A/N: Thank you so much for the positive feedback so far! Please keep reviewing and let me know what you think!
Trigger Warnings: Self-harm, mentioned torture, mentioned murder.
The next time Narcissa came to bring her food, Hermione was unable to talk. She tried to move from her position sprawled across the floor, but Narcissa held up a finger indicating she should hold still. After pushing the tray through the slot, Narcissa stood and pointed her wand at Hermione on the floor. Hermione couldn't help but flinch at the fresh memories it produced. Narcissa's spell did not inflict pain, though, and instead bathed Hermione in that warm sensation she'd felt earlier. She felt her seizing muscles relax and her breathing ease. It felt like a soothing pulse, or a tide of heat running over her distressed body…
She wanted to ask Narcissa a hundred questions, but she found herself too exhausted to stay conscious any longer and slipped into sleep under Narcissa's gaze.
Narcissa seemed to be scheduling her deliveries when she knew Hermione would be too disabled to talk. She would slide the food through the slot, warmed and with the occasional treat hiding inside, and administer a healing spell that almost always left Hermione in a peaceful sleep. When Hermione awoke, she would eat the food and try to stay awake until Narcissa returned to collect the tray, but the woman managed to always come by when Hermione was sleeping. Hermione even tried to pretend to be asleep once, but even that failed. She was beginning to think that if she didn't interact with Narcissa, she really would go crazy. Her questions didn't matter anymore—if her only interaction with other humans was to be through torture, then she would lose her sanity.
Hermione wondered if Narcissa could read her mind. Shortly after Hermione had given up, Narcissa appeared with her nightly (daily? weekly? How often was she fed?) meal. She seemed surprised to find Hermione awake, but then again Hermione wasn't very good at reading expressions anymore. She wondered if anyone in this war was even capable of rendering an expression other than the comatose fear in Narcissa's eyes right now.
Hermione crawled to the slot in the bars as Narcissa knelt down to slide her tray through the gap. She was about to thank her, when she gasped instead. "Your hand!" There was a criss-crossing of cuts across Narcissa's hand and creeping over her wrist. Before she could snatch her hand back under her shawl, Hermione grabbed the lady's fingers and held them strongly in her gasp. "You have to stop this," Hermione told her desperately.
"You were suffering," Narcissa whispered frantically. "I could not heal you without an excuse if they decided to check the wand. Please," Narcissa tried to tug her hand free and Hermione was suddenly aware of how long it had been since she'd touched another person. "I cannot stay here long."
Hermione loosened her grip enough that Narcissa could easily pull away, but did not let go of her hands. "Please don't hurt yourself for me," Hermione pleaded, searching Narcissa's eyes desperately. "Can you put some dittany on the cuts? Or another healing spell? I'm sure they wouldn't suspect if they found out you'd cast lots of spells at once. Please, promise me you'll heal them."
"I will try," Narcissa was panicking now. "But the Dark Lord does not keep a stock of healing potions and I am only allowed a wand when I come to you," she explained rapidly, giving Hermione's hand a quick squeeze before standing and pulling the shawl over her shoulders and hiding her injured hand behind the material. Hermione watched her, her thoughts of nothing but Narcissa Malfoy's safety. It seemed absurd, but, Hermione supposed, the world had turned upside down long ago.
Narcissa rushed from the dungeon without another world and Hermione ate her food slowly, mulling over the fact that she apparently had an ally in this situation, and it had had come from the most unexpected place.
They developed a habit from then on. When Narcissa brought Hermione's food, she would heal her if she needed it. She would also heal the cuts on her own arm, showing Hermione as she did it. The hardly spoke. Most of the times, Hermione was unable to speak or even think coherently. As Voldemort became more desperate for information, Bellatrix became more creative with her methods. Hermione was certain the only reason she was still alive and sane was because the information she possessed was too valuable to dispose of. She'd become used to the Cruciatus curse, and knew she could take it. And she knew Narcissa would be there to soothe the pain afterwards.
On the occasions when Hermione was able to speak, she would inspect Narcissa's hands to make sure she was taking proper care of her self-inflicted wounds. The woman refused to stop healing her, and therefore refused to stop creating little cuts on her own skin in case she needed an excuse for all the healing spells being casted with a Death Eater's wand. Strictly speaking, it was Narcissa's wand, but after Lucius' had been snapped by Voldemort, he'd adopted it as his own. Narcissa was only allowed it when she came down to deliver Hermione's meals.
Hermione never asked Narcissa why she was choosing to help her, a Mudblood prisoner of Death Eaters. They didn't have the time for unnecessary conversation, and Hermione wasn't even sure she wanted to know the answer. Narcissa's help was enough on its own.
Hermione was hardly surprised when she realised that Narcissa's visits were what she most looked forward to. After all, when you're trapped in a dungeon by racist madmen, the one kind person is naturally the most desirable. Fleeting touches to Narcissa's hand fascinated Hermione. Seeing their skin together looked like the epitome of juxtaposition: Hermione's hand was sickly pale and decorated with abrasions and bruises. Her skin was dirty and her nails torn, whereas Narcissa's, despite the cuts, was silky smooth and elegantly manicured. How she managed to maintain her appearance in the middle of a war was beyond Hermione.
