Chapter Text
Hermione is restless. Falling into an exhausted sleep she had fully expected to stay that way until the sun was high in the sky, finally able to rest now she is free from the immediate threat. By her estimation, she can only have slept a couple of hours before she is staring up at the material above their heads, strange shadows flickering in the light of the dying candle.
She’s not sure how long she has been here awake, lonely even if not alone. Has she really become so accustomed to sleeping next to the witch, that a night without her has her waking up, unconsciously reaching for her warmth? Movement on the other side of the small table has her turning her head as Narcissa sits upright, throwing her legs over the side of the sofa. Hermione watches curiously as the woman stands and makes her way across the space, waiting patiently for her to move over. Without a word spoken, Narcissa lays down next to her, burrowing in close and closing her eyes.
It doesn’t take long for Hermione to drift off again, glad for the comfort of the body pressed up against her. Had the woman been cold? Or had she just sought out the peaceful feeling that Hermione herself had been missing?
Now, as she wakes again in the early morning light, she doesn’t bother to question the reason why, infinitely grateful for the woman laying in her arms. There is no doubt that she slept better once she was no longer alone, but there is no room in her thoughts this morning to think on it further.
Narcissa mumbles, pulling her closer, and Hermione enjoys the feeling for a moment longer before reluctantly pulling away. “Narcissa?”
“Not yet,” the witch replies, only briefly opening her eyes and frowning when she realises it is still so early.
“We have things to do and we really need to talk. We need to make a plan,” Hermione insists, though she sounds unconvinced even to her own ears.
“It can wait. Go back to sleep.”
Hermione sighs frustratedly, but closes her eyes, adjusting her arms when the witch moves and places her head on her shoulder. Now she sighs for an entirely different reason; holding Narcissa like this should not feel so good. After what they have been through, it should not feel so safe, but it does. She closes her eyes, listening to the birds outside as they welcome a new day, and lets herself fall back to sleep.
When she wakes next, she feels Narcissa stiffen but the woman doesn’t move. “Hey,” she greets her, turning her head and meeting already open blue eyes. Narcissa’s eyes are clear and far too bright for the woman to have just woken up, but Hermione ignores it, smiling softly as the woman fakes a yawn.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Deciding to be honest in the hopes that it builds trust between them, she acknowledges her midnight visitor. “I did. Not at first, but after.”
“After?” Narcissa prompts, light pink spots appearing on her cheeks.
“After,” Hermione confirms with a nod. “After you joined me.”
“Oh. Well. I suppose the same could be said for me, as well.” Narcissa looks away, clearly uncomfortable in the light of day and doesn’t clarify why she had come over to Hermione’s sofa in the first place. Taking pity on her, Hermione changes the subject.
“We need to pack up and go and find food. Maybe a decent shower, too. I have spare clothes in my bag which you’re welcome to use. We’ll be amongst muggles so it’s better if you don’t stand out, anyway.”
“Thank you. Where are we?”
“Bodmin Moor. It’s the first place I could think of where I thought we’d be safe. There is a small village on the edge of the moor where we can book a room for a night at the bed and breakfast. They call it a hotel, but in reality it’s a handful of rooms over the local pub. It does do great food, though.”
“But what about money? These muggles will require currency that we don’t have.”
Hermione laughs, reaching into her bag and pulling out her purse. She removes a shiny plastic card and shows it to the other woman. “This is all we need.”
“I thought muggles used coins? Is plastic really more valuable than metal?” Narcissa muses, staring at the card as though it might bite her.
Hermione grins. “I can tell you’re about to experience a lot of firsts. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”
Narcissa flashes her teeth, her tone sounding anything but excited as she replies flatly. “Looking forward to it.”
“Come on, it will be fine,” she promises, well aware that Narcissa’s lack of muggle knowledge is currently the least of their problems. “First things first, though, I really need to pee.”
“Oh. And… just where might we do that?”
“The bathroom at the back. You’ll have to vanish the contents afterwards though,” Hermione instructs, wrinkling her nose. “You get used to it.”
Narcissa just hums dubiously, withdrawing her arms and legs from around Hermione’s person and getting up to let her out. When Hermione is done in the bathroom, she waits patiently for Narcissa to join her, sitting on the sofa and experimenting with her new wand.
She’s heard tales of stolen wands that won’t do another’s bidding. Wands that stubbornly remain loyal to their original owner, but this one practically sings in her hand. It’s warm against her palm and fingers, a tingle running through her body every time she grasps hold of it. In a way that should be impossible, this wand feels more at home in her hand than the wand that had chosen her at Ollivander’s.
She stands up when Narcissa returns and between them, they take down the tent. Hermione shoves it into her bag, happy to be wearing it on the outside and not just in her pocket now. She grins when she takes in the outfit that Narcissa has chosen; the jeans she is wearing make her legs look longer than when hidden under robes and the zip up hoodie clings to curves that had previously gone unnoticed. Narcissa smiles bashfully, pulling at the fabric awkwardly.
