A/N: What's this? An action chapter? With plot?!
Trigger warnings: Mild violence
Hermione's hands seemed to vibrate as she fidgeted with the textured material of the dress she wore. The thin straps dug uncomfortably into her shoulders and she felt dreadful for stealing clothes quite literally off these Muggles' backs, but she hoped the more comfortable trousers and t-shirts she had left in return would somewhat make up for it when the young women awoke, confused and in a public toilet.
She was grateful, at least, that this girl had decided to go out in shoes more practical than the dress. Though they had a low heel, they at least covered Hermione's toes and she was moderately confident she could run in them if—when—the need arose.
Hopefully everything would be more comfortable when she also adopted the girl's physique.
For now, she walked alongside Narcissa who wore a similar ensemble taken from the second Muggle woman. Hermione had a feeling that she looked rather foolish compared to Narcissa's elegance but couldn't bring herself to care that much. This wasn't the Yule Ball.
"Stop fussing with the neckline."
"I can't. It's itchy and it doesn't sit properly."
"It will once you take the potion. You mustn't draw attention to yourself."
Hermione dropped her hand from her chest with a sigh and tried to affect a casual stride. Her hands felt too present swinging unevenly at her sides; she needed to do something with them. She balled them into fists until the stinging in her palms muffled the noise of London.
Narcissa stopped abruptly and Hermione nearly walked right past her.
"We don't have to do this. It's not too late, we could—"
"I know that," Hermione bristled. Narcissa was supposed to be the hesitant one, dammit. "I want to keep going. Do you?"
"In all honesty, I do not. But I acknowledge we have few other options."
"Excellent. On we go, then," and Hermione set off with purpose, leaving Narcissa little choice but to fall into step beside her.
Public transport, they had decided, would be too risky. They would apparate some distance away, find suitable Muggles to impersonate and then walk the remaining distance. But the walk was considerable and Hermione found herself growing progressively more agitated with each step, eyes flickering from one face to another in a state of near panic, desperate for a flash of red hair or round glasses or even a Death Eater's mask. Anything to end the dreaded anticipation of the unknown.
A traffic light turned green and she choked on a scream.
Stuttering to a stop on the pavement, Hermione tried to force her heartbeat to regulate and allowed the flow of pedestrians around her to become familiar and comfortable again.
"What is wrong?" Narcissa's murmur somehow brought down Hermione's heart rate another half dozen beats.
"Nothing, I just thought we ought to take the Polyjuice now. We're only a few blocks away."
Hermione watched as Narcissa squinted up at a street sign, though she knew nothing of Muggle London geography, and then consent with a "Yes, very well."
Relieved to have something to do, Hermione took her hand and tugged her further down the street. "Here, um…" So many shops, but which would have a public loo and a staff inattentive enough to notice an entirely different person emerging from it?
Hermione pulled them across the street and into a cheap restaurant, nearly gagging at the assaulting smell of old grease. Behind her, Narcissa barely concealed a noise of disgust. Hope the Polyjuice isn't any worse, she thought as she guided them both to the toilets, deliberately avoiding eye contact with anyone at all.
Inside, Hermione pushed Narcissa into a cubicle and herself into the one adjacent.
How strange to be alone again.
Well, Narcissa was next door and there were at least two other women in the loo (one of them had left the tap running for an awfully long time) but it had been a while since she had had four walls dividing her from the rest of the world.
There was a series of clicks to her right and Hermione opened her eyes to see Narcissa's shoes facing her in the neighbouring cubicle.
On with it, then.
It took Hermione a moment to find the flask of Polyjuice in the horrifically transfigured handbag. She passed it under the wall into Narcissa's waiting hand and then followed it with a phial containing a few chestnut coloured hairs.
A few moments and the flask and empty phial was returned. Hermione could hear strained, shallow breaths and tore her eyes away as the skin of Narcissa's ankles began to change colour.
Hermione fished out the second phial, the one with darker strands curling inside. It felt like tempting fate to drop black hairs into the flask, but Hermione was quite certain there was no possible way the hairs she'd plucked from a Muggle's scalp could be anything other than human.
