A/N: Hello again! Remember me? I'm sorry it took so long to get this chapter out-I was in a psychiatric hospital for a week and I've been focusing on recovery and all that good stuff. I want to thank you for all your kind reviews and follows and favourites, though; I'm very flattered and I can't wait to hear what you think of this chapter! :)
Trigger Warnings: Dissociation, anxiety, fire
Hermione poured her concentration and energy into organising their meagre possessions and repairing the room. She stood out on the balcony for a moment, stunned to feel the spring sunlight on her skin, and summoned a few newspapers and rubbish bags from the ground below as London Muggles obliviously went about their business. Her magic felt awkward and haphazard, causing the objects to fly around unusually in the air. Hermione hoped that they looked like they were being swept away by the wind, as she'd intended, despite the fact that there was barely a breeze at all.
She and Narcissa debated over the style of the curtains as they tried to transfigure the newspaper scraps into a replacement for the one that had become Hermione's nightgown. Hermione thought the shade wasn't quite right (just a bit too yellow), while Narcissa was adamant that the pattern they'd decorated it with was far more complex than the original. Eventually, they made a few slight adjustments and let it be, though Hermione did spy Narcissa discretely flicking her wand at the hanging material once or twice.
After Narcissa showered, Hermione restored the bath to its usual depth and turned the comb back into the metal loop on the wall. Eventually, she couldn't avoid the tragic heap of her clothes on the damp tiles. Sitting on the closed toilet, she stared at the pile of fabric. Should she destroy them? They were the only thing she had left that was her own. To get rid of them felt like signing the death certificate of Hermione Granger, whoever she had been. But to keep them was imprudent. She could hardly wear them, and she doubted that they could be transfigured into anything worthwhile. Not to mention the psychological effects couldn't be healthy.
Her decision made, Hermione rummaged through the pockets for anything valuable and found nothing; the transfigured Muggle money was next to the sink. She took it and put it in the pocket of her newly transfigured cotton shorts.
Hermione ceremoniously placed the rubbish bin in the centre of the bathroom and opened the lid, then levitated her clothes into it with her head held high.
A breath of relief escaped her.
"Incendio!" she snapped, smiling maliciously as the jet of flame flew towards the tattered hem of her jeans and instantly ignited them and the rest of her clothes. Hermione watched them burn for but a moment before flicking the metal bin lid shut with her wand and fanning the air to clear it of smoke, particularly near the detector.
A smug expression on her face, she stepped out of the bathroom, her thoughts on making sure the room looked as it had when they'd entered.
"Are you alright?"
"Huh?" Heart racing, Hermione's eyes flew to Narcissa, who was seated in the armchair and looking very distressed. She'd transfigured her clothes back into the Muggle pantsuit. Hermione swallowed, forcing herself to calm. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"
"You sounded upset," Narcissa said carefully as she eyed Hermione from across the room.
Shrugging dismissively, Hermione answered, "I'm fine. Now, is this everything?" she gestured to the mattress, which had a few hair pins and the outer layer of Narcissa's robes. Hermione's trainers were on the ground, by the bed. The sight of them, tattered and torn, made Hermione's nose wrinkle.
"Yes, I'm afraid this is all." Narcissa confirmed sadly, standing to look down at their possessions.
"Okay," Hermione said briskly, picking up the dark outer robes and holding it up. The fabric was light and silky, yet clearly magically enhanced to keep out the chill. "We can use this as a bag," Hermione explained as she pointed her wand at it and focused on transfiguring it into a tote.
"I don't think that would be helpful," Narcissa chided, reaching out to lower Hermione's wand.
Hermione bristled, "Why not?"
"Because those are a witch's robes, and they have been enchanted so that they are difficult to transfigure, especially if they are not your own." Explained Narcissa, "If one could just transform their wardrobe at will, there would never be a need to buy new robes and designers would go out of business."
"Well how was I supposed to know that!" Hermione snapped, feeling turbulent anger trying to wrestle its way out from between her ribs.
Narcissa's eyes widened, but she attempted to maintain her composure. "Did you never try to magically alter your school robes?"
"Why would I? They were spelled to fit me perfectly! And I'm not one of those girls who would try to shrink her skirt for attention!"
Narcissa visibly flinched and took a step backwards. Hermione gasped for breath, terrified by her temper and frustrate by the tears burning her eyes yet again.