“You look good,” Hermione reassures her. “Now, we can’t really risk Disapparating in broad daylight, so we’re gonna have to walk. It’s about a mile, just over that ridge.”
“Lead the way.”
“Hang on,” Hermione stops her from walking. “We don’t want to raise any questions while we’re here. If we turn up asking for a room without any luggage it might look strange.” She digs deep into her bag, pulling out an overstuffed rucksack full of Harry’s clothes, which she heaves onto her back with a grunt.
They walk in companionable silence. Both of them are deep in thought and Hermione knows they need to talk, but she needs food and coffee first. Trying to organise her thoughts, she ends up with more questions than she started with, but it seems as though Narcissa may have just as many, if her troubled face is anything to go by.
It doesn’t take long to reach the road that runs through the small village of Minions and Hermione smiles when she sees the familiar post office, village store and the pub attached to the bed and breakfast. They walk through the doors and although it is still early, there are people sitting at the bar eating the kind of breakfast that would normally turn Hermione’s stomach, but it growls in recognition.
Smiling sheepishly, Hermione walks up to the bar, a woman with dark curls greeting her with a smile. “What can I do for you, ladies?”
“A room, please. Just for one night and we’d like to have breakfast in a moment.”
The woman smiles wider. “That we can certainly do. I’m Marcia. Welcome to The Cheesewring Hotel.”
“Hi, Marcia. I’m Hazel and this is my friend Amber,” Hermione improvises on the spot, just in case anyone traces them here. Her debit card only says Miss H Granger, so hopefully that won’t cause any issues. “Is the room ready? We’d like to drop off our things before we eat.”
“Of course. Get yourselves settled in and we can sort payment when you come down.” The landlady reaches below the bar, pulling out a heavy key attached to a wooden tag with the number four on it. “Walk around the bar and through the door at the end. Head up the stairs and yours is the last door on the right. We’re only a small place, here, but you’ll be away from our only other guest. It’s nice and private.” The woman winks at her, smirking.
“Thanks.” Hermione takes the key, her cheeks glowing as she turns and strides down the bar leaving Narcissa to trot after her.
“Hermione? Are you ok?” Narcissa whispers, when she catches up.
“Fine.”
“Really? Because it looks like you’re embarrassed that she thought we were together,” Narcissa points out dryly, a small smile playing on her lips.
Hermione scowls. “She shouldn’t make assumptions.”
To her surprise, Narcissa laughs as they walk up the stairs. “We booked into a double room, together, carrying only one bag between us. What was she meant to think?”
Well, when it’s put like that, Hermione feels silly, and honestly it’s not that she minds that the woman assumed she was with Narcissa; she is extraordinarily beautiful. People have made a habit of judging Hermione her whole life though, and it gets a little tiring. Maybe not for this, but for other things, like her love of literature or the fact she enjoys studying. Even the simple knowledge that she is a witch that does not enjoy flying. Shaking off her ire, she lets them into the room, pleasantly surprised at its size and the modern interior.
“I feel disgusting.” Hermione brings her hands to her hair, fingers attempting to detangle knotted curls with little success. The quick cleaning spells they had applied before leaving the moor had done little to smooth out her bushy mane.
“Well, let’s bathe,” Narcissa agrees, peering into the bathroom. “Hermione, there’s no bath in here. Are we in the right room?”
She walks over and joins the older witch, delighted with the facilities they have on offer. The shower is big enough for two, not that she lets herself think too much about that, with multiple heads coming out of the wall and ceiling. “This is perfect,” she says with a sigh, already looking forward to indulging in her first shower in many months. In the cell she only had access to a cloth, a sink and cold water in the small bathroom at the back. There hadn’t even been any soap. She’d had all of those things in her bag, but couldn’t risk using them in case they had noticed.
“Hermione?”
“It’s a shower, Narcissa. You stand under the water and it comes out hot.” She steps further into the room, resting her small bag on the counter top so she can delve inside. Hermione pulls out various bottles and places them in the cubicle, putting new toothbrushes still in their packets and toothpaste next to the sink. “Come here,” she instructs, turning back to the shower cubicle.
The older witch’s eyes dart all around the room, with an expression of wonder not dissimilar to that which a child might wear.
“You turn this dial to turn it on, and then this one controls the temperature,” Hermione points out, ignoring the fancier wall-mounted jets in case they just confuse things. “Shampoo and shower gel are in these bottles, and there is a towel for each of us on the rail. You’re welcome to go first.”
“Thank you,” Narcissa replies, reaching for the hem of her borrowed hoodie. Hermione lets out a squeak and turns her back, almost running from the room. It’s sometimes easy to see just how different their lives have been up until now. Narcissa has been raised in a pureblood family where house elves help her bathe and get ready. She thinks nothing of stripping off while Hermione is in the room, because she is used to people seeing her this way. Hermione has been raised in a completely opposite environment, and the thought of Narcissa removing her clothes while she is in there brings sudden heat to her cheeks, as she tries not to imagine what the woman might look like underneath.