Even so, it was difficult to forget the sensation of her body trying to become feline and, as she swallowed the sickly sweet potion she nearly swore there were whiskers beginning to sprout around her mouth.
She gasped, held her breath and leaned against the wall as her body contorted into another's. Her features calmed before her stomach did and she remained frozen for nearly a full minute after the transformation had finished just to make absolutely certain she wasn't about to lose her lunch.
Hermione straightened the spine that wasn't hers and strode out. The eyes that met her in the mirror were darker than her own, like the almost-black hair cropped around her face. But she filled out the dress much better now and the shoes fit comfortably against the curves of her feet.
It was a relief, she decided as she went through the motions of washing someone else's hands. She was no longer herself, no longer had to carry that weight. She was a pretty Muggle woman, excited for a night out, and would anyone really mind if she kept this body and this life forever?
Green eyes met hers in the mirror and Hermione gently brought herself back to her own reality.
"Ready to go?" The voice that came out was just slightly higher than what she was used to.
Narcissa hummed her agreement as she dried her hands with cheap paper. The hair hanging around her shoulders seemed altered within an in inch of its life, ends brittle from heat styling and Merlin knew how many dye treatments.
She looked very Muggle.
As they walked down the street, Hermione found her anxiety fading. Like how the weeks leading up to an exam were full of sleeplessness and endless worry but as soon as she had the parchment in front of her, it was all replaced by measured excitement and determination.
Sitting onto the metal café chair felt very much like her O.W.L.s Or, if I had stayed at Hogwarts, I would be sitting my N.E.W.T.s around now…
"You are sure that the potion will last three hours?"
"Absolutely. Probably longer, given how mild our side effects were. It must be a very high quality batch."
A waiter came over and seemed remarkably confused that two young ladies dressed as they were for the night would order tea but promised to bring them a pot nevertheless.
Satisfied, Hermione settled into her seat and began methodically scanning the street. The opera house nearly directly opposite the restaurant was bustling with people, and Hermione knew there were a dozen other smaller theatres in the area. At the first sound of attack, they could be there in under three minutes, she was certain.
She began to toy with her neckline again, though this time it was to feel the reassuring presence of her wand nestled beneath.
Hermione nearly pulled it out when someone inside the restaurant dropped a plate. Halfway to her feet and hand at her chest, Hermione forced herself to sink back down and slow her heart.
Across from her, she saw Narcissa doing the same.
Their tea came with a similar ceramic clatter and Hermione was rather annoyed to find her hands trembling as she poured.
"I confess I do not understand you."
"I—what?" Hermione looked at Narcissa—who did not look like Narcissa—across the table.
"One moment you seem overcome by fear and then a moment later you are all… courage of the lion."
Hermione frowned and returned to staring at the goings-on in the street. "Bravery isn't the absence of fear. I thought you knew that."
"I do, but I find that your… expressions seem to be more severely contrasted."
Shrugging, Hermione sipped her tea and wondered if she was supposed to be offended by any of this. "I think… recent events have had an effect."
"Ah, of course." Narcissa sipped, too. "Forgive me for intruding."
Hermione frowned. This was… not right. It felt like she was sitting at a table with a stranger. Finding friends behind Polyjuice was always a little strange, she knew from experience, but Narcissa seemed so thoroughly uncomfortable that Hermione nearly entertained the idea that it was not Narcissa at all.
"Are—" She stopped and tried again. "How are you feeling?"
Narcissa spoke so quietly Hermione struggled to hear it over the noisy Muggles surrounding them. "In all honesty, I do not want to be here. I am not a lion, not like you. I think you know this."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Houses don't mean anything. Maybe what traits you're drawn to, yes, but just because you're not sorted into one doesn't mean you don't have any of its qualities. Everyone is a little bit of everything."
"Perhaps, but my instincts certainly match my house as I'm sure yours do yours."
Hermione considered this, then smiled. "It's good to go against your instincts sometimes, isn't it?"
