A weight lay nestled against Hermione's sternum, between where her breasts had been when she'd had surplus flesh. It was Narcissa's head; their positions had reversed. If the slow, even breaths were any indication, Hermione was the only one awake.

Awake in the loosest of terms, that is. That had not been a small dose of Dreamless Sleep and Hermione's blood still felt heavy, her thoughts inexact.

She felt different and yet exactly the same. Her heart was still hollow and reality a bit cloudy, but it was not the sort of overwhelming grief of before. It was… manageable. Almost.

Her arms had wrapped themselves around Narcissa's back, securing the woman's chest to her own. Hermione could not convince herself to move them, so instead she relaxed her head as it had been before, stared at the ceiling, and silently took inventory of herself.

Apart from some residual lethargy from the potion, she felt physically fine. One might even say she was better than she had been before, now that she was eating and drinking regularly and was able to feel sunlight on her skin. Apart from a handful of discreet scars, she bore no permanent reminders of her capture. She supposed that for that, at least, she should be grateful. Her body felt suspended in that curious state of deep healing which followed exertion. If she closed her eyes and focused inwards, she could almost feel the individual threads of her muscles knitting themselves back together. Her legs in particular seemed to appreciate the lack of stress. She imagined the little bout of running as they fled their London attackers a few days before had been too much, too soon for her weakened bones. If she moved her leg the wrong way, a deep pain shot up through her left shin. It would need to be healed soon. Perhaps massage might help, or heat.

She did not have her wand. And she remembered why.

Narcissa had probably stowed it in her pocket. It was never wise to leave a wand too far from one's person, even if it was not one's own. Perhaps especially if it was not.

Hermione could feel Narcissa's body pressed upon her own and silently mapped it out. The shoulders pressing into Hermione's ribs… the arms: one curled around Hermione's waist, the other extended to the side but bent at the elbow. Lower, the softness of her belly hugging Hermione's hips. And there, at the top of her right thigh, the magically enlarged pockets of her trousers. Hermione thought she could sense the shadow of magic there, the slender length of wood discomfited by the lack of magic to channel. She could reach it, if she wanted. Narcissa appeared to be very deeply asleep; it would be easy not to wake her. Hermione pictured it so easily: feeling the warm wood in her hand, turning it upon herself. Narcissa might be upset when she woke and found her cold and unresponsive, but Hermione knew she would get over it. So would everyone else. And they would be better off without her, of this she remained utterly convinced.

Yet despite all this, Hermione could not bring herself to act. The desire was there but the will was not. Her desperation to end her life had transformed into a dull disinterest in living.

With this realisation, Hermione allowed herself to float away.

Reality pulled her back some time later. Narcissa shifted against her body, lifted her head and froze when their eyes met. For a moment, Hermione felt horribly exposed and vulnerable, certain that Narcissa was wondering whether her head still swam with such morbid thoughts.

Eventually, she spoke.

"Hello."

"Hello," echoed Hermione.

Narcissa seemed to fish for the correct inquiry. After a moment, she settled on, "Did you sleep?"

Hermione knew that was not truly what she wanted to ask.

"Yes," she answered.

"I am glad." Pause. "Are you feeling better?"

Hermione opened her mouth slowly, wondering how to adequately express the subtle shift which had taken place in her heart, or if she even ought to.

"I think so," she eventually answered.

Narcissa smiled and Hermione could read relief in the crinkles around her eyes. "I am glad to hear it." Hermione pressed her lips together in a semblance of a smile and tried to remain unobtrusive as Narcissa pushed herself into a sitting position. Her hair was tangled and falling into her eyes and sticking to her lips. She pushed it out of the way with a dismissive wave of her hand and worked the fingers in her left hand which had evidently turned numb after however many hours of lying in such an odd configuration.

It was dark now, though the fire provided enough light to get around the tent. Hermione figured it must be the middle of the night. It was cooler and without the warm pressure of Narcissa above her, Hermione pulled the blankets closer and curled in on herself.

Narcissa was on her feet, straightening her clothes and trying in vain to smooth some wrinkles out of the material. Turning to glance at Hermione, she asked, "Will you be alright if I step outside for a moment?"

Hermione genuinely considered the question, wondering herself whether she could be trusted with her own safety. While her desperate need to harm herself had muted somewhat, she was not entirely confident in the prospect of being without supervision.

The Gryffindor part of her took offence at this, and its disgruntled mumbling pushed her to finally answer, "I'll be fine."

Narcissa nodded and turned to leave but then seemed to reconsider. After a moment's hesitation, she pulled out Hermione's adopted wand from her trouser pocket and laid it beside Hermione's warm nest.

