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Chapter Text

Hermione listens carefully for footsteps on the stairs, but Malfoy Manor is in silence once more, with the exception of the occasional mournful creak as the building settles above her. Happy that no one is about to disturb her, she reaches into her pocket and removes her beaded bag, a rush of gratitude sweeping over her that she’d had the forethought to use a shrinking charm on it and put it in her jeans pocket before her capture. She’ll never be able to explain why she’d done it. Instinct? Sixth sense? A growing sense of paranoia about their impending doom?

Of course, along with the gratitude there is also guilt. Harry and Ron, assuming they are still alive, are wandering around the countryside without a tent or any of their clothes and not for the first time, she wonders how they are managing. It’s been months since they were spirited off to safety by the elf and she was left behind, but she knows it’s impossible for them to rescue her now. She had seen the dagger plunge into Dobby’s chest and his wide, fearful eyes as they Disapparated away.

Shaking the morbid thoughts from her head, she rummages around in the bag until her hand makes contact with a box of matches and a candle, which she lights and sets on the floor next to her. In the soft glow she can see more clearly and searches through the huge pile of books in her bag until she finds the one she is looking for; The Theory of Wandless Magic Made Easy. She scoffs to herself. Easy?! She’s the brightest witch of her age and has been studying for weeks, yet she still can’t even perform a simple Wingardium Leviosa.

She opens the book and begins to read for what feels like the hundredth time, hoping that she has missed something that will suddenly help it all make sense. It should be easy, but if it was then everyone would be doing it. Still, wands are a European invention and many other countries don’t use them at all, so she knows it must be possible.

Harry Potter himself had blown up his aunt without a wand, completely by accident, but still. Even an underage wizard could do it. When Ron was trying out for the Quidditch team she had managed to confund McLaggen without using her wand, although it was on her person, so maybe that made a difference?

She reads through the final pages of the book and then shoves it off her lap in frustration, wincing as the cover is scuffed on the stone floor. She picks it up resignedly and puts it back in the bag, snuffing out the candle and storing that away too. She has only a few precious candles left and there is no point in wasting them.

She sits back against the wall, staring at her empty food tray by the cellar door. “Wingardium Leviosa,” she whispers quietly. She mastered non-verbal spells a year ago, but she’s not arrogant enough to think that she can do this non-verbally. Not now, at least, but maybe later on.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” she repeats, pointing her finger at her tray to direct her magic. Still there is nothing. Not one to give up easily, she keeps going until her arm is aching and her back is sore. Reluctant as she is to stop, she knows she is too tired now and just wasting her energy. She settles down on the cold floor with her arm underneath her head, and drifts off to sleep.

*****

She’s woken early the next day by a death eater she doesn’t know. He drags her up the stairs by her hair, intent on causing pain even though she would have walked willingly. She may have lost almost everything else, but she refuses to let them take her pride and prefers to meet her fate with her head held high.

He throws her to the floor in front of Bellatrix, who laughs cruelly. “Well, Pet. Are you ready to play?”

“Not really my idea of fun,” Hermione replies dryly. “How about a game of chess instead?”

Bellatrix almost looks amused for a moment, and Hermione gets the impression that she’s rather impressed with her response, but the look fades the moment she raises her wand.

“Now, are you going to tell me what I need to know?” Bellatrix asks rhetorically. She knows by now that Hermione will not answer. “I do hope not, Pet. You wouldn’t spoil my fun now, would you?” Bellatrix pouts and Hermione stiffens for what she knows is coming next.

“Crucio!”

She grits her teeth as pain courses through her body, a feeling not dissimilar to being electrocuted but far more painful. Her hands curl into claws as her muscles contract and her body turns to stone, all hard edges and glass that threaten to fracture. It lasts and it lasts until she hears the tell tale sounds of Bellatrix panting above her. The woman lowers her wand and stares down at Hermione, and there is that look again. The one that Hermione has seen more and more recently; Bellatrix is equal parts fascinated and impressed by the mudblood she is torturing.

It’s easy to understand why. Bellatrix’s skills in torture are well known and wisely feared throughout the wizarding world. She put Alice and Frank Longbottom in St Mungos after just one night in her care, their brains forever and irreversibly addled by her magic. Hermione has survived this for months now, and she can see the confusion growing in Bellatrix’s eyes whenever she is brought upstairs for questioning.

“Out of the way, Bella.” 

Hermione tries not to flinch as Voldemort sweeps into the room, his robes billowing out behind him. “I will take care of this myself.”

Hermione knows better than to try and get up. She closes her eyes and waits for the pain to start again, but it never comes.

“You’re a smart girl, Ms Granger. If you tell us what we want to know, this will all end,” Voldemort promises, his voice quiet but all the more threatening for it. She knows what he isn’t saying though. This will end with her death, not her release from captivity. She opens her eyes, and meets his gaze bravely as he addresses her again. “We will break you in the end, regardless of your valiant efforts. Now, I will ask this only once. Where is the boy?”

“I have nothing to tell you,” Hermione says tiredly, her response unwavering from every other time she has been asked this question.

“We shall see,” Voldemort replies, raising his wand. “Crucio!”

She’s not quick enough, and doesn’t grit her teeth in time. Instead, they slam shut and the taste of copper spreads quickly through her mouth from her bitten tongue. She feels her vision start to fade as the breath is pushed from her lungs but she holds on, forcing herself to concentrate on anything but the pain. She pictures Harry and Ron, wondering where they are and if they are further along in their mission. If she is still being questioned, then at least she knows they haven’t been captured. She thinks of Crookshanks and his purr, the sound so soothing that she still struggles to sleep without it. She thinks of her parents and hopes with what could be her last breath that they are safe and happy.

The pain recedes and she sucks in oxygen as fast as she can, her fingers still twitching and her body slick with sweat.

“Legilimens!”

With no time to recover there is little that she can do to stop Voldemort pushing against the defences in her mind, but he snarls frustratedly after only a moment and storms from the room. How she keeps him out, she doesn’t know. It appears to baffle him as much as it baffles her. Yes, she’s read the theory of occlumency, but she’s never put it into practice. Yet not even Voldemort himself can penetrate her thoughts.

Bellatrix sighs. “He won’t stop, mudblood. Why don’t you make this easy on yourself and tell him what he needs to know.”

“I will never give in,” Hermione says fiercely, staring unflinchingly into black eyes.

The dark witch nods slowly and her voice is flat when she replies. “I know.”

Hermione watches the woman’s face when her mask slips just a little and she wonders why the woman seems sad, considering she always seems to take absolute delight in torturing her. Bellatrix is a riddle and Hermione is determined to find the answer. 

*****

The next morning Hermione is woken not by Draco bringing her a food tray, but by the cellar door opening and the sound of someone being thrown to the floor.

“Oi, Muddy. Clean her up.”

Hermione looks at Bellatrix in surprise, and then at the body unmoving on the floor. “Is that… is that Madam Malfoy?”

“She might be a blood traitor, but she’s still my sister. Do your best for her, Mud Pup.”

A lantern materialises in the cellar, and Hermione sees a small mattress, blanket, a bowl and cloths appear next to it. How Bellatrix has conjured this out of thin air, she doesn’t know. At Hogwarts they were only taught how to summon things, or transfigure them from other items. Hesitantly, she stands and walks closer to the dangerous witch. “I’ll take care of her,” Hermione says softly, though she’s not sure why she feels compelled to reassure the older woman.

Bellatrix stares at her for a moment, her expression guarded and unreadable, before turning on her heel and walking up the stairs without a backwards glance.

The body on the floor groans, and Hermione drops to her knees, reaching out and shaking her shoulder. “Madam Malfoy?”

The woman eases herself over onto her back, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t ever wish to be called that again.”

Hermione doesn’t question why and doesn’t ask for clarification on what to call her. “Can you move? Just a few feet so you are on the mattress?”

“Hurts,” the woman whispers, startling blue eyes meeting Hermione’s.

“I’ll help you.”

It’s not easy, but between them they manage to shuffle the woman to the mattress, which Hermione has moved against the wall, out of the draft that comes down the stairs into the cellar. When the older witch is settled, Hermione dips a cloth in the bowl of warm water, sniffing it curiously. It’s not a blend she is familiar with, but it seems to contain several healing herbs that she recognises, and she gets to work cleaning the blood from the other witch’s face. She uses gentle movements, wincing when she sees how much bruising is revealed under the blood. 

“Are you injured anywhere else?”

Eyes open slowly and look up at her. “Just bruises. Nothing broken, I don’t think.”

“Who did this to you, Madam… I mean. Sorry. Who did this to you?”

“You may call me Narcissa. As for who did this to me, I’m sure you can hazard a guess.”

“Voldemort?” Hermione guesses.

“Yes, amongst others.”

“But… why?” 

Blue eyes close and Narcissa turns her head towards the wall. “If we live through this war, then I will tell you. Please don’t ask me again.”

“Ok,” Hermione agrees, though her mind is racing. Bellatrix had called her a blood traitor when she deposited her sister on the cellar floor. Why would she call her that? What did Narcissa do to deserve such a brutal punishment? Silencing the questions, she leans forwards and pulls the blanket up over the woman, tucking it in gently. She settles on the floor with her back against the wall, keeping watch over the woman as her breathing evens out and Narcissa slips exhaustedly into sleep.

This new situation is making her uneasy as she wonders why the woman is in here. Is it all a trick? The cuts and bruises on her face are real, but they could have been done with the intention of fooling Hermione. Did they want her to bond with the witch and let her guard down, revealing the information they have been trying so desperately to get from her? 

She won’t be careless. If they think she will walk into their trap a willing victim, then they have another thing coming. However, it won’t hurt to make the witch think that she is succeeding. If nothing else, Narcissa might have news of the outside world to share.

She glances over at the woman one last time, but there is no mistaking that she is asleep. Fixing her gaze on the lantern she points her finger towards it and whispers.

“Wingardium Leviosa.”

Nothing happens to the lantern, but Narcissa stirs slightly. Hermione reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder, gently soothing her while she sleeps. Leaving her hand in place, she points again at the lantern. 

“Wingardium Leviosa.”

She nearly shrieks when the lantern floats effortlessly into mid air, hanging there silently until she lowers it back to the ground. She stares at it in wonder and then at her other hand still resting on Narcissa’s shoulder.

“Merlin’s beard,” she whispers, as her brain makes an undeniable connection. She’s heard of this before in books about ancient magics; a bond that is formed with your magical mate, boosting each other’s powers exponentially. It’s a rare and coveted thing, but the implications of this are overwhelming. If Narcissa is the key to being able to use wandless magic, then there might not be a way out of this room unless she trusts the woman. Magical mate or otherwise, the woman is married to a prominent death eater and trust does not come easily to Hermione.

All she can do is wait for Narcissa to wake up and try to get to know her. If only the woman would tell her why she is locked up in here. Why is she hiding it? There is something fishy about the whole thing and Hermione can’t afford to make a mistake. She will have to stall her Gryffindor instincts and not rush in head first. Instead, she will employ a little Ravenclaw wisdom, and hold back until she can fully analyse the situation and make sense of it all. The sorting hat nearly placed her in that house, afterall.

For now, she may as well sleep. Her early wake up call catches up with her and she yawns quietly in the gloom. She moves to lay on her side and settles herself to sleep, wondering at the tingling feeling in her fingers now she has broken contact with Narcissa. She resists the urge to reach out and touch her, but it’s difficult; her magic furious at her for denying its need to connect with the other witch. It takes a long time to go to sleep, but when she drifts off, blue eyes are the last thing she thinks of.

Chapter Text

Hermione wakes on high alert. After months in captivity, she sleeps through nothing; the slightest noise drawing her from her slumber, heart racing and body primed for action. She sits up and looks around, but there is no one by the cellar door and although there is a pale gleam of light, she knows it’s too early for her meal of the day; her stomach is empty, but not yet painful. Whether it is breakfast or dinner, she never really knows. There is not much to indicate the passing of time down here. 

The only light source is a small sliver from the stairs leading up into the large room above. Hermione has never quite been sure if the light is natural, from the lanterns around the room, or both. Whenever she is brought upstairs, the thick heavy drapes have always been drawn and there is never any light peeking through.

A noise behind her has her spinning around, hand automatically reaching for the wand that was taken from her long ago. Narcissa. How could she have forgotten? The woman opens her eyes and Hermione can see the slightly glazed look of pain, as she struggles to change her position.

“Do you need help?” Hermione asks, brow furrowing as she takes in the woman’s grimace every time she tries to ease herself into a sitting position.

“Yes,” the woman replies, voice raspy, before adding as an afterthought, “please.” She looks embarrassed, and her eyes dart around the room, fixing on anything but Hermione.

Hermione nods, guessing what the problem is. The mattress is against the wall near the cellar door, but the small toilet is all the way in the back corner. It’s one of the main reasons Hermione sleeps at the back of the room. Once she is there, it is easier to walk, or sometimes crawl to the small room that doesn’t have a door. Even that is difficult after a particularly rough session with Voldemort or Bellatrix.

She gets to her feet and takes a couple of steps until she is leaning over Narcissa. “If I help you up, can you walk?”

“I… I think so,” the witch replies, shifting so her elbow is underneath her and then attempting to lift her body up.

“Stop. Let me,” Hermione hastens to instruct, scooping an arm under the woman’s shoulder and helping her so that she can sit with her back to the wall. “Narcissa, are you sure nothing is broken? What hurts?”

Baleful eyes turn to her as she replies. “Everything, but my ribs, mostly.”

The Cruciatus Curse inflicts pain for days, Hermione knows, but she has a feeling that something else is going on. The woman is tight lipped and she suspects she won’t get any more answers even if she pries, so she drops it. For now.

“Ok, I’m going to try and lift you now,” Hermione warns, reaching down and wrapping her arms around the woman’s torso, under her shoulders. “Here we go.”

The woman is far lighter than she expected and she manages to get Narcissa to her feet with relative ease, but she sways where she is standing and looks like she will topple over any moment. With a small sigh, Hermione steps into her space, and supports her as they walk across the room together. There is an awkward moment when they both realise Narcissa needs help on to the toilet, but Hermione is nothing but practical and takes charge, leaving little time for either of them to be self-conscious. She turns her back until the woman is done, and then helps her again to stand up, redressing her with her eyes averted.

They barely make it back, the older witch grunting with the pain that every step causes her, until she slumps tiredly down onto the mattress and leans back against the wall. For reasons she is unsure of, Hermione finds herself feeling sorry for the woman and wanting to help her in any way that she can. She can certainly make the woman feel a little better, but it uses some of her precious resources and she has an internal fight with herself as to whether she should hang on to them.

In the dim light, she can see the tell tale welling in the witch’s eyes and the tremendous effort she is making to hold back tears, and just like that, her decision is made. She turns her back and takes a few steps away from the woman so she can withdraw her beaded bag without being seen. She opens the top and shoves in her hand, feeling her way through piles of books, clothes and supplies, methodically searching until she finds what she is looking for; a small plastic packet of pills. Triumphantly, she puts the bag back in her pocket and turns back to face the witch who is staring at her curiously.

“I have something for you. It’s muggle medicine, but it’s safe, I promise, and it will help with the pain.”

Narcissa eyes her suspiciously. “Where did you get that?”

“My pocket.” 

It’s not technically a lie and Narcissa seems satisfied with her answer when she sees the strip of medication laying flat in her hand. “What is it?”

“Paracetamol. It blocks the pain signals from the injury to your brain. It doesn’t actually heal you, just gives you a few hours of relief.”

“Ingenious, but also pointless, don’t you think?” 

Hermione huffs at the witch’s ingratitude, bristling. “Well, you don’t have to have any. Suit yourself.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just not sure why muggles think it is more effective to block the pain rather than heal the injury causing the discomfort.”

If ever Hermione needed a reminder of why this war started, here it is, staring back at her. Of course purebloods think they are superior to muggles when faced with a situation like this. If you don’t understand what a life without magic really means, then this approach to healing makes no sense whatsoever. Muggles look particularly stupid, Hermione realises, taking a deep breath and calming herself.

“Muggle healing takes time. Without magic, there are few immediate fixes. All we can do is wait for the human body to heal itself. In the meantime, these will help.”

“Ok.”

Hermione doesn’t bother to hide her surprise at the acceptance of her explanation, walking over to retrieve the jug of water near the entrance. She comes back and passes it to Narcissa, and then counts the pills. “There are only seven in the packet and you can take up to two at a time. I think we should start you on two, and then see if one is enough, later on.”

She pops two out and then drops them into the pale hand in front of her, trying not to laugh when the woman just stares blankly at them.

“Do I suck them or chew?”

Hermione laughs gently. “Neither. You have to swallow them with water.”

“How crude. Do muggles not use potions?”

“They do,” Hermione confirms with a small grin. “But it’s mainly for children. Um… once we grow up we learn to do things this way. Put it on your tongue and then take a drink of water to help you swallow it down.”

Not even attempting to hide her disgust, Narcissa does as instructed and swallows the first one with a grimace on her face. “Merlin’s beard, that’s barbaric. They taste foul.”

“That’s why we don’t recommend sucking them,” Hermione deadpans, sitting down on the stone floor next to the mattress. “Take the second one.”

The older witch does as she is told, and hands back the jug before moving her arms experimentally. “It’s not working, Ms Granger. I don’t think much of your muggle medicines.”

Rolling her eyes in the darkness, Hermione shakes her head. “It will take about half an hour, 45 minutes at most.”

“Really? How inconvenient.”

“You know, you could be a little more grateful,” Hermione snaps. “I’ve been tortured every other day for months and I’ve only ever used one of those tablets. They are incredibly precious, yet I’ve just given you two. I was saving them in case of a really bad day.”

Silence. 

Nothing but the sound of two people breathing and the haunting echo of dripping from one of the damp corners. For a moment, Hermione wonders if the woman has fallen asleep, but then her voice quietly reaches her.

“I apologise. I am exceedingly grateful, if not a little confused by your help.”

Hermione ignores her, turning so she can shuffle back on the floor and lean against the wall, next to the older witch. The silence is awkward, but Hermione has no idea how to broach the questions she desperately wants answers to, without being immediately shut down. 

Why is Narcissa even here? Until that particular question is answered, Hermione can’t let herself relax. Next to her, she hears Narcissa shuffle so that she is laying down again, groaning quietly from the pain of her movements. 

“Why did they do this to you?” she blurts out, her voice echoing off the stone walls.

A sigh. “I can’t tell you that, Ms Granger. Please trust me when I say that this is safer for both of us.”

“Trust you?!” Hermione replies heatedly. “How on earth am I meant to trust you when I don’t know why you are here? Is this some ploy to get me to talk?”

“I promise you, I mean you no harm. Even if you believe nothing else, please believe that.”

Hermione huffs frustratedly. “Your word means absolutely nothing to me. No offence, Narcissa, but you’re a Slytherin for starters, the wife of a death eater, and the woman whose home is being used to play house with Voldemort.”

“Not any more.”

Hermione turns to look at the woman, blue eyes eerily glowing back at her in the low light of the room. “What do you mean, not any more?”

“I am no longer married. The moment that Lucius raised his wand with the intent of inflicting harm, our marriage bonds were irreparably broken.”

“I don’t understand.”

Narcissa sighs again. “You’re a muggle-born witch, and you know nothing of pureblood society. The Ancient and Noble House of Black is held in good standing in the wizarding world, and back when my marriage options were being presented to me, the Black family was coveted for many reasons.” Narcissa eases herself back up into a sitting position, earnestly finding Hermione’s eyes with her own. “My mother taught me that the Black women pull all the strings, even if we play the part of a submissive pureblood wife in public.”

“I’m still lost.”

“My mother suffered terribly at the hands of my father, and so when it came to our marriage contract, she ensured there was a clause to protect me. If ever Lucius attempted to hurt me, magically or physically, then the marriage bonds would immediately be broken, leaving him with nothing. He’s lost everything, including the small fortune he entered our marriage with.”

Hermione furrows her brow, as the information settles inside her. “Wait. Are you… are you saying that Lucius did this to you?”

“Lucius was one of many, yes.”

“Please, can’t you tell me why? You can trust me not to tell anyone. I mean, who would I even tell, anyway?”

“Ms Granger, it is not a matter of trusting you. I cannot say more on the matter.”

“Fine,” Hermione retorts angrily. “Keep your stupid Slytherin secrets to yourself. It won’t make a difference anyway. As if I could, or would, ever trust someone like you.”

“And that exact attitude is the basis for this war,” Narcissa points out. “Purebloods look down on muggles, and muggle-born witches and wizards. Gryffindors look down on Slytherins, only choosing to see our weaknesses and not our strengths. Slytherins hate Gryffindors for their lack of restraint, always rushing into situations, wands raised, without looking at it from all angles.”

“This war was not started by a Gryffindor.”

The woman shrugs, and then winces at the movement. “No, perhaps not. But these century old prejudices are at the very centre of the battle.”

“Which was started by a Slytherin.”

“Are you really so naive, Ms Granger, that you believe all Slytherins to be the same?” Narcissa shakes her head. “I do believe your honorific has been erroneously ascribed.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t they call you the brightest witch of your age?”

“You’re calling me stupid?” 

Narcissa closes her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. “No, not necessarily. But your narrow-mindedness is blinkering you to a universal truth.”

“And what would that be?” Hermione asks sarcastically.

