After that first, eventful night at Malfoy Manor, Hermione's days began to take on a very strange routine. She would care for her affairs at home during the day as usual, then take some time to keep searching for places Narcissa might be interested in living in. In the late afternoons, she would Apparate back to Malfoy Manor to check in with Narcissa and Andromeda.

And then, she would inevitably stay the night.

She kept telling herself that she only stayed with Narcissa through her night terrors because she felt guilty for upending poor Andromeda's life like this.

There was, however, a not-so-insignificant part of her that simply knew that was nowhere even remotely close to the truth. Her heart—plus the indomitable nature that drove her to simply find a way to succeed at absolutely everything—knew that she wanted to see Narcissa's recovery through until the very end.

The reason? If Hermione had to pick a practical one, she would say she would very much like to be paid for the services she had been hired for—she was still working as Narcissa's letting agent, for Merlin's sake. Even if that line of reasoning grew flimsier by the day, that was her story, and she would stick to it.

But there was another, bigger, much more illogical reason to want to see this whole thing through. It had nothing to do with a pay-check, or feeling guilty for Andromeda. No, this had everything to do with the simply, insufferable little fact that she was Hermione Sodding Granger, and she simply could not make herself stop caring altogether—even if it was Narcissa Black, a woman so close to the epicentre of her own nightmares, she directed that care towards.

That was how she found herself back at Malfoy Manor, day in and day out. She would arrive in the early afternoon, just in time to help Andromeda tidy up the Manor a bit—Hermione suspected the woman was just looking for any possible task, big or small, to distract herself, and fixing up the place provided ample opportunity for distraction, diverting her thoughts from the predicament she found herself in with her sister, at least for a little while.

She and Andromeda would work silently for an hour or two, dusting rooms and removing cobwebs and shooing off Dust Pixies from every corner they could reach. Narcisa would always remain in her room upstairs during this time; Hermione had never seen her come down, not even for dinner.

In the evenings, Andromeda and Hermione would alternate their shifts, spending every other night with Narcissa each. Even during Andromeda's nights, Hermione somehow found herself staying at the Manor overnight, in one of the guest bedrooms she and Andromeda had cleared up. She would wake from a restless sleep to Narcissa's blood-curdling screams that carried all through the West Wing. They would go on for hours, and Hermione would lie in bed and listen for as long as it took for the agonizing shrieks to subside.

She could have easily cast one of several useful charms to silence her room enough for a quiet slumber, but no matter how loud or heart-wrenching Narcissa's screams became, Hermione could never bring herself to do it. Somehow, it didn't feel fair to Narcissa or Andromeda to tune out the troubled witch's panic.

In the mornings, if she had spent the night in the guest room, Hermione would go down to the now immaculate and freshly-stocked kitchens to prepare some breakfast for herself and Andromeda. The middle Black sister would come down, dishevelled and tired, with deep dark circles under her eyes, greeting Hermione with a sheepish smile.

"She does better in the mornings," Andromeda would say as she practically inhaled a pot of strongly brewed tea before returning to Narcissa's room with a tray.

The times when Hermione watched over Narcissa were quite different. Andromeda chose to retire much earlier than normal in those days, most likely to catch up on the sleep she had lost watching over her sister, and Hermione would usually take a late afternoon tea with Narcissa in the blonde's room.

Hermione quite liked those days, if she had to be honest. She and Narcissa would spend the hours before sleep talking and reading together.

And unless Hermione was going completely insane, she could swear that Narcissa thoroughly enjoyed their talks as well. They never spoke about family or about the War—it was an unspoken agreement between the two that those subjects were taboo—they were simply too hard to stomach, for both of them.

Anything else, however, was fair game. Hermione came to learn that Narcissa was an avid reader, who, much like herself, had found refuge and solace in the world of words when the pressures and demands of real life got to be too much. Hermione was also pleased to learn that their literary tastes were very similar; enough to stimulate thoughtful conversation and invigorating debates, and she would be lying if she said she didn't think those talks did Narcissa good. She also learned that the witch was an incredibly fast reader, one able to commit to memory much of what she read after even a cursory glance of the page.

