Narcissa was wrong. This wasn't a farce or even some obligation. Her afternoon with Miss Granger at the park was, at the very least, tolerable and, when she dared to admit it, even enjoyable at times.
They began as they had the last time they'd met for an afternoon. There were snide remarks bandied back and forth. Narcissa wouldn't let Granger forget her tardiness, while the Muggleborn replied with thinly veiled comments that reminded Narcissa that she had been the one to ask for a meeting. If she wanted to leave, then she was more than welcome to do so. Yet, both women kept walking together into the park and through the avenues of finely manicured gardens.
From that uncomfortable beginning, they shifted into neutral small talk – what they'd been doing since they last met, plans for the week ahead, the surprisingly fine weather that day. Narcissa embellished most of her answers, of course. This girl didn't need to know that she spent her days walking the grounds, then lounging in the library, then rereading parts of old books she'd read dozens of times before, then drinking a glass (and lately multiple glasses) of wine by the fire and feeling a bit sorry for herself before finally succumbing to sleep at some ungodly hour.
To Miss Granger, she must seem like a busy socialite, what she'd always been and planned on becoming again. Her mind balked at the thought. Here she was, taking a stroll through a Muggle park with Hermione Granger instead. It must be obvious that she no longer had a choice regarding where to be and with whom.
Then finally, the two women sat on one of the benches overlooking a small lake and began discussing To the Lighthouse. Narcissa watched as Granger's eyebrows jumped up in surprise when she made her first comment regarding the novel's form and style. Yes, there it was – the telltale sign that revealed to her how little the person across from her expected from her mind. She'd grown used to the expression over the years. Whenever Lucius wandered away from her at Ministry functions, she would often surprise an official with her thoughts on the current political question being discussed. Lucius never minded it. In fact, he had often come to her for advice and a clear path forward when he couldn't find a way through the bureaucratic red tape.
Miss Granger's expression, however, quickly changed. Rather than ridicule and mild disgust that a pureblood woman held an opinion, she was instead met with excitement. The girl looked as if she'd just found the formula for translating a rune that continued to evade her. When Narcissa finished speaking, there was a moment of silent awe on Granger's part and smug contentment on Narcissa's. Then, Miss Granger smiled and launched into her own thoughts on the novel and her response to Narcissa's comments.
They discussed which characters resonated with them the most and which scenes really lifted off the page. Hermione had brought her copy with her, and Narcissa smiled to herself when she pulled it out of her bag. It was covered in underlines and dogeared pages.
"Were you reading this book or interrogating it, Miss Granger?"
Hermione chuckled. "You obviously don't know me well enough, Ms. Black. I interrogate every book I read."
Narcissa could believe that. As she watched the girl hunched over her copy, looking for a particular scene she had just referenced, she recalled how often Draco returned from school, complaining that the Mudblood Granger girl had once again bested him in his classes. Watching the girl now, Narcissa understood how Granger had gained her reputation as "the brightest witch of her age." Some people were gifted with intelligence and barely had to lift a finger in order to show their brilliance. Miss Granger probably had some of this in her, but beyond that, there was a voracious desire to learn and – perhaps most importantly – to prove herself.
Narcissa had grown up knowing her place and her stature in their world. She didn't have to prove anything when she went to Hogwarts. She was a Black, a pureblood, a Slytherin, and beautiful. These were facts that she luxuriated in and took advantage of when necessary. When she was young, this made life a breeze. She hardly needed to try and already the world was ordered as it should be.
Now, as a woman with all her roles behind her – daughter, sister, wife, and mother – she wondered what lied beneath the facts she'd lived behind. She continued to watch the young girl next to her, flipping through pages and pushing back her mess of a mane when it got in the way. Wasn't that what the novel was really about and why it resonated with her so strongly? Beyond the family and the war and the loss, there sat a solitary maternal figure in the center, barely understood or understanding and still searching for her own identity.
Narcissa felt a knot settle in the back of her throat, and she quickly looked off in the opposite direction. She focused on a small child, feeding a bird with his lunch leftovers. Thankfully, Granger remained lost in the words on the page. Narcissa felt her hands trembling, and she gnawed at her lip slightly.