“That underneath our robes, and regardless of the colours that we wear, we are all the same, Ms Granger. We are all inherently flawed, but while we Slytherins are able to admit it, Gryffindors claim to be paragons of virtue.”

“No we don’t. We just don’t go around starting wars against muggles and muggle-borns.”

Blue eyes flicker open. “Do you like history, Ms Granger?”

Confused, Hermione nods. “Yes, of course. What has that got to do with anything?”

“Maybe the next time you find yourself in the library, you should do some research. I think you’ll find that muggles were the ones who started this, many, many years ago. America had the Salem Witch Trials in the 17 th century, but here in England we introduced laws against witchcraft 200 years before that time. Tell me, Ms Granger, should we have let them kill us off?”

“But… but… muggles don’t even believe in witches now.”

“For good reason, Ms Granger, it has to be that way so that we can live safely. They can’t believe in us, for it has been proven time and time again what happens when they do. Their fear of us makes them act in reprehensible ways.”

Hermione remains silent, angrily conceding that the woman has a point. Muggles have hunted and punished witches for centuries. She doesn’t agree with Voldemort’s war on muggles and muggle-borns, but she can see how it might be tempting to fight back. Witches and Wizards live their lives in secrecy, fearful of ever being found out.

She mentally shakes herself, refusing to even consider that Voldemort might actually have a point to all of this. Yes, muggles and witches might have a tempestuous history, but that’s all it is. History. What Voldemort is trying to do now is uncalled for and unnecessary. They’ve been living in relative peace for a long time, even if it has been a life lived in the shadows.

Is this why Narcissa is down here? Is this their plan? They can’t break her so they will try to corrupt her instead, bringing her beliefs into alignment with their own? She won’t let them. She will never agree with a death eater, for as long as she lives, however short or long that amount of time might be.

*****

They settle into an uneasy cohabitation. For the first few days, Narcissa needs help moving around, and Hermione, albeit reluctantly, assists her whenever it is needed. Life with Narcissa is actually an improvement, starting with the fact that the quality of the food is far higher. She is still fed a single bowl of soup but it now comes with a chunk of fresh, warm bread. It won’t be enough to undo the months of near starvation, but it’s a very welcome change.

She’s not been tortured for a week now, and she wonders if this is really the end of it, or just a way of making her drop her defences. Either way, it is a blessing not to be dragged upstairs and subjected to their attempts to learn her secrets.

She doesn’t talk to her cell mate, refusing to be drawn into another uncomfortable conversation. Every attempt the older witch makes to talk, is met with one word answers, until Narcissa gets wise to it and starts to ask more open-ended questions. Now, Hermione just ignores her, the answers hanging silent in the air between them, adding to the tension that already exists.

When the woman is asleep though, Hermione finds herself drawing comfort from the sound of deep, even breaths, and the occasional rustling sound when Narcissa turns over on her mattress. Hermione shifts closer, until she can reach the woman’s shoulder, and then practises her magic as quietly as possible.

One day, one day soon, Hermione will try Disapparating, aiming to Apparate again a few feet further into the cellar, just to see if she can. If that works and she doesn’t splinch herself, then she will attempt to leave, and finally be free. There is just one thing standing in her way; the wards that have been placed around the manor. Does she need the witch’s blood to be able to pass through them? Or does she need to kidnap Narcissa, deposit them both outside the manor’s front gate and then Disapparate off into the unknown?

With a small sigh she realises she will have to change her tactics. There is only one person that can give her the information she seeks, and that is Narcissa. She will need to get closer to the woman in the hopes she will open up and tell her what she wants to know.

Chapter Text

The relative peace Hermione has enjoyed since Narcissa became her cellmate was never likely to last, but that doesn’t mean that Hermione is ready for it to be over. Dragged from her sleep, she is wholly unprepared for what awaits her upstairs, and the crowd that is gathered there to watch it happen.

The Death Eaters are rowdy, revved up on their latest attack. They don’t hold back, forcing Hermione to the floor where she remains, enduring Crucio after Crucio until her muscles feel shredded and her mouth is full of the blood that runs freely from her nose.

“Enough! Clear the room.”

Bellatrix strides across the floor, coming to stand in front of her, while the others shuffle out the door with rumbling protests, pulling it closed behind them with a soft thunk.

“The Dark Lord will be here soon,” Bellatrix whispers with none of her usual showmanship. “Give him something, anything , even if it is no longer relevant. Let him think he’s broken you, Granger, not just for your sake but for my sister’s, too.”

Hermione turns her head, looking up into unreadable black eyes. “What?” she whispers weakly.

“I can’t keep doing this for you,” Bellatrix hisses. “Give him something.”

“We both know that the moment I give him what he wants I’m dead,” Hermione hisses back, though her voice is barely audible, damaged from the eventual screams they had managed to pull from her.

“Foolish girl. You’re alive for as long as the boy is. For as long as the Dark Lord still believes you to be useful. Don’t give him everything… give him something . Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” the woman snarls back at her in a hushed tone.

The door opens with a soft creak, and the swishing of robes can be heard, until the man himself is standing over her, his bare feet resting on the floor in front of her face.

“This can all end, Ms Granger. It can all be over, just as soon as you tell me what I need to know.” Voldemort crouches down, brushing the hair out of her face while she does her best not to flinch. “Just tell me, where is the boy?”

“I have nothing to say,” Hermione replies, bracing herself for what she knows will happen next. He stands, and seconds later, her body is hit with yet another Crucio; the muscles in the backs of her thighs tearing under the strain. It is times like this when the pain should be overwhelming that her mind is at its sharpest and she wonders about Bellatrix’s words. Could it really be that easy? There are surely plenty of things that she could say, without saying anything at all, and yet now she is trying to think of something, nothing comes to mind. Unless… unless she reveals something that Voldemort already knows.

Voldemort drops his wand and she lays there panting, desperate for air. She shakily raises a hand. “Wait. Please stop.”

“Have you finally had enough? Realised the futility of your obstinance?” Voldemort asks, sounding amused as he impassively watches her still writhing on the floor.

“Harry,” Hermione grunts out, holding her ribs and trying to control her breathing. “Harry was looking for the Elder wand. He knows it’s the only way to defeat you.”

Voldemort narrows his eyes. “I already have the Elder wand, Ms Granger, which Mr Potter is no doubt already aware of.”

“He knew you were looking for it, but the last time I saw him he wasn’t aware that you had it,” Hermione explains truthfully, hoping that her defences still hold strong as she feels the telltale prickle at the edge of her mind as Voldemort tries to enter her thoughts.

“I will assume you are telling the truth, for now, and as such you will be rewarded. Do not count on my kindness for long, Ms Granger. I will get the information that I know you are hiding, even if I have to resort to muggle tactics and start removing your fingers and toes.”

Hermione shivers. There is something far more brutal in the idea of actually removing body parts, rather than just using magic to inflict pain and she knows she has not kept her fear hidden when he smirks.

“Just as I thought. Everyone can be broken, Ms Granger, you would do well to remember that. In the end, I always win.”

Without another word, he turns and leaves the room. Hermione breathes a sigh of relief, grateful that she has survived another day. She will not give up, she will not surrender, no matter how much they try to break her.

“Come on, Muddy. Back to your cell.”

Hermione tries and fails to get to her feet, her muscles unresponsive and spasming. A soft sigh reaches her from above and then she floats into the air guided by Bellatrix’s wand, out of the room and back down the stairs to her cell. She hears the click of the door opening and then she is deposited surprisingly gently onto the floor.

“Don’t leave her there, she can have the mattress.” Narcissa’s voice reaches her in the gloom, and she wonders at the concern she can hear. Why would the witch care about her comfort? Unable to move, her body stiffens as the cold stone starts to seep through her clothes.

She feels herself lifted back up and placed on the mattress, even the hard fibres feeling like sweet relief for her battered body. She closes her eyes, drifting on a sea of pain as the voices fade into the background. Of all the times she has been tortured, never has she been left feeling so broken. 

“What the hell happened to her, Bella?”

“Yaxley and the others got to her before I arrived.”

“Bella… I… I can’t let this happen.”

“I know, Cissy. Look after her, and I’ll bring a healing potion later. I have to go. He’s waiting and we don’t want him to be suspicious.”

Hermione listens as footsteps fade away and she is left in silence with the strange witch who seems to want to protect her, though she has no idea why. The woman has done nothing to show that she might be an enemy, but there are so many secrets between them that she cannot be considered a friend either. 

A hand reaches out and squeezes her shoulder, delicate fingers brushing lightly over the fabric there, and she feels her throat choke up at the tender gesture. 

“I’ll get a cloth,” Narcissa informs her purposefully, though she can hear the slight tremor in the witch’s voice. Seconds later, the woman is back, and she is being turned onto her back, the wet cloth cleaning the blood from her nose and mouth. “Just hang on, Ms Granger. You’ll be ok, but it will hurt for a while. Do you have any more of those pills left?”

“No,” Hermione denies stubbornly. The precious packet is in her beaded bag, and she can’t access it in front of Narcissa.

“Ms Granger…. Hermione… Please don’t be stubborn. I know you had at least three left. I’ll… I’ll turn my back if you need to… if there is something that you need to do.”

Hermione does her best to process that, but her mind stutters to a halt. The only explanation that she can come up with is that Narcissa knows about her bag, but surely she would have told someone if she knew Hermione had that on her person? She opens her eyes, staring into soft blue, her brow wrinkling when the woman offers her a small smile and resolutely turns her back.

Not wasting time, she shoves her hand in her pocket and pulls out her bag, rummaging around until her fingers find the plastic and she pops two of the pills into her hand. She hastily shoves the bag back in her pocket out of sight, ignoring her confusion at the witch’s actions.

“Could you pass me the water please?”

“Let me help you sit up first, otherwise you’ll choke.”

Hermione doesn’t point out that it doesn’t really matter considering she’s almost positive she won’t leave this cell alive. Instead, she willingly accepts the woman’s hands under her shoulders as she pulls her into a sitting position, back resting against the wall. The jug is pressed into her hands, and she places both tablets on her tongue and washes them down quickly, the water dribbling down her chin. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks the witch still crouching on the stone floor.

“May I?” Narcissa points to the mattress next to her. Hermione nods and waits patiently for the woman to come and sit next to her. When Narcissa is silent for long minutes, Hermione repeats the question.

“Why are you being so nice to me? I don’t understand, and what did Bellatrix mean? Why has my safety got anything to do with you? Why does she care if I live or die? What did she mean when she said ‘she can’t keep doing this for me’?”

Narcissa stretches her legs out in front of her. “I can’t answer any of those questions, Hermione, but you have nothing to fear from me, I can assure you.”

“How can you expect me to trust you when you are keeping so many secrets from me?” Hermione replies frustratedly. “You say I have nothing to fear from you, but I’m being held captive in your damn house, and being tortured by various members of your family. Forgive me for not trusting your word.”

“I have never laid a finger on you, Hermione. Don’t you dare assume that I am anything like those monsters.”

“You are married to one of the people that has hurt me the most! Why can’t you just tell me what the hell is going on? Why all the secrets?”

“I’m not married to him now, you know this,” Narcissa corrects her. “And secrets, Ms Granger? You are in no position to throw around accusations.”

Hermione freezes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks as casually as possible, while her palms begin to sweat. She surreptitiously wipes them on the front of her jeans.

Narcissa’s head leans close to hers, lips brushing against her ear. “It means that I know you sit here night after night practising wandless magic, Hermione. I know your pocket must have some kind of undetectable extension charm on it, because I can’t think of another explanation as to how you sit here reading books when you think I’m asleep.”

Hermione turns her head sharply, nearly bumping noses with the other witch, who regards her coolly.

She leans back to put some distance between them. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” but her voice sounds unconvincing, even to her.

“You can keep your secrets, Ms Granger, just as I will keep mine. Though I would suggest if you are planning to escape, you ask me about the wards. You won’t get through them without my help.”

Hermione sucks in a breath, overwhelmed and spiralling out of control. The witch next to her holds all the power. Knows all the things that she so desperately needs to keep a secret. If she admits to it, will Narcissa tell Voldemort everything that she knows? Is that why she’s here? To get information? It’s a suspicion she’s had since the moment Narcissa was locked in here with her. On the other hand, Hermione knows that she needs information from the older witch, and here she is, willingly offering it? 

Her head throbs, and she reaches up to rub her temples, but the ache increases. She tries to breathe, her lungs incapable of sucking in enough oxygen and the edges of her vision begin to darken.

“You need to rest,” Narcissa’s voice cuts through her exhausted panic. “Lay down, Hermione.”

Against her better judgement, she allows herself to be pulled sideways until her head is resting in the other woman’s lap. “Please, just bear with me a little longer. For now, just try and sleep if you can. Your body needs to heal.”

She closes her eyes, releasing a small sigh when long fingers twine into her tangled hair, scratching lightly at her scalp. She has so many questions but her mind won’t even attempt to make sense of them, tiredness overriding all rational thought. Instead, she allows herself a moment to accept the comfort that is being offered and she feels her body relax under Narcissa’s hands. Her breathing regulates again and her eyes drop closed, sleep only a few moments away when the older witch speaks quietly.

“I truly mean you no harm, darling. Just a little while longer and then it will all become clear.”

Narcissa’s whispered words have her sleepily opening her eyes again, but the woman shushes her. “Later. We can talk later.”

Never has the word later seemed like such a significant promise, but Hermione grips on to it, hugging it to her like a comforting blanket as she finally drifts into slumber.

*****

“Wake up.” 

Hermione does nothing to prevent the grunt of pain leaving her lips, slowly opening her eyes and adjusting to the dim light. “What?”

“Listen carefully, Ms Granger. We don’t have much time. Can you sit up?”

She shakes her head from side to side, ignoring the jolt of pain it sends through her neck. Soft hands work their way under her body and gently move her until she is sitting upright again.

“What? Why did you wake me?”

Narcissa ignores her questions, staring worriedly towards the door when footsteps are heard overhead. “Ms Granger, I need you to listen and not ask questions. Bella will be here in a moment with a healing potion for you. Don’t question it, just take it. I promise you it is safe.”

“Why would she want to heal me?”

Once again, Narcissa ignores her. “I’m going to ask her to obliviate me,” the older witch whispers, holding up a hand to stop Hermione’s inevitable question. “Once she does that, you need to be more careful. Don’t let me catch you doing magic, don’t let me catch you reading. In fact, do your best to keep your distance from me. Do you understand?”

“No, not really,” Hermione admits, wondering why the woman would voluntarily allow someone to remove her memories.

“I promise you, I will explain everything. For now though, you need to keep your secrets more carefully. When you are ready to leave, then and only then, should you talk to me about the wards. Don’t tell me anything about your plans to escape in the mean time. I promise that I will help you the moment you ask me to.”

Hermione opens her mouth to ask the first of what feels like a never-ending stream of questions ready to drip from her tongue, but Naricissa hushes her. “Not now. There is no time.”

The footsteps reach the gated doorway to the cellar and Hermione holds her breath as Bellatrix enters their cell, wordlessly handing Hermione a vial, before turning to her sister. “Cissy? What’s wrong?”

“You need to obliviate me. I know too much and I can’t keep it hidden from him.”

Hermione’s brow furrows as the older sister immediately steps forward with her wand raised and casts the spell. Narcissa’s face goes slack for a moment, her head rolling back to hit the wall behind her and then she smiles.

“Bella? Is everything ok?”

Bellatrix rolls her eyes, a gesture that Hermione picks up even in the darkness. “You’d better know what you are doing, Cissy.”

“Doing? What am I doing?” the younger Black sister replies, scrutinising her sister’s face.

“Nothing,” Bellatrix replies exasperatedly, turning to Hermione and placing a finger over her lips before turning and walking out of the cellar without another word.

More confused than ever, there is one thing clear to Hermione in that moment; no matter what is happening, neither sister appears to be a threat to her. She holds up the vial, watching the contents swirl lazily, the small amount of light causing it to sparkle against the glass. She weighs up her options, but considering the pain she is in, she wonders if she even cares if it turns out to be poison. She doesn’t think it is though, and with that thought she tugs the stopper free and swallows the contents in one.

Chapter Text

Hermione holds her hands over her ears, waiting for the screams to stop. Naricssa has been gone from the cell for what she assumes must be nearly an hour now, and it’s becoming more difficult to ignore the sounds of her suffering. There is no doubt in her mind about what they are doing to her, considering the rowdy shouts and jeers that reach her from the room above. As much as she wants to tell herself that it’s not her fault, there is a nagging doubt that she can’t quite shut out; Narcissa is being tortured for information about Hermione. Information that she did once have, but after asking Bellatrix to Obliviate her, there is nothing left for Narcissa to tell them.

Hermione has done what she asked and kept her distance, though there have been a few notable changes. Narcissa had cared for her when she was recovering, and insisted they share the mattress; a bed barely big enough for one, let alone two. In no condition to argue at the time, Hermione had agreed and Narcissa had offered her a small but confused smile about her lack of resistance. Laying next to each other had soon become huddling close for warmth as the cellar cools off overnight. Warmth had led to a feeling of safety, limbs tangled together under the sparse blanket, something which neither of them ever acknowledge in their waking hours.

Another scream breaks through the barrier of her hands, and for a moment she wonders if she will vomit; the thought of someone else being tortured is almost worse than going through it herself. She leaves the relative comfort of the bed and walks tiredly to the back corner of their cell, determined to put as much distance between herself and what is happening at the top of the stairs. She sits huddled in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees as she tries to remember what she is still fighting for. She needs to get a grip if she is going to escape soon. These precious moments when Narcissa is upstairs are her only chance to practise her wandless magic, but the thought of what they’re doing is overwhelming.

She grits her teeth, it’s now or never. She knows that it is possible to Apparate within the building without backlash from the wards and this is her only chance to try. She’s been building up to this moment for so long now and she can’t put it off any longer. The questions that have plagued her since Narcissa mentioned the wards are irrelevant until she knows if she can do it.

Destination. She doesn’t need to go far, just a few feet is enough. She just needs to know she can Disapparate at all without a wand.

Determination. Well, has there ever been a stronger reason for getting this piece of magic right? Her body is failing her and if she doesn’t leave soon then it really will be too late. Every time she is tortured it takes longer to heal and even with the potion that Bellatrix gave her, it was days before she could walk unassisted.

Deliberation. She breathes slowly in through her nose and out through her mouth readying herself for the next of Narcissa’s screams in the hope it will cover the ‘crack’ of magic if she is successful. She winces when the woman’s voice reaches her and takes one last breath before making her attempt.

She’s never liked Apparition, but as she is sucked into a swirling void and deposited on the floor a few feet away she is overjoyed, a spark of hope growing in her chest that almost makes her feel giddy.

Almost. The joy she feels is tempered by the sounds coming from above, and she hears footsteps moving across the floor towards the stairs. By the time the door is thrown open and Narcissa stumbles inside, Hermione is sitting on the mattress as though she never moved; her smile hidden from view in the darkness.

As soon as the door closes, she gets up to help the woman. “Are you ok?”

Narcissa nods defeatedly. “Nothing broken.”

“Good,” Hermione replies, surprised to find just how much she means that simple word. Somehow, impossibly, she has come to care for the witch that shares her cell. She wraps an arm around her waist and helps her over to the mattress, both of them dropping heavily onto the padding, panting slightly.

“I need to talk to you.”

Narcissa turns to face her, eyes cloudy and her face covered with a light sheen of sweat. “What about?” she asks warily.

“Do you know what time of day it is?”

Narcissa frowns for a moment. “The drapes are always closed, so I don’t know if it is light or dark outside. I could smell something though, like the soup Mabel prepares as a starter. I think it’s evening, sometime after dinner.”

“Did you hear anything about their plans while you were upstairs?”

“Hermione, what is this about?”

Hermione pauses for a moment, wondering if this is the point at which she undoes all of her hard work. If she times this wrong, then this will all have been for nothing. Logically, though, they both usually get a few days off between being questioned. So hopefully, Narcissa won’t be taken upstairs again just yet.

“If I could get out of here, would you come with me?” Hermione asks, holding her breath.

“Yes,” Narcissa replies without even a moment’s hesitation. “Of course.”

“Why? Wouldn’t you stay for Draco?”

“Please don’t ask me why. Anything but that.”

Hermione winds her hands into her hair, groaning frustratedly. She has wondered, just maybe, if Narcissa would have forgotten her reluctance to share information after Bellatrix Obliviated her. But no, the woman remains obstinate and Hermione sighs.

“Tell me about the wards,” she requests quietly, releasing her hair and dropping her hands onto her knees.

“Malfoy Manor has a number of wards and each time someone is invited here, they are added to the spell to allow them access. It is impossible to Apparate in or Disapparate out, if you have not been added to the wards. The only exception would be if you were accompanied by someone that the wards recognise. Have you found a way to escape?”

“I’ll tell you soon,” Hermione promises. “So, as long as I am with you, we are able to get out of here?”

Narcissa nods awkwardly, reaching up to rub her neck. “Yes, that is correct. Malfoy Manor belongs to me now that Lucius has broken the rules of our marriage bonds, so even if they wanted to, they couldn’t remove me from the wards.”

“Here, let me,” Hermione offers, tugging gently on the witch’s shoulder until she turns her back. Narcissa lets out a small groan of appreciation as soft fingers work on the knotted muscles there. This is not the first time they have done this for each other. The Crucio spell wreaks havoc on the body as they have both found out. Most people don’t survive long enough to be aware of the physical after-effects, their minds too addled by the unforgivable curse.

