Hermione told Andromeda.
She did not want to stop to think about the consequences of such an admittedly idiotic decision, but really, what was she to do? She dreaded to think of the fallout. Best-case scenario, Narcissa would be all better and she would be fired—it would be a bittersweet goodbye to all the zeroes that sale would have added to her bank account, but that was something she could live with. What she could not live with was the thought of Andromeda arriving at the Manor and finding her estranged sister catatonic, or worse.
She knew telling Andromeda was risky, but what where her options? She was Hermione Granger, for Merlin's sakes, and she would not leave someone alone when there was something so clearly wrong. It was against her nature.
That being said, she was afraid of going back there herself. It wasn't her place.
And so she wrote a rather awkward, urgent letter to Andromeda—what else could she possibly do for Narcissa? The blonde had been rather adamantly against bringing Draco to check in on her, so Hermione felt like her hands were tied.
Andromeda had not bothered with a response, at least not immediately. A few days after her letter, days Hermione spent writhing in anxiety but unable to do anything other than wallow in it, the witch had come to her house, nearly knocking her door down with forceful, impatient knocks. Hermione was almost afraid to let her in.
"My sister," Andromeda barked as soon as Hermione opened the door, barging in without a care. "How long has she been this way?"
Hermione threw her hands up, trying not to take the woman's accusatory tone personally. She couldn't even imagine the amount of hatred and heartbreak Andromeda had to simply overlook to drop everything and check on Narcissa.
"I don't know, Andy. I've only seen her a handful of times over the past two weeks. She seemed fine away from the Manor... but whenever I came for inspections, I could tell something was off."
Andromeda's eyes were filled with anguish.
"She nearly overdosed the last time I was there," Hermione continued. "She had taken nine phials of Dreamless Draught," she paused, allowing Andromeda to process the severity of the situation. "She was... in bad shape."
Andromeda sunk into a seated position right there on the floor of Hermione's foyer. Hermione followed suit, worried.
"She's a mess," said the witch in a frustrated whisper. "The Manor, too, it's... everything is in ruins. There's dust everywhere, and, and..."
"I know." Hermione pressed a hand to Andromeda's shoulder in sympathy. "I saw."
"How could this happen?" Andromeda questioned out loud. "I don't understand..."
"She let the House-Elves go before the divorce." Hermione quipped, remembering what Narcissa had told her. It didn't explain everything, of course, but it at least helped elaborate on why the house itself was in its current state. At the very least...
Hermione suddenly noticed Andromeda had frozen in place. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot, and her mouth hung open, moving slightly as if she were trying to form words but could not quite do so. "Andy?"
"After the what?"
Hermione bit her lip, mentally kicking herself. She had not realized Andromeda didn't know.
"The... divorce," Hermione confirmed with a shrug. "As far as I know, it was finalized a couple of weeks ago."
Andromeda pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a heavy sigh. "Finali—a few weeks?! I can't—" she exhaled forcefully once more, free hand balling into a fist at her side as her frustration brimmed over the edge— "what about Draco? Where was he during all of this?"
Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "He moved out a couple of months ago," she told the witch, remembering what Dean had told her before she took on the Manor job.
Andromeda shook her head rapidly. "This has been going on far longer than a few months," she said firmly, eyes brimming with tears. "She's unrecognizable, Hermione."
Hermione didn't know what to say or do. Part of her felt incredibly guilty for bringing Andromeda into this mess, but if not her last remaining sister, who would care for Narcissa?
She narrowed her eyes. She didn't know what she had gotten herself into.
Andromeda basically implored for Hermione's help, and the brunette found very little reason to possibly say no. Part of it was due to her guilt for pulling Andromeda into this; the other part came from an unexpected but genuine worry over the youngest Black's wellbeing.
Narcissa was faring much better than when Hermione had last seen her—she was not only fully conscious, but also well enough to send the young witch a powerful, withering glare as soon as their eyes locked when Hermione came to the Manor with Andromeda.
