A/N: Sorry for the delay. As always, I appreciate any and all feedback!
Trigger Warnings: Mild blood, vague torture flashback
The fact that Voldemort was Hermione's partner for a Potions project made total sense. It was not unusual, therefore, when the Dark Lord accidentally added too many withered petals of jadewood and the substance in their cauldron turned a violent shade of green instead of the putrid yellow it was supposed to.
Hermione looked at their potion sadly and silently mourned her grade on the assignment as Professors Snape and Dumbledore approached the table.
"Well," mused Snape darkly and Hermione prepared for whatever snide jab was about to be unleashed by his merciless tongue.
Voldemort beat him to it, though, and hissed "Mistakes such as these are to be expected with such poor quality facilities and peers!" Hermione opened her mouth in offence but the Dark Lord was totally ignoring her existence beside him.
Snape merely shrugged. "Then take care of it," he advised and walked away to peer into the steaming cauldron at McGonagall's table.
Somewhere in her mind, Hermione was aware that her eyes were open. There was no sunlight, which suggested she hadn't slept long, and Voldemort was turning on her. Their potion gone wrong was beginning to arch out of the cauldron and reach for her.
Hermione blinked and the cool air brushed some of the fog from her mind's eye. Paralysed, she lay there on her back as the last few moments replayed in her mind.
What year had they made sentient green potion?
Oh—it had been a dream.
Well it must have been, since Voldemort had never been and would never be her classmate.
Such was the progression of Hermione's thoughts as she stood and stumbled dumbly to the flap of the tent, too disturbed by her nightmare to tolerate solitude.
"Hello," Narcissa greeted her.
"What time is it?" Hermione heard her words slur on her hoarse voice. She dropped herself beside Narcissa on a blanket.
"Nearly four, I believe." Narcissa made sure Hermione was well protected from the chill and, after a pause, handed over the cup she had been drinking from. Hermione took it and sipped the cool water.
"Did you sleep?"
"Yes."
"That's good." Silence reigned for an immeasurable moment and somewhere nearby a creature cooed into the night. "Did you dream?"
"Yes." Hermione paused, then the words came out in a flurry. "It was bizarre and frightening and disturbing. I was at school, at Hogwarts, in Potions class but Voldemort was my partner. He messed up the assignment and Professor Snape didn't care—Voldemort just blamed me." Hermione huffed out a great breath and found inexplicable tears burning at her eyes. She stared determinedly at the ground until she felt Narcissa's hand on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," the other woman whispered. "I'm sure it was dreadful."
Hermione looked up to Narcissa's eyes but immediately exclaimed, "Have you been crying?" Hermione didn't wait for an answer as she reached up to cup Narcissa's exposed cheek. Sure enough, there were hot trails flowing over her skin and her eyes looked swollen even in darkness. Hermione wanted to hit herself for being so selfish and forgetting that Narcissa was suffering, too. "I'm sorry. Are you alright? What's wrong?"
Surprised, Narcissa took Hermione's wrist and gently tugged it away from her face. "Hermione, please," She seemed taken aback by the gesture, but not offended. Or so Hermione hoped. Nevertheless, she was determined that Narcissa's unhappiness would not go ignored.
Narcissa was still holding Hermione's wrist in an effort to prevent her from reaching from her face again and Hermione saw that the sleeve was pushed up to the elbow. Draco's cut shone brightly on the pale flesh of her arm, a dark pink trail. In the shadows of the night-time, the contrast between her healthy skin and the wound seemed even greater. Hermione wondered whether that really was just due to the lighting, though; it looked like Narcissa had been touching the injury ceaselessly. It was inflamed and Hermione was worried about the possibility of infection.
"My apologies," murmured Narcissa as she tried to retract her arm, but Hermione was persistent.
Frowning, she said, "You don't have to apologise," and wondered how many times Narcissa had been admonished for it in the past. "What you need is to stop irritating this injury." She scanned the cut with her eyes and spotted a bead of fresh blood that had been freed from the healing skin. "Don't make me bandage it," she threatened.
Judging it to be alright (for now), Hermione released Narcissa's hand. Immediately, the woman tugged her sleeve back down to her wrist, grimacing at the obvious pain it caused to do so.
