Trigger warnings: n/a
The intermittent rain made watching Knockturn Alley far more uncomfortable than the week before. Despite the number of hydrophobic charms Hermione kept trying to reapply, dampness still seemed to have found its way through her robes, leaving her feeling a bit like a wet sock.
Altogether, a rather unpleasant state of being. Hermione partially blamed Narcissa, since the witch had insisted on standing outside Gringotts for far too long.
"He doesn't want to meet us here—we have to go back down the alley or he won't even find us, remember?" Hermione had told her with growing impatience.
"I have to know!"
"Know what? We won't see anything useful here! He may have done it days ago, for all we know! Now come on!"
Narcissa hadn't been able to argue with that, so they had trekked down the drizzly, miserable cobblestones to their same archway which now featured a small stream to wet their hems.
Hermione shifted her weight as she leaned against the damp wall; Narcissa's anxiety had made itself at home in their little nook, filling out the empty space, and Hermione couldn't escape jitters of her own. Nothing felt truly settled; her body grew heavier and lighter in the wrong places.
When she'd gone about her normal business that morning, the smear of darkness across the gusset of her knickers had momentarily froze her in confusion. And then all at once, she had realised in the most confusing rush of emotions, that her body had finally repaired itself.
The slight weight gain, the strengthening of her bones and nails, the shine of her hair… They all signalled healing which she had been pleased to watch and brought relief to Harry, Ron, and Narcissa's eyes.
She had genuinely forgotten that this was something her body was supposed to be doing all along. And now, here it was, and she couldn't help but feel a little betrayed. By what, she couldn't say.
The discovery of her womb's return to normal operations had necessitated a stern but awkward request for Harry to run to the corner shop, and now she couldn't help but clench her thighs together every other minute just to make sure that nothing in that region was going amiss while they waited.
"Stop swaying," snapped Narcissa. "People will think you're intoxicated and that's the last thing we need."
Hermione focused on holding still and not prodding Narcissa's nerves even further.
The drizzle increased to a downpour and then back again, an unsteady metronome by which Hermione kept time. A scrawny, stringy wizard with bad teeth lingered too near to their alcove for her liking, and, just when Hermione thought he might leave, he approached with a smirking gleam in his eyes.
Hermione tensed in discomfort and looked to Narcissa, waiting for her to scare him off—but she seemed entirely oblivious, staring into the dripping middle distance.
The wizard spoke and his voice held enough predatory slime to make Hermione want to crawl out of her own skin. "How much?"
Narcissa stayed mute and motionless.
Hermione looked to the sleazy little wizard again, creeping closer with a dirty smile, and snarled.
"Sod off!"
"But I only want a taste—"
"Yeah? Well good luck finding a witch willing to take you—do NOT put your hand on me unless you would like it swiftly removed!"
The wizard retracted the arm which seemed to be on its way to her elbow and hissed, "Would you stop screeching like some kind of bloody banshee?"
"I will do as I please!" Hermione replied at an even shriller volume. "As will you! And I please that you leave!"
"Fine!" spat the wizard, retreating with his hands up. Hermione advanced on him, forcing him back out into the street, a genuine fury scorching her arteries. She didn't think she'd ever spoken so rudely to someone in her life, and she almost wanted to stand down, but this man preyed on women during wartime, so he bloody well deserved more than he was giving him, she decided.
"Go on! Off with you! That's right!" He seemed mightily displeased that she continued to shout at him even as he walked away, which only drove Hermione to scream louder, "Don't bother again until you look like him!" She pointed to a well-dressed wizard who looked as though he'd like nothing less than to be called out by a screaming woman. "Otherwise, next time I'll use my wand before my words!"
Hermione smirked, quite exhilarated as the man disappeared down the alleyway. Others glared at her for disrupting the peace as they went about their business, and Hermione glared right back. She suddenly wondered if Professor McGonagall would be proud of her.
A grip on her bicep so tight it felt bruising; Hermione was tugged forward until she found herself face-to-face with the young wizard she had pointed out as being to her standard. He leaned down into her face with a smirk. "Does that offer still stand?"
"For you, sir? Whatever you like."
He growled and dragged her back to the alcove where Narcissa pounced on him in silent tears and Hermione quickly erected the necessary privacy spells. When she turned again, Draco was trying to give a dark bundle of fabric to his mother.
"Mummy, please, please just take the bloody thing"! Hermione couldn't tell whether mother or son was more afraid; they both shook so much, and Narcissa couldn't seem to put her arms anywhere but at his shoulders, his sides, his head, anything to hold him close—
"Mum!" Draco cried, "Please! I have to go!" Hermione snatched the wrapped thing from his hands and shoved it into her expanded pocket; the now familiar throb of Dark magic emanating from the thing brought relieved tears to her eyes and she wanted to give Draco a hug herself.
"We can take you with us," Narcissa told him. "Come, we'll keep you safe, we'll do whatever we have to do—"
"Mum, you know that isn't possible. I'm Marked, he'll find us, and then you're all—"
"We'll work it out!"
"Mum! You know it can't work, please…" He gave Hermione a teary, panicked look. She obliged and came to take Narcissa's shoulders, ready to pull her away, though Hermione still grappled with this impossible offer of rescue Narcissa hadn't mentioned to anyone, perhaps hadn't even thought of it until it had left her mouth…
"Just take the thing, alright? I don't know what it is, but my Mark reacted to it. I don't want to know what you're doing with magic like that. Just end all this, yeah? For all of us." He looked at his mother with a smile that Hermione thought was meant to be reassuring; he was doing a proper shit job of it. "I don't think anyone noticed I took it, so I'll be alright. You don't need to obliviate me or anything. And I've still got some Felix left over, so I'll put it to good use and make sure I see you on the other side."
