Trigger warnings: n/a

There was something to be said for doing things the Muggle way. Hermione often found it soothing, in a way, to participate in a task so tactically rather than letting magic do all the work. Wizards she had taught to use Muggle appliances had often expressed something similar—a new appreciation for a fundamental way of interacting with the universe.

Sorting laundry was not one of those things.

Going through piles of garments, all tangled up in each other from the turbulence of the dryer, and trying to work out whose sock it was that had got caught up in the sleeve of a shirt was utterly meaningless, mind-numbingly dull work. And it was bloody frustrating, too.

More than once she found herself glancing at Harry's trouser pockets, where she knew he kept his wand and at least one other, and tried to inspire some miraculous act of wandless summoning. One spell, and this pile of wrinkled clothing could be neatly sorted into folded stacks. One spell!

It seemed to take an age, perhaps exacerbated by the fact that when Harry had teasingly thrown some underpants in her direction in a gesture of friendly animosity, she had retaliated with a little too much aggression. When Ron finally stepped in to see what all the "bloody noise" was about, the two of them had become utterly submerged in wrinkled washing and had to start again.

Teaching Narcissa to vacuum proved to be an equally amusing task, even if it only constituted sitting and giving verbal guidelines while Narcissa guided the hose and trailing cords around the flat. Harry had insisted it would take at least two weeks for Hermione's legs to feel near normal, and, though she refused to believe she would require bed rest that long, it was impossible for her to maintain the claim that she could do the vacuuming herself after wobbling so severely on her legs that she fell into the table.

So, in this manner, everything was strangely... nice. There were no confrontations, no hostility of any kind that Hermione could detect.

Though that was likely due to the convenient fact that the two groups kept carefully separate of one another. Hermione couldn't be certain if this was being done deliberately or manifesting purely by accident, but the fact of the matter was Narcissa and the two boys never seemed to cross paths; Hermione remained the only bridge between them. The segregation drove her a bit mad and she found herself wondering how the three of them kept it up while she was in the shower. Yet once, when she left the water running and listened at the door, all she heard was the muffled drone of the news programme playing on the television.

The dance continued two days, perhaps three; deft manoeuvres around one another all in the name of keeping the peace, until suddenly they found themselves all at different posts throughout the main living area of the flat—Harry flicking through channels on the telly, Narcissa assembling a cup of tea in the kitchen, and Ron sitting by Hermione at the table while she sorted through the contents of her magically enlarged bag.

"What's this?"

Hermione looked up and saw him holding her notebook.

"Notes," she told him. "Plans, information, theories…" she sensed Narcissa and Harry both come to attention in her periphery. "Anything that might be useful."

"Yeah? Mind if I have a look?"

Hermione shrugged and reached back into her bag; trying to keep a coherent inventory of their potions was proving to be impossible, what with them moving about every time her bag jostled.

Ron whistled lowly. "Merlin, how many pages—?"

"Are these all Potterwatch passwords, Hermione?" Harry leaned over Ron's shoulder, the TV forgotten.

"Oh—yeah."

"How long did it take you to finally crack it?"

"Um, a week, I suppose? Sorry, my sense of time is…" She shook her head; their tent in the woods seemed to exist in an entirely different timeline. "Narcissa was the one who finally got it right, actually."

Hermione chanced a glance to the kitchen and saw Narcissa meaninglessly bobbing the tea bag for what must be an unnecessarily long duration.

"Huh," was all Ron said, and he flipped through the next few pages of crossed-out words, chuckling when he saw she'd tried "Hippogriff" and falling somber when he read something unknown. Hermione wondered if it was his own name.

Thankfully, the Polyjuice did not seem in danger of running out, and their medical potions were also well stocked, though Hermione hoped they wouldn't be in need of Dittany any time soon. That would be difficult to replace, and their initial stash had been modest at best—

"Hey, um, are these..?"

"Hmm?"

Harry and Ron frowned at an open spread of the little notebook and Hermione reluctantly leaned over the table to glance at the exposed pages. She found her list of Horcrux theories, neatly arranged bullet points describing potential vessels for pieces of the Dark Lord's soul. Halfway down the second page, the handwriting changed into a tighter, curlier script.