Narcissa steeled herself and straightened her back, staring ahead of her as she wiped at the tears on her cheek.
"I know what that mark means to you, but you have to let it heal."
Narcissa was silent and Hermione sighed in frustration, though she couldn't help but admire the woman's devotion. She emptied the cup of water and set it down on the grassy forest floor. It was still very dark, but she could hardly sleep more with the faces of Snape and Voldemort, both of them renowned murderers, lingering behind her eyelids.
Hermione stole a glance to her left and saw that tears were sill freshly streaming from Narcissa's eyes. Without words, Hermione reached out and wrapped her arm around the older witch's shoulders. Narcissa collapsed and Hermione found herself cradling her as she quivered and sobbed. Wretched sounds wrenched themselves from Narcissa's throat and Hermione instinctively squeezed her tighter, hoping to offer comfort.
She didn't know what to say, or if there was anything she could say at all, so instead she just silently held the witch who wept into her shoulder.
The stars had shifted by the time Narcissa's crying had weakened to a drizzle and Hermione felt the woman's frame sag against her as though it had been wrung out. But Hermione didn't budge, merely continued to stroke her finger along Narcissa's pale hairline and intertwine with a few strands. Strangely, it felt almost cathartic to soothe another person.
Hermione could sense that Narcissa wanted to say something, maybe apologise, but she didn't. Rather, she pulled herself away from Hermione's now soggy shoulder and sat upright, rubbing at her eyes and pushing her hair over shoulder.
"Are you alright?" Hermione was cautious but her voice was saturated with compassion.
Narcissa nodded shakily. "Yes," She couldn't seem to decide whether or not she wanted to thank Hermione or apologise, so she said nothing as she stared ahead.
Needing something to do, Hermione took the empty cup she'd drank from and filled it with a murmured "Aguamenti," then handed it over. Narcissa wrapped her hands around it and took tentative sips and they sat in silence again together for a bit.
"In all my life, I have never been so afraid." Narcissa's eyes closed and Hermione wished she were brave enough to reach out and touch her again. "Not during my youth, or the first war, my life as a mother or wife, or even these past years as I have facilitated the rise of the Dark Lord." Hermione wanted to flinch at the confession that Narcissa had helped Voldemort. Though she had known it to be true, it felt intrinsically wrong coming from this broken woman's lips. "I am more scared now than I ever have been."
"It's okay," Hermione responded, then wanted to kick herself for the banality of that statement. With a sigh, she admitted, "Look, this doesn't get any easier. But we'll get through it. I promise. There's nothing wrong with fear, either." With a self-deprecating laugh, Hermione added, "To be honest, I'd think you were insane if you weren't afraid."
"I always thought you impertinent and mortally foolish," Narcissa told her with a weak attempt at a smirk. "But I see now that you had no choice and have none now. Ever since you have joined our world, you have been forced to constantly retaliate in this manner." Narcissa sighed. "Except now those schoolyard jabs have turned into armed attacks and you have been moulded into a soldier in the place of the brilliant woman you should be."
Hermione blinked a few times. Narcissa's analysis was startling in its transparency and Hermione had a confusing basket of emotions in her clutch as a result.
"I am sorry."
It took Hermione a moment to realise Narcissa was talking again. "It isn't your fault," Hermione cringed. "Well, not directly, not entirely."
"You don't know that."
Hermione regarded the other woman with a look of sarcastic incredulity. "Well obviously you've contributed, but it isn't entirely your fault. Besides," added Hermione softly as her gaze returned to the silhouette of the trees against the rapidly lightening sky. "It hardly matters now."
Narcissa's eyebrows rose. "You would pardon me for all I have done against you?" Hermione gave her a look of exasperated indifference; she didn't have time or energy to hold a grudge against Narcissa Malfoy, not now. "I am the mother of the boy who bullied you for seven years," reminded Narcissa.
"Draco is a separate issue." Hermione waved her hand. "And considering he helped us escape, I'm not very angry at him right now."
"I insulted you," continued Narcissa. "Last year, at Diagon Alley. I called you filth."
Rolling her eyes, Hermione said, "Yes, and you called me a 'brilliant woman' or something to that effect less than five minutes ago."
