Chapter 3: Equivocations
"Unspoken words
sit between us,
weighing on our gazes."
They had bolted through St. Mungo's like lightning. Hermione, the cat, and Narcissa, the mouse. Now, they were breathing violently in Muggle London, in a discreet alleyway outside of St. Mungo's. Hermione had clenched the witch's hand when she had been about to Disapparate, tugging her towards herself. Her touch had made the woman lose her concentration, and hence her objective.
Silver eyes looked piercing. Sunlight glistened on platinum hair. Narcissa's mascara had smudged against her alabaster skin, and the contrast it made caused her to appear almost unearthly. A lone tear fell from her eye. Hermione felt a knot within her throat at its presence.
"How dare you touch me," hissed Narcissa when she came to her senses. Her pupils had dilated like a feline's.
"Sorry, I had to. You— you can't Disapparate," stammered Hermione between breaths. They were so very close. She attempted to not focus on the sensation of the woman's long, crimson nails against her palm (but it proved to be a tenacious task). "Because of your... condition," she explained. It seemed the witch before her had lost her sense of caution in her delirium.
"Let go of me!" demanded Narcissa, but she was impatient and could not stand being held by the other woman for another moment—thus, before Hermione could process her order, the blonde had given her abdomen a quick kick with her kneecap, and had freed herself from her hold.
Startled by its unexpectedness and her physical strength (Merlin's bloody beard, how was she so strong?), Hermione rolled her eyes due to the pain, and her back bent as she held her abdomen. "Ow," she groaned, while having been forced by the sharp ache to lean against the cobbled wall of the alleyway. "Was that really necessary?" she complained, peering upwards at the aristocrat.
"Do not ever appear before me," said the impossible woman in dark tones. She was taking shaky steps backwards. "Or it shall be your very last breath," she threatened, and Hermione suddenly recalled the day in Madam Malkin's when she had heard the same threat, but of course, the context was starkly different now. She would have never known then that she would be so intricately tied to her in a personal predicament, lost with her in a morass of misfortune.
"Listen," she said through gritted teeth, still buckled over and leaning against the wall. "You... need to use the floo... and I know a place nearby... a coffee shop... I'll take you there... and you don't have to ever see me again..." As the pain lessened, she began to straighten herself and said in a more relaxed voice, "And perhaps, we can have a quick conversation about this."
The pureblood still appeared unyielding and uncompromising. Utterly irate, she had furrowed her pale brows, and her cheeks had turned slightly rosy. Wayward tufts of blonde hair, shimmering under the sunlight, had fallen out of her once elegant bun, and were now trembling with the soft wind. The black smudges of her mascara around her silver eyes made her look haunting. The sight was prepossessing. Hermione had lost her breath for a moment in Narcissa's colours, and she had been led to wonder how the woman could look so beautiful even when she was such a mess.
She sighed. "Listen," she said softly, hoping the warmth in her voice would make the woman less contrary, "we're both affected by this...we're both frightened out of our wits, and I know it's probably affecting you much more intensely, since you're... well.. you know..."
Narcissa's brows were still furrowed, but now in concentration. She was listening. Hermione took this as a good sign. "Let's talk about it. The coffee shop nearby is owned by a squib. And there is a fireplace in there connected to the floo network. You need to floo, anyway." She smiled cordially, although she knew the expression wouldn't be returned. "Let's go there. How about it?" asked Hermione. She hoped the inflexible woman would agree to her proposition. Her heart drummed rapidly, and so loudly that when the blonde had spoken, she had misheard her.
"Oh," sighed Hermione, defeated. She pursed her lips and her shoulders slumped. "Well. Goodbye then, I guess," she said to silver eyes.
When she was about to turn around, she heard the deep, mellifluous voice of the witch: "I did not know you were hard of hearing, Mrs. Weasley. I said I would go."
In a quick flash, she returned her attention to the witch, and found her striding towards her. Her black heels clicked and clacked furiously against the granite ground. Each step was taken with absolute reluctance.
