A/N: I have quite the plot worked out in my head. Writing it out is proving to be the hard part. I hope you enjoy this morsel-hopefully it will motivate me to write more ;)
Trigger warnings: Anxiety
Hermione's eyes opened as she sharply slid from sleep to consciousness. It was dark and there was a rustling breeze wandering around her, cooling her skin with a gentle caress. She inhaled the crisp, fresh air and focused on steadily expelling it. In her mind, she infinitely recited her mantra until she felt the fear loosen its grip upon her heart just a little: I am safe, I am safe, I am safe, I am safe….
The pillow and comfortable sleeping bag were both proof that she was not at the mercy of kidnappers or waiting for her daily torture. I am safe, I am safe, I am safe….
She would feel better with company. Once again focusing on keeping her movements steady despite the trembling anxiety threatening to overwhelm her, Hermione slid her wand from her pillowcase and lit a dim Lumos to guide her to the front of the tent.
Hermione had, for lack of a better word, crashed almost as soon as the sun began to set. The exhaustion had been crippling and Narcissa had insisted that she go to sleep immediately. Naturally, Hermione had protested, offering to take the night watch, but the argument hadn't lasted very long before Narcissa had administered the same soothing spell and Hermione had descended into deep sleep.
Hermione had no idea how long ago that had been. It could have been anywhere between fifteen minutes or dozens of hours. She didn't linger on all the possibilities as she crept further and ducked through the flap.
The grass was cool and dewy on her bare feet, suggesting that it had been at least a few hours. Narcissa turned from her seated position leaning against the tree trunk and gave Hermione a smile.
"Good morning," she whispered.
"Is it morning?" Hermione responded, looking at the dark sky curiously.
"The sun will be rising shortly," confirmed Narcissa. "Did you sleep well?"
Hermione shrugged. "Alright," her voice was hoarse from sleep and she rubbed her eyes. "You should sleep—I'll stand watch now."
To Hermione's mild surprise, Narcissa didn't object. Pushing herself to her feet, she folded the coat she'd been sitting on. "Very well, but let us have some tea first."
They silently assembled the tea and some of their food as the sunlight leaked into the tent, dripping shades of pink and gold across their belongings. Hermione listened to the chirping of the birds as their cries became louder with the brightening of the light. The quietude, the peacefulness of it all was astounding.
Narcissa covered a yawn with the back of her hand as she set the teapot upon the low table. Hermione was seated on her pillow and Narcissa copied the setup. Compared to the rather dingy conditions Hermione had become accustomed to, this felt like fine dining.
Silently, Hermione passed Narcissa the bag of dried apricot slices she'd been nibbling on.
They ate wordlessly, each lost in her own thoughts, and it wasn't until Hermione was halfway through her second cup of tea that she spoke.
"I take it that the night was uneventful, then?"
Narcissa nodded. "The most interesting thing was a rabbit who was rather insistent in investigating our camp, much to the chagrin of a nearby squirrel."
That made Hermione smile. "I see," was all she said.
A beat passed, and then Narcissa cocked her head and commented, "You seem well-rested."
"I do?" Narcissa nodded. "Well, I imagine it's harder to look any worse."
Narcissa grimaced in a pained smile of amusement at Hermione's sarcastic quip. "True."
"I don't know how to feel, honestly," Hermione blurted suddenly. "There are moments when I'm just absolutely consumed by fear and anxiety and I believe that this is all some delusion and at any moment someone will come for me and break the spell. But then a moment later, I'm convinced that it didn't happen. My grip on reality just feels so… flimsy."
Hermione stared unseeingly into her mug, stewing in the confusion she'd just voiced. It hadn't been her intention to spew all her feelings; they'd just sort of found their way out her mouth on their own.
"Shortly after you went to bed," Narcissa's voice was soft and Hermione had the distinct impression that something in the woman's demeanour had shifted. "The wind became harsher and for a split second, I believed that the sound was the hiss of the Dark Lord's snake. I found myself unable to breathe and utterly paralysed, convinced that he had found me and I was to be executed by that beast of his. It only took a moment for me to realise that I was being ridiculous, but I trembled for hours and nearly became sick with fear."
Narcissa was staring into her tea now as Hermione observed her with wide eyes. Her mind assembled the image of Narcissa huddled in the darkness, crying and shaking as her heart palpitated with every slither of the wind. The picture was a tragic one and Hermione suddenly felt a swell of empathy.