One late afternoon, Narcissa had thoroughly surprised Hermione by finishing her copy of Pride and Prejudice in only a couple of hours.

"Andy gave you that book only this morning," she commented, amazed.

Narcissa smiled as idly flipped through the well-worn pages of Hermione's copy. Her manner was easy-going and carefree; she certainly seemed to be in high spirits today.

"I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than a book!" she quoted verbatim with a smile.

Hermione could not contain her chuckle. "I'm certainly glad you enjoyed it," she said, honestly happy to see Narcissa in such a contagiously cheerful mood. Most days, the blonde was withdrawn and morose, but ever since their little afternoon chats started, Narcissa's mood had begun to show signs of remarkable improvement.

Her smile widened considerably. "It did salvage what would surely have been a dreadfully boring day," she said.

The little smile tugging at her lips—the one that made her absolutely radiant in the afternoon sunlight, it began to fade as Narcissa's gaze moved towards her window, at the twilight hues that quickly approached through her open curtains. As the day began to draw to a close, her apprehension began to build.

It was, unfortunately, something Hermione could understand. Despite the progress she had been making over the past few days, she had yet to make it through a full night without an explosive fit of screams and trashing in her bed.

Andromeda was right—her sister did better in the mornings, when she was simply too exhausted by the night terrors' toll on her body to do anything but collapse into bed.

"Hey," Hermione approached the bed with a cautious smile. She sat at the foot of the bed, drawing Narcissa's attention from the bay window. "How about we talk a little bit about where you're going to be living pretty soon, eh?"

The distraction had the desired effect. Narcissa turned to face her with a bewildered expression.

"What... what do you mean?"

Hermione shrugged. "That's why you hired me, isn't it?" she pointed out. "I know things have been uh... derailed a fair amount, but that doesn't mean I can't keep looking in the meantime." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "I intend to do my job right."

Narcissa's eyes widened, and her lips parted forming a soft 'O', like she had completely forgotten how and why Hermione had been brought into her life in the first place.

Suddenly, Hermione felt nervous. "If you don't mind, that is?"

Narcissa shook her head, bringing her knees up to her chest under the luxurious blankets. She looked so young then, somehow. So vulnerable and innocent, and Hermione felt her chest tighten inexplicably at the sight. "No," she said. "Not at all."

Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, but was able to flash a smile all the same. "Great! I've got a few options," she zipped her wand through the air, summoning her ledger—complete with descriptions and pictures of several properties Narcissa might be interested in. "Let's take a look, shall we?"

The experience this time was completely different than anything else Hermione was accustomed to when it came to Narcissa and house-hunting. As they sat side-by-side on the blonde's frankly unnecessarily gigantic mattress, Narcissa flipped the pages of the ledger with clear interest. Her feedback, until then non-existent, was now freely given, and Hermione did not even have to try remarkably hard to get it. Her rejections were now thought-out, and her reasoning clear and concise.

"Not this one," she would sometimes say. "I think I would prefer something... a little more cheerful. Modern. I've had enough of grand staircases and marble flooring."

"Fair enough," Hermione would say. "How about..."

And so it went, for hours. By the end, Hermione had a pretty clear idea of what Narcissa wanted—she even had a place in mind already, but she had decided to keep that little tid-bit to herself for now. They had exhausted the possibilities listed in her ledger, and at some point during their perusal they had just... laid back, side by side onto the frankly staggering number of pillows Narcissa kept on her bed.

Narcissa's golden hair fanned out like a halo onto the dark silk pillowcases, and her blue eyes were soft and serene. They were also heavy-lidded, Hermione noted with a bit of pride. Sleep slowly but surely came to overtake Narcissa, and Hermione had to supress the smugness she felt for being able to distract the blonde long enough to make it happen.

"I think..." Narcissa said groggily, after a few moments of trying to keep her eyes open. "That I would very much like a garden."

