Steam whooshed into the air, and the clank clank of the metal pitcher against the table rang across the usual soft roar of her local coffee shop. Hermione watched for a moment as a barista poured the milk from the silver pitcher into the small coffee cup. She quickly collected herself again and kept taking notes she'd been gathering from her most recent find at the Wizarding Library.
Over the past month, Hermione had continued amassing notes and observations and conclusions on a variety of subjects, all of which revealed the flaws in the Ministry's current plans to assimilate magical creatures and disenfranchised wizards and witches back into society. She had ceased questioning her actions and just allowed herself to follow the breadcrumbs. She'd begun to see it as research for its own sake, something to occupy her mind when she wasn't working at the bookstore or reading for pleasure.
At the thought of reading for pleasure, Hermione's eyes wandered to her copy of The Age of Innocence resting on the table. She checked her watch and saw it was a quarter 'til two. She smiled to herself in anticipation and wondered what Narcissa would think when she saw her there early for once.
It had become something of a competition since their first outing together to see who would arrive at their chosen spot first. Narcissa invariably won and celebrated her victory by glaring at Hermione, while chiding her on her continued tardiness. Today, however, things wouldn't go her way. She'd decided to head to their coffee shop a couple hours early and get some research done before their meeting. Then, it would be practically impossible for the regal witch to look down in disdain on her frazzled late arrival. Hermione's mouth again quirked at the thought.
Continuing down the rabbit trail, Hermione wondered when she began thinking of her as Narcissa and not Ms. Black. Although she'd hate to admit it, she probably began shedding those preconceived notions and barriers quite early on in their meetings.
She remembered the week they met to discuss Keats's poetry, and she still couldn't help but marvel in memory at how engrossed Narcissa was in the poems. While Hermione kept on harping about the socioeconomic culture of the period and Keats's biography, Narcissa kept redirecting her to the poetry itself with a "Yes, but…"
"Like that's a reference to Ruth from the Judeo-Christian tradition. Her story is actually quite interesting because––"
"Yes, yes, Miss Granger," Narcissa's clear voice cut in, clearly done with a conversation on origins and facts. "But have you noticed the actual words he uses? The sounds?"
Hermione tried to play off her confusion, but failed. "I'm not sure what you mean."
"Do you read poetry aloud?"
"No…" Narcissa's eyes widened slightly at the response. She angled her body closer to Hermione's across the small tea table, and Hermione noticed her perfume – something floral and surprisingly sweet.
"Look here." She pulled Hermione's copy of Keats between them and pointed out a passage that came earlier in the poem they were discussing. "Read that stanza to yourself."
Hermione did as directed and read silently the stanza Narcissa's red manicured finger pointed to. "...Okay? It's the part about wine. He wants to drink some."
"Very good, Miss Granger. Your reading comprehension is off the charts, as usual." Hermione kept her gaze on the page, but rolled her eyes at the woman's sarcasm – a favorite form of ridicule, it seemed. "Yes, he wants to drink wine," Narcissa continued. "But how else do you know that? Or rather how else do you feel that?"
Hermione looked at the woman quizzically, obviously getting frustrated with how she failed to grasp what Narcissa was getting at. She seemed to notice this and decided to help the girl.
"Listen," she said. Then, Narcissa began reciting the verses.
"O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth."
Hermione tried to listen and find what Narcissa was pointing out, but on the third line, Hermione's eyes gravitated toward the woman's lips. They seemed to wrap around the words and savor them, just as the narrator in Keats's poem hoped to savor a glass of wine.
"Understand now?" Narcissa asked, her voice back to its usual tone.
Hermione felt startled, and her eyes kept bouncing back and forth between the page and Narcissa's mouth.
"I think so," Hermione finally managed to say, through a narrow windpipe. "The actual sounds of the words are supposed to mimic the act he's describing?"
When Narcissa's eyes brightened, Hermione knew she was on the right track. "Exactly. All those b's said aloud makes you taste the words on your lips and subsequently enhances that taste sense the poet is trying to convey in the actual content of the verses."
Hermione wondered how many times she'd mention "tasting" words on her lips, and she felt a blush begin to creep onto her cheeks. The blonde witch seemed not to notice, however, since she began rifling through her book's pages again, looking for another good example.
