Chapter Text
When the castle had fallen into its usual asleep, blanketed in darkness and the faint rustle of enchanted torches, Druella rose from her bed in silence as soon as everyone was asleep. Her fingers ghosted over the enchanted mask resting on her nightstand—sleek black, laced with green etchings, humming softly with concealment magic. She slipped it on with practised ease, her body vanishing into the shadows it conjured.
She moved like smoke through the corridors, unseen and unheard. The other students slept behind warded doors. Professors were tucked away. No one knew where she was going.
But she did.
The library.
The only place left that might hold the answers no one else was looking for.
Using the privileges silently tied to her enchanted cuff—ones she never bragged about, only used when absolutely necessary—Druella bypassed the enchantments guarding the Restricted Section. The wards peeled back with a shimmer, like tired ghosts making way for someone who’d already seen worse.
She slipped inside, her footsteps quiet but quick. The air was heavy with dust, ink, and ancient warnings no one ever read. Shelves loomed around her like sentinels.
It wasn’t quick.
“Bloody diary,” she muttered, shoving aside a half-rotten stack of tomes. “Thinking it can toy with me. Keep me in the dark. Petrify my twat of a cousin. Who, by the way, I don’t even like most days.”
She yanked a book down hard enough to send a plume of dust into her face. She coughed.
“I mean, yes, I love him—tragically, unfortunately, deeply—but come on. Draco Malfoy? Hair gel with legs. And now I have to avenge him?”
Her eyes scanned a cracked leather cover: Spectres of Stone: Medusan Curses and Bloodline Echoes.
“Not helpful,” she muttered, tossing it into a pile that was quickly growing threatening.
“Not today, satin,” she growled, flicking her fingers to push aside a particularly stubborn charm that tried to nip at her wrist. “Not today.”
She combed through books until her fingers cramped and her eyes went foggy. Ancient bestiaries. Serpentine lore. Arcane anatomy. Magical paralysis. A book titled When Statues Scream that she immediately regretted opening.
Still nothing concrete. Just fragments, whispers.
“Who writes five hundred bloody pages on dragon fire breath but not what the victims look like afterwards?” she muttered, slapping a book shut. “Amateurs.”
She turned another corner. Another row.
Another—
She stopped.
A thin volume, wedged tight between two oversized grimoires, glowed faintly with protective script. The title gleamed in dark green ink:
The Gaze Unseen: Visual Curses and Ophidian Magic.
“Oh,” she breathed, tugging it free. “Finally, something that sounds like it’s about horrifying monster eyeballs. Delightful.”
She flipped it open and began reading fast—skimming through wards, gaze-based curses, anti-visual charms, magical channelling through familiars…
And there it was.
“Oh,” she whispered, lips parting. “You absolute bastard.”
The diary hadn’t told her the creature’s name—but she’d found it anyway.
And now?
Now it was her turn.
The book described a creature feared in ancient times—Serpens Regis, the King of Serpents, a Basilisk.
A serpent so massive, so poisonous, its eyes could stop the heart or turn flesh to stone. Petrification by sight. Death by stare.
She swallowed hard.
It all matched—the silent victims, the paralysis, the look of terror left frozen on their faces.
Druella stared at the page for a long moment. Her heartbeat was a hammer. This was it. This was real.
She gently tore the page from the book, folding it with shaking hands.
She had what they needed now.
Answers. Proof.
As she reached the library door, a shadowy figure startled her. She spun around, almost drawing her wand.
"Oh, it's just you, Hermione," she breathed, her nerves still taut.
Hermione stepped closer, her expression serious. "We need your help. And you need ours. Did you find anything?"
"Honestly, Hermione, I got lost and I was trying to find a book."
"Ella, don't pull that with me. We need to help each other."
"It's my fault, I know it, I can handle it," Druella snapped, her voice edged with frustration.
"No, you can't," Hermione said firmly, grabbing her arm. "You're good at combat, at duelling. You duelled a grown woman this year. Harry and Ron don't want you involved. But we can't do this alone. You can't do this alone. Trust me, we're stronger together."
Druella frowned, torn between annoyance and understanding. Hermione softened her tone.
"We're here for you. We've got your back."
Druella hesitated, glancing away. "I don't know," she muttered, uncertainty creeping into her voice.
"You do know," Hermione pressed.
Druella's resolve cracked slightly. Maybe Hermione was right. This may not be something she could handle on her own. Still, doubt lingered in her heart as the two girls slipped away from the library. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: she couldn't stop now. Not while Draco—and others—still needed her.
