Narcissa lay on the bed Hermione had – admittedly rather skillfully – transfigured for her, staring into the darkness. She was unbelievably tired after six days of being awake but couldn't find it in herself to close her eyes. Too much was going on in her mind; this was not the time for sleep, no matter how much she might want to do just that.
She felt guilty for not telling Draco the truth about his little 'sister'. But with the Muggleborn in forced hearing distance, there hadn't been a way to let him know. In a way, it really didn't make a difference though. Delphi's parents had passed away and even when they were alive, she had been the one to care for her, the only mother she knew. They were family now. Still, Draco needed to know.
Then there was the matter of the mark on her neck, the damned rune. Yet another thing that physically bound her to the Granger girl. Absent-mindedly, her fingers ghosted over the contours of the scarring on her right forearm.
She'd fallen unconscious from the pain of receiving the rune only to wake up strapped to a broom, high in the air, a short while later. She'd been so relieved to get away from that place that she didn't even care where she was taken to. It was only upon their arrival at the ruins of Hogwarts that she was informed of her immediate future.
Azkaban. The cries and moans from the other prisoners, the cold and howling wind, and the faceless dementors were branded forever into her mind and her memory. During those six days, she'd neither slept nor eaten. She'd merely sat there, in her cell, staring at the wall and waiting. Waiting for someone to come, waiting for her death... she honestly didn't know what or whom she'd been waiting for. The days had seemed endless and the nights even longer. The dementors…
"No, please don't!"
Narcissa first thought she was merely hearing things because of the dark direction of her thoughts.
However, when the voice sounded for a second time, she knew that it wasn't only inside of her head. No. Hermione Granger was obviously having a nightmare.
"No, please don't. Help me. Please. Don't let her hurt me."
She cringed, knowing exactly what the girl was dreaming about. She'd uttered those exact words in between two rounds of the Cruciatus, her eyes boring into Narcissa. It had cost her all the willpower she had to not jump in right then and there. But she'd had her son to think of. And she could never sacrifice him, endanger him. Not even for the child of another mother.
Narcissa sat up on her bed, trying to make out the girl in the bed next to her own. Thankfully, the full moon was shining through the only halfway closed blinds, allowing her to see.
The brunette was tossing and turning, entangled in her blanket and her curls wildly flying in every direction, tickling her face.
"Please," the girl whimpered. "Please make her stop."
And that was the moment when something broke inside of the Pureblood. She couldn't just sit there and watch. Not this time around. Not when she could help without having to fear for Draco. She got to her feet and tiptoed the few steps over to Hermione's bed, sitting down on the mattress next to her and gently stroking her cheek. "Hush, little baby, don't you cry, mama sings you a lullaby…" she half-whispered, half-sang. The old nursery song had always managed to calm both Draco and Delphi and she hoped it would do the same for the young woman. And after a while, the words and the rhythm seemed to reach Hermione's unconscious, for the tossing and turning stopped and she was no longer begging for help. Narcissa sat there for a little while longer – just watching her sleep peacefully and running her fingers through the thick curls – before she returned to her own bed. She was glad she'd been able to help and even more grateful that the girl hadn't woken up. The girl hated her and she had every right to.
"Is it really necessary that I wear this strange Muggle attire?" Narcissa asked as she was looking down at her 'new' clothes, her nose scrunched up in something akin to disgust. The girl had given her a pile of clothes and told her to change for their journey. She reckoned that they belonged to Hermione's mother, seeing as the girl herself was taller than her. Mrs. Granger and herself obviously shared the same height, yet her clothes were too tight in most places – her breasts visibly strained against the rough fabric of the yellow shirt – and definitively not anything she'd ever consider wearing.
The brunette witch merely rolled her eyes. Hermione was rather amused by the Pureblood's fidgeting and incessant pulling on the hem of the t-shirt. But, if she was entirely honest to herself, she also enjoyed the display for another reason altogether. Because while yellow clearly wasn't the blonde's color, the way the simple shirt and jeans made her appear younger and kind of 'softer' was a sight to behold.
"We are not traveling to a Wizarding Community but to a small Muggle town," Hermione once more explained. "You cannot wear any of your wizarding robes and dresses without garnering unwanted attention."
She raised a single eyebrow as the blonde bit her lower lip, clearly wanting to say something but unsure if she should proceed. "Yes?"
"Would you at least consider transforming the color of this shirt into something less…?"
"…Yellow?" Hermione finished the question, a grin stealing onto her face as something came to her mind. "All right. I suppose I could do that for you."
And with a 'swish' of her wand, Hermione changed the color of the shirt.
"Really, Ms. Granger?" Narcissa incredulously stared at the offending object, wishing she had her wand. If only the aurors hadn't taken it. She was rather skilled at performing wandless magic but one should never try to transform or transfigure something without the aid of a wand; the results could be rather... surprising, often times even unpleasant. "Pink?"