"You should have woken me,"
"You need your rest, Hermione," Narcissa answered kindly. "I'll be alright—I can't imagine how you must be feeling. Do not concern yourself with me."
Frowning, Hermione responded, "I don't think either of us has it worse than the other. Just because it isn't as obvious doesn't make it any less legitimate."
"Perhaps," Narcissa mused, taking a sip of tea. Though she didn't voice it, Hermione could tell by the tilt of the other woman's lips that she was touched. Hermione suddenly became very determined that she would help Narcissa as Narcissa was helping her. With that resolution in mind, she tore a piece of dried apple with her teeth.
"I'll go start my watch, then," declared Hermione as she set down her empty cup. She stood and picked up one of her books from the end table by the sofa and unhooked her coat from the rack Narcissa had created. It was almost bizarre how homely this environment felt. "Sleep well," Hermione offered Narcissa a smile which the other woman returned before she stepped out into the sunlight.
Her skin eagerly soaked up the warmth of the light and Hermione spent an immeasurable time absorbing the beautiful shades of the early morning. The glittering gold and luminescent greens; it was inconceivably beautiful after a month of darkness where her only light had been stale and artificial, dully reflecting off coarse stone and glinting in the malicious eyes of her captors. Part of Hermione wanted to scold herself for being so dramatic about it all, but then she caught sight of a bruise peeking out from the edge of her sleeve. She had been the prisoner of Death Eaters for a month and she had survived—surely it wasn't weak of her to celebrate that? Savouring the sight of the real world wasn't overly dramatic.
With that mental conclusion, Hermione opened her newly purchased notebook and began to write. It felt good to spill her thoughts onto the page and organise them. The ink ran smoothly across the paper and the clean strokes felt like the most productive thing Hermione had done since getting out of the manor alive.
With careful precision, Hermione drew the symbol she had found in The Tales of Beedle the Bard: the triangle, the line, and the circle. The Deathly Hallows. She wasn't sure how they were significant yet, but it seemed important to have all the relevant information in one place. Beside the symbol, she wrote brief bulletpoints describing its history and function.
Beneath, she made two parallel lists: known Horcruxes and the objects that could destroy them. First, the diary, destroyed by Basilisk venom by Harry five years ago. Then the ring, cut with Gryffindor's sword by Dumbledore. Next, the locket, destroyed the same way by Ron a few months ago. Finally, the snake at Voldemort's side whose imagined image had tortured Narcissa in the middle of the night.
Four. Four out of how many? Perhaps the boys had discovered more during their separation, but what-ifs did not help Hermione at all. She was sure that there was a clue waiting for her in the information she already had, somewhere in her knowledge lay the answer. She just had to find it.
Hermione went through two-and-a-half more pages in her notebook, mapping out her thoughts and until her logic began to tie itself in knots and she conceded that there probably wasn't much point in going on like this for now. She would come back with a clear mind and then it would be easier. Maybe Narcissa would have some information.
The sun was much warmer and brighter now and Hermione estimated it was mid-morning. She was hungry again, she noticed, so she pulled the elastic band over her notebook cover and scurried inside to grab her next project. Her footsteps were as light as she could make them as she padded around the tent to grab the radio they'd bought and a bag of nuts. The canvas of the tent and its plastic "windows" let in plenty of light and Narcissa was fully illuminated as she slept. Her features were twitching into a frown and Hermione wondered what kind of dreams were playing in the woman's mind. Were they like the nightmares Hermione so often suffered from or more benign, bizarre? Hermione couldn't help but be jealous—it would be nice to be able to sleep without horrific images taunting her through the night.
She settled herself on the grass outside again, absently nibbling on handfuls of cashews and almonds as she fiddled with the Muggle radio. Who knew if Potterwatch was still operational or if a Muggle device could pick it up at all? It seemed like a place to start, though, and Hermione certainly wasn't about to ignore a potential link to her friends and fellow soldiers.
"Dumbledore," she murmured and tapped the device with her wandtip. It continued its static bleat as Hermione had expected it would. "Mad-Eye," she tried again, to no avail. Hermione grabbed another handful of nuts and ate one between each attempted password, methodically going through names of deceased Order members and easing into more creative possibilities.
There were a few moments when Hermione thought she heard a whisper through the rough static and she would hold her breath until she felt faint, desperately willing the voice of an ally to greet her through the speaker. But then she would be forced to breathe again and move to the next word on her endless list of potential passwords.