"Hermione, please," Narcissa tried to sooth her from a few paces away. "You are not yourself; you must allow yourself the time you need to heal, please—"
"I'm fine," Hermione interrupted, smearing away one of the tears with the heel of her hand. She ducked her head, trying to avoid eye contact, and snatched one of the pillows from the head of the bed. Yanking it out, she aimed her trembling wand at the pillowcase and transfigured it into a lopsided handbag. It was an odd, orange-brown shade and the hue was unevenly fluctuating across the fabric.
Hermione haphazardly stuffed their few belongings into the bag and slung it over her shoulder as she stumbled into her shoes.
"There. All ready." She gave Narcissa a defiant look, hoping she came across as determined and collected rather than afraid.
"Very well," Narcissa conceded.
Without another glance, Hermione led them out the room and down the corridor to the lifts. Hermione's heart raced severely when the doors opened with a chime and she found herself standing next to a gentleman in a business suit. He gave the two women a polite nod as they entered, but Hermione struggled to return it. The way his dark hair shined in the light made her throat constrict and each breath felt like it had to force its way into her lungs. Vague images began flashing behind her eyelids in quick succession, one after the other. Harry, then Ron, and Malfoy, and now all the Death Eaters who had ever mistreated her….
Narcissa discretely wound her arm through Hermione's elbow and helped guide her into the foyer when the doors parted. They approached the desk and a chipper young woman gave them a bright smile. "Good morning! Checking out?"
Hermione nodded dumbly as Narcissa placed their papers on the marble desktop. The lady looked at their information and then tapped a few keys on her computer.
"Looks like you haven't got a credit card on file…" she said politely as her brows furrowed.
Narcissa was rather clueless, so Hermione placed the crumpled, transfigured money on top of the papers with clumsy movements. The woman took the notes in her hand and looked through them, frowning as she did so and appearing uncomfortable. Hermione wondered what the issue was. Had she transfigured them into ten pound notes and there weren't enough? She didn't even know what the price for their room was. Probably more than what she had handed over.
In an instant, the woman's face changed from discomfort to blank indifference and she put the notes in the drawer with glassy eyes. In her peripheral vision, Hermione saw the edge of Narcissa's wand slip beneath her sleeve.
"Alright, you're all checked out. Have a wonderful day, ladies." The woman chirped, her eyes no longer glassy and blank.
"Thank you," Narcissa answered with a curt nod, and she rested her hand on Hermione's waist to guide her around and out the foyer.
Hermione followed without protest, her mind and body not quite in sync. The way the light sparkled on the marble tiles, the movement of pedestrians on the footpath and the new colours around her were too much for her brain to process. She couldn't possibly manage all the incoming stimulus, so she tried to simply block it out and let Narcissa guide her.
"Wait," Hermione stopped suddenly and Narcissa turned to her with concern. "The clock behind the desk—it's nine o'clock in the morning?"
"Yes," Narcissa nodded.
"But that means I only slept what—five, six hours?"
"I believe around five, yes."
"But I need much more than that!" Hermione's voice echoed unexpectedly off the glittering marble and Narcissa stepped closer and ducked her head, trying to maintain their discretion.
"I agree, but you woke a little after seven and showed no intent of resting any longer."
Hermione blinked. "I don't feel that tired..?" it came out as more of a question; she couldn't understand the new rules her body seemed to operate by.
"I imagine it will take some time for your system to recover," Narcissa answered crisply, encouraging Hermione to walk again. Together, they stepped out onto the sunny London street.
The sound and light and heat assaulted Hermione's senses the second she stepped out into the real world. The shock paralysed her and she stood frozen and tense, eyes wide and unfocused ahead of her. Narcissa watched her with concern and reached the arm on her back around to hold her shoulders and guide her.
"Come," she instructed in a gentle whisper to Hermione's ear. Hermione stumbled somewhat blindly and earned a few glares form passers-by as they slowly made their way down the London footpath. Narcissa squinted at the shops they passed by, trying to work out their purpose. After walking a block and a half, she peered through a window and entered a shop, Hermione weakly clinging to her side.
