Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter in no way, shape or form.
This is just a little thing that popped up in my head, a cute little one shot.
Are you having nightmares again?
The slightly clumsy clink of cup set on saucer by a shaky hand is the only answer Narcissa received from the girl sitting opposite her, hardly a surprise. It is the only answer the witch needs.
I'm sorry, Narcissa responded to the silence.
Moving her pawn forward one space on the chess board, Hermione kept her eyes directed downwards, apparently focusing on the game. It had become a peculiar ritual, this.
Nearly a year ago, after the destruction of Hogwarts in the war and the death of the Dark Lord, all had been in ruins. Not the least of which included Narcissa's personal life. With her husband barely pardoned and her son working out of the country, home had become cold despite the initial warmth and relief of surviving the battle intact. As a result, the blonde witch had taken to sneaking out and frequenting a little known café in the corner of Diagon Alley. After a month of nearly daily patronage and tea, she was found out.
Perhaps found out was a bit too strong. She was seen rather, by none other than the brightest witch of the age. Narcissa breathed into her teacup at the memory, the way her heart had sped in reaction to the witch who once graced her floor. Shame flushed her cheeks and made it impossible for her to finish reading the article she had begun that day, the mere eye contact that she had made with the girl leaving her fleeing the café.
Narcissa had avoided the place for the next week. That is, until she once again felt claustrophobic in the cloyingly large empty spaces in the Manor, so filled with awful memories.
The café was hers for an hour, until Hermione appeared once more. This time, however, Narcissa held her ground, though she avoided looking up from her paper at all costs. The girl chose a table on the opposite side of the little café, seated with a scone and a book.
Even with her eyes glued to the Prophet, the blonde witch could make out Hermione's distant outline. Weeks passed in this manner.
Becoming slowly comfortable with the ritual, Narcissa noticed when one afternoon, Hermione did not appear to take up her adopted table. Try as she might, flipping through her paper and eating more than one muffin, the woman could not keep her eyes from drifting to the abandoned table and wondering.
Three days passed in Hermione's absence, and with each Narcissa's curiosity grew. Where was the girl that had become a bit of a fixture in the space of mere weeks? Her return was celebrated with a scone; Narcissa made certain that the waitress understood that Hermione was not to know who had sent it to her table.
How funny, that she thought a scone could suffice as an apology. An apology? The thought startled the witch as she turned it over and examined it before tucking it away for later. Apologies were for the inferior.
The following day, Narcissa found to her surprise that Hermione was already at her table, reading. In general, the blonde witch came sometime around brunch, and the girl sometime after lunch. Yet here they both were, just barely before brunch time, and on Narcissa's table sat a scone.
She could not make eye contact, but when she was certain Hermione was not looking, Narcissa glanced up and saw that the girl was wearing the vaguest sort of smile. How pretty.
Oh dear, another thought to be put away for later.
Thus began another ritual, each attempting to outdo the other. Some days, Narcissa would arrive first and be sure that a scone was left for Hermione, and other days it would happen in the opposite fashion. It was a balm on a wound that Narcissa had yet to bandage, and she somehow suspected that it might be that way for Hermione as well.
There was a special day, one which might have been any other day but for the extra little gift sitting beside the scone on Hermione's table. Narcissa had arrived precisely as the little café opened that day, just to be sure that she would arrive first. The book was nothing very special, merely a good piece of wizarding literature that she had enjoyed in the past. She had purchased a new copy on a whim and chosen to leave it for the girl who was always reading.
The light in Hermione's eyes when they fell on the book was surprise and delight, and Narcissa allowed eye contact. Just this once, she promised herself.
Thank you, Hermione had said to her, the first spoken words since the beginning of this…these encounters. Their rituals.
Narcissa nodded and mirrored to the girl that same vague smile that had painted Hermione's features after that first scone. She quite liked the girl's smile.
As ever, Hermione could not let things go unbalanced, the very next day finding a well-loved copy of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' sitting on Narcissa's table. Muggle literature. Narcissa was taken aback at first, and then made a very large step by reading, and an even larger by enjoying.
Thank you, she said to Hermione, returning the familiar words.
The literature exchange continued, taking place of scones, as both women were avid readers. They became sort of compatriots in the arts, sharing the best bits of their own world.
There came a day with no book on Narcissa's table, and Hermione was not yet there. Sitting alone, and bookless, the witch drank her tea slowly and wondered at the girl's absence. She wouldn't say she was worried. Even if she was. She wouldn't say it. Or perhaps not worry but impatience, the sort where you cannot wait for something that has become a staple of everyday life.
Hermione arrived with a chess board, and Narcissa was surprised as she set it on her table and took the seat opposite her.
Hello, Hermione started shyly, placing a leather pouch beside the wooden board. Would you like to play?
Very well, the witch responded with less uncertainty than she had felt. And so they played.
Each day brought a game with the funny little wooden pieces that did not look anything like wizard's chess. Narcissa suspected that this was Hermione's very own muggle made board, and it made it all the more unique.
With the game came the small talk, though mostly of books. Narcissa admitted to enjoying the literature, as Hermione thanked her for the wizarding books she had not yet encountered. Then silence, and the silence was comfortable.
There was a day in which Hermione appeared looking worn, the dark shadows under her eyes signaling a lack of sleep. A lack of restfulness. Narcissa said nothing until the shadows deepened, and on the fourth day of this she asked, Have you been sleeping well?
Hermione remained silent for two turns, moving her pieces without so much as a peep and Narcissa ceased expecting an answer.
I have been having nightmares. Hermione admitted this in a small voice, and it brought the other witch back to the place of shame and guilt, to where the girl was on her Manor floor.
I'm sorry, said Narcissa in an equally small voice that drew Hermione's shocked gaze up with a jerk.
Hermione appeared to grow healthier. Narcissa's chess game improved. The small talk of literature returned.
But every couple of weeks, Hermione's eyes would darken again, and Narcissa would worry. And she would apologize after asking, Are you having nightmares again?