Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the settings, sub-plot, and all characters apart from the obvious couple of OCs. Cover by artwaffle142 on tumblr.
Warnings: Lots of violence, graphic descriptions of injury, and sex. Two chapters will deal with attempted rape / sexual assault, so I'll put warnings before them.
A/N: The interactions between Narcissa and Hermione in this story were originally inspired by glass silence, but it grew into something distinctly different. I have over 30k pre-written but not yet edited, and I plan for it to be much longer. There are three parts to it, the third taking place after the battle of Hogwarts. The plot is heavy and intertwines with the deathly hallows, and there will be a lot of smut eventually.
Past the ornate steel gate, hedgerows enshrouded in darkness flanked the path leading to the manor. Though barely visible through the thick blanket of night, it was clear the house was a grand one; big enough to be a prestigious hotel. It's turrets pointed assertively towards the stars. Below them, light pooled around a large shuttered window: the flickering orange glow of a dying fire, on the third floor. A shadow passed across the light, then again, seconds later, from the opposite side. Narcissa Malfoy was pacing. The voice of another, placating and deep, broke through the still night.
"He will be better soon enough. I was like that too, after we escaped."
"It's not only that, Rookwood," snapped Narcissa. "What will the Dark Lord have with my husband when he's… fit for service, do you suppose?" She spun round and met his gaze imploringly. "His punishment won't expire when his redundancy does- oh, for Salazar's sake... you know, sometimes I find myself thinking that he was better off in Azkaban."
The woman ceased her pacing to sit rigidly on a gold bedizened armchair, looking expectantly over at her companion, who was on the other side of the fire. Rookwood cleared his throat.
"There is currently… a plan, being formed. It is expected to take place before the boy's seventeenth birthday."
"And you don't expect the order to be prepared for such a plan?"
"Obviously. I can't imagine it all ending so soon." Rookwood thought for a moment. "It has been going on for all this time, after all."
The Malfoy's face was clouded. "It's not like last time," she whispered. "I can feel it- Augustus, I-"
She paused. Her next words came in a whisper.
"We won't win… of course, he'll never stop, so neither shall we, but…" she trailed off- or rather- cut herself off for fear of any device or spy hearing words disputing the power of the Dark Lord himself. The Malfoy matriarch leaned back in resignation and drummed her slender fingers on the gold rim of her armchair.
"Anyway, this summer, a ball is to be organised, here. A welcome of sorts, it seems, for the younger pure bloods. I can't imagine that the Dark Lord would have commanded it if the boy would be killed first. Still, there's a chance, I suppose."
"I see," her friend replied. "There shall also be a conference, quite soon, I think. Something to do with the ministry and their new magical inventions, stuff like that. Draco should go, if he's up for it."
Narcissa nodded vaguely and let the diamond chandelier above catch her eyes. Magically hovering without any wire or frame, the shards caught light from the roaring fire and dashed it about the gaudy room in golden sparks. It was nearly midnight, and she had to brew more pain relief draught for her sister. She sighed into silence and made to stand, two white blonde locks of hair falling forward intentionally from her pristine bun to frame her face. Smoothing her fur-trimmed dress she gestured to the door, and, with a subtle flick from her wand, it sprang open.
"It's late. We both have tasks to complete."
Rookwood stood and bowed. "All we can do now," he stated, straightening up, "is protect our families and wait for it to start. Good night, Madame Malfoy."
Part 1- Ashes to Ashes
They dined at a large slab of oak, the three wizards: Callidus Flint at the head; his wife, Anna, opposite, and their daughter, Hermione Flint, in between them, with three seats on either side of her. It was Hermione's graduation feast, but her brother, Marcus, was spending summer at a friend's house, and sent his congratulations in a letter. There were roast ducks in a sea of potatoes, stuffed pumpkins, a Remora in red wine sauce, and a whole roast boar with an apple in its mouth. Anna finished a mouthful and set her cutlery neatly upon her plate to continue speaking.
"As long as you think you've done well- at least three outstandings, that is- well done, dear. But I would have preferred a letter after your exams."
"I was busy saying goodbye to everyone, Mother," muttered the former head girl, picking at her food. "Thank you for all this, by the way. I appreciate it."
"It's what you deserve!" smiled Callidus. "The end of school marks the beginning of a career, after all."
His wife tutted. "Now, we've been over this. A career is secondary." She lowered her voice and tilted her head towards her daughter. "Will you miss the boys in your year? And what about Peregrine Derrick? Or Lucian Bole? Older, I know, but sometimes that's just what a young woman needs-"
"Mother, please, I'm not at all interested in some arranged marriage," Hermione remonstrated. The pure blood bachelors she picked out weren't attractive at all. They were objectively quite good looking, but she had realised years ago that she was only attracted to women.
