Chapter Text
Outside the chamber, the Black sisters reeled as a shockwave of magic tore through them, slamming into bone and breath at the same time. The air screamed, actually screamed, as reality warped around whatever was happening on the other side of the doors. For a long, terrifying stretch of time, none of them could breathe.
Instinct kicked in before thought had a chance. Hands found fabric. Arms locked. Bellatrix grabbed first, grip brutal and unyielding, like she could anchor the world through sheer force of will. Narcissa clutched Andromeda, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, as if letting go, even for a second, would invite the universe to take something else from them.
Something they couldn’t survive losing.
The screaming from inside the chamber hit them next. Hermione’s screams.
Narcissa broke. The sound tore out of her chest, raw and helpless, her face collapsing as she sobbed openly into Andromeda’s shoulder. Bellatrix didn’t move, she went rigid, jaw locked so tight it had to ache, eyes burning bright with tears she refused, absolutely refused, to let fall.
And then the silence came down like a blade, and the magic pulled back all at once, like a long, shuddering inhale.
They didn’t wait. Bellatrix slammed the doors open with a sharp, furious shove. Light spilled out of the chamber. It shimmered like something remembered rather than seen.
They looked around the chamber, Voldemort was clearly gone, but there was no body, no ash, no lingering sense of him at all. Then they realised his wasn’t the only absence.
“No,” Narcissa whispered, stumbling forward. Her voice cracked completely. “No, she can’t be gone. I can still feel her. I do feel her.” Tears ran freely now, unchecked. “She has to be here. She has to be.”
Bellatrix dropped to her knees hard enough to sting.
Andromeda stayed standing, perfectly still, heart hammering, eyes sweeping the room like if she looked hard enough, if she just refused to stop looking, she could force Hermione back into existence.
Then the light moved. The particles shifted, subtle at first, then unmistakable, drawn inward, spiralling together like they knew exactly where they were meant to go. Slowly they became brighter, denser, and then a shape began to form, then suddenly Hermione was there. She lay sprawled on the stone, chest hitching as she dragged in a sharp breath, eyes wide and unfocused as she stared up at the ceiling like she’d just fallen back into herself.
Bellatrix swore, breathless and shaky. Andromeda laughed, a cracked, hysterical sound that startled even her. Narcissa was on her knees at her side instantly, hands trembling as she cupped Hermione’s face, like blinking too hard might make her disappear again.
Before anyone could speak, all three sisters sucked in a breath at once. Magic surged through them. It was warm and intimate. Years peeled away like they’d never truly belonged to them in the first place. Wrinkles smoothed. Old scars faded. The low, constant aches they’d carried for decades simply… vanished. Power settled into their bones, steady and endless, like it had always been waiting there.
Hermione blinked at them, and then she smiled.
“I told you,” she rasped. “It would be okay.”
Andromeda swallowed hard. “You said it required a mortal life.”
“It did.” Hermione lifted a trembling hand, brushing her thumb along Narcissa’s cheek. “I was certain that’s what it meant.”
Narcissa’s breath caught. “Then we’re—”
“Immortal,” Hermione said simply. “All of us. Bound. Together. For eternity.
That was it. They descended on her in a mess of hands and laughter and breathless relief. There were kisses everywhere, desperate and joyful and entirely uncoordinated. Hermione laughed into it, grounding herself in the warmth of them, in the undeniable truth that she hadn’t lost anyone.
From the doorway came a familiar, unimpressed sound.
“I’m going to assume he’s gone,” Amelia Bones said dryly, leaning against the frame.
Hermione lifted her head, still breathless. “Completely. He won’t be coming back.”
Amelia nodded once. “Good.” Then, after a pause, “I’ll handle the story, something about a veil accident, no witnesses, no mess.”
“Thank you,” Hermione said quietly.
Amelia’s gaze lingered a moment. “Try not to vanish forever, yeah? Drop by once in a while.”
Hermione smiled. “I will.”
Amelia turned and left, boots echoing once before the door shut.
Narcissa cradled Hermione’s face again, gentler now, thumbs brushing under her eyes.
“Come on,” she murmured. “Let’s go home.”
Hermione leaned into her touch, the last of the tension finally draining away.
Together, they left the Death Chamber behind.
The war was over, and eternity, at last, was theirs.