And then Hermione was alone. She looked at the wand sitting innocently beside her and for a moment could not believe it. Her fingers coiled around the blanket, simply for something to do.

She was thirsty. She wanted to summon a cup. She needed a wand.

But she was so utterly terrified of herself.

While it was true that she probably lacked the will to successfully cast the Killing Curse, she couldn't promise herself that she wouldn't use some other spell against herself. Stinging Hexes were simple. She hadn't forgotten the addicting feeling of her nails digging into her flesh and the way it saved and damned her all at once.

Her grip on the blanket tightened until her hand ached.

And then Narcissa slipped back inside, having relieved herself or whatever it was she'd needed to do.

"The moon is full," she whispered, and Hermione was momentarily entranced by the serene expression which captured her features. "It's quite beautiful, if you'd like to take a look."

Shaking her head, Hermione murmured, "No, thank you," and strained her ears as if she would be able to hear the howls which were no doubt echoing throughout the country. She wondered where Lupin was, how he was spending the night. If his child had been born yet. Or if they were all dead. She had told them about Tonks' pregnancy and they had seemed so excited about that bit of news…

Narcissa came to sit at Hermione's hip and Hermione wondered if she could hear the chains of guilt tightening around her heart.

A minute passed, perhaps two, and Hermione just stared at Narcissa who looked very much lost in thought.

"May I ask you something delicate?"

Hermione's eyebrows rose. "Of course."

Hermione watched as Narcissa took a deep breath, clearly steeling herself. "I-" She stopped, frowned, searched for the correct words. Hermione was inclined to assume that whatever she intended to say would be horribly offensive, but was utterly wrung out and couldn't find the slightest bit of anger.

She waited patiently until Narcissa found satisfactory phrasing.

"I know that you suffered greatly, endured unspeakable things. I do not wish to remind you of it, but I feel I must ask—must know if it was my son's actions which have at all led you to this state."

Hermione blinked. Her muddled brain took a moment to try and deconstruct and then reassemble Narcissa's vague allusions into something concrete before giving up and throwing up its hands in frustration. She couldn't at all figure how schoolyard bullying, cruel though it may have been, could at all compare to the violent abuse administered by skilled terrorists. And if Narcissa thought that insults and jeers had caused such debilitating trauma, Hermione could almost find it in herself to be indignant.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand…"

Narcissa's lips pressed together, clearly struggling to iterate whatever it was that troubled her. "When we fled, Draco—" she had to stop herself and take a calming breath. "He… he cursed you. I did not witness what was done to you by others, but the way you reacted then…"

Hermione felt the gears slowly click into place as Narcissa trailed off. Hermione looked at her again, and though she refused to meet her gaze, Hermione could see now the pain of a mother who thought her son capable of the worst.

"He didn't hurt me," she blurted out quickly. Narcissa gave her a look which clearly indicated she thought Hermione was foolish to even suggest such a thing. "He didn't," she insisted, more forcefully this time. "I think—I think he cast a silent Imperius. First, I mean. My body reacted the way he wanted, but the actual pain wasn't there."

A moment of incredulity passed, and then the grief faded from Narcissa's features. Her eyes closed and the most profound relief seemed to emanate from her every pore. Hermione bit her tongue, fighting the need to point out the fact that just because she had been spared, Draco had surely hurt—and likely worse—others.

But Narcissa must have known that and Hermione couldn't bring herself to ruin her one small piece of good news.

Besides, Draco was most likely dead. For all her creative reasoning, Hermione could not conceive a feasible explanation for how Draco could possibly have survived. His heroics were treason against Voldemort and the Dark Lord did not take kindly to betrayal. Draco wouldn't have lasted the night.

And Hermione didn't know how to feel about that. Relieved, even smug that another Death Eater was gone? Or remorseful that another person had died, especially one so young?

Hermione searched herself and found no reaction at all. Perhaps she would later, when she could learn how exactly he had gone, see the evidence for herself…

Narcissa finally came back from her introspection, opening her eyes but not quite meeting Hermione's. "Thank you for telling me," she said quietly and, pulling her makeshift shawl closer around herself, she stood and strode out of Hermione's line of sight. A moment later, she returned and handed Hermione a food bar; the kinds that had every species of nut and seed imaginable and could supposedly provide enough nutrition to scale a mountainside. "We've nearly run out," she stated and Hermione was struck by the sudden strength in Narcissa's voice. "If you are able, we can visit the local village later today."