"Mr. Keats seemed to know exactly which words work best for his poetry and perfectly chose them for each moment. Some words and sounds are better for the task than others, you see."
She continued talking about how the ode "To Autumn" also exhibited this, but Hermione's thoughts moved elsewhere.
She wondered what Keats would think of a name like Narcissa.
Hermione had whispered it to herself again and again that night, tying the sibilant sounds to silks, snakes, and swift sea currents. And that's how the blonde pureblood witch she read books with transformed from Ms. Black to Narcissa...in Hermione's head, at least.
Hermione forced herself from her memories. The woman in question would probably be walking in any minute, and it wouldn't be wise to spend the few moments right before her arrival pondering the poetry of her name.
She snapped her pen onto the notebook a couple times, then tried to focus on the notes she had been taking before letting her mind wander. Yet, once that door had opened, Hermione found herself walking swiftly through it and remembering countless little moments during their meetings.
Narcissa's natural intelligence had initially caught her off guard, but as their discussions progressed, Hermione began to take it for granted. Each new observation that had escaped Hermione's notice only drew her closer to the blonde woman. She wondered how this pureblood witch could so voraciously consume and enjoy Muggle literature. Her parents forbade it, she knew, and Hermione couldn't help but feel awestruck at the passion this woman seemed to feel for something she'd always been told was beneath her as a witch from the illustrious Black family.
Then, that passion itself surprised Hermione. She was prepared for stoic, one-sided conversations, and oftentimes their meetings would begin with a good ten minute period where Narcissa would play the pureblood society lady, listening politely and slowly sipping her tea or surveying the surrounding scene. When the tea was finished, however, it seemed to thaw the woman sitting across from her. Hermione then realized that perhaps she just needed time to relax. Some people could easily jump into a dialogue with another person, while others needed to wade into the waters slowly, gauging the temperature. Once she felt comfortable, she'd share insights like the one about tasting Keats's poetry or about how that passage in Madame Bovary was actually much better in French or the incredible accuracies in Chekhov's depiction of upper class life in his short stories. She would silence Hermione's contextual backgrounds and character maps and plot curves with these small moments and deep observations. Hermione could do nothing but absorb the treasures her point of view seemed to automatically gravitate towards.
While Narcissa spoke, Hermione would also watch the changes in her facial features, as she transformed from Ms. Black to Narcissa. Through watching the changes, she learned the angles of each feature itself. Her cheekbones, for instance, sat high upon her face and reddened slightly whenever she got too caught up in an observation. Her eyes were blue, but if you looked closely, you could see small flecks of brown. Hermione thought it was her Black blood trying to peek through. Her nose seemed perfectly straight, but when they sat on their bench in the park during one meeting, Hermione caught her profile. She noticed a small yet sharp angle on the slope of her nose that added yet another aristocratic note to her appearance. She thought of that picture in the Sacred Twenty-Eight book she'd got on loan from the library. Narcissa still possessed her mother's coloring, but as an adult, her features grew into their Black origins and seemed carved from stone with a rough chisel.
Hermione then recalled the first time she noticed her favorite of Narcissa's features.
"Come on," Hermione goaded the woman sitting on the park bench next to her. "Let's act out this exchange. It's too perfect not to."
"No, Miss Granger. I won't act a scene from a play in a public Muggle park. I have limits."
"Weren't you the one who said literature was supposed to be read aloud or else you miss the best parts?"
"I was speaking of poetry then, not drama."
"But plays are supposed to be acted out. That's why they're written!"
Narcissa narrowed her eyes at Hermione, who just smiled innocently and hoped she would cave in. Hermione watched as Narcissa bit her bottom lip, and she internally beamed. Hermione knew this was a sign that she was at least considering the idea.
"From which line?" Narcissa asked.
"From where Gwendolen enters the scene," Hermione replied, trying to keep the victory out of her voice.
"I'll play Gwendolen then. You can play Cecily."
They launched into one of the final exchanges of Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest. The two main female characters exchanged a volley of sly insults and casual digs. Both Hermione and Narcissa didn't miss a beat, perfectly capturing the fast pace of wordplay and one-liners during an afternoon tea between two society women and romantic rivals.
