Answer to review: drmaths, I don't consider female characters to be incomplete without a male counterpart. As a woman myself, I am complete on my own and don't find any "missing half" in myself and therefore wouldn't hold my female characters to any different standards. However, Hermione is a pureblood girl in this story, and it is pretty common for purebloods to have arranged marriages to fortify alliances between families and make sure their descendance won't be anything but pure-blooded. I only asked about a potential love interest because I received suggestions about it and wanted everyone's opinion on the matter but I haven't decided anything yet and it won't come before a long time anyway, Hermione needing to settle down in the wizarding world first. Hope you'll still like my story if it takes a romantic turn though!
When she woke up, Hermione did not know how much time had passed since her escape attempt or where she was. Kreacher was supposed to take her to Malfoy Manor, but she hadn't been conscious enough to be sure he was the one grabbing her wrist and had passed out as soon as they had apparated.
Trying her best to look like she was still asleep, she tried to analyze her surroundings. She was in a bed, in a silent room. If she had been brought back by the Order, they had left her alone. Yet, the room didn't have the scent she associated with Grimmauld Place. She was either in one of the Order's safe houses or at Malfoy Manor, then. Deeming her environment safe enough, she tried to open her eyes and frowned when the light dazzled her. Blinking a few times to adjust her eyes, she finally lifted her eyelids and glanced around the room.
Cream-colored walls and refined furniture met her gaze, and she bit her bottom lip while trying to remember any Order member looking rich enough to live in a place like this one. Determined to investigate further, she tried to sit up, only to fall back on her pillows with a groan. Her body was sore, and her arms were too painful to support her. She heard a gasp coming from the side of her bed and turned her head, only to find herself face to face with a house-elf whose eyes and nose barely protruded above the mattress. The sight was comical, but Hermione was too shocked to laugh. How much time had the elf stood beside her bed without her noticing?
"How does the missy feel?" asked the small elf in a high-pitched tone.
"Good," mechanically answered Hermione in a raspy voice. "Where am I?"
"The missy has been in the missy's room for five days."
"I didn't mean" started the girl before being interrupted by the creature.
"Dilly will inform the masters."
Before Hermione could object, the house-elf was gone. Not wanting to dwell too much on the fact that she had been unconscious for five days, she waited a few minutes for the mysterious masters to come before losing patience and going back to trying to sit up. It was a painful process, mainly because of her weakened arms, and she felt both stupid and humiliated when she finally managed to get herself in the position she wanted to be. Doing a quick inspection of herself, she deemed the results mildly satisfying at best. She could feel and move all her members, but her sore muscle made every movement uncomfortable. On top of it, her upper body was entirely covered in bandages, an obvious attempt to heal her carved back. She couldn't figure out, however, the reason why her arms were also bandaged. No part of the ritual involved her arms, even though the stinging feeling was telling her something happened to them. She was playing with the attach of the gauze, debating on getting it off to see her injuries when someone knocked at the door.
A woman entered, smiling shyly at her. The girl tensed, not knowing what to expect and observed the woman approaching and getting seated on an armchair close to the bed.
"How do you feel, dear?" The woman asked. Her tone seemed genuinely concerned, yet Hermione couldn't help but stay alert.
"Like someone who's been ran over by a herd of centaurs."
"Do you remember anything?"
"I remember what I did, but everything else is black," admitted Hermione. "Where am I?"
"In your room in Malfoy Manor. Kreacher brought you here and asked us to obliviate him when his master called for him. He told us it was what you wanted."
"Malfoy Manor? So you are…" Hermione looked at her closely, trying to find in the woman's face anything of the 12-years-old Narcissa Black she had found the picture of in Grimmauld Place.
"Narcissa Malfoy," nodded the blond with a smile. "Your aunt."
"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Malfoy," formally greeted Hermione, not knowing what else to say.
Said Lady made a face at the title, before letting out a nervous chuckle.
"I know we are only meeting each other but please, call me Narcissa. And maybe with some time, you will agree to call me Aunt Cissy."
There was something genuine and painfully hopeful in the way her eyes shone when she looked at her niece that made Hermione want to cry. Only the thought of being found unconscious and covered in blood by the woman helped her keep it together. She had already lost enough dignity, she couldn't be seen as emotional in addition to being a nuisance.
"I would like that, Narcissa. You will have to call me Hermione, then. I don't have any nickname but… Well, I suppose you can call me whatever you want to."
Someone knocked at the door, and a man with large glasses stepped into the room. She was tempted to believe it was her uncle – Why would a man who is not a Malfoy be in Malfoy Manor? –, but his clothes lacked the refinery Narcissa's had and so she settled on looking expectantly at the woman for an introduction, not wanting to embarrass herself. She had been right not to assume, and she mentally patted her own shoulder in the way she had seen the Weasley twins do as she tried not to blush when the man introduced himself as William, the Malfoy's healer. His easy smile and calm tone made him likeable, and she answered all his questions as he checked her heart and lungs before taking her bandages off.
"It is a relief to have you woken up," he eventually said. "I couldn't do much without knowing what exactly happened to you. I managed to close your wounds though, and I'm happy to see they scarred nicely. You will only have to apply some paste for a few days and they will completely disappear, you will be as good as new!"
