A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who's read so far!
Things should pick up a bit again after this chapter, now that our heroines have had some time to recover. Also, quick shout-out to the people who compile the Harry Potter Wikis. Without them, I would be making up spell names using Google Translate.
Trigger Warnings: Implied sexual themes, dried blood, fresh blood, mentioned torture
Despite her anxiety and fear, Hermione woke after a long sleep. It seemed odd that as soon as she was given a bed, she slept soundly. Perhaps she'd been more worn down than she'd thought.
Hermione pushed herself up in the bed, wincing at the aches in her body. There was sunlight coming in through the window and it stole Hermione's breath away. She hadn't seen sunlight in a month, and the rays floating through the glass were more beautiful than she could have dreamt. It spilled across the coarse carpet and made the bed sheets sparkle. Hermione wanted to cry; every reminder of her freedom seemed to evoke another parcel of emotion. She couldn't help but wonder what would happen when her heart was wrung out all the way and there was nothing left to extract.
Hermione was very much aware of her need for a toilet and tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed, but froze when she spotted something beside her.
How had she not realised there was only one bed in this hotel room? Obviously it was a petty issue compared to the rest of what she was dealing with, but cuddling up next to Narcissa Malfoy was not a minor thing by any standard.
Hermione stared down at the woman as she slept. Her silky pyjamas were a little less green than they had been last night, the transfiguration having worn off a little. She was lying on her front, her blonde hair splashing across the pillow and her face directed toward Hermione's side of the bed. Hermione spotted her wand sticking out from beneath her pillow, near her fingertips, and couldn't help but admire Narcissa's sense of caution. It was refreshing after spending so many years with Harry and Ron whose only concerns were offensive rather than defensive. Had she escaped with them, Harry probably would have insisted on confronting Voldemort himself on the way out.
What would her boys say if they could see her now, waking up in bed with Narcissa Malfoy in a hotel room?
Hermione nearly snickered to herself. It sounded hilariously scandalous when put that way.
She slipped silently from the bed, still in awe that she actually had a mattress to sleep on, and limped a little on her twisted ankle as she made her way to the bathroom. To have modern plumbing after being on the run and imprisoned with only trees and metal tins was a pleasant change to say the least. Hermione felt like she'd gone from being a king's prisoner to being the king himself.
Her clothes were still sitting in a pile on the floor and Hermione dug through the trouser pockets to find the leaves she'd transfigured into Muggle currency. She didn't like the idea of using it to pay, considering it was technically counterfeit, but she couldn't afford to worry about that right now. They had no Muggle accounts to withdraw from and Hermione doubted that Narcissa had any brought any Galleons with her. Even if she had, how would they be able to convert them into Muggle notes without being recognised?
Surely Hermione was not the only wizard to create artificial Muggle pounds like this. Did wizards creating Muggle money in this way affect the Muggle economy and cause inflation? It was an intriguing possibility. Hermione pursued this line of thought for a minute, before coming to her senses and chuckling to herself.
Pondering the effect of transfiguration on Muggle economics? Goodness, she really was recovering.
She felt this keenly as she looked around the bathroom now. She was able to look at the furnishings without fear, without constantly analysing the threat they posed to her safety. She was by no means the same way she had been before her captivity (she doubted she ever would be), but to have her mind clean of constant anxiety was a mercy she desperately needed. It allowed her to catch her breath and prepare for whatever was headed her way. To be able to rest in comfort and relative safety, to be able to smile genuinely and without strain were luxuries she'd thought she'd never experience again.
Finished, Hermione left the bathroom and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Narcissa sitting up in the bed, watching her.
"Good morning," Hermione stuttered, startled.
"Good morning," Narcissa echoed, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "How do you feel?"
"Much better," answered Hermione honestly. "My ankle is a bit sore and I'm not exactly in amazing shape, but it's a far cry from how I was yesterday. Thank you for your help," she added awkwardly.
"Let me see your ankle," Narcissa said immediately, sitting up straighter and reaching for her wand. Hermione did as she asked and limped over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it and swinging one leg up onto the mattress, presenting her swollen, tender ankle for Narcissa's inspection.
Hermione pursed her lips in self-consciousness as Narcissa surveyed the injured joint and aimed her wand at it. With a clipped, "Episkey," Hermione's ankle relaxed and the swelling went down almost immediately.
"Thank you," Hermione said as she gingerly pressed her leg on the floor. When there was no pain, she stood experimentally.
"Do you have any other injuries which need healing?"
"Just a few bruises," Hermione answered, resisting the urge to snort. She had more injuries than she could count, but she doubted that another brisk Episkey would erase the memories of relentless Cruciatus and the bony shape of her figure. "What about you?"
"Only a few scrapes and bruises, which I healed last night." Narcissa responded, gazing at the length of her wand as she twisted it between her fingers.
