Three years later.
Narcissa walked briskly among the crowd of Muggles, watching and copying their mannerisms and demeanour to blend in. Her magic surged as she neared a corner and she followed the insistent summons, to the left and up the block, to the massive hospital that surged with activity like a beehive. She narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips as she studied the building, before turning abruptly and walking towards the entrance of an obscure building tucked away in the hospital’s shadow, invisible to the everyday eye.
Avalon Hospice and Assisted Care. Her lip curled. Avalon was the Ministry of Magic’s dirty little secret; a place for Muggles who had been attached or caught by a magical curse or spell that couldn’t be cured on site. The healers at St Mungo’s were already severely overworked and underpaid, and there was the assumption that Muggle physiology was different from magicals anyway. Most of the patients were in stasis, dosed with Draught of Living Death to suspend their body’s processes and functions, which slowed down the effects of what they had been poisoned, cursed, or spelled with. This also allowed the couple of healers actually interested in studying the effects of magic on Muggles time to do so at their leisure. That was a running joke among the staff at St. Mungo’s, since they could barely keep up with the work load as it was. No one was going to waste time on mere Muggles when there were so many magicals that needed their help.
Her magic was now practically vibrating with excitement as she continued down the now empty halls; she could see it in her mind’s eye as a silver fox, darting back and forth, intent on a scent only it could sense. She didn’t know if others saw their magic as a version of their Animagus form, or if it was a side effect of the ability to shift in the first place, but she soothed the anxious little vulpine with a soft murmur as they stopped in front of a door…that appeared out of nowhere.
“Interesting.” She murmured. She could sense the timed Muggle repelling charms nearby; clearly whomever had put them up didn’t want the Muggles to wander up here on their own, but had no concerns about other magicals stumbling upon this place – or recognizing his magical signature. The charms were set to shut off and on at intervals, presumably timed with the daily and nightly aides rounds so the person inside would be regularly cared for and monitored like any other patient.
Pulling her wand out, she performed a few spells to reveal any locking or alarm charms, but there weren’t any. “Idiots. So trusting. Looks like this is Dumbledore’s dirty little secret as much as the Ministry’s.” She snorted, shaking her head. “Let’s see what -or who- you were so keen to hide, old man.”
Pushing the door open, she walked in – and gasped.
He had matured, she mused, moving closer. The person lying in the bed before her was no longer the lanky 21 year old only beginning to truly broaden and fill out.
“Twelve years, and he still looks like a model for Wizarding Quarterly.” She muttered. “Damn Potter genes.” She huffed. “You passed them on to your son, by the way; Draco is too damn handsome for his own good, and he knows it. I don’t know about Harry; I haven’t had opportunity to catch a glimpse of him over the past couple of years. I meant to come chase you down that one day in Diagon, but you were already gone by the time I came back.” Something occurred to her and she waved her wand over his body, checking his vitals. “Because you were here this whole time!”