In a clipped posh accent different from her usual deep melodious tones, Narcissa delivered the final repartie: "You have filled my tea with lumps of sugar, and though I asked most distinctly for bread and butter, you have given me cake. I am known for the gentleness of my disposition, and the extraordinary sweetness of my nature, but I warn you, Miss Cardew, you may go too far."
Hermione tried to stay in character and keep the scene going, but besides the hilarious lines themselves, Narcissa's scandalized look and her exaggerated diction made her break character and laugh outright. Hermione's laugh surprised Narcissa out of character as well, and she seemed to contract Hermione's mirth.
That's when she heard Narcissa's laugh for the first time. It was low like her voice and seemed to shoot from her gut straight through her parted lips, where it tumbled out like a current over smooth stones. Hermione had always been half-ashamed of her own loud cackle, and Narcissa's quiet yet solid laugh drew her notice. Then, Narcissa couldn't stop smiling. Her mouth, stained with a red tint, contrasted against the white of her teeth and mesmerized Hermione.
"It is rather good," Narcissa said through her low chuckles.
"You're rather good," Hermione responded before thinking. Narcissa drew back slightly in surprise, and her smile faltered. "Your acting, I mean." Hermione quickly added. "I think you may've missed your calling, Ms. Black."
Narcissa's smile widened now, although her eyes held a new shyness in them that Hermione had not yet seen before. She gazed upon Hermione for a few moments, seeming to enjoy her continued soft laughter. Finally, she said, "I think I may've missed a great many callings, Miss Granger."
A surprised look came over the blonde witch's face almost instantly, and Hermione realized that those words – like her own earlier – perhaps weren't meant to be uttered aloud.
Narcissa quickly stammered her way through a hasty wrap-up of their conversation and a farewell. She left Hermione sitting confused on the bench, and it was only after receiving Narcissa's owl a couple days later that Hermione realized they hadn't discussed their next reading.
That was last week. Now, Hermione sat waiting for her again with the book they agreed on over owl post. As the memory faded, both Narcissa's laughter and her shocked expression did not. Hermione had pondered what it meant almost to the point of obsession, but ultimately realized that Narcissa was a puzzle she may not be able to crack. Like with textbooks and academic essays, Hermione possessed an ability to read into a person's character, their motives, and their deeds. That ability was perhaps her greatest asset during the war, when her two friends' minds were often so clouded by unbridled Gryffindor passion. Narcissa, however, was beyond Hermione's mental powers, which simultaneously frustrated and attracted her.
Like her research into the legislature regulating the lives of magical creatures, Hermione saw her interest in Narcissa Black as a hobby. She would continue to follow the clues to her character and see where they led. While her magical research seemed to be leading toward particular findings, however, her research into Narcissa Black seemed circuitous, forever turning back upon itself like a snake biting its own tail.
To steady herself after these mental wanderings, Hermione again tried to continue her research notes, and after a few minutes, she seemed to finally get into her groove again.
She gasped in delight when a connection clicked in her head, and she rushed to set it down on paper, her handwriting an almost unintelligible scrawl in her haste. She was just about to get to the end of her thought when––
"Early, Miss Granger? I didn't think you had it in you."
Hermione's head shot upward, and she felt her hand slip and her pen scratch into the paper at the effect of what she saw.
Narcissa Black was wearing Muggle clothes.
Over the weeks, Hermione had grown used to the odd looks sent her companion's way whenever they entered a tea room or walked through a park. She had noticed multiple times when the blonde witch had grimaced at the unwanted attention, not in shame but rather in annoyance. Perhaps she'd become annoyed enough and decided to try out a Muggle look. That's the only possible explanation Hermione could come up with because, before this moment, Hermione could have never foreseen that this pureblood witch would undergo the supposed debasement that wearing Muggle clothing might entail.
Most wizards usually bungled their attempts at Muggle clothing, wearing mismatched styles or too many layers or too little. Narcissa, however, seemed to intuitively know what she was doing because even the stylish young Londoners sitting at the next table turned to point at the dark burgundy suede heels at the end of her long legs wrapped in black tights.
