A/N: I hope you enjoy hanging around as these two slowly get to know one another. If you're keen for action, then all I can ask is that you employ a little patience. Furthermore, please note that this chapter was edited and re-posted 13 March 2016.

Trigger Warnings: Mentioned derealisation

They'd sat outside until they'd had their fill of the tea and the evening chill became inescapable. Hermione packed up the few things she'd brought outside, namely her notebook and the radio, and brought them inside the tent where she found Narcissa had set up a healthy fire in her transfigured hearth. The heat accosted her thoroughly and she inhaled deeply.

"Oh, that's lovely."

Narcissa turned and smiled. "I'm glad you approve. I think it should stay contained in the shield charm I made for a few hours at least."

"So the tent won't catch fire," clarified Hermione.

"Yes," Narcissa confirmed. She took the tea things from Hermione and put them away. It was odd how they'd managed to put together a system in this little home that they'd inhabited for barely 24 hours. "Although the tent did advertise that it was 'fire-resistant,' I don't see how such a thing is possible without magic."

Hermione smiled and settled onto a pillow by the fire. "It means that they've treated the materials with chemicals that don't combust easily. So it will still catch fire eventually, just not as easily as, say, a pile of dry parchment." For now, it seemed like they didn't have to worry much about flammable tents, though. Hermione could see the tips of the flames gracing the edge of Narcissa's charm and it seemed to be containing the fire perfectly. True, it was spring, but Hermione wanted the heat.

Nestling in her pillow, she assembled her radio and notebook again and opened to the latest page. Her eyes ran down the list, trying to reach a new possible password. Perhaps the password system had been changed altogether? It was borderline infuriating to go on such little information.

Figuring it was worth a go, Hermione sat very straight and still, shut her eyes, and rested her wand atop the radio. Potterwatch, she thought vigorously. I need to hear my friends. She thought back to how clear and exact one's intentions had to be to get into the Room of Requirement. Let me there their voices. Her mind's eye painted Ron's startling red hair and the fire of Harry's passionate green eyes. Please.

"Are you attempting to Charm the wireless?"

Hermione opened her eyes with a disappointed sigh. "No," she took the thing in her hands and turned it over, evaluating all the dials. She'd long ago decided that she would tell Narcissa practically everything, and now it seemed the time had come to reveal the first. "There's a secret radio program. It was created by members of the Light—ex-Hogwarts students, members of the Order of the Phoenix, et cetera. They all had pseudonyms, of course. It was called Potterwatch." Hermione looked up to gauge Narcissa's reaction to this. If anything, she seemed taken aback that Hermione was being so forthcoming.

"What sort of program was it?"

Shrugging, Hermione continued, "It depended on who was hosting the show that day, really. There were always updates on any deaths or major events. Sometimes there would be interviews, stories; it was a way to keep everyone together.

"The program's protected by a password, though. You have to say the correct password at the right time to get in. They'd announce next airing's password at the end of each program."

"So if you missed one, it was nearly impossible to find it again."

"Exactly," Hermione said, exasperated. "Of course, I'm not even sure Potterwatch is still running, but it seems like the best place to start."

Narcissa nodded in agreement and held out her hand in a "May I?" gesture; Hermione handed her the radio.

"What sort of phrases were the passwords?"

"Usually names of—" Hermione swallowed. "—dead Order members. Here are the ones I've tried so far," she nudged the open notebook towards Narcissa's knees and showed her the hundreds of crossed out words.

Narcissa's eyebrows rose at the magnitude of Hermione's attempts and her eyes ran down the list, reading each word. One made her lip curl and Hermione suspected that it was the part where she'd tried Bertie Botts bean flavour names.

"Alastor Moody… he died last July."

"Yeah, on Harry's birthday."

Narcissa nodded. "I remember."

"You were there?"

"Not at the battle, no, but I remember the celebrations. I daresay that the death of Moody was the best thing that happened to the Dark Lord that night, considering how unsuccessful his other endeavours were." Narcissa's expression darkened as she added, "Other than that, there was not much celebrating that night."

Hermione really didn't want to think what constituted a Death Eater celebration.

"Do you have any ideas for other passwords?"

Narcissa turned a page in the notebook and shook her head. "I hardly think I know something you do not. There have been many attacks on Muggle and Muggle-born families since you have been imprisoned, but I doubt they would be significant enough."