"I just am confused, that's all. On why everything is happening, I can't let it happen forever." Druella said.
Hermione nodded. "I understand that's exactly how we feel."
"But they don't want me involved." Druella protests, trying to tell herself more than Hermione.
"Well, we'll simply make them. You are now involved, whether they agree or not. You are involved." Hermione said firmly.
Outside of the library farther at the school, in the dark of night, Narcissa Malfoy had finally secured the votes from the Ministry with almost clinical precision, ensuring each step was meticulously executed.
She had personally informed the ministry and all the parents of the petrified students, her tone solemn yet unwavering.
Generous donations of Galleons had followed, turned in for Muggle money.
To compensate for the parents, she calculated her gestures to ease their worries.
With the pieces falling into place, only one thing remained for her to get the deed done: Druella. Narcissa needed her niece to recount her story, to solidify her case. Once Druella spoke, she knew it would seal the deal. And Dumbledore's fate.
As Narcissa stepped into the school alongside the Minister, Cornelius Fudge, she exuded confidence, her back straight and her strides purposeful. The Minister regarded her with a scrutinising gaze. "So, Miss. Black was the first one to see Mr. Malfoy petrified?" he asked, his voice steady but curious.
Narcissa nodded, her expression carefully composed. "Yes," she replied smoothly, "and she has discovered other students in the same state."
Fudge tilted his head, considering her words. "We need her to tell us her story. We already asked other students. She will secure the vote."
Narcissa's lips curved into a confident smile. "I will go get her then," she assured him. Without another word, she turned and headed toward the dormitory, her heels clicking softly against the stone floors.
"Druellie, I need you to get up." She whispered, realising that the bed was empty.
The silence weighed heavily, increasing Narcissa's frustration. Her heart clenched as worry mingled with irritation. Where could she be? she thought. She needed Druella now more than ever—not just as a witness but as a vital piece in her strategy. Her son, her Draco, was petrified, and Dumbledore's failure to act had left her no choice but to take matters into her own hands.
Snape's words flickered in her mind, his cool voice recounting how Druella had taken it upon herself to find answers. Narcissa clenched her jaw. She couldn't decide if she was more frustrated with Druella for disappearing or proud of her determination. Bella's influence was evident—her sister had always encouraged Druella's relentless pursuit of knowledge.
Grabbing her cardigan, Narcissa draped it over her shoulders and stepped into the dimly lit halls. Her sharp gaze darted from corner to corner as she moved swiftly, her presence both commanding and silent. When she reached the library, she instinctively slowed her pace, her heels softening against the floor.
"Druella?" she whispered, her voice a mix of exasperation and concern. "Hello?" She called for her again.
Determined now, Narcissa made her way towards the library. The chill of the castle halls seemed to nip at her as she moved, her steps echoing in the stillness. She pulled her cardigan closer, her fingers tapping against her forearm as her mind darted between plans. She would find Druella, bring her to the Minister, and everything would fall into place.
Pushing open the heavy doors to the library, she moved quietly, her polished heels muffled against the thick rugs. The dim light from the chandeliers bathed the bookshelves in a golden glow. As she walked between the towering shelves, her eyes scanned every aisle, her head tilting slightly as she strained to listen.
"Druella, are you here? Hello?" she whispered, her voice soft but commanding.
Rounding a corner, she froze. There, standing carefully holding something, was Druella. The girl's pale hair fell forward as she leaned over a thick book, her quill moving furiously across a piece of parchment. The flicker of a candle cast a warm glow on her focused expression.
Narcissa felt a surge of relief but remained silent as her eyes flicked to the other figure across from Druella. Hermione Granger. "Interesting."
Narcissa lingered in the shadows, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the shelf. Her blue eyes narrowed as she observed the two. The girls were deep in conversation, their heads close as they whispered urgently. Narcissa's lips twitched upward in a sly smile, the edges of her expression sharp with cunning. "They don't know I'm here."
She watched Druella's body language closely. Her niece's posture was tense, her hand gripping the quill tightly. Her gaze darted between the book and Hermione, her mouth set in a determined line. Hermione gestured animatedly, her brows furrowed, her voice barely audible.
Narcissa sighed, then proceeded to walk over to the girls to collect her niece and bring her to the Minister. The plan is unfolding finally, her goal is almost complete.
Hermione continued to stress the danger, her voice insistent but tinged with worry. "You can't do this alone, Druella. You're going to get hurt. I know you feel the same about us—remember when you sat with us?"