For her part, Hermione knew her eyes had widened and her jaw had slackened, but she couldn't yet bring herself to care. From the burgundy heels to the black tights, her gaze continued upward to the fitted grey dress that landed right above the knee. The wide, slight V-neck revealed pale collarbones, and the long sleeves were tight on her arms, ending right at her wrists and bringing attention to her long fingers bedecked in her usual assortment of gold rings. A belt of thick gold chains twined around her waist, calling attention to her figure and making Hermione's throat run dry.
She remained silent and watched as Narcissa hesitantly sat, while casting a strange look in her direction. Hermione knew she was ogling the woman, but those collarbones and the long blonde hair getting caught in the loose neckline of the dress kept her attention fixed. She remembered the feel of her hair in her hands when she'd shifted it during their first meeting.
When Hermione looked up a little further, she noticed something that instantly broke her gaze. Narcissa looked uncomfortable and fidgeted with her dress, pulling it down a bit more and adjusting the belt.
"Am I wearing something incorrectly?" Narcissa snapped in an urgent whisper after leaning towards Hermione.
Hermione then quickly realized what she'd done and went into damage control.
"No," she croaked, through her still constricted windpipe. "You're wearing everything very...correctly." About a thousand other descriptions flitted through her brain, but Hermione landed on "correctly" instead. She closed her eyes in embarrassment.
"I'm sorry," she tried again. "I was just surprised. You look very fine." She inhaled a shuddering breath and hoped her words would ease the woman without being too forward.
They seemed to have the desired effect because the blonde took a deep breath in and seemed to relax. She surveyed the room quickly, it being their first time at this particular coffee shop. After glancing at the scuffed concrete floors, the industrial furniture, and the modern art on the walls, Narcissa finally turned back to Hermione.
"This is an interesting spot."
"Yes," Hermione responded, trying to keep normal conversation going, although she kept noticing different little accessories and details in Narcissa clothes. "I thought we could try something different. I can go up to the counter and put down our orders. What would you like?"
Narcissa leaned slightly back and looked at the menu scrawled in chalk onto the wall. Hermione thought she noticed an eyeroll before she began reading.
"I'll just have an espresso."
"Right. I'll be back in no time."
Hermione practically fled from her chair. She got in line at the counter and shook her head into her hands. Not only had she been daydreaming about the woman before she'd arrived, but once she did, Hermione decided to leer at her as well. Her unconscious was slowly seeping into her conscious thoughts and actions. She tried to shush them now and squeezed her eyes shut, but it was too late. Her reaction to seeing her in the flesh after dreaming of her in the abstract was confirmation.
She had a crush on Narcissa Black – mother to her former schoolmate, ex-wife to a Death Eater, accomplice to her own torture, and still...one of the most intelligent, beautiful, and fascinating women she'd ever come across.
That's what it all led to, wasn't it? Her excitement before each meeting with her, her preoccupation with Narcissa-themed thoughts during the day, her interest in learning more about her family and her background. Bloody hell, perhaps it started even further back: when she, for some reason, gave such a damn about insulting her on that first day they'd met again.
Seeing her in Muggle clothes just made her that much more real. Her high end wizarding robes had served as a constant reminder of who this woman was and where she came from. In a Muggle dress and tights, she was just a woman who captivated her. Simple as that.
Hermione glanced over at her, sitting at their table and sifting her long hair through her fingers. Since she returned to her shop after the sharp letter she'd sent all those weeks ago, Hermione had noticed how she would slowly push her hair back from her face, and even then, the gesture entranced her.
Bloody hell, Hermione thought. You're losing it, Granger. Just calm down and pretend it was an hour ago. When you were just meeting a woman for coffee and discussing a novel.
From the clothes and movements of her reading partner, Hermione's gaze traveled back to herself. She looked down at her loose jeans and the slightly oversized dark purple knit top she wore. It frayed at the shoulders – in an effort to look edgy, but which someone like Narcissa would no doubt find horrifying – and showed a white camisole underneath. She pursed her lips and wondered why she hadn't tried a little harder with her clothes. A scuff marred the top of her trainers. Damn it all. I'm a child, and she's...
"What can I get you?"
Hermione snapped back from her reveries and realized she wasn't sure what she actually wanted.
"Um...one espresso," she began, "Aaaaand – what's less bitter than a straight espresso?"
The barista looked at her as if she were stupid.
"Literally any of the other espresso-based drinks," the girl drawled in return.