"Here it is!"
Narcissa sensed Granger turn fully towards her and slide the book onto her lap. As she slid it, however, some of Narcissa's long hair fell onto the pages. Granger delicately picked up the lock of blonde hair, moved it onto the robes stretched over her thigh, and pointed out the passage after slightly coughing. Narcissa lifted one eyebrow and looked over at the girl, whose features were caught somewhere between a frightened smile and a grimace. Slowly sliding her gaze away, Narcissa began reading the passage and recognized it as one she too had enjoyed. She nodded to herself and looked back up at Granger, who was already waiting for her reaction.
"Yes, this section was one of my favorites." At that, the Muggleborn seemed to come fully into her own.
"How could it not be? I mean, just notice what she's trying to get at. It's that difficulty in communicating your deepest thoughts and desires and then the difficulty of trying to know what those are in someone else." Narcissa watched as the girl's eyes brightened with each word, and she couldn't help but internalize some of that energy. "It's something we all deal with, but that's also incredibly difficult to articulate. Yet, it's all right there." Granger pointed at the book still resting on Narcissa's lap.
"Yes, the author does possess an uncanny ability to write what we usually only feel."
Granger nodded emphatically and whispered, "Exactly. Exactly."
"I think how the writing style seems to slide almost seamlessly from thought to thought only helps with that."
"Stream of consciousness," Granger declared. When Narcissa gave her a puzzled look, she continued. "That's the name of the style you're referencing. She and a few other authors during the period pioneered it, although there is some disagreement as to whether earlier works of literature exhibited a similar style."
"I suspect the section about the passage of time and the old family home would be a good example of stream of consciousness."
"Yes, absolutely – a very advanced version of it."
"Touching upon that, I wondered about the particular period this novel is set. There's references in that section to a war." Narcissa focused on keeping her voice even during the following exchange. This question was the main reason she asked to meet with Miss Granger, and it may bring up subjects that she still wanted to stay well away from.
"The Great War. That's what Muggles call it."
"Yes, that's beginning to trigger something in my memory." Narcissa remembered some veiled references amongst the older men in her family to that time. "I believe there was some disagreement in the Ministry during the period as to what our role should be."
Miss Granger nodded. "Minister Evermonde passed legislation specifically forbidding wizards from getting involved. He thought doing so would violate the Statute of Secrecy and endanger our world."
"I'm sure it would have," Narcissa intoned, then watched as Miss Granger seemed about to respond. She opened her mouth a couple times to begin, but then she stared off and spoke without looking at her.
"I think there are ways to help Muggles without putting our existence at risk. Minister Spencer-Moon's legislation and partnership with Winston Churchill during the Second World War only proves that."
Miss Granger turned slowly back towards Narcissa. It seemed like she wanted to give Narcissa a withering gaze that further enhanced the fact that – yes, she had proved her point. She held an opinion and backed it up with evidence, and Narcissa knew she couldn't argue with that, however much she'd like to put the know-it-all in her place.
Rather than relish her victory, Granger changed the subject.
"Have you read any of Virginia Woolf's other novels?"
"No, I haven't."
"Ah, you should. Some of them get even more complex and fluid than this one. What other Muggle literature have you read? I'll admit to being surprised when you first proved that you enjoy it to some extent."
Narcissa smirked at the thought of that moment, and it was a welcome memory after Granger had momentarily bested her during their conversation.
"Mostly the older works. Shakespeare, Donne, Chaucer, and all kinds of mythology, of course. It appears at some point we had a Muggle literature aficionado in the family. I happened upon those books by chance, while browsing the shelves in our family home. My parents took a closer glance at what I was reading, then swifty forbade it. Of course, at that point, I'd already become thoroughly addicted, especially to Shakespeare."
"Yes," Granger said through a smile. "He can have that effect."
"And how did you get interested in Muggle literature?"
She watched as Miss Granger's smile faltered for a moment and a blush crept onto her cheeks. "Well, I am a Muggleborn," she said, obviously trying to deflect the question for some reason. Now, Narcissa was interested. She smelled blood in the water and was ready to find its source.