Hermione didn't much like the idea that those slaughtered innocents weren't important, but she conceded to Narcissa's point. The woman in question had set the radio on the rug and was aiming her wand at it with a look of stern determination in her eyes.

"Dumbledore!"

The radio didn't so much as twitch.

"Gryffindor! Reveal yourself!"

Nothing.

"Weasley!" Narcissa cried the name with such vehemence that sparks flew from the tip of her wand and sent Hermione diving for cover. When she came back up, she found Narcissa staring at her wandtip with a look of mild awe on her face.

"Can a Muggle device tune in to Potterwatch?" asked Narcissa, as though she hadn't nearly set the radio on fire.

"That's the thing—I don't know. I don't even know if it's operating anymore. But it seems like the best place to start, so here I am."

"I would do the same." Narcissa handed Hermione the radio and Hermione accepted it into her hold. She stared at it for a minute, willing it to make noise, but then gave up and set it on the table. They would try again later. "I'll let you know if I think of any possible passwords," offered Narcissa and Hermione smiled in thanks.

They chose to have dinner then, comfortably seated on pillows in front of the fire. "Dinner" consisted of bread, dried fruit and nuts, a few packaged vegetables, and chocolate. Looking at it all spread across their coffee table, Hermione felt like the duchess of antipasto.

"You know, we could buy Muggle meals and preserve them for weeks with a stasis charm."

Hermione laughed. "Is this not good enough for you? With Harry and Ron, we literally ate mushrooms we found in the ground!"

Narcissa's nose wrinkled and she took another bite of chocolate. "How did you make sure they weren't toxic?"

"I had a Herbology book with me. Actually, when we boiled them, they weren't terribly bad." With a frustrated groan, Hermione tossed a handful of nuts into her mouth. "I wish I had my magical books with me. And some potions. We need potions. Or a cauldron, at least!"

Before Narcissa could answer Hermione's melodrama, their eardrums began to quiver with the same buzzing as before. Instantly, they looked to each other to check they'd both heard the noise. It grew in intensity for a second before stabilising at a muted hum.

"I suppose our friend must be back."

"Well, I certainly hope it's a pretty owl over anyone else." Hermione replied as they both stood. Sure enough, the owl was back on its perch and its emerald eyes were aimed directly at them. The thing cocked its head and Hermione once again had the feeling that if not for her size, it would be hunting her.

"Shall we leave it some food, do you think?" whispered Narcissa.

Hermione shook her head. "It can hunt for itself. Besides, we need that food for ourselves. We don't have much to spare, remember?"

With that, they crawled back inside the tent and packed up their meal. The buzzing grew and softened as the owl moved around their campsite and Hermione started to think of it as a sort of feathery guardian angel.

"Have you ever read anything by Malinda Honeybranch?"

"Pardon?" Hermione was curled up in the corner of the sofa writing in her notebook and had not expected any kind of conversation at all. "I don't think I've ever heard of that person. Who is she?"

Narcissa was seated on the rug and leaning against the sofa on which Hermione sat. Her legs were swept under her and Hermione could see she was tracing the cut on her forearm that Draco had left her, though she wasn't sure whether this was a conscious movement or not.

"She's a rather well-known Wizarding philosopher. I'm not surprised you haven't heard of her, though. Her work has barely been touched in the last twenty years and even before then it was not taken seriously." Hermione shut her notebook and sat up straighter, attentive. "She wrote extensively about Muggle vs. Magical culture." Narcissa turned to Hermione. "She wrote a book about the theory I explained earlier—about providing unique, separate education to children dependent on their upbringing."

"Is that why she isn't well-known? Because her ideas are so controversial?"

"I would hardly say she isn't well-known," countered Narcissa. "When I was at Hogwarts, her work was standard curriculum. However, it was removed a short time later by the Board of Governors. This was as the Dark Lord was first gaining a following, you understand. During that first war, to mention her was to put you in the path of the Dark Lord's wand and everyone was far too busy protecting themselves to concern themselves with academia.

"Then, with the Dark Lord gone, there didn't seem a need for her ideas anymore. I doubt you could find a copy of her books easily today."

"How have I never heard of her? I thought I'd read everything in the Hogwarts library!" Hermione was only half-joking with that declaration; she was irritated and angry by what Narcissa had told her.

