Trigger warnings: n/a
Sounds of forest creatures and chilling breezes grew into a metropolitan soundscape; cars, traffic, the hum of appliances mechanically executing their functions. The sounds of a dream world. Things that could not possibly be real though allowed blissful indulgence as long as she embraced the warmth around her and didn't wake up too much...
Fingers danced along her skin, brief touches of almost-comfort. Hermione followed them as they fluttered across her forearm, across the point of her elbow and then up to her shoulder before encountering the edge of her sleeve and reversing course. On and on; back and forth...
A shrill beep and Hermione flinched, eyes open but unseeing in an environment she couldn't remember.
The fingertips spasmed, but Narcissa did not wake, leaving Hermione alone in the early morning light.
The bedding was warm from their body heat, the firm mattress an unthinkable luxury after transfigured cushions on the forest floor. Narcissa lay heavy against her and the obscene comfort of it all felt more heady than the most intoxicating potion.
But her injured legs ached and twitched and she felt the likely foolish need to be the Hermione Granger of before, the witch who rose early to stay a step ahead of the rest of the world and was never without a plan, never astray for even a moment.
She took care when extracting her arms from around Narcissa's waist and held her breath as she slipped out of the bed. When the woman didn't stir, Hermione carefully shut the bedroom door behind her and found herself in the kitchen, flickering fluorescent lights illuminating the Boy Who Lived currently hunched over a toaster.
He startled a moment when he saw her and Hermione resisted the urge to shrink into herself as she saw him do a clear survey of her wellbeing.
"Can't sleep either?"
She shrugged. "I'm not used to city noises."
"Yeah, took Ron awhile to get used to it too." A pause. Hermione's heart warmed as she took in the disarray of his hair, chaotic as ever. "Breakfast?" The springing of the toaster punctuated his question.
"Actually, have you got any Paracetamol?"
He frowned. "Your legs?"
"Yeah."
He turned and began to rummage through a drawer. "You didn't break a bone or anything, did you? I'm not sure Paracetamol will do much for that."
"No, just... too much running." Too much too soon after so long doing nothing at all...
"Oh. Probably shin-splints, then." He retrieved a worn looking little paper box and squinted at the label. "Dudley got them once. When he got really into exercising. Overdid it." He set the box of blister packs on the benchtop next to her and rinsed a glass sitting in the sink. "Not much you can do, really, except rest and let them heal on their own." The glass took its place beside the box. "Oh! Ice will help."
Hermione watched, feeling rather stuck as Harry opened the freezer and fished out a bag of frozen peas. All at once, she remarked how strange it was to see her magical friend do something so domestically Muggle and that she had absolutely no idea what her own role must be.
Words stirred on her tongue, the voice of the bossy best friend who always had several things to say on the current moment, yet they would not come out. A wounded animal seeking refuge somewhere in her ribcage curled in on itself, mute and afraid. Trying to heal.
In lieu of saying anything, Hermione pressed one of the pills through the foil and swallowed it with the water.
She soon found herself neatly assembled on the sofa, frozen produce strategically balanced on the most tender spots of her legs while she sipped at her tea and made feeble attempts at nibbling the toast Harry insisted on making her. Early morning sunlight suspended the room in a comfortable timelessness and Hermione revelled in it, ignored the expectant glances and heavy silence waiting to be relieved by her confessions.
Yes, it was strange, and they were all so different now. Harry and Ron seemed remarkably aged, both in their postures and looks and the way that they had constructed a new world without her, full of all these procedures and truths she couldn't learn. The relief of finding them again remained coloured with the hovering dread that Hermione didn't truly know them anymore; the men who had essentially arrested her in Muggle London and then escorted her with a kind of cold precision were not the boys she had left behind in the highlands.
But then neither was she.
And maybe this wasn't quite the homecoming she had been dreaming of, but she had still achieved it and in a moment of pride she took a bite of her toast.
Harry noticed but didn't say anything and they existed in gentle companionship until a bedroom door opened and muffled footsteps brought Ron into the room. He startled when he spotted Hermione and she suspected she'd stolen his typical spot on the sofa.
"Good morning."
"'Morning. What are you doing awake so early?"
Hermione shrugged.
Silent words twisted his lips for a moment before he finally asked, "She still asleep?"
Hermione nodded.
The light through the windows remained pale and gentle, likely from overcast skies, and if Hermione had been spiritual she might have thought the universe was constructing this moment just for her.
Ron sat down on the other sofa beside Harry, his breakfast balancing on his lap, and everything fell perfectly into place.
Her toast was cold as she gently set the plate on the ground with a purpose that seemed to break the air of false casualness in the room. Wrapping her fingers around the still-warm ceramic of her tea, she felt the words bubble up, ready to be said for perhaps the only time in her life.
"You remember I went looking for mushrooms?" She didn't wait for an answer, just kept watching the way bits of tea leaves swirled in the water. "They got me then. I was stupid; left the protection of the wards for just a minute. Caught me off guard. There were three of them. Snatchers, I mean."