"No, no, please, Draco—"
Her little pleas did nothing, he still pushed her away with a kind of tragic tenderness that put a lump in Hermione's throat. She didn't have a child, didn't even have a sibling (though Harry and Ron came as close as she could imagine), but she still remembered what it had been like to send her parents away.
Her hands came around Narcissa's middle, holding her close from behind while Draco looked at them both with a resignation that made Hermione think he didn't believe a word he'd said. Dammit, Draco!
"Take care of my mother, Granger," he ordered her with all the authority he could muster—which was not very much, given all the raw pain radiating from every part of his being.
And then he was gone, and Hermione had a Horcrux in her pocket which seemed to delight in all the despair coming from the crumpling witch in Hermione's arms.
"Right," she murmured, more for her own benefit than anyone else's. Narcissa sobbed and gasped, hunched over the empty space Draco had stood, and no-one on the street paid her any mind at all.
Returning to the flat proved to be much more difficult the second time round. Despite all Hermione's attempts at consoling her, Narcissa could not stop her wretched hysterics. Ron kept insisting the Horcrux must be to blame, but Hermione sensed the primal fury of a mother's grief which could outdo any Dark magic.
When they made it home, Hermione guided a silent Narcissa to their bedroom and set to work undressing her of the ratty robes and sliding soft pyjamas over her head instead. Morose and still, Narcissa let Hermione guide her into bed.
As her empty eyes closed, a heavy rush of magic swept through the flat. The gust left Hermione breathless and for a few disorienting seconds she could only blink and try to stay upright, then Narcissa sighed, some of the tension in her borrowed face melting away, and a peace settled across eternity, if only for a moment.
Hermione crept to the sitting room to find Harry and Ron staring down at a blackened, mangled thing, the Sword of Gryffindor hanging from Ron's right hand. The ghost of the Horcrux's magic tickled Hermione's skin, making her quiver in deep discomfort.
"Done?" she asked softly.
"Yeah," Harry murmured.
"Think it broke the telly, though," Ron muttered. "Dammit."
Hermione looked to the object in question to find the screen cracked like a spider's web. How curious.
The ritual completed, Harry fetched a tea towel and knelt beside the remains of the cup, trying to wrap it up while Ron stared at the sword in his hand with somewhat starstruck eyes.
Hermione, unsure how to make herself useful and still a little clumsy in her Muggle body, watched them work and hoped Draco was all right.
"How is she?" Harry asked without looking, and Hermione shrugged though he couldn't see it.
"She'll be all right, I think. Though we should probably be extra nice to her for a few days."
Harry and Ron nodded in promise.
"Y'know," mused Ron as he carefully tucked the sword back into Hermione's old bag, "I'm still amazed you got it."
"Draco's just afraid of the Dark Lord winning as anyone else, I think. It didn't take much to persuade him this was the wiser course."
"Yeah, but like, you in particular."
Hermione frowned.
"No offence, Hermione, but when we first found you, I didn't think you'd ever to be able to leave the flat without… I dunno, some kind of episode. Now look at you."
Ron spoke with the kind of terrified awe he'd used when watching her outperform them all in Dumbledore's Army, and though Hermione was unsure how to feel about his praises, she couldn't help but feel gratified. At least a little.
She shrugged nonchalantly—and gripped the back of the nearest chair as unpleasant ripples surged through her body, stripping away the extra flesh and shortening her hair. In nearly the same heartbeat, they heard a body bolt out of bed, stumble to the toilet, and be very sick.
The two boys looked at Hermione with horror. She fought her own nausea as her body settled into itself. The sound of retching did not stop.
"Um, I think we'll go and update the Order on all this," murmured Ron. Harry nodded in vigorous agreement.
Hermione let them excuse themselves and made her way to the loo where she found Narcissa looking like herself again and whimpering into the toilet bowl.
It constituted one of the most pitiful sights Hermione had ever seen.
She knelt and brushed the hair from Narcissa's face, wiped her mouth. The poor witch remained wordless, utterly empty, even as Hermione helped her to stand and slowly undressed her. She started as she found herself standing under the steady stream of the showerhead, but did not protest as Hermione guided her to face the water.
Hermione watched as Narcissa's hair soaked through and stuck to her face and shoulders. The steam hovering in the air flirted with Hermione's flesh, making her aware of her own body in a way she found most unpleasant. The day's journey through London, through another's skin, amongst the grime and seediness of Knockturn Alley prickled at her and before she could overthink it, her clothes were on the floor and she stood beside Narcissa.
The other witch sank to her knees to huddle on the ground.
Hermione didn't say anything, didn't even try for verbal comforts; only knelt down to help pull Narcissa back to her feet. She wobbled but stayed upright, enough for Hermione to methodically guide the bar of soap across her skin.
Wash away the potions, the travel, the pain…
The soap slid from her hand three times. Each time, Hermione got it back without words, only the beat of the water and their hearts, and enough serenity that she almost believed they had all eternity for the simple act of bathing.
But then skin turned papery, so the water finished, and Hermione embraced Narcissa with a towel, rubbed her dry enough so that a loose t-shirt could be pulled onto her body with minimal discomfort.
With time and no words, Hermione guided Narcissa into their bed. The tired witch curled in on herself and settled into an almost-sleep.
The death of the Horcrux still brightened the air.