"None sing as purely as those

in deepest hell."

— Franz Kafka

The late afternoon sun descended into a burning gold, its rays dancing through the library windows. Theo and Luna had left not too long ago, Luna with a distant sort of expression as she vaguely described where they were headed and Theo looking confused and somewhat sheepish when the witch took his hand before they portkeyed out. After their goodbyes, Draco and Blaise walked outside for a private talk leaving Hermione with Pansy on the carpeted floor as Scorpius worked diligently on his latest artwork.

"And dis one is a wose like in Nana Cissa's gar-den," Scorpius said as he put his finishing touches on what looked like a red cinnamon roll with little green arms.

"It's lovely." Hermione grinned at the boy who gave her a toothy smile and snuggled into her side before returning to his drawing.

Hermione was still unsure what to make of the witch who had remained quiet during the exchange. She shifted uncomfortably upon feeling Pansy unabashedly staring at her as she attempted to busy herself with Scorpius who had his brows furrowed in concentration.

"Scorpius is fond of you." Hermione looked up. "Took a while for him to be comfortable around me," Pansy huffed. "Aside from Narcissa and Draco, he is wary of anyone else — just like his father."

Hermione was unsure how to respond, surprised she had initiated the conversation in the first place.

"I'm sure you know that Slytherins don't trust anyone, Granger. Not even amongst themselves," Pansy continued when Hermione remained unresponsive. The witch lifted her chin in that familiar way of hers and watched Hermione behind perfectly curled lashes. "But Blaise, Draco, Theo, and I have learned to stick together — not in the way you Gryffindors do, but in our own way. We might put ourselves first for the sake of self-preservation, but contrary to popular belief, we do have each other's backs. Especially against outside threats."

"And is that what I am," Hermione said calmly, unfettered by the witches' intent stare, "a threat?"

Pansy smirked. "Perhaps."

"Maybe around you a lot, that isn't a bad thing," Hermione murmured.

Pansy chuckled, leaning back languidly against the couch. "Maybe not." Pansy eyed Hermione, her eyes settling on her head. "Although, I reckon that bushy hair of yours is enough of a threat."

"As long as you keep out of it, Parkinson," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes.

"Zabini."

"Right," Hermione glanced at Mrs. Zabini, who had her arms folded and brow raised in an expectant kind of way as if she knew what was going on in Hermione's head. She probably did, Hermione reckoned. "I'll admit, I'm surprised you and Zabini were a thing. I always thought you wanted Malfoy."

Pansy scrunched up her nose and patted Scorpius on the head twice, tentatively as if he were a puppy she was afraid might bite. The little boy side-glanced at Pansy curiously before turning back to his work. "I did hang around Draco and feed his ego," Pansy exhaled after a moment.

Hermione half-smiled. "Well, you guys were dating so — "

"Oh, Salazar, no," Pansy said vehemently. "Yes, we lost our first kiss to each other but we did not date... not in a serious sense anyways. He was a political opportunity and I was infatuated with the status that came with his name. But eventually he became — is — like a brother to me. And besides," she smiled fondly, "Draco doesn't — he's a proper pureblood if there ever was one. Well-bred, always in line. Since we were kids he was controlled, quite the unflinching rule follower just like yourself. Malfoys — they pride themselves on their etiquette and control. Because when they lose control, especially for something they want?" Pansy's lips twisted into a secretive smile. "Besides, I needed someone less uptight. Blaise stays neutral, but he's observant and knows when to play his cards. He's unafraid, a good listener, and does not try to change me. I - I never understood love like that, never saw it," she said, more quietly now, "one where the other wants you not for what you could offer, but who you are."

Pansy gave Hermione a look she could not decipher. Surprisingly, Hermione found herself not uncomfortable by it.

"You ready to go, Pans?" Blaise said when he and Draco walked into the room. Pansy smiled widely at him as he helped her up. Hermione made to stand up and almost jolted in surprise when a firm hand wrapped around her elbow to help her get to her feet.

When she straightened, she caught a shared look between the couple.