"Yeah. The ones with the stars next to them—" Hermione tapped one inky spot— "are the only ones that I think are really viable."

"And these ones..?"

"Narcissa had some ideas. These three, in particular, I think are worth looking into." A beat, and Hermione could sense the other witch still going about making a cup of tea which surely had been ready for ages. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

Ron's mouth opened, then shut rather quickly. "Nah, it's all right." Without looking, he shut the notebook and pushed it to the side. "When did you have the time to brew all those potions, anyway?"

"Didn't I tell you? Snape."

"Hang on—hang on. You mentioned you ran into him, but you didn't say you stole potions!"

Hermione sighed and carefully placed the bag on the table, wincing at the clinking of glass. Her memory felt so hazy, events happening out of order and in the colour of dreams. Perhaps her recounting to Harry and Ron hadn't been so clear after all; perhaps it never would be.

"We'd sort of... run out of places to go. She—" Hermione glanced to the kitchen again and made eye contact with the back of Narcissa's head, where she stood still steadily stirring her tea. "She took us to his home. He grew up in a Muggle village, did you know that? We were halfway through pilfering his private stores when he showed up. God, I thought we were done for." Harry and Ron twitched in their seats, casting restless glances in Narcissa's direction, distrust clear across their features. "But he let us go."

"He what? Why the bloody hell would he do that?"

Hermione shrugged. "I've no idea. But I can't see how he's a loyal Death Eater."

"He killed Dumbledore."

"I know, but... what kind of Dark wizard that was truly loyal wouldn't jump at the chance to turn us back in? It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe he was under the influence of something... Imperius, or something where he wasn't in control..." The way Ron's eyes settled on Narcissa's back made Hermione frown, flickers of angry frustration beginning to lick at her insides.

"He seemed fine, Ron. I think his loyalties are just more complicated than we initially thought."

"Are you saying we should trust him? Again?"

"Not really, not yet. Just... keep it in mind, I suppose."

"Hmm..."

Hermione's blood twitched. That condescending hum only followed her explanations and theories whenever Ron didn't believe her, wanted her to stop talking without igniting her anger. And yes, she had missed him dearly, but his dismissal made her feel nearly as helpless as when she had been clinging to those cold metal bars, waiting in hopeful fear of her next visitor, the animalistic part which usually lay dormant snarling as the cell got ever smaller.

Harry's voice cleared the darkness which had begun to cloud her vision. "Hey... what's this about an old cup? One of your potential Horcruxes, here." The notebook sat open before him, his finger lightly tracing the letters which had been holding his attention.

"Narcissa's idea. You'll really need to ask her about it."

"I understand that you have reason to believe the Dark Lord may have chosen a relic associated with the Founders." Narcissa's tea must have grown cold, but she stood there now facing the table with such implacable impartiality Hermione couldn't hope to determine her real mood.

"But why the cup?" was Harry's evasive non-answer. "It's been lost to history. Not many people know about it."

"History may have lost track," Narcissa took a sip as she sat herself on Hermione's side of the table, "but I assure you the Gringotts goblins are far more meticulous."

"You know it's in Gringotts?"

Narcissa nodded. "My sister's vault. Or, rather, it was there. It may have, of course, been moved without my knowledge."

"But you know it was there recently." Harry was nearly falling off the end of his chair with eagerness. Hermione and Ron watched him with interest, but if Narcissa was taken aback by his enthusiasm, she didn't let it show.

"Yes. However, there are many precious items which are constantly being moved between family vaults; I see no reason to believe that this artefact of Hufflepuff's is more likely to be a Horcrux than any other. In fact, I would be more inclined to consider those related to Slytherin."

"You may not have reason," muttered Harry, looking back at Narcissa's notes on the page. "Do you know how long it's been there?"

Narcissa's cup made a soft clinking noise at she set it back in its saucer. "For certain? No. However, I would think at least one year, perhaps two. I doubt any longer."

Hermione interrupted, no longer satisfied being a spectator in this verbal tennis match. "Is that a normal length of time for—for him to give things like this to his followers?"

