Hermione woke warm, muscles loose and relaxed, a slight ache between her legs. The bed was empty beside her but not cold, Narcissa had not been gone long. Peeking out from the blankets, Hermione spied the older woman on the other side of the room.
Narcissa leaned against the window frame, drinking in the view of the city below. She had curled herself around the mug of coffee cupped between her hands, all poise and guard abandoned. Her hair was a mess, the side of her face Hermione could see still puffy from sleep and in place of the designer cloaks she usually wore, she had on her fluffy nightgown.
Hermione thought that she had never seen anything so beautiful in her life.
She was so absorbed that it took her a moment to notice the origami bird flapping around the ceiling. There was something strangely familiar about it, but Narcissa turned before she could remember quite where she had seen it before and her smile, far more radiant than the hour deserved, knocked all thought and breath out of Hermione.
"It arrived this morning," Narcissa said, following Hermione's gaze to the charmed paper bird. "A letter from my lawyer. Or rather, from Lucius through our lawyers."
"Oh," said Hermione. These mysterious letters did not, as a rule, leave Narcissa in such a good mood.
Narcissa was still watching the bird, smiling fondly. "Draco used to love that charm. As a child, he would bring me any scrap of parchment he could find, insisting I turn it into a paper bird." Her gaze flicked back to Hermione. "Did you sleep well?"
"Very," Hermione said. "And," she ventured cautiously, "It's good news? The letter?"
Narcissa laughed. "Hardly. Lucius is full of threats and demands as usual. He's becoming far more creative though, I'm actually rather impressed. But," she said, crossing the room to place her mug carefully on a nightstand, take a seat on the bedside and kiss Hermione, long and deep, "I can't quite bring myself to care."
The kiss was soft and sweet. It felt like familiarity rather than desperation, Narcissa finishing her sentence against Hermione's lips. Hermione melted into it. She wanted a kiss like that every day of her life.
"I feel indestructible," Narcissa said. Tossed back her head to laugh at the ceiling: "Napoleonic."
Hermione shook her head. "Things ended very badly for him, you know," she said. But she was smiling. She loved Narcissa like this. Playful and careless, slightly ridiculous.
Narcissa's smile only grew. "Well, we'll just have to avoid Waterloo, won't we, darling?"
Hermione laughed and reached out to tug Narcissa to her by the lapels of her gown. Narcissa obliged, coming to rest on her side next to Hermione.
"Speaking of travel destinations," Narcissa said, tugging the duvet lower almost absentmindedly, exposing Hermione's bare chest. "We never did decide where to go next, and we really should be checking out soon."
Hermione, whose skin had broken out into goosebumps more from the hand that brushed along her ribcage, than from the cold, raised an eyebrow. Or tried to. More accurately, her eyes rolled back a little as Narcissa's hand, not absent-minded anymore, moved from her side to her front. Narcissa's fingers circled a nipple featherlight, once, twice, three times and then pinched, drawing a low, breathy moan from Hermione.
"You're not making a good case for leaving bed," Hermione managed to say between gasps.
Narcissa grinned suddenly. "Do I contradict myself?" she asked. "Very well, I contradict myself." Her playful smile turned mischievous when recognition dawned on Hermione's face. "I am large -"
"I contain multitudes," Hermione finished, beaming. "You read the poem? A song of myself?"
"I did," Narcissa said. "And a few more. I found myself a copy in between running errands. Thank you for the introduction."
Hermione was smiling so broadly it made something in Narcissa's chest flutter.
"Why?" she asked.
"Why?" Narcissa repeated, as if the answer was obvious. "You recommended it."
"I didn't. I only mentioned it. In passing."
Narcissa considered. "You mentioned it. I suppose I thought it must have touched you in some way, for you to remember it."
She paused and seemed to wonder whether she should continue. "I find myself wanting to share things with you, Hermione." Paused again and then, deciding, sat up and reached for her wand. With a murmured accio, something small and gold flew out of a suitcase and into her hand. She turned to Hermione.