O – o – o – o
A month later, Hermione came barreling into the common dining area just as lunch was breaking up, her hair was loose, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright with barely contained excitement. Magic crackled around her like static, impossible to miss, like the air itself was leaning toward her.
She hadn’t been absent since they’d returned to Avalon. Hermione was never absent like that. But she had been… elsewhere. Intentionally. She slipped away before dawn, and came back long after nightfall, smelling of cold stone and mountain air and something older than any of them.
Even Narcissa didn’t know what she’d been doing.
Which, if she was honest, had been irritating.
Hermione blocked their bond while she was gone. Narcissa had felt it immediately, the quiet where Hermione’s presence usually lived, like a harmony abruptly stripped from a song. Hermione had promised it wouldn’t last. She had smiled that infuriatingly soft smile and said it was a surprise.
Narcissa trusted Hermione, that wasn’t a question, she just missed her.
“It’s ready,” Hermione said now, breathless, eyes shining. “Come on.”
The sisters were on their feet in seconds. Bellatrix grinned like she’d just been handed a weapon she was dying to use. Andromeda followed with calm curiosity. Narcissa smoothed her expression into something composed and prepared herself for… whatever this was.
They followed Hermione into the mountains.
The walk was long, nearly an hour, Avalon stretching wide and wild around them as the path narrowed and the air thinned. Hermione never hesitated, never slowed, like she knew the terrain by heart. Finally, the trail opened into a hidden valley tucked between sheer cliffs. Embedded into the stone, half-grown from it, half-built by careful hands, stood Black Manor.
Not an illusion or a copy. A mirror.
“How?” Bellatrix breathed, reverence softening her voice for once.
Hermione smiled, pleased and a little smug. “It exists in two places at once, partly here, partly there. Enough divergence that the two worlds can coexist in this one location.”
She stepped closer, resting her palm against the stone. “If someone visits the original manor and you guide them to the back of the house, they’ll feel the shift. Just a pressure change at first, easy to ignore. But if they keep walking…”
Her hand pressed flat. “They’ll cross over.”
Narcissa’s breath caught.
“They’ll still be inside the house,” Hermione went on. “But in this world. They won’t be able to leave the grounds, but they’ll be with us. We won’t have to leave Avalon to see the people we love.”
Narcissa was the first to speak, “It’s everything. Harry and Draco could live there when they finish Hogwarts. We could see them every day.”
Hermione nodded and Narcissa crossed the space between them and kissed her. It was deep and unrestrained, hands fisting in Hermione’s robes like she needed the contact to stay upright. When she finally pulled back, her voice was thick. “Thank you.”
Already moving, already planning, Narcissa swept toward the entrance. “I’ll draft the ownership paperwork for Draco immediately, and take them to Gringotts. Then I want to tell him myself.”
Hermione laughed, warm and soft. “That was fast.”
“She’s excited,” Bellatrix said fondly. “She misses Draco more than she ever admits.”
“I know,” Hermione murmured.
Then she turned, fully, to Andromeda.
“I need something from you,” Hermione said quietly. “From you and me.”
Andromeda arched a brow, lips curving with knowing amusement. “I should have known a gift like this came with a request.”
She stepped closer, gaze steady and warm. “Go on, then. What is it?”
O – o – o – o
A few days later, Andromeda walked the grounds of Hogwarts wearing the expression of someone who loved Hermione LeFey very much, and was still profoundly unimpressed by this particular task.
Of all the things Hermione could have asked her to handle, ancient covenants, hostile bloodlines, politicians who needed reminding why fear was healthy, it had to be this.
She found Argus Filch on the third floor, hunched over a portrait frame, scrubbing furiously at a streak of enchanted graffiti that was very clearly winning. The portrait’s subject was offering commentary that could generously be described as unhelpful.
Filch looked exhausted, and miserable, and stubbornly determined to lose this battle on principle.
“Mr. Filch,” Andromeda said smoothly. “I’m here on Hermione’s behalf. May we speak privately?”
He paused, squinted up at her, then glanced back at the smear.
“This rubbish isn’t budgin’,” he muttered. “Might as well.” He jerked his head down the corridor. “Come on, then.”
When they reached his office, Andromeda sat carefully in a chair that creaked in protest. Filch poured tea. She stirred hers once, then set it aside. Politeness only went so far.
He studied her over the rim of his cup. “She alright?”
Andromeda blinked. “Hermione?”
