"I mean, I get why it's essential to talk to your mother, Malfoy, but I should probably not be the one going for the conversation," Hermione said, trying to persuade Draco.

"No. This concerns you. Ergo, you're coming."

"Look, why don't you just write a letter to her? McGonagall probably wouldn't allow us to leave the castle anyway," Hermione said, changing tactics. 

"We can try. I've never really liked conversing through letters. It omits several parts of the conversation. The tone of speaking, for instance."

Draco was set on them visiting Malfoy Manor to talk to his mother.  He reasoned that since before Voldemort, his mother and Bellatrix had had a close bond, if anyone knew anything about the latter, it had to be her sister. Of course, Hermione didn't want to come, but Draco was adamant on the point. His father wouldn't be at home - he knew through a letter he'd received from his mother that he was rarely home after escaping from Azkaban - so he felt it would be safe enough for Hermione there. After all, he could count upon his mother not to fire an array of curses at her as soon as they met.

Finally, at the end of a debate that closely resembled a cold war zone, Hermione conceded, and they both arrived at McGonagall's office to allow her to use the Floo network to reach Malfoy Manor. Twenty minutes of flattering cock-and-bull stories later, both of them dipped their hands into a medium-sized goblet on McGonagall's bookshelf, took them out with glittery Floo powder trapped between their fingers, and walked into the green flames that transported them to the place of Hermione's nightmares.

They emerged in the living room of Malfoy Manor, and Hermione's first impression of the place was how very dark it was inside, and how quiet. Forget a pin, you could hear a piece of paper hit the ground, and yet the quiet was too intense, too... deafening. The air itself was brimming with tension. Despite the fire burning in the fireplace, Hermione shivered with cold. Everything in the hall was perfect to the last degree - not a cushion out of place, not a speck of dust on the table, but Hermione found it too neat. The lively, cozy feel of a home was missing from the place, instead, everything over there was imposing and... alienating. Hermione could think of no better word. 

It was not a place that welcomed visitors. Especially if the visitor was someone like her.

Hermione and Draco had only gone forward a few paces when Narcissa Malfoy appeared in the hallway, her footsteps made silent by the rich black and green carpet on the floor. She saw Draco first and made a noise of exclamation, as she began, "Oh, Draco, what a lovely surprise - " but then stopped abruptly as she saw Hermione. Her face registered simultaneous anger and disgust.

"Draco, what is this filth doing here?" she asked, her voice suddenly steely cold. 

"Mother, I'll explain everything, there was no time to ask you through a letter, so I brought her here - "

"Well, you better explain now, Draco, because I don't think the Mudblood requires another reminder of her impurity - this time, perhaps, on her forehead so she can't hide it."

Draco glanced nervously towards Hermione, who shivered slightly but refused to bring her gaze down. She kept looking Narcissa in the eye fiercely, who was eyeing her with distaste, as though Hermione was dripping mud all over her thousand-galleon rug.

"Mother, let's talk in your room, it's getting cold. Granger can stay here," Draco said, gesturing for Narcissa to lead the way. As she turned, he muttered very fast to Hermione, "Don't worry, I'll handle her. You just stay here; I'll send the elf to bring in something to eat."

"That's alright, I have a feeling your mother just might be a little more problematic than my snack time," Hermione whispered back. Draco nodded and went off behind Narcissa.

As Hermione heard a door snap shut somewhere in the distance, she allowed herself to unfreeze from the spot and look around. Despite her first impression of the place, the Malfoy Manor was certainly exquisite - from the intricately designed glass chandelier that hung from a ceiling that was unusually high to the dark-brown mahogany dining table that was large enough to seat around twenty-five people, surrounded by elaborately carved high-backed chairs that resembled thrones. Splendid glass lamps and candleholders stood at regular intervals and let out a soft light. The walls were devoid of any family pictures, though there were several paintings that Hermione could only describe as dark abstract art. Any one of them would have costed around a few thousand Galleons. Really, in all its glory, the place would be resplendent.

A few moments passed before Draco emerged from the hallway with his mother. Hermione stiffened a little, already feeling on the defensive. She couldn't deny that she didn't feel wary of Narcissa Malfoy, another person who'd seen her at her most physically vulnerable state that night in this same hall. But she maintained a steady gaze and appeared cool and collected on the outside.

Draco gave her the slightest nod, indicating that he'd talked to his mother. This did little to reassure Hermione, though she did loosen her grip on her wand, which she'd been holding so tightly her knuckles were paper-white.

"I've told mother everything about your scar, Granger," Draco said, breaking the silence. "And all our theories about it. She does have something to add, I think." He looked at his mother questioningly. "I haven't heard it yet too."