Hermione filled eight pages of her notebook with crossed-out passwords before deciding to take a break. She hadn't had much of an opportunity to leisurely wander of late, what with spending a month in a cramped cell, so she drifted around the campsite on foot. The way her body settled into the stroll made her feel sturdy and comfortable and on a whim, she aimed her wand at a twig and twirled it in the air. Her tooth buried itself in her bottom lip as she wrestled with the magic, contorting it until it aligned with her needs. She got the twig to sustain itself midair dozens of feet above her head, but her victory only lasted a moment before the twig inexplicably shot off to the left and then plummeted to the forest floor.
Well, that was new.
Hermione had always been consistent with controlling her magic, even when she'd had to use others' wands. That this one was proving to be so uncooperative was troubling in more ways than one.
"Accio," murmured Hermione, and she caught the twig with a frown on her lips as it flew unevenly in her direction, much too far to the right for her liking. If her magic was so out of control, she'd have to re-check the wards to make sure they were still stable.
When Narcissa woke and crawled out of the tent, she found Hermione seated against the trunk of the tree and frowning at the twig in her lap as though it had done her a great wrong. The sound of Narcissa's shoes standing on the ground startled Hermione out of her concentration and she flinched, but Narcissa offered her a friendly smile and moved to sit beside her.
"Sleep well?"
"Well enough," Narcissa stretched out her legs in front of her. "What is it you're doing with that?"
Hermione looked to the twig in her lap which Narcissa had indicated. With a sigh, she explained, "I'm worried that my magic may have weakened and this wand isn't helping. Nothing's working properly."
With a frown, Narcissa took the twig between her fingers. "What sort of charm were you attempting?"
"A few things," Hermione began, shifting on to her knees. "I managed to make it change appearance pretty reliably, but any sort of textural transfiguration ends up slightly off. I'm worried that there might be some holes in my magic and they might affect defensive spells. The wards I erected here seem fine, but it's impossible to tell for certain unless someone comes along."
Narcissa listened attentively as she probed the twig with her fingertips. Although it looked like a perfectly normal piece of wood, it had a consistency closer to that of rubber after hours of Hermione's meddling. Settling the thing on her palm, Narcissa aimed her wand at the small branch and silently aimed a shot of bright magic. In an instant, the benign twig was a funny pink caterpillar. Or at least it looked like a caterpillar, though Hermione could discern no obvious legs or face or any body part at all really. Before Hermione could question, Narcissa had flicked her wand and the thing had turned back into a twig, though such a very bright shade of brown it was nearly orange.
"It seems you are correct," mused Narcissa as she tried again and again to restore the wood to brown, though only succeeding in turning it a rich shade of magenta. "There are many possible explanations. You know, I am sure, that great shock, emotional and physical, can alter the nature of one's magic?" Hermione nodded. "Then, of course, there is the fact that these wands are strangers to us as we are to them."
"Do you know where they got these wands? The spares they kept around, I mean." Hermione curiosity had finally won over her fear of the answer.
"Some were merely stolen from suppliers," Narcissa explained, clearly thinking it best to begin with the most innocent method. "When Ollivander's was captured, his shop was raided. The public assumed the place had merely been trashed, but it is my understanding that over three hundred wands were stolen.
"Many others, as I'm sure you have concluded, belonged to victims of the Dark Lord. He takes particular delight in robbing magic from those he does not believe deserve it."
Hermione looked at the wand in her hand, twirled it between her fingertips. Though she could not shake the disturbing possibility that it had been extracted from tremoring grasp of one of Voldemort's many victims, part of her couldn't help but be smug: He didn't think she deserved magic, yet here she was wielding it against him.
"Why is Voldemort so concerned with hoarding wands?"
To her credit, Narcissa's only reaction to the name was a sharp intake of breath. "The Dark Lord holds a certain fascination with wandlore. I believe he's been collecting them for research. Furthermore, many in his army have suffered losses in battle and the Dark Lord wishes to make sure he is never lacking in supplies." Stiffening, she added, "Lucius, for example, lost his wand in battle."
"I thought that it was taken as a punishment."
"Afterwards, it was." Narcissa answered simply. "And it is for that reason that Lucius and I were not permitted wands in our own home."
"Except when you came to feed me," finished Hermione.
"Except when I came to feed you." echoed Narcissa.
P.S.
Don't forget you can follow my progress and talk to me at my tumblr, 16-pennies dot tumblr dot com :)