"A garden? You mean at your new place?" Hermione questioned, filing that note for later, absent-mindedly taking a strand of that beautiful golden hair and twirling it between her fingers, marvelling at just how soft it felt.

Narcissa nodded meekly, not noticing or simply ignoring Hermione's gesture. "Yes..." she sighed deeply, and Hermione thought she would fall asleep right then and there. "I should like to plant things... I was always fond of Herbology."

"Me too. But then again, I was fond of all subjects." Hermione furrowed her brow. "Well, all except Divination."

Narcissa giggled. "An incredible waste of time, Divination," she said through a chuckle. "And I should know—I attended all the way up to NEWT level."

Hermione could not contain her surprise. She shifted in the bed, leaning onto her side so she could level Narcissa with a bewildered look. "You did not!"

Narcissa nodded, eyes closed, lips tugged into a groggy, full-toothed grin. "I did, and I can say with absolute certainty I did not learn a single thing."

"And yet you took it? To NEWTs? Why in Merlin's name would you do that, if it was such a huge waste of time?"

The blonde laughed again; her chuckles were carefree as she waved Hermione off sleepily. "Oh, why do teenagers do things they do not want to? A girl, obviously."

Hermione felt all the air in her lungs exit in one startled gasp. "A girl?" Yet another piece of information she filed for later. "You're telling me Narcissa Malfoy took years of a subject she hated because she had a crush?"

"No," Narcissa said, brows furrowed, still smiling. "Narcissa Malfoy would never." She looked contemplative; her eyes closed tighter for a moment. "But Narcissa Black certainly did."

"Well, I'd never," Hermione mused. There was a warm feeling in her chest—a mixture of pride and gratitude that Narcissa had come so far as to trust her in this way. If nothing else, that small moment showed just how much she had improved since the first time Hermione had been in this room. "May I ask who it was that made you endure Divination for years?"

Narcissa's cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink, and she brought her hands to her eyes as if to hide from the question, but her lips were still stretched into that genial smile. "Oh, Merlin, I... Marlene. Her name was Marlene McKinnon."

Hermione was thankful the blonde was still hiding her eyes behind her hands, because she was gaping at the shy revelation. She had only heard of Marlene McKinnon from some of the older members of the Order of the Phoenix; it was quite surprising that Narcissa Black would have been interested. But then again... stranger things had happened.

She was able to contain her reaction, melting into a grin. "Marlene McKinnon, eh? I never knew her, but I know Divination, and whatever her appeal, it must have been quite something to make you go through that class for so long."

Narcissa laughed, holding her ruddy cheeks in her hands and looking at Hermione with bashful eyes. "Ugh. I was a teenager, and completely besotted," she said the word with a great measure of embarrassment. "She was just so... cool."

Hermione laughed, nudging Narcissa's shoulder. "Tell me about her?"

The other witch laughed, and her gaze strayed to some far-off point through the curtains and the dwindling light of dusk. Her smile didn't waver. "She was... fiery. Carefree. She could make anyone laugh—even Bella, on occasion."

"Wow," Hermione whistled. "I assume that's no easy feat."

Narcissa snorted a little laugh. "Indeed. Marlene was just... so comfortable, at ease with everyone and everything. She was a Quidditch player—a beater for Hufflepuff."

Hermione smiled inwardly. "So little Narcissa Black fell for a jock, huh?"

Narcissa's cheeks went from pink to impossibly red. "I didn't... No! She was just... mesmerizing. On and off the Quidditch pitch. Bright blue eyes, big hair—blonde, darker than mine, with these... impossible curls. And freckles." She sighed, her reminiscence tinged with a touch of sadness. "She was fearless. I remember once she showed up after summer break wearing the slacks from the boys' uniform... and a leather jacket. It was all quite scandalous." She laughed a little at the memory. "She broke some kind of record for the fastest detention."