"Really! Well then, you enjoy being unwed 'til death- you'll have to be if you keep up with this rudeness!"
Hermione opened her mouth to speak but her Father cut in-
"Marriage comes after a stable, high paying job."
Anna huffed but said no more, and the family set to finishing their main course. Once they had, a meek, aged elf cleared the table with a snap of it's fingers and served dessert. Creme brulee, with Hermione's balancing a caramel structure of the Hogwarts crest, with a newt curled round its base, and the lettering: Well done, Hermione in cursive around the side.
"Thank you again," she smiled, trying to eat without toppling the caramel.
When she had nearly finished, Hermione spotted words forming in blue on the empty part of her plate:
It is hardly respectable to remain a debutante for so long.
The witch looked accusingly at her Mother, who avoided eye contact. How petty and invasive! Hermione couldn't stand it. And now she would have to put up with these antics for the whole summer without escaping to Hogwarts in September. Neither of the suggestions they foisted upon her were appealing. What would be nice, though, would be a holiday somewhere like Italy- or France. Hermione couldn't think of anything else she wanted to do now that there was no homework. The eighteen year old wondered where her friends would travel to this summer, and, if nowhere, whether they'd all come over for a couple of nights.
"Lucius Malfoy has invited me to his manor on the 21st- for Ministry business," announced Callidus. "Less than a week later, they are hosting a ball, and they would like us to be there."
"How lovely," said Anna, in a way that greatly implied the opposite opinion. By contrast, Hermione looked up at this. They hadn't stayed with the Malfoys for years, only having passing conversations with them at the station around holidays, but she had a kind of friendship with Draco, who was in the year below. Most Slytherins were cordial with her. She had been a good -if strict- prefect and head girl who had hardly lost them a single house point, and she often helped fellow Slytherins with their homework. Hermione remembered the day she was sorted. Five sluggish minutes she sat in front of the school, convincing the hat not to sort her into Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, for fear of her family's reaction. Hestia and Flora Carrow had been sorted in only a second. That day was buried deep in her psyche- but the silly hat's grudging appreciation of her resourcefulness, ambition, determined spirit, and pride was repeated verbatim in a giddy letter to her parents, later that very evening.
That was a week of summer accounted for, thanks to the Malfoys. And father was taking her to an interesting lecture in a couple of days. Now she just had to figure out what to do with the rest of it. And, come to think of it, what to do with the rest of her entire life. The uncharted expanse of time stretched out before her like a barren, endless wasteland.
The following morning began with Hermione's great grey owl knocking on the window. His owner drowsily leant over to pick up her wand, and flicked it upwards to let him in. She slipped out of bed as the owl glided over to the silver bowl of water beside his cage. He settled on his perch, beside the mahogany chest of drawers that matched the rest of the furniture as a beautiful wand-crafted set. Hemione untwined the string around his leg to release this morning's rolled up daily prophet. Stretching, she walked over to her mirror, and attempted to straighten her unruly bushy hair. Her mother always used to plait and braid it for her, and in her first year Gemma, the prefect at that time, had kindly helped her tame it.
She continued to get dressed but the pictures next to her mirror caught her eye. At each repeated wave, smile, and glorious landscape, sprung a memory, and with it a hope that the future would hold new holidays filled with picturesque views and foreign wizards- but right now, there was nothing.
What would her teachers do if she arrived at Hogwarts that day? Although they liked her, they wouldn't stretch the rules to let her resume her old place there- that was a silly daydream she had to leave behind. She wouldn't be able to teach yet either. Would they provide a further reading list if she wrote to them? Her father tried to get her a job in the department of mysteries, but they had enough unspeakables and weren't accepting applications from eighteen year olds. Father's job as a senior member of the international magical office of law could only influence the secretive department so much.
Hermione was greatly disappointed by her rejection. It was rare she was considered sub-par for anything. Now that her meticulously thought out plans of being the head of the department of mysteries had been crushed, she struggled to choose an alternative. Of course, she already had a plan B, C, and D for her career. Because of her perfect OWLs and high predicted NEWTs, every job the wizarding world had to offer was open to her- that is, apart from the department of mysteries apprenticeship. The freedom was paralysing.
Hermione sauntered downstairs, unscrolling the prophet and scanning it's headlines. Her father was in the kitchen already, reading the quidditch section of his paper, and finishing a cup of black coffee. Skeeter had written a sensationalist article about professor Dumbledore and his dark secrets. Even though she had resented the late headmaster's favouritism of Gryffindor, the journalist's acidic tone made her want to be on his side. Scrimgeour maintained a fortified appearance in his column, to make people feel at ease. The prophet had entirely covered up the mass Death Eater breakout that Draco told her about. Mr Flint put down his paper.