The tea was retrieved once again; Narcissa sipped it pensively. At length, she placed the cup back down. "It is difficult to say. Since his return, he has been far more... preoccupied with these material things. It seems he offers the... privilege of guarding these precious items to those he finds most worthy, or deserving of reward." Narcissa's gaze shuttered and Hermione watched her posture cave in. It sparked the absurd urge to reach out and hold her hand. "But then, it is rather impossible to successfully determine the Dark Lord's motivations, isn't it?"

Scoffed Ron, "I think 'genocide and world domination' are usually a safe bet."

Narcissa's lips twisted in what might be called mild amusement; Harry and Hermione offered brief smiles. Then Harry turned back to the list before him: The garter of Gryffindor, the cup of Hufflepuff, various trinkets which had been distantly associated with Slytherin...

He shook his head. "I think the cup is our best bet." When he looked up, his eyes seemed to shine brighter than Hermione had seen since long before she was captured. "We haven't had a proper lead in—since the locket."

"Yeah, but... I dunno, mate. Are you sure this is the cup?"

"It has to be."

"All right, but stealing it from bloody Gringotts isn't going to be as simple as snitching the locket off Umbridge at the Ministry."

"You think that was easy, Ron?" Hermione smirked at him, Ron's returning smile was warm and she remembered all over again why she had missed him.

"Exactly my point." All eyes swivelled back to Harry. "So what's the plan?"

Harry looked to Narcissa.

She was trying to drink her tea, again, though when she realised they were waiting for her response, her eyebrows rose and the cup paused, hovering in mid-air.

"It is your sister's vault."

"That may be true, but it is in the name 'Lestrange.' The goblins would not grant me access." The cup went back in the saucer. "For that matter, I doubt I could walk into Gringotts and not be immediately detained."

"What, are you as Undesirable as us now?"

"I'm not sure exactly where I am on the list, Mr. Weasley, but I'm sure it can't be very far down."

"You don't think your family would forgive you?"

Narcissa's voice went nearly as soft as Harry's. "It is not a matter of family, Mr. Potter."

Hermione watched the suspicion and discomfort and pain flicker across the three faces, and blurted, "Draco helped us escape."

"He what?"

Flinching visibly, Narcissa hid her hands in her lap, and the sight of them clenched there under the table drove Hermione over the edge; her own arm shot out to hold Narcissa's trembling fingers in an attempted gesture of comfort. She didn't miss the darting of Harry and Ron's eyes between the witches, or the way they noticed the sudden emotional nosedive and tactfully avoided continuing that line of conversation.

"I thought you told us enough yesterday, Hermione," Ron sighed, "but I guess I'm almost glad not to know it all."

Hermione's lips curved in a sad imitation of a smile, though she said nothing; her focus remained entirely on the rhythmic stroking of her thumb across the back of Narcissa's hand, and then when the other witch gently captured her hand between her own. There was so much warmth there, both literal and otherwise; it travelled up through Hermione's arm and pleasantly soothed her heart.

Silence settled on the tabletop, chilling Narcissa's tea further. Any interest in planning had degraded into a deep exhaustion; Harry shut the notebook and slid it across the table toward Hermione.

"Best keep that safe in your bag," he told her. "We've still got some business with the Order, anyway. Then maybe we can come back to the cup."

Hermione nodded. The question of whether she could participate in these Order-related affairs remained unanswered, but for once she did not press the issue.

"Your friends still do not trust me," said Narcissa later as she sat on the edge of what had become their bed.

"They're getting there."

Narcissa shook her head slowly. "This is not in my nature, you know. All this... openness." She chuckled to herself in a way which struck Hermione as self-pitying. "Would you think me insane if I told you I keep seeing hidden plots everywhere?"

"No," answered Hermione instantly. "It makes sense, I think. Given what… you're used to."

"'What I'm used to…'"

Death Eater voices rose in Hermione's ears, all the backstabbing, selfish cruelty. Barely a month of it had broken Hermione. She wondered how Narcissa had endured a lifetime.

Narcissa shook her head again and lay back onto the bed, curling on her side and facing away.