Druella folded her arms, her gaze wary but attentive. "I understand that we may not always see eye to eye, Hermione, but the stakes are too high."
Hermione hesitated for a moment, guilt flickering across her face. "I'm sorry for that day. I shouldn't have bothered you when your mother was here. I get it now."
"Ron is sorry for what happened, he really is, I promise." Hermione tried to explain.
Druella's posture stiffened slightly, her guarded demeanour softening just a fraction. Hermione pressed on, her voice earnest. "I came to you because I knew you could help us, and you did. We appreciate that."
Narcissa stood at a distance, her arms folded across her chest, observing the conversation with a keen, calculating gaze. She wore her cardigan, the delicate fabric draped neatly over her shoulders, and a quiet huff of disapproval escaped her lips as she watched the interaction. There was a subtle tension in her stance, a protective air that Druella knew all too well.
As the conversation continued, Narcissa took a few steps toward them, her presence commanding attention without a word. Her movements were deliberate, graceful, and there was a quiet power in the way she approached.
Druella's eyes narrowed, her mind working through Hermione's words. Slowly, her features softened as she glanced at her mother before returning her attention to Hermione. "I see what you're trying to tell me," Druella said softly. "I know we all have a lot at stake... but I want to do it alone. I don't want anyone else getting hurt."
Hermione's expression turned empathetic, her voice gentle yet firm. "But Druella, you don't have to do it alone. You need us, and we need you. That's how we win—together."
Druella paused, the tension in her shoulders easing as she began to see Hermione's point. "I care too much about all of you and this school. I just don't want you getting hurt. That's what I'm afraid of."
Hermione stepped closer, her tone resolute. "Let us help you, Druella. There's a reason we're all here now."
Druella’s lips twitched—almost a smile, almost relief. She looked down, then nodded, hesitant but sincere. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we do need each other. Yeah, I’ll—”
“Druella.”
The word cut through the room like a spell.
Both girls turned as Narcissa Malfoy came out of nowhere, her heels clicking against the stone with cold precision. She stood tall at the threshold, arms folded, a shadow of green silk and ice. Her gaze settled first on Hermione, then on Druella, her eyes narrowing.
Hermione froze, her eyes darting to Druella, whose expression now reflected a mix of fear and apprehension. Druella glanced at Hermione, whispering urgently, "Be careful."
Narcissa's voice was calm but edged with authority. "Hermione, dear, you look tired. You need sleep—it's late."
Hermione held her ground, her chin lifting defiantly. "I don't need sleep. I'm with Druella right now. Please, let us talk."
Druella's eyes widened in alarm. Hermione's boldness was admirable but dangerous. Narcissa turned her gaze back to Druella, her tone sharpening. "My niece has to come with me right now. You two can talk another time."
But Hermione didn't back down. "Narcissa, this is important. Please—just let me talk to her!"
Narcissa crossed her arms, her expression cool as she smiled faintly. "Don't worry, Hermione. You'll see her later. For now, it's late, and you need rest."
Hermione's frustration boiled over. "You care about me? Really? Coming from the mother of that bloated idiot who's been calling me a Mudblood all year?"
Druella's voice cracked like a whip, cutting through the tension. "Stop!"
Her shout startled both Hermione and Narcissa. Druella's gaze darted to Hermione, a pleading look in her eyes.
She tried to signal her friend, urging her silently to tread carefully.
The room was thick with unspoken tension, the women and the two girls locked in a fragile standoff.
Druella whispered to Hermione, "Please don't."
Hermione, determined, replied, "Narcissa, I need to talk to her. We were having an important conversation. Please let me talk to her for a few minutes."
Narcissa smiled, the expression both disarming and unreadable. Druella couldn't predict what her aunt might do—Narcissa's moods could shift in an instant. The older woman turned her attention fully to Hermione, maintaining that serene, reassuring smile as her hand lightly rested on Druella's back in a show of calm authority. Druella remained tense, her whispered warnings unheeded.
Hermione held her ground, insisting, "Please, I need to talk to her."
Narcissa's smile widened slightly as she stepped forward, her presence filling the room. Her poised and deliberate movements seemed designed to unsettle, and they had their intended effect as Hermione shifted uneasily under the scrutiny.
Narcissa began to circle Hermione slowly, her gaze appraising. Her hand lifted up, she was observing the girl walking in a perfect circle.
