A/N: I think a 2-week update schedule is reasonable, don't you? :)
Trigger Warnings: allusions to racist violence, fire, mentioned blood and bruises
"Wingardium leviosa!"
"That seemed better," commented Narcissa from her position at the base of the tree trunk, legs crossed. Hermione merely frowned. It was true that the objects she'd been Charming had been much more obedient over the course of the day as she and Narcissa had each taken turns at practicing their magic, but she couldn't help the frustration from bubbling up in her ribs. Honestly, she was performing about as well as a mediocre third year at the moment.
"I wish I could work out which part of it was wrong, though," moaned Hermione as she summoned the stone back from its perch on a high branch. "Is it me? The wand? Something I ate for breakfast?"
Narcissa chuckled and summoned Hermione's stone with a soft "Accio," but said nothing. After a moment of concentration, she transfigured the stone into a slightly asymmetrical goblet and levitated it back towards Hermione, who stood a few yards away, like a magical game of catch.
"I'm not sure which factor is causing the issue, either," she said as Hermione's fingers secured around the goblet's stem. "But nevertheless, I think our exercises are helping to stabilise our spells."
"I'll make sure to practice more before running into any Death Eaters, then," Hermione snorted and changed the goblet into a rather ugly-looking quill before floating it back towards Narcissa. It quivered in the air. Silently, the woman transfigured it into a lopsided hat and sent it sailing back across the gap between them. Hermione caught it. "I know you've never wanted to be a part of this war," she said diplomatically as she thought of what else to change the hat into, "but I'm not giving up. As soon as I feel ready, I'm going back into it. Into all of it." With a determined flick, the grotesque hat contorted into a sunflower with a respectable number of petals. Hermione gave a triumphant smirk and magically flew the plant back towards the tree where Narcissa sat; only this time, Hermione followed too. She desperately wanted a cup of tea.
"Well done," nodded Narcissa as she took the flower into her hands. Seemingly sharing Hermione's intentions, she pushed herself up from the ground and they began to make their way back to the tent. "I don't have any illusions about what you want to do in this conflict, but I don't intend to sit out, either." With a flaming blast from the tip of her wand, Narcissa extracted a large weed from the ground and took it with her into the tent.
"Of course you don't; you want to find Draco." Hermione hoped she was being sensitive enough not to trigger any sort of emotional episode in Narcissa. Though she prided herself in her empathy, Hermione wasn't quite sure how to best console the grieving mother of her childhood bully.
"Yes," whispered Narcissa, "but if Wizarding society has come to a deciding point in its history, then I want to help to make sure that its resolution is the best it can be."
They were inside the tent now and Narcissa was transfiguring the mangled weed into a vase. She mumbled "Aguamenti," to fill it modestly with fresh water and then set Hermione's transfigured sunflower inside it. Hermione took her position at the makeshift tea station on the uneven coffee table and began to assemble the teapot.
"And what do you think is the best possible resolution?" asked Hermione carefully, trying to measure how much tea she ought to use. If Narcissa was considering changing her perspective on the war, then Hermione wanted to make sure that she didn't stray to a faction which might be a detriment to the Light.
With the vase in hand, Narcissa strode over to the short table where Hermione sat and lowered herself onto a pillow, crossing her legs again. "One in which there is as little violence as possible," she explained as she set the vase on the table next to the teapot. With their rickety table and droopy, transfigured sunflower, the scene looked like a mockery of high tea. "And allows for the growth of Wizarding society and all of its occupants."
That sounded like a carefully groomed political statement, Hermione thought, and she had the distinct impression that she was listening to herself spout textbook definitions in class. "So you're on our side."
"I didn't say that," Narcissa responded quickly as she took the tea Hermione offered. She didn't bother to add cream or sugar but just took a sip of the bitter drink. Her lip curled in distaste and she aimed her wand at it until the cup began to steam and she took another sip. "Both factions in this war are polarised and I don't think that either of them will be able to create a better society should they win."
Hermione was dumbstruck by this. How in the world could she imply that Harry's victory would be just as bad as Voldemort's?
