A/N: This story has been in the works for over a year now and I'm very excited for what's coming up. Longer, more action-filled chapters ahead, I believe.
Trigger Warnings: Mild flashbacks, mild dissociation, mild violence
Hermione huddled herself with the blanket in front of the fire. True, she was dry now, but the memory of the chill still haunted her bones. The blanket's material prickled her skin; Hermione didn't remember buying it and assumed that Narcissa had transfigured it from something. That would explain the odd gradient of colour, from forest green to baby pink, and the slightly uneven stitching. It almost made Hermione smirk, the concept that such an immaculate and aesthetically-conscious person's magic could birth this rather slapdash creation.
She heard Narcissa's slight movements, the shifting of her body against the sofa where she had re-seated herself and the brush of her shoes on the floor. The witch had probably never worn trainers in her life. Hermione wondered whether they were more comfortable than whatever obscenely expensive, luxurious shoes that were no doubt her custom.
Reaching down, Hermione picked at her own laces. It was nice to wear new shoes after wearing down the same old pair through months of dramatic weather and running. Lots of running.
Funnily enough, she couldn't shake her frugal habits and had bought the cheapest pair at the sporting goods store, despite their technically unlimited purse.
Narcissa's soft whispering brought Hermione back to the present, in their warm little tent with all its awkward magical adjustments. Hermione didn't turn, but she could hear the sound of the cup being summoned to Narcissa's waiting hand and the gentle trickle that followed a murmured "Aguamenti." There was a dull splat, suggesting that a good dose of the water had made its way onto the rug. Narcissa made a small noise of annoyed frustration before magically cleaning the mess with a decisive flick of her wand. The sofa's lumpy cushions hissed as she leaned back and curled into the corner of the couch.
Hermione pictured all this as she stared into the fire, blue shadows of the flames prancing across her vision. She wondered when she'd learned all of Narcissa's subtle movements to the point that she could perfectly generate them in her mind's eye. In that month when Narcissa had been her—her what? Servant? Hermione made a face. Yeah, right.
Well, whatever Narcissa had been then, it certainly shouldn't be enough for Hermione to feel so naturally accustomed to her presence. It seemed odd and almost disturbing, but Hermione couldn't find it in herself to be upset or put out by it. Rather surprisingly, she instead found it to be the closest thing to comfort she'd felt since those snatchers had stolen her from Harry and Ron, or perhaps since this blasted Horcrux hunt had even begun.
She could hear—or maybe sense was the more appropriate word—Narcissa's steady, gentle breathing behind her. Hermione closed her eyes and let the even repetition soothe her, harmonising with the morning sounds of forest breezes and waking animals. Hermione soaked in the moment, the sheer peace of it, and without her noticing, matched the pace of her breaths to Narcissa's.
Hermione remained in that quasi-meditation for a long time. The pulsing waves of heat from the fire continued to wash over her, but she was far too serene to bother to release the blanket from around her shoulders.
Eventually, the unpleasant dryness manifesting on her tongue pushed her to her feet in want of a drink, perhaps another cup of tea. She thought of their Horcrux discussion only a few hours ago and wondered what occupied Narcissa's unvoiced thoughts.
Part of her was scared to ask out of fear that whatever Narcissa answered would unbalance this precarious trust. But what did that trust even mean if Hermione was afraid of Narcissa's honesty?
Hermione turned, possessed by a moment of Gryffindor courage. But her question fizzled in her throat when she found Narcissa sound asleep in her cosy nest of pillows.
Of course—she'd been up all night keeping watch. No wonder she was exhausted.
Narcissa's neck curved such that her head essentially rested on her shoulder. Hermione had fallen asleep studying in the common room enough times to know that Narcissa would be mightily uncomfortable when she woke. Once again, Hermione was torn between the urges to leave her be or to help; the sympathetic Jekyll vs. the prejudiced Hyde constantly struggling to work it all out. In a way it was ironic: here, she was operating on outdated prejudices which seemed to hold little relevancy in the present.
Before she could change her mind, Hermione took the few steps behind the sofa. Magic was the more appealing tool in this situation, but with the wards affecting their spells so greatly, she couldn't quite stomach the risk that she would accidentally incinerate the cushions or sever Narcissa's incomprehensibly glamourous hair. (Though in Hermione's rather cynical opinion, people with such unglamorous histories were undeserving of silky locks. They were on the run, for goodness' sake! At war! Hermione was suffering from acne while Narcissa's head resembled spun gold.)