“Hermione, are you… do you have a way out of here?”

Narcissa’s whisper is barely audible and Hermione nearly ignores it but they are running out of time. Taking the plunge, she rubs her shoulders one more time before dropping her hands. The older witch turns around to face her, waiting patiently.

“Yes. I know how to get out, but we need to wait for Bellatrix.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you need my sister?”

“You asked her to Obliviate you, and we need you to have your memories back before we leave. I think you know something, or maybe even many things that could help us.”

The older witch’s eyes widen slightly as she absorbs the information. “I… I wondered. I thought maybe it was something they did to me. I know I have gaps… but… I asked Bella?”

“Yes,” Hermione confirms with a nod. “Now, we’re going to need wands, or even just one would be helpful. Do you know how we can get one?”

“There is no way out of this cell without a wand, Hermione. I can’t ask Bella to let us go. Please don’t ask me to. You have no idea what he would do to her.”

Hermione scoffs. “Really? No idea?”

Narcissa cringes. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. Of course you know. I can’t do it, please don’t ask me to.”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t,” Hermione reassures her, reaching out to squeeze her hand and quickly releasing it. “I have been practising how to do wandless magic. I mean, you already knew this, but you had Bellatrix Obliviate you. All I need you to do is tell me where they are kept. We Apparate to where they are and then we leave. Do you know where they are being kept?”

Narcissa pales slightly, the difference visible even in the gloomy half-light. “They are in the main dining hall, there is a sideboard with drawers where they are stored. We can’t possibly retrieve them. Wandless magic? Not even the Dark Lord is ever without his wand.”

“We will. We have to. As soon as Bellatrix brings us food, we will ask her to reverse your memory spell. We can use my magic, but guided by you to get to the dining room and then we get the hell out of here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not possible!”

“Then don’t come with me,” Hermione snaps back, turning her face to stare across the dark cellar. “No one is forcing you to come. I’ll do this on my own.”

“You can’t,” Narcissa whispers brokenly. “You need me.”

“I’ll find a way.”

Hermione’s determined statement hangs in the air for several long moments before the older witch clears her throat. “Fine,” she agrees defeatedly. 

“Fine,” Hermione repeats grimly, listening for sounds overhead that would indicate Bellatrix is on her way. The room above is silent though, but for the odd noise of floors settling. Resigning herself to a long wait, Hermione closes her eyes and tries to catch a few moments of last-minute rest.

*****

The creek of the door wakes Hermione with a start, but when she tries to move, she is weighed down. Narcissa is curled up on her side, her head resting on Hermione’s thigh and for a moment she just watches the witch, as small puffs of breath move the hair that has fallen across her face.

“Oi, Muddy. She ok?” The oldest Black sister places a food tray by the door and uses her wand to top up their water jug.

Hermione looks up into Bellatrix’s dark eyes, glaring at the older woman. “As much as she can be after what they did to her.”

A flash of guilt passes over the dark witch’s features and Hermione momentarily regrets her words, but then she hardens. “Where were you? How could you let them do this to her?”

“Careful, Muddy. It almost sounds like you care about her.”

“Of course I care about her,” Hermione snaps, not holding back the words she has refused to allow herself to consider up until now. Ignoring the witch hovering in the doorway, she runs the backs of her fingers across Narcissa's cheek, rousing her gently. “Narcissa? Bellatrix is here.”

“Bella?”

Hermione helps her to sit up, allowing the witch to lean against her instead of the cold wall behind them. Bellatrix steps forwards, eyes more concerned than Hermione has ever seen. 

“Cissy? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to protect you.”

Narcissa drops her head onto Hermione’s shoulder, trembling with the effort of sitting upright. “It’s not your fault.”

“She needs you to reverse the spell,” Hermione states in a hushed tone, eyes flicking to the door to double-check they are alone.

“Now? Tonight?”

“Yes, Bella. Please.” Narcissa stretches out her legs with a grimace. “It’s best if you don’t know anything else.”

Bellatrix glances between both women before her gaze settles on Hermione, a frown on her face. “You have a plan?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t rely on me. I won’t be able to help you.”

Hermione bobs her head and coolly meets her eyes. “I know.”

“Okay then.”

Bellatrix raises her wand, and Hermione can tell the moment that Narcissa’s memories have returned. She sits up a little straighter and brushes her blonde hair out of her face. “It’s time?”

Hermione stands up, and stretches, reaching down to offer the witch a hand. Narcissa allows herself to be pulled to her feet, leaning into Hermione’s side as she wraps an arm around her to help her stay upright. 

“It’s time,” Hermione confirms, her voice shaking slightly.

“Look after her, Pet. She’s all I have.”

“I will.”

“I think I might believe you. Don’t let me down.” Bellatrix darts forward, pulling her sister into a brief hug. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Goodbye, Bella.” Narcissa lets go of the other witch, and clutches hold of Hermione’s arm, swaying where she stands. The dark witch turns and walks to the door, closing it behind her and heading up the stairs without looking back.

“Are you ready?” Hermione checks, pointing to the tray by the door. “Bellatrix never delivers food unless there is no one around.”

“Right now?”

“Yes,” Hermione says firmly. “Hold on tight and concentrate on the dining room where the wands are.”

Narcissa nods, a look of determination settling onto delicate features as she tightens her grip. “Ready.”

Hermione is not superstitious and she would deny it if anyone asks, but as she summons her magic, she crosses her fingers. Seconds later they are sucked into the vortex of magic, reappearing in what is thankfully an empty dining room. Narcissa seems to come to life at that moment, reaching forwards and pulling open the drawer. There are many wands in there and she indiscriminately picks up as many as will fit in her hand, passing one at random to Hermione.

“I don’t know where to go?” she admits, looking worriedly into Hermione’s eyes.

“It’s ok, I have a plan,” Hermione reassures her, adjusting her grip on the wand, and waving it experimentally. A few sparks leave the tip and she grins. The wand feels friendly, almost like it wants to help her. Like it would do anything she asked of it with very little effort, much like her own missing wand.

“Cissa?”

They both freeze, turning slowly to the doorway where Lucius Malfoy is standing, wand raised and a look of pure confusion on his face.

“You owe me, Lucius,” Narcissa snarls dangerously, venom dripping from her tone as she pulls Hermione closer to her. “Now, Hermione!”

The last thing they see as Hermione’s magic whisks them away is an undeniably petrified Lucius turning to stare at Voldemort as the wizard enters the room.

*****

They are deposited in a crumpled heap, the soft grass underneath them hardly making a difference to their landing. Hermione jumps awkwardly to her feet, eyes furtively glancing around for danger but they are alone. Narcissa is quiet, breathing heavily with her eyes staring up at the starry sky, pale skin bathed in the moonlight. Hermione gives her the once over, and when satisfied she is not splinched, begins the protective enchantments, her borrowed wand humming pleasantly in her hand. She remembers this piece of Bodmin Moor from when she was a child. It’s unlikely they will be in danger here, their only visitor is likely to be a curious, friendly cow, but she takes no chances.

“Protego Totalum… Salvia Hexia… Muffliato… Repello Muggletum.”

Enchantments in place, she sinks to her knees as the adrenaline starts to wear off and she begins to tremble. She drops her wand, wrapping her arms around herself as hot tears streak down her cheeks; months of being held captive finally taking their toll now she is free.

Free. Yes, she is free, but the battle is only just beginning. Hermione knows full well that her life is probably in even more danger now she has escaped, inviting Voldemort’s wrath on a personal level. She squeezes her eyes shut, gasping in shaky breaths.

The heat of a body next to hers brings her awareness back to where they are; Narcissa’s arms hesitantly pull her closer, until breaths and heartbeats are shared in the cool night air.

“You’re ok, Hermione. We’re ok.”

Hermione sniffles, but tries to get her emotions back under control, pulling away from the comfort being offered. She reaches into her pocket and removes her bag in silence, pulling out the tent whilst Narcissa looks on in amazement. It takes only minutes for her to erect it and then they are inside, both safely ensconced on opposite sofas with a single candle between them on the table for light.

“What now?” Narcissa asks, vocalising the question that has been bouncing around Hermione’s head since they arrived here.

“Sleep. Everything else can wait, but right now we need sleep,” Hermione replies, exhaustion settling deep in her bones as she lays down on the sofa, summoning them each a blanket. “Tomorrow I’ll sort the beds, but this will have to do for tonight.”

“It’s fine, and in all honesty, it’s far more comfortable than we’ve endured lately. Sleep well, Hermione.”

“Goodnight,” Hermione replies drowsily, staring across the space into Narcissa's eyes. The woman offers her a small smile, closing heavy lids, and Hermione follows her into sleep.

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.”

Chapter Text

“Start talking.”

“There is so much we need to discuss, I know, but perhaps we can talk upstairs in private?” Narcissa suggests calmly. “I know you cast a Muffliato, but this is not an easy discussion for us to have, Hermione. Our body language if not our words will give us away and I would rather not give people cause for speculation, all things considered.”

Hermione catches the pointed look Narcissa throws her way, and uncrosses her arms. She’s not entirely sure why she was so angry in the first place. She hasn’t known Narcissa long, but it was clear back at Malfoy Manor that the woman had secrets of her own. She relaxes, smiling briefly. “Okay.”

They rise and walk through the bar in silence and up the stairs to their room. Hermione lets them through the door and throws herself on the bed, scooting backwards until she is leaning against the padded headboard. For a moment it looks like Narcissa will join her, but she turns abruptly and lowers herself gracefully into the armchair next to the window.

The view outside the window draws her attention and Hermione finds herself entranced by the wistful look on her face. Narcissa’s eyes are soft and a small smile plays at the corner of her lips. It seems a shame to interrupt the small moment of peace the woman has found, but they really do need to lay their cards on the table.

“So…” Hermione trails off, unsure of how to begin, shrugging her shoulders slightly when Narcissa turns back to face her. The anxiety is clear in the small tightening around her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to spring this on you, Hermione, and I know you weren’t born into this world. I’m hesitant to start purely because I am unsure of how much you already know. I don’t want to talk down to you.” Narcissa smoothes her hands down the front of her jeans, picking a small thread from the seam at the side. “I suspect you have at least some knowledge though, considering you were using me to boost your magic back at the manor,” she adds with a wry smile in Hermione’s direction.

Hermione’s anger deflates even further, because yes, that’s exactly what she was doing. So she can hardly blame Narcissa for keeping a secret from her, when they’ve both had so many for so long now.

“You’re right, I could feel our connection and I realised what it meant. Not at first, but certainly that first night you were in the cell,” Hermione admits uncomfortably. “I had been trying to learn wandless magic for weeks with no luck and then, there you were. I thought I’d woken you up, so I reached out to soothe you and put my hand on your shoulder. It was like nothing I had felt before.”

Narcissa smiles knowingly. “It made you feel more powerful?”

“Yes, but it was more than that. I felt this pull towards you and it made me want to touch you. I needed to be closer to you and when I didn’t allow myself, it felt like my magic was angry,” Hermione admits, blushing slightly as she turns away to stare out of the window.

“Having a magical counterpart is rare and barely understood these days, in a world where there are so few magical pairings left,” Narcissa explains patiently. “As soon as you meet your magical mate, your magic seeks to join with its other half, trying to complete the bond. If you allow the connection to complete fully, then it is believed you are unstoppable. There is no rival for a bonded pair of magical mates.”

“Bonded pair?”

“The moment we touched for the first time, we started to bond. Not fully, but our magic recognised each other’s. When Bellatrix had finished questioning you that first time-”

“Questioning?” Hermione spits, her eyes blazing and temper flaring at Narcissa’s casual denial of what she endured. “Is that what you call torture these days?”

Narcissa frowns, running a hand through her hair and pushing it out of her face. “I don’t mean to down play it. It… it’s difficult for me to think about. I never wanted you to get hurt, even before I realised our connection. But yes, if you need me to say it, then fine. After Bellatrix tortured you that first time, I was instructed to take you downstairs, but you were lying there so still and for a moment I wondered if she had killed you.”

She pauses for a long, drawn out moment, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Narcissa exhales slowly and then looks back up at Hermione with glassy eyes. “I checked your pulse and the moment I did, I knew. I knew who, and what you were to me. I could feel it, and suddenly I could feel you, too. Our magic recognised its other half, and the bond was partially completed.”

“How does the bond complete?” Hermione asks curiously, all previous ire forgotten in her quest for new information. “I’ve read a few paragraphs in one of my books but it doesn’t give a lot of detail.”

This time, it is Narcissa that blushes, and stammers slightly in her explanation. “It… we… Hermione, listen to me. I would never ask you to complete the bond if you didn’t want to. I would never ask you to choose me unless you wanted to.”

Hermione narrows her eyes, watching the woman squirming under her gaze. “I don’t know what you mean and I need you to explain it to me.”

“Ask me something else. I promise we can talk about it, but we need to talk about other things first and I would really like it if we knew each other better, before we even discuss this,” Narcissa states resolutely.

Throwing up her hands in frustration, Hermione sits upright, crossing her legs on the bed. “It’s always the same with you! You always put me off with excuses and promises that you’ll tell me later! If we have any chance of staying alive then we need to trust each other, but how can I do that if you won’t talk to me? I deserve to know, Narcissa. More than that, if it involves me , then I have a right to know.”

“Fine,” Narcissa snaps, also sitting forwards in her chair. “You want to know what it all means, Miss Granger? It means we are destined for one another. It means that no matter what we do, we will always feel a pull between us. It will never go away and will only get stronger until the day we act on it and complete the bond.”

“And how do we do that?” Hermione asks meekly, in the face of the other woman’s anger.

“By surrendering to each other in the most sacred of ways.”

Hermione lets out a loud breath, brow furrowing as her words sink in. Surely she can’t mean… it couldn’t possibly be… could it?

“No. You can’t… you don’t mean… do you?” Hermione stumbles over her words, embarrassment tripping her up, where she would normally be articulate.

“We are destined to be together, bound by the most ancient magic of the universe. Some cultures call it soulmates, fairytales would call it true love. I simply call it… destiny.”

“But… you don’t even like me.”

“Correction, Miss Granger. I don’t know you well, but I am most certainly drawn to you. I know that I instinctively seek out comfort from you and you cannot tell me that you don’t feel it. That you don’t feel the same way.”

Hermione shakes her head stubbornly. “It’s Stockholm Syndrome. It’s extensively documented that someone in captivity can develop feelings for their captor.”

She catches a brief glimpse of hurt on the other woman’s face, and offers her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I do know that’s not why I feel drawn to you, and it was never you personally that held me prisoner, even if it was your house. I’m just confused and a little taken by surprise to be told that you are my soulmate. I mean, you’re Draco’s mother! You hated me the first time you met me, Narcissa and you basically called me filth. You can’t expect me to believe you’ve suddenly changed your mind about that.”

The woman sighs defeatedly, bringing her hands up to rub gently at her temples. “I have never believed that, Hermione. I know you have no reason to believe me and I wish there was something I could do to convince you, but maybe when you get to know me better, you will see the truth for yourself. I don’t see you as less, just because you are muggleborn. You are incredibly smart, talented and kind. I don’t want to say the wrong thing or speak too soon, but if you need me to point out the obvious, you are also very attractive. I desperately want to know more about you, but I know that will take time.”

“You think I’m attractive?”

Narcissa snorts. “That’s your only question?”

“Yes! No! I don’t know,” Hermione mumbles, hands creeping up to feel the heat on her cheeks. Flustered, she gets up and walks to the small fridge under the sideboard, pulling them both out a bottled water and passing one to the other woman. “I think I’ve heard enough for now. I… I think I need to process.”

“Very well.”

Hermione perches on the edge of the bed, and unscrews the lid, taking a long sip of water. She is grateful that Narcissa is willing to give her the time to think, but there are other more pressing things they need to discuss. “Why were you in that cell, Narcissa? What happened? What did you do? And more curious than all of that, I can’t stop wondering why on earth you would be willing to leave Draco?”

“May I?” Narcissa points to the bed apprehensively. “I can feel the pull and it’s extremely distracting.”

“Sure,” Hermione agrees, secretly relieved when the woman comes and sits next to her. She reaches for Narcissa’s hand and they both sigh contentedly.

“I was in that cell because Lucius caught me trying to help you. I had packed a small bag of supplies and taken the keys from the room upstairs from where you were held, and he caught me.”

“What happened? I mean, he was your husband, surely he tried to protect you?”

“No. He did not.” Narcissa shifts slightly on the bed, tightening her grip on Hermione’s hand. “He caught me unawares and before I knew he was there, I was on the floor, paralysed.”

“But he let us go,” Hermione reminds her, head tilting to one side as she waits for the other woman to explain.

“I don’t think Lucius wanted what happened next. Dolohov found Lucius standing over me and there was little he could have done at that point to stop what happened next. Dolohov pulled me in front of the Dark Lord and Lucius was left with no choice but to tell him what he had caught me doing.”

“So he let you get tortured?” Hermione says disgustedly, an almost familiar sense of anger welling up inside her. Whether it is just her own feelings or Narcissa’s too, she isn’t entirely sure.

“Yes. I have come to believe he regrets his actions which is why he let us go last night at the manor. Personally, I would go through it all again. I might not have been able to help you, but at least I am no longer married to him. The moment he raised his wand against me, even if it was at the behest of the Dark Lord, our marriage bonds were irreversibly broken. I cannot help but feel grateful.”

“You didn’t want to be married to him?”

“No. He was never my choice, Hermione, but I did what was expected of me. As soon as Draco was conceived we lived very separate lives, when not in the public eye.”

“That sounds awful…. and very lonely,” Hermione sympathises, her thumb stroking over the back of Narcissa’s hand. “But why didn’t you just tell me? If I had known why you were there, I would have trusted you. If I had known you were trying to help-”

“But don’t you see?” Narcissa pleads, placing her other hand on top of their joined ones for a moment. “That’s exactly why I couldn’t tell you. If you had trusted me, then you would have confided in me and the last thing I wanted was for the Dark Lord to know anything about you.”

“But, Draco was always boasting about your skills as a Legilimens.”

“I have always been a natural Legilimens, but that does not mean that Occlumency came just as naturally to me. I have practised for years and whilst I might be able to prevent most people from knowing my thoughts, against the Dark Lord I could not defend myself.”

“Which is why you had Bellatrix obliviate you, even though you knew you would be punished for it.”

“Yes.”

Hermione absorbs each new nugget of information, analysing it and storing it away for future reference, before deciding to move on to other unanswered questions.

“I understand a little better now why you were willing to try and help me, but what about Draco?”

“Bella obliviated him and implanted new memories. I knew the moment I touched you that the bond would make it impossible for me not to try and help you. So, I confided in Bella. Her methods might be a little unorthodox, but she protected my son. Draco is under the belief that I killed the girl he had shown an interest in. She is of course very much alive, but I needed him to have a reason to hate me. If the Dark Lord looks inside his mind, all he will see is his hatred for me and I knew it would keep him safe.”

“I’m so sorry you had to do that.”

“This is a war. There are casualties on every side and we do what we have to, to survive. If both Draco and I are alive at the end of the war then we can reverse the spell and he will know the truth. In the meantime, I have protected him. You have to understand, I had no choice. The bond gave me no choice but to help you, even at the risk of endangering others I love.”

Humbled and somewhat uncomfortable with the woman’s confession, she squeezes her hand, encouraging her to continue. “So you confided in your sister?”

Narcissa nods, a small smile on her face. “People think the worst of Bella, but underneath the display she puts on for the rest of the world, she is a loving and protective sister. She is extremely powerful, you must have realised that? She did everything she could to take you to the brink, without damaging your mind. She protected you… even as… even as she was cursing you. You must have understood that you shouldn’t have survived this long?”

“I was confused. I knew what happened to the Longbottoms, but I didn’t know why it wasn’t happening to me. I wondered if she had been instructed by Voldemort to keep me sane, because he still needed information from me. Is that why… did she…” Hermione pauses to take a deep breath and formulate her question, one of the many still running through her mind. “Did she protect my mind from Voldemort? Is that why he could never read my thoughts?”

“No, darling. That was all you. All she did was stop the Crucio curse from causing permanent damage to your mind. Everything else was just you, and you confounded them all,” Narcissa discloses with a small chuckle. “He was very frustrated with his inability to penetrate your thoughts. There is only one other person that he has failed with, and that’s Bella. She has always been on his side though, so he didn’t pay it too much heed.”

Hermione looks out of the window, taking a moment to think about everything Narcissa has told her, her mind a chaotic vortex of swirling thoughts and feelings. She stands up, releasing the other woman’s hand. “Let’s go for a walk. I know a quiet place we can go, and I really need to be out in the fresh air. I spent months underground and now I can see all that sunshine just outside the window and it’s taunting me.”

Narcissa just nods, and stands up, following her to the door without question. They head down past the bar with a quick wave to the landlady, Marcia, heading out into the warm sunshine. Hermione leads them along the road behind the pub, until they reach the moors again, no words spoken until they step onto the grassland.

“It’s so beautiful here,” Narcissa murmurs, leaning into Hermione’s shoulder for a moment.

“This is one of my favourite places in the world,” Hermione discloses, shyly. “I always felt different here, like, the ground was vibrating, or… or maybe it was the air. I don’t know. Now though, I wonder if this is just a magical place.”