"Daddy, up!" Draco smiled and ruffled his son's hair. He felt a little more relaxed now after having had a moment with Blaise. It had felt like he was back in the Slytherin common rooms again, before the Dark Lord and everything got so fucked up. Blaise had always been silent and observing, not one to impose unwarranted advice. He never probed into Draco's problems yet somehow seemed to know what was on his mind.

"So, you and Granger?" Blaise smiled smoothly as he put his hands in his pocket and leaned against the side of the safehouse. Draco did the same.

"We're mission partners," Draco answered carefully. "What about it?"

Blaise gave him a long look before grinning. "Nothing," he replied, patting Draco on the shoulder before straightening and heading back inside.

"Oh, before I go," Blaise said as he handed Hermione and Draco two metallic-like objects. Hermione bit her lip, watching Draco's confused expression as he turned the object in his hand.

"It's a muggle cellphone, mate," Blaise explained with an amused expression.

"And what am I supposed to do with this?" he scowled.

"Communication, dear," Pansy snickered. "Owl's are definitely going to be intercepted and we can't risk it. Thanks to Theo's curiosity for muggles, he found a way to acquire these communication devices. We've been using them and even I admit they're quite brilliant."

Draco's face remained skeptical. Hermione bit her lip harder when Draco flinched when Pansy flipped the phone open.

"You've got mine, Blaise, Theo, and Granger's contact details on there... "

Hermione met eyes with an amused Blaise as Draco, with pinched brows, used his pointer finger to click the buttons experimentally as Pansy instructed him from his shoulder.

" ... and there — clicking that button sends the message."

Milliseconds later, Hermione's phone vibrated.

DM: Hello.

Hermione's lips twitched.

HG: Hi, Draco.

Draco flinched again when his phone buzzed. He squinted at the screen suspiciously before pulling out his glasses and reading the message carefully. The spectacles gleamed in the light, framing cheekbones. It was an odd sight, Draco Malfoy using a muggle cellphone, Blaise Zabini smiling genuinely and Pansy Parkinson Zabini giving her a look of begrudging approval.

***

The night was clear as Draco and Hermione approached the abandoned manor. The vast structure loomed ominously under the fleshy moon as vines crept up the dilapidated walls as if searching for entry into every crevice. The walls were cracked in places but the structure seemed to hold. Silently, Hermione cast a charm to check if there were occupants in the house as Draco stood watch. There wasn't a sound except for the rustle of overgrown leaves and the scutter of mice.

"All clear," Hermione whispered.

Despite the ease in which they got through the rickety fence and the large mahogany double doors, they kept their guard up. The inside was just as eerie as the outside. The old abandoned pureblood manor held high marbled ceilings and grand staircase that split down the middle, framing a rusted family crest of the Fawley family — a Heron, colors of burnt orange and blue, now dulled and covered in thorny vines.

The True Order had sent them to the abandoned Fawley manor to get information from a ghost who resided there, Gisella Fawley. Recently, there had been attacks on a small muggle town nearby as well as sightings of Voldemort and Belltrix residing in the area for an entire week before leaving without a trace. The area was not too far from Little Hangleton, where the Gaunts had resided. It was too much of a coincidence. After some research, Draco and Hermione had found mention of the Fawley family in the journal of a wizard named Portius Plagmy. Specifically, he had described a witch named Gisella Fawley, a local gossip during the time the Gaunts had been at the height of wizarding society and a close family friend of theirs.

The manor was massive, sprawling with crystal chandeliers muted by a veil of silver dust. Hermione could only imagine the splendor it held back then, the delicate golden filigree glimmering on the walls, accenting the deep blue velvet curtains that just beyond held a view of the gardens through the floor length French windows.

"Did they mention when the ghost was last sighted?" Draco asked as they crept through one of the drawing rooms.

"A ghost that matched the descriptions of Gisella Fawley was spotted two days ago by one of Moody's scouts. From what he reported, there have been some accounts from the muggle town nearby as well that this place is haunted."

Draco nodded in acknowledgement, shining his lumos on an old painting. The condition of the painting was as expected — dusty and dull. What was curious however was the lack of a subject, as the only thing displayed was a maroon velvet backdrop.