And her fierce gaze bore into her. And her lips were pressed into a thin line. Brows, still crumpled. Loose tendrils of light hair were swaying passionately with the wind. Morgana, help me, prayed Hermione when she had remembered to breathe. "Wait," Hermione then murmured when the woman had arrived by her side. Her brown eyes had concentrated on Narcissa's livid grey.
The pureblood arched a brow. "What is it, Mrs. Weasley?"
She had reached for her wand. Narcissa tensed when she pointed it at her face and wordlessly casted a charm. "Your eyes," whispered Hermione, gulping awkwardly as she put her wand away. "Your mascara had smudged," she quickly explained. "I just wiped it off, but I left your hair. It looks nice windblown... Reminds me of a painting I once saw of a Veela," she continued, and then suddenly worried that perhaps she had said too much.
The witch simply gawked at her as though she had two heads growing out of her neck. Hermione waited for a scathing remark. The interim silence was nerve-wracking.
"You talk incessantly," Narcissa said finally.
At that, Hermione's cheeks burned. "Sorry," she squeaked. "I-I didn't mean to. I was just fixing your- " she stuttered, self-conscious as she wondered if she had said too much again— if she looked like a fool. Hermione gulped nervously again. Meanwhile, Narcissa was expressionless. Her impenetrable mask rendered Hermione even more diffident. Oh gods, I'm an idiot, the younger witch thought to herself.
She was whirled out of mentally self-depreciating herself by Narcissa's impatient voice: "Let's go, Mrs. Weasley. I don't like to dawdle."
"Yes," answered Hermione too hastily. "Let's."
When they had arrived at the coffee shop, she thought the aristocrat was revolted by its humble interior, as her delicate nose had crinkled, and she appeared as though she was having a difficult time breathing. "It smells here...like wet dogs," said the witch with scrunched nostrils. However, when Hermione sniffed the air, she found nothing out of the ordinary, save for the smell of coffee mixed with sweets and delicatessen.
"It's your senses, Mrs. Malfoy," explained Hermione. "I've read they can become a little sensitive when you're..." expecting. She didn't know if she should say the word. "Anyway, we'll sit in the patio, then?"
One had to serve themselves in this coffee shop. Hermione read the menu pasted on a black board near the counter and asked, "What would you like?" An answer never came. She quickly twirled her head around to look back at the presently empty spot the aristocrat had occupied a moment before.
Had she left?
She wondered if the witch had already floo'd away. But when she faced the front of the shop, about to leave, she noticed a blonde head outside the cafe's windows, and let out a sigh of relief. Narcissa had not been able to withstand the odour within the shop for another second, so she had made herself comfortable outside in the patio.
Soon, Hermione had returned with two cups of tea and cinnamon buns. "I didn't know what you wanted," she said meekly as she sat before the woman.
Narcissa eyed the cinnamon bun in her plate with disinterest. She lethargically clenched her cup of tea and held it within her palms, soaking in its warmth. Hermione silently watched the woman as she briefly closed her eyes. The wind was whistling delicately and had become caressing. The weather was far too wondrous for such a terrible day. Soft light had pushed through a small hole in the red umbrella of the patio, illuminating the diamonds on their wedding rings. Hermione gazed below at the brightness emanating out of the jewel, and vivid images of Ron materialized in her mind: How could she tell him? How would she tell him? Should she tell him, seeing how this ... error would most likely be taken care of anyway? She sighed.
With pursed lips, the two women then stared at each other. Their contemplative gazes spoke volumes. Hermione gingerly took her cup from the table and cleared her voice. "So..." she began, wondering how she would commence their conversation. "The weather is nice."
Narcissa glared at her gelidly as she sipped on her tea. Evidently, she was not in the mood for asinine small talk. "Mrs. Weasley. Every second here—with you— is a great burden, and one I do not wish to carry. Let us do away with pretenses. You asked me to come here for your own peace of mind, Mrs. Weasley. Did you not?"
Having been startled by Narcissa's bluntness, the younger witch's lips trembled. "I — no —" she whispered, but her voice suddenly escaped from her hold, as she had begun to question if there had been truth to the woman's words: Had she only wished to converse with her to know if the problem would be out of her life? Had she only been concerned for herself? Had the other woman's well being truly taken primacy in her mind? Guilt-ridden and unsure of where her feelings lay, Hermione pursed her lips and her eyes darted away from the woman's sharp gaze.