They were frozen, she was sure of it, but they said nothing and she didn't look away from her hands as she spoke, everything coming so easy and simply. She told them how she was taken to Malfoy Manor and quickly identified. And though her status as Harry Potter's best friend saved her from being murdered on the spot, being Voldemort's most prized prisoner was not much better.
"You hardly need me to tell you the details." She laughed a little and was glad when it seemed to release the tension beginning to squeeze her throat. "I did my best. You know I tried as bloody hard as I could." She glared at her teacup which had begun to shake. "But I was there for so long, and they were... persistent. And effective."
Hermione closed her eyes, just for a moment, and pushed the memories away, the shame of betrayal back down into her stomach. She hoped they wouldn't speak yet, wouldn't tell her the consequences of her confessions to the enemy...
"Narcissa was in charge of bringing me food. I don't know why. But she would heal me, too, or smuggle me extras. I don't know why. But then she helped me escape and we made it out, together..."
On she went, her tea cooling as her words meandered, sometimes doubling back when she misremembered. It was one of the strangest liberations Hermione had ever felt, yet also one of the most pronounced, as though the narrative was being extracted by the universe, like it knew she needed to be freed of it.
"We found Snape, too. I'm not sure about him, anymore. He helped us. In his way. That's where we got the Polyjuice. If he really is one of them I have a hard time thinking he would try to maintain the double agent thing now; Narcissa and I must be the most wanted after you, Harry..."
In the forest, the owl that had turned out to be a spy, battles with Death Eaters on Muggle streets, unlocking Potterwatch, hearing the call to arms and finally, finally finding them again...
"I know what you must be thinking. I thought it, too. Still do, sometimes. But she risked her life to help me and yeah, sometimes she'll say something stupid but she always listens to counterarguments and—" Hermione chuckled at the absurdity— "if I'm willing to put up with that, then I don't see what excuse any of you've got, really." She sighed and the breath warped the surface of her tea. "I don't know how else to convince you, other than that."
Her mouth stayed open, waiting for more words, but none came. She had been wrung dry. So she waited for the rebuttal.
Silence.
God, that was almost worse.
Wait—a sigh. An exhausting release of breath. The creak of cushions being leaned on.
"Shit, Hermione."
Harry chuckled, no doubt at Ron's characteristic lack of tact; Hermione merely blinked.
"I mean... bloody hell. I dunno what to say."
"I do." Harry stood and moved with decisive steps to Hermione's side. She watched and let him envelop her in a hug as she remained perched on the cushions, bags of frozen vegetables beginning to melt across her calves. "I'm so sorry we lost you. And I'm so proud that you found your way back."
His arms around her felt sturdy and Hermione tentatively allowed the pressure, struggling to shake the feeling that she existed in unreality. Then Ron appeared at her other side and she was utterly consumed by their embraces.
She lost herself in that haze of arms and body heat, smells of masculine shampoo which overwhelmed but she didn't move away, not for a moment...
A muted thump suggested the opening of a door and Hermione felt the boys stiffen and retreat from her, the silence cooling as Narcissa entered with somewhat hesitant steps. When she spotted the three of them on the sofa, Hermione could read the discomfort in her eyes, yet it did not deter her and, for some utterly inexplicable reason, that made Hermione smile.
"Good morning," she greeted with perhaps excessive cheer.
Narcissa nodded. "Good morning." Coming to a halt, she stood stiffly with her hands clasped behind her. Addressing the others, she said, "I do not mean to take too much of your time, but I'm afraid have been keeping something for you. Completely accidental, though, I can assure you. I surrendered my wand to you last night, as you know, but I'm afraid I neglected to remember that, in the course of last night's events, I had come into possession of a second one—"
"What?" Hermione gasped as Ron and Harry disentangled themselves from her and stumbled to their feet—
"—which, in fact, was originally my own, given to me at age eleven—which my husband had been utilising in the absence of his own, and which I freely surrender to you now," and in an elegant motion she produced a slender wand, which she held by the tip, handle extended towards a frowning Harry Potter. He took it cautiously and Hermione did not miss the momentary flicker of Narcissa's longing eyes to the length of wood as she retracted her hand to her side once more.
"Please accept my apologies for this oversight, Mr. Potter. I assure you it was not intentional."
Harry turned the wand over in his hand and gave a vague nod. "Right..." The wand disappeared into his trouser pocket. "Anything else?"
Narcissa gestured at herself, clad in the same worn men's pyjamas as Hermione, with ironic raise of her brows. "I will be sure to let you know if I make any other discoveries, Mr. Potter."
"Great... Thanks."
"Now, if you will excuse me," and with a curt nod she headed back to the bedroom.
Still stranded on the couch, her calves now quite wet from the melting produce, Hermione watched in increasing horror as Harry and Ron stood there, dumbstruck.
"Fuck," breathed Ron. "We can't keep her around."
"Not a chance."
"What? What do you mean?! Of course you can! You must!"
"Hey, no need to shout—"
"She helped me escape from hell! How can you possibly think of sending her back?"
"Hermione—!"
"Where would she go?"
