AN: Got this finished early, so I thought "Why let you wait?" - Be warned, it's a long one and rather emotional, I'd say. But I know most of you like em long. Enjoy :-)
Five days later, Hermione was getting dressed for her 'date' with Ms. Black. Or rather, trying to get dressed. Because so far, she couldn't decide on what to wear. Draco's mother still dressed as the Pureblood she was, elegant, classy, and timeless.
And Hermione, even though she knew that it was silly of her, wanted to show her that a Muggleborn could dress just as well. She didn't want to seem or feel inferior. Tonight, she wanted to look impeccable and feel impenetrable.
However, that wasn't exactly easy to accomplish, being at the end of her second trimester. Hermione knew that people always said pregnant women looked more beautiful than ever and that they seemed to glow but today of all days she just felt fat, uncomfortable and gross...
She was close to tears – damn those devilish hormones! – when she finally found an outfit she could live with:
The knee-length pale pink dress she'd worn to Luna's wedding when she was pregnant with Rose. She paired it off with a pair of bronze heels and tiny hoops of the same color and twisted her hair – which she'd taken the time to straighten earlier – into an elegant updo.
Content with how she looked, Hermione nodded at her reflection in the mirror, took her purse and walked out of the bedroom.
"Where are you going?" Ron asked from where he was sitting on the sofa, watching Muggle TV, suspiciously squinting his eyes at his wife.
The four words only adding up to the maybe twenty he'd spoken to her at all since their argument, Hermione decided that she didn't owe him an answer.
With a short "Out" and a daring raise of her eyebrows, she left their apartment, refraining from slamming the door as he'd done in the days prior. She was not getting down to his level.
Outside of their apartment building in Southwark, Hermione rounded the corner into a lesser traveled alley and disapparated.
A moment later, she reappeared with a quiet plop in front of an old but imposing mansion that was sat at the edge of dark cliffs. The wind was pulling a few strands of hair free from her bun as Hermione made her way towards the tall iron gates, looking left and right to take in the rough but beautiful landscape that surrounded 'Castle Black'.
After a long time of pondering it over, Hermione had eventually decided that it was the best place to meet Narcissa Black. Her own home had been out of the question because of Ron – Merlin, he would've thrown a huge fit if she'd invited the mother of the man he considered his archnemesis for supper – and every other place she'd come up with lacked the privacy she felt was needed for the topics she wanted to bring up.
So Castle Black it was.
She was aware that it gave Narcissa the 'home bonus' but it really was the only viable option.
Doing as she'd been instructed, Hermione called out for a house-elf called Sibby.
"Ah, you must be Mrs. Granger," an old female house-elf appeared in front of her not a second later, smiling up at her and surprising Hermione with its appearance. Unlike pretty much most elves, this one was wearing comfortable looking leather shoes and a tiny maid's uniform complete with a little white apron as well as a frilly hat. Sibby must've been the cutest house-elf Hermione had ever seen.
"The Mistress is expecting you," Sibby continued, opening the iron gates with a flick of her wrinkled hand. "Please follow me and do not touch the gate. It closes on its own and it is still pulsating with dark magic that would hurt you. The Mistress has yet to find a way to break the spell. Sibby knows she's been working hard to find a solution."
Now Hermione understood why the blonde had written that she should not go near the gates before she'd called for the house-elf. It was a precaution, not an act of showcasing her superiority as Hermione had initially suspected.
Staying clear of the gates, she quickly followed after the house-elf.
In the foyer of the Black family home, Hermione already found her hostess to be waiting.
Narcissa Black was elegantly dressed but not nearly as elaborately as Hermione was used to. The blonde was wearing a simple pair of high-waist black slacks, a white blouse, and silver sandals; her hair was open and falling loosely over her shoulders; there was no jewelry to be found besides a thin silver necklace which's pendant was hidden inside of her cleavage. She still was a vision of beauty and grace, maybe even more so than on the other occasions Hermione had seen the other witch.
Suddenly, Hermione felt stupid and uncomfortable and overdressed.
However, Ms. Black immediately snuffed out those feelings.
"Mrs. Granger, I am glad you've arrived safely. And allow me to tell you how very beautiful you look tonight." The blonde openly smiled at Hermione who couldn't help but smile back.
"May I take your coat?"
"Thank you," Hermione responded, slightly flushed by the compliment. Ron hadn't told her how beautiful she looked since... well… she couldn't even remember. "And yes, please."
She was about to shrug out of her coat as her hostess swiftly stepped around her and helped her out of it. The action only made Hermione blush more. "Thanks."
