Chapter 36

Hermione closed her eyes the moment Narcissa gently closed the door behind her. The young which stretched languidly in the white sheets, inhaling the husky smell of Narcissa which clung to the cotton she nuzzled in. Opening her eyes again to the sun bathed room, her attention was caught by all their abandoned layers of clothing still scattered over the dark wooden panels… softly, her attention wondered back to the sensation of Narcissa's black lace being undressed under her fingers. How ravishing she is, Hermione thought. Everything about her was ravishing. And menacing. Those colours of hers; that spectrum of greens to black. Life to death. Her striking dark hair. Her cheekbones - pronounced, emphasising a wrinkle which her smile created beside her mouth.

With a lazy sigh, Hermione pushed herself off the bed in search for something to cover herself with. As she pulled an extra large Gryffindor shirt over her head, two soft knocks on her door demanded her attention.

Quickly slipping her pants on she called out, "come in!"

Narcissa opened a small fraction of the door, clearing her throat as she tried to school her expression - it was the closest to uncomfortable Hermione had ever seen the older witch look.

"Mr. Potter is here."

Hermione's eyes widened with shock and a trickle of shame ran down her spine - how could she have forgotten about Harry? The young wizard walked into the room, leaving Narcissa by the doorway.

"Hermione…" Harry began, placing his half empty bowl of cereal on the mantlepiece. "What the…?" He pointedly looked at all the clothes that lay damningly on the floor. Hermione winced giving her friend all the confirmation he needed. "Malfoy's mum?" Hermione's wince stiffened.

"Harry -"

"Malfoy's mum?" He repeated emphatically. Hermione shot Narcissa a smile of nervous condolence, a smile that said 'I love you' and 'please don't be hurt'. The Slytherin smiled sardonically back at her, not budging from her position by the door. She had no intention of leaving until Hermione said so, like some captain, waiting to drown with his ship.

"She's Hippocrates," Hermione supplied quickly, "you know, the person I've been working with." Hermione searched his green eyes, looking to find her best friend amidst the paradigm shift that was playing on his features. "This is important to me, Harry." She pressed on urgently, looking at Harry with an expression that reminded him of when they were children: it was the look Hermione got when she was projecting utter confidence in what she was saying, but couldn't quite hide how desperately she cared about Harry's opinion. She needed to know that Harry wasn't upset; that Harry didn't think she was weird or a horrible person. "She's important to me."

"Bloody hell," Harry exclaimed with a sigh. "Well, I didn't see this coming, to say the least."

"Harry!" Ron's booming voice echoed from somewhere downstairs. "What's taking you so long?! Is Hermione here?!"

"Harry! Why didn't you tell me Ron is here?!" Hermione hissed at her best friend, lightly hitting him on the shoulder. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Caught between her fight or flight response, instinct propelled her to start scooping up all their clothes as if she was cleaning up a crime scene. Narcissa opened her mouth to intervene, but before she could get the words out Hermione had unceremoniously shoved all their clothes into the cupboard, stealing away any possibility of escape for the pureblood.

"Well I'm sorry, I kinda got distracted by the fact that you're shagging Malfoy's mum!"

"Narcissa, Harry. She has a name. Narcissa. She's not just 'Malfoy's mum'." She snapped back at him as Ron's cantankerous footsteps loomed closer.

"Fine, fine. But when were you planning on telling me?"

"I don't know, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, pacing around the room looking for anymore incriminating evidence she could hide. "Can you just go stall him?"

"I think it's too late for that," Narcissa drawled coldly from the doorway, still not quite sure if the situation amused or embarrassed her, for after all - had she not been warning the muggleborn that this was precisely what would happen?

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Hermione heard Ron blurt out bluntly. The two Gryffindor's rushed out into the corridor, putting themselves between Ron and Narcissa.

"Mate, what's going on here?" He asked Harry.

"She's my guest, Ron, so if you'd excuse me," Hermione said trying to sound nonchalant.

