2

An almost normal life.

When their lips met, Hermione moaned. Narcissa's mouth was soft, demanding. Hermione tried to deepen the kiss, licking Narcissa's upper lip with her tongue, but her wish was denied, and instead, she felt them leave her mouth to focus on her neck and jaw. She felt Narcissa's teeth scratch her skin and she twisted, clinging to her straight blond hair, so soft and pleasant to the touch...

One by one, the buttons on her shirt were undone and the garment was forgotten, lost in the white of the sheets. Her bra disappeared too, though she wouldn't have noticed, being so lost in her haze, if it weren't for Narcissa's mouth around her nipple. She licked the tip, with a softness and slowness that made her skin crawl, and Hermione clung to her hair more, wondering if she was hurting her. When her nipple hardened from the attentions, Narcissa caught it between her teeth and pulled, making her hiss with pleasure and pain.

The alarm clock rang again, and this time Hermione's eyes widened. She looked at her watch, the hands read a quarter past seven in the morning.

"Hell," she complained, getting out of bed so fast she almost fell from getting her legs tangled in the sheets.

Hermione's face turned red as she was aware of two things: first, when she moved, she felt wet, in a very specific part of her body; second, it was caused by her dream, an erotic dream with Narcissa Malfoy.

It was indecent, inappropriate! That woman had only been kind, she never did more than speak to her in a friendly way. And what was Hermione doing? Getting excited thinking about her because she realized she was pretty. For heaven's sake, she hardly knew her! She went to the shower, wanting to erase any trace of her embarrassing behavior.

. . .

Hermione was cooking dinner. That day she had left work at her usual time. Maybe it was an omen that everything would settle again and strange things would stop happening.

Her doorbell rang, which baffled her a bit. She was not expecting anyone and it was quite rare that, like yesterday, someone came to her door. She wondered if it was Narcissa. And she wanted to hit her head on the frying pan she was cooking with because of it. She didn't want to see Narcissa! She lowered the heat on the burners, uncovered the bottom pot slightly, and went to the entrance.

"Hi," Hermione greeted, trying not to panic because her wish had come true: Narcissa was at the door.

"We already bought a new one," she explained, and handed over the lighter she had loaned her the day before.

"You could have kept it. I have several," she said as she grabbed it. Their fingers brushed for a brief moment, it felt soft.

"I would like to return your kindness Miss Granger, if you need anything, feel free to ask." Hermione nodded at her words, trying to push the memories of her dreams as far back as possible. "Or my husband. He asked me to thank you on his behalf." The reminder that there was a Mr. Malfoy was like a punch to the stomach that made it turn with guilt.

"Thank you," she managed to say.

"I'll leave you then," Narcissa said.

"Have a good night, Mrs. Malfoy," she returned, then closed the door.

She returned to the kitchen and sighed. "What the hell is wrong with me?" she growled. She was not like that. She was not a slug that looked at women and lusted after them. She shouldn't even like women this way. She's supposed to be nice to Narcissa and not have wet dreams about her. She should be in love with an attractive and intelligent man, who was physically strong and highly educated, she should not have carnal desires without love for a woman she did not know and who was already in a serious relationship. It was wrong, for too many reasons.

She put the fire back up on the stove and continued cooking, at least tomorrow would be Saturday and she could relax. Surely all the nonsense she was thinking lately was from the stress of work, playing a practical joke on her. Yes, that must be it.

. . .

Like most weekends, Hermione's plans boiled down to getting up at eight o'clock as she allowed herself to sleep in on non-working days: mowing the lawn and tending her plants around noon; and if the weather was good, reading with a drink in the open air, until she wanted to go inside. Although on Sundays, a visit to the gym was added to the afternoon.

After breakfast, her phone rang and she answered. Ginny Potter greeted her and wasted no time asking her about "what fun plan she had for today" as she dramatized that hers were horrible and repetitive. After talking for a while about a sleepy baby and a little boy with a chocolate milk mustache, Hermione laughed and said goodbye, telling Ginny that she was a terrible mother.

Ginny was one of her best friends, who had married another of her best friends: Harry Potter. They both already had two children, the oldest was James, and the baby's name was Albus. Hermione always felt strange when she remembered that almost all of her friends were already parents. She ended up wondering: Why not her? And worst of all, after thinking about it so much, she was recognizing that she did not envy them at all. Shouldn't she want to feel what it's like to bear a child at this age? Or know what it feels like to take care of someone smaller and inexperienced?

The only friend she had who hadn't already dabbled in motherhood was Luna Lovegood, who was not one of Hermione's favorite people. Luna and she got together just because of Ginny, never on their own, since they were very different in almost every way… and they exasperated each other a bit. But what bothered her the most was that even with Luna being all she rejected, she had a partner: a man named Rolf. Why did Luna have a boyfriend and she didn't?

"Because you never liked anyone that way," she answered herself. She didn't know what it was to be in love, she didn't understand it. She felt it was her secret, a horrible one. What kind of person did not fall in love?

She went out into the courtyard of her house and took a deep breath through her nose. The humidity was very noticeable, even with her coat on it felt quite cold. She went to her shed and got out her lawn mower. It wasn't very long yet, but ignoring it this weekend would make her yard look like a jungle the next.

It was when she was in the middle of her work that she saw the door to the house next door open and a head with blonde hair emerged. Hermione lowered her head to the ground, not wanting to be caught watching. A downside about these houses was the height of the fences, which rather than protecting privacy, simply fulfilled the function of separating the yards.