She watched as the blonde hung her coat onto a coat rack behind the door before she turned to the elf.
"Thank you for escorting Mrs. Granger into the house, Sibby. I've taken care of all the necessary preparations for dinner so you'll only have to bring in the dishes once we're ready to eat."
"Sibby could've done that, Mistress," the old elf shook her head disapprovingly, her tone as though she was scolding a child. "Whatever for do you have me if you do everything on your own?"
"I don't 'have' you, Sibby, I employ you. There's a difference. And you know I like to take care of some things myself. I cannot sit all day in my armchair reading and twiddling my thumbs."
"Well, you certainly should. Mistress Druella never did any housework."
"I am not my mother and these are different times," Narcissa shook her head at the stubborn elf. "I shall call for you later, Sibby." She turned to Hermione. "Would you follow me into the yellow salon, Mrs. Granger?"
Hermione only managed to nod, still somewhat dumbfounded because of the conversation she'd just witnessed. Obviously, there was a lot to learn about the youngest Black sister. And Hermione found herself curious and eager to uncover more of her personality and secrets.
Maybe this meeting wasn't such a bad idea after all. Surely the woman needed to have some reparative qualities if Minerva put up with her company and even seemed to enjoy it. They were friends after all.
"Would you like some tea, juice, anything?" the blonde witch asked as soon as they'd sat down on the mustard colored Victorian sofa.
Hermione could see why someone would call this room the yellow salon. It was a rather small room that had several tightly filled bookshelves on two walls, a thick and oriental looking yellow carpet on the floor, and the sofa they were currently sitting on at its center. The heavy curtains, pillows, even the picture frames on the walls – everything in this room was held in one or the other shade of yellow and gold, making it look like it had been dipped into warm sunlight. It was rather inviting, she had to admit. Another thing she hadn't expected.
She'd expected Castle Black to be dour and dark.
Obviously, the other woman had taken notice of her surprise.
"I've changed most of the house's interior over the past years," Narcissa Black explained with a wave of her hand to encompass the room. "I've kept most of the floors the way they were but almost every wall has been painted or gotten a new wallpaper. Some of the furniture I merely transfigured but I also bought a lot of new things. During my childhood, Castle Black was a very fitting name for our family home." She slightly shook her head. "Now, what can I get you to drink? Have you decided?"
"Uhm, tea would be nice, thank you."
The older woman nodded at her and accioed a tray holding a pot of tea and two cups made of beautiful china to the coffee table in front of them. She was obviously well prepared for her visitor.
"Is Earl Grey all right?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Milk, sugar?"
"No, I usually take it black."
"A woman after my own heart," the blonde smiled and poured two cups of tea, handing one to Hermione.
Hermione who couldn't help but feel awkward, sitting here and chatting with Malfoy's mum as though they did this every Friday. And she also couldn't help but be somewhat irritated by the formal tone of everything. This wasn't a date for afternoon tea and idle chit-chat after all.
"Ms. Black, I…" Hermione placed the tea cup back onto the golden tray, meeting the woman's blue eyes. "I didn't come to exchange niceties or polite small-talk. I-"
"You came for answers," Narcissa nodded, following suit and putting her cup away as well. She seemed calm and ready to face the young woman's questions. "Very well. I will answer everything I am able to. Ask away, Mrs. Granger and don't be shy."
Oh, Hermione had no intention to be shy. None at all. She shot her first question at the other witch, not having to think about it. It really was the only question she'd ever needed an answer to. "Why? Why didn't you at least try to stop your sister from hurting me? Why did you just stand there, staring at me with cold indifference whether I lived or died, whether I was in pain or tears?"
The Pureblood's face visibly darkened. "I had hoped you would save this one for later," she sighed heavily. "Very well. Let's get the hard stuff out of the way, shall we? I uh, I prepared for this particular question should it come up. I would like to show you if I may?" She made a motion with her wand hand and a pensieve floated into the room, already holding a silvery liquid that Hermione knew contained extracted memories. "My grandfather Pollux's old pensieve. I never thought I'd ever use it. He enchanted it so one doesn't only see the memory of a person but relives it through that person's eyes. It can be quite an emotional experience..."
Hermione studied the pensive and the memory whisps that were swirling through the water. Was she really ready to witness the most painful night of her life through the eyes of the woman sitting next to her?
After another moment of silence and deep thought, Hermione nodded at the older witch. It seemed to be the best solution after all. Memories couldn't lie, tongues however could. And she wanted the truth, however hard it might be to hear. Or experience, she reckoned.
"I'll do it. Take me back in time."