“Aye. McGonagall said last year she wasn’t truly dead.” His voice softened despite himself. “I was relieved. Still, the castle hasn’t been the same without her.”
“She’s well,” she said gently. “Very well. And she has sent me with an offer.”
Filch straightened. “Go on.”
“She’s acquired a property,” Andromeda said. “Large, old, in need of care. There will be visitors, local and international, permanent residents in time. It needs a caretaker.”
He stared at her.
“She wants me?”
“Yes.”
“No students,” he said immediately.
“Children may visit,” Andromeda replied evenly. “But you won’t be required to interact with them. You’ll set the rules. You’ll oversee the grounds, the wards, the staff, if you want staff.”
Filch frowned. “I’d be in charge?”
“Completely.”
Another pause. “Pay?”
Andromeda slid a folded note across the desk.
His eyes widened. Then narrowed. “That’s too much.”
“She won’t let you take less.”
“And where would I live?”
“She’s prepared private rooms and an office at the property.”
He stared at the paper again, then up at her, voice rough. “Why?”
“Because she remembers how you were treated, and because she believes dignity shouldn’t be earned through suffering. She can do something about it, so she will.”
Silence settled between them.
“If you accept,” Andromeda added quietly, “we leave now. Hermione will handle Dumbledore.”
Filch swallowed. “I’ll do it.”
“Good.” She stood. “Come along.”
“My things—”
“Already packed.”
That startled a laugh out of him, short, and disbelieving. He followed her across the grounds, hesitated once, then grabbed her arm.
The world tilted and then suddenly they appeared in the foyer of Black Manor. Filch froze at the sight before him. People moved with purpose, voices low, magic humming steady beneath everything. Rumours had been spreading for days. Morgana had returned, and the world was beginning to lean.
Andromeda guided him deeper, past a threshold meant only for family.
She opened a set of double doors.
The office beyond was sunlit and orderly, polished wood, neatly arranged tools, shelves waiting to be filled. Calm. Respectful. A place meant to be used.
Hermione sat behind the desk, smiling.
“Hello, Mr. Filch,” she said warmly. “I’m very glad you came.”
She stood, gesturing around. “This is yours. Your rooms are through those doors there.”
He shook his head, overwhelmed. “It’s too much.”
“No,” Hermione said softly. “It isn’t. You deserve peace, Argus.” She hesitated, then smiled, bright and a little mischievous. “And I have one more surprise for you.”
She took his hand, turned it palm-up, guiding his fingers until only his index finger pointed toward the closed door to his suite of rooms.
“Try,” she said gently. “Say Alohomora.”
“I can’t do magic, lass.”
“Trust me.”
He did as she said. The door trembled, and then, slowly, impossibly, it opened.
Filch stared, breath catching.
“Avalon is where magic is born, it allows even the smallest spark to breathe,” Hermione said quietly.
For the first time in fifty years, Argus Filch cried. Not from grief or bitterness, but from something fragile and brilliant and long denied.
Joy.
O – o – o - o
They waited until Filch had been there a full week to invite the family over, not because they were wary, just because it felt polite.
They didn’t send owls. That felt wrong, too distant, and too easy to ignore. Instead the Black sisters decided to hand deliver them.
Bellatrix claimed Sirius and Remus. Claimed them in the way Bellatrix claimed anything, already halfway there before anyone finished protesting.
She appeared on the stoop of Grimmauld Place and knocked loudly. The invitation flicked lazily between her fingers.
Sirius opened the door and froze. For a long, taut moment, they just stared at each other.
“Well,” Bellatrix said cheerfully, head tilting, eyes sharp. “You look better. Still slouching, though.”
Sirius snorted. “Guess we all carry our damage differently.”
Remus appeared behind him, already interested.
“What do you want?” Sirius asked.
“Dinner,” Bellatrix said. “At our house.”
Sirius barked a short laugh. “Dinner. At your house?”
“Our house,” she corrected lightly. “And do try not to set anything on fire. The manor’s sensitive.”
Remus reached past Sirius and took the invitation.
“We’ll come,” he said quietly.
Sirius turned on him. “Moony—”
“It matters,” Remus said, calm and steady. “And I think we should see it.”
“Good,” Bellatrix said. “Seven sharp. Don’t be late.”
Harry and Draco were Narcissa’s.