Sometimes, Narcissa came to her pale and trembling, her eyes dilated with more fear than usual. Hermione hated that war made terror the default emotion. On one of these occasions, Hermione dared to ask, "What's wrong?" Her voice was unrecognisable, fractured and hoarse in the dim light of the dungeon.
Narcissa would shake her head and offer a fragment of news, such as, "They are planning to attack a family," or "He is not pleased with the latest developments." Her whispers were always vague and ambiguous. Hermione couldn't understand whether she should interpret the scraps of information as good for the Light or not. From Narcissa's perspective, she guessed that everything was bad from any angle. It hadn't taken Hermione long to suspect that this woman just wanted the war over and done with as few casualties as possible. She didn't give a damn about the politics anymore. Hermione wasn't sure she ever did.
Sometimes, when Hermione asked what had caused Narcissa to come to her shaking and horrified, she didn't answer. She just looked into Hermione's eyes and walked away. It was these responses that frightened Hermione most. In this haven of Death Eaters, where murderers were celebrated, what could be so terrible that it could not even be spoken?
Hermione was surprised she wasn't suffering nightmares, but she figured that was probably Narcissa's doing as well. Perhaps the healing spell she used had something to do with it, or the food she was given. Narcissa had told her that she didn't have any potions available to her, but that didn't mean that her meals weren't enchanted somehow. Chocolate was known to have inherent magical properties, and she'd certainly been fed plenty of that.
Hermione tried to work out why Narcissa was helping her. She doubted it was out of personal affection. Hermione had never done anything to warrant that. By all counts, Narcissa Malfoy should be spitting at her feet and tossing her food on the dirty floor, laughing as Hermione tried to pick off the mould.
Well, perhaps she would never be that cruel. She certainly seemed to have a more gentle nature than anyone else associated with Voldemort. But that still did not explain why she was going out of her way to take care of a prisoner, at great risk to herself no doubt.
Hermione supposed that it was the one thing Narcissa felt she could do to make this war a little less terrible. If she could improve one life, even if it was the life of the Mudblood that had been on the Death Eaters' wish list since she was a child, then maybe that would ease her conscience at being on the side of darkness.
Vaguely, Hermione wondered if Narcissa was actually doing her a favour by helping to keep her alive. All she was doing was ensuring she was able to be tortured more before gotten rid of. Actually, maybe she'd been ordered to do that.
Hermione moved on from that thought.
When Narcissa came next, she was in a worse state than Hermione had ever seen. Her hair was dishevelled and her alabaster features were so pale she could have been mistaken for a ghost. The light from her wand was flickering as it trembled in her hand, and when she placed the tray down, the goblet tipped over and spilled across the stone.
"Sorry," Narcissa whispered, reaching to right the cup and fill it with water again.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, sitting up on her knees and holding onto the bars to look at Narcissa closely.
The woman didn't even meet her eyes as she fiddled with the tray and pushed it through the slot.
Hermione pushed it back.
"What's wrong? What's happened?" She'd never seen Narcissa so affected, and her dread was mounting.
Narcissa battled with herself, debating whether or not she should confess, before whispering in a broken voice, "They plan to execute you in two days' time."
Hermione stopped breathing, her fear cementing into a boulder in the pit of her stomach. She'd known it was coming, but to hear it spelled out in such deafening terms was unlike anything she'd ever imagined.
Narcissa was looking at her now, her eyes shining. She pushed the tray through the slot and stood, collecting herself. With a final glance, she turned to go.
"Wait," Hermione gasped, pulling at the bars. "Wait, please," Narcissa turned back to her, a deep sadness in her eyes, and Hermione held her gaze with fiery determination.
"Help me escape."
Narcissa's eyes widened and she looked at the door before rushing to the bars Hermione was clinging to.
"You know I cannot do that! Don't even ask it of me!"
"Yes, you can!" Hermione felt terrible for asking her to do something so dangerous, but her desperation and need for survival trumped anything else. "Please, Narcissa! Help me escape! Please,"
Hermione noted that it was the first time she'd addressed the woman by her first name, and Narcissa seemed to have noticed as well.
"Hermione," she whispered softly. "It would be impossible. There are Death Eaters crawling the place like rats," she said this with no little disgust in her voice, and Hermione was smugly satisfied to find that Narcissa disliked Voldemort's soldiers in her home. "I would be tortured and killed, as would you," she spoke more gently. "My family-" Her voice broke and she started again. "My family would suffer. I cannot be the cause of their pain."
Narcissa tried to stand to go, but Hermione's arm shot through the gap in the bars and held Narcissa's arm tightly. Her skin was warm against Hermione's frigid limbs.
"Escape with me," she pleaded. "We'll leave together. They'll believe that I kidnapped you. You won't be blamed and, by extent, neither will your family," Hermione knew there was a slim chance they'd assume Narcissa was faultless if they managed to successfully get out, but she didn't voice that fact. Narcissa was clever enough to figure it out on her own, anyway.
"I cannot stay here any longer," Narcissa whispered quickly, trying to pull herself free from Hermione's grasp and stand. Hermione took this as a good sign, since she was no longer outright refusing. She stood as well, still holding Narcissa's arm through the bars and looking into her eyes with desperation.
"Please help me, Narcissa, please,"
There were tears on Narcissa's cheeks now and she shook her head, wiping away the drops with her fingers as she turned to leave. Hermione let her go, watching with despair as Narcissa ascended the steps and left Hermione to ponder her fate.