"I saw this," she said. "And thought of you." Reconsidered. "Well, actually, no. Not quite." Narcissa chewed her bottom lip. It was an endearingly nervous gesture that Hermione had never seen on her before. "I had it made," Narcissa said. "For you." And she held out a necklace.
Hermione sat up and took the jewellery that was offered to her. It was lovely - made of gold chain link so fine it pooled in her hand like liquid. At the end of the chain hung a delicately wrought flower, stem and leaves in gold and bulb made of petals of mother-of-pearl. A narcissus flower (Hermione would recognise it anywhere). When Narcissa hung it around Hermione's neck, the petals opened and bloomed.
"I realise the symbolism is a little…" Narcissa let out a huff of self-deprecating laughter, "narcissistic, but it makes me think of that day with you, in the meadow. And I thought - or rather, hoped - you might also like a reminder of that day. It's a little extravagant maybe, I can always exchange it if -"
"I love it," Hermione said. And she did. It was beautiful. She wasn't sure whether to beam or blush so she settled for throwing her arms around Narcissa's neck.
"Thank you," she breathed.
Narcissa's arms encircled her waist, warm and strong and grateful, and they sat there, in each other's arms for a few moments. Content - until Hermione became aware of the pulse of Narcissa's throat, just under her cheek. She pulled back a little, and pressed a soft kiss there, in the hollow of Narcissa's neck. And then another, this one slightly wetter, slightly more demanding. Narcissa's breath caught and Hermione's hands found the ties of her gown, tugged until the older witch's gown fell open.
Narcissa pulled back fully and took Hermione's face in her hands. She looked for a moment as if she was about to say something. But she didn't. She kissed Hermione, lips between her teeth but gentle - so gentle - and leaned back against the headboard, allowing Hermione to straddle her. Hermione lay her hands flat – reverent - against Narcissa's torso and then ran them up to Narcissa's chest, brushing over Narcissa's breasts too gently, again and again until Narcissa was arching into her, desperate for pressure. The movement dragged her thigh over a place that drew from the younger witch a noise that Narcissa imagined she could listen to all day. One of Hermione's hands dipped between Narcissa's legs, nudged them apart and slid into her where she was wet and waiting. Narcissa - barriers and hair down, openly wanting – was like nothing on earth. The two of them began to move together as one, entirely consumed by friction and heat and saying each other's names.
Some time after (who knows how long? Who, honestly, was keeping time?) when they were done and spent, Narcissa got out of bed and made her way to their suitcases. Hermione watched Narcissa rifle through their things, listened to her plan the day's journey out loud, toyed with the idea of getting up and wrapping her arms around the blonde witch. It was surreal, that she could think it and, if she wanted to, just do it. Narcissa would relax against her, her back would be warm and her heartbeat strong. It was a luxury even to consider the option.
On a dresser on the other side of the room, Hermione spied the brown envelope that the letter had arrived in. In a flash of inspiration, she pointed her wand at it and it transformed into a sparrow, alighting from the counter to twirl in a grateful dance with the paper bird.
Narcissa's delighted laugh was pure magic.
They took a late breakfast. Their plan to be on the road early had been frustrated by... Well, by factors entirely outside their control like the noise Hermione made in the shower when Narcissa curled her fingers just right. Sitting in the hotel dining room, watching Hermione across the room refilling her plate at the fruit-bar, Narcissa thought very graphically of the series of events that had delayed them that morning and had to press her thighs together.
Her rememberings, which could very well have kept her occupied for hours, were interrupted by a young, bespectacled man who appeared suddenly at their table and cleared his throat.
Narcissa turned to him and, for a moment thinking he might be service staff, tilted her head in polite question.
"Good morning," she said. "Can I help you with something?"