She found them at McGonagall’s manor mid-practice, Harry high in the air, Draco circling lower, both of them arguing about form versus instinct like it was a matter of life and death.
Narcissa simply watched them until they noticed her. Both boys landed within seconds and ran over. She pulled them into a hug, and kissed each of them on the cheek like she’d always done.
“My boys,” she said warmly, handing Harry an envelope sealed with the LeFey crest. “Dinner. Saturday.”
Harry blinked. “Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“With—” He stopped, swallowed. “With Hermione?”
Narcissa’s gaze softened. “Yes.”
Harry nodded immediately. “I’ll be there.”
Draco hesitated. His grip tightened on his broom.
“It will be yours when you graduate,” Narcissa added gently. “You should come early, and take the chance to see it properly.”
Draco’s shoulders eased. “Okay.”
As Narcissa turned to leave, she paused. “It’s important,” she said simply. “She’ll want to see you both.”
Andromeda handled the rest. She went to Minerva first. McGonagall opened the door already suspicious, and then everything in her face softened.
“Andromeda,” Minerva breathed, pulling her into a fierce, unexpected hug before propriety could stop her. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“She’s built something,” Andromeda said quietly once they’d parted. “You should see it.”
Minerva accepted the invitation with composed hands that trembled just enough to give her away.
The Grangers were last. Andromeda sat at the kitchen table with then and explained that their daughter had made a place that existed in both worlds at once.
“A bridge,” she called it. “A manor that touches magic and the mundane without tearing either apart.”
Mrs. Granger cried quietly while Mr. Granger asked practical questions. Both said yes.
O – o – o - o
Draco and Harry arrived just after lunch. Filch met them at the door, crisp and composed in a way Draco had never once seen at Hogwarts. His coat was pressed. His spine was straight. He even looked… pleased. Which was unsettling in its own right.
“This way,” Filch said, inclining his head and leading them down a corridor that was technically familiar and yet very deliberately not.
Filch stopped in front of a set of double doors and opened them. They stepped inside and both stopped short. This was not a quiet sitting room. This was chaos, controlled chaos, sure, but chaos all the same.
At least twenty witches filled the space. Some lounged in plush armchairs clutching teacups like lifelines. Others paced, muttering under their breath. A loose line had even formed by the windows.
Andromeda sat near the hearth, listening intently as a woman sobbed into a handkerchief. She didn’t interrupt, just nodded until she finished, and then murmured something low and steady that seemed to settle the woman’s breathing.
Bellatrix stood a few paces away, boots planted wide, physically adjusting another witch’s stance.
“No, no—elbow up,” she snapped, then softened just enough. “Yes, like that. Now fire.”
A clean spell shot across the room and struck the target dead centre.
Bellatrix grinned. “See? Told you, not useless.”
Across the room, Narcissa stood at the centre of a knot of conversation, elegant as ever, teacup in hand. She gestured lightly as several witches listened with the kind of focus usually reserved for prophets or queens.
Draco’s jaw dropped.
Harry leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. “Draco… what is this?”
Before Draco could attempt an answer, Narcissa looked up and saw them.
Her face lit instantly.
“My dragon,” she called. “Excuse me, ladies. My son and his partner are here.”
Whatever authority lived in her voice worked immediately. Chairs scraped back and conversations cut off mid-sentence, as witches gathered their things, murmured thanks and shot wide-eyed looks at Draco and Harry as they filed out, quickly, but respectfully. In under a minute, the room was empty.
Harry blinked. “Uh. What just happened?”
Narcissa smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world. “They come here looking for Morgana,” she said. “They get us instead. It appears to suffice.”
Bellatrix dropped into an armchair, boots kicked up on the table. “Some cry, some want prophecies, some just want to feel like someone powerful is listening to them for five minutes.”
She flashed Draco a grin. “And sometimes, when Cissy gets bored, she pretends to channel Morgana and they nearly faint.”
Draco laughed before he could stop himself.
Narcissa arched a brow. “I do not pretend.”
“You absolutely do,” Bellatrix said cheerfully.
“I don’t need to channel her,” Narcissa replied coolly. “I know exactly what she would say. Though I will admit, the constant ‘is that what Morgana would want?’ does grow tiresome.”
She turned back to Draco and Harry, expression softening. “Come. I’ll show you around.”