While her feminine side ranted adamantly in her head about the unfair distribution of beauty, Hermione tentatively reached for Narcissa's head. The woman didn't stir at the touch of Hermione's fingertips against her crown, so Hermione gently eased her hand forward until she was cradling Narcissa's temple. Her skin was impossibly warm and soft, and once again Hermione was reminded how long it had been since she'd had companionship and intimacy. Her emotions welled up, twisting violently like a hurricane, and she held her breath as she felt them struggling to break free.
Narcissa gave a tired little moan and shifted, saving Hermione the job of lifting her head. Hermione wasted no time shoving a pillow where her hand had been and retreating. Narcissa squirmed, snuggling into the new neck support, and then was still and silent.
Letting out a breath, Hermione rubbed her palm on the thigh of her cargo pants, as if that would erase the burn of Narcissa's skin.
Hermione wasn't sure if Narcissa had woken or not. She hoped she had not. She didn't want Narcissa to know that Hermione had sympathised enough to help; it felt like admitting a weakness and Merlin knew that Narcissa knew enough of those already.
The moment having passed, Hermione strode straight out of the tent, radio and notebook in hand, and spread out her jumper on the grassy ground. If they kept on drifting like this, with no particular aim or direction, then she would lose whatever fragments of sanity she had left.
With the radio positioned in front of her, Hermione opened the notebook sitting on her crossed legs and started from the beginning of the list.
She was mid-way through nibbling a rather limp snap pea when she first heard it: the droning hum in the distance, floating through the tree trunks and foliage. This noise was not the ringing of the wards, but something far more dangerous: voices. Human voices.
Immediately, ice flooded her veins. Hermione couldn't move and her limbs went cold. She could feel the panic beginning to swell in her gut; she had to choose a course of action before it took complete control.
Her mind generated a list of the possibilities: a) They were Muggles, they would be repelled by the wards, they would leave; b) They were Muggles, the wards would fail, they would be found, potentially catastrophically; c) They were ally wizards; d) They were Death Eaters.
Hermione's pulse began accelerating from the dreadful slow thud, thud, thud at which it had been marching. In a matter of moments, it beat thunderously.
Standing quickly, Hermione stumbled back through the tent, radio and notebook clumsily held against her chest. She stopped dead as soon as she was inside, and the notebook dropped from her arms in a flapping, fluttering flurry of paper. Narcissa was still sound asleep on the sofa as Hermione had left her a few hours ago.
Should she wake her?
If she didn't, an outnumbered duel might mean Hermione got the pair of them captured.
If she did, Narcissa might do something unexpected—like deliberately call out to the strangers. After all, wasn't it still a possibility that Narcissa was still allied to the Dark Lord?
No, not even a Slytherin could be so expertly deceitful. Or at least that's what Hermione would tell herself. She couldn't afford this doubt.
Hermione set the radio on the ground as gently as she could and hurried over to where Narcissa slept. Reaching out a hand, she grabbed the woman's shoulder. It pressed into her palm in a steady rhythm as Narcissa breathed.
"Wake up," Hermione hissed. "Narcissa, wake up," she tried shaking her shoulder a little. "I think I hear people." Hermione hated the fear in her voice.
Narcissa didn't show any sign of stirring, so Hermione threw caution to the wind and shook the sleeping woman as vigorously as she felt capable of with her fear-logged limbs.
That did the trick. Narcissa sat bolt upright and her arm flew out, striking Hermione across the face with a sharp clap and sending her straight to the floor. "Get away!"
The blow rang through Hermione's skull as she lay on her back and for a moment she was totally disoriented. She heard Narcissa's gasp of realisation and tried to push herself up to a sitting position. Honestly, after what had been done to her Malfoy Manor, that slap had been almost painless.
Hermione didn't give Narcissa time to apologise.
"I think I heard voices outside."
Narcissa stared, mouth half open as her sleepy brain tried to catch up.
"Voices," she replied dully. "What kind of voices?"
"I don't know—I couldn't hear them clearly. Male, maybe?" Hermione wondered if Narcissa thought she had lost her mind. Wasn't hearing voices one of the first signs of insanity? No doubt she'd endured enough Cruciatus to make it a possibility.
"Were they approaching?"
"I couldn't quite tell. I came here immediately."
"What do you suggest we do?" Narcissa was prying herself off the sofa and creeping towards the tent flap. Hermione watched in mild surprise; she had half expected Narcissa to take charge. Instead, she was turning to Hermione to lead. It was a pleasant surprise.