“Where are you taking me?” Narcissa asks, looking around at the rugged expanse that disappears off into the horizon. “It just looks like any other piece of moor? Beautiful of course, but no different to where we camped last night.”

“Look more closely. Can you see the stones in the distance? This place is called The Hurlers. There used to be three stone circles here, but not all of the stones are still standing. It was built here during the Bronze Age, the same era as StoneHenge. I always wondered what made them choose this place. What was so special about this spot, when they had the entire moor to choose from? But perhaps they were more in tune with magic back then, than muggles are these days,” Hermione muses, guiding them onto the tufty grass and towards the standing stones in the distance. There is no one around, but she discreetly casts a Muffliato, just in case.

They walk side by side in silence, arms brushing slightly with every step. Hermione can feel the pull of the bond; her desire to touch the woman getting stronger with every minute that passes. For a moment, she allows herself to forget about the conversations they are yet to have, and concentrates on the here and now. The sun on her face, the breeze in her hair, and the cool, still slightly dewy grass brushing against her legs; the damp seeping through her jeans. It seems impossible that it was only twelve hours ago that they were in their cell, planning to escape. At some point she knows they will both need to deal with the trauma of their ordeal, and physically their health leaves a lot to be desired. Right now though, Hermione just enjoys the calm and steadfast presence of the woman walking next to her.

“I can feel it.” Narcissa breaks the silence, grabbing hold of Hermione’s arm excitedly. “This place feels alive. You were right, Hermione, there is magic everywhere.” The older witch lets go, mumbling an apology as Hermione offers her a small smile.

They are only a few metres away from the first stone, but Hermione can feel it too. With a furtive glance around, she makes sure they are alone and not visible to anyone else before pointing her finger. “Aguamenti.”

A jet of clear water shoots from her finger, arcing over the grass before sinking into the peaty soil below. They both turn and stare at each other in shock. Narcissa quickly tries the same spell, and is no less surprised when the magic comes to her easily, without the aid of her wand.

They walk forwards into the centre of the main circle, stopping to take in the beauty of the moors. “This place is incredible. Thank you for sharing it with me,” Narcissa breathes out in a hushed tone.

Before she can reply, a flapping of wings gets their attention, and as they watch, a raven lazily flies towards them, swerving at the last minute to land on one of the tall stones that surround them. They hear another and turn, just in time to see it land on a stone behind them, cawing loudly. As they spin round yet again, they witness more arriving, each stone filling up with one, two or even three of the large, majestic birds.

“Hermione, what is happening?”

Hermione shakes her head, the sight of all these ravens perching on the stones, leaving her breathless. They are quiet now, eerily so. More than a hundred eyes are on them, where they stand in the middle of the main circle of stones. 

“Hermione!” Narcissa hisses, nudging her side with her elbow.

“I don’t think they mean us any harm,” Hermione states confidently, her voice steady and low. “I’ve never seen so many at once. Why do you think they are here?”

“I don’t know. Raven’s are said to be magical creatures,” Narcissa reminds her, sweeping an arm to gesture at their surroundings. “Maybe they are here because they can sense the magic.”

“Maybe,” Hermione agrees, but she’s not sure. Something inside of her is telling her it’s more than that. Somehow, impossibly, she knows that they are here for her , or maybe even for them . The sight of sleek black feathers and steely eyes sparks a memory from long ago. “You know, I was a hat stall at Hogwarts. The sorting hat wanted to put me in Ravenclaw, but I fought it.” Hermione confesses, turning to face the older witch. “All my life I had been teased for being too clever and when I arrived at Hogwarts I wanted something different for myself, not that it did any good.”

“You probably would have been better off in Ravenclaw, amongst the people who were also known for their intellectual prowess,” Narcissa remarks, grinning slightly.

“Yes, but eleven year old me was logical in all the wrong ways. I guess… I guess I wanted to be brave. If I could truly be brave then it wouldn’t matter what people thought of me. So I fought the hat, and I won.”

“You are brave, Hermione. I’ve never met anyone as brave as you.” Narcissa takes hold of her hand, shaking it gently. “I think you have so many qualities and skills, that any house would have been lucky to have you.”

“Even Slytherin?” Hermione asks slyly, one eyebrow raised.

“Even Slytherin,” Narcissa confirms firmly, a smile curling up the corners of her lips. “We also value intelligence, even if we use it in a slightly different way. You should know though, I was also a hat stall. Can you guess where it wanted to put me?”

Hermione doesn’t even need to think about her answer. “Ravenclaw?”

“I fought it too, of course. My family would have disowned me, I’m sure. But, yes. I too was destined for Ravenclaw.”

“Maybe that’s why they are here?” Hermione wonders out loud, gesturing to the ravens who are watching them. “Maybe they can sense that? You did say they are magical creatures.”

“Maybe,” Narcissa allows, “but I know you are feeling what I am. I know you think it is more than that.”

Hermione hums in acknowledgement, reaching into her bag to pull out a blanket to lay on the ground. “Here is as good a place as any, don’t you think?”

“You want to continue talking?”

“We need to,” Hermione states firmly, flopping down onto the blanket and laying on her back. Narcissa looks on, amused, as she elegantly folds her legs underneath herself and sits down. She grimaces slightly and Hermione is reminded of the woman’s torture before they left yesterday, a shiver of ice running down her spine. Shaking those thoughts from her mind, she concentrates on what they need to discuss. “We also need a plan and I need to contact the boys.”

The witch looks startled. “The boys? Why?”

“They need to know I’m okay, and we need to meet up with them. They are bound to need our help.”

“There is one thing that I was always curious about. What exactly were you three doing? Why didn’t you go back to Hogwarts?”

Hermione sighs. “I want to tell you, and I will. Today, if you like…”

“But?”

“But I have so many things I need to know first, and as much as I can feel the pull between us, I am not entirely sure I trust you,” Hermione replies bluntly, wincing when her words hit home in a physical way on Narcissa’s face. 

Narcissa is silent for a moment, but then lets out a sigh of her own. “I can see that is fair. It is easy for me to trust you, because I have always known that you were on the side of the good, but that’s not true in reverse. I keep trying to put myself in your shoes and imagine what it must be like for you. I wonder how I would react if I was suddenly thrust into a situation where my only ally was the ex-wife of a death eater, and I’m not so sure I would be very trusting either.”

“Thank you for acknowledging that.”

“What do you need from me. What more can I tell you?” Narcissa asks, laying back on the blanket next to her, their shoulders touching in a companionable way. Where their bodies touch, Hermione’s skin sings quietly, a tingling sensation that’s not entirely unpleasant. She craves more of it, thoughts of pressing her body up against the other woman’s intruding on her mind. Refusing to be distracted, she ploughs forward.

“You talked about Bellatrix and said you confided in her. You said she protected me, but the fact is she caused me more pain than most of them. I don’t understand her at all. I mean, you say that you have never believed that muggleborns are any less than purebloods, but I’m pretty sure she did, and yet she helped me.”

“She does believe it, trust me. When she called you a mudblood and carved it into your arm, that was not an act. She has always believed in blood purity and I don’t think that will ever change.”

Hermione sits up, staring down at the woman who is relaxing with her eyes closed. “But towards the end she was different. She… I don’t know. She seemed more open to me, and she gave me that healing potion.”

“I don’t think she will ever truly change, but I think you surprised her. You were strong, and brave and despite everything they tried you refused to yield. You intrigued her, Hermione, and she was impressed by you, against her will. After that first night, she tried to protect you for my benefit, but by the end I think she had lost her taste for it, anyway. She had always believed that those who were not pureblood, were nothing more than a plague, but you made her question things for the first time in her life. I don’t know how much difference it will make in the long term. Unfortunately, I don’t think we can rely on her going forward in this war.”

“What about personally? Would she help you?” Hermione asks, still leaning over the witch, wondering why she is so desperate for the woman to open her eyes.

“I think that she would never do anything to hurt me, and if she could help me, then she would. As to whether or not she would switch sides? I am almost entirely positive that she will not.”

“I hate that you have lost your family because of me.” Hermione lightly strokes the skin of Naricssa’s arm with her finger tips, their magic almost sparking in its efforts to connect further.

“If we can win this war, then I will have them back. If we can’t, then I don’t think any of us will be alive for it to matter.” 

Hermione drags her fingers all the way down to clasp her hand tightly, lacing their fingers together. “I’m sorry. You’re in a terrible position. You escape a marriage you didn’t want only to be forced by ancient magic to be here with me. I am so sorry that you are trapped all over again.”

Narcissa sits up, locking eyes with Hermione, who gasps quietly under her breath when she sees the intensity there. “That’s where you’re wrong, Hermione. Sitting here with you, I am free for the first time in my life.”

Chapter Text

Hermione has no idea how long they lay there in the middle of the stones, silent but for the sound of their shared breaths and the occasional ‘caw’ of one of the ravens. The birds themselves start to settle, no longer staring so intently at them, but they never move from their stony perches.

Eventually, Hermione rolls onto her side to face the other witch. “I need to send a message to Harry and Ron.”

Narcissa matches her movement, rolling to face her. “I know we must, but can we wait? Just a couple of days?”

“I don’t see the sense in waiting. They need us, and until we meet up with them we have no idea what is going on out there in the real world,” Hermione argues quietly, unwilling to disturb their peace.

“I know. I’m not asking for long, but I am asking for a couple of days. After everything we have been through, don’t you need to take a moment?” Narcissa asks, shuffling closer until her body is pressed up against Hermione’s. “The second we meet up with them, it all becomes real again.”

Hermione slides a hand over the woman’s waist, curving her palm around Narcissa’s back. She pauses, and then throws caution to the wind, slipping warm fingers under the woman’s t-shirt to stroke the skin there. She almost doesn’t recognise herself, touching her like this, but from the way Narcissa’s eyes flutter closed for a second, it’s obvious her touch is not unwanted.

“Can we compromise?” she questions, as Narcissa opens her eyes again. “What if I send them a message so they know I am ok, but we don’t arrange to meet them for a couple of days? We spend the next couple of days sorting ourselves out and then we go and find them. They think I’m dead, Narcissa, and I can’t bear the thought of them thinking that for another second.”

A flash of guilt briefly passes over the older woman’s face. “I apologise. I had not considered what they must be thinking. Of course you should contact them.”

“Thank you.” 

Reluctantly, Hermione pulls herself away and sits up, rummaging in her bag until she finds the enchanted Galleon from their DA days. Her wand almost jumps into her hand in its eagerness to do her bidding, Narcissa raising an eyebrow at its antics.

“It really seems to like me,” Hermione explains with a small chuckle. She points the wand at the Galleon and sends the first message.

“Harry, Ron, It’s Hermione. I’m alive and I’m out. How are you?”

“That’s remarkable.”

Hermione flashes her a smile. “We kept Umbridge on the run, all of our fifth year with these. They’re simple but effective.”

“There is nothing simple about that piece of magic.”

A message appears on the coin and Hermione lets out a small ‘whoop’ of excitement, grinning from ear to ear as they read it.

“Hermione, is that really you? What’s the only thing worse than dying?”

“Why on earth would they ask you that?” Narcissa asks, appalled at their question, but Hermione just laughs.

“It’s their way of checking if it's really me. Hang on a sec.” 

She sends a message straight back. “Being expelled! How are you both?”

Narcissa smirks. “Being expelled is worse than dying? I really feel like your priorities might be a little off.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, the smile never leaving her face. “That’s pretty much what Ron said, too. I was eleven ,” she defends, laughing again. Another message appears and they lean their heads closer together to read it.

“A lot has happened, but we’re ok. Meet at the rendezvous?”

“Rendezvous?”

Hermione nods seriously. “We had a back up plan in case something went wrong and we got separated. We agreed on a place to meet so we would know where to go, rather than risk putting the location in a message.”

“Sensible.”

“Not yet. I need a few days, first. Meet you there in two days time, at 12pm ,” Hermione replies, placing the coin back on the blanket. “It’s a safe place that we can Apparate straight to, without being seen.” 

“But you still don’t trust me enough to tell me where it is,” Narcissa guesses, and though she tries to hide it, Hermione can see how much this hurts her. She doesn’t meet the other woman’s eyes, lips pressed together in a straight line. 

No matter how much she wants to trust the older witch, the past few months have taken their toll. Surely she would be stupid to trust her, when they are only just getting to know each other? It’s like she has a war playing out between her head and her heart, and she refuses to let her heart win. She has seen the worst side of humanity and she suffered horribly for it. The thought of compromising her safety and possibly ending up back in the same situation is terrifying, and her heart begins to beat faster just considering it. Palms suddenly damp, she wipes them nervously on her jeans, trying to calm the rushing noise in her ears. Since when did it get so loud here?

“You’re panicking,” Narcissa says quietly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “You’re safe, darling. No one can hurt you now, I promise. I will take care of you.”

Hermione can barely hear her words, but somehow they manage to break through the onslaught of terror that has her frozen to the spot. She lets herself be pulled closer; both of the other woman’s arms now wrapped around her body as hot tears begin to cascade down her cheeks. Narcissa holds her tightly, even as Hermione trembles in her arms and lets herself cry, too weary to stop it. 

“Shhhh, darling. Everything is going to be okay.”

Hermione can’t speak yet, but she lets herself be held, revelling in the feeling of safety that washes over her. As if a fog has lifted, everything becomes clear to her. There might be a million reasons why it is unwise to trust the ex-wife of a Death Eater, but she realises that none of them will stop her. However unlikely, she already trusts the other woman, as long as she listens to her heart and not her head. It’s not a compromise, it’s a choice , and she has to trust her own instincts if she is to survive this war.

It’s this revelation that makes her realise that it’s all or nothing. She can’t hold the woman at a distance, whilst expecting Narcissa to extend that trust to her. Decision made, she silently vows to tell her everything.

She pulls away, wiping her face roughly. “I’m okay. I was just overwhelmed for a moment,” she explains, though she can see the empathy on the witch’s face and knows it’s unnecessary. 

“You’ve been through a lot.”

They both have. The end is not in sight yet, and there is no saying what else they might have to get through, before this war is over. She checks the coin, smiling weakly when she sees the reply.

“Okay. See you in two days. We’ve missed you, Hermione.” 

She replies instantly. “I’ve missed you, too.” 

Hermione turns her attention back to Narcissa. “I’ve not mentioned you. I feel like this is something that needs to be explained in person. I hope they will trust me, but I don’t want to give them a chance to build up a case against you in their minds, before we meet them. This thing is about us. It’s between me and you. They will never understand what we have been through or how it connects us, and that’s without mentioning the fact we are magical mates.”

“I think the knowledge we are soulmates would probably go a long way to helping them understand,” Narcissa counters. “The Weasley boy is from a pureblood family and will have grown up with an understanding of such things, even if it is rare these days.”

“True, but Harry will be a hard sell. He grew up with muggles like me, even if his parents were from this world. I’m not worried though. Nothing they say will change my opinion of you.”

Narcissa throws her a grateful smile. The wind blows dark locks across her face, and a look of determination reaches her eyes. “I want to change my hair. My natural colour is blonde, but when I married Lucius, I changed it. It was a small act of defiance,” Narcissa admits with a grin. “I didn’t want to look like I belonged to , or with, Lucius.”

“So, change it back then. I think it would suit you either way.”

Hermione watches as the woman moves her wand in a hypnotic pattern, with no words spoken. Her hair changes to the purest blonde she has ever seen on anyone other than Draco. “You are so beautiful,” she blurts out, flushing bright red when she realises what she has said.

The older witch smiles warmly, her own cheeks becoming slightly pink, but doesn’t tease her for her outburst. Instead, she looks at the sun’s position in the sky. “Shall we go? It’s getting quite late and I don’t know about you, but I am looking forward to another meal, a glass of wine and then a night in a comfortable bed.”

Hermione blushes yet again, silently cursing the now-blonde witch for making her feel like this. They’ve shared a sofa, and curled up together on the narrow mattress in the cell, but it feels so much more intimate to climb knowingly into bed with the woman. There is so much more to being magical mates than she had realised, having not originally understood the expectation of a different kind of relationship between them. The longer she spends with Narcissa, the more she craves her touch and whilst it had started innocently with a need to be close to her, now her thoughts are taking a different turn. 

Her cheeks glow hotter and she can feel Naricssa’s eyes burning a hole into the side of her head. She tries not to think about kissing the other woman, ridding her mind of thoughts that have her questioning how her skin tastes. She gets to her feet and holds out a hand to help the witch up.

“It will be nice,” is all she replies in answer to Narcissa’s honest declaration, busying herself with the blanket and stuffing it back in her bag. 

They’ve started to walk back to the pub, when it happens; a cacophony of wing beats and caws as the ravens take off in unison and fly deeper into the moors.

“I need to do some research,” Hermione states absentmindedly, talking to herself more than the other witch.

“And where can you do that around here? This is a muggle village, is it not?”

Hermione puts a hand on her bag, lifting it slightly. “I have most of the restricted section of Hogwarts in here, plus my own private collection of books. Hopefully, I’ll find what I need.”

Narcissa laughs and it’s beautiful, her head thrown back in glee. “You stole from the Hogwarts’ library? Minerva will have a conniption.”

“Borrowed,” Hermione corrects her with a grin. “I’ll give them back, after.”

“When this is all over, I think you might enjoy looking through my library. It’s the most extensive in Britain.”

“Really?”

Narcissa nods, a proud smile curling her lips up at the corners. “I have magical tomes that are thousands of years old, from all around the world. They are fascinating.”

“I can’t wait,” Hermione replies honestly, impulsively lacing their fingers together as they walk. Narcissa throws such a blinding smile her way that Hermione actually stumbles, her feet catching in the long grass.

*****

Dinner that night is a quiet affair, but the silence between them doesn’t feel wrong or awkward. They both have a lot on their mind, and as much as Hermione has tried to reassure Narcissa, they’re both worried about Harry and Ron’s reaction. What they need to decide is how much to tell them. Do they confess that they are magical mates? Or do they just explain that they were held in the same cell together and somehow, impossibly, formed a friendship of sorts?

Hermione has other things weighing her down, too. She knows she trusts Narcissa, but how wise is it to tell her about the Horcruxes? If she is ever captured again, then Voldemort will surely find out what they are looking for. The thought of keeping anything from the blonde does not sit well with her, though. Hermione’s realisation earlier has settled inside her, and there is no doubt in her mind that she does trust her, now. Considering how bad Harry is at Occlumency, the risks are no higher if Narcissa knows. Harry could just as easily give up their secrets if they are captured again.

“Can we talk?” she asks, glancing at the woman who is gracefully reclined on the bed, a large, old book in her lap. When Hermione had pulled stack after stack of books from her bag, the blonde’s eyes had lit up like a Christmas tree, and she has been reading ever since, humming quietly to herself.

Narcissa looks up. “I was about to say the same thing, but you first.”

Hermione’s breath hitches as blue eyes meet her gaze, holding her in a trance. She’s always known the woman is attractive, but now she has allowed herself to trust her, it’s like the dam has been broken. She knows it’s related to their bond, but that’s not all it is. Their magic wants her to reach out and make the connection. It wants her to complete the bond with her magical counterpart, joining them together in the way that they’re destined to. There is something more than magic at play here, though, something far more primal. 

She is attracted to Narcissa. 

Hermione reaches for the half-empty bottle next to her, topping up her glass. “You asked me earlier what we were doing out there and I’m ready to tell you.”

“You are?” Narcissa’s smile is brighter than the lamps that are on either side of the bed. “And you’re sure? I don’t ever want you to do something you’re not ready for.”

Hermione understands the meaning behind the words. Narcissa is not just referring to trust. Well… not just referring to trust in regards to each other’s secrets. She doesn’t need to think about her answer, replying honestly without a second thought.

“I do trust you, Narcissa. I think I always have, but I fought it, because I thought I shouldn’t. It’s illogical, isn’t it? I barely know you, but I do trust you.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t make sense in normal circumstances, but our situation is a little different, don’t you think?”

Hermione takes a sip of her wine, and then nods. “Yes. I didn’t think it should be, but it is.”

“I won’t betray you, darling. I would rather die than do anything that causes you hurt.”

“I know. It’s just… for so long it was just me, Harry and Ron. Not even the Order knew what we were up to. It’s overwhelming to know that I have someone I can talk to, now. Someone who can share the burden with me.”

“This is new for me, too.”

Hermione gets up, unable to concentrate on their discussion with the pull of the bond constantly warring inside of her. With the look of relief the blonde gives her when she climbs on the bed and settles next to her, she realises Narcissa isn’t faring much better, but has been trying to give her space. 

“We were looking for Horcruxes.”

A sharp intake of breath next to her, has Hermione turning her head so she can look at the woman while they talk.

“That’s incredibly dark magic, Hermione. Why on earth would you want to go looking for those? They make those in possession of them do terrible things. They have a dangerous effect on the mind.”

“Trust me, I know,” Hermione remarks, vividly remembering the argument between Ron and Harry, before Ron had stormed off. “We think… well… Dumbledore thought that Voldemort split his soul into seven. Unless we find and destroy his Horcruxes, then we will never be able to destroy him.”

“So that’s what you have been doing all these months? Searching for Horcruxes so you can rid the wizarding world of the Dark Lord, once and for all?”

“Yes. The diary that Ginny had in our second year was one, and Harry destroyed that already. Dumbledore destroyed a ring belonging to one of Voldemort’s relatives, so that’s two. There was a locket that used to belong to Salazar Slytherin, which is the third and we think the snake is another, which would be four.”