After a while, she carefully looked up to see if Narcissa was still there or if she had only exited briefly, and collided with her eyes before she could avoid it. Hermione smiled, trying to be nice and Narcissa smiled back. She scanned the Malfoy family yard, curious, and saw that there were various gardening supplies scattered on the ground. It appeared that Narcissa had plans to plant flowers in her new home. Not wanting to be cheeky, she went back to looking at her own business, continuing with her tasks for the day.

Two hours later Hermione sat in a hammock that was tied between two trees, the shade did not help the temperature when it was already beginning to get cold, but she had brought a hot chocolate and a blanket along with her book.

"Miss Granger," a voice called her.

Hermione looked over, surprised. Narcissa was leaning against the fence with her lips curled, somewhere between a smile and a serious expression.

"Mrs. Malfoy."

"I was surprised to see that you came out again. Isn't it cold to read under the trees?"

"I come prepared," she said, lifting the cup she was holding a little.

"So it seems."

Narcissa's hair was tied up from working. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that she had been digging a lot, but not a drop of sweat was crossing her face right now. And her hair, like her skin, was flawless. Neither the wind nor her activities seemed to even tickle her. She was the most perfect woman Hermione had ever come across. How was it even possible? She would be puffing instead, maybe even red.

"...you would like?" She asked.

"What?" Hermione stammered.

"Were you listening to me?" One of her eyebrows arched at her question.

"I'm sorry," she whispered in shame.

Narcissa looked amused by that, and Hermione swallowed, wondering if she was red now. Everything seemed to indicate that, to top it all off, she did not need physical exercise to achieve that state.

"I was telling you," she remarked, looking into her eyes to make sure she was listening this time, "that my husband will have a barbecue tomorrow. We thought about inviting several neighbors, since we are new in the neighborhood. Also, at his new job, he was gifted several cuts of meat, which, honestly, it would be impossible for us to finish just the three of us."

"Oh," Hermione sighed. "I don't want to be a hassle."

"And it won't be," she guaranteed. "I have no other job but to take care of the house, and I don't know anyone here. I think it is a good opportunity to talk to new people. I never liked loneliness."

"I'm the opposite," she said with a laugh. "I like to be alone."

"I suspected it, from the book. You are young and you are at home for a weekend, reading."

"Young," she snorted. "I am twenty-eight."

"If you're not young, what am I? An old woman?"

"Not at all," she paled. You look very young and beautiful, you don't appear to be older than me at all."

"You're too kind, Miss Granger." Narcissa's eyes felt intense on hers. She seemed too pleased by the compliments, and in fact, she didn't dismiss them. "But to my regret, I'm not twenty-eight. I will be forty in a few months."

"It doesn't look like it," she insisted.

"What do you think if instead of continuing to praise me, I have the pleasure of you joining us tomorrow?"

Her cheeks burned, now she had no doubts about her condition, but she ignored her embarrassment and nodded, accepting the proposal. Narcissa managed a perfect smile. Hermione felt like she could melt just from being in front of her.

Once she was alone again, she looked at the cover of her book without much interest in reading. It was a shame, since it was written by Julio Cortázar, an author she liked and who had recently died. She dedicated herself to drinking her hot chocolate, hugging the book. She didn't understand her irrational infatuation with Narcissa. She wasn't sure how to express the magnetism that woman possessed. She could spend all day listening to her speak, her voice was like a melody to her. Having the attention of her icy blue eyes on her felt captivating. The ice burned her insides too pleasantly.

Hermione never considered taking an interest in a woman in this way. She liked men. Or at least... physically. That was a detail she hadn't discussed with anyone, not even Ginny.

When she thought about love, she didn't understand it in too many ways. She loved her friends, her family… but she didn't need them. She had no problem leaving her family at seventeen to go to college, to another city thirteen hours away from her parents. She also didn't mind leaving her high school friends behind. They wept as they said goodbye, but she never understood the sentiment. She was not obsessed with others. She really loved them, she did not doubt that: she cared for them, she helped them, she knew them like the back of her hand, and she was very excited when it was the birthday of one of them and they were going to spend it all together. But she didn't feel bad about not seeing them again, just... Didn't she have other things to do? She never felt tied to others. So when they talked to her about love, deep down, she wasn't interested at all.

She dated various men, half of them courtesy of Ginny, as she introduced her to guys she thought she might like. And the truth is, she did like most of them... physically. She felt terrible thinking about it. She ended up having sex with several of them, and with some she did more than once, but there should always be a romantic date first, because that was normal, especially at this age when they wanted to settle down. They began to say nice things to her at some point, about how fascinated they were with her way of being, and she could only say to them that she had fun and liked the time they spent together, but that she was not delighted. Why did she want to have sex with them if she wasn't interested in something else, in them as people?

There were times when she tried to cope with the romantic side. Viktor Krum was the most handsome man she had ever dated. He had been so beautiful that she thought "Why not try something else?" She supposed that maybe it was a matter of time, that if she was with him long enough, she would be as drawn to his mind as she was to his body. But it was not like that. And it was horrible. He was pampering her all the time, giving her things, calling her to talk during the night until they were sleepy if they were separated... She felt that she could have gone crazy from so much insistence.

All the time she dedicated to love, up to this moment of her existence, she felt it as a waste of time, since it bored her and did not give her any feeling...

She did not understand why she could enjoy the company of a man in bed, but not on a date. She loved to kiss, but didn't feel any special connection doing it. The important thing was that he was attractive to her, she could sigh for someone's beauty, but not feel the tingle that they talked so much about when you were supposedly in love and you smiled at each other, accomplices. She did not feel restless or scared for not having someone to accompany her in her life and projects. Unlike others, walking alone did not cause her discomfort. In reality, she was not lonely.

Hermione, no matter how hard she tried, wasn't normal. But nobody knew. And besides, it was normal to pretend.