"She sounds like quite the character," Hermione said, noting how Narcissa's lids seemed to grow heavier by the second. For once, it was like she was not afraid of succumbing to slumber, and Hermione was immeasurably glad for it. She reached out, touching Narcissa's arm gently. "I think it's time you sleep."

A weak nod was Narcissa's response. Hermione moved to leave, but as the bed shifted, Narcissa seemed to shift with it, inching closer to the space Hermione slowly vacated. Hermione felt the sleeve of her robe being delicately pulled closer.

"Would you..." Narcissa's voice was shy, more than before, and her eyes looked somewhere past Hermione. "Would you stay? Just until I fall asleep?"

There was a tremor to the hand holding onto her robes. Hermione gave it a reassuring squeeze, settling back into bed with a smile.

"Of course."

"How was she last night?"

Hermione took a hearty sip of her tea as Andromeda busied herself with some eggs and sausage at the stove. The smell was divine, and Hermione felt... rested, which was likely a first since she and Andromeda had started alternating nights in Narcissa's room. Staying until Narcissa fell asleep had quite unintentionally turned into staying the whole night—Hermione had woken up to soft rays of sun peeking through the curtains and the tickle of Narcissa's hair on her face.

"She was... fine, actually," Hermione said, pleased. "No nightmares this time."

Andromeda flipped a few eggs, brows raised. "I was wondering why it was so quiet. So she slept through the night?"

"Like a baby."

"That's... very good."

Hermione wanted to say something—maybe comment on Narcissa's openness or her sudden peacefulness the night before, but the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming down the marble steps interrupted her train of thought. Andromeda heard them too, startled nearly to the point of flipping an egg out of the pan.

"That wouldn't be..."

Narcissa emerged through the kitchen doorway, wearing her slippers and a plush robe. Her golden hair was still adorably mussed on one side, and on her cheek were the imprinted lines of her pillow. She still had dark circles under her eyes, but they seemed lighter now, much like her demeanour itself as she stood timidly by the door, looking to her sister and Hermione with a sheepish expression.

"Good morning," she murmured, arms crossed as if she were trying to hold onto herself.

Andromeda gaped, eyes owlishly wide—it looked almost comical, and Hermione smiled widely.

"Good morning, Narcissa," she said, welcoming the blonde to sit. She could tell Narcissa did not want to make a big fuss, so she merely motioned to the teapot still steaming on the kitchen table. "You're just in time for breakfast."

Narcissa's lips stretched into a timid smile, and her gaze found Andromeda's, as if asking for permission. Andromeda, for her part, could only open and close her mouth repeatedly, unable to make a sound at the sight of her sister.

"Andy," Hermione finally interrupted when the eggs started smoking. "Breakfast?"

"Of course!" Andromeda yelped. "Cissy, take a seat! Would you like some tea? Or coffee? How about some eggs and sausage? Or toast? Butter, jam? Oh! We have that marmalade you used to like..."

Hermione took in Narcissa and Andromeda and could not help but smile behind her cup of tea.

The Manor now looked almost unrecognizable to Hermione's eyes. Nearly three months since her first visit—discounting the War, it was the longest time she had ever spent on a renovation project; and she felt particularly invested in this one.

After she and Andromeda had taken care of a few details—namely, Narcissa's potion stashes—she had brought in a Wizarding crew to clean the place up professionally. They worked everywhere except the second floor of the West Wing, circumventing the recuperating Narcissa as much as possible. Cobwebs were done away with, window panes replaced, wood flooring re-stained and polished, and bit by bit a grandiose, beautiful Manor began to resurface from all the grime and neglect of previous years.

Hermione was immensely proud of the end result. It was worthy of a place in a tourism board, what with the completely renovated gardens and reconstructed fountain at the front. A picture-perfect— if vastly extravagant— Edwardian estate as far as anyone was concerned.