The blonde straightened her shoulders then beckoned her forward. Together they immersed their heads in the pensieve and fell through time and space.
Pensieve
If someone had asked Hermione how she thought she'd feel inside of the head of someone else, she wouldn't have had an answer or would've suggested that every mind probably felt the same. However, the first thing she felt as soon as she'd landed in Narcissa Black's or rather Malfoy's past consciousness, was constricted. Utterly constricted, caged in her own mind. No, not her own. But at the same time it felt as though it was her own and she supposed for the time being, it was.
Not wanting to interfere with her experience of the older witch's mind and feelings, Hermione forced her own mind to step back, somehow managing to occlude it until only Narcissa remained and Hermione was gone.
Narcissa watched as her sister pulled the Granger girl to the middle of their drawing room by her long brown curls and pushed her to the floor.
The girl whimpered but, Narcissa had to give her credit, no tear escaped her eyes. Yet.
She inwardly shuddered at what her sister might do to the young woman, a girl not older than her Draco, but carefully kept her features in check.
She wondered briefly what had happened to take away her beloved Bella's humanity but had to remind herself that she already knew the answer. It wasn't the first time by all means that she'd pondered that exact question.
Cygnus had happened to her. Rodolphus had happened to her. Tom Marvolo Riddle had happened to her.
The men in her life had utterly broken the loving big sister she'd grown up with and left something behind that – most days – didn't bear any resemblance to the Bellatrix she'd adored and looked up to until their late teens.
She cringed as her sister pulled her wand from her sleeve and hit the girl with the first "Crucio". Undoubtedly, today was one of these days. They'd become countless ever since Bella had escaped from Azkaban to rejoin her Lord's side.
She forced herself not to avert her eyes as the girl started to scream and she hoped that Draco was following her example. Lucius wasn't allowing any weakness from his heir and she knew he'd punish their son if he showed it. Not to mention Bella.
It was strange how the adoration for her sister could have turned into fear but she didn't question that development any longer. It was easier just to live with it.
She'd tried to think of anything else but the girl suffering on her floor but found that it was difficult to blend out her screams and even impossible to focus on anything else once she saw her sister pull out the cursed knife that had once belonged to their father.
Cygnus had once used this very knife to severe the head of his youngest's favorite house-elf after deciding that she cared too much for the inferior creatures. It had been the last time she'd cried or showed any weakness for a long time. She only remembered crying the night before her wedding to Lucius and in the hours after Draco's difficult birth after that point in time. Her father had taught her that tears were of no use. That they were unseemly for a Black.
Pushing the painful memory to the background of her mind, Narcissa drew in a sharp breath at seeing her sister crouch down over the Granger girl, ripping off her left sleeve, a mad glint in her dark eyes. The eyes of their father. Both Bellatrix and Andromeda had inherited them. She was thankful to not have to see him whenever she looked into a mirror. Her mother hadn't been a saint but at least she had - as far as she could - genuinely loved her children.
Trying not to care what happened in front of her eyes and utterly failing, Narcissa knew that this time around, she couldn't merely stand witness to her sister's crimes, she had to find a way to help.
A way to help without anyone noticing, least of all Bellatrix.
She chanced a sideways glance at her son and found silent tears streaming down his pale cheeks.
She could not endanger her son, therefore speaking up and trying to divert her sister's ire or to try and sweet-talk her was not an option.
Finally, just as Bella touched the cold knife to the girl's flesh, ready to draw blood, Narcissa remembered an old spell her grandfather had taught her back when she was sixteen. She'd never actually used it but with some luck, she thought this could actually work.
'I am sorry, I cannot do more for you, Ms. Granger. But as an old saying goes, shared pain is half the pain,' she thought to herself before gripping tightly onto the wand in her sleeve and quietly mumbling "Dolorulcus Transmissimo".
Not a second after, the pain began. A searing, burning pain accompanied by a wetness she knew to be blood and the inhumane screams of the teenage girl her own sister was torturing. The screams and the pain weren't the worst of it all though. Narcissa had gone through worse, growing up as the daughter of Cygnus III Black. She almost laughed out loud at the brief thought that she was actually thankful for her father's cruel and sadistic nature which had perfectly prepared her for quietly taking the pain as she felt her skin being teared open.
No. The pain was not the worst.
The worst were the pleads the girl managed to choke out between sobs and the desperate brown eyes that seemed to bore into her very soul. She knew she would never forget those eyes. They would haunt her for eternity.
'Hermione Granger,' she thought once more, hearing how her own son's quiet sobbing joined the cacophony of horrors. She would have to draw Lucius's anger to herself later, make him forget about his son's "shameful" behavior. 'I am sorry.'