"Perhaps," answered Narcissa after a moment's thought. "Though I don't see you straying from yours very often."
"Oh? Well you'll have to show me how, then. One day."
It took a second of comprehension and then Hermione got the smile she'd been waiting for, saw the relaxing of the tension in Narcissa's muscles. The imagined hostility had gone.
They sat there for a while, somehow making the one pot of tea last what seemed like years, much to the bafflement of their waiter. But he did not question the two young ladies who dressed up for a night out and then decided to spend it silently staring at the street with cold cups of tea cradled in their palms.
The night wore on and the only dangers Hermione saw were overzealous drivers too impatient to follow traffic laws. For a minute she entertained the possibility the Death Eaters might attack in that fashion, then quickly quashed it. They wouldn't use Muggle tactics. They would think it beneath them.
That left her back where she started: on high alert, anticipating the first sign of violent magic.
After two hours, she began to suspect they'd got the date wrong.
And since it hadn't happened yet, perhaps she could prevent it. What if she called the Muggle police? Told them to block off the area? How many lives could she save—even if it was just one, it would be enough.
Hermione opened her mouth, ready to start—what, exactly, screaming at everyone to get out, to run away? Run away from what? To where? Who would even listen?
Round and round Hermione's thoughts went until she was almost resigned to the fact that the best chance lay in engaging when the attack began, whenever and wherever that may be, and then the doubt would swell again—
Her tea was empty. She tried to pour some more and found the pot dry.
And then it shuddered against the table, almost as though an invisible hand had jostled it. Hermione, of course, knew that invisible hands really could jostle teapots and looked around the table for any signs of concealment spells or invisibility cloaks. She found none, but all conversation around her had gone silent. People on the street were slowing to a stop and looking curiously over their shoulders to the opera house.
Narcissa's chair clanged as it hit the pavement. Hermione rose just as quickly, muscles spasming after sitting so long in one posture. Her hand fumbled for her wand as her legs swung over the low gate outlining the restaurant patio. Finally—yes! Wand in hand, feet on ground, running, Narcissa's steps echoing her own—
"Stay back!" She tried to call to the confused Muggles around her, but all she produced was a weak gasp. "Get out!"
Noises, like—like enormous boulders being pushed around in a space they didn't fit. Hermione almost wondered if it was an earthquake, but then she caught the flash of spellfire in her periphery and the screams began and the sinking in her gut confirmed that this was exactly what she knew it to be.
Crowds of people erupted out through the doors, spilling onto the street. Hermione struggled not to be bowled over by them, or by the primal fear in their eyes. It took nearly a full minute to squeeze herself through the door, Narcissa gripping her elbow so they wouldn't be separated or trampled to death.
She broke through and then she was no longer surrounded by frantic limbs but the electricity of battle. Figures shrouded in black firing off blinding streaks of deadly colour, the shattering of glass and bones and walls—
It was where she belonged.
Wizards in almost-Muggle attire were engaging, disarming and defending where they could. Hermione spotted a sole Muggle struggling against a Death Eater and took her cue, raising her wand and dashing over. The dress restricted her legs somewhat and she felt dreadfully exposed but it couldn't quash the swell of power she felt as she cried "Expelliarmus!"
The spell nearly hit, but it drew the attention of the Death Eater long enough that their victim could flee. Hermione then found herself alone against a very angry Dark wizard.
"Crucio!"
"P-protego! Stupefy!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
"Reducto!"
Curses Hermione could scarcely identify were hurled at her, one after another, and all she could do was cling to the handful of defensive spells that seemed most firmly lodged in her instincts. Another Cruciatus nearly skimmed her ankle and Hermione stumbled.
After spending so much time worrying over the logistics of getting there, it occurred to Hermione that she ought to have spent more energy preparing for the actual confrontation. Fighting a trio of adversaries was nothing compared to taking on elite Death Eaters and Hermione was out of practice with a foreign wand. Spells she had called upon a dozen times before suddenly seemed out of reach and as she screamed another "Stupefy!" she had the stomach-dropping realisation that she may not be up to the task.