Except for the fact that Hermione felt frantic and clueless.
Standing, Hermione followed on outside. Her cheek still stung, but she didn't care. In a way, it was actually fortunate; the strike had spared her the fear and anxiety for the time being.
Hermione watched, legs parted in a defensive stance in preparation to attack or run or both, while Narcissa took a few tentative steps toward what was definitely the hum of male voices. They sounded louder and clearer than when Hermione had first heard them, approaching from the left of the where they stood. Hermione could distinguish two speakers, one with a bright, cheerful sound and the other a darker timbre, like a storm cloud. She heard the unintelligible deep voice make a quip and their companion laughed. It was a sharp, abrasive sound that echoed through the trees. Narcissa snapped around and met Hermione's eyes with her own wide ones.
Hermione moved to the woman's side quickly. Her wand was slick in her sweaty palm. "I don't want them to get any closer. If they aren't Muggles, I'm not sure the wards will keep them out."
"Yes, I agree."
They shared a silent look. Hermione didn't fancy actively inviting confrontation, but if they waited much longer they might lose their few advantages.
"I could stun them? Then a memory charm?" Why must her voice be so high and fearful?
"Alright," conceded Narcissa with equal hesitation. This was a far cry from the brash impulsiveness of Harry and Ron. Though in this moment, Hermione almost wished for it. This slice of time when they were all limping with indecision was agonising.
Mind suddenly made up, Hermione quietly rushed forward and dashed behind a tree. In the corner of her eye, she saw Narcissa do the same on the other side of the tent. She was completely invisible behind the trunk, save for the point of her wand aimed out the side.
The voices were so close now. Hermione could pick out almost every word. It sounded like they were discussing some sort of party, but none of their vocabulary gave away whether they were Muggle or magical. Hermione frowned and tried to control her trembling. Why must they be so infuriatingly vague?
"I dunno," said the brighter voice resignedly. "I reckon things'll change soon."
The other individual grunted in what was either agreement or disinterest.
"I mean, they can't keep doing this to us, right? We work too hard. We deserve more."
Another grunt, this one longer and more nuanced, a wordless dismissal.
Hermione could see their movements now, shadows of their steps flickering around her peripheral vision. The sound of their footsteps crunched dully through her head, winding her fear up to stratospheric levels. Other than Narcissa, she hadn't seen allies in over a month. The potential for danger here was extreme, and Hermione's mind was suddenly filled with violent memories, shrieks and strikes and maniacal laughter resonating through her bones. Hermione cowered, curling in on herself.
There. She could see them now. They were wearing simple trousers and coats. One had shortly cropped sandy hair, the other a thick, wiry nest of dark hair which reached past the ears with a beard to match. They could be Muggles. They could be Death Eaters. Hermione was more inclined toward the former. Blood supremacist were more likely to flaunt their status with very wizardly-looking robes, after all. Weren't they?
The pair was still far away enough not to cross the wards, but Hermione could hear a low buzz their presence triggered. It grew more intense with every pace closer they came.
Hermione turned in the opposite direction and found Narcissa's little blonde head peeking out at her from behind the rich tree bark. Her expression posed a question: "Are you going to act?" Hermione wanted to nod but found herself stuck, overcome with fear and self-doubt. She'd only have one chance to get them, then they would work out what was going on. If they were Muggles, that could be disastrous. What on Earth would non-magical people make of spells flying at them? And if they were indeed Death Eaters, the results could be deadly.
Narcissa gave her a little nod of encouragement and Hermione steeled herself, lifting her wand arm. The buzz of the wards was nearly intolerable now, but she let the strength of her pose power her as she took a deep breath and aimed right at the bearded one's chest.
"Stupefy," whispered Hermione. She felt the rush of magic through her arm and pour out the end of her wand. The spell veered off and struck the base of a tree a few paces behind the pair, echoing with a crack that made Hermione herself jump.
"What the hell?" cried the chattier one in a manner very reminiscent of Ron.
"Stupefy," Hermione tried again, trying to make the most of the few seconds she had before the two began to counteract her attacks. "Stupefy. Stupefy!" She hit one in the head and they flew backwards onto the ground.
The other one looked around wildly, trying to find their attacker and apparently oblivious to the fact that their comrade had fallen. Hermione took this time to shoot off stunners, but none of them hit. Her target suddenly tripped on the fallen body and swore before dashing behind the nearest tree trunk.