"The scars on my back won't disappear, sir. The knife I was carved with was covered in magic. It is a relief to hear I have scars and not perpetually opened wounds, but I'm afraid you won't be able to do much more." She saw the healer frown and couldn't understand why leaving her scars-free would be so important to him but tried to reassure him nonetheless. "Your paste will still be useful on my arms though."
Narcissa had winced when she had talked about being carved, her hand tentatively covering Hermione's. Sensing no rejection from the girl, she fully took her hand and Hermione wondered for a moment if her aunt wanted to give her comfort or to receive some from the contact. The manicured hand gradually tightened up around Hermione's as the later described in great details to the healer what the ritual entailed and each of his effects. By the end of her explanations, both listeners were pallid. The girl left them a moment to compose themselves, well aware of the dangerousness of her actions.
"Do you realise how bad things could have gone?" Eventually asked the healer.
"I could have broken my magical core and lost my ability to use magic or died. But I am fine, I can still feel my magic."
"This is reassuring," he sighted before crossing his arms. "However it would be irresponsible to give you the all clear because of a feeling. I have a friend who works in Saint Mungo's, she specializes in magical core's damages. I'll ask her to examine you and as soon as she tells me everything is alright, I'll leave you alone. In the meantime, I don't want you to use your magic."
Hermione was tempted to protest. What kind of witch doesn't use magic? However, she had seen Narcissa's reaction to her story. She had never met a healer in the past, but knew they were respected by most people. Wouldn't the best way to reassure her aunt be to have a specialist telling her everything was fine, even if it meant not being able to use her magic for some time?
"When will I be able to see her?" She asked, resigned.
"I'll contact her as soon as I leave and will send you an owl with the details, but it shouldn't take long." The man offered her his hand and she shaked it, unsure of herself. Walburga had told her about shaking hands, of course, but she was doing it for the first time and wasn't sure of the strength she was supposed to put into it. The man did no comment, however, and she smiled, satisfied. "We have a deal, then. I'll leave you to it."
With a last smile and a formal goodbye to Narcissa, the man was gone.
Once alone again, the women stayed in an uncomfortable silence before Narcissa offered her to have a bath.
"I used to do your mother's hair, when we were your age. I could do yours, if you want to."
Despite her lack of practice in what Walburga called "the art of Slytherin conversation", Hermione could hear the woman's want to stay with her behind the offer and agreed eagerly. After thirteen years alone, she would not turn down an opportunity to bond with a member of her family, no matter if the bonding time implied her being naked or assisted into her bath like a helpless child.
Hermione pushed the covers aside and got up on her feet, assuming her unharmed legs would be able to carry her. She was wrong, and had to allow Narcissa to support her all the way to the hidden door leading to her bathroom after several unsuccessful attempts at walking despite her shaking knees. Once settled in the bathtub, Narcissa vanished her clothes and filled the tub with warm water and perfumed oils. Hiding her gasp at the sight of the girl's back behind a cough, she made herself comfortable on the edge of the bathtub and started working on untangling the messy curls.
"I don't think it would be a good idea to go to Saint Mungo's," eventually said the girl. "People could ask questions, and I am still a missing child. I can't risk being brought to the Ministry and being placed as a ward of some stranger's family, or worse."
From the information Hermione had gathered, it was common to either place underage wizards without parents with Ministry approved families or make Albus Dumbledore their magical guardian. She had no doubt that as soon as word of her return would spread, the old wizard would try to get her back under his guard, something she couldn't risk. The Order might have left her relatively free before, but they surely would not be forgiving after her escape.
"William told us about the possibility of sending you to Saint Mungo's before you woke up and we thought of something." Her tone was hesitant, as if she was struggling to find a way to formulate her next sentence. "We thought we could go to the Ministry before going to the hospital. Make your presence here known and legal. We won't do it if you don't want to, of course. But Lucius has influence in the Ministry and we could use it to guarantee us custody of you."
"I…" Hermione was at loss for word. Was this woman she had only met a few hours ago offering to become her legal guardian? "You want me to stay with you?"
"Yes." There was no hesitation in her answer and the girl felt tears pooling in her eyes for the second time of the day. "I was not joking when I said we spent the last thirteen years looking for you. You are part of this family, and we all want you to stay with us. I don't say it will be easy, between your story and your parent's reputation, people will assume things about you and you will find both friends and enemies everywhere you'll go. Then there's the press, which will follow your every move. But I am sure we will figure everything out, if you are willing to give us a chance to be a part of your life."
Sentence after sentence, Narcissa's voice was becoming more wobbly and when Hermione turned around to look at her, there were as many tears in her aunt's eyes as in her own.
"Are you alright?" She asked, worried and not knowing what to do with crying people.
"I'm sorry. I just… I promised your mother I would find you and keep you safe long ago and now here you are, almost a woman and covered in scars. I suppose it makes me a bit emotional."
Hermione smiled at the confession and, mirroring Narcissa's earlier action, covered the woman's hand with hers, trying to give her comfort through the contact.
"It's alright. I'll go to the Ministry, I'll deal with the people and the press. I'll stay with you as long as you want me to."