"What is she doing here?" Narcissa hissed in a weak but venomous voice, the word 'she' like a curse upon her tongue.
Hermione flinched at the tone, but Andromeda was clearly having none of it.
"She is the only reason you're not being carted off to St. Mungo's this very second, so I suggest you watch your bloody tone."
There was unbridled fury in those icy blue eyes, but it seemed Andromeda still had that Black family glare and imposing tone down pat, for there were no more protestations of any kind coming from Narcissa from then on.
The next few days were indubitably some of the strangest of Hermione's life, and she felt like that was saying something, considering the life she had lead up until that point.
The first thing Andromeda requested her help with was the arduous and surprisingly complex task of locating and disposing of every single phial of Dreamless Draught Narcissa still kept in the house. Unsurprisingly, that number turned out to be staggering.
It was astonishing, really. Every bathroom, every nook and cranny had an impressive stash hidden away just so. Hermione wondered how in Merlin's name Draco never noticed anything remotely unusual with his mother. By the looks of it, she had been using the potion in continuously larger amounts every night for what seemed to be years.
It filled Hermione with some kind of sadness. She knew first-hand that the rest provided by a Dreamless Draught was impermanent and feeble—a quick fix for a few sleepless nights, but hardly a crutch to get on by for years on end.
She was also scared and undeniably impressed by how well Narcissa was able to fake her way through being completely broken inside whenever she was not at the Manor. That illusion took some dedication and delusion.
Because Narcissa resolutely refused to go to St. Mungo's for treatment, it fell to Andromeda and Hermione to resort to extremes. Andromeda locked Narcissa's wand out of reach, then prepared to spend a full night navigating the harrowing terrors of the nightmare's that plagued Narcissa's fitful, potion-less sleep. Hermione had only heard her screams once through the door—the pain and agony in them were so raw they sent chills down her spine.
On the fourth or so day of seeing Andromeda look like a complete wreck after a particularly dreadful night, Hermione's resolve gave out.
"Go home tonight, Andy. Get some sleep."
Andromeda clearly did not have the strength nor the will to argue, even for courtesy's sake.
And so Hermione found herself in Narcissa's bedroom that evening. Narcissa did not look thrilled to see her there, but she made no comment as Hermione took a seat at the armchair by the window. Without a word, the two witches began to read, waiting for sleep to come to Narcissa.
Hermione had read nearly half of the book she'd brought when she checked her watch. It was nearly one in the morning, and Narcissa's bedside lamp was still lit. It didn't look like Narcissa had moved a muscle in hours.
Hermione suppressed a yawn. "Maybe we should think about trying to get some sleep for a little while," she said softly.
There was no response. When Hermione turned in her chair to look at Narcissa, she saw the blonde's eyes were wide open, puffy and red. The pages of the book she held trembled in the air as her arms and shoulders shook violently.
"Narcissa?"
"It's no use," Narcissa whispered, voice hoarse with tears. "I cannot do it."
Hermione panicked as Narcissa's tears started rolling down her cheeks. "Hey," she tried in her gentlest tone, moving to sit at the bed, by Narcissa's side. Tentatively, she reached for one of Narcissa's tremulous hands, holding it tightly in her own. Narcissa seemed startled by the gesture—Hermione felt surprised herself.
"You..." she hesitated, second-guessing herself. What sort of comfort could she offer Narcissa, really? "You... you can talk to me, if you'd like."
There was a tentative squeeze of her hand, and Narcissa choked out something between a laugh and a sob.
"You're the last person I should talk to—particularly about this," Narcissa said, teary eyes looking away from Hermione. "I can't bear to close my eyes."
The confession struck a chord deep within Hermione. She knew exactly what Narcissa meant. She gave the witch's hand another squeeze. "What do you see when you do?"
Narcissa bit her lip, holding back a whimper. Her free hand went directly to her mouth, as if she were trying to physically stop her words from coming out.
Hermione swallowed. "I only ask because... I know what it's like," she admitted.