The tour was unhurried. Rooms opened wider on the inside than they had any right to, and eventually windows began to look out onto landscapes Draco was fairly certain didn’t exist in the same world he’d woken up in that morning.
Harry kept stopping just to stare.
Eventually the made it outside and found Hermione in the garden at the edge of the manor, right where polished stone gave way to wild Avalon growth. She looked up the moment they stepped outside and smiled like she’d known exactly when they’d arrive.
She hugged Draco first then Harry, who held on a second longer than necessary.
“You look good,” Harry said, pulling back. “Different, but good.”
“I feel lighter,” Hermione admitted softly. “That’s new.”
They settled among the flowers. Harry talked nonstop, animated and bright, Hermione listening with fond attention. Draco stretched out in the grass and relaxed.
Narcissa stood a little apart, watching all of them with a contentment Hermione rarely saw cross her face.
For once, no one felt like they were waiting for something to go wrong. They were just there, together. Hermione decided, right then and there, that she would fight for days like this for as long as forever allowed.
Shortly before the rest of the guests were due to arrive, Hermione and the sisters went upstairs to change, fully intending to be back down in ten minutes. They were… not.
It started harmless enough. Hermione straightening Narcissa’s collar. Narcissa’s hands lingering at Hermione’s waist a second too long. Bellatrix opening her mouth and saying something she absolutely should not have.
Then Hermione found herself gently backed against the bedroom door, Bellatrix kissing her like she’d been starved for it, while Narcissa’s mouth traced heat along her jaw and throat, slow and deliberate.
“We are going to be late,” Andromeda murmured, even as she made no move to stop any of this.
Hermione dragged in a breath, kissed Narcissa again, already a little dizzy. “Five minutes.”
Bellatrix snorted. “Lies,” she said cheerfully, stealing another kiss anyway.
When they finally made it downstairs, they were flushed, hair slightly rumpled, magic humming between them like a shared joke no one else was in on.
No one said a word.
Dinner stretched long and easy. Remus and Andromeda fell into a quiet, comfortable rhythm. Sirius and Bellatrix argued loudly about wine, volume escalating, insults affectionate and creative. Harry listened with wide-eyed fascination as McGonagall and Narcissa dissected Hogwarts policy like it was a high-stakes chess match.
Draco sat straighter than Hermione had ever seen him sit, pride and disbelief warring on his face.
Hermione watched it all with something warm and full in her chest. This right here was what she’d been working toward. Not power. Not victory. This.
After dessert, as conversation drifted toward the sitting rooms, Hermione caught her mother’s hand.
“Come with me,” she said softly.
They walked together toward the back of the manor. In the Avalon-side library, Hermione guided her mother’s fingers around a wand.
“Don’t force it,” Hermione said gently. “Just… ask.”
Her mother laughed, nervous and breathless. “I’m far too old for this.”
Hermione smiled. “You’re exactly the right age.”
When the books on the shelves trembled, only slightly, and then one lifted an inch into the air, her mother gasped. Then laughed. Then cried. Hermione held her through all of it. From the doorway, the Black sisters watched, quiet and content, sharing looks that said everything without needing words.
O – o – o – o
Halloween slipped in on quiet feet. Hermione stood at the centre of the ritual circle, magic thrumming low and steady beneath her skin. Midnight crept closer, second by second. Narcissa watched from the edge, arms folded tight. Hermione could feel her gaze like a hand between her shoulder blades. She started pacing. Just a little. A step here, a shift of weight there. Fingers flexing, shoulders rolling, like she could shake the nerves loose if she tried hard enough. Eventually, Hermione glanced up and caught Narcissa’s eye.
“Don’t,” she said quickly, half a smile already forming. “Don’t say it.”
Narcissa scoffed softly. “I wasn’t going to.”
“You absolutely were,” Bellatrix cut in, delighted. She leaned over and tapped between Narcissa’s brows. “You get this little line right here. Means you’re worrying.”
“They’ll do it,” Hermione said, firmer now, even if her voice wobbled just a touch. “Sinistra promised she’d help them.”
Bellatrix tilted her head, studying her. “You’ve said that, but you still haven’t explained why this matters so much.”
Hermione slowed, then stopped.
“Every year,” she said quietly, “we tried to summon Morgana. Sometimes we heard her. Sometimes I caught… glimpses of Avalon. A shape in the mist, a figure just out of reach.” She swallowed. “But she never crossed all the way over. And we always pretended we weren’t disappointed.”