“What about the fifth and sixth, assuming that Voldemort himself is the seventh piece of his soul?”

“We don’t know,” Hermione admits, huffing out a frustrated breath. “I do have a theory that your sister knows, though.”

“Bella? Why?”

“Because she tortured me for information when she thought we had been in her vault. Whether or not she knows the significance of what she has, I think Voldemort asked her to keep something safe for him.”

“But you have no idea what it is?”

“No. It could be something belonging to another founder of Hogwarts, but we didn’t really get much further than that.”

“We really do need to meet up with Potter and Weasley, don’t we?” Narcissa begrudgingly admits. “Maybe between us we can work out what the others are. Maybe… maybe Bella might be able to tell us, but I don’t know if it will be safe to reach out to her.”

“We’ll meet up with the boys and then we’ll work out what to do from there. For all we know, they have already found and destroyed them.”

Narcissa offers her a sceptical look but doesn’t attempt to dash her hopes.

Hermione clears her throat. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

A look of excitement sparkles in the blonde’s eyes as she picks up the book she had been reading. She closes it to show Hermione the cover. Ley Lines; Power and Prophecy.

“I thought this might be a good place to start. Magical ley lines have been discovered all over the world, and Bodmin Moor is no different. We both felt it when we were in the stone circle today.”

“So you think that The Hurlers were built on a magical ley line? Neolithic man put the stones there because they sensed magic there?”

“That’s exactly what I thought… at first,” Narcissa replies, opening the book and passing it to Hermione. “But, read this.”

She looks down at the page, brow wrinkling when she sees a poem.

Once, a coven of witches flew,

In raven form, dark and true.

Their spells and chants, filled the night,

With magic, mystery, and ancient might.

But, one night, in the middle of June,

Their powers waned, under a full moon,

For they were cursed, by an unknown hand, 

And turned to stone, on ancient land.

Now they stand, on grassy floor,

As the silent guardians of Bodmin moor.

Their wings no longer beat the air,

But their magic combined, still lingers there.

Until the curse has been undone,

They will remain, under moon and sun,

Their sisters will still gather there,

But trapped as ravens of the air.

A magical war, will set them free,

A pair of mates, will hear their plea,

An elder wand and witches two,

Will undo the curse, with a witch’s brew.

“I don’t understand,” Hermione eventually responds, looking up from the page. “Are you saying that The Hurlers are people? That they were once witches who were turned to stone, and have been there ever since?”

Narcissa grins. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. The stones must be on a ley line, which is probably why the witches were there in the first place. The main power we found there, though, must be from the coven. So, all we have to do is reverse the spell, and they will all be free.”

“But… What does this have to do with Voldemort? How does this help us?”

For the first time since Narcissa was thrown into her cell, Hermione sees a look of disappointment cross the witch’s face. “They are trapped and it is our destiny to help them, Hermione. We have to set them free! It all makes sense, don’t you see? We have no choice but to trust in what we were prophesied to do. Maybe if we do this, it will help us win the war? And if not, then at least we have freed them, so they may live their own lives again.”

“But Harry is destined to defeat Voldemort. Not a coven of ancient witches,” Hermione points out.

“Trelawney was unreliable at best and batty at worst. There were two boys born on that night, and the Dark Lord assumed it was Harry. But what if the prophecy was wrong? Have you ever heard of any other prophecy that is so vague? Vague enough that two people could be the ‘chosen one’?” Narcissa argues, jabbing the page with her finger. “Look. Everything is here. It talks about the war, it talks about the ravens and how they will gather there. It even talks about us!”

“It also talks about the elder wand, Narcissa. The wand that Voldemort now has.”

The blonde stubbornly shakes her head. “That’s not the only elder wand in existence. The wand you carry now is also an elder wand, and you have an incredible connection to it. Who’s to say that is not the wand this prophecy speaks of?”

Hermione relaxes back against the pillows, exhaustion rolling over her. “There are still so many ‘what ifs’. I just don’t know what to think any more. You talk about Harry’s prophecy being vague, but the same could be said for this one. An elder wand? Like you said, there is more than one. So if that’s not vague then I don’t know what is. A pair of mates? That could refer to any magical creatures and not just magical soulmates. A witch’s brew? I assume that means a potion, but which one?”

“I will never force my will onto you, but Hermione, please keep an open mind. You are new to all of this, but I grew up immersed in the magical world. I really feel like this means something.”

Hermione relents, too tired to think of a counter argument and unsure why she even wants to have one. “Fine. I’ll keep an open mind.”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask,” Narcissa replies, her voice softening. “You look exhausted. Maybe we should go to bed?”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Hermione says with a yawn, sliding her feet off the bed and standing up. “Tomorrow we need to go shopping. Transfiguring clothes is not my strong point and you don’t know enough about muggle fashion to know what to make.”

“I’m actually looking forward to it.”

“I don’t have anything for us to sleep in,” Hermione realises, a look of horror forming on her face. “When I was with Harry and Ron, I just slept in my clothes, in case we had to disappear in a hurry.”

Narcissa grins wickedly, getting up from the bed. Without another word, she undoes her jeans and drops them to the floor, leaving herself in a t-shirt and the cotton briefs she borrowed from Hermione.

“I don’t mind if you don’t?” she says playfully, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

Hermione drops her gaze just for a moment, eyes devouring pale thighs, swallowing at the thought of being in bed with the half-naked witch. She turns away before the other woman can see her cheeks flushing yet again, and removes her own jeans. By the time she turns back around, Narcissa has slid between the sheets, and is looking at her smugly. For a moment, the blonde allows her eyes to drop, not even attempting to hide the fact she is absorbing every inch of skin Hermione has on display.

“Come to bed, darling,” she invites, voice slightly huskier than usual, as she pats the empty space next to her.

“Merlin’s beard,” Hermione murmurs under her breath, wondering how she will survive a night sleeping next to the temptress. When she finally pulls back the covers and lays down, no further words are spoken as Narcissa opens her arms. Tomorrow, she will worry about everything else, but for now she accepts the comfort on offer. Her magic flares up when their cool limbs tangle together, a current of energy running between them, that leaves her breathless.

She burrows her face into the side of Narcissa’s neck; the smell of the moors and the shower gel they used this morning still lingering there. Impulsively, she presses her lips there, just for a moment, smirking to herself when she hears the older woman’s breath hitch.

Laying with her like this, makes things so much clearer. She might not be ready for things to change between them yet, but there is no doubt in her mind that she will be, one day. Call it destiny, call it mutual attraction, Hermione doesn’t mind. All she knows is that one day she wants to surrender herself to all these things that Narcissa makes her feel, completing the bond between them and fully embracing her magical mate.

Soon , she promises herself, as her breath evens out and she slips into sleep.

Chapter Text

Hermione wakes up with a warmth washing over her, that is not entirely down to the body heat Narcissa is pumping out. Instead, it has more to do with the position that the woman is now in; face buried into Hermione’s hair, as she lays heavily in her arms. There is something about their change of position that is so simple, but carries so much meaning.

They are equals.

Last night she had fallen asleep being held by Narcissa, pulled close to her body like she was something precious to protect. This morning, Narcissa is happy to be in Hermione’s arms, breathing softly against her skin with a hand snaked across her waist.

Is this how things will always be? When they finally embark on a relationship that is more intimate in nature, will they still have this give and take that they have settled into so easily? Hermione knows she is relatively inexperienced when it comes to the physical side of a relationship, but she doesn’t want Narcissa to always be the one to take the lead. She wants to match her; Narcissa’s equal in every way.

The woman in question stirs, tightening her grip and mumbling into Hermione’s hair. “What time is it?”

Hermione glances at the alarm clock. “Just after 8am. We slept for hours.”

“Comfortable,” Narcissa replies sleepily.

“We really should get up. We have to go to town today, and it takes longer travelling by muggle modes of transport.”

Hermione chuckles as Narcissa moves and peers up at her curiously. “Are we going to go in one of those automobiles?”

“Maybe. Or, we can walk around Caradon Hill to the next village, and get a bus from there.”

Narcissa wrinkles her nose distastefully. “How far would we need to walk?”

“It’s about two and a half miles.”

“Absolutely not.” Narcissa buries her face again in protest.

“Okay, no walking,” Hermione concedes, good naturedly rolling her eyes, even though the witch can’t see her. “I’ll get cash-back from Marcia using my debit card, and then we can call a taxi.”

“Taxi?”

“A car, or automobile as you called it. We hire someone to pick us up and drive us there, and then we find another one to bring us back again.”

Narcissa throws back the covers, revealing long legs, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “How fast do they go?”

Giggling, Hermione replies. “Faster than a broom! Though some of the roads are really narrow lanes, so not as fast as it’s possible to go on a larger road, like a motorway.”

“Can you drive one of these… cars?”

Hermione shrugs her shoulders lightly. “Technically, though I am out of practice. I took my test during the holidays, but I haven’t had a lot of experience.”

“I really want to learn,” Narcissa confesses bashfully. “Will you teach me one day?”

Hermione melts slightly at the hopeful look on the blonde’s face, smiling at her softly. “If we get through this war, then I’ll take you to my Uncle’s place. He has a small, private airfield, and he taught me to drive on one of the runways.”

The smile Narcissa sends back her way is radiant as she gets up from the bed. “I’m going to shower.”

As the witch heads into the bathroom, Hermione collapses back against the pillows with a small groan. No matter how much she tries to avoid it, her eyes are drawn to Narcissa’s curves. The woman is slim, probably too slim considering their sparse diet in the cellar, but she is no less beautiful for it. Both of them could do with gaining a few pounds, but Hermione suspects that she would appreciate the other woman’s body at any weight. 

An hour and a half later they are standing in the sunshine, waiting for their taxi to arrive. Hermione grins to herself, wondering how their shopping excursion will go, considering she has just had to explain why Marcia was happy to give her a wad of cash when she asked for cash-back. The landlady has her card on file, and ran the transaction while they were standing there, but Narcissa genuinely has no idea how electronic banking systems work. What will she think of shopping in a muggle town? Hermione is rather looking forward to finding out, happy to show the woman around another one of the places she spent time as a child.

A dark blue Ford Sierra pulls up next to them, the rust around the wheel arch doing nothing to dampen the older witch’s excitement. Hermione watches, amused, as the other woman falters when faced with the door handle, but takes pity on her and opens it.

She slides in next to her, gesturing that Narcissa should mimic her actions and put on her seatbelt. Hermione takes her hand, squeaking as her fingers are squeezed a little too tightly when the car starts to move. There is such innocence and joy in Narcissa’s expression as she watches the world go by, her hands tightening in Hermione’s every time they take a corner at speed. When they arrive in the small market town of Liskeard, the woman actually looks disappointed that their journey is over.

Hermione leans in, talking quietly. “We get to travel in another one, on the way back.”

Narcissa’s face brightens immediately, and they exit the car, thanking the driver for their ride.

“It’s very colourful,” Narcissa remarks, looking down Fore Street at all the brightly coloured shop displays. 

“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” Hermione quips, laughing.

“I actually read that book when I was younger. I had a great love for muggle fiction, until Mother put a stop to it.”

“She wouldn’t let you read books?”

“Muggle books,” Narcissa corrects her with a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Books about dark magic, however, were actively encouraged.”

Sensing that this is a difficult subject and not wanting the mood to fall, Hermione laces their fingers together, guiding Narcissa to a clothes shop at the beginning of the street. “Well, now you can read all the muggle books you want. I have some of my favourites in my bag.”

Narcissa smiles at that, and lets herself be led into the shop, eyes wide as she takes in the racks of brightly coloured clothes, and the fluorescent strip lighting overhead. Hermione passes her a basket to carry, picking up one for herself.

“I think we should start with three outfits each, a couple of extra t-shirts and… um… undergarments,” Hermione suggests awkwardly.

“Do you have a preference for what kind of lingerie I purchase?” Narcissa drawls, with a raised eyebrow.

“Lingerie? Merlin, you can’t say that to me. Not in that tone of voice!”

The blonde witch smirks, sauntering off to something that has caught her eye further into the shop, leaving Hermione to shake her head, bemused, and trail after her.

Narcissa stands in front of the mannequin. “I like this ensemble. Do you think it will be practical?”

The outfit is a dark green jumpsuit with tapered legs. The top half is dipped sinfully low into a v-neck, revealing far more cleavage than Hermione has ever seen her display. She gulps, trying to find her voice.

“I think it would be fit for purpose,” she replies. “It looks comfortable and it’s not too restrictive. I thought I would have to talk you out of buying corsets and skirts,” Hermione admits with a grin.

Narcissa smiles, her eyes twinkling joyfully. “I’m free to make my own decisions for the first time in my life, and I plan on trying as many new things as possible.”

Hermione nods, smiling. “Then let’s get you a jumpsuit and anything else that catches your eye.”

The woman looks stricken for a moment. “Hermione, how are we paying for all of this?”

“By card, why?”

“No, I mean… where is this money coming from? How do you have so much of it at your disposal?” She leans closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I don’t have any muggle money to repay you with.”

“First things first, I have this money because my Nana passed away last year. She lived with my parents so she was there the day Professor McGonagall arrived and explained about Hogwarts, and she knew all about magic. She was the only one who ever really took me seriously about the war we all knew was coming; my parents always thought I was being dramatic. So when Nana died, she left me her entire fortune. She wanted to make sure I never had to worry about anything, so I could concentrate on the things that matter.”

“I’m sorry that you lost someone you were close to.” 

“It’s okay, really. It wasn’t sudden, so I had time to get used to it. I just want to look forward now.”

Hermione leads them down the aisle where the railings full of jumpsuits are located, letting Narcissa browse through the array of different colours. She looks around, noting they are alone, though she still speaks as quietly as possible. “As for the other thing, well, I assume we won’t always be amongst muggles, so you can pay for some things when we’re back in the wizarding world. It will all equal out in the end, and even if it doesn’t, it doesn’t matter. We are both wealthy in our own right.”

Narcissa puts the jumpsuit she had removed back on the rail. “You are considering that we will remain in touch when this is all over?”

“Of course. Aren’t you?”

The blonde frowns, her voice strained as she confesses, “I have hoped, but I didn’t want to assume anything. I would never put pressure on you to do something you didn’t want to do, and that includes being with me.”

“Weren’t you the one that told me we were destined to be together?”

Narcissa reaches out to gently cup her face. “Destiny might guide us, darling, but I want you to choose me. I want you to want this, and if you don’t, then destiny means nothing to me.”

Lost for words, Hermione steps forwards, pulling the other woman into a hug. She kisses her temple, wondering at how natural it feels to do so. “I do choose you, Narcissa. I already have.”

“Cissa,” the woman corrects her, pressing herself closer and wrapping her arms tightly around her waist. “Please, won’t you call me Cissa?”

“Cissa,” Hermione repeats, the name rolling over her tongue in a pleasing way. Reluctantly, she steps back from their embrace, meeting blue eyes. “I haven’t meant to hold you at an arm’s distance, or make you doubt that this will end any other way.”

“But you’ve needed to take things slowly,” Narcissa replies, understanding shining from her eyes.

“Yes.”

“We can take things as slowly as you need, darling. It is enough to know that you can imagine a future where we are together. That you are thinking about it.” 

“What about this one?” Hermione picks up a charcoal grey jumpsuit, holding it up against the other witch. “And I do. See a future with you, I mean. I must say, you seem to have taken this all in your stride far more easily than me.”

“I prefer the green,” Narcissa decides, putting the grey one back and picking up the green. “I’ve had longer to adjust than you. The moment I touched you that first night, I knew, and that was nearly three months before I was put in the cellar with you.”

Three months. Four, if you count their month held together. All that time stuck underground in the semi-darkness, only leaving that cell to be tortured over and over again. Hermione takes a deep breath, blinking sudden tears from her eyes.

“You’re okay,” Narcissa reminds her softly, taking her hand and squeezing it. “You’re not there any more, and right here, right now, we are as safe as we can be.”

Hermione smiles gratefully. “I know. I just get lost in my thoughts sometimes.”

“As do I,” Narcissa shares. “But we’ll be okay. Eventually.”

“Eventually,” she repeats, like a promise they have just made to each other. Somehow, she knows they will get through this. Together.

Keeping their hands linked, Hermione leads them to a wall of shelves, each one stacked with folded t-shirts and vest tops, choosing dark colours that are less likely to get stained. Magic is great for removing surface dirt, but she hasn’t mastered removing more difficult things like blood or even grass stains. Narcissa might know a few household and cleaning spells, but the witch has always had house elves at her disposal, so it’s unlikely.

“Okay, ready to try this stuff on?” Hermione asks, when they have a good selection in each of their baskets.

“I do believe you’re forgetting something,” Narcissa points out, with a quirk of her lips. She drops her voice. “We need lingerie, darling.”

Hermione giggles nervously, but lets the other woman lead her to the underwear section, groaning when the blonde narrows in on a matching bra and thong in the sheerest black fabric she has ever seen.

“These look sublime. Do you think they would suit me?” Narcissa asks innocently, her lips twitching.

“You can’t be serious.” Hermione buries her now-warm face in her hands. “Yes. I think they would suit you. Happy?”

“Delighted,” Narcissa purrs, smirking wickedly.

“Get some practical things as well,” Hermione suggests, her voice unsteady as images of the blonde witch wearing her chosen set race through her mind. More surprising is the imagery of what it would be like to draw the thong slowly down the woman’s long, toned legs. She surreptitiously presses her own legs together, all too aware of how arousing that thought is. 

The witch is trying to kill her, she’s sure of it. 

Shaking her head to rid herself of the mental images, she picks up a multipack of cotton briefs, in black and grey patterns. One day, she hopes she is brave enough to choose an outfit that she thinks Narcissa will like, but for now, these will have to do. She resolutely puts them in the basket and ignores the other woman, who is grinning snuggly at her.

“Do you know your bra size?” Hermione asks, pointing to another rack.

Narcissa browses through the offerings. “That’s one thing that appears to be universal. These look to be the same as Twillfitt and Tattings.”

“They sell women’s underwear?”

Narcissa looks at her strangely. “Of course. There is a whole backroom full of lingerie. The wizarding world can be a little prudish when it comes to having things like this on display. It is seen as a treat for your spouse, that no one else should see. For me, it has always just made me feel strong. I like knowing that I am wearing something sensual under my clothes, that is just for me. It makes me feel good about myself.”

“I can understand that,” Hermione agrees. “It also makes this trip a little easier if the sizing is the same.” She picks up three plain white t-shirt bras in her own size, ignoring the witch who is watching her every movement. Narcissa plucks one out of her basket, reading the size on the label quickly. 

“I think you can do better than that,” Narcissa says with a small wink, turning to a section of black lacy garments to her right. She flicks through the options, before turning to Hermione to hold one up. “What about this?”

“Cissa, I can’t wear that!” Hermione exclaims loudly, blushing when the woman behind the counter not far away, raises an eyebrow in their direction. She lowers her voice. “It’s see-through!”

Narcissa’s smile only grows wider as she brushes Hermione’s hair behind her ear. “I know,” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. The blonde turns, and walks away, casually looking at socks as though she hasn’t just left Hermione a hot, flustered, spluttering mess behind her.

Hermione watches for a moment, but she doesn’t look back, though she can see the barely concealed smirk on Narcissa’s face. Eyeing up the bra in the basket warily, a thought makes itself known. What would it feel like to dress for a lover? To choose something to wear that is hidden, a secret that only they will discover. Slightly giddy, Hermione realises she might quite like the idea, and if nothing else she needs to level the playing field. She turns her attention to the matching sets of lingerie and picks out a ruby red, lacy set, burying it under everything else in the basket with a self-satisfied smile.

Two can play at this game.

*****

They get back to the bed and breakfast with tired limbs and aching feet, stumbling in through the main doors, trying not to drop their many bags. Reluctant to leave their bubble of peace, it was decided they should stay here another night and check out in the morning ready to meet the boys.

“Looks like you had a successful trip,” Marcia comments with a friendly smile as they walk through the doors. “Which one of you is the shopaholic?”

Hermione laughs freely. “This one, definitely,” she declares, nodding towards the blonde. The woman had insisted on going into practically every shop along the street; no longer concerned about what she was spending, now Hermione has confirmed she will be able to reciprocate in future. 

“It’s always the blondes,” Marcia replies sagely, winking at the older witch.

“She purchased just as much as I did, if not more,” Narcissa defends with a light laugh, when Hermione just shrugs.

“Well, you both look very happy,” Marcia notes, nodding approvingly at them.

“We are. Are we okay to stay another night?” Hermione checks. The bed and breakfast only has one other guest, so Marcia had told them they could check out late, once back from shopping, but it’s pointless going somewhere else just for one night. They are safe here for the moment, she can feel it.

“No problem at all, ladies. We’ll settle the tab for the extra night when you leave. You look like you have your hands full at the moment,” Marcia replies, gesturing at their bags. 

“Thanks. We’re going to go up to our room now, but we’ll be back down for dinner,” Hermione informs her.

“See you later,” the landlady replies, already turning to greet another customer at the bar.

With heavy legs, they drag their shopping upstairs, both collapsing on the bed, bags scattering on the floor by their feet. Laughing, they lay back on the duvet, staring up at the ceiling, both smiling.

“Thank you for today.” Narcissa lets out a contented sigh. “I had no idea shopping could be quite so much fun.”