For a moment, it didn't matter that this was Narcissa Malfoy—it didn't matter that this woman, this very house Hermione had been hired to sell featured so heavily in nightmares that had kept her awake in screaming fits for years after the war.
It was very strange, and unexpectedly saddening, to see someone from 'the other side' plagued by similar monsters.
Narcissa's blue eyes were like glass—cold, distant, hard-set and glimmering in the candlelight. The intensity of her gaze caught Hermione off-guard; it was like Narcissa was seeing—not just looking at her for the first time.
"What did you see?" she asked, her timid whisper barely audible. "In your dreams?"
Hermione took a deep breath, steeling herself. This was not a subject she had revisited often—or at all—since her own nightmares subsided. She never imagined she would have this conversation with anyone, let alone Narcissa Malfoy. If anyone had even suggested the possibility, she would have laughed in their face, and perhaps arranged a transport to St. Mungo's Magical Maladies department.
Oh, well.
"I saw Bellatrix," Hermione spoke clearly, with a confidence she had worked hard on building through years of therapy and self-reflection.
It broke her heart, in a way, to see Narcissa physically flinch upon hearing her dead sister's name. There was a part of Hermione that wanted to feel smug, a diminutive part that wanted to think 'serves you right' But that feeling—that deep-seated hatred, and most importantly, that paralyzing feel—all of that was long, long gone.
She wished Narcissa could be free of it too.
Hermione squeezed Narcissa's hand a little tighter, hoping to reassure her through the truth.
"I saw her. I heard her screaming at me. I felt that knife on my arm, all over again. Sometimes... Sometimes I saw you, standing there and watching it happen."
She didn't want to be accusatory, but with the way Narcissa recoiled, she figured the truth was a rather bitter pill to swallow.
"How..." Narcissa's voice broke, lost in the darkness as she angrily wiped away at her tears. "How can you do this? How can you stand even looking at me, much less being in this house, where... where..."
Purely on instinct, Hermione wiped at the other witch's cheeks; Narcissa's eyes widened in surprise at her touch.
"It wasn't easy," Hermione admitted. "It took a long time—lots of talking it over with professionals. Time—with friends, family, and by myself as well. There were good nights and bad nights—sometimes it felt like the bad might outweigh the good, but in the end, they didn't. To be honest, there are still some bad nights, but they are few and far between."
Narcissa's lips pulled into a sad little smile.
"Time," she whispered, her voice weighed down by utter hopelessness. "It has been years already."
Hermione could understand that despair. It was what made her seek professional help, when the Dreamless Draught became an untenable short-term solution to a long-term problem.
"Yes, it has." She conceded. "But you've been facing it all alone."
That had been a guess, of course, but Hermione could feel it was not an uneducated one. Her husband—or ex-husband—was rotting in prison with the rest of the Death Eaters. Draco, for whatever reason, did not seem at all involved in his mother's life—perhaps he had demons of his own to face. Finally, Narcissa's only sister was estranged, though Hermione hoped this unfortunate incident just might bring them together.
"I have always been alone," Narcissa whispered, with a strange resoluteness to her tone. "I found ways to thrive in solitude."
"But you don't have to be," Hermione reassured her. "You've got a kick-ass realtor by your side now."
That made Narcissa chuckle. "And hey," Hermione continued, "you've got a friend in me. If you want one."
Narcissa looked befuddled. "A friend," she said, as if she were experimenting having the word roll off her tongue. "I cannot recall the last time I had one of those," she admitted shyly.
"Wel, reset that counter. You've just got a new one. And I'll stay here with you all night if necessary. Alright?"
Narcissa's shy nod of confirmation was a victory, a step in the right direction. The road would be smoother from now on, Hermione was sure of it.
Considering her own past experience, Hermione came to realize she had severely underestimated how difficult the adjustment would be for Narcissa.
She should have known better, of course.
Given her own long, winding path to recovery and healing, it should have been obvious that one eye-opening conversation and one new friend wouldn't exactly cut it to get Narcissa there overnight.
And boy, what a night.