She lifted her head, eyes bright now.
“This year will be different. They’ll summon me. Tonight,” Hermione went on, warmth threading through the nerves, “while the veil is thin, I’ll dance in the Forbidden Forest with the LeFey girls, properly, like I was always meant to.”
Bellatrix’s face fell immediately. “And we still can’t come?”
Hermione laughed, unable to help it. “We talked about this, Bella.”
“It’s cruel,” Bellatrix said mournfully. “Borderline discriminatory, against wives.”
Hermione stepped out of the circle just long enough to kiss her cheek. “You’ll live.”
Bellatrix leaned into it anyway. “You better make it up to us.”
“I always do,” Hermione murmured, softer now, gaze lingering on all three of them.
Then her spine straightened like a string pulled tight.
“There,” she whispered. “I feel it.”
The pull hit fast, warm and certain, wrapping around her ribs and heart, tugging her sideways through reality like a familiar hand closing around her soul.
“Yes,” Hermione breathed. “I knew it.”
And then she was gone.
She reappeared in a rush of wind and firelight, leaves crunching beneath her feet, music already spilling through the trees. Laughter burst from every direction, and the LeFey girls surged toward her all at once.
“It worked!”
“She’s here!”
“She actually came!”
Hands grabbed hers, arms looped around her shoulders. Someone kissed both her cheeks at once. The forest pulsed with old joy, drums thundering somewhere deep and ancient, magic thick and alive.
And then Hermione saw her. Sinistra stood near the bonfire, firelight dancing in her eyes, hands trembling just slightly.
“Hello,” she said softly.
Sinistra didn’t answer with words. She crossed the distance and kissed her. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining. “I’m pregnant.”
Hermione smiled.
“Oh,” she said lightly. “What a surprise.”
Sinistra laughed, tears slipping free. “Is it?”
Hermione’s smirk was gentle. “Not really.”
Sinistra shook her head, still dazed. “How is this even possible?”
Hermione lifted her hand and rested it carefully over Sinistra’s stomach, magic warm and reverent. “Avalon can do many things,” she said softly. “But what it does best is create life. After all, it’s where magic begins.”
She met Sinistra’s gaze, steady and sure. “I just gave you a little of that.”
Sinistra’s breath shuddered.
“She’ll be a child of Avalon,” Hermione continued. “Which means she’ll feel the call someday, when this world grows quieter for you, when there’s nothing left for her here.” Her voice gentled. “We’ll welcome her home then.”
Sinistra pressed her forehead to Hermione’s, crying freely now. “But for now?”
“For now,” Hermione said, squeezing her hand, “she’s yours.”
The fire crackled higher, the music swelled, and at last Morgana danced.
O – o – o – o
Five years later, the world had narrowed to warm sheets and tangled limbs. Hermione was caught somewhere between laughing and losing her breath, sprawled amid the Black sisters in a lazy, unhurried tangle of kisses and murmured nonsense. Then the hand mirror on the bedside table began to glow.
Hermione groaned and dropped her forehead against Narcissa’s shoulder. “Of course she calls now.”
“Don’t answer it,” Bellatrix said immediately. “Problem solved.”
“I can’t not answer it,” Hermione sighed, already peeling herself free with obvious reluctance. “If I ignore her, she’ll escalate.”
She wrapped a sheet around herself and grabbed the mirror. “Grandmum? Is everything alright?”
Minerva McGonagall appeared at once, crisp, sharp-eyed, and entirely unimpressed by Hermione’s mussed hair and flushed cheeks.
“Yes,” Minerva said briskly. “I’m simply confirming that you will be attending your mother’s birthday party. I’ve yet to receive your RSVP.”
Hermione winced. “I’m… a bit busy right now, Grandmum.”
Minerva’s gaze flicked pointedly past the mirror, clearly clocking dark hair, bare shoulders, and Bellatrix’s grin. “Hermione. It is your mother’s fiftieth birthday. She wants you there. This is not optional.”
“I—” Hermione started.
The mirror was smoothly removed from her hand.
“She will be there, Minerva,” Narcissa said, voice calm and absolute.
Minerva relaxed instantly. “Thank you, Narcissa. I’ll see you tomorrow at the wedding, then. Goodbye.”
The mirror went dark. Hermione stared at Narcissa.
“Hey. I hadn’t decided I was going.”