“I normally hate shopping,” Hermione confesses. “But I enjoyed it with you. I am so happy we will see Harry and Ron tomorrow, but I will miss this. It won’t be the same with them around, and once we meet up with them, we are back in the real world, with real problems.”

“Maybe we should make the most of tonight,” Narcissa suggests, turning to face her. 

Hermione gets lost in the swirling vortex of emotions she can see in the other woman’s eyes. “What do you want to do?”

A hint of colour reaches the blonde witch’s cheeks. “Hermione Granger, would you please do me the very great honour of going on a date with me?”

“You’re adorable,” Hermione blurts out, touched by the formal invitation. “Yes. I would love to go on a date with you.”

It’s impossible to ignore the fission of energy that is between them. Hermione is tired of trying to resist and no longer knows why she wants to. Biting her lip, she reaches out to trace her fingers along delicate cheekbones. “I really want to kiss you,” she confesses breathily.

Narcissa smiles sweetly. “Then do so.”

The ball firmly back in her court, Hermione closes the gap between them, her lips pressing softly against the other woman’s. It’s not enough, and instinct takes over as she parts her lips; their tongues meeting as they get lost in the moment. Hermione rolls them slightly so that Narcissa is partly underneath her, their legs tangling together as she devours her hungrily. She still wants more, their closeness not enough for her, or the bond, as it tries to make the ultimate connection between them. She slides soft fingers under the woman’s t-shirt, stroking the warm skin there, tracing her ribs. Narcissa grips her hips tightly, deftly moving her more on top, as she nibbles on Hermione’s lower lip.

Pulling away, and panting slighting, Hermione giggles as she stares down at the tousled women beneath her. “I had no idea it could be like this. That I could feel so much from a kiss,” she admits, sliding her body off to the side and leaning her head on her hand.

“Neither did I,” Narcissa confides, still slightly breathless. “I’ve read about it, but nothing could have prepared me for how it would feel to finally be this close to you.”

Hermione wiggles her eyebrows. “Imagine what it will be like when we, well, you know.”

Narcissa leans up, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. “I’m ready, whenever you are, but there is no rush.”

There is usually relief when Narcissa makes a statement like that, but right now, all Hermione feels is a strange sense of disappointment. She’s grateful that Narcissa has no expectations of her, but now she wants more. She sits up on the bed. “Okay, if we’re doing this, then we’re doing it properly. I only bought one nice outfit, but I’ll wear it tonight,” Hermione announces, eyes lighting up as a plan comes into her mind. “But first, I need to shower.”

“I would also like to,” the older woman agrees, still laying on the bed, looking up at the ceiling dreamily. “You can go first, if you like?”

Hermione grins deviously. “Stay there and don’t look,” she demands, rooting through the bags quickly, and pulling out the items she needs. “Back soon.”

She steps out of her shoes and darts into the bathroom, hanging up her new clothes on the back of the door. She’s not entirely sure what has changed between them since this morning. Maybe it’s the time they have now spent together since they escaped, or maybe it’s just Hermione’s acceptance of her attraction to the older witch. Maybe it’s just that she knows this is their last night alone together. Whatever it is, she isn’t going to question it any further than she needs to. All she knows is she has an almost overwhelming urge to make the witch hers in every way possible; linking them together and completing the bond.

She takes her time showering, taking care to exfoliate and shave the day-old stubble she has developed. Looking down at her body, she frowns under the flow of water, wondering how Narcissa will see her. She closes her eyes, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension there, as the scalding water cascades down her back. 

Sighing deeply, she rinses herself, and steps out onto the bathmat, wrapping the towel around her. Narcissa knows better than anyone what she has been through these last months, and she trusts her not to be judgemental, in theory. She’s never had much confidence in her appearance though, constantly teased in school for her bushy hair, or the size of her teeth, amongst other things. 

She dresses quickly in the matching red bra and briefs she bought, jaw dropping when she looks in the mirror. Is that really her reflection? Yes. She’s too thin from months of lack of food, but she still looks like an adult in a way that she never has before. When did she stop being a girl and become the woman staring back at her? Suddenly bolstered, she pushes still damp hair back behind her shoulders, and smiles at herself. 

Her outfit is simple; a smart pair of black jeans and a dark green v-neck sleeveless top, that she bought simply because it matched Narcissa’s jumpsuit. Will the woman wear it tonight? She hopes so. There is no denying that the traditional Slytherin colours suit the older witch. When Narcissa had walked out of the dressing room to show her, she had gripped the edges of the chair she was waiting on, so she didn’t jump up and kiss her in the middle of the store.

Hermione finishes off with a light application of makeup and perfume, before shyly opening the bathroom door.

“You look incredible, darling.” Narcissa nods approvingly, eyes roaming all the way down and back up again. Hermione smirks, knowing the woman will enjoy what she is wearing underneath far more than what is currently on offer.

“Thank you,” she replies with more confidence than she ever thought possible. “Will you wear the jumpsuit? For me?”

Narcissa offers her a smile that would melt Antarctica. “For you? Anything.”

The blonde gathers her things, and wanders into the bathroom, quietly closing the door. Hermione needs a distraction from the thought of a very naked Narcissa behind the thin wood that separates them. She reaches into her bag and finds the Galleon to send a message to Harry and Ron.

“Still on for tomorrow?”

Their reply comes back quickly. “Yup! It’s been too long, ‘Mione.”

“Please don’t ask me who, but I’m bringing someone with me. Someone you won’t be expecting, but please don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Who is it?!”  

Hermione rolls her eyes, just about to reprimand them, when another one comes through.

“Ignore that, Ron took the coin off of me. If you trust them, then we will too. Don’t worry.”

Really hoping they put their money where their mouth is when the moment arrives, Hermione sends one last message. “Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow, then. 12pm.”

“Later, ‘Mione ,” comes the next reply, and she is left with nothing to do, but wait.

She knows they will be avidly discussing her mystery guest, but she can’t think of a single scenario where they would even consider that it is Narcissa she is bringing with her. Her marriage bond with Lucius may have been broken, but Harry and Ron have no way of knowing that. She knows how it will look to them, arriving with someone they believe to be the wife of a prominent Death Eater.

Sighing, she tries to ignore the feeling of butterflies in her stomach, unsure if it is because of the boys’ potential reaction, or in anticipation of what might happen between herself and Narcissa later. She doesn’t want to be drunk, but at this point she’s looking forward to a glass of wine with dinner, just to steady her nerves. Determined not to think about any of it for a moment, she reaches into her bag and pulls out an old favourite; The History of Hogwarts.

When the door to the bathroom finally opens, Hermione cannot stop staring at the perfection standing in front of her. She is indeed wearing the jumpsuit, a gold pendant drawing the eyes to her ample cleavage. On her feet she wears the strappy black heels she had insisted on buying. Hermione had rolled her eyes at the time, insisting they were not practical, but now she can see why the woman had been so stubborn. She looks like a supermodel, straight out of the pages of one the glossy magazines Hermione flicks through but never buys. Quite simply, Narcissa is stunning.

“You truly look beautiful, Cissa. You always do, of course, but… wow.”

Narcissa offers her a demure smile, but her eyes are sparkling mischievously. The woman looks good and she knows it; revelling in the reaction she has caused. Hermione normally despises arrogant people, but that’s not how she comes across. There is something indescribably alluring about the woman’s poise and quiet certainty, and her stomach flips pleasantly at the thought that this amazing woman is hers.

“Shall we?” Narcissa asks, putting her stack of dirty clothes with Hermione’s pile next to the bed.

“Yes!” Hermione sputters eagerly, jumping to her feet and then grinning bashfully. She opens the door and they walk downstairs, their magic racing through their veins every time their skin touches, even for a second.

Rather than head to their usual booth, Narcissa takes Hermione by the hand, leading her to the bar, where the landlady is waiting with an easy smile.

“Everything is just as we discussed,” Marcia informs Narcissa. “Just head around the bar and through the door to the function room. Someone will be along soon to take your order.”

“Thank you,” Narcissa replies, avoiding Hermione’s curious eyes.

“Cissa? Where are we going?”

“Just wait,” she urges, leading them around the bar and through a door into a small hallway. She puts a hand on the handle of the first door they come to. “Close your eyes.”

Bemused, Hermione does as she is told, automatically holding onto Narcissa’s arm as she leads her inside.

“You may open them, now.”

She does as instructed, eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room. There in the centre is a beautifully set up table, with candles in the middle and a bottle of champagne sitting in an antique silver ice bucket. The overhead chandelier has been dimmed, and Hermione soaks in the enchanting atmosphere, feeling more cherished than she remembers ever feeling before.

“You did this all for me?” she asks, awe in her voice.

“I approached Marcia while you were showering and explained what I wanted. She was more than happy to help, though she may be under the impression it’s our anniversary,” Narcissa admits with a small chuckle. “I wanted it to be romantic.”

“It is,” Hermione breathes out, stepping into the blonde’s personal space. She doesn’t ask permission this time, but Narcissa nods knowingly, reaching out to place hands on her waist and pulling their bodies flush against each other.

Hermione takes the plunge, capturing pink lips between her own, both of them sighing with the contact, as their magic ignites a burning fire in each of them. Instinctively, Hermione deepens the kiss, parting her lips as Narcissa’s tongue dances out to meet her. They kiss desperately, Hermione’s arms snaking up around Narcissa’s neck, her fingers winding into long blonde hair. 

She drops her hand to the woman’s waist, searching for a way to touch her more intimately, but the jumpsuit hinders her. She pulls back, cursing.

“Damn it, Cissa. I love this outfit, but it’s not practical after all. What were you thinking?”

Narcissa throws her head back, laughing in the golden glow of the candles, her eyes glittering. “I do apologise, Hermione. Had I known you were going to pounce on me, I would have worn something different.”

Hermione lets out a soft growl, pulling the woman back in for a searing kiss. When they finally part, eyes smouldering in the candle light; they are breathless and satisfied, Hermione drops her forehead onto her shoulder, clutching her tightly as she breathes the woman’s now-familiar scent, deep into her lungs.

A light knock at the door is all the warning they get before it swings open and a waitress walks in. “Happy Anniversary. What can I get for you tonight?”

“Sorry, we just need a moment,” Hermione apologises, blushing slightly as she straightens her top. She slips into her seat, and picks up the menu, her legs automatically reaching for Narcissa’s under the table. How she is going to survive this meal, she doesn’t know. Now she’s had a taste, she wants more. She wants everything . There is not a single hesitant thought as she imagines slowly removing the blonde’s clothes, tasting every inch of her.

She looks up and meets amused eyes, a smirk on Narcissa’s face telling her the woman knows exactly what she has just been thinking. She rolls her eyes and then turns to the waitress who is still waiting patiently.

“I’ll have the lasagne.”

Chapter Text

When they get back to the room, Hermione stops Narcissa as she automatically reaches for the light switch. “Leave it off,” she murmurs, walking to the bedside table and turning on one of the soft lamps instead.

“Oh?” Narcissa comments, walking into the room, eyeing Hermione curiously.

Hermione doesn’t answer with words, stalking towards the woman with confident steps. She reaches out placing warm hands on Narcissa’s waist, encouraging her to move backwards until she is pressed up against the wall with a gentle thud.

“Hermione?”

“You’ve been driving me crazy all evening,” Hermione confides, grinning, hands still on her waist and thumbs tracing small circles over the green fabric. “Do you know how good you look in that outfit?”

She delights in the dusting of pink that appears on Narcissa’s cheeks, bringing her hand up to trace her fingertips over the sudden warmth. Narcissa trembles, eyes locked on Hermione’s every move.

“All night, I’ve been watching you across the table and I can’t get enough. I love that you arranged the date, but Cissa? All I could think about was bringing you back to the room so we could be alone.”

Narcissa raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “And what did you want to do with me, once you got me here, Ms Granger?” she purrs, arms reaching out to wrap around her.

“Well, as much as I adore you in that outfit, I’m rather looking forward to the idea of seeing you out of it,” Hermione confesses, one arm snaking around the witch’s neck as she runs the finger of her right hand down the V of the neckline, over the swell that is barely concealed by the fabric.

Narcissa’s eyes widen slightly, and she swallows before she speaks. “What are you saying?”

Hermione smiles, leaning in to kiss her chastely. “I’m saying that I want to take you to bed. I’m saying that I’m ready .”

The soft smile that Narcissa sends her makes Hermione’s stomach flutter in a pleasant way. Air thick with anticipation, Hermione presses their bodies together as she connects their lips, one hand winding its way into the blonde’s long hair. The kiss is soft, tender, but the fire it ignites is hot and all consuming. Both women let out a small moan as their magic responds with a fiery determination. Hermione giggles when she pulls back, slightly breathless and eyes glowing in the soft light.

“I think we’re being encouraged,” she laughs, carefree and happy.

“It would appear so.” Narcissa grins, cupping Hermione’s face with both hands as though she is something precious to be cherished. She leans in for another kiss.

Hermione reaches for the buttons that run down the front of the jumpsuit. “May I?”

The blonde nods eagerly, stepping out of her heels and dropping her arms to give her access. “As long as I can return the favour.”

Hermione slowly undoes each button, her anticipation rising with each new inch of flesh that’s revealed. The jumpsuit falls to the floor almost silently, leaving Hermione to drag her eyes down the woman in front of her. “You are so beautiful, Cissa. I’ve imagined what you would look like, but the reality is so much better.”

Seeing the witch standing there in a sheer black bra and thong, illuminated by the warm lamplight, Hermione feels a million different things at once; all coming together in a dizzying combination that makes her heart skip a beat. 

“Your turn,” Narcissa insists, reaching for the bottom of her top and tugging slightly. When Hermione nods, she raises it up over her head, staring in wonder at the red, lacy bra. It’s a far cry from what Hermione had picked out in front of her.

“Did you buy that for me?”

“Yes,” Hermione confesses without any shame. “It was a gift for you. It’s part of a matching set…” she lets the rest of the sentence tail off.

Pale hands reach for the button on her jeans, blue eyes searching her face briefly for consent, before the button and zip are undone and they are guided down her legs. 

“Oops,” she chuckles, toeing off her shoes, when the jeans get stuck. Narcissa sinks to her knees, eyes flicking up to hers as she smirks, pulling Hermione’s feet free of the denim. Pink lips are pressed to the inside of her thigh, before Narcissa rises, her face now wearing a look of undeniable tension.

Hermione cups her face, guiding her eyes to meet her own. “Hey, what’s wrong,” she asks softly.

The blonde takes her hand, leading her to the bed to sit down. “Nothing is wrong. I just… I’ve never done this before.”

“You’ve never slept with a woman?”

With the confidence the older witch displays, Hermione is surprised to find out that she is the more experienced one of the two of them.

“No, I haven’t. I’ve also never shared something like this with someone I’ve got feelings for.” Narcissa bites her lip, taking her hand. “I want this to mean something. I want it to be good . I want this to be good for you , Hermione. You deserve it to be special and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Narcissa nods, eyes suspiciously glassy.

“Are you ready for this?”

A look of surprise crosses the blonde’s face, but there is no hesitation when she replies. “Yes.”

“Then we’ll figure it out together.” Hermione shrugs. “It’s not like I have all that much experience, either. But Cissa, I do want this. I want you more than I have ever wanted anything before, and I know that if we just relax, and just try to make each other feel good then it will be amazing. There is no pressure and I don’t have any expectations. I just want to share myself with you.”

Narcissa lets out a heavy breath. “Thank you, darling. Somehow you always know exactly what to say. What I need to hear.”

Hermione scoots back onto the bed, patting the mattress next to her as she lays out, exposing herself fully to the older woman, who openly rakes her eyes over every inch of skin on show. 

“You chose well,” Narcissa purrs, and just like that, Hermione sees the apprehension leave her face. She crawls up the bed, coming to lie next to her, and Hermione pulls her close, kissing with an intensity that will surely scorch the sheets. This feeling between them that has been building for so long now, is finally being set free. 

Hearts thudding in perfect time, there is something otherworldly about the sensations flowing across Hermione’s skin, every nerve on fire as Narcissa traces fingertips along her collarbones. Something settles inside of her and she realises that she had been nervous too, but now all she feels is desire. This amazing, incredible woman is hers and she wants nothing more than to make her feel all the things she has missed out on in her life.

Rolling them, Hermione moves her body so the witch is underneath her, looking down into eyes that tell her far more than words ever can. Somehow, impossibly, Narcissa loves her and it’s written all over her face for all to see. Dipping her head, Hermione kisses her with purpose, her tongue slipping easily into Narcissa’s mouth, eagerly accepted by the other woman. Their bodies start to move against one another, a small whimper leaving both of them, as the air around them starts to move.

Hermione breaks the kiss, suddenly desperate to touch and taste, kiss and lick the witch’s skin, pressing her lips to her neck, and sucking lightly until a mark appears.

‘Mine’ her magic whispers, its appreciation ricocheting throughout her body.

“Please… touch me,” Narcissa pleads quietly, nails raking down Hermione’s back. She smirks at the blonde, but as much as she is tempted, tonight is not the time for teasing. Later, they can take all the time they want, but right now she wants the witch in a primal, carnal way.

She moves further down her body, sliding a hand underneath to the clasp of Narcissa’s bra, the woman arching to help her so she can remove the scant fabric. 

“Now yours,” Narcissa demands breathily.

Hermione kneels up, hopping lightly off the bed, grinning when the other woman raises an eyebrow. Brown eyes lock with blue. She undoes her own bra, dropping it to the floor, hands moving to the matching red briefs, as Narcissa watches impatiently. She drags the moment out, edging them down slowly until they drop from her fingers and she steps out of them. She stands, blue eyes no longer connected with hers as the woman gazes at what Hermione is so freely offering. When Narcissa holds out a hand, she takes it, kneeling on the bed and reaching for the one small piece of fabric that is between them now, drawing it slowly down the woman’s long legs.

Narcissa reaches for her, but Hermione shakes her head, eyes dancing wickedly. She positions herself between her knees, head dipping to lay kisses across the woman’s stomach, her lips, teeth and tongue exploring the pliant flesh until Narcissa is panting, writhing underneath her. She traces a path with her tongue up to the stiffened peak above her, pulling the nub between her lips. Experimenting, she grazes it gently with her teeth, as the witch below her whimpers. She moves to the other, neglected peak, enveloping it in wet warmth as the woman underneath her cants her hips upwards, trying to find the friction she needs.

“Please, darling. Touch me,” Narcissa asks desperately, her voice throaty and low in a way that sends goosebumps racing across Hermione’s skin.

Smirking to herself, she kisses a path to where she knows the woman needs her, tongue darting out to taste her for the first time. She moans as the flavour floods her mouth, relishing in the hands that tangle themselves into her hair. Slipping her tongue between desire soaked lips, she gathers the nectar, swallowing greedily.

“Oh… Oh!” Narcissa sounds startled when Hermione zeros in on the swollen bundle of nerves, circling it with her tongue as thighs tighten around her. With a deft manoeuvre that feels like it should be born of years of experience, Hermione brings up her hand, sinking into the woman’s slick heat.

“Fuck,” comes the surprisingly muggle curse from above her and she smirks against the woman, pulling her fingers back out and plunging them straight back in again. The fingers in her hair tighten almost painfully, hips rocking beneath her, to meet her thrusts.

“Come here, darling,” Narcissa asks, between pants.

“Am I doing something wrong?” Hermione asks nervously, stomach sinking.

Narcissa shakes her head, smiling. “No, you’re doing everything right. Too right, actually. I want to share this first time with you.”

A warm rush of understanding fills her and she scrambles up the bed, covering Narcissa’s body with her own, as they lose themselves in a desperate kiss, the air starting to crackle around them. She lifts herself up on her knees, hovering over the woman she is quickly realising she may actually love. Blue eyes stare back at her knowingly. 

“Cissa… I… I…”

“I know darling. Say it when you’re ready, but I know.”

One day she will say the words, but for now, she sheaths her fingers back inside the other witch, moaning when she feels the other woman’s fingers enter her; the copious amounts of desire allowing them to slide in with no resistance. Her thumb finds Narcissa’s bundle of nerves as though she has done this a thousand times before, and she rubs circles while she thrusts deeply, her whole body matching her movements.

“Together.” Narcissa’s voice murmurs in her ear, as the feeling of pleasure rises higher and higher. A soft golden light radiates from them, filling the space with an ethereal glow. As Hermione feels herself reaching the edge, her magic roars in her veins, powerful and compelling. She gazes down, meeting Narcissa’s eyes, and for a moment everything becomes clear. This is destiny. They are meant for one another and Hermione can feel the strength of their connection. She surrenders herself to the feeling, their skin shimmering with overflowing magic as it reaches out to its counterpart; a swirling, maelstrom of their souls meeting, binding them as one.

Their bodies fall into a hypnotic rhythm, the words of a spell that neither of them had previously known, flowing from their lips like a river. Their magic takes shape, forming an intricate web of energy that holds them in a tight, unbreakable embrace, colours beginning to dance all around them. Lips meet in a frenzied kiss, completing the connection as they both tumble over the edge into a moment of shared bliss, calling out each other’s name in unison.  All around them electric energy crackles, pulsing with each beat of their hearts; the bedside table lamp flickering unsteadily.

Hermione collapses tiredly on top of her soulmate, sighing contentedly as hands come up to stroke her overheated skin. She can feel their bond. She can feel Narcissa. They are bound together for eternity, united in a way that transcends space and time. The air around them stills, and their magic cools, quenched now they have become one.