"Okay," Hermione said. "Then the cappuccino?"
The barista quickly rang up her total, then told her they'd bring the drinks over to her table when they were ready.
In her scuffed shoes, faded jeans, and frayed top, she walked slowly back to her elegant companion. She rubbed her palms on her jeans, gathered her courage, and sat down across from her again.
"They'll bring our drinks over soon," she muttered, hardly looking up, and began shoving the books and notes on magical creatures back into her bag. As she did, however, a cold white hand reached over and rested atop her own. Hermione's fingers involuntarily flexed upward, hoping to feel a bit more of Narcissa's palm with the back of her knuckles. Her eyes finally levelled with those of the woman across from her, and if she were hoping for some momentous declaration, she would be disappointed.
"You shouldn't be reading and writing about such subjects in the middle of a Muggle cafe, Miss Granger."
A reprimand. Wonderful – as if Hermione needed another reminder that she was a Muggleborn mess of a young girl. Her frustrations bled into her response.
"I have taken the proper precautions, Ms. Black. The book covers are charmed, and my notes should only be legible to a person who actually takes the time to translate my scrawl, which apparently you did while I was away."
Narcissa's head tilted slightly and her brow furrowed. "Perhaps if you had greeted me properly rather than stare at me for five minutes then run away as soon as I sat, you could have told me what you're doing here early and what all these other books and notes are."
Hermione felt her cheeks grow red hot after the staring comment, but she tried to push forward anyways. "I arrive late, you criticize me. I arrive early, and you suggest that I'm being unmannerly."
"So you did actively try to get here early," Narcissa said with a supercilious smirk.
"No," Hermione lied. "I had to get some work done, so I thought I'd do it here. If not, I might have arrived late and fallen victim to your critiques. It seems, however, that I must endure them either way."
Hermione closed her eyes and heaved an exhausted sigh. She wondered why this couldn't be easier and why they could just bypass the snide remarks. Then, she remembered who she was talking to.
"If my company is such a trial for you, Miss Granger, then perhaps we should end these meetings."
Narcissa's voice was hard and cut deep. When Hermione really looked at her, she noticed how her eyes undermined her words, which seemed uncaring and frigid. Her eyes, however, looked tired and, behind her cold exterior, Hermione intuited that this woman felt more insulted than she let on.
"No, of course not," Hermione said, perhaps a little too quickly. "I really enjoy these meetings. I look forward to them, in fact." She swallowed a dry lump in her throat after that admission. "I'd just rather we skip the part where we both act like we're enemies and just cut straight to the wonderful discussions we always have."
The stoicism that overcame Narcissa's features just a moment ago began to recede. Rather than respond to Hermione in words, she merely reached down into her bag and pulled out her copy of The Age of Innocence, complete with the small post-its Hermione had lended her poking out from the pages.
A barista then appeared at their table, dropped off their two drinks, and quickly disappeared again. She'd placed them on the wrong sides however, so Narcissa switched them and took a sip of her espresso. Hermione watched her features, hoping she'd like it since this was a new spot.
"Good?" She dared to ask.
"Yes, very." She took another sip, then placed the cup on the table again and began speaking. "I enjoyed the novel, but I'm still not sure what to make of the characters themselves."
Hermione had to look down quickly and hide her beaming smile because this was an olive branch. Narcissa knew she always liked talking about the characters – their motivations, their journeys – and the pureblood witch would usually rush her through these points because she wanted to talk about her ineffable little moments instead.
"I agree," Hermione responded, still trying to mask her happiness. "The main character Newland is especially…"
"Exasperating."
"Yes!" Hermione laughed. "I was about to say something else, but 'exasperating' is good. So you would've rather he left his fiance to be with the Countess?"
"I would have rather he did something," Narcissa replied disdainfully and took another sip of her espresso. "Instead, he just vacillated between what society expected and what he wanted."
"I do like the Countess, though."
"Why is that?"
She reminds me of you, Hermione wanted to say. She knew she would never dare though because that admission would only bring up a host of other questions about exactly why an aristocratic, mysterious woman, recently separated from her husband and driving a lover mad with longing, would remind her of Narcissa.
Instead, Hermione shrugged and gave another answer that focused more on what the Countess represented rather than who she reminded her of. From there, the conversation took the usual twists and turns through plot and character and then finally to the gestures and scenes Narcissa always pinpointed and Hermione always loved.