They were immediately bathed in the scent of coffee and the busy chatter of morning commuters. Hermione blinked at the change of atmosphere and stumbled behind Narcissa, who was anxiously pushing her towards a heavy wooden door with a feminine silhouette embossed in the middle. Pushing open the door, Narcissa made a noise of frustration to see that a woman was washing her hands at the sink and there were only two stalls. The woman's reflection in the mirror became startled as she spotted Narcissa, whose eyes were alight and posture stern, flanked by a rather feeble Hermione. The woman's wide eyes followed Narcissa as she pulled Hermione into the largest stall and slid the lock behind them.
"Muffliato," hissed Narcissa as she guided Hermione towards the toilet and directed her to sit on its lid. With another glance at the flimsy metal stall, she added a Notice Me Not charm to ensure their privacy.
"Hermione," she said gently, kneeling on the ground before the young lady in question. "You are safe, you are well, you are free. Please believe me when I promise you that you are not in harm's way."
Hermione took a shaky breath and whispered, "I don't know what's happening." She inhaled again, trying to ease her trembling and rushed on: "It's like my head isn't attached to my body anymore. I don't understand what people are saying or what I'm seeing—nothing makes sense! How is it possible that I could get until now as the bravest and most clever, but now I'm a useless, broken mess?"
"You are not broken, Hermione," Narcissa assured her firmly. "Nor are you useless, or a mess. You have not lost any of your bravery or cleverness; you're overwhelmed, indeed, as you should be." Narcissa took Hermione's clammy hands into her own and squeezed them gently. "Do you feel my hands? Focus on me. We're in Muggle London, together, and we're going to be alright. I need you to help me, Hermione," confessed Narcissa earnestly.
"I don't know how to do that,"
"Yes, you do. But you must allow yourself to relax, both physically and mentally. Let the fear and anxiety drift out of you; focus on only one thing at a time. Breathe."
Hermione nodded and closed her eyes as she tried to breathe steadily and wrestle her thoughts into order. She visualised collecting all her panic and confusion and the horrible images running on a loop in her imagination and pouring them into her lungs. With every exhale, they floated out of her body and drifted far, far away. Hopefully to a place where they wouldn't bother anyone else. She did this again and again until a number of breaths had passed that she felt enough of her turbulent emotions had been expelled.
Hermione opened her eyes slowly and found herself staring directly into Narcissa's wide pupils.
"Okay, I think that helped a bit."
"Good," Narcissa smiled. "Can you tell me your name?"
"Hermione Granger? Or whatever's left of her, at least," Hermione snorted and Narcissa's lips curved in amusement.
"Can you tell me where you are?"
"In a public bathroom," Hermione's nose wrinkled. "In Muggle London."
Narcissa nodded. "And who am I?"
Here, Hermione's tongue faltered, but it was not because she couldn't name the blonde face before her. If anything, Hermione was more certain of Narcissa's presence than anything else, even though it was probably the most bizarre thing in her world right now.
Naming her by her first name felt impossibly strange. Too intimate, too personal, too so many other things. But "Mrs. Malfoy" was far too formal, and the very name made Hermione's skin crawl. But to address her by her maiden name would be a statement in itself, and Hermione was far too worn out to consider the connotations it would produce and how Narcissa might react.
Truthfully, it was a tiny issue that was hardly significant in this unravelling world, but it felt like a monumental symbol of their alliance; one that Hermione was afraid to understand. If she couldn't even walk down a street, then how was she able to manage the foundation of this unexpected relationship?
"You are Narcissa," she said plainly. Her voice echoed off the cheap bathroom tiles and the word felt strange upon her tongue and lips. She felt like she might even be blushing a little.
"Very good," Narcissa said softly, and she stood. "Do you feel ready to leave?"
"I suppose," Hermione sighed and stood on unsteady legs. The toilet flushed behind her and Narcissa jumped, a hand flying to her heart.
"Why in Merlin's name did it do that?"
Hermione laughed. "It has a sensor on it that detects movement, don't worry." Narcissa only looked more confused which made Hermione chuckle, and the humour lifted her spirits wonderfully. The lights and noises still felt too bright and too loud and her head was full of a dense fog which prevented more than one simple thought at a time, but she was no longer panicking, and she forced herself to accept this as an improvement.
Hermione opened the stall door and Narcissa followed behind her. A young woman at the sink holding the hand of a toddler stared at them with wide eyes as they emerged together, but Hermione could only give her a laughing smile and let the heavy door swing shut at her and Narcissa's backs.