She sits on the bed to organise her bags a little better. She puts a few items of clothing that they won’t need in the rucksack, which she can leave in the room. It will look suspicious if they don’t have any luggage in the room, but she can’t risk leaving anything of value in case they have to flee. Everything else goes into her beaded bag, with the exception of another outfit for each of them. The clothes from this morning’s quick change have not been worn for long but she wrinkles her nose at the idea of putting them back on after her shower.
Narcissa takes much longer in the bathroom than Hermione had anticipated, and comes out wrapped in a towel, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “There is something to be said for muggle magic.”
“Technology,” Hermione corrects with a small laugh, keeping her eyes averted. “Yeah, muggles have a lot of advantages to the wizarding world.”
“Perhaps… perhaps you would teach me? I don’t want to remain ignorant on the subject, but I’ve not really spent any time with muggles to understand these things.”
“Of course,” Hermione replies, picking up the outfit she selected for herself and heading into the shower.
Half an hour later and she has reluctantly ended her shower, her skin pink and scrubbed almost raw. She dresses herself quickly and rejoins Narcissa who is wearing the Nirvana t-shirt and jeans she left out, to Hermione’s amusement. It occurs to her that they need to go shopping so that Narcissa can choose her own clothes, but seeing her wear items that Hermione has felt against her own skin is thrilling in a way she doesn’t want to acknowledge. Transfiguration is an option, but Hermione didn’t bring many clothes to begin with, so even if they are transfigured to fit, they will still need more. She admits there is something appealing about taking Narcissa to a shop and watching her reaction to muggle fashions. Hermione picks up her bag and slings it across her shoulder, heading to the door. “Shall we?”
The landlady greets them like old friends, accepting Hermione’s debit card and handing them a menu each. They settle into a sunny area of the bar, sitting opposite each other in one of the booths. It’s been repainted since the last time she was here, but the booth they are sitting in is still the original and she can almost picture her father sitting opposite, with her mother’s lightly scented perfume, mixed with wood polish in her nose.
“I assume you know this place?” Narcissa asks, when Hermione becomes lost in her memories.
“Yes. My parents used to bring me here when I was a child.”
“Do you miss them? It can’t have been easy to leave them at home in the middle of a war?”
Hermione wraps her arms around her stomach, hugging herself and swallowing the lump in her throat. “I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to talk about any of this yet. Please, Narcissa, can we just take a breath? I just want coffee and food right now. I’m so tired, and I’m even more exhausted at the thought of everything that is about to happen.”
The older witch nods, her eyes gleaming with sympathy and compassion. “Of course. What would you rather talk about?”
Hermione unwraps her arms, and leans on the table resting her chin in her hand, exhaling loudly. “I don’t know.”
“Then we can eat in silence, until you are ready,” Narcissa replies gently, picking up the menu and ignoring her. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable though, and as much as Hermione knows they need to talk, she needs this moment of quiet more.
*****
Hermione is amazed by how much better she feels with caffeine buzzing through her veins. Her leg bounces under the table, and she taps the side of her coffee mug absentmindedly. She carefully pulls her wand from her bag and casts a Muffliato spell. “Ok, I think I’m ready.”
“I don’t know where to start,” Narcissa admits, pushing her plate to one side and leaning her elbows on the table.
“You can start by answering my questions,” Hermione orders tiredly, brushing her hair behind her ear, eyes locked on Narcissa’s face. “I don’t know where to start, but I do know you need to give me these answers. Why were you in that cell? Why were you willing to leave your son? Why did Bellatrix heal me? What do you want from me? Why did you obliviate yourself, when giving up knowledge about me might well have led to your release?”
Narcissa stalls for time, a technique Hermione recognises straight away as the woman picks up her mug of coffee and sips from it slowly. She closes her eyes, humming quietly.
“Well?” Hermione prompts, her impatience getting the better of her, despite her earlier request for a reprieve.
“I can’t tell you any of that-”
“What the hell?!”
“Wait!” Narcissa replies sharply, before continuing in a softer tone. “I can’t tell you any of that without discussing something else with you first, but I’m afraid. I don’t know how to broach the subject or how you will react to the news.”
“What is it?”
“The bond,” Narcissa states quietly, not meeting her eyes. “We are bonded, Hermione. Our magic is two halves of the same whole, but infinitely more powerful than the sum of its parts, when joined together. You are my magical counterpart, if you will.”
Hermione gasps. Narcissa knew? This whole time, Narcissa knew that they were magical mates? If she’d just explained, then Hermione would have understood and there would have been no need for all this subterfuge and confusion. If Narcissa had admitted what she knew, then they could have worked together to get out of Malfoy Manor sooner. She could have openly worked on her wandless magic using their connection and they wouldn’t had to have endured so much torture.
She sits back against the seat, arms crossed in front of her chest, as her heart starts thudding in her chest. Her fingers tingle with the sudden onslaught of magic that rises within her, hand in hand with her anger.
“Start talking.”