"What did you think of the ending?" Hermione finally asked.
Narcissa grew contemplative and pondered the question while flicking the pages of her book with the side of her forefinger. Their espresso and cappuccino cups were long since drained, but Hermione spun her cup on its ceramic dish as she waited for Narcissa's answer.
"It's left in some...in between space."
Hermione nodded. "Wharton often writes endings like that. If you don't like them, I wouldn't suggest reading her The House of Mirth. That ending made me throw the book across the room."
Narcissa's shoulders raised slightly in a small laugh, no more than a short exhalation of breath.
"Then," Narcissa said, "The author enjoys forcing her readers to dwell in uncertainty."
"'Dwell in uncertainty'?" Hermione cocked her head to one side. "That phrase rings a bell, but I can't place it."
"Your Mr. Keats." Hermione's look must have been a questioning one because Narcissa continued. "I've been reading his letters."
"Oh? I can't say that I've read too many. I'm glad to hear you enjoyed him so much that you've continued reading him."
Hermione then noticed a shy smile flit across Narcissa features – the same smile that she'd shown after Hermione had complimented her acting last week. Merlin, she'd have to keep notes on what sort of comments triggered that reaction because it was a beautiful gesture, simultaneously mysterious and real.
"They're very good. In fact, there are moments where his prose reaches the poetry of his verse. It's thrilling to read and suddenly come across a vivid phrase or image."
Hermione felt herself nod in intellectual sympathy. This woman and her intuitive depths as a reader were going to drown her senses any second now, and Hermione had to keep her head above water. Just get through this conversation, and you can deal with whatever is happening later.
"But yes," Hermione abruptly declared. "I think what you mentioned earlier – about Newland's inability to decide on things – leads to the ending."
Narcissa looked puzzled for a moment, but then caught on to the subject change. She agreed, and the literary conversation devolved from there. Hermione felt ready to leave and reevaluate her internal monologue over the past couple hours. Narcissa seemed to intuit this need, although she wondered why. Rather than end the conversation with her usual query regarding the next reading, Narcissa surprised Hermione by bringing up another source of interest.
"Don't think I have forgotten about the books you were working with before my arrival, Miss Granger."
Hermione's eyebrows shot up slightly, and she once again felt awkward and caught on the defensive, as she had when Narcissa first began questioning her after she arrived.
"It's just a bit of nonsense really. Something to occupy my time when I'm not working at the shop."
Narcissa gazed directly into Hermione's eyes, almost as if she could look right through them, then smirked. "You know, you may be one of the worst liars I've ever come across."
"I happen to be a very good liar," Hermione replied, trying not to feel offended. Narcissa's gaze again pierced through her, and a glimmer of understanding shined in her eyes for a moment.
"You may not be lying to me," Narcissa ventured and seemed to be realizing her words as she spoke. "But you are lying to someone about what you're doing with those books. Most likely yourself."
Hermione felt her jaw slacken. With just a few sentences and one moment's observation, Narcissa saw right through the game she was trying to play with her own mind. Hermione was both impressed and unnerved by the woman's perceptiveness. Narcissa, for her part, seemed to take the comment in stride and began readying herself to leave, replacing her copy of The Age of Innocence in her purse and asking after the check.
"I already took care of that," Hermione muttered, still digesting Narcissa's previous statement.
This entire afternoon was turning into a study of how Hermione was deluding herself – with both her feelings toward Narcissa and her research into magical creatures. She tried to cast both as passing fancies or just something to occupy her time, and yet there was much more lying beneath.
She wondered if Narcissa felt the tremors within their own relationship. It took Narcissa almost no time at all to see her books and her notebook bursting to capacity with findings to realize that her research interests weren't as frivolous as she'd like to pass off. Yet, there were no books or pages that held the overbrimming thoughts and feelings regarding the pureblood witch who'd caught her fancy. Somehow, though, Narcissa seemed capable of reading her as well as she read a poem or a novel. She looked past the surface and the story, then delved into the moments and gestures that defined a life.
Hermione felt caught in a web of inactions, and all these realizations crashed heavily upon her in the middle of a Muggle cafe with Narcissa Black sitting across from her.