Her opponent seemed delightfully aware of this and advanced eagerly, seeming to take a sick amusement in taunting her with near-misses that became less and less of a miss with each exchange.
A force knocked her to the side and Hermione barely saved herself from landing on the floor. A split second of wondering which deadly curse had thrown her and she realised that it had been a person, not magic, and that her saviour was now engaging the Death Eater with effective, sharp gestures. An Order member wearing passable Muggle attire. Hermione tore her eyes away, though the surging in her chest made her desperate to work out who it was. Had they recognised her?
The Death Eater had recovered from the surprise of having their target replaced and was now gaining on their new adversary with alarming speed. Hermione stood at the edge of the battle, feeling rather useless and strangely calm. There was a spell she wanted, a jinx which she had been practicing during sixth year, but she couldn't remember the incantation. The wand movement, she knew, started with a sharp flick to the right—
The Death Eater cast a well-aimed Cruciatus which struck its target's arm and the pained howl it produced was nauseating.
"Aqua Eructo!"
A ferocious jet of water shot forth from the end of Hermione's wand, striking the Death Eater square in the chest and knocking them backwards down a flight of stairs. She heard a sturdy thump as they landed at the bottom.
Perhaps not the intended use of the spell, but it certainly got the job done.
"Thanks you," said the wizard Hermione had saved before rising from the floor and hurrying off.
Hermione watched him, the way his hair flopped around his head and the tired strength of his movements. "You're welcome, professor." She watched him go without moving herself, momentarily too overwhelmed by the sight of a familiar face.
But the battle didn't slow and Hermione found herself sparring with a rather clumsy wizard in Death Eater's blacks. The momentary panic which naturally follows being attacked quickly relaxed into mild amusement; his gestures were overeager and his quickness to use Unforgivables inclined Hermione to think he was new to the ranks and had chosen her on the assumption she would be an easy target. She let him have a minute of target practice as she threw up shield after shield, then-
"Inflatus!"
The boy lurched backwards, hit the wall and crumpled on the ground, unresponsive as his body began to expand like a balloon. Hermione summoned his mask and wand, pocketing the latter and tossing the former out of his field of vision, should he come to.
He was blonde.
She didn't recognise him.
She's not sure what she would have done if she had.
Confidence at least somewhat mended, Hermione crept back to the fray, aiding her comrades with discreet spells from the sidelines. Tonks' opponent, especially, was proving exceptionally persistent and Hermione found herself taking great pleasure in devising increasingly creative ways to distract and aggravate him long enough for Tonks to get in a defeating blow. It was the memory of one of Ginny's more vicious days in D.A. that finally did it, causing the Dark wizard to howl in pain and allowing Tonks to get him square in the face with a blast of orange magic. Tonks grinned, breathed, then turned to join the next fight.
Hermione did the same.
It quickly became apparent that the Death Eaters had not expected so many opponents and Hermione found herself happily adopting the role of backup, providing shields and distracting jinxes while her colleagues fought them head-on.
Spells flew in a dizzying array of colours, disorienting and blinding. Hermione blocked many and ducked those she could not; as she dropped to the ground to dodge a shock of green, she realised that all the Muggles had fled or been killed. She could feel the others come to this realisation and the unrestrained fury which powered the enemy spells. A smile tugged at her lips, she could not help it: they'd saved most of the civilians. The Death Eaters were angry; the Order had succeeded. It was almost unbelievable.
Realising that their main objective was no longer salvageable, a handful of Death Eaters began to disapparate. It was not long before Hermione found herself with a duelling partner of her own, rather than playing as an accessory to someone else's efforts.
"Protego!" Hermione felt the force of the nonverbal curse dissipate across her shield and heard the subsequent growl of frustration from her opponent. Her Tongue-Tying Curse barely missed and then she was ducking again, recasting defences and volleying attacks with her partner. When they fell backwards, she aimed a "Stupefy!" at their darkly clothed chest and nearly wanted to collapse herself but there was a flash of white hair in her periphery and she suddenly remembered that she was not alone in her anonymity.