Apparently Hermione's wide eyes conveyed this, because Narcissa explained, "Of course, the Dark Lord's triumph would lead to horrific violence and terror, much like what is happening now. Harry Potter would promote pacifism, but I do not believe he or any of his affiliates would ease the polarisation of Wizarding society. When it comes down to it, they are not very different from one another and I do not believe either of them holds the solution." Narcissa punctuated her thought with a deep sip of tea and looked at Hermione expectantly.
Hermione sat there silently, ignoring her tea. Her instinct was to become very indignant, to argue that of course Harry would heal all this. She'd seen him bring people together and unite allies with the unmistakable charisma of a natural leader.
But then again, she'd also seen him on a near-daily basis taunt and goad his enemies into meaningless fights in school corridors and deadly battlefields alike. Harry James Potter was inherently reckless, Hermione knew, but while she merely tolerated his more problematic behaviours and tried to stay on top of damage control, Narcissa seemed to think it was grounds enough to discredit his entire movement. With Voldemort in charge, there would be genocide and mass terror and violence; with Harry, Death Eaters and their affiliates would likely be persecuted as rigorously as Muggle-borns. Either way, there would be a war every generation. Hermione had known this, but it didn't seem like much of a priority considering the state of things.
"What do you propose, then?"
"I don't pretend to have the perfect solution," Narcissa told her, seemingly baffled by Hermione's lack of immediate objection. "I think an integration program might ease the strain between the magical classes, though I admit I have no idea how to design or implement such a thing." Narcissa settled more deeply into her pillow as she spoke and her eyes seemed to brighten. It seemed strange that she should be excited by near-impossible social issues.
But then again, Hermione was the one who had feverishly stayed up all night in the Gryffindor common room organising S.P.E.W. at the tender age of fourteen.
"What sort of integration program?"
"Well, clearly heaping everyone in together is not working. Purebloods know nothing of Muggles except lies and stereotypes and Muggle-born children are ignorant about the world to which they belong. Specialised education for each group might ease the strain—"
"'Separate but equal?'"
Narcissa, affronted by Hermione's snapping, answered, "Yes, in a manner of speaking."
"But that's racist!" cried Hermione, her tea now forgotten. "American Muggles tried it fifty years ago. It was a disaster!"
"I'm not suggesting that we situate one demographic as socially inferior," Narcissa said quickly, clearly seeing that Hermione was about to get very upset. "The Americans tried to institute the 'separate but equal' policy as a permanent solution to racial bias; I think that Wizarding society could benefit from it as a sort of transition.
"Think of it:" Narcissa pushed herself up onto her knees, desperate to help Hermione understand. "For the first few years of their Hogwarts education, students could attend classes with curriculum tailored to their blood or upbringing. Those of magical heritage would learn about their traditions as well as Muggle society and vice versa. They would hardly be isolated from one another, given that they would live in the same castle, and by the time they reached year three or four their education would be totally integrated."
"So the Purebloods would learn about Muggles," Hermione enunciated slowly, "while the Muggle-borns would learn about magical society." Narcissa nodded. "They'd interact outside of class, of course." Pointed out Hermione. "In common rooms and at mealtimes and Quidditch."
"Of course—I'm not suggesting total segregation, just a more personalised approach to education for perhaps a generation or so until all this," Narcissa gestured vaguely in the air, "becomes history."
Hermione sat back and cradled her teacup; it kept fluctuating between hot and cold and she couldn't get it to stay at a comfortable drinking temperature. "I don't like the idea of treating students differently based on blood. Just on the principle of it."
"I agree," Narcissa concurred quickly. "And I have no doubt that your personal experiences make it even more unpalatable. But you must understand that there has never been any formalised effort to bring together these two worlds. We have been totally isolated from one another since the 16th century, guided only by prejudiced conjecture and dangerous fables."
"And then you just toss everyone together once they turn eleven and expect them to get along marvellously," Hermione finished, a sarcastic smirk playing at her lips. More sombrely, she added, "If we don't find a way to get the two cultures to coexist, we'll just keep having one war after another."