"You did not clarify which color to change it to," Hermione replied innocently, playfully batting her eyelashes. Then she remembered whom exactly she was jesting with and her face immediately darkened. "Well. If your ladyship is ready, I would like to leave. The portkey's set to leave any minute now."
"Of course," Narcissa said, having a hard time at concealing the disappointment and defeat she was feeling at Ms. Granger's change of demeanor. It had been rather nice, the banter... With a last glance at her attire – at least she was allowed to wear her own shoes, a tasteful pair of white stilettos – she joined the girl, holding onto the other end of the silver necklace.
The first thing Narcissa registered upon their arrival in Australia was the sweltering heat. All around them, the air was flimmering from the high temperatures and a little further off, she could see the outlines of houses. Hopefully, that was the place they were headed to. She doubted that the girl had managed to obtain an apparating permit. It was difficult to get one; she knew because she'd dealt with the bureaucracy more often than she wished for in her life on Lucius' side.
"So," Narcissa began, following after the young witch once she'd set into motion, the two of them heading towards the settlement in the distance. "You said this was only 'sort of' a visit to your parents – what exactly is it you have to 'tend to'?"
When Hermione didn't deem to grant her an answer, Narcissa sighed. "Ms. Granger. I understand that you may not wish to discuss a private matter with me... But I will have to come with you anyways and I'd rather not stumble through the darkness."
The girl grunted in frustration – maybe, no, probably annoyance as well – but stopped walking, turning around to face the blonde. She studied the older witch for a moment until she finally seemed to have come to a decision.
"I wish to take my parents back home, back to London, now that the war is over."
"I understand. They had to flee the country because–"
"Would you let me finish?"
Narcissa shut her mouth, slightly blushing. "Of course. I apologize."
"I uhm… they never would've left if they'd known about the war, the upcoming battle, or my plan to help Harry destroy the horcruxes. They never would've left..." Hermione's voice grew weaker and quieter with every word that she spoke and Narcissa could clearly see the guilt in her brown eyes. What had she done that it troubled her so?
"I…" the young witch continued, her voice shaky, barely able to speak out the words she had to. "I had to do it. There was no other way… I obliviated them… took away their memories. They don't know that they have a daughter... they don't know anything about their old lives... I had to.." she broke off, visibly distraught now.
"You did the right thing," Narcissa hesitantly stepped closer, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder. She was pleasantly surprised when it wasn't immediately shrugged off. "I know this won't be any consolation to you... but..." She trailed off but seeing the hopeful look in warm brown eyes, Narcissa revealed the painful truth. The girl needed to know that it had been the right, the only thing to do. "The Dark Lord… I overheard him one night, talking to some of his most loyal followers. McNair, Findabair, Mulciber, the Lestrange brothers… some others whose voices I couldn't put to a face.. The Dark Lord was furious with them. He'd send them out to capture 'the Mudblood's parents' and they'd come back empty handed. – Your parents would most likely be dead or worse if you hadn't taken them away."
Hermione nodded absent-mindedly at the witch's words. They – as well as surprisingly the warm hand atop her shoulder – made her feel a little better even though some of the guilt remained. Yet, at the same time, it also reminded her of the other woman's past. Of the evil she'd housed under her own roof. Of the many times she'd looked away. Of the night she herself had been prisoner at the Manor.
Suddenly, the comforting hand seemed to be anything but. Hastily, she shrugged it off and continued walking towards her destination, knowing that the Pureblood would follow. After all, she didn't really have a choice in the matter.
Fifteen minutes of walking later – the older witch's cursing accompanying her all the way (she obviously had a hard time maneuvering the uneven terrain with her heels) – they reached the outskirts of the town she'd made her parents go to.
She came to a stop next to the town's welcome sign, her eyes finding those of her companion. "Thank you. For earlier."
AN: Well, here I am, updating again. Am I spoiling you too much?
Naomi-chan203 I gotta say - I really love your reviews. And I am already looking forward to the next one. Your way of reviewing actually seems rather genius to me; I, for one, often forget about some things until I am at the end of a longer chapter. So just go ahead with your technique :) Uuuh, and thanks for the metaphorical pat on the back. I am rather proud of my rune idea.
ReigningQueenOfCrime Glad my story makes you think. It'd be too easy and boring to just hand around the answers. And yes, the rune really is a cruel way to thank Narcissa..
EagleHawk Aww. Thanks. Nothing wrong with short reviews in my book. I'm happy about the brief ones, too.
SH4D0W44 Well, wouldn't you like to know? Don't worry. The girls will soon start experimenting with the rune. Hermione is curious and a sucker for new knowledge after all.