But of course for Hermione and Narcissa, their disguise fundamentally altered their appearance and it was not until Hermione's eyes landed on a very different Malfoy that this fact properly registered.
Lucius' hood had come loose and his mask had been lost in the scuffle, allowing all to see the furious desperation which twisted his features as he wrestled to keep hold of the young Muggle woman in his grasp. Hermione watched, chilled and dumbstruck by the sight of him sharply yanking the auburn hair away from his wife's ear and hissing something vile against her skin. Narcissa struggled more fiercely while Hermione's muscles shuddered violently, overwhelmed by the need to intervene yet completely unable to conceive of a way to do so.
"Look out!" Something hard and heavy collided with Hermione's shoulder, pushing her out of the trajectory of a vicious streak of magic.
And then Hermione was engaged in a duel once again and by the time she was free of it and spotted Lucius Malfoy's pale head, Narcissa had stripped him of his wand and had it ruthlessly jabbed into the soft flesh behind his chin.
Do something, Hermione silently urged, wishing not for the first time that she had at least amateur occlumency skills. Quickly, before one of the others—
Narcissa's hand shot from her husband's neck to his abdomen and a blast of power sent him hurtling backwards. When Hermione looked back to the woman wielding the wand, she seemed surprised to have produced such a force.
They made eye contact across the floor and rushed to each other amidst the Death Eaters who were, one by one, beginning to flee. Hermione was surprised to find her own hands clammy and trembling as she haphazardly reached for Narcissa's.
"We must leave now!" Narcissa urged, and Hermione nodded, keeping her wand up, ready to defend as they progressed to the exit. She didn't trust herself to apparate while surrounded by such chaos; the risk of staying longer to move outside seemed far more tolerable than the alternative of almost certain splinching.
A hand gripped her elbow, then slid down her forearm until their fingers tangled. In this manner they tugged each other to the exit, all the while throwing up defensive shields and offensive jinxes in the direction of the vanishing Dark figures. Hermione could not distinguish their features beyond the darkness of their cloaks; her world dissolved simply into those who were her enemy and those who were not. The wands that erupted in Unforgivables and the wands which—
"Expelliarmus!"
Hermione jolted, her hand spasming in Narcissa's grip. That voice—a stranger's voice, yet just a few shades away from—
"Hermione—! Come, we must leave—"
"No, wait, I think—"
"We haven't the time! We haven't any time at all!"
"Hermione?"
Hermione locked eyes with a different man, one standing near her and looking for all the world like a casual Muggle and yet wearing an expression of shock shaded with suspicion, one she had seen so many times before that it made her organs liquify and her throat seize all at once.
Her world expanded then, suddenly overflowed with this man and his companion who was still battling Death Eaters, and Narcissa still at her side, trying to tug her to the freedom of the street. Yet how could that be anything but another prison when she had finally found—?
A swarm of bodies seemed to descend on her then, tugging her in all directions with shouts and cries in familiar cadences yet alien timbres. When Hermione found herself on hard pavement beneath the sky, she breathed and felt a wand pressed to her neck in a shaking hand.
"Who are you?!"
"Hermione Granger." She felt certain she would faint, or just disintegrate into the ground.
"Prove it. Show us your Patronus."
"I can't."
"What do you mean you can't? Hermione Granger is brilliant at the Patronus!"
"Mate, she was gone for so long—"
"You think I don't know that?" A tense pause and Hermione wasn't really aware of anything except her own breathing; the shock and exhaustion had driven her mind far away from reality.
A movement in her periphery and she heard Narcissa's grunt as a wand was presumably shoved against her jugular.
"Who's this, then?"
Hermione tried to free herself, suddenly overwhelmed by the tight hold on her. "She's with me!"
"Who is she, though? What's her name? Or his?"
Hermione sputtered, couldn't think of a way to explain this with her foggy reasoning and a face that wasn't hers.
"The Polyjuice will wear off soon. Then you'll know for certain who we are."
She watched as the two Muggle men shared a look, then the arm around her middle tightened and everything turned inside out.