"Draco, where — "

Hermione paused at the sight of brown eyes peeking on the side of the frame. Draco's eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?" The dark eyes narrowed back at Draco before an imperious looking bald-headed man straightened himself into the frame.

"I beg your pardon?" The man in the portrait straightened the lapels of his navy coat. From what Hermione gathered from his attire, a monocle shining on his pocket and a white kerchief, he was from some time in the 1800s.

"I said, who are you?" Draco repeated, an impassive expression on his face. The portrait scoffed, a high flush staining on his cheek before he composed himself and looked down at them both with clear offense.

"Look, we are trying to find a ghost, Gisella — "

"You dare speak to me mudbloo — "

Before Hermione could react to the slur, the man's speech was cut off when a sharp slash across the portrait tore the canvas in half. Draco stood slightly in front of her, a livid look on his face as he continued to point his wand at the cowering man.

"Say that word again and I'll make sure every portrait of yours and every book that holds any evidence of your existence is eradicated from memory." The portraits' eyes widened. "Now, answer her questions."

The man nodded frantically. Hermione cleared her throat. "We're looking for Gisella Fawley."

"You're not the first," the portrait said carefully, eyes flitting between them. Hermione and Draco shared a look.

"Who else has been looking?" she asked.

"A man with dark hair. And a woman, also dark haired but hers were wild. She had quite the temper." The portrait pursed his lips. "They came looking for Gisella — walked past me however, which I did not mind, mind you."

"Do you know what they were looking for?" Hermione's mind processed the information. If they could just find out what Voldemort was looking for, they could finally get a better idea of his plans. And then maybe they could stop all the bodies of all those children piling up.

"No. Gisella," he hesitated, "was shaken. Wouldn't speak for days."

"Is she still in hiding?" Draco asked urgently.

"Well, you're in luck," the portrait sniffed, brushing his sleeve. "It's her Deathday today."

Draco cocked his head.

"Do you hear that?" Hermione whispered. True enough, an odd melody quivered in the stale air.

"It seems to be coming from the ballroom," Draco replied, pivoting away towards the sounds, the portrait visibly relaxing as they left and entered the dark dusty halls. Moments later they walked into a vast hall, more grand than the rest. Here the music was more clear as it resounded and echoed against the cracked marbled floors. A faint blue glow pulsed through two large doors at the end of the hallway.

Once they reached the door, it swung open to reveal a pinch-faced ghost in a Victorian era gown, her eyes shrewd as she assessed them. Behind her, music echoed with what looked like hundreds of ghosts dancing and chattering.

"Invitation?" she droned, eyeing the pair.

"Malfoy," Draco said coolly. The ghost paused, pencil-thin eyebrow raising then nodded in recognition.

"And you?" she said, turning to Hermione shrewdly.

"She's my guest," Draco replied, staring down the ghost.

"I see... I'm afraid Lady Fawley's Deathday celebration has a strict dress code." The ghost sneered at Hermione with evident disdain.

"Not a problem," Draco drawled. Draco waved his wand, transfiguring his clothes into formal traditional dress robes. Hermione barely had a moment to get a full look at the clean cut of his shoulders from the way the robes framed his lithe form before he waved his wand in her direction. Hermione gasped as her clothes unraveled before her then cinched at the waist. The cotton of her shirt softened into delicate sheer fabric that encompassed her figure and billowed into a wide skirt. It was simple but finely cut. It was periwinkle.

"Her hair," the ghost interrupted, looking distastefully at her head. Just as Hermione lifted her wand, a spell on her lips, Draco caught her wrist.

"Leave it," he said without looking at her, instead, glaring at the ghost. The ghost simply sniffed and stepped aside. Draco's icy expression never left his face, only going colder when he turned his face up, looking down at the ghosts in the ballroom who whispered at their approach, his grip on her wrist firm and unfaltering.

The cavernous ballroom glowed from the light bluebell flames floating above them. Cobwebs hung daintily from the high ceiling, silvery like threads of stolen starlight. There was a kind of odd satisfaction in the peeling paint, discolored wood, and broken glass that reflected the immortal beauty of the ghosts. It felt more real somehow, seeing all the wealth and splendor reduced to nothing. Ash to ash, dust to dust.