"Yes," said the man. "Yes I think you could." he nodded towards Hermione. "Your friend over there, she's a beauty, isn't she?"
Narcissa looked briefly at Hermione and when she turned back to the man, her expression was stone.
The man, oblivious, continued. "I'm being rude, aren't I? The name's Arthur." He held out a hand and when Narcissa did not take it, undeterred, drew out a chair and sat. Rifling through his bag, he pulled out a camera. "I'm a photographer you see, always on the lookout for talent. You wouldn't mind asking your friend if she'd pose for a few, would you?"
Narcissa toyed for a moment with the thought of hexing him. A bat bogey hex would do nicely. Or maybe boils. Boils were always good. Sniffing delicately instead, she said in her most glacial voice: "I would mind, in fact, and so would she."
Her companion took the rejection in his stride though and, rather than leaving, prattled on though Narcissa made it clear that she was no longer listening. Hermione had turned and, from the other side of the room, met Narcissa's eye. Her gaze flicked to the man and then back to Narcissa. She raised an eyebrow in question. In answer, Narcissa rolled her eyes. Hermione looked at the man again, a little longer this time, considering. Then she scrunched her nose in distaste. Narcissa laughed out loud. Apparently Arthur was not entirely hopeless because, at this, he seemed to realise that he was not on the receiving end of Narcissa's attention and stood, mumbling some inane goodbye and leaving to take a seat at a table nearby.
"What was that about?" Hermione asked when she returned to the table.
"You have yourself an admirer," Narcissa said.
"I already knew that," Hermione said, grinning at Narcissa. "Last night made that perfectly clear. And don't get me started on this morning…"
Narcissa laughed. "Another one then," she conceded, reaching over to steal a grape from Hermione's plate. "Of the male variety." But she could not quite summon up the ire she'd felt only a few moments earlier, not with Hermione here, all her attention on Narcissa. Within a few minutes, Narcissa's mind was entirely on how easily Hermione reached across the table to link together their fingers and the entertaining story she told (merpeople and the Triwizard tournament and Narcissa had never really liked Viktor Krum, come to think of it). Narcissa almost entirely forgot the unpleasant encounter.
Almost. When they were leaving, bill paid and route for the day plotted out ahead of them, Narcissa could not help but wrap her arm around Hermione's waist and turn, pulling Hermione into her side and shooting Arthur her very best glare. Sitting alone, tinkering with his camera, Arthur's jaw dropped and Narcissa smirked. She was, after all, still a Malfoy.
The next few days passed quickly. They were like teenagers, infatuated, unable to keep their hands off each other. Hermione thought she saw the stars in Narcissa's eyes. Narcissa looked over at the passenger seat and decided that she needed to pull over immediately - on the side of a highway - because she needed right at that moment to feel Hermione under her. They laughed louder, ate from the same plate, brushed each other's hair, became intimately familiar with the lines on each other's palms.
"I never had this as a girl," Hermione said, palm flat against Narcissa's chest, reassuring herself of Narcissa's heartbeat. "Not like this – all-consuming. By the time I was old enough, everything took a backseat to saving the world."
Narcissa nodded thoughtfully. "I never dated either," she said. "We courted. It was a serious business, securing a good proposal."
Hermione raised an eyebrow (she'd perfected the action by now - all this time with Narcissa). "So are we dating then?" she asked. And burst into laughter at how fast Narcissa turned red.
It was good. Too good. The type of happiness that makes you feel as if you are tempting fate.
The owl that waited for them when they walked into their motel room was frantic. It dropped an envelope and copy of the Prophet at Narcissa's feet and flapped out of the room, hooting indignantly. Narcissa frowned slightly and bent to pick up the envelope, which she slit open in a single, practised movement. Reading the first few lines, her face went white so suddenly Hermione feared she might faint.
"Is everything alright?" Hermione asked.
The older woman did not respond.
"Narcissa?"