"Hermione! Shh, hey, listen to me." Harry took her hand in his from where he knelt at the foot of the couch beside Ron. His eyes found hers with a kind of resolution Hermione did not like at all. "I know she helped you, and I'm so glad that she did, but the risk is too high. Even if she personally wasn't one of them, she was married to one—her son is one! And she lived in the same house as him for God knows how long."
"But—" None of that matters now; they won't take her back, not after what she did for me—
"Harry's right. What if she found out about—" Ron's voice dropped even lower— "the Horcruxes? And told them? We'd be finished. I'm not even sure Obliviating her would protect us."
Sweat slickened her palm.
"Hermione?"
She was dimly aware that her eyes had unfocused and one of her essential organs seemed to have plummeted to the region of her knees, yet she also couldn't shake the spark of relief which warmed her blood and the smile that threatened to emerge in its wake.
"Shit. You didn't, did you?"
"I'm sorry. I had to."
"You 'had to?'"
"We were out there alone! We were ready to finish this war by ourselves!"
Harry looked at her from his newly adopted standing position a few paces away from her sofa, hand frozen as he rubbed his eyes from behind his glasses.
"Look... I don't know how much information you've had, but the war... it's so much worse than when we were together. We're running out of resources and if she—if she isn't exactly what you believe she is, then it really could be the end for us."
"She's an asset more than she is a threat!"
"What else does she know?"
"Nothing! Nothing she doesn't need to—just Potterwatch!"
Ron made an exasperated noise of disbelief, his hands pressing more firmly at his temples. Most of Harry's face was hidden behind his hand.
Finally one of them spoke the truth which Hermione had known since the start, "We have to keep her here," and Hermione couldn't help the satisfaction which blossomed.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Though she may as well have said nothing.
"We won't be able to tell the others," Ron insisted. "We can't risk exposing their identities or leaking any of their intelligence."
"No, you're right, you're right. We'll come up with a protocol—hide her away when anyone visits."
"Visitors? Here? From the Order?"
"Do you think a Muffliato would be enough, if we put her in one of the bedrooms? I'm not even sure how many layers of protective magic have been put on this flat. Some of them might interfere."
"We'll work something out. No-one is supposed to drop by for a few days, at least."
Days! Until she might see—who? Tonks? Lupin? The other Weasleys?
"Worst case scenario, I s'pose we could just stick some pillows to the side of her head until it's safe again."
"You told me you wouldn't treat her like a prisoner."
Harry and Ron looked at her, their absurd smirks sliding from their lips.
"Hermione," Ron began, and she wondered what had happened in her absence that made him sound like such an authority. "We're not. Really, I promise. This is for safety. Everyone's, as well as her's."
"But she can help—"
"I know," Harry knelt before her again, took her hands and stroked them gently. That made sense, she supposed: Ron was the one who told it like it was, then it was Harry's turn to pick up the pieces.
"She gave you her wand. You saw. I didn't even tell her to—I didn't even know she had it!"
"I know, I saw, and I appreciate it very much. I'm very glad that she's been helpful. But I can't trust her all the way—not yet. Can you understand that?"
"You don't have to talk to me like I'm a child. They did leave some of my head intact, you know."
"Right. Sorry."
Hermione sighed, extracted her hands from Harry's.
"I want to trust her. Really, I do. But a day isn't enough."
"I understand. I'm not an idiot, Harry."
"Of course not—you're the brightest witch of her age, aren't you?"
She smiled a very little bit, but that was enough for Harry.
"Just don't push her away. She doesn't have anywhere else. Or anyone."
"All right. I think that much we can manage. Right, Ron?"
Ron looked at the two of them, looking conflicted and exhausted and Hermione suddenly didn't want to see either of them. The people they had become scared her.
"Yeah, all right."
"Good." Hermione nodded. Her body shifted and the stream of icy water which raced across her shins suddenly did her in—too much, all of it.
"I think I'd like to sleep a bit now," and she made to rise off the sofa but Harry held out a hand.
"Why don't you just stay here? Ron's napped here plenty—"
"—yeah, it's really comfortable. Like those old armchairs in the common room, remember?"
"I'll just go and grab a blanket—"
"No! No, really, I'd like to be in bed."
"You can use our room—
"No! I'm fine, it's fine—"
The frozen peas fell to the floor in a wet heap and her legs wobbled as she hurried back to the room she'd shared with Narcissa, leaving the boys with the remnants of her breakfast to wash up.
The woman in question stood in the small room, evaluating the titles on the very lopsided bookshelf. Hermione hadn't looked at them yet, but she didn't have high hopes for the literary tastes of whatever twenty-something Muggle men had furnished this flat.
Narcissa didn't say anything when Hermione entered, merely looked her up and down as though scanning for fresh injury.
"I'm going to have a nap," was all Hermione said.
"Would you like privacy?"
"No." Hermione very inelegantly dragged herself onto the mattress, her chilled legs folding up beneath her as she curled up into a ball. "Please stay."
And Narcissa did, without a word, and Hermione watched her pluck books from the shelves and gently turn their pages until everything became lovely and still again.