Narcissa merely laughed. "If what I've heard is to be believed even the slightest, I'm sure there isn't a book in there that you haven't touched." With slow movements, Narcissa pushed herself up onto the sofa and settled herself into the other corner. She was wearing a tightly knitted shawl around her shoulders and Hermione never would have imagined she'd ever see Narcissa Malfoy (or whatever her surname was now) look so comfortable. It rather suited her, she thought. Far more than that stiff air of superiority did, anyway.

"When this is over, I will give you my copies of her books. I'd be interested to hear your thoughts."

There were quite a few things in that statement that made Hermione pause. For a start, the assumption that they would be alive when "this is over" was questionable at best. Second, that Narcissa wanted to continue any kind of association was remarkable, not to mention hear Hermione's opinion on anything. The image was almost absurd: The pair of them sitting over tea, debating with a stack of gently used books scattered between the cream and sugar. With a bit of a jolt, Hermione realised that she wanted it very, very much.

"I'd like that," she said honestly, surprising herself, and Narcissa accepted her with a nod. Hermione could see the woman's fingers running up and down that line on her forearm like a pulse under her shawl and found that she couldn't ignore it any longer.

"Does it hurt? The cut?"

Narcissa looked confused for a moment, then looked down at her own arm to see her fingers hovering over inflamed slash in her skin. She shook her head very slowly. "No, it does not."

Hermione didn't press further, though she wasn't convinced Narcissa was truthful. "Okay. Just take care it doesn't get infected." She opened her notebook and found her spot on the page where she'd been documenting the day's events and continued writing.

"Do you think he's alright?"

Hermione looked up from the paper where she'd written all of three words. Narcissa was staring into the fire and the flames illuminated her face in strange flashes of shadow that made her look beautiful one moment and extraordinarily sad the next. Sometimes the expressions clashed and it made Hermione wish she were an artist so she could capture it instead of writing about encrypted charms and wards.

"I don't know," answered Hermione honestly. "I don't think anyone is alright in this war, and we both know he won't go unpunished once they figure out he helped free us."

"He shouldn't have done it. Or he should have ensured he had a way to come with us. It wasn't worth it."

Hermione wondered whether she should be offended by that comment. "He loves his mother," she answered simply, trying to will Narcissa to turn her head and make eye contact. "He wanted you free and safe."

"I am hardly a mother deserving of love if I cannot protect my own son." Narcissa's voice was bitter and heartbroken and Hermione had the overwhelming urge to crawl across their crooked sofa and envelope the woman in a hug.

"Don't say that," she scolded not unkindly. "I've known Draco for seven years and if there's anything he's good at, it's avoiding consequences." Narcissa smirked. "Grant him the comfort of knowing that you are free from Voldemort. That's all he wants."

Narcissa took a shaky breath and blinked rapidly and Hermione realised she was on the verge of crying. Hermione turned back to her notebook, not wanting to invade Narcissa's privacy, and wrote down all the relevant information she could think of for the day. There wasn't much of it, truth be told, other than the fact that their magic was misbehaving at times.

New wands? Hermione hypothesised in ink. Environmental factors? She tried to keep it all as vague as possible so a potential thief wouldn't be able to understand what she was talking about.

When she'd exhausted the academic stuff, Hermione tried to draw the owl they'd seen, but she'd never been strong in the arts and it ended up looking hysterically deformed with a smudged lump instead of a wing. She smiled at that and then spelled the page blank again.

"You should sleep soon."

Hermione frowned. "Why? I'm not tired. You can sleep first. I'll go on watch for a few hours."

"You've been awake for a very long time," Narcissa reminded her, standing from her position on the sofa. Clearly she was getting ready for the night watch. "You need to rest."

"I'm fine," snapped Hermione irritably, and she was surprised by how upset she was. Narcissa seemed surprised as well, for she turned and gave Hermione her full attention.

"You don't want to sleep?" It was more a statement than a question and Hermione did not grant it an answer. "We tested the wards thoroughly," she reminded her in what was obviously supposed to be a reassuring voice. "We're safe here."

"That isn't the issue," Hermione responded quickly. "Sleeping doesn't do anything for me—I wake up feeling worse than when I went to bed. It's a waste of time."

Narcissa paused for a confused moment. "You can hardly avoid it forever."