She sat at the foot of the bed, face stricken, trying to school itself into an expression of neutral indifference. The letter hung limp in her hand. She gave no sign of having heard Hermione.
Hermione picked up the newspaper still lying on the floor and, stomach dropping, saw immediately the problem. A picture of them was emblazoned across the front page of the Daily Prophet. Nothing explicit, but it told a very clear story - a front page worthy story:
"SHOCK HORROR: WIFE OF DEATH EATER SEDUCES HERO OF HOGWARTS BATTLE!"
The byline:
"Forbidden romance or love potion plot?"
Underneath, taking up half the front page, Narcissa scowled at the reader, her hand on Hermione's back, slipping around her waist possessively. At the bottom of the page, another picture: Narcissa and Hermione at a table together, hands linked.
Hermione would have thought it cute, if it wasn't disastrous.
"Who -?" Hermione began.
"The morning after," Narcissa said, voice impassive and distant. She stared unseeing at a spot on the wall. "The man at the hotel restaurant. With a camera. I forget his name."
Hermione swallowed the anxiety rising in her chest. Narcissa seemed very far away, but she was talking to Hermione, that at least was something. "The letter -?" Hermione asked.
"Lucius is furious," Narcissa said. "He's been threatening to involve Draco. To disown him if I don't return, or make his inheritance conditional on never seeing me again. Creative, I'll admit." Narcissa let out a bark of cynical laughter. "What can I say? My husband knows me. Isn't that every wife's dream? To say that her husband understands her? Truly knows her?"
Narcissa paused. She looked up at Hermione. "But I didn't think he would do it in the end, not really."
Her voice and the careful mask she'd put on cracked. She sobbed. "I know Lucius too. I know him better than he knows himself and I know that after this," she nodded to the newspaper still in Hermione's hand, "he would do it. He would leave me with nothing. No house, no money, not even my son. Leaving him, he might have learnt to live with, but he will never forgive this humiliation."
Hermione walked to the bed and dropped to her knees. She put her hands in Narcissa's lap.
"I'm sorry," she said. It struck her then how stupid they had been. How stupid she had been, thinking that they were dating, like teenagers, when Narcissa's freedom, her future, hung in the balance. She buried her face in Narcissa's lap. "I'm so sorry, Narcissa, I've been so selfish -"
"Oh darling," Narcissa's voice was gentle. She lifted Hermione's face, looked down into her eyes. "Sweetheart, I have been a willing participant in this," she said. "You have nothing to apologise for."
Hermione nodded and blinked back the tears that had started to form at the corners of her eyes.
"We'll figure this out," she said. "There has to be something we can do."
Narcissa smiled. "Something we can do?"
"Yes," Hermione said. "I can help, I want to. I know people."
Narcissa shook her head, but she was still smiling. She brushed Hermione's hair behind her ears, first one side then the other. "Sometimes I forget how young you are," she murmured, carefully smoothing down the hairs at Hermione's temple.
"You're right," she said finally. "You and I will fix this. Tomorrow. But will you do me one favour?"
"Anything," Hermione said. And she meant it. Anything if it meant Narcissa would not simply give up on this.
"Will you let me pretend, just for tonight, that none of this is happening?" Narcissa asked. "Just give me tonight."
Hermione nodded. "Of course," she said. "Of course."
"Then come to bed," Narcissa whispered. "Come to bed with me."
Hermione stood. Narcissa looked up at her, held her in place for a moment and just looked at her before pulling her closer.
Hermione didn't notice when she started to cry. Neither of them did until they kissed and it tasted of salt.
Hermione woke to an empty bed. Sitting up, she saw that Narcissa's bags were gone. On the bedside table was an envelope but she didn't need to read it to know what it would say.
She lay back down. There was no shock. She had half expected this, had felt last night as if they were saying goodbye. She would cry later, she supposed. Cry and rage and pack her things. But for now there was none of that. There was only fatigue and a cold and hollow ache where Narcissa should have been.