"Yes, well, you are right in thinking that such a repeated occurrence cannot go without a particularly Dark curse," Narcissa spoke, her tone icy, as she looked down at Hermione with utmost disgust. "Though I'm not sure if it's not for the best."

"Mother!"

"Though I don't know for sure whether the knife in question was cursed or not," Narcissa continued unperturbed, as if there had been no interruption, "thinking backwards, I think I can say that if Bella had to put a powerful spell upon an object, especially if the curse made the object very important to her and her plans, it would most probably be - in fact, almost certainly be - that knife."

"Why? How can you say that?" Hermione asked, slightly baffled. 

Narcissa gave Hermione a long, hard stare, as if judging how much to tell in her presence. Finally, when she spoke, it was to Draco.

"You must have opened your Christmas gifts today morning. You remember what I sent you, right?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione said incredulously, but Narcissa held up a hand to silence her and looked at Draco, clearly expecting an answer.

"Well... yes, of course," Draco said, taken aback as well. "That huge sweet hamper and the pouch of Galleons."

"Do you have the pouch with you right now?"

"No, I kept it... wait, yes, I brought it along at the last moment," Draco said, reaching deep into his cloak and pulling out the little black-and-gold velvet pouch from a pocket. He held it up for Narcissa to see.

Narcissa, however, did not look at it. Instead, she continued, "Did you, by any chance, upturn it to count the Galleons I sent?"

"Of course not," Draco said, looking very confused. Hermione crossed her arms, observing the pouch.

"Then I recommend you do it now," Narcissa said.

"But I don't see - " 

"You'll see soon enough. Do as I say."

Draco walked to the sofa, sat down, and upturned the money on to the table. Hermione crossed over, looking onto the Galleons scattered over the dark wood. However, Narcissa remained standing at her place.

Draco picked up the coins, fingering their cool, embossed surface, as he counted the money. But before he could complete, though, Hermione grabbed the now empty velvet bag from the table and exclaimed, "Look, Malfoy, there's something else at the bottom!"

Draco got up to look, and he found himself staring at an exquisitely beautiful necklace, expensive even by Malfoy standards, carefully sewn onto the bottom of the fabric from the inside. He took his wand and cut the necklace free from the material with a few delicate strokes of his hand. As he pulled it out, he looked at it for a long moment. 

The necklace consisted of an oval pendant roughly the size of a Galleon, with its center set in the largest emerald Draco had ever seen. It was ringed by twelve diamonds concentric to the emerald, which in turn were ringed by a narrow strip of gold. The neckpiece consisted of a simple gold wire, the thinnest possible, delicate and elegant. The whole thing was such a beauty that both Hermione and Draco stared at it for a long time before Draco noticed that the backside of the pendant had a small note stuck to it.

Always keep this with you.     -N

"What's this, mother?" Draco asked, dazed by this turn of events.

"This, Draco," Narcissa said, walking over and taking the necklace from his hands, "is the thing that has the same worth in my life as that knife's worth in my sister's life."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, feeling somewhat in the dark. Was there something she was missing? 

Narcissa sat down and closed her eyes. "The Noble House of Black has conventionally believed that a woman is the bearer of family, the one who carries forward the family name and culture through the generations," she said. "And hence, when the daughter of the family turns of age, she is traditionally given a Black family heirloom. It roots her, identifies her as a Black after marriage. However, if the generation did not have a daughter, the heirloom is given to the son. As a means of passing forth the family legacy."

Narcissa sighed, opening her eyes, clearly remembering a time long gone. "My mother gave me this necklace when I turned seventeen," she continued, looking at the ornament endearingly. "I've held fast to it over the years. It is one of my most precious belongings ever." Hermione listened carefully, studying the necklace minutely. She felt that there was something written on the gold strip of the pendant around the diamonds, but she couldn't make out what.

"Andromeda, my sister, got a similar ring when she turned of age - a central emerald, but surrounded by small sapphires. That ring was special. On pressing at a tiny button on its underside, a small but lethal knife clicked open. My mother had worn it on her left index for as long as I remembered. But when she was - was disowned," Narcissa spoke with some difficulty, "my mother wanted to take it back from her. However, she ran away, taking the ring with her. I understand she still has it with her." Hermione finally managed to figure out what was engraved on the gold of the necklace. Toujours Pur.

"And the eldest Bella got that knife. I've never seen such a knife anywhere. The blade is silver, while the hilt is studded with the Black trademark emerald, along with rubies and small diamonds. She was the one most fiercely proud of our family name, the most devoted to the Blacks. She held on to it as dearly as her own life. After the Dark Lord, that knife was the thing she loved the most, and would've died to protect."

"Well, that does clarify things," Hermione murmured, as the Black emerald glinted in the soft lamplight, almost winking at her.