Narcissa nodded in grave agreement. "When the Dark Lord vanished eighteen years ago, very few people attempted to mend the social fractures which had caused the conflict in the first place. It was all about persecuting the Death Eaters and healing those who had suffered—which, of course, are both very important. But all this cannot be blamed on the whims of a madman. No matter how magically gifted or persuasive, he would not be so powerful if there were not already parts of the culture which sympathised with him."
Countless seconds passed in stunned silence during which the pair just stared at each other. Somehow, they'd gone from levitating rocks to outlining the core issues with Wizarding society and hypothesising a way to fix it.
Rather unexpectedly and inexplicably, Hermione burst out laughing. She was pretty sure her tea spilled because she was so hunched over, gripping herself a she seized with laughter. She could barely breathe for it.
"Shall we invite them over to tea, then?" she spluttered.
Narcissa, laughing heartily herself though not quite as lost as Hermione had become, answered, "Shall we sit Harry Potter and the Dark Lord at our crooked coffee table and tell them how to resolve it all?"
"Yes!" snickered Hermione, laughing all the harder as she surveyed the scene. One of their lumpy, transfigured pillows would serve as a nice throne for Lord Voldemort.
Smiling and barely holding back her laughter, Narcissa reached down to the damp rug (yes, Narcissa had insisted they purchase a proper rug). "You spilled your tea," she said, picking up the tea and vanishing the mess. A few fibres of the rug vanished too, leaving a bald patch. Hermione took the teacup, still shaking with amusement, and set it on the table.
Hermione met Narcissa's eyes and for an incalculable moment they were able to hold on to that simple happy moment. In that instant, they had proven something that both had thought to be impossible: They could be alright, even with Voldemort nearly winning the war and both of them on the run for the lives, with their scars and bruises and dismantled families, they could be happy. Not only that, they would be. They were determined.
And then the buzzing started.
A heartbeat passed. Then two. Three. Four.
"Do you hear that?" Narcissa breathed, her gaze still locked with Hermione's.
Hermione nodded and wordlessly stood, breaking eye contact as she crept towards the entrance of the tent. The buzzing, which had begun as a slight nuisance, became stronger the further away she crept. It didn't change in pitch or volume, but rather hovered there on the brim of her mind.
Narcissa had appeared beside Hermione and they both silently debated whether or not to leave the safety provided by the woven canvas.
"It's one of the wards."
"Do you know which one?"
Hermione shook her head.
"It could be a Muggle," offered Narcissa optimistically.
Or it could be Voldemort himself, thought Hermione ruthlessly, though she didn't say it aloud. Instead, she turned her eyes back to Narcissa's, noting that they were about equal height, and silently asked what they should do.
"I'll Disillusion myself," Hermione hissed after a moment's thought. "And try to sneak out. If anyone's out there, I'll send red sparks back towards the tent."
Narcissa raised her eyebrows, "Or I'll hear the sound of you fighting for your life."
"Yes, or that."
Without another word or a hesitation about the lunacy of her plan, Hermione aimed her wand at her temple and whispered the incantation. The spell oozed down her skin like it always did and Hermione chose to take this as a sign it had worked.
"Can you see me?"
"No, only when I look carefully and the light catches you."
Given the fact that they hadn't heard any sort of disturbance outside, it seemed unlikely that there was a chorus of Death Eaters awaiting Hermione. But hadn't they just discussed the likelihood that her wards were unstable?
These thoughts didn't ease her hammering heart as she tried to slip through the canvas flap that served as the tent's door. If anyone was outside, they certainly knew she was coming despite the fact that she was invisible.
As soon as she was clear of the tent, Hermione stiffened into an active defensive posture, wand aimed and her eyes flitting about for a threat or unexplained movement in her peripheral.
Her heightened senses were met with nothing. The trees were as they ever were, intimidating and subtle in their strength and the omnipresent breeze was toying with their freshly budded leaves. Hermione waited a few more breaths before backing back to the tent.