Narcissa took the other woman's silence as an answer. "The... error will be dealt with as soon as possible," she said, "if that is your worry. And you shan't have to ever think about it again. I will mention it to no one, and of course, I expect the same respect in return." She paused, letting the uttered sink in. "Look at me. Listen to me carefully," she then began intimidatingly. Hermione had been looking away the entire time, unable to behold silver daggers.
Hermione slowly lifted her eyes from her cup of tea and let them fall on the aristocrat. Narcissa had been clenching her teacup in her hand with her utmost strength. Her knuckles had turned white. Silvery eyes looked frantic. "My image shall not be tarnished," she ordered. "Word of this will go to no one. You will not utter this complication to anyone— and certainly not that puerile and brash buffoon you call a husband." At the off-handed jibe, Hermione paled: Was Ron perceived by just Narcissa as a fool or did others hold a similar view? "Can I trust that you will remember this, Mrs. Weasley?" she heard the woman ask.
Complication. Error. Narcissa had carefully selected her words. Hermione recognized they were desensitizing themselves, avoiding the use of any words that touched maternal instincts. "No — I mean yes," croaked Hermione after having struggled to find her voice.
Narcissa sipped on her tea. "Good."
A heavy silence emerged. What else was there to say? Hermione self-consciously sipped on her tea and gazed out on the street adjacent to where they sat. There were many people promenading, but one caught her attention: a woman with a stroller—a small child, one that was surely no older than a month or two lay within it. From her periphery vision, Hermione noticed how Narcissa's attention had fallen on the sight as well. The more they attempted to numb themselves to the torturous matter, the more the universe would not allow them to do so. Grey eyes darted away from the scene, almost frantically. Hermione had watched them intently.
Was there life in Narcissa? Could it be called life? Did it really matter anyway, seeing how they had no other realistic option, but to abo—eliminate the issue (she quickly corrected her choice of words)?
Hermione placed her cup of tea down on the table. There was no point in such ponders. What must be done had to be done. At this, Hermione recalled the book she had bought in the bookstore earlier—that period in time, though so recent, seemed eons ago. And she wondered if she could ever be that person once more. As Hermione looked into Narcissa's silver eyes, slightly tinged red from having wept, she hoped the secret they shared would never haunt her.
It has to be done. She reached for a small pouch in the pocket of her jeans, and removed it. It was a pouch of the same quality as the one Narcissa had, one that could hold more than its perceivable size. Hermione removed the book she had bought earlier today from there. She placed it between herself and the other witch. The book's cover was black and solemn. Their gazes had focused on a particular part of the title—Destroying Rather than Nurturing.
"I understand that you may find it wearisome to go to a Muggle clinic, since you are not... accustomed to the Muggle world, though I can accompany you to one if you would wish—nevertheless, if you would rather not go, there is a chapter in this book... that you may find useful," whispered Hermione, who had similarly found it necessary to choose her words with deliberation.
Narcissa nodded slowly. Hermione watched her hand pull the book closer to herself, and noted how her long, slim fingers had brushed against the word, Destroying. When her grey eyes had peered up, Hermione noticed them shine, and knew they were restrained tears—knew that whatever she felt, Narcissa felt ten-fold.
"I'm sorry," whispered Hermione, unsure as to whether she was sorry for herself, Narcissa or—
She had abruptly gulped her thoughts, for they had travelled near a place that upon entry would have elicited dreams of a girl with silver eyes and unruly brown hair.
Meanwhile, lips the color of wine had shivered from the innuendos in Hermione's apology.
Posted this without looking over it again for errors (as I don't have that sort of time - must finish an assignment!). Writing this chapter was harder than usual. I wanted to capture their emotions and reactions with accuracy, but something with it was amiss the first time I had written it, so I had to re-write this chapter more than once. I hope my efforts were not in vain and I've made how they feel realistic, as I don't want their reactions to be out of character. So, what do you guys think? Your thoughts help me know if I'm on the right track, so feel free to leave a review! Criticism (that is, constructive criticism) is not minded. :)
Thanks for reading this and sticking with it so far!