"Really? I wasn't aware of that, Miss Granger. Please do tell me more about this new information."
Granger gave her an exasperated look in response to her obvious sarcasm. When she realized that she wasn't going to let this go, Granger took a deep breath in and began.
"I had an ex, who studied literature at university. The shop was actually a joint venture. We partnered up to open it. We broke up last year though. That's how I know a bit about Muggle literature. Before that, I focused on wizarding books."
Narcissa suddenly remembered Andromeda's joke regarding how apologies can swiftly turn into leverage. It took another meeting, but here she was, hearing the romantic mishaps of perhaps the most famous witch of their time. Narcissa, of course, made sure not to show her overt interest, but nevertheless decided to dig a little deeper and see what else she could weasel out of the girl.
"Interesting. A wizard who decides to study literature at, I presume, a Muggle university. You don't often hear such things."
Granger's blush deepened, but Narcissa kept an innocent look on her face that she'd perfected back at Hogwarts. She thought of Shakespeare again now: Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it. This poor Gryffindor didn't stand a chance.
"N-No," Granger stammered. Then, Narcissa watched as she closed her eyes and just brazened through the rest. "She was a Muggle."
Narcissa felt her eyes widen against her conscious will. Granger seemed to notice it too because she shifted uneasily and, after registering Narcissa's shocked expression, looked down at her hands, which fidgeted.
Only a moment ago, Narcissa had been ready to strike, neck coiled back and her posture at its most rigid. Now, she felt herself deflate, and her blood turn to ice. In her past, there had been many secrets she and Lucius had used against the people who had blocked their way. Relationships with Muggles were always a definite deathblow to someone's career, especially if that someone was a pureblood.
Narcissa often learned such things in ways not unsimilar to this situation right now. For some unknown reason, acquaintances trusted Narcissa enough to divulge their secrets over tea or a stroll through the gardens of Malfoy Manor. Perhaps, once people believed they'd bypassed her ice queen exterior, they somehow thought they'd also found a confidante. Most were very wrong, of course. Outside of the family, Narcissa held no mercy for another person's secrets. Knowing the damage such a relationship could wreak, she would pass along the information to her husband, and he wielded his political power against that person. In this way, they'd shifted the members of the Wizengamot, replaced department heads in the Ministry, and put the pressure on where and when they could. In so doing, they had prepared the Ministry for Lord Voldemort's return without even realizing it. The thought made Narcissa shudder, knowing how active a role she and her husband had played in the Dark Lord's ascendancy.
Yet, it wasn't the blood of Granger's ex that struck a chord with Narcissa, but rather it was the gender. Of all the secrets she'd been told over the years, sexuality of course came up now and then. These secrets and double lives, however, were never passed along to Lucius. He had no right to them, she would think to herself, and she'd concocted a hundred reasons why he never needed to know about them. Beneath it all lied a much more selfish reason why she never forwarded these confessions to her husband.
She hardly ever admitted that reason to herself. She never had the chance to, really. Her life had been arranged and decided for her, and she fell almost perfectly into her role as pureblood bride to the catch of the time. Nevertheless, something inside her tensed whenever she allowed her mind or her spirit to wander too far away from those prescribed duties and dogmas. She casted many of her internal debates in terms of politics in peacetime, but a much more personal and longer-lasting debate raged within her as well. Her last afternoon with Granger touched upon those public, political conflicts, while Granger's confession right now touched upon the personal.
The awkward silence continued between them. Granger obviously wanted to end it multiple times, but seemed unable to find a route out of it. Narcissa swallowed down her own unearthed thoughts.
"I also wondered if you had any recommendations for further reading, Miss Granger."
The younger witch's shoulders immediately relaxed, although Narcissa could almost sense how her Gryffindor pride balked from the obvious subject change. It was easier to leave things unsaid, as Narcissa knew all too well, and Miss Granger seemed to recognize this as well. She quickly reached into her bag and pulled out a few books.