"Th-there's no one here," she stuttered. She heard Narcissa step out into the open. "No one that I can see, anyway."
"We should check the area, though, just in case."
"Yeah, we should." Both their voices were grim and Hermione hated the way the war had turned them back into these soldiers.
They spent a good hour, at least, surveying the campsite which, in Narcissa's case, included setting fire to a shrub. At first Hermione had been terrified that wandfire had broken out, but instead she'd found Narcissa casting Aguamenti after Aguamenti at a small, burning ball of brush. Hermione had giggled at that, to which Narcissa merely replied, "Serves it right. My back is a bruised, bloody mess thanks to the other one."
"It's your fault for falling on it!"
"I hardly had a choice, seeing as you were the one who Apparated us!" teased Narcissa.
Hermione grinned and shrugged and for a moment their little bubble of safety was restored.
But the quivering hum at the edge of their minds was not going away, so the heightened sense of caution and foreboding likewise hung around until after they'd finished their scans and were seated in front of the tent with fresh cups of tea in their hands, Hermione having long ago made herself visible again.
"It's an issue with the wards, I'm sure of it."
"I hardly see how someone could be within them considering the thoroughness of our search."
Hermione didn't even want to think of the ways someone could be hiding nearby. It made her skin crawl.
"I'd re-cast them, but I don't want to leave us defenceless for even a second. But the truth is I'm not sure where the issue is, and that makes it difficult to patch up."
Narcissa had tried giving her input, but it had quickly become obvious that Hermione had more knowledge and experience with protective wards. Hoping to be encouraging, she said, "I'm sure you'll find the problem," and rubbed a gentle hand across Hermione's back.
They sat on the ground with their tea, each trying to manoeuvre her thoughts around the grim possibilities that the buzzing provoked. The sound reminded Hermione of a pesky fly, but one that was constantly nagging you about all the ways you could die in the next minute.
"Look at that owl!" Hermione's head snapped up to where Narcissa was pointing and saw one of the most startlingly beautiful creatures sitting midway up a tree. It was indeed an owl, but unlike one Hermione had ever seen. Its feathers were blonde and the way they shimmered in the sunlight made the creature look like it had been cast out of molten gold. Perhaps most startling of all, though, was its emerald eyes. Hermione had never encountered a species of owl with green eyes before, and it seemed unfair that the planet could not be blessed with such beauty more frequently.
The owl was watching them, its jade irises focused precisely on them and its head nodded in their direction. Its scrutiny made Hermione grateful she had not been incarnated a mouse; despite its loveliness, the thing looked ready to swoop in and eat her.
"Owls are magical creatures," breathed Narcissa. Turning to face Hermione, she gushed, "It would have violated your wards similar to how a Wizard would have done."
Hermione's eyes widened. "We're safe." Narcissa smiled, wide and joyful, and nodded. "My wards—they work." Narcissa nodded again and Hermione let out a thunderous sigh of relief. Overwhelmed, Hermione sunk against Narcissa's shoulder and buried her face in her hands. "We're safe," she murmured over and over again. "I did it."
"Yes, you did," reassured Narcissa.
They rested together, huddled on the ground outside the tent until Hermione whispered, "Sorry, I didn't realise how scared I was." She sat back up and Narcissa retracted her hand.
"It's alright,"
Hermione looked up to the tree and saw the owl still perched there, watching them intently. The sun was setting and its shimmering feathers were glittering spectacularly. There were no Death Eaters nearby, just this unprecedentedly beautiful animal. It felt like an angelic sentry and Hermione smiled at it.
"I remember the first time I saw all the owls at Diagon Alley," she said softly. "I was so amazed. Muggles are very particular about animals; they're usually domesticated. And they're nowhere near as extraordinary as owls…."
As if on cue, the blonde owl spread its wings and threw itself from the branch, disappearing up into the pines. The humming in their ears quieted.
"If we can make it through this with our only threat being a golden owl," Hermione mused.
Narcissa finished her thought: "I think we will be quite alright."