Hermione had stayed true to her promise—she did stay by Narcissa's side all through the night, nestled rather awkwardly and uncomfortably on the arm-chair by the bay window of Narcissa's lavish bedroom. She had even managed to doze off for a few moments.
Then came the screams.
There was no warning, just the blood-curdling sounds of Narcissa's screams filling the room as she writhed against some invisible evil.
"Narcissa!" Hermione yelled, scrambling out of her chair.
The blonde had her eyes forced shut, mouth agape in a shrieking grimace. Her arms swung violently, madly in all directions at her sides, batting off whatever it was she saw in her nightmare.
"Narcissa!"
It was in vain—Hermione's desperate call was drowned out by the witch's shrieks of utter terror. She rushed to Narcissa's side, frantically trying to still her flailing arms enough for her to get close enough.
Narcissa's face contorted into frowns and grimaces—when she did not scream, her jaw clenched so tightly Hermione could hear the horrifying sound of her teeth grinding together with extreme force.
"Narcissa! Wake up! You're having a nightmare!"
There was a loud crackle of sound, not unlike thunder; it shook the walls with its sudden strength. Hermione could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand, reacting to the deep rumble that resonated through the room. She felt the crackle of Narcissa's unintentional, raw magical response.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath as the doors of the wardrobe swung open and the windows rattled with the sheer force of Narcissa's defensive magical response. Her whole body trembled violently beneath the sheets, fists opening and closing on mounds of fabric that flailed in tandem with her arms.
"Narcissa," Hermione tried again, a bit more softly. She finally managed to trap the witch's flailing arms under the blanket, holding on tightly. "Narcissa. You're alright; you're safe. What you're seeing is not real. You're dreaming."
The shaking slowly began to subside; the screams eventually faded into whimpers and quiet sobs that escaped through painfully gritted teeth. Hermione held Narcissa in a firm embrace, breathing loudly and deeply against Narcissa's body until she could feel the witch begin to mimic her actions. The continuous shaking in Narcissa's body became intermittent, short jolts as Hermione patted her back soothingly.
"Ssh. It's alright," she whispered kindly, once Narcissa's breathing had begun to even out. "You're OK."
Before long she felt the heat of tears pooling at her neck, and the movement of eyelashes fluttering open against her skin. The slight tremors she felt in Narcissa's body now came from her sobs.
Hermione held her until the sun began to rise.
"Oh, my... goodness."
Hermione cracked one eye open at the awed voice. The utterly befuddled sound came from somewhere nearby—it was close, very close.
She made an attempt at turning towards the voice, only to find her left side effectively pinned down by a comfortable, warm weight.
"Hermione?"
With a sleepy grunt, Hermione craned her neck as far as it would go in a rather uncomfortable stretch, only just managing to catch a glimpse of the unexpected visitor.
Her sleep-laden eyes connected with Andromeda's wide-eyed look of surprise.
"Eugh..."
That was her best attempt at saying something the lines of 'Good morning to you, Andy, how are you doing on this fine morning?'
However, she had come to take note of quite a few things; one being the fact that she was absolutely exhausted—whatever time it was, it certainly was not waking time; she would be going back to bed at once. Two—noticed after her utter exhaustion—she was not in her bed; in fact, she was not in her home at all.
Which led to the most startling of discoveries: the comfortable, warm weight effectively pinning her down was none other than a sleeping—a peacefully sleeping—Narcissa Malfoy. The blonde had her head on her shoulder and an arm wound around her waist. Her breathing was deep and slow in the cadence of slumber, and her eyes were closed softly. The light of the sun peeked out from the heavy curtains, washing them both in a golden light that made Narcissa's blonde hair shine beautifully.
It was an amazingly pretty sight.
"Oh," Hermione groaned, her sleep-addled brain processing things rather slowly. She registered happiness in seeing Narcissa like this—it made her chest feel pleasantly warm. "She's asleep."
Andromeda laughed, then immediately covered her mouth with her hands, with a sudden look of fright.
"By Merlin's beard, we better not wake her up!"