End of Pensieve Flashback
Hermione withdrew from the pensieve with a desperate gasp for air, feeling as though she was drowning in between the waves of her own and the witnessed emotions.
Her eyes wildly darted through the room, playing ping-pong between the blonde's thankfully covered left forearm and her own.
Breathless and simply wanting to flee everything that was crushing down on her, she jumped from the sofa and darted from the room as fast as she managed in her condition, even forgetting about her cloak and the cursed gates as she ran from the house.
"Sibby, quickly, go and open the gates!" Narcissa cried out inside of the house, knowing she herself wouldn't get there in time.
She sighed in relief when the elf returned to her side seconds later, informing her that her Mistress's young guest had been kept from harm.
"I reckon Mrs. Granger won't return for dinner?"
"No, Sibby. No, she won't. I feel I've quite lost my appetite myself... Please help yourself to anything you like. I'll be retiring for the night."
"Of course, Mistress Black. Sibby will take care of everything. Is there anything else the Mistress will be needing?"
"No," Narcissa tiredly rubbed her aching temples. "No, thank you."
At Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall was about to close her book and get ready for bed – after all she had to rise early the next morning to get everything ready for the older students' day out in Hogsmeade and the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Ravenclaw in the evening – when urgent knocking came from her door.
Expecting the worst because Friday evenings as the headmistress of Hogwarts were rarely ever peaceful, she let her book clatter to the floor in her haste to see who was on the other side.
Imagine her surprise when she found a flawlessly dressed but sobbing former student and friend in front of her instead.
Minerva pulled the shivering girl into her rooms and as soon as the door was closed behind them, Hermione Granger fell into her arms, a crying mess that seemed torn between seeking her comfort and hysterically hitting her.
"This is all your fault!" the young woman accused her while Minerva tried to get her to hold still, feeling rather helpless with the situation at hand. "You told me it would be good for me! You knew! You had to know! You're her friend..."
The old witch's green eyes widened as she realized what Hermione was talking about.
With much effort, she finally managed to guide her to sit in the armchair she herself had just vacated, kneeling down in front of her and placing her hands on her stocking-clad knees in the hopes of calming her.
And after another five to ten minutes of breathless sobs and accusations, her efforts finally bore fruit and the brown eyes met her own, teary and emotional.
"Why didn't you tell me what she did, Minerva? Surely you must've known?"
"I've gathered so far that you are obviously talking about Narcissa and that the two of you spoke but dear, I really don't understand what you are trying to say? What is it that 'I must've known about'? And why are you so upset? I know it must be unsettling to hear her side of the story but–"
"She bled for me," Hermione interrupted the other woman, the statement whispered and terrifying. Her eyes wandered to her left forearm; the crude carving had paled over the years but it was still visible for everyone who looked and even those who didn't look for it. "She shared it. She shared it all. The pain. The blood. The scar. She bled for me."
"Hermione, dear, you're not making any sense. What are you talking about?"
The young woman looked up from her scar, a faraway look in her eyes. "Narcissa. She used a spell to share the pain with me. Half the pain. The same amount of blood. The same scar. She didn't do nothing. It was everything. I… I saw it all in the pensieve… I felt both her and my own pain. I was inside of her head. I- I felt it all, Minerva. I felt it all."
And as understanding dawned on Minerva McGonagall, she sadly blinked her eyes and gently pulled the overwhelmed young woman onto the floor and into her arms, sending a silent prayer to whomever would listen to give some comfort to Narcissa as well, knowing fully well that it couldn't have been easy to delve into her troubled past nor to share it with a stranger.
To think that the blonde had done such a thing for a girl she'd been taught and supposed to hate because of her Muggle parents alone… it was sending shivers of great awe along Minerva's spine.
Had she known about what Narcissa had done, maybe she would have tried to prepare them both for their conversation. But then – how do you tell someone that you share their scars? Was there even an easy, a gentle way?
Holding the still crying Hermione to her chest, Minerva couldn't help but wonder how Narcissa and Hermione would react when they first saw each other after tonight.
AN: Well, I don't say this often, rarely ever actually, but I'm proud of how this chapter turned out.
Please leave me a review if you find the time, I'd love to see some responses to all of that is happening in this crucial chapter. And yes, some of you might recognize the spell from the torture scene from one of my older stories. It just had to go here, it made perfect sense to me. So I apologize if you're bored ;-)
Thanks to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter so far (tattoedsappho, Cath, Raingirl49th, tears of the soul, Ragamuffin47); yours really cracked me up, HerBella!