"Marcus will be at the ball."
"Oh, good," his daughter replied, "It's been too long since we last talked."
"As will Bole, and Derrick."
"Oh dear." At least they were no older than twenty-two. Originally Hermione thought that her academic prowess would fend her mother off for a few more years, but Mrs Flint saw a burgeoning war as all the more reason to secure a grandchild, as soon as possible. Hermione was angry that Marcus had failed to have a girlfriend. He would carry the name on, and was already twenty-three, after all. Perhaps her mother just wanted to be relieved of her. The woman was just as headstrong and stubborn as her daughter, and they had been arguing about it since Hermione's sixth year.
Callidus coughed brusquely. "On the bright side, it will be entertaining to see all four of you in the same room."
Hermione scowled. "I'm taking Raven out," she announced, leaving the room.
The Hippogriff stables were impeccable, as always. Opening the gate, Hermione walked across straw to where she was lying, and bowed deeply. "Hello, you beautiful creature," she stretched out a hand to pet the darkly feathered head. "We're going out."
Raven stood gracefully and trotted out of the gate, and onto the lawn. She bowed her great eagle's head to allow Hermione to mount, and began to canter. Hooves pounded at the dirt, gaining speed. Hermione already felt free as they swept along the far garden wall. There was a spectacular view of the back of the manor, where ornamental flowers grew in vivid plumes, and wisteria crept up around the windows. The beast gave a caw and leapt up into the air. Hermione cheered for sheer joy as they took flight, and Raven's wings stretched all the way out to propel them further into the air. She could see the turrets and chimneys from above as they careered around.
Suddenly Raven swooped upwards, and the girl had to launch herself forward to get a better hold of the reigns. Wind thundered in her ears and crashed into already watering eyes. Her hands were numb, but she didn't care. Rejoicing in the thrill of being so high, she urged her hippogriff to fly to dizzying heights. Hermione was aiming for the clouds. Distant houses became mere ink bottle tops dotted among the rolling green fields of the Cotswolds. A giddy lurch came at the thought that if she fell now, she would plummet to her death. Every time she had fallen before, learning to ride, her mother would be there to cast arresto momentum. Once, Raven had swooped back down to catch her. The unit shot up, up to just below a cloud. Squinting through the dazzling light, she could now see the curvature of the vast earth, and the atmosphere. She leant sideways, and Raven's right wing became half submerged by the pearly vapour. Little white swirls and eddies spun off from the feathers, leaving a roiling opening in the cloud. Hermione willed her hippogriff to do a full backwards loop- and fly straight through it. A world of whiteness surrounded the pair who were deluged in it's cool swathes- neither liquid or air. A strong beat of wings brought them crashing through into the heavenly kingdom above.
It billowed in slow motion like rounded mountains all around them, constantly, drifting, evolving, and changing shape. Always beautifully nebulous. The blinding sun hit the white mass fully, and it appeared as solid as a snowy landscape. The sky was an ineffable shade of blue she had never seen before; pale, delicate, glassy and elegant. Utterly ethereal. She wanted to imprint that colour into her memory. Hermione was drunk (and euphorically light headed) on the low oxygen levels, and low air pressure. Silence and peace reigned freely up here, apart from the ambience of the faintest of winds. She rested her head on the bird's feathery neck. Gliding around gently, the hippogriff's oscillating movement buffeted her up and down. After a while, Raven crowed majestically, then dipped down to graze her hooves across the top of the cloud, before meandering back down through the cloud, towards the distant speck of Flint manor, and down to much heavier air. As always, her hooves landed on the ground far too soon.
Preview of later chapter:
Narcissa got a vinyl disk out and dropped the needle of the gramophone in the corner. A dreamy waltz started playing. Narcissa held out her hand.
"You know how to dance, yes?"
"A little, but I'm not good." Hermione took her hand and stood.
"I'll teach you." Their fingers intertwined. Narcissa gently held Hermione's waist, and she placed her hand on Narcissa's shoulder. They began to dance, swaying and stepping in time with the music, giggling when Hermione missed the odd step. It was easy enough, with such a talented teacher. Some of what she had been taught as a child came back to her as Narcissa tapped the underside of her chin to keep her head up, and pulled her waist taught against her to fix her posture. Narcissa made Hermione pirouette and she tripped over her feet with a yelp, before the older witch caught her in her arms. There was a shocked silence as they came close enough to breathe each other's air, before they burst out laughing.
Narcissa had to dismiss her to attend to managing the household, and Hermione couldn't help but grin stupidly to herself when she closed the door.