The ghosts continued to watch as they crossed the ballroom. Their transparent forms were illuminated, emitting a pale glow that was simultaneously enchanting and threatening. She remembered when she first learned about ghosts, how wizards could leave an imprint of themselves on the earth, an impression of their soul. Attachment, that's what Minerva had told when she asked why they stayed. Hermione wondered if she died right then if she would become a ghost. She wondered if when she departed the earth, an impression of her soul would remain, searching for Harry and Ron in the Gryffindor common room, her parents chatting softly on the porch of her old home, and a bushy-haired girl lost in a pile of books in the Hogwarts library.

"I believe that's her," Draco murmured, pulling her from her thoughts. They approached the center of the room where a toad-faced ghost in extravagant 19th century robes was holding court. Her locks were curled tightly like ribbons, bobbing behind her as she sharply moved her head and gesticulated exaggeratedly.

" — and can you believe she had the audacity to show up with her lover, parading him in front of her husband who killed them," she tittered, fanning a tattered fan rapidly. "And then — oh hello," the ghost tittered, a saccharine smile on her face as her eyes fell upon Draco then processed to assess him up and down.

Draco grimaced. "Lady Fawley, I presume."

"Indeed," she replied, making her way towards them, the crowd parted for her, sending them curious looks. "And who might you be?"

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," he replied, nodding his head curtly. "And this is my date, Hermione Granger."

Hermione startled from his grasp then froze when his hand simply floated and rested heavily on the small of her back.

"Malfoy — yes," Gisella's large eyes glittered. "Granger however... from France perhaps?"

"Lady Fawley, we were wondering if we could ask you some questions," he began, ignoring her inquiry. "Given your connections, we were hoping you would indulge us."

"Well," she preened, "I am quite connected. In fact, it took a fortnight just narrowing the guest list for my Deathday Ball. As you can imagine, a lot of those men from the hunt wanted an invite. Boarish lot. And just because I indulged their captain in a little tête-à-tête that one time in the gardens — "

"You see," Hermione interrupted, "we were wondering if you have anything on the Gaunt family." Lady Fawley's face paled as much as a ghost's could.

"I'm afraid I'm unable to help," she said in a clipped voice.

"Lady Fawley, please," Hermione pushed. "There was another man and woman who came here searching for you. Dark haired."

"And what do you want?" she squeaked, her eyes frantically searching for an escape.

"Just to help," Draco replied gravely. "All we want is information and we'll leave."

Lady Fawley paused, narrowing her eyes at them. "You lot promise to stop coming back? I know I'm quite covetted, it simply cannot be helped!" She took her fan out again and placed a hand on her chest. "But the both of you seem more genuine, I can tell you see. Unlike that dark-haired wench. Her companion was a charming boy, tried his charms on but bah! I've seen the likes of him before — men and their charms thinking they can manipulate me! I gave them the information they needed after they locked me in that box with some dark object. But I'll do you a favor since it would please me if you thwarted whatever they were looking for. In exchange for a little... request of course. It is my Deathday after all."

Hermione bit her lip. "Alright," she replied before Draco could protest. It'll be fine, she tried to convey silently before he sighed and broke eye contact. "The information, Lady Fawley? We suspect it's related to the Gaunts?"

"Oh, the Gaunts, yes yes," she tittered. "Quite dreadful what happened to Corvinus Gaunt."

Gisella looked from left to right, eyes wide as she beckoned them closer.

"He liked to visit that muggle town. Specifically, establishments of... ill repute," she whispered scandalously. "And rumor has it, he fathered a bastard child!"

Draco's brows furrowed. "And the child? What happened?"

"Oh, dear. Well, no surprise, really," she shrugged. "Rumor has it that the child ended up a squib and was left with the mother's muggle family with no contact with the wizarding world whatsoever. Quite the secret they kept hidden. I mean it wouldn't do for a family notorious for their pure blood to be caught with a half-blood bastard! A squib at that!"

Draco and Hermione looked at each other, their minds clicking at the information. Whatever Voldemort was doing in the muggle town, whatever he came here for, it had to do something with the Gaunt who was a squib.

"Is that all the information they wanted? Is it all you have?" Hermione prodded.