"All right," Hermione nodded, fingering the crinkly packaging between her fingers. The last time Narcissa had taken them anywhere had certainly not gone to plan, but Hermione could hardly see another option and it was true that their need was rather urgent.

With slow movements, she sat up and tugged open the wrapping. Lethargy made her jaw heavy and slow as she nibbled. The bar was sickeningly sweet and had the sandy aftertaste of artificial protein, but she kept at it. The soreness in her muscles and bones were proof that her malnutrition had affected her more than she anticipated. She needed to heal. She needed to want to heal.

"Godric."

Nothing.

"Gryffindor."

Nothing.

"Helga."

Nothing.

Hermione shifted as she scratched the name off her list; her leg had turned numb. When her muscles started to tingle as bloodflow returned, she tapped the wireless with her wand. "Hufflepuff."

Nothing.

At school, when she had spent hours upon hours in the Hogwarts library, Hermione grew accustomed to frustration. It slithered around her belly, nudging her off balance and making her grind her teeth. She felt it stirring now, putting her on edge.

She wanted a break. But every moment wasted was one more lost opportunity to unlock Potterwatch. And right now that was the only goal driving her to survive.

Her eyes had wandered and she realised she was staring at Narcissa. The woman knelt beside a tree, investigating the berries growing near the base of its trunk. She had tucked her hair behind her ears but strands still hung forward over her face, stringy and coarse. Hermione couldn't imagine how dreadful her own must look, knotted up in a bun on the back of her head. She tried to avoid touching it these days, preferring to pretend it didn't exist at all.

She tore her eyes away and returned to the wireless.

Where had she left off?

She couldn't remember.

Breathing, Hermione put her wand against the wireless and started again.

"Harry."

The hands against her were gentle yet incredibly urgent and Hermione couldn't place whether they were trying to pull her into reality or back into the hazy dreams in which she drifted. Hermione squirmed, tried to worm out of their grip and the voice which was growing louder with each shake.

"Come now, wake up,"

No, no more, please.

"Miss Granger, Hermione, please!"

Hermione swatted the hands away, nearly sobbed when they immediately returned. And that hum in the background, why wouldn't it stop? Too many voices…

"Hermione, you must! I've unlocked your programme. Potterwatch!"

No, no, no, stop; let me go…

"Don't make me—oh, Merlin—"

A sharp jolt to her ribs and Hermione scrambled upright. Her eyes opened so wide she thought her eyelids had retracted and her heart was certainly about to come up through her mouth. Narcissa kneeled just in front of her, a guarded expression on her face.

Fred Weasley's voice was muffled by the tent but the timbre was unmistakable. When was the last time Hermione had heard a friendly voice? Not since her capture, that was for sure…

Was it really Fred? She'd got pretty good at distinguishing between the twins, but it had been so long, and it was trickier without being able to read their body language, too…

The voice grew clearer as she found herself on her hands and knees by the wireless, nails burrowing into the dirt. They were joking; she could tell by cadence of their speech even though her brain hadn't caught up to processing language just yet.

Another voice chimed in. A snarky comment. She could see their face in her mind, all sparkling, mischievous eyes—

A blanket dropped across Hermione's shoulders and she wondered why Narcissa always assumed she was cold when in reality everything inside her was erupting, all combustion and entropy and Hermione wasn't sure her skin could contain it all—

The line went dead, the jovial voices replaced by crackling static. Hermione stared, uncomprehending, as though waiting for her friends to emerge from the device.

Instead, her notebook was returned to her hands. The word Percival looked up at her from the page in a delicate script. Next time's password.

Too many thoughts galloped through her mind, all struggling to verbalise. There was no possible way they could all fit through her mouth.

"Today?" she croaked.

"The password? It was 'snitch.'"

Of course. How obvious.

A cramp in her calf muscle. Hermione settled back onto the ground.

"Thank you."

"It was luck."

"Thank you for your luck, then."

Hermione looked up from the ground. Narcissa's eyes were hopeful and Hermione had the sudden urge to give her a hug, to apologise for all the grief she must have caused. Instead, she tried a smile. The resulting brightening of Narcissa's eyes was worth the alien quirk of Hermione's lips.

"You ought to go back to bed."

"I'm not tired." Hermione was surprised to find it was true. "You go; I'll keep watch."

"Are you—"

"I'll be fine."

Narcissa seemed to consider her for a moment before pulling herself off the damp ground. She lay a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Please don't hesitate to wake me if you need it." And then she disappeared inside the tent.

Hermione breathed, really breathed. Crisp air into every crevice of her body. Slumbering parts of her began to stir, beckoned by the call of Gryffindor voices in her ears.