"I brought a couple options with me. I wasn't sure if you were interested in more prose or if you'd like to switch into poetry. Since you mentioned enjoying Donne and mythology, I'm glad I brought the poetry." She smiled stiffly and held out the two books.
Narcissa took both in her hands, but hardly glanced at the novel. The cover for the book of poetry caught her eye, much as To the Lighthouse had. A mythic deity seemed to emerge from green shrubbery, while another being seemed to call it forth, both into existence and to the lush field in the background. Narcissa was reminded of the mythologies she'd consumed in her youth and instantly gravitated towards this book. Miss Granger seemed to note her interest.
"Looks like you're leaning towards the Keats?"
"The Keats? Is that a name or a movement?"
"A name," Granger replied, through a still-nervous chuckle. "John Keats. He was part of the Romantic movement." Narcissa's nose must have scrunched up, as she knew it was wont to do when she registered displeasure, because Granger explained. "Romantic with a capital R. They're not all love poems or anything like that. Romantic means," she paused, searching for the right words apparently, "An interest in nature and retold myths and sometimes connecting those myths to reality. I'm not explaining this well. There are some Romantic poets that are Gothic. I'm sure you know what that means - dark, stormy, sometimes scary. Keats at times does that, but most of the time, it's about...something else, something deeper. It's one of those things that you'll understand when you read it, explaining it might kill it actually...as much as I hate to admit it."
Narcissa grinned slightly, knowing from reputation how obsessed this girl was with final conclusions and real solutions. She'd do better as a Ministry official than a literary critic, Narcissa thought.
"I'll try this then."
"Good! I'm glad I brought it. He doesn't really follow Woolf in any logical way, but I don't know. When I was looking through my bookshelf, I felt like you might be interested."
"This book is yours?"
Granger nodded.
"Well, take it back for now, and I'll visit your shop and buy my own copy. You've already given me one book; I can't accept another, especially from your own collection." A Black never borrowed.
"No, I insist, Ms. Black. I already have too many books in my tiny apartment. I should start finding better homes for them."
"What makes you think my home would be a better one?"
The brunette witch gazed directly back at the blonde, then after a few moments, she shrugged. "Just a hunch."
Rather than respond, Narcissa began flipping through the book and noticed writing in the margins and pieces of paper seemingly stuck to certain pages.
"Oh! That's one of the good things about getting a used book of poetry," Granger said. "My favorite poems have post-its stuck to them, so if you'd like, you can start with those, then explore."
Narcissa flicked one of the small papers with the tip of her forefinger, realizing these must be the "post-its" she was referring to.
"Thank you, Miss Granger," Narcissa finally said. Then, before she even realized she was speaking again, "Would you care to meet again next week? To discuss Mr. Keats, I mean."
If the girl's raised eyebrows and slackened jaw were any indication, she hadn't expected another invitation. Before Narcissa could second guess herself, however, Miss Granger immediately answered, "Yes, of course. Same time?"
"Yes, my Sunday afternoons are usually free." All my afternoons are free, but you don't need to know that.
"Here again? Or would you rather meet somewhere on the wizarding side?"
"No," Narcissa answered, perhaps a little too quickly. "Here is fine. Or perhaps that tea room, for a change of venue?"
The girl nodded. "We'll do the tea room then."
"And do try to be punctual next week, Miss Granger," Narcissa declared half-seriously.
Hermione smiled much as she had when Narcissa first began discussing To the Lighthouse. It brightened her otherwise dull, brown eyes, Narcissa noticed.
"I'll try," Hermione finally said.
"Until then." Narcissa stood and slowly walked away from their bench, moving amidst the Muggles strolling through and towards the apparition point she'd found earlier. From a distance, she heard the girl's repeated, "Until then," and tried not to interrogate the anticipation she already felt with the weight of poetry in her hands and the thought of next week's meeting in her mind.
A/N: All the comments and reviews were fantastic last time, and I really appreciate everyone who takes the time to leave their thoughts. It gives me a better sense of what you all like and want some more of. Like I've said before, I'm creating this as I go, so the encouragement sure does help. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! And leave a review if you'd like!
