At their shared vault, both women were required to initiate their keys at the same time. When they finished, Lisknok checked that the charm worked.

“Why is everything I do with you so romantic? We set up a bank account and I’m ready to swoon, I feel like a foolish little schoolgirl,” Narcissa murmured into Hermione’s ears as they sat in the minecart for their trip back to the surface. Hermione smirked and looked at Narcissa, eyes sparkling. “That’s my favorite look.”

“What?” the younger woman laughed.

“That grin you have on right now. Your lips pressed together and all the way over to the left like there’s a smile just ready to burst out...like you can barely keep it inside.”

Hermione reached up with one hand and pulled Narcissa’s face to her own. Heedless of the minecart, the vaults, the goblins who might be looking on, she met her fiancée for a powerful kiss.

They pulled apart when the minecart stopped, both looking thoroughly kissed.

Garnjee spoke, “I think that should cover all your needs, Miss Black, Miss Granger. Send over the marriage contract when it’s ready and I will be prepared with the accounts.”

“Thank you, Garnjee. I am very grateful to have you as the manager for the Black Family Vault,” Narcissa bowed her head.

Hermione agreed, bowing as well.

As the couple made their way down Diagon Alley to the Wize Wizard for lunch, Narcissa noted that they had a few hours before what she hoped would be their next appointment together.

“We have plans after lunch?” Hermione asked.

“Not officially…” Narcissa grimaced, turning toward Hermione and gripping both of her hands. “I’m hoping you’ll agree with an idea I’ve had. We can brainstorm over lunch and then go back to the Daily Prophet together to explain it there? If you don’t want to do it, I completely understand, we have enough going on planning a wedding and...things...and your NEWTs but, I’m trying to save the Prophet from going under.”

“Narcissa,” Hermione said, dragging out the last syllable, “you know I think you’re brilliant. I’d love to brainstorm any idea with you. We have a little over three hours, shall we stop at Flourish and Blotts and pick up a notebook or a sheaf of parchment and a quill?”

Narcissa agreed and the women made that one last stop before finally making their way into the pub. They happily got seated at the same table from the week before and laughed just a tiny bit when they also had the same waiter.

“I promise not to stay through dinner today,” Narcissa said solemnly, barely containing her smile.

He joined their laughter and assured them again that he wouldn’t mind if they did.

The two women quickly got to work over lunch. Their heads were bowed together as they sat side by side taking turns scribbling notes onto the paper between them. After a short while, Hermione gently held Narcissa’s left hand in her lap and looked around for Bradley, the waiter.

“Yes,” he said, appearing beside her.

“This is an odd request but could we have a bowl of ice and a tea towel or two, please?”

“Ehm...sure? Just a moment,” he was off but returned only minutes later with the requested items. He walked away slowly watching as Hermione wrapped up a large handful of ice in the middle of one towel and placed it on the table. She then laid Narcissa’s hand over the ice. After that, she put more ice in the second towel, tied it in a knot, and secured it around the top of Narcissa’s injured fingers.

“Thank you, darling,” Narcissa said, pressing a sweet kiss to Hermione’s cheek.

“Of course, Narcissa. I don’t want it to hurt you,” Hermione answered, returning her kiss. “Let’s take a break from the Prophet, okay?”

Narcissa nodded and leaned back in her chair just looking at Hermione.

The younger woman smiled back before asking Narcissa questions about her time at Hogwarts. Before they knew it, an hour had passed and they had to finish their planning for the Prophet before they left for the meeting with Barnabas.

“This should work, Narcissa. A strict layout with clear expectations and exclusive stories. You’re so smart,” Hermione smiled excitedly.

Narcissa cupped Hermione’s cheek with her uninjured hand, “You know, Hermione, you’re going to have to stop complimenting me. I’m not used to it. You’re going to give me an unstoppable ego!”

“Good. You deserve it,” Hermione leaned in and kissed Narcissa...hard. “You should’ve spent your whole life being told how amazing you are. Good thing I know how lucky I am to be the one who gets to tell you now.”

Narcissa kissed her back, saying against her lips, “I’d rather just go home right this second than go to the Prophet.”

“Three months, one week, and six days…”

“But who’s counting,” Narcissa kissed her once more.