"Okay," Hermione paused, feeling more and more awkward as this conversation proceeded. "What about the cut on your arm? The one Draco gave you?" She tried to voice the question gently, hoping not to hit a sensitive spot. The last thing she wanted was to upset Narcissa, especially when they were both in such a delicate state.
Narcissa was silent and Hermione worried that she'd gone too far. "I do not wish to erase that particular mark," she answered quietly after a moment.
"Oh," mumbled Hermione, not wanting to question but dissatisfied with this answer. "Can I see it at least? Just to make sure it won't get infected," Hermione said quickly, her voice sounding uncharacteristically small.
Narcissa conceded and slid her sleeve up her arm, presenting her forearm to Hermione's view. The cut ran from her elbow down to her wrist and still had dried blood darkening the skin nearby. Hermione frowned, and took Narcissa's hand to straighten out her arm and view the cut better. Narcissa flinched and tried to pull back, but Hermione held strong.
"Can I clean it for you, please? Just to get rid of the blood around it. I'll even use Muggle methods, if you want, so it won't heal it at all, but you need to clean and bandage this."
Narcissa frowned and her voice shook as she spoke. "I do not wish to erase the last interaction with my son."
"You don't have to explain," Hermione assured her quickly. "But you can't let this go untreated. I promise I'll only clean it. It won't make it fade or go away, just get rid of the dried blood around your arm." Hermione tried to convey her earnest intentions through her gaze and, after a moment, Narcissa gave her a nod of consent. Relieved, Hermione leaned over to the table beside her half of the bed and grabbed her wand (had Narcissa put it there? Hermione certainly hadn't). Pointing it at the dried blood on Narcissa's flesh, Hermione clearly stated, "Tergeo,"and watched with satisfaction as the dried flakes of rusty blood vanished, leaving Narcissa's skin clean.
"Thank you," Narcissa said softly, sadly looking at the single dark line left behind.
"You're welcome," Hermione answered, lighting running her fingers over the soft skin near the injury to make sure it didn't require any more attention. "You should be careful with this," she instructed. "If you twist your arm or stretch the skin too much, it will open again and it'll never heal."
"Very well," Narcissa conceded, pulling her arm from Hermione's hold and pushing her sleeve back down to her wrist. "Now," Narcissa said decisively, swiftly changing subjects. "What shall we do about breakfast?"
"I vote room service," Hermione answered eagerly. At Narcissa's blank expression, she explained, "It's where you tell them what you want over the phone and they bring the dishes to the room."
Narcissa seemed pleased by that idea and Hermione wanted to smirk; of course this woman would love to be doted on like this.
Hermione went to where the phone sat and picked up the booklet next to it, handing it to Narcissa on the bed. "Here's the menu," she told her, opening it to the first page and pointing to a phone number. "When you make a decision, press these buttons on the phone in the sequence they're written and then speak into the receiver. Someone should pick up to take your order. I don't have any requests," Hermione explained. "I'll be in the bathroom cleaning my teeth."
At the mention of food, Hermione had been reminded that she hadn't brushed her teeth during her month of captivity. The new toothbrush in the bathroom had made her keenly aware of the disgusting feeling of her mouth and she was impatient to scrub the grime off her teeth. She left Narcissa to work out the phone and set to work, brushing until her gums bled.
She heard Narcissa slowly dial and apparently make a few mistakes, if the number of button presses was any indication. It took at least a minute before she heard Narcissa's voice, haughty as ever, addressing whoever was at the end of the line. Hermione couldn't help but smile as she listened to the Pureblood witch try to figure out how to order food. By the volume of her voice, she must have been holding the receiver rather far away from her face, but that was resolved after a few moments and she seemed to be doing well enough with the telephone.
When Hermione rinsed her toothbrush a few minutes later, Narcissa was still talking on the phone. Hermione frowned at this; it shouldn't take so long just to order breakfast. What on Earth was the woman doing? Hermione tentatively stepped out of the kitchen and saw Narcissa sitting on the bed, her back to Hermione, speaking on the phone like she'd been doing it from birth.
"Thank you," she said politely into the receiver, then after a second she pulled it away from her head and looked at it curiously.
"All done?" Hermione asked.
Narcissa jumped and twisted on the bed to face her. "Yes," she answered, looking back to the phone. "How do I… make it stop?"
Hermione bit back the urge to laugh and walked over to where Narcissa sat, taking the phone from her hands and showing her how to set it back on the cradle. Narcissa watched with unrestrained interest.
"So, what did you order?" Hermione asked awkwardly when she'd finished her explanation. Here she was, alone with Narcissa Malfoy with absolutely no excuse not to make small talk.
Narcissa shrugged. "A large variety of dishes," she answered simply and Hermione wondered if she realised that they would have to pay for it. Had this woman ever even glanced at the price of a purchase before?