"I'm sorry for speaking ill of Draco," Hermione said suddenly, her voice faltering. A faint tremble gave away her unease.
Narcissa paused, tilting her head as if considering the apology. Her sharp eyes softened slightly, and she replied with an almost maternal tone, "Don't worry, dear. It's okay. I won't hurt you."
Narcissa closed the distance between them, placing a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder and pulling her into a brief, almost motherly embrace. "Don't worry, it's ok," Narcissa whispered. Hermione stiffened at first, uncertain of the older woman's intentions, but Narcissa's touch was surprisingly warm.
After the embrace, Narcissa guided Hermione to a quiet spot and carefully removed her grey cardigan. Her movements were unhurried and elegant, revealing a delicate necklace and a simple hair tie underneath. Hermione's eyes widened in alarm, and she instinctively shut them, bracing for something worse. Instead, Narcissa patted her back with unexpected tenderness, murmuring softly as she held Hermione's shoulders and draped the cardigan around her.
Though the cardigan was far too large, its fabric enveloped Hermione in warmth. The sleeves hung well past her hands, giving her an almost childlike appearance. Narcissa adjusted it with practised care, making sure it sat just right before gathering Hermione's untamed hair and tying it into a neat bun.
"This should help keep your hair tidy," Narcissa said softly, fastening a necklace with an orange stone around Hermione's neck. Her voice was soothing, but there was a quiet authority that brooked no refusal. She patted Hermione's head, her touch almost affectionate. "There you go, all prettied up," Narcissa said, offering a small, approving smile. Hermione tried to speak. "But I need—"
Narcissa raised a single finger and placed it lightly against Hermione's lips, silencing her. Her gaze remained calm, though her control over the situation was palpable.
"But I..." Hermione began again, only for Narcissa to repeat the gesture.
"It's okay," Narcissa said firmly, her voice low but reassuring. "You'll have a chance to talk later. Don't worry about Draco anymore; he won't bother you."
Hermione looked at Narcissa with uncertainty, unsure whether to trust the oddly maternal gestures or feel wary of the undertone of control in the older woman's words. Druella, meanwhile, stood silently, her heart pounding as she watched the interaction unfold. She knew better than anyone how skilled Narcissa was at turning even the tensest situations into opportunities to assert her dominance with a calm, almost loving veneer.
Narcissa placed a firm hand on Druella's shoulders and gave her a determined look. Druella tried to muster a smile, but Narcissa's attention shifted to Hermione. "You look pretty, Hermione," she said, her voice dripping with a touch of condescension. "You are the brightest witch of your age. Now, back to your dorm, dear. Come on, Druella, let's go."
She held Druella's shoulders tightly, guiding her away from Hermione as she led her out of the library toward the exit.
As they walked, Druella glanced at Hermione discreetly, whispering, "Everything will be okay, I assure you." She subtly gestured to where she had concealed a piece of paper in her pocket, hoping Hermione would understand. Hermione's eyes widened, and she caught on. But Narcissa quickly turned Druella's attention back to her. "Let's go, Druella," she instructed, leaving Hermione behind.
Once outside the library, Narcissa flashed a quick smile at Hermione and said, "I like you," before walking Druella out. Then, in a tone that was almost too casual, she added, "You have good friends, Druella. I'm glad I set you up with her as your friend."
Druella nodded and remained silent as they walked. Narcissa led her to a room where Fudge and a few Aurors were waiting. She had Druella sit down, and the Minister greeted her with a nod. "Miss. Black, as you are aware of the situation," he began, and Druella nodded in response.
Fudge continued, "We've received many complaints from parents." Druella shifted in her seat, her nerves tightening. Narcissa stood beside her, placing a reassuring hand on Druella's shoulder.
Fudge asked, "What did you witness with the petrified students?"
Druella took a breath and recounted what had happened when she first found Colin Creevey petrified. "I went straight to Dumbledore," she explained. "I tried to ask him what was happening, but he didn't answer. I heard from other students about how upset they were—about Dumbledore not writing to the parents of the victims, and not finding a cure. Some say he's having Professor Sprout grow plants, but it's been quite some time since they were planted." Druella's voice faltered slightly. "When Draco was petrified, I immediately took him to the hospital wing. He's like a brother to me. I don't want to lose him."
Her gaze flickered to the Minister, a hint of something sharp in her eyes. She leaned forward slightly, her voice steady as she continued. "But, Minister," she added, her tone almost casual, though the words were carefully chosen. "Dumbledore told me... that he didn't tell the Ministry about the Chamber of Secrets." She paused, watching for his reaction. "He said the Ministry doesn't always act in the best interest of students. He said sometimes it's better to handle things quietly, so nothing else will happen."