“I can feel you,” Narcissa comments quietly, her voice carrying all the wonder that Hermione is feeling. “It’s like I know exactly what you are thinking and feeling, without hearing your thoughts.”

“I feel you too, like you’re an extension of myself. The same, but different,” Hermione replies, kissing her softly and then sliding off of the slick body underneath hers. She opens her arms, and Narcissa rolls into them, resting her head on her shoulder and sighing contentedly.

“There are so many things I want to try, and so many ways I want to take you, but for now, I just want to enjoy this feeling,” Narcissa murmurs, pressing her body closer.

Hermione hums in agreement, no words needed; Narcissa can feel her contentment. 

*****

Morning eventually comes and after a night making love for hours, they wake late, arriving downstairs with a bag each, in a breathless whirl. Marcia greets them with a smile.

“Ready to check out?”

“Yes,” Hermione confirms, dropping the rucksack down by her feet. “Thank you for everything, Marcia.”

“You’re welcome… Hermione,” the woman replies, a twinkle in her eye. 

“You knew who I was this whole time? My debit card only says H.Granger,” Hermione replies, brow wrinkling.

“You didn’t think I would forget the young girl who used to borrow my books on holiday here? I have some idea why you didn’t want to give your real name, love. I know you have your reasons to be here and I don’t need to know what they are,” Marcia reassures her, coming around from behind the bar to stand next to them. “Whatever is going on, be safe. Though I suspect that won’t be an issue after last night’s display of magic.”

Narcissa gasps, frantically looking around the bar, but they are alone. “You’re a witch?”

“Yes, though I prefer to live a quiet life away from the wizarding world,” the landlady explains. “I saw your picture in the Daily Prophet only a few days ago, Hermione. You might not be safe anywhere else, but you will always be safe here. The moors will protect you.”

Hermione looks at her curiously. “What do you mean, the moors will protect us?”

Marcia gestures to the scenery visible out of one of the windows. “They’ve been waiting for you. As long as you are here, no one can track or trace you, the magic here is too strong, acting like a natural shield. You belong to the moors, just as they belong to you, and if you trust in them, they will never let you down.”

“I have so many questions, but we’re going to be late,” Hermione says frustratedly. “Would it be okay if we came back to talk to you? If you’ve read the Daily Prophet then you know who we are running from, and I don’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

“You will always be welcome here,” Marcia assures her, pulling her in for a brief hug. “Be safe, Hermione. You too, Narcissa.”

Narcissa chuckles. “Nothing gets by you, does it?” 

Marcia hugs Narcissa too. “No, not much.”

“Thank you, Marcia. I’m sure we will be back,” Hermione promises.

“Good. Now, rather than walk somewhere private, you can Disapparate from my office, if you like.”

Muscles aching after their night, both of them nod eagerly. “Yes, please,” they reply in unison.

“Okay, well do you have enough time for breakfast if you are departing from here?”

As if it were a beast summoned from the deep, Hermione’s stomach lets out a loud growl. She looks to Narcissa, but she can feel her agreement through the bond. “That actually sounds perfect.”

*****

With one last hug goodbye, they had Disapparated. They are five minutes early, but Hermione had not expected the boys to be here yet, knowing how disorganised they could sometimes be even with her influence.

“What is this place?” Narcissa asks, learning against a tree with a small groan.

Hermione snickers. “Sore?”

“Yes, and you know it,” Narcissa accuses playfully, with a grin.

“This place is Golitha Falls. Or rather, this is where the falls are. The wood itself is Dwayne’s Wood and it goes on for miles leading to a carpark, somewhere in that direction. Here though, the undergrowth is so dense that no one would walk this way. So it’s a good meeting spot away from prying eyes.”

“It’s beautiful.” 

They are surrounded by ancient trees and the sound of the small streams that twist and turn their way through the woods, leading to the main river. The light is soft, bathing everything in a green glow as the sun shines down through the thick overhead canopy. Hermione smiles to herself, feeling at peace even though there is a current of anticipation running through her, at the thought of seeing Harry and Ron again.

She wraps her arms around the older witch, kissing her softly. “I wish we didn’t have to do this. I don’t know what’s coming up, but it won’t be easy. I just want to be with you somewhere safe, away from all this craziness.”

Reciprocating arms squeeze her tightly as Narcissa replies. “I know and a selfish part of me wants to whisk you away somewhere safe, but we both have too much to lose for that to happen.”

Hermione steps back, leading them to a fallen tree trunk, where they sit with their bodies pressed against each other, the ever present hum of their joined magic, purring contentedly.

“Hermione?”

Harry’s voice has them both spinning around, Hermione giggling as she takes in his shock at seeing Narcissa there. Ron reacts swiftly, raising his wand. “What the bloody hell is she doing here?”

Without raising her hand or talking, Ron is disarmed, his wand flying through the air and landing in Hermione’s palm. “Uh, here,” she says awkwardly, stepping over the log and handing it back to him. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Harry pulls her in for a hug, grinning wildly. “We’ve missed you, ‘Mione. You have no idea.”

She laughs, patting his back. “I’ve missed you too. Both of you.” 

Harry releases her and she reaches for Ron, wrapping her arms around him. A loud snap echoes through the trees, as Ron is thrown backwards, landing in a confused heap a few feet away.

“What the hell was that?” Ron demands.

Hermione looks at Narcissa, but the woman looks just as confused as the rest of them. “I have no idea,” Hermione replies. “Are you alright?”

Harry reaches down to pull him up, both of them standing in front of the two women like lines in a war have been drawn between them.

“Hermione, what are you doing here with a Death Eater,” Harry asks cautiously.

“I am not a Death Eater, Mr Potter,” Narcissa defends calmly. “Do you really think so little of Hermione, that she would willingly spend time with one of the Dark Lord’s followers?”

“Your husband is,” Ron points out, venom lacing his tone. “Or he was.”

“Was? What do you mean?” Hermione asks.

“His body was delivered to the Ministry of Magic as some kind of warning,” Harry informs them, softening when he faces the blonde. “My condolences.”

“He’s dead?” Narcissa asks pointlessly.

“Yeah.” Ron replies. “And good riddance.”

“Maybe,” Narcissa replies. “But my son is now without a father.”

“That slimy git deserves it.”

“Ron,” Hermione snaps, stepping closer to Narcissa and reaching for her hand. “Don’t be horrible. You might not understand why Narcissa is here, but have a little faith in me. Not everything is as it seems, and she doesn’t deserve you acting like this.”

“May I make a suggestion?” Narcissa looks between them all, her face calm, but Hermione can feel the hurt and anger underneath her facade. “Why don’t we go somewhere where we can all sit and talk, like adults.”

Hermione squeezes her hand. “That sounds like a great idea, but first, we need supplies.”

“Do you have any suggestions?” Harry questions, picking up the small bag he had dropped upon arrival.

“I do,” Narcissa replies. “I own a small cottage on the Devon coast that not even Lucius ever knew about. It’s been in the Black family for generations.”

Ron throws her a disgusted look. “Oh sure, let’s just walk into the family home of a bunch of Death Eaters.”

“Ron,” Hermione warns in a low growl. “Stop. Cissa? Do you think we would be safe there, just for a night?”

Harry and Ron turn to look at each other, eyebrows raised when she uses the name Cissa, but she ignores them, turning to look fully at the blonde.

“Yes. The only people that can gain entry are myself, Bella and Andy. We have house elves in permanent residence there, tending the garden and making sure the kitchen is fully stocked, ready for visitors.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Harry, mate. Tell me she’s joking!”

Harry wrinkles his brow. “You have to admit, it’s a bit strange to turn up here and expect us to go to the house where the woman who tortured Hermione has access and could show up.”

“I was held captive for four months, Harry. Four! You have no idea what happened to me during that time. So if I am telling you that I trust Cissa and it’s safe, then you can bet I mean it. I have no intention of being captured and tortured again.”

Both boys hold a mutual look of guilt, but Hermione shakes her head. “Not now. We can talk about everything later. For now, can we please just get out of the woods?”

“Fine,” Ron grumbles, shooting Narcissa a dark look.

“If you’re sure,” Harry agrees, uncertainly; his faith in Hermione wavering slightly.

“Look, I know you have doubts, but I promise you that once we talk, it will all make sense,” Hermione tells him patiently. “For now though, let’s go. I don’t know about you, but we’re both absolutely exhausted and standing around in the woods when there is a perfectly comfortable cottage at our disposal, is not my idea of fun.

She doesn’t miss the smirk Narcissa sends her way when she mentions their exhaustion, and she can feel the woman’s smugness through the bond. She rolls her eyes, amused, in the witch’s direction, and then turns back to the boys. “Ready?”

Chapter Text

They Apparate directly into the most luxurious room Hermione has ever seen. There are two enormous four seater sofas facing each other, with a majestic fireplace against the end wall of the room. Floor to ceiling windows make up an entire wall, flooding the cottage with the midday light. The view out over the cliffs is breathtaking, and Hermione is drawn to the glass, staring out in wonder.

“This is what you call a small cottage, Cissa?” she asks with a chuckle, turning back to face the blonde, who shrugs bashfully. 

“It’s nothing special.”

Hermione smiles. “Show me around?”

“Of course.” 

“You coming?” Hermione asks the boys, who are watching the blonde distrustfully.

“We’ll stay here, thanks,” Ron answers for both of them, and the moment she follows Narcissa out of the room, she can hear them whispering heatedly. Rolling her eyes, she ignores them, making the most of these precious moments alone with Narcissa before they all sit and catch up properly.

“Ah, Madame Black,” a house elf greets them when they walk into the kitchen. “My condolences about Mr Malfoy.”

To Hermione’s surprise, Narcissa laughs gently. “Come on, now, Esta. We both know you don’t mean that.” She turns to Hermione, laughter dancing in her eyes. “Esta looked after me growing up and was not happy about Lucius’ attempts at courtship. The poor man had rather a lot of unfortunate accidents that year.”

Hermione grins at the elf, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “I didn’t think much of him either.”

Esta gives her an approving look. “You couldn’t have found a more worthy mate, Miss Cissa. She will be good for you. Far better than Mr Malfoy.”

“You can tell?” Hermione asks curiously, peering at the house elf like she is a precious magical tome full of unknown information.

“I’m an elf, Miss. Of course I can tell.”

Smiling, Hermione holds her hand out, offering it to the elf to shake. “My name’s Hermione. Hermione Granger. It’s really nice to meet you, Esta. My friends in the other room are Harry and Ron.”

“Nice to meet you too, Miss Hermione. Should I prepare lunch for you all?”

Narcissa rejoins the conversation, lacing fingers with her magical mate. “Lunch would be perfect, thank you. I’m just showing Hermione the rest of the cottage, and then we can eat in the sitting room.”

“As you wish,” Esta replies, bowing deeply.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” Narcissa reminds her.

“But you have company,” Esta argues, crossing her tiny arms in front of her chest. “It’s a sign of respect.”

The blonde smiles wryly. “I think I will be more respected by my present company if you don’t bow to me. She has been fighting for elf rights for years.”

“You know about that?” Hermione asks, blushing slightly.

“Draco wrote me some terribly colourful letters about you from time to time. I don’t think he has ever forgiven you for punching him.”

“Oh.”

“It doesn’t matter. I love my son, but I am not unaware of his faults. He is an only child and very spoiled. Come, let me show you our bedroom. Unless… unless you would rather sleep alone with the boys here.”

“No, Cissa. I belong with you.”

With a brief smile at the elf, Hermione lets herself be led from the room into a small hallway. There is a bathroom the size of the entire ground floor of her parents’ old house, along with a number of doors leading to various bedrooms. At the end of the hall, Narcissa pauses. “This is not the largest of rooms, but it was always the one I stayed in growing up. I thought it might be nice for us to share it.”

Hermione can see traces of a young Narcissa all over the room; childhood posters of a Quidditch team she recognises as the Chudleigh Cannons cover an entire wall, with one witch making an appearance over and over again.

“My first crush,” Narcissa explains shyly, when she sees what Hermione’s gaze is fixed on.

“She’s pretty,” Hermione comments, before looking around the rest of the room. She drops their bags by the armchair in the corner and then perches on the bed. “Come here.”

Narcissa needs no further prompting, situating herself between Hermione’s open legs and leaning down to kiss her. She pulls back, a frown on her face. “What are we going to tell them, Hermione? About us?”

Hermione pats the bed next to her, reaching for the blonde’s hand when she sits down. “We tell them everything else first. Maybe, once they understand how much we helped each other and what we have been through, they will find it easier to understand everything else. It’s not going to be easy, but I will not let them drive us apart. I promise you, Cissa, your heart is safe with me.”

Hermione wraps her arms around the older witch, dropping a brief kiss onto her hair. “Shall we go and get this done? Whatever happens now, we will come back in here later, get in that bed together and sleep. We will lay in each other’s arms, and nothing else will matter. Okay?”

“Okay,” Narcissa agrees, smiling softly as she gets to her feet. “I will hold you to that.”

“It won’t be so bad,” Hermione tells her, though it’s more to convince herself. Harry and Ron are her oldest friends and they have been through so much together. Surely they will understand?

They walk back to the living room, ignoring the way the hushed argument between the boys draws abruptly to a close. Narcissa sits in the corner of the sofa opposite where the boys are sitting, and Hermione drops onto the cushion next to her, disregarding their curious looks.

“So, how have you been?” she asks casually, trying to dispel the tension in the room.

“I don’t think we should talk in front of her . ” Ron scowls, nodding his head towards the blonde witch.

“Ron, stop,” Harry intervenes, before Hermione can angrily respond. “I trust Hermione and I know you did too, before all of this.”

“It’s hard to trust anyone, these days,” Ron mutters, adding under his breath, “especially the wives of Death Eaters.”

“I never wanted that life, Mr Weasley. I was your age when my parents arranged a marriage that I didn’t want and certainly would never have chosen for myself. Oh, I played my role and I’ll admit I played it well. You have very little reason to trust me, I know, but you do trust Hermione.”

“And Hermione trusts her,” Harry tags on. 

“Fine,” Ron grumbles, but he never stops glaring.

“Lunch is ready,” Esta announces, walking into the room carrying a large tray and placing it on the coffee table between the two sofas. The elf reaches into her pocket and removes a letter, handing it to Narcissa. “Miss Bella asked me to give you this. She told me to expect you.”

The elf falls into an automatic bow, pausing awkwardly halfway down as she remembers Narcissa’s instructions. She rights herself, and scurries out of the room, as Hermione grins at Narcissa. Harry and Ron both dive for the sandwiches, their apparent hunger overcoming any manners they might normally have displayed.

“Bella knew I would come here?” Narcissa asks rhetorically, ripping open the thick paper envelope, sealed with red wax that carries the Black seal.

“Why is she using that? Isn’t she a Lestrange?” Hermione asks, pointing to the envelope.

“Didn’t you hear?” Ron raises his eyebrows. “Her husband was dropped off at the ministry at the same time as Lucius. Apparently you-know-who wanted everyone to know what happens to those who cross him.”

“Rudolphus is dead? Well, I can’t say Bella will be upset,” Narcissa muses. “She never liked him, anyway. I have no doubt that if the Dark Lord didn’t do it, then she would have done it herself, eventually.”

“What has she got to say?” Hermione nudges her arm, reminding her of the letter. The blonde pulls out the cream coloured paper, unfolding it and reading aloud.

Dear Cissy,

I know you will turn up here at some point, it’s probably one of the safest places you can be right now. I have removed the deeds to the cottage from the Black family vault so that should they go looking, they will never know it exists. Hopefully this will keep you safe at the cottage. I asked Esta to ensure you will have everything you could possibly need.

You may have heard, but Lucius is dead. Congratulations, you got what you always wanted. The Dark Lord saw you leave and punished Lucius for allowing you to get away.

Be safe, Cissy. He is not happy that you have escaped and it has become a personal mission of his to find and bring both you and the pup to justice. Don’t let that happen. Complete the bond as soon as you can and use it. 

I hope one day this will all be over and we can be sisters again, but until then, this will be my last contact with you. It is too much of a risk to both of us, for it to be any other way.

Love, always,

Bella.

P.S You better be keeping my sister safe, mud puppy, or I’ll gouge out your eyes with a blunt spoon.

Hermione can’t help herself and giggles, leaning into Narcissa’s side.

“What have you done to her?” Ron roars, jumping to his feet and raising his wand at Narcissa.

“Put your wand down, Mr Weasley, before you take someone’s eye out. I haven’t done anything to her.”

He doesn’t pay any attention to her words, turning to face Hermione instead. “Explain to me right now, why you would be laughing at that, Hermione. She called you a… a… well, you know what she called you, and she threatened you.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Put your wand down, Ron. I’m laughing because, despite everything, I don’t think she means any harm. Not to me. Not now.”

The redhead slumps heavily down onto the sofa, reaching forwards for another sandwich and taking a huge bite. “Nothing makes sense anymore,” he mumbles around his mouthful of food, spraying crumbs in front of him.

Hermione grimaces, but doesn’t bother reprimanding him. “I do understand, Ron. Do you think I ever thought I would be sitting here with Draco’s mother?”

The boy snorts and the level of tension in the room perceptibly drops. “No. I don’t think any of us saw that coming.”

Stalling for time, Hermione takes her chance. “So, what exactly have you two been up to, anyway?”

Harry and Ron look at each other, grinning sheepishly. “Avoiding snatchers for the most part,” Harry reveals with a small shrug.

“Trying not to starve or die has taken up a lot of our time. Neither of us had any muggle money, and you had the tent,” Ron reminds her. “Neither of us are very good at protection charms so we’ve been on the move even more than usual.”

“We haven’t had any luck with, well, that thing we were doing,” Harry awkwardly tells her.

“Horcruxes, Mr Potter?” Narcissa asks, raising an eyebrow and clearly enjoying the look of shock on their faces as they turn to Hermione with betrayal in their eyes.

“I had to tell her. Don’t ask me to lie to her, I won’t do it,” Hermione warns quietly. “So are you telling me that you’re not further forward than you were when we were captured?”

Harry rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not that we haven’t tried. But Hermione, they could be anywhere.”

Narcissa crosses one elegant leg over the other, leaning back against the cushions of the sofa. “I do believe we may need to break into my sister’s vault at Gringotts.”

“What?!” the boys exclaim in unison.

“Hermione has a theory,” Narcissa states coolly, turning to her soulmate with eyes far warmer than her voice. “Don’t you, darling?”

Hermione catches the look the boys send each other as they both mouth the word ‘darling’ at each other. “Look, just think about it. When we were first captured, Bellatrix was going nuts at the thought we had been in her vault. She was afraid, I think, and it made me wonder… what is she hiding in there?”

“As far as we know,” Narcissa continues, “There are possibly six horcruxes, the seventh part of his soul being the Dark Lord himself. The diary, the ring, and the locket have all been destroyed, correct?”

Harry and Ron nod, and wait for the older witch to continue.

“We can assume that the snake is another one, which just leaves the fifth and sixth to be discovered.”

“We think that maybe the last two might belong to the founders,” Hermione interrupts. “So we’re looking for small objects that would be easily concealed. I mean, we might be wrong. There are any number of other things that Volde-”

“Stop! No!” Harry shouts, waving his wand frantically at her.

“What?”

“The name is taboo, ‘Mione. You can’t say his name, they will trace us immediately!”

“What? Since when?” Hermione asks, placing a hand over her heart, feeling it thud heavily against her hand. She’s far quicker to startle these days, and Harry’s sudden outburst had unnerved her more than she’s happy to admit. Narcissa sends her a warm smile, one that says everything; I understand and you’re safe. You’re okay, Hermione. Just breathe. “I’ve been saying it the entire time since we escaped the Manor.”

“For months now,” Ron informs her. “We nicked a radio from a muggle house and enchanted it to listen to Potterwatch. Took us a few weeks to guess the password, but when we did, they were talking about it. Apparently he announced it ages ago. Lots of good people got caught because of his name.”

Hermione shakes her head. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t they come for us?”

“Marcia. She mentioned the moors were protecting us. A magical shield of sorts,” Narcissa remembers. “She said a lot that we probably need to look into, in a little more depth. Or maybe at some point we can return and talk to her again.”

Hermione already misses the quiet haven that had been the bed and breakfast on the moors. Marcia had fed them breakfast before they Disapparated, but she had been too busy with other customers to really have much chance to tell them anything more. “She said that they would protect us, yes, and more specifically that no one would be able to track or trace us there. It must have stopped them from knowing we had said his name.”

“Okay, you two really need to start explaining,” Harry says pointedly. “Where the hell have you been since escaping? And what I really want to know is how you managed to get out of there?”

“We thought you were dead, Hermione. We would have come back for you, but Dobby… He…” Ron furiously wipes his eyes, staring down at the floor. After a moment's hesitation, she takes pity on him, getting up and walking around the table to sit next to him.

“I’m okay, Ron. It was rough for a while, but I’m fine now. Everything is going to be alright and we’re going to win this thing.”

Ron takes a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s been horrible, ‘Mione. When we left you there, we were sort of paralysed for a while. We missed you so much that for a while we were just lost; wandering aimlessly, just trying not to get caught,” he admits, looking up at her with eyes that are far too soft for her liking. “I’m so glad we have another chance. That you and me can really make a go of it.” He wraps an arm around her waist, attempting to pull her in for a hug, but even before she can protest, a blast of magic forces them apart. Ron is thrown against Harry, who grumbles, shoving him off again.