Ron scoffed. "Since when are the likes of her your guests?"

Harry sighed, Narcissa rolled her eyes and Hermione balled her fists as she felt the ache of disappointment in her old friend crash into her body.

"Mate, lets go downstairs, this is none of our business," Harry tried reasoning, putting his hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Nah, nah, I want to know what's going on here." He replied, shoving Harry's hand off him. "What are you doing with Hermione?" He demanded from Narcissa. The Slytherin did not rise to his baiting, only giving him a steady stare that was evidence of an innate confidence that unsettled Ron to the core.

"I would advise you to listen to your friend, Mr Weasley," she chastised him softly. "Neither Hermione nor I owe you an explanation of our personal affairs."

He was familiar with her tone of voice - it was that clipped enunciation which had always been used to speak down to his father. He was also familiar with the look she was giving him - it was the look Lucius Malfoy had always used when surveying the Weasley family, needing no words to convey his superiority, their inferiority. Boyish shame rushed through Ron's body; old wounds of humiliation sliced open despite the protection of his expensive robes. And for a second of blind fury, all he could see was Draco Malfoy in Narcissa's features. He closed his eyes, trying to push away the revolting feeling of disgust that was churning in his stomach - disgust directed at her for making him feel that way; but just as acutely, perhaps more so, the almost unbearable feeling of disgust with himself for still feeling like just another red head in a hand-me-down robe. Inevitably, shame gave way to self-righteousness and in a flash, he determined he would not be backing down this time.

"Bollocks. I have every right to know what a death eater is doing with my friend."

"Ronald! How dare you!" Hermione retorted immediately. "Narcissa is not, and never was a death eater!"

"Oh, really?!" He bellowed back furiously, disbelief painting his expression - how could Hermione betray him like this? He was on her side. "Am I the only who remembers her standing by as her sister tortured you? Am I the only one who remembers the way you screamed and screamed? Or have we all forgotten how she was going to let Fenrir Greyback have you? Or how she was going to sell us to Voldemort? SO FORGIVE ME if my definition of death eater isn't as apologetic as yours."

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione began, her tone so quiet and cold it immediately cut through Ron's outburst. "Just stop talking," she hissed at him, so angry and disappointed in him she could barely form words. "You are making a fool of yourself."

Ron took a step back, his anger forgotten from the shock of Hermione's fury. "Why are you defending her?" He asked her in a small voice. Then, for the first time, his eyes regarded both witches calmly - from the messy hair, the bare legs, to the blooming hickey's - "No, no, no, no," he said with a hysterical chuckle, "this can't be happening."

"Ron," Harry begged, "lets just go."

"Harry, Harry," he interrupted, "they're shagging."

"Ron -"

"How could you?!" He demanded, wondering if he would ever recover from this betrayal; wondering whether he would ever be able to forgive her; whether he would ever be able to look at her the same way again. How could this be the same person who had punched Malfoy in year 3? Or who had held his hand every night during the war? How could this be the same person who had once love him? Who still loved him like a brother? "How could you do this?" He spluttered out, his voice breaking under the weight of his grief. "After everything her lot did to us?"

"Are you insane, Ron?" Hermione asked, failing to keep the distinct pitch of hysteria from her voice. "She is the sole reason we're here today."

"I can't be listening to this," he muttered to himself. "I just can't be listening to this." Hermione noticed that the more he spoke, the more repulsive he became to her. The way he talked about Narcissa was so grotesque, so cruel, she could no longer see the kind face of her friend in his features anymore. Suddenly, Ron turned around and started walking away. "I need to clear my head. I need to clear my head."

"Stop insisting on clearing your head!" Hermione automatically snapped back at him. "Clear your bloody heart instead."

"Oh, fuck off, Hermione!" Ron yelled back from the stairs, leaving the hallway silent.

