"There must be some mistake," Hermione pleaded, "I can't be in Slytherin" "A muggle-born you say? HA! But I sense courage. So perhaps…," A hum escaped the hat's rim, " –GRYFFINDOR!" it roared. Relief washed over her like rain in a drought, but the Sorting Hat's words turned over and over again. And they nagged and itched and festered. And she picked at them until they bled.

"Amore et melle et felle es fecundissimus." Love is rich, with both honey and venom.

Narcissa Malfoy had many secrets and secrets have consequences. Her death weighs heavily on Draco. He can't quiet the voices and he can't help clawing at his eyes. He reluctantly accepts an unlikely source of comfort. *Slowburn Dramione* *first fic* I DO NOT OWN ANY PART OF THE HARRY POTTER FRANCHISE OR CHARACTERS