Narcissa, who had been observing the exchange with a cool, composed expression, finally spoke up, her voice smooth but laden with a quiet, cutting edge. "Don't you see, Minister?" she said, her eyes narrowing just slightly. "Dumbledore doesn't trust you. He doesn't think you can handle it." Her tone was condescending, her words carefully calculated to undermine the Minister's confidence. "If he did, don't you think he would have told you everything? But he didn't. He made his decision, and he's clearly chosen to handle things without your involvement."
Her gaze remained fixed on Fudge, a smile playing at the corners of her lips, as though she were simply stating a well-known fact.
Minister Fudge listened intently, his expression growing more concerned, but also edged with irritation. After a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice tinged with frustration. "That's the evidence I needed," he said, his jaw tightening slightly. "I'll be back tomorrow. Your aunt will come to get you." He paused, looking directly at Narcissa with a sharp gaze. "I agree with you, Narcissa. Dumbledore clearly doesn't trust me. It's clear enough now. But I'll handle it."
Druella nodded silently, watching as the Minister turned on his heel and left the room, his footsteps echoing with a sense of barely-contained anger.
As Druella returned to her common room, Narcissa watched her closely, but Druella didn't feel like talking. She went to bed early that night, the weight of the day's events heavy on her mind.
"This is all my fault..." Druella said in her head.
"Perhaps I'll be protected when she takes over, however," Druella added, looking at the parchment and sighed.
Ministry of Magic – Board of Governors Assembly, 1993
The chamber was hushed, the velvet curtains drawn tight against the summer light. Gold-trimmed chairs circled the table, every seat filled by ancient names of power.
At its centre, Narcissa Malfoy sat with the poise of carved marble, hands folded neatly, expression cool but sharp. Beside her, a woman rose gracefully, Alissa Avery, her black gown whispering as she moved. She smiled—a delicate, polite curve of lips, eyes lowered just enough to appear deferential.
“Esteemed Governors,” she began, voice honey-smooth, docile to the casual ear. “We must, of course, address the terrible incidents at Hogwarts. The Chamber of Secrets, open once again. Students petrified, parents frightened.”
Her lashes lifted just slightly, her tone soft as silk. “And yet… no resolution. No protection.”
A few murmurs rippled through the table. Estelle pressed a gloved hand to her heart. “It pains me deeply to say this, but the evidence points once more to Rubius Hagrid. A half-breed, long ago accused, now implicated by circumstance again. Can we afford to ignore such a threat?”
Narcissa’s jaw tightened, but she remained silent.
Alissa’s gaze slid across the table with calculated calm. “And this is not an abstract danger. A pureblood heir lies petrified even now—Draco Lucius Malfoy. His mother sits with us today, yet the boy’s safety was left in the hands of Dumbledore’s chaos.”
She let the words hang just long enough, then bowed her head ever so slightly, the picture of soft-spoken reason. “I am but one voice. But surely, we cannot ignore that the headmaster has failed to safeguard our children.”
Several governors shifted uncomfortably. One cleared his throat. “And what of the Malfoy spare? Druella Black? She’s at Hogwarts too.”
Alissa’s eyes flicked toward Narcissa, then back to the chamber. Her tone was steady, deliberately respectful. “Indeed. Druella herself bravely informed her aunt and mother of these events. And Narcissa Malfoy—ever vigilant, ever protective—has requested we consider new leadership. Leadership that does not dither while children suffer.”
The murmurs swelled into agreement.
“But who would take such a position?” asked one older witch, doubtful.
Alissa smiled, demure as a girl at her debut. “We will find a candidate, of course. The safety of our children must come first.” She gestured lightly toward Narcissa. “But here, we already have a woman of grace, strength, and unmatched pedigree. A Black by blood, a Malfoy by blood. Who better to restore stability than Narcissa Malfoy herself?”
Narcissa’s hands tightened faintly on the table’s edge, but she said nothing.
“I second the request,” another governor said, rising.
Within moments, hands lifted around the table. The vote was unanimous.
Narcissa Malfoy was Headmistress of Hogwarts.
Alissa lowered herself back into her chair, smiling serenely, as though she had merely observed the tide and followed its course. Her fan fluttered once, hiding the sharpness of her grin.
She had what she wanted.
And none of them saw the strings she’d pulled to get it.