"I'm sorry -" Harry began, looking at the ground, as if he shared responsibility for Ron's words. "You know how Ron gets. He doesn't mean it."

"Don't worry, Harry," Hermione said quietly, surprised by how quickly her energy to fight had been drained. "Just go after him. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"Yeah, sure."

"Sorry," he repeated quickly, but this time his apology was directed solely at Narcissa. One curt nod from the Slytherin was enough for Harry to go after his best friend.

"Damn," Hermione cursed under her breath. Still staring at the empty hallway, the muggleborn felt Narcissa's warm arms wrap around her. Relief quickly trickled in, glad the confrontation was over for now. The muggleborn took two deep breaths, extinguishing the last embers of fire in her stomach and focused on Narcissa's steady breathing. This is it, Hermione thought at last as she leaned back into the safety of the pureblood's body. This is all I want, she concluded closing her eyes and allowing the pureblood to nuzzle her face on Hermione's neck. Slowly, Narcissa began to trail soft kisses over the skin the t-shirt exposed, as if with each kiss she was offering an apology inappropriate for words. Her hands slid under the red shirt, atoning with touch to the shape and form lent to Hermione by nature, wondering and a little awed that the Gryffindor was truly willing to wage wars for her. Hermione didn't comment, didn't admonish, but looked at Narcissa in the pauses of her movement, in the lulls between her touch, as if to say, I know. I know.

It's okay.

"Okay, mate. That's my sixth pint. If I have anymore I'm going to chunder," Harry said trying not to hiccup.

"Haven't you heard of tactical chundering?" Ron asked confusedly.

"That's so gross," Harry groaned, pushing his friend playfully.

"What? It works," he replied, cracking a small smile.

"We should go now."

"Nah, you go home, Harry, I'll just have one more."

Harry regarded his friend hazily, deciding that he didn't look too bad. "You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ron replied, waving him off. "I have the day off work and Lavender is out with her mother. I'll just have another pint and crash home."

Harry nodded. Neither had mentioned the reason why they were sitting at the Leaky Cauldron at eleven in the morning, but denial seemed to have been working wonders with Ron's mood so Harry nodded again, regretting moving his queasy head so quickly. "Okay. Tom," he called the bartender.

"Another round, Mr Potter?" He asked jovially.

"No thank you, Tom," Harry stood up, holding on to the counter to make sure he didn't fall down. "Just make sure he gets home, yeah? Lav-Lav will kill me if anything happens to him."

Ron groaned from his seat, "stop calling her that!"

"No problem, Mr Potter. I'll throw in the floo powder myself."

"Alright, mate," Harry slurred as he patted Ron's back. "Breakfast. Tomorrow. At the Burrow."

"Lightweight," Ron teased in reply.

"Bugger off."

Ron watched his friend step into the large fireplace, engulfed by the green flames until he disappeared from sight.

"Alright, Tom - it's time for some fire whiskey," he said gruffly.

"You sure, Mr Weasley?"

"Yeah, and another pint."

"My, my, Mr Weasley - day drinking on a Tuesday?" A cooing voice said beside him. "You do seem to be letting yourself go."

"Oh, fuck off, Skeeter," he growled back before downing his glass of fire whiskey and motioning for another one.

"Tut, tut, Mr Weasley. Something or someone has got under your skin," she said coquettishly. "Fight with Lav-Lav? Trouble at work?"

Ron closed his eyes, feeling the punch of the firewhiskey bashing away at the last dreads of his sobriety, until at last he could laugh. "Nope."

"Then do tell, Mr Weasley. You know I'm a very good listener," she purred, motioning to Tom to bring them another round of drinks.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Ron replied, knocking down another glass of the amber liquid.

"Try me," Rita replied a smile curling around her features as she pulled out a quill.

Massive apologies for the lateness! I've been moving houses and it's a nightmare! (So extra apologies if I couldn't get back to your review - just know that they made my day amidst the chaos of adulting).

R&R!