Narcissa arched a brow. “It’s less than a day in that world. You’ll survive.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is precisely the point,” Narcissa replied serenely. “She’s your mother. It matters to her, that should be enough.”
Hermione crossed her arms. “You sound suspiciously like—”
“You will go,” Narcissa continued, unbothered, “you will smile the entire time, and you will bring a perfect gift.”
Hermione huffed. “Yes, mother.”
“Oh, don’t you dare,” Narcissa growled.
Bellatrix cackled, delighted. “Say it again. I want to see what happens.”
Narcissa didn’t bother responding. She caught Hermione by the wrist and pushed back onto the bed. Then she leaned in, voice low, lips brushing Hermione’s ear.
“I am not your mother,” Narcissa said softly. “And I will happily remind you of that.”
Bellatrix whooped. Andromeda shook her head, smiling as she leaned back in. Hermione laughed, breathless and warm, the mirror forgotten entirely as the world shrank again to kisses and heat and familiar hands. By the time she finally managed to coax them out of bed, most of the morning was already gone.
Not that she’d tried very hard.
Narcissa, after all, had been thorough, persuasion delivered in languid touches and murmured logic, every argument dismantled with orgasms and intent. By the time Narcissa leaned back against the pillows, perfectly composed as ever, Hermione was staring at the ceiling, completely undone and utterly convinced.
“We’ll do it together,” Narcissa had said, thumb brushing along Hermione’s jaw. “One errand. After that, you can disappear back into Avalon for a century if you like.”
Hermione snorted. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“I always enjoy getting my way,” Narcissa replied calmly.
So a compromise was reached, they would attend Harry and Draco’s wedding, and then together they would go shopping for Hermione’s mother’s gift.
O – o – o - o
The wedding turned out to be everything Hermione had quietly hoped for. and a few things she hadn’t quite dared to.
Harry and Draco stood beneath a willow tree as the sun came up, Hogwarts spread out behind them in a way that felt almost staged in its perfection. The location made sense, it was where they’d met, where they’d grown up. Albus had agreed without hesitation.
Hermione watched from her place beside the Black sisters, her chest tight in the best possible way. Harry looked… lighter, like something heavy had finally slid off his shoulders. There was no tension in his stance, no guardedness in his smile, just happiness, open and unfiltered. Draco, for all his careful composure, kept reaching for Harry’s hand, thumb brushing his knuckles like he needed the reassurance that this was real. That it was happening.
When they exchanged vows, Bellatrix sniffed loudly and made no attempt to hide it.
“Don’t,” Andromeda murmured. “If you start, I’ll start.”
“I’m not crying,” Bellatrix insisted. “I’m appreciating.”
Narcissa didn’t say a word, but the look on her face, proud, fierce, and just a little stunned, said more than any commentary could have.
Afterward, breakfast was laid out in the Great Hall, sunlight spilling across long tables as laughter and music echoed up into the rafters. The newly married pair were immediately swept into congratulations and clumsy hugs. Across the crowd, Harry caught Hermione’s eye. He grinned and mouthed, thank you. Hermione lifted her glass in return.
They didn’t stay long. While the others returned to Black Manor, Hermione and Narcissa slipped away together, apparating into a busy London street. Shopping, Hermione quickly learned, was not something Narcissa Black did casually.
She moved through the shops with precise, elegant purpose, fingers brushing silk scarves, weighing porcelain teacups, and pausing over apparently non-magical trinkets that still hummed softly when Hermione drew near. She asked careful questions. She listened to the answers. Entire shelves were dismissed with a single glance. Hermione trailed behind her, hands tucked into her coat pockets, equal parts amused and fond.
“You’re taking this very seriously,” Hermione said at last.
“It’s your mother,” Narcissa replied without looking back. “She deserves something thoughtful, something that will make her think of you, something that will last.”
Eventually, they stopped in a narrow shop wedged between a florist and a secondhand bookshop. Inside, the shelves were lined with delicate glasswork, bowls, vases, small sculptures that caught the light and fractured it into soft rainbows.
Hermione stilled.
“This one,” she said quietly, pointing to a simple glass bowl etched with runes so faint they were almost invisible.
Narcissa studied it, then looked back at Hermione. “What does it do?”
“It encourages growth,” Hermione said. “Plants, mostly. But also… other things, calm, joy, a sense of purpose.”