Narcissa stood from her chair and waited for Hermione to do the same, which she eventually (albeit slowly) did. They walked together to the door, where they both took their coats and readied themselves for the last vestiges of winter in the London air. Hermione haphazardly shrugged into her coat, while Narcissa slowly slipped into hers, a deep burgundy color that matched her shoes. She watched in silence as Narcissa pulled her long hair out from her coat and let it fall down her back again. Without even thinking, Hermione reached out only slightly and touched the smooth platinum shine with the tips of her fingers. Then, Narcissa was gone, walking through the door as a tall, older gentleman held it for her.
Hermione quickly ran through the open door as well, trying to keep up with Narcissa, but they got caught in a massive crowd almost immediately. Narcissa turned her head back slightly, looking for Hermione and glad to find her in the crush.
"Is there a good apparition point hereabout?"
Hermione nodded, then grabbed Narcissa's elbow and helped guide her through the crowd.
Once they emerged from the mass of people, Hermione began to reluctantly slip her hand out of Narcissa's arm, but as she did, she felt Narcissa press her elbow in, essentially trapping Hermione's hand against her side. Hermione was surprised to feel the movement, amidst the London crowd and passersby, but she did nonetheless. She felt her cheeks warm at the sensation, and she kept her hand in the crook of Narcissa's slender arm, continuing to guide her to the apparition point.
They arrived in a few minutes to an abandoned old Muggle schoolyard. Hermione took Narcissa around a corner, where they were secluded from those strolling along the sidewalk. Hermione stopped them both, but said nothing.
Narcissa, her arm still supporting the soft weight of Hermione's hand, turned toward the girl and seemed to be contemplating her next words. After a few more moments of this hesitant and potent silence, Hermione was about to bid her farewell, but then Narcissa finally spoke.
"Would you care for dinner some time this week?"
"With you?" Hermione asked, somewhat shocked.
"No, Miss Granger, I was asking whether you plan on eating any dinners at all this week."
If her tone were not enough, Narcissa's raised eyebrow and bored expression hinted at her sarcasm.
For her part, Hermione felt her throat go dry and her palms get slightly sweaty in an instant. She knew Narcissa wasn't asking for another book meeting or a casual afternoon tea. This was different, and both women seemed to understand the underlying request. However much Narcissa might like to think her facade impenetrable, Hermione had already picked up on the tics and gestures that revealed this woman's inner workings.
Narcissa was nervous. She was walking on thin ice and could probably feel the current rushing underneath. Hermione saw it in her tense jaw and felt it in her arm that pressed her hand imperceptibly tighter. She was reminded again of their first afternoon tea, when Narcissa sat there waiting for Hermione to join her and holding herself as rigidly as possible.
"Let's do dinner," Hermione finally answered, while giving Narcissa's arm a short squeeze. The gesture seemed to knock both women back into the moment, though, since Narcissa cleared her throat and unravelled herself from Hermione's grasp.
"Then, expect my owl in the coming days with where to meet and when." Narcissa gave her directions, all while keeping her eyes trained elsewhere, either on the cold hard ground or slightly to the left of Hermione's face.
Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to catch that gaze again, so she merely agreed and bid Narcissa farewell. The older witch nodded and apparated on the spot.
After she'd left, Hermione heaved a sigh somewhere between relief and excitement. The past couple hours had thrown her for a loop, and she felt in sore need of some solid ground. It was times like these where Hermione wished she had more friends, especially ones who weren't so irrevocably tied to her world, its prejudices and rules. She knew, however, that she couldn't let this web continue to weave itself into oblivion within her overactive mind.
She was about to disapparate as well, but at the last minute, she thought against it and started walking. In the absence of that slender arm to hold onto, Hermione buried her hands in her coat and glided seamlessly back into the stream of Muggles out on a Sunday afternoon.
A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry for the longer delay between chapters. I had another kind of chapter (dissertation! ew!) due last week, so I had to take a break from these lovely witches. Expect the usual updates from here on out though. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know what you liked and what you're hoping to see next! As always, thank you for all the lovely responses, follows, and favorites!
By the way, if any of you have tumblr, I'm on there as riverlandsred. Feel free to give me a follow! I'd love to get to know more of you. :)