Narcissa moved faster. Before their coat sleeve disappeared, Narcissa had struck them in the back with her own stunning spell. The body fell with a thud, and then all was silent.
The quiet hung for a few moments before Hermione's gasping breath shattered it. She gulped a few times, staring at the motionless bodies, daring them to twitch. Narcissa moved to stand beside her.
"Do you think there are any more?"
Hermione shook her head and realised that her wand was still extended. She lowered her arm back to her side.
Narcissa was evidently in a braver mood, for she hesitated only a moment before ambling over. Hermione followed, not wanting to put too much distance between herself and her only accomplice. Her eyes flitted about, anticipating another enemy.
She bumped into Narcissa and jumped, then realised she was standing at the feet of the bearded one. They lay on their side, their cheek pressed into the ground. Hermione reckoned they would have some impressive bruises when they came to.
Neither woman made any move to touch the corpse-like figures.
"Do you think we should search them for wands?"
Hermione shook her head. "No. If they find anything different, they'll know they ran into somebody. I think we ought to Obliviate and then leave."
This was all accurate and true and logical, but only one side of the coin flipping in Hermione's head. Who knew what they would find if they searched their pockets? Wands? Pictures or descriptions of targets? Hermione imagined a Daily Prophet clipping of herself with a description scribbled in uneven writing: Female, medium height, untameable chestnut hair, to be taken dead or alive…
It wouldn't be written in such kind language, of course.
And what other immaterial things might they find? Infinite memories of squirming serpentine tattoos floated through Hermione's mind.
No, if she found proof that Death Eaters were tracking them (and had gotten within a stone's throw of success), Hermione would not be able to bear it. For once, she would rather move on in ignorance. Let this one dreadful possibility live on in ambiguity. An eternal "what if?"
Narcissa obediently began to follow Hermione's implied orders. Wisely so; who knew how long their haphazardly casted and poorly aimed Stupefy would keep these large, strong individuals unconscious? Clearly uncertain how to proceed, Narcissa prodded the person's shoulder with the tip of her shoe, trying to roll them over. She jumped when it worked and the body thumped onto its back.
Giving Hermione an expectant look, Narcissa waited.
This was so reminiscent of that night she had fled Bill and Fleur's wedding with Harry and Ron, only to be ambushed in a café. She had Obliviated the memories of those Death Eaters, too. But that had been centuries, eons ago…
Hermione raised her wand, aiming it squarely between the closed eyes. In her periphery, she noted the tangled curls of the beard and how the hair crawled similarly around the perimeter of the face. It reminded her of her own.
"Obliviate," she whispered. There was no evident change in the figure, save for a slight relaxation between the eyebrows.
The other one, the one who prattled on and on, was only a few metres away. Wordlessly, Hermione went over to the second body, already sprawled on its back, and executed the spell. With a moment's thought, she added a Confundus to each.
Then, she looked back to Narcissa who still stood patiently by the torso of the first.
"Is it done?"
"Yes."
"What will they remember?"
Hermione blew out a shuddering breath. "With any luck, they won't know they were attacked. They'll think they got lost." Of course, that was ignoring the very real possibility that Hermione had managed to perform the spell correctly at all, considering the foreign wand and her disobedient magic.
"And the fact that they were unconscious?"
"With the Confundus Charm, they'll be disoriented and won't trust their senses. It'll make sense to them, somehow. They'll make it make sense." Hermione felt like an automated textbook. Her voice was droll and detached. She couldn't take her eyes off the bodies, hunting for the first indication of movement and ready to spring away the second they reanimated.
"Let us go, then."
Hermione nodded and let Narcissa take her elbow to pull her back towards their camp, all the while keeping her eyes on the figures. She was walking backwards.
Hermione felt like her mind was working in slow motion, lagging a few moments behind her actions like an out-of-sync audio track in a film that provided the dialogue after the actors' lips had already moved.
"You didn't want to cast the spells yourself?" she questioned suddenly.
"You have more experience with this sort of magic than I," Narcissa answered. In her detached state of consciousness, Hermione wondered how Narcissa's voice always seemed to act like a balm. Smooth, gentle, cool. Healing. "And I did not want you to suspect I am trying to circumvent your safety."
Oh, thought Hermione dreamily, her eyes still planted on the fallen figures. That's nice…
Perhaps they were bird watchers.
She looked up to the trees.
The owl was nowhere to be seen.