"I declared you to be an inferior individual, undeserving of respect or dignity—"
"Don't push it," Hermione warned darkly. "I trust you now, I think. That's all that matters." Hermione repeated that mantra in her head after she said it, pushing Narcissa's reminders and the memories they induced out of her head. She couldn't afford to linger on them.
Slouching in resignation, Narcissa mumbled, "Very well, but I don't feel as though I deserve it."
"Too bad," said Hermione. "You have it anyway."
Narcissa gave her a wry smile and wiped at her eyes again, which were still swollen though thankfully no longer teary.
They settled back into silence and Hermione summoned her notebook to her lap. As she opened it and flipped through its pages, she wondered if a protective charm would be a good idea. Of course anything to ensure protection was prudent, but would it be worth it if her magic was so undisciplined at the moment?
She found the page where her list of passwords left off and summoned the radio. It ended up two feet out of her reach and she had to crawl across the ground to fetch it back, much to Narcissa's silent amusement. Straightening, she began to recite her latest hypothetical codes.
"Lupin." Nothing. "Percival." Also nothing. "Padfoot." Silence, save for the rustling of the forest.
Thirty-seven words later, Narcissa cautiously whispered: "Has it occurred to you that your friends might believe you to be dead?"
Hermione lowered her wand. "Yes." To demonstrate, she re-aimed her wand at the radio and clearly declared "Hermione. Jean. Granger." It yielded no result and she looked to Narcissa triumphantly. Both of them were choosing to ignore that just because the password failed now didn't mean that the Order knew Hermione lived.
Nevertheless, Narcissa didn't press the issue and watched with curiosity as Hermione's passwords became more and more creative. As Hermione flustered, Narcissa murmured, "The owl is back."
Hermione looked up and indeed saw the golden owl perched in its tree watching them intently. Its green eyes met Hermione's with such ferocity that it nearly took her breath away.
"Hello," she mumbled at the creature and it cocked its head in an attitude that looked almost humane.
"It must be a highly magical animal," Narcissa mused, clearly referencing the ringing in both their ears. They had both attempted to alter the wards before Hermione went to sleep, but for now it was impossible to tell whether they'd had any effect.
Hermione didn't doubt that such an unusually beautiful bird was magical. Smiling to herself, she said, "I think he likes us."
"Perhaps he is our protector," mused Narcissa with mirth.
The sight of the beautiful animal seemed to energise them both, almost as though it feasted on their anxieties and left nothing but peace on its empty plate.
"Before you were captured, you were running with your friends, yes?" Narcissa asked. Though it pained her, Hermione confirmed. "You told me in the hotel that you were hunting for magical objects which would weaken the Dark Lord."
Hermione inhaled quickly: this was the moment she'd been fearing. If she chose to cross that barrier and admit the truth to Narcissa, then there would be no turning back. True, she'd sworn to herself she would be honest and she'd already confessed plenty. What was the point in concealing secrets at this point? What would that accomplish?
She knew that she'd already made the decision, that she would tell Narcissa everything relevant to the war, but to actually carry out that choice in the chilly morning air made Hermione's palms sweat. For a month, Voldemort had tried to extract information from her; she was hardly inclined to wilfully give it up.
With frightening intensity, she remembered their demands. "Where is Potter?" She'd remained stoically silent. "Where is Weasely?" After a bit of coercion, she'd told them that she didn't know where they'd gone, which was the truth. "What is the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?" The Fidelius had protected that information, though not Hermione. "What were you brats up to?" "What were you looking for?" "Where is Harry Potter? How will Harry Potter defeat the Dark Lord?" The voices began to outrun each other, like waves racing to the shore, and Hermione could hear Bellatrix's shrieks ringing in her ears in tandem with the buzz of the wards.
Her fist clenched in the dewy grass and Hermione reminded herself that she wasn't there anymore and that this Black sister only shared blood, not intent, with her sibling. Dirt under her fingernails, Hermione took a deep breath and resolved herself to what she was about to do and rigorously ignored the voice in her head which was screaming at her that this was an unwise and possibly deadly idea.
"It's a long story," she admitted honestly. Narcissa didn't seem deterred by the vagueness of her answer.
"Perhaps it would be better discussed over morning tea."
Hermione smiled and nodded and together they crept back inside as the sun began to make itself known and their flighty guardian began to sparkle in its warmth.