"No, but I can try," snorted Hermione under her breath and she took up her notebook again, staring at it with grim determination even as Narcissa sighed and sat down right beside her on the sofa. She knew she was being ridiculous, but the sudden bitterness in her bloodstream left no other option.

Narcissa's voice softly broke through. "Is it nightmares?"

"It's more than that. They're so intense that I can't figure out whether they're real or not and then I wake up—and I have no way to tell whether the images in my head are made-up or actual memories." Hermione was blushing, she could feel it, so she kept her gaze directed firmly at the open pages in her lap. "It's a lot easier to just stay up until I pass out, unless—can't you give me that spell? The one that puts me to sleep. That always helps."

Narcissa frowned and sat back against the deformed cushions. It was strange to be side-by-side like this, so close. Hermione could feel the other woman's warmth and the shape of her frame so nearby.

"It isn't healthy to become so dependant. Besides, that spell was never meant to be used for sedation like I use it on you."

Hermione's eyebrows rose. "It wasn't? What for, then?"

"It is a pain reliever, though perhaps a more moderate one." Narcissa shrugged. "When I was a new mother, I bought a book on elementary healing. That particular spell is intended to assuage things like sprained joints or twisted ligaments, though it is more commonly used to soothe hysterical children."

"Like Benadryl."

"Pardon?"

"There's a Muggle drug called Benadryl," Hermione explained, turning to face Narcissa as the information impatiently sprang from her tongue. "It's meant to treat allergies but one of the side-effects is drowsiness. It's practically an unofficial sedative, though the companies who make it always say not to use it that way."

Narcissa bowed her head in concession. "Yes, they are similar." Her eyes turned wicked as she added, "And I imagine that it is just as unhealthy to rely on this Muggle substance for sleep?"

"Alright, yes," Hermione admitted, slouching back down into the pillows. The playful banter of their exchange was extinguished. "But it's so much easier."

Hermione's whisper hung around them for long moments, mingling with the heady warmth of the fire and intoxicating them with the feeling of safety.

"What if I were to stay with you? Until you fall asleep?"

Hermione gave Narcissa a look which clearly communicated how impractical she found that idea, but Narcissa returned it with nothing but open compassion. Hermione blushed.

"That won't necessarily help—I'll still wake up."

"You don't know that," reminded Narcissa who stood from the sofa and began to magically rearrange their one-room tent. Tucking away the coffee table (though the furniture was very reluctant), she set out the blankets and pillows by the fire. Surprisingly, they'd managed to put together a very comfortable sleeping arrangement despite the lack of a bed.

Narcissa ordered, "Come, lie down," and Hermione obeyed, feeling rather silly as she sat on the blankets and discretely wriggled her feet out of her shoes. "Do whatever you must with your notebook for another fifteen minutes," Narcissa handed her the book and pen. "Then try to rest. I will be here." With a satisfied smile, Narcissa sat back upon the sofa, barely a foot away.

Hermione huffed at Narcissa's stubbornness, both frustrated by it and unwillingly admirable. With a private smirk, she realised this must be how Harry and Ron felt most of the time.

Hermione dallied as long as she could, writing down meaningless questions into her notebook until Narcissa took the thing away from her and urged her to rest. Hermione wanted to protest, but it was pointless when she was so exhausted and the damned book wasn't exactly useful when she had no good information to write in it. Besides, with Narcissa sitting so close, she couldn't deny the security it brought.

She could murder me in my sleep, her brain mused. Well, probably not, but she could turn me in to the Death Eaters and that's basically murder. How very odd it was that the pair of them could go from amiable conversation to tense discourse fraught with distrust. It was emotional whiplash, never quite being able to keep track of where they stood with the other. Hermione hoped it would balance out soon.

Rolling onto her side so that she was facing the hearth and away from Narcissa's eyes, she tugged the blankets with her until she was huddled in a plush cocoon. She thought of Harry and Ron and wondered if they were in a tent like this in a forest somewhere, perhaps nearby. Her thoughts travelled from them to the rest of the Order, then to the Death Eaters, and then her breathing became so erratic as terror seized her completely. She could hear Narcissa's tiny movements and forced herself to hold her breath, not wanting to attract attention to herself. Her throat hurt and she felt dizzy but the steady metre of Narcissa's breaths guided Hermione's own as she brought herself back to a calm state and tears began to ooze onto the pillow.