"The food will be brought here?" Narcissa clarified and Hermione nodded.
"Yeah, someone will bring it on a trolley I think. We'll let them in, they'll set it out for us and then leave."
"Should I dress?"
"Pardon?"
Narcissa smirked as she repeated, "I hardly think it would be polite to open the door in my night things."
Hermione looked Narcissa up and down in her silky emerald pyjama set, becoming hyperaware of her own rather bland makeshift nightdress.
"I don't think it will matter much," Hermione answered uncomfortably. "They won't be here very long and I'm sure they've seen worse." Hermione tried to laugh and Narcissa gave her a smile.
"Very well," she conceded. An awkward moment passed, both of them visibly uncomfortable until Narcissa asked, "How long will we wait before our breakfast is brought?"
"It depends on how much you ordered," Hermione answered, studying Narcissa's reaction. She seemed pensive, unusually pale and her eyes were clearly irritated from exhaustion.
"Can you please demonstrate how to use the rest of the Muggle technology?" asked Narcissa. Hermione was stunned by her directness. Narcissa didn't seem at all embarrassed, only concerned for Hermione's strength and how physically able she was. Hermione had a feeling that if Narcissa ever felt any sort of shame or embarrassment, she hid it behind her intimidating gaze. Perhaps she was doing it now.
"Sure," Hermione looked around for a moment, wondering what would be alien to a witch isolated from Muggles her whole life. She figured she's start with the basics and walked over to where the door was, Narcissa following.
"Well, you already know how the light works." Hermione pressed the switch on the wall and demonstrated how the light in the ceiling turned on and off again. "Each light, like those lamps over there, has its own switch. If you can't figure out which one it is, just press a few until you find the right one."
Narcissa nodded in understanding and Hermione had the distinct impression that she was schooling a woman twice her age.
They wandered around the room, Hermione pointing out Muggle items and illustrating their use. Narcissa was mostly quiet, occasionally offering a comment and always attentive. Hermione showed her the mini fridge, the various features of the bathroom, the coffee machine and kettle, and finally the television. Hermione described it as a visual radio and showed her how the remote worked like a wand and could be used to control the screen.
"This is magic," Narcissa declared, taking the remote into her hands and scanning the buttons.
Hermione chuckled. "No, it isn't. It's Muggle engineering. Here, I'll show you," Hermione took back the remote and popped off the back panel. "These are batteries," she pointed to the small cylinders nestled against the springs. "They provide the electricity, or the power to operate it. When these run out, the remote stops working and you add new batteries." She clicked the panel back into place and explained, "When you push a button, that sends a radio signal which the TV interprets and executes it. You have to make sure you aim it at the screen or it won't receive the signal." She handed the remote back to Narcissa.
"I see," she said, turning it over in her hands. "And what can the television be used for?"
"Well," Hermione began, "you can watch news programs, or fictional programs—like theatre but on a screen instead of a stage. There are also educational programs."
Hermione was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door and they both flinched at the noise. Feeling ludicrously cowardly for the racing of her heart, Hermione stood to open the door and found two waiters staring at her. She pulled the door wide open and watched with wide eyes as they pushed in two white cloth-covered trolleys with silver cloches sitting on top.
The two young men spread a crisp white tablecloth over the small table by the window and unloaded the dishes, setting out platters of toast and fruit and yoghurt and eggs and sausage and Hermione blushed at the magnitude of Narcissa's order. The woman in question was watching silently from her standing position next to the bed, apparently not at all phased by the two dozen plates that didn't have a hope of fitting on the table.
"You can just leave the rest on the trolley, if that's alright," Hermione interjected after the two boys began to fuss over the numerous platters. They nodded and wheeled the one empty trolley out into the corridor. Hermione thanked them and quickly shut the door.
When she turned around, Narcissa was leaning over the table and inspecting the plates. "This looks lovely," she determined after a moment.
Hermione couldn't hold back. "Why did you order so much?"
"I wasn't sure what you would like," answered Narcissa without pause as she sat. She looked up to meet Hermione's eyes where she stood by the door. "Come eat," she instructed gently. "You need nourishment." She gave her a friendly smile and Hermione stumbled forward, dropping herself into the seat opposite.
There was a bowl of sliced fruit sitting in front of her, and the vibrancy of the colours reminded Hermione that all she'd had to eat for a month was bread and the occasional wrinkly apple. Looking at this fresh, hot food made Hermione both hungry and nauseous. She picked slowly at a strawberry, marvelling at the sweetness and the tartness. It was so much richer than anything she'd eaten in ages.
Hermione allowed herself to savour the food for ten minutes, but her impatience and anxiety won over her hunger and she sat back in her seat to look at Narcissa who was focused on pouring herself a cup of tea.
"Narcissa," Hermione forced her hoarse voice to be strong and commanding. "Why are you helping me?"