Narcissa smiled. “It sounds perfect.”
Outside, as they stepped back onto the street, Narcissa slipped her arm through Hermione’s, giving it a small, satisfied squeeze.
“I’m glad you let me convince you,” she said.
Hermione leaned into her, smiling. “I was always going to. I just happen to really enjoy your methods of persuasion.”
O – o – o – o
Fifty years later, Hermione returned to McGonagall Manor on a quiet afternoon in spring. The house was unchanged, but there was a tiredness to it now, a sense of something winding down. As if the house already knew why she was there.
Minerva waited by the window, wrapped in a tartan blanket, smaller than Hermione remembered and yet unmistakably herself. Her eyes lifted the moment Hermione stepped inside.
“There you are,” Minerva said, voice thin but pleased. “Took you long enough.”
Hermione crossed the room at once and dropped to her knees beside her chair. “I came as fast as I could.”
Minerva gave a quiet snort. “You always do.” Her gaze swept over Hermione, sharp despite everything. “And yet every time I see you, you look exactly the same.”
Hermione huffed softly. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
“I notice everything,” Minerva replied, lips twitching. “It’s quite rude of you, you know, remaining young while the rest of us insist on being mortal.”
Hermione reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. Minerva’s grip was frail, but stubbornly firm.
“I’m glad you came,” Minerva said after a moment. “I didn’t want… the end… without seeing you one last time.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Hermione said quietly. “Not for anything.”
Minerva studied her face, eyes bright even through the haze of age. “You did well,” she said softly. “Better than I ever hoped. You saved us, and then you stayed. That mattered more than you could know.”
Hermione swallowed. “You mattered.”
Minerva smiled at that, and then kissed Hermione’s forehead.
“Goodbye, my dear girl.”
Then, gently and without drama, she exhaled and didn’t breathe in again.
Hermione stayed until the house settled into stillness, until the magic itself seemed to accept what had happened. Only then did she rise, press a final kiss to Minerva’s temple, and vanish.
Black Manor welcomed her back with its usual warmth and noise. Harry was in the study, older now, silver threading his hair, lines at the corners of his eyes, but still unmistakably Harry. He looked up as she appeared.
“Is she gone?,” he asked softly.
“She went peacefully,” Hermione said.
He nodded, eyes closing briefly. “Then I suppose that makes me Lord McGonagall now,” he said dryly.
Hermione smiled, tired but fond. “Afraid so.”
“Merlin help us all,” Harry muttered, then stood and pulled her into a solid, familiar hug. “Thank you for being with her. I know that’s what she wanted.”
“I wouldn’t have been anywhere else,” Hermione said.
She didn’t linger. She could already feel the pull toward the nursery.
Narcissa sat on the floor, skirts arranged neatly despite the chaos around her. Two of her great grandchildren children climbed over her like determined kittens, shrieking with laughter as she pretended, very badly, to defend herself.
“Oh no,” Narcissa said gravely. “However shall I survive this terrible assault?”
Hermione stopped in the doorway. Narcissa looked up immediately, expression softening instantly. “Oh, love.”
Hermione crossed the room in three strides and collapsed beside her, arms winding tight, face buried against Narcissa’s shoulder. The tears came fast and unrestrained.
“She’s gone,” Hermione whispered.
Narcissa held her without question, one hand steady at her back, the other smoothing gently through her hair. “I know,” she murmured. “I felt it.”
The children quieted, sensing the shift. Small hands pressed clumsily against Hermione’s arms. She laughed wetly through her tears and pulled them closer.
After that, time did what it always did.
Harry went first, surrounded by family, smiling even at the end. Draco followed two years later, stubborn and sharp to the last, Narcissa holding his hand as he slipped away.
After that, the manor felt… finished. Hermione stood with the Black sisters in the foyer one final time.
“It’s time,” Andromeda said quietly.
Bellatrix nodded. “We’ve stayed long enough.”
Narcissa squeezed Hermione’s hand. “No regrets.”
“None,” Hermione said.
Together, they let the wards fall, and Black Manor closed its doors for the last time, magic sinking back into the land, memories folding gently into myth. By morning, there was nothing left but stone and silence.
And then they returned to Avalon fully never again crossing into the mortal world. There were no sightings, no stories anyone could prove, only whispers of four women dancing in moonlight, laughing like eternity belonged to them.
Because it did.