Narcissa's improvement seemed to follow parallel to the house's; the brighter the manor became, the livelier she seemed to be, coming down more often for breakfast, strolling through the house, even going out to Diagon Alley with Andromeda on occasion. Not long after that first morning when she made her first appearance in the kitchens, she had taken to walking with Hermione along the many corridors, appreciating the changes made to the Malfoy ancestral home. They took long strolls in the manicured pathways of the now impeccably maintained English gardens, talking about books Muggle and magical alike, about Hogwarts, about whatever Andromeda had cooked that day.

They even managed, from time to time, to talk about the Manor itself, and Narcissa's living arrangements. Hermione would never truly admit it, but these days her job as a letting agent seemed to became... secondary.

She almost forgot that was the purpose of her being there in the first place. One day, Narcissa brought her hurtling back to reality with an oddly-phrased question.

"Are there many wealthy Muggles in Britain?"

They had been walking down one of the recently gravelled paths along the back gardens—there was a small hedge maze further along which had been their initial destination. Hermione was so taken aback by the question she nearly sprained her ankle on a loose pebble.

"Huh?"

Narcissa shrugged elegantly, holding the shawl draped around her shoulders tighter. "Would Muggles be able to afford the Manor?"

Hermione's mind ran a mile a minute, calculating, thinking of what would have to be done to make an epicentre of Pure-Blooded social standing Muggle-friendly. "You... you want to advertise the house to Muggles as well?"

The blonde looked pensive, fingers rubbing insistently at the soft material of her shawl. "Not exactly. Would... would it be at all possible to advertise only to Muggles?"

Hermione briefly wondered if she had been hit by an errant Befuddlement Jinx—she had been at the Ministry earlier today for some paperwork, and there had been a bit of a commotion at the elevators. Maybe someone had accidentally Confounded her, because Narcissa Malfoy wanted to sell her home to Muggles. Not just Muggle-Borns, or wizards of 'lower birth' than the Malfoys themselves. Muggles.

"You want... You want to sell Malfoy Manor to Muggles?" She couldn't contain the disbelief in her tone. Narcissa seemed to shrink in place, and Hermione was quick to take the two steps to the blonde and put her hands on her shoulders in a comforting hold. "Can I ask why?"

"I..." there was a shuddering breath, released form Narcissa's chest and lost to the cold air of November. "No Wizard in their right mind should want this house. Not after... Not after all that has happened here."

Hermione blanched. After all of their talks, they had never talked about... the specifics. About the war, about her own kidnapping, about the torture she had to endure in that very house. A thought struck her, hot and painful like a lightning bolt.

"The bricked room." Her voice was lost to the wind, but Narcissa heard it; she visibly flinched, her eyes brimmed with tears. "It's... it's where..."

Narcissa nodded weakly. "The parlour where Bellatrix tortured you. I had it bricked off the moment Lucius was sentenced."

Hermione felt her lungs constrict, devoid of air, gasping for a breath to calm her suddenly racing heartbeat. The possibility of what lie beyond the bricked wall—she had considered it, of course, but to hear Narcissa confirming it felt entirely different. Narcissa looked at her with worry and immeasurable sadness in her gaze, and Hermione felt the scar on her arm throb ever so slightly.

"Well," she breathed, feeling Narcissa tremble under her touch. Part of her wanted to ask more about the bricked room, the other part wanted to steamroll right past that painful conversation. She chose the latter. "I'm sure we could advertise to Muggles. To answer your question, yes, there are several wealthy Muggles in Britain and I'm sure we'll see a lot of interest, but we can also expand our reach, y'know, I think there are plenty of rich Americans who would love a house in the English countryside, and surely we could totally find someone who..."

The panicked, disjointed rambling was cut off when Narcissa suddenly wound her arms around Hermione's neck, knocking the wind out of her sails with the embrace. Hermione gasped, and then the very air she breathed was full of Narcissa, saturated with the soft scent of her perfume, and her space was filled with the other witch's warmth. Hermione felt the moisture of tears on her skin as Narcissa hid her face in the crook of her neck, and all she could do was reciprocate by wrapping her arms around the woman's waist.

Her heartbeat thundered so loudly in her ears she scarcely heard Narcissa's whisper.

"Thank you."