Hermione giggles helplessly at his confused expression, his hair standing on end like he has been electrocuted. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t me, but you do look funny.”

Ron fumes, flattening his hair and glaring at Narcissa. “It was you then?”

The blonde smiles wickedly. “No, not intentionally.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You didn’t mean to blast me apart from my girlfriend?” Ron demands, reaching out to grip Hermione’s arm possessively, only to be blasted away again. “What the bloody hell is happening?!”

Hermione stares at him in shock. “Girlfriend? Ron, I was never your girlfriend.”

He shrugs sheepishly. “No, but you were going to be. We both knew how we felt about each other. I love you, Hermione.”

She gasps, leaning away from him. “I never felt that way about you. You were my friend, my best friend, along with Harry. I’ve never had those kinds of feelings for you, though. I’m sorry.”

Hermione gets up to put some space between them, coming to sit next to Narcissa, who immediately wraps an arm around her, pulling her close against her warm body. Hermione resists the urge to roll her eyes, when she feels the smugness radiating off of the older witch in waves.

“But, when I was dating Lavender, you were so jealous of her.” Ron gives her a smug smile of his own, his face falling when she shakes her head.

“Ron, I was jealous of you. Lavender was my girlfriend long before she was yours. I guess… I think maybe she was experimenting, though it didn’t feel like it at the time, but then just when things got serious, she broke up with me. Not long after that, she started dating you.”

“You shagged my girlfriend?” Ron asks incredulously. “What the hell, Hermione?”

“It sounds like your affections are incredibly fickle, Mr Weasley. If you really had such strong feelings for Hermione, then you wouldn’t have looked twice at another woman.”

“Ithoughtsheneededhelptorealisehowshefelt.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Narcissa asks, looking helplessly between Hermione and Harry, who both just shrug.

Ron huffs, but then repeats the sentence more slowly. “I thought she needed help to realise how she felt.”

“So you decided to try and make her jealous?” Narcissa deduces. “That’s not how you treat a woman you love, Mr Weasley.”

“Oh, and you would know all about that, would you?” he snaps back. “One dead, slimy-git of a husband, does not make you some kind of guru on the subject.”

Narcissa doesn’t rise to the bait, smiling archly. “Do I know how to treat a woman I love? Yes, I do. I would treat her with respect. I would be supportive and loving, gentle and kind. I would never give her any reason to doubt how I felt about her, and I would spend my days showing her in every way possible. Does that answer your question?”

Hermione lets her love for the witch flood through their bond, feeling Narcissa melt slightly against her

“I suppose so,” Ron reluctantly answers. “But that still doesn’t answer my question. Where did that magic come from? If it wasn’t either of you, and it wasn’t Harry, then what is going on?”

“I think,” Hermione starts hesitantly. “I think we have a lot that we need to catch you up on. First though, I need to talk to Cissa. Give us five minutes, okay? There is a bedroom at the end of the hall we can talk in, but for now, eat as much as you want. We’ll be back soon.”

She stands up, taking Narcissa by the hand, and doesn’t give either of the boys a chance to object. As soon as they are alone, she turns to the blonde witch, with one eyebrow raised. “Really?”

Narcissa grins. “I know what you’re thinking, darling, but that truly wasn’t me. I think the bond objects to Mr Weasley’s presence when he gets too close to you.”

“But it doesn’t happen with Harry,” Hermione points out. “He hugged me, just like we have done a million times, and it was fine. No magic.”

Narcissa sits on the bed, scooting back to lean against the pillows. “I think the difference is the intent behind the action. Your friendship with Mr Potter-”

“Harry,” Hermione interrupts, climbing on the bed next to her. “They’re my friends, can’t you call them by their names?”

Narcissa rolls her eyes. “If it’s important to you.”

“It is.”

“So be it,” Narcissa agrees amiably. “As I was saying, darling, when Harry hugs you, it is a friendly gesture of comfort and camaraderie. However, when Weas- Ron touches you, I think the bond knows that his intentions are less pure. I think it knows that he harbours feelings for you, and it doesn’t like it.”

“It really wasn’t you?”

“No. I would never interfere like that, Hermione. I trust you to maintain boundaries as you see fit, and hugging your friends is not a cause for me to be jealous.”

“I had no idea he felt like that about me,” Hermione admits with a sigh, opening her arms in the hope the older witch settles into them. Narcissa takes the invitation, wrapping an arm around her waist and resting her head on her shoulder. She drops a kiss onto blonde hair. “How could I not have seen it?”

“Teenage boys are notoriously awful at expressing their feelings. It probably came out in the worst possible ways. Tell me, did he tease you a lot? Make fun of you? He probably thought he was being funny, as though that would be enough to capture your attention.”

Hermione groans. “Yes, but I just thought he was being an idiot.”

“Oh, he was,” Narcissa informs her gleefully. “I’m afraid it’s genetic. The whole family, in fact, are absolute imbeciles.”

“Cissa!” Hermione reprimands her, giggling again.

“Sorry,” Narcissa replies, not sounding apologetic in the slightest, as she snuggles in closer. 

Hermione yawns. “Don’t you kind of wish we could take a nap?”

“Yes,” Narcissa immediately agrees, hiding her own yawn behind an elegant hand. “But we really should go and talk to them. I think we should tell them about the bond sooner rather than later.”

“Because you want Ron to know?”

“No,” Narcissa denies, but Hermione hears the resounding ‘yes’ through the bond. “I just think all of this will be easier to explain if they know my motivations.”

“We’ll tell them,” Hermione agrees, closing her eyes. “But two minutes, Cissa. I just want two minutes lying here with you like this, and then we’ll go face them.”

“Two minutes,” Narcissa repeats sleepily, closing her own eyes.

*****

“What fresh hell is this?”

Abruptly woken by Ron’s voice, Hermione opens her eyes to see him standing in the doorway, staring with his mouth open. 

“We fell asleep, I think. Sorry,” Hermione apologises sheepishly, smiling as Narcissa buries her face further into her hair. 

“Hermione, please. What is going on here?” Ron asks calmly. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“We were about to tell you, I swear, but we were comfortable and I guess we fell asleep.”

“You fell asleep cuddled up to Mrs Malfoy?”

“It’s Black, now,” Narcissa corrects him, coming out from her hiding place. “Please do not disrespect me by calling me that again.”

“Ron, go and wait in the living room. We’re just coming.”

He turns and leaves without another word, and Hermione can’t stop the small bubble of laughter that leaves her. “I guess the cat is out of the bag.”

“What cat?” Narcissa asks blankly, looking around the room as she sits up. “There was a cat?”

“No.” Hermione laughs again, slipping off the bed and holding out her hand. “It’s a muggle expression, meaning that the secret is out. I guess it saves us having to tell them.”

Narcissa smirks, shaking her head. “There is a difference between seeing and knowing. He might think it’s strange to see us like that, but I doubt very much that he has jumped to the obvious conclusion that we are more than friends.”

“But… You were laying in my arms. How could he possibly not realise?”

“He doesn’t want to see it,” Narcissa replies sagely.

They walk down the small hall back to the living room, where predictably, Ron and Harry are whispering, until they walk in.

“I don’t know where to start,” Hermione admits, looking between her two best friends. “So much has happened since you left.”

“Start at the beginning,” Harry suggests with a shrug. “It will probably make more sense if you do.”

“He’s right, darling. We will have to tell them everything in the end.”

Hermione slips off her shoes, and tucks her feet up to the side of her on the sofa, her arm touching Narcissa’s, reminding her of the woman’s unyielding support. “There are some parts I don’t want to go into too much detail about,” she warns, only continuing when they both nod. “After you escaped, I was held in the cellar for three months. I was questioned every other day pretty much and yes, before you ask, I do mean tortured.”

“I don’t understand how you survived that and still appear normal,” Harry admits. “Look what happened to Neville’s parents.

“Bellatrix protected my mind to stop me from going crazy,” Hermione reveals, nodding at the exact look of shock she had expected to appear on their faces. 

“But why would she do that?” Ron wonders, reaching for yet another sandwich off of the heavily depleted plate.

“I’ll get to that,” Hermione promises. “Anyway, I still had my bag in my pocket - thank Merlin I had thought to shrink it before we were captured - and so I started reading about wandless magic. I spent weeks trying to levitate my food tray, but it was harder than I thought, and I couldn’t even get it to wiggle.”

“Why were you trying to learn wandless magic?” Ron asks, swallowing his mouthful.

Hermione watches, amused as Narcissa pins him with a look that clearly says “are you really that stupid?” She reaches out a hand to squeeze her thigh in warning, smiling to soften the reprimand, and leaves her hand there.

“I wanted to be able to Disapparate,” Hermione informs them. “It was the most logical way of getting out of there. Anyway, it was proving impossible until Narcissa got thrown in the cell with me.”

Both boys’ jaws drop open, but it’s Harry that speaks. “They locked you up? What did you do?”

“My husband caught me trying to help Hermione escape, and I was brought in front of the Dark Lord-”

“Can you please stop calling him that?” Ron shivers. “It sounds… well. It sounds like them . You know? His followers.”

“And what would you suggest, Mr Weas-” Nacissa catches the look Hermione sends her and sighs. “ Ron . What would you suggest.”

“Well, I’m kind of fond of Snake Face, to be honest,” he tells her with a smirk. “It’s better than ‘you know who’.”

Narcissa actually grins back at him for a moment, and Hermione breathes a sigh of relief that finally she is seeing the side of Ron that she will always love as a friend. He is funny, and quick, even if he is not the most intelligent one of the group.

“So as I was saying, I was pulled in front of… Snake Face … and punished. When I was put in the cell with Hermione, my sister instructed her to take care of me, and to my surprise, she did.”

“Of course she did,” Harry scoffs. “Hermione would help anyone.”

“I know,” Narcissa agrees. “Or rather, I do now. At the time though, I was exceedingly grateful, if not a little confused.” She places her hand over the one Hermione has on her thigh, allowing Hermione to lace their fingers together.

“So what then?” Harry prompts.

Hermione takes over the retelling of their tale. “She was sleeping, and I was trying to practise wandless magic, unsuccessfully, I must admit. I reached out to her when I thought she was waking up, and suddenly, my magic started working. The lantern Bellatrix had left down there with us, shot up into the air without any effort at all.”

“Wait,” Ron says seriously, sitting forward in his seat. “You could suddenly do wandless magic when you were touching her?”

“Yes,” Hermione agrees quietly, knowing without an explanation, that Ron knows more about this than Harry, who is still looking at them bewilderedly.

Ron pushes himself up off the couch and comes to stand in front of them, his eyes gentle as he takes a low bow. “Please accept my apologies, Madame Black. I had no idea. If I had, then I would never have reacted the way I did.”

“Er… Ron? What are you doing, mate?”

“We should have trusted Hermione, Harry. I was wrong.” Ron says, as if that explains everything.

“It’s okay, Ron,” Narcissa replies graciously. “Perhaps we should have made this information known earlier.”

“What information?” Harry demands, frustration clear in his voice.

Ron shrugs, turning to face Harry over his shoulder. “They’re bonded.”

He turns back to Hermione and Narcissa. “I truly am sorry. I would never have said that stuff to you ‘Mione, if I had known. I should never have disrespected either one of you like that.”

“Ron, it’s fine. Go and sit down before Harry starts steaming from his ears.” Hermione chuckles, looking at the bemused boy on the sofa. “We’re soulmates, Harry. From the first moment we touched, our magic recognised its magical counterpart, and now we have completed the bond, we are more powerful than you can imagine.”

“Completed the bond…” Ron repeats, before he laughs loudly, taking them all by surprise. He waggles his finger in their direction. “Hermione Granger, you little minx!”

“What?” Harry asks, confused by the change in Ron’s demeanour. “What did Hermione do?”

Ron laughs again, pointing between the two witches on the sofa, a mildly impressed look on his face. “They banged, Harry. They totally bloody banged.”

Hermione feels her face heat up, even as the woman next to her joins in with her friend, both laughing at the look of shock on Harry’s face.

Narcissa holds out her wand. “Accio Firewhisky. Accio glasses.” The summoned items come sliding to a stop on the coffee table, next to the tray of food. “Drink, anyone,” she asks casually, with an amused twinkle in her eyes.

Chapter Text

Waking up the next morning, Hermione stretches with a small smile on her face; every muscle aching with a blissful reminder of the night before. The cottage is quiet, so she deduces that Narcissa is not the only one still asleep. The witch is exhausted from the hours they spent solidifying their connection; a Muffliato cast in the late night shadows as they laughed quietly between themselves.

Ron had been surprisingly okay once he found out about their bond, more familiar with the idea of soulmates than Harry, who had just looked at them baffled. Hermione resists the urge to laugh to herself, remembering his reaction. Her poor friend was more confused by Ron’s sudden turn around, than by the revelation of a relationship between herself and Narcissa.

By the end of the night, they had disclosed every detail they could think of about their joint incarceration and their time spent on the moors. They had talked for hours, but it had left them all with the same question, one that seemed impossible to answer.

What next? 

They need to find the remaining Horcruxes, and they all agreed that this might involve breaking into Gringotts, but none of them could quite figure out a plan on how to do so. How to get past the security? How to get out again? Not to mention, once they are in there, how to find what they are looking for?

Harry is convinced that he will just know when he is in there, but is that really a chance that they can take? According to Narcissa, there are a great many dark magic artefacts in that vault, so what if he picks the wrong one?

Then there is the matter of the witches up on the moor, turned to stone thousands of years ago and waiting to be liberated from their monolithic forms. For Hermione, it’s not a question of rescuing them, but what to do with them once they have. These witches are ancient with no idea how the modern world works. How are they meant to find their way in a world that even confuses Hermione; a muggle born witch who has lived in this era her whole life.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Narcissa murmurs, not opening her eyes. “I can hear you.”

Hermione smiles, feeling the witch’s sleepy affection through their bond. She wiggles down in the bed, pressing herself up tightly against the woman and sighing when arms wrap around her, holding her close. 

“Sorry. I only just woke up, but I can’t switch my mind off. We have a lot to decide.”

“Not without food,” Narcissa replies, her fingers running over Hermione’s stomach, which predictably lets out a loud growl. “Or without coffee,” she adds as an afterthought.

“Food and coffee,” Hermione agrees. “But first, I need a shower.”

Narcissa laughs. “This is not a muggle cottage, darling.”

“Bath then,” Hermione replies, smiling innocently. “Join me?”

The blonde witch needs no further encouragement, eagerly leaping from the bed and almost skipping across the floor to the door.

“Um… Cissa?”

“Yes, darling?”

Hermione looks at her pointedly, clearing her throat. “You appear to have forgotten something.”

Narcissa squints at her. “What?”

“You’re naked.”

The squeak that leaves Narcissa’s mouth is comical as she looks down in horror. “The boys!”

Hermione laughs. “I mean, they probably wouldn’t mind the show, but I don’t particularly want to share you.”

Narcissa stalks back across the room, a smug smile on her face. “Jealous?”

Hermione scoffs. “Of course not,” she denies, but she knows that Narcissa can feel the fission of possessiveness that sings through her veins. “But you are mine.”

Narcissa smiles softly then, and crawls back on the bed, lowering her body down onto Hermione’s. She welcomes her into her arms, kissing her deeply and rolls them, staring down at the flushed blonde. “Maybe the bath can wait…”

Narcissa doesn’t answer, just pulls her down and kisses her again.

*****

It’s midday before everyone finally emerges from their rooms. The boys now bathed and dressed in clean clothes for the first time in months, smelling much better than they had the day before. The atmosphere is far more relaxed after a good night's sleep, the new day bringing with it an acceptance of everything they have learned about each other.

Esta insists that they eat at the dining room table, and is so firm that not even the boys object to the formality. It’s nice, Hermione realises, sitting around the circular table, surrounded by those she loves, and who love her in return. She’s missed the boys, more than she ever allowed herself to admit.

Ron is content to listen to the rest of them talk, too busy stuffing his face with various breakfast foods. Narcissa is polite, but relaxed, chatting amiably with Harry, and Hermione watches happily as Harry opens up to the former Malfoy matriarch.

“So, what’s the plan, then, ‘Mione?” Ron asks around a mouthful of scrambled egg, catching the mild look of disgust on Narcissa’s face. He swallows, smiling at her sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Hermione grins at the exchange. “Breaking into Gringotts is not going to be easy, but it’s the only lead we have at the moment. I think maybe we should concentrate on that for the moment. Cissa?”

The blonde daintily wipes her mouth with a napkin before speaking. “I believe Gringotts is one of two things we need to be considering, and I was thinking about it last night. I think I know a way of, how do you say it? ‘Hitting two rocks with one bird’.”

Hermione snickers. “Do you mean kill two birds with one stone?”

Narcissa flushes faintly. “Perhaps.”

“Why are we killing birds? What did they do? Are they dangerous?” Ron asks, brow furrowing, as he looks around the table.

“It’s a muggle saying,” Harry explains, patiently. “It means doing one thing that will solve two problems. What were you thinking, Narcissa?”

Blue eyes dart nervously to Hermione’s for a second. “I need to go back to the Manor-”

“Absolutely not!” Hermione exclaims. “Why on earth would you want to go back there?”

“You still have that invisibility cloak, yes?” Narcissa directs the question to Harry, who nods mutely. “Good. Then I think I should use it to get what we need.”

“Narcissa, no,” Hermione tells her firmly, voice wavering at the thought of her soulmate walking headfirst into danger.

“What things?” Ron asks, pushing his plate away and listening intently. Hermione is almost impressed with the mature approach he now has to planning, compared to when she had last been with the boys. He seems to have grown up in the time she was gone, or maybe just has a newfound appreciation for the way that she insists on planning everything. After all, without her they would never have gotten anywhere. Hermione is not arrogant, but she does know that they have struggled without her. 

“If we want to get into Gringotts then I don’t believe force is the way to go,” Narcissa muses. “I think our only chance is to impersonate my sister, and to do that, we need one of her hairs.”

“Polyjuice potion?” Hermione questions, turning to face Narcissa fully. “But it takes a month to brew.”

“The Dark-”

“Snake Face,” Ron interrupts with a smirk, as Narcissa rolls her eyes. 

“Snake Face,” Narcissa continues with a smirk of her own, “has Severus on hand, keeping him stocked up in every type of potion you can imagine. All I need to do is take one that has already been brewed and take one of Bellatrix’s hairs. The potion would be ready for us to use immediately.”

“Please, Cissa. There must be another way,” Hermione pleads, sliding her chair closer so she can cup the witch’s face, turning her to meet her eyes. “I don’t want you to do this.”

“Hermione, you’re the bravest woman I have ever met, but now it’s my turn. I have to do this, darling. I’m the only one that can.”

“I’m coming with you, then,” Hermione says firmly, even as the boys shake their heads. “What?” she snaps at them.

“You’ll never get away with being under that cloak,” Harry points out reasonably. “Even last year, it was a struggle for us not to show our ankles when we were sharing, and we’re all much taller now.”

“You said there were two things you wanted to do,” Ron changes the subject, before Hermione can object again.

“Yes.” Narcissa smiles at him gratefully. “There is a book there that I believe will be of some use to us.”

“What for?” Hermione reluctantly asks, gripping the blonde witch’s hand tightly.

“To help us with the witches on the moor. I know you don’t think it’s a priority, Hermione, but we can’t ignore a prophecy like that.”

“But we know how this war will end,” Hermione argues. “Harry has to be the one to end it.”

Narcissa laughs gently. “Hermione, darling, how is it that you think you can pick and choose what prophecies to believe in? You either don’t believe in them, and therefore what was prophesied about Harry is irrelevant. Or, you do believe, in which case the prophecy about the stone witches is too important to be ignored.”

Well, when Narcissa puts it like that, it’s difficult to argue with her logic. “You make a compelling argument,” Hermione admits a little sulkily, brightening when Narcissa sends her a warm smile. “I still don’t want you to go back to the Manor, though. It’s not safe, and you know it’s not.”

“What if there was a distraction?” Ron suggests excitedly. “What if Harry was spotted somewhere? Or maybe Apparated somewhere, said Snake Face’s name, and then Disapparated again before anyone could snatch him?”

“Thanks,” Harry says dryly. “So now I’m bait?”

“A distraction,” Narcissa corrects. “And yes, that would probably work. The Dar- Snake Face would send his best people and I would be far less likely to be discovered at the Manor.”

“What if he sends Bellatrix?” Hermione asks, clutching at any reason she can to back up her argument that Narcissa should not risk herself by going there.

“Then that’s a risk I will have to take,” Narcissa replies thoughtfully. “It will be more difficult, but Bellatrix has a room at mine, so procuring a hair is not impossible.”

“Why can’t we just send the elf?” Ron wonders, smiling awkwardly as Esta walks back into the room to clear their dishes.

“I would willingly sacrifice myself for Miss Cissa,” Esta informs him haughtily, “but it’s not possible. I was sent away to live here, and the other elves believe me to be dead.”

“What? Why?” Harry asks, before Hermione can jump in with the same question.

Narcissa smiles sadly. “I knew long before the war started the direction we were headed in and I made arrangements. I told Lucius that Esta had passed away and sent her here so that she would be safe. I knew what he was capable of and how much he looked down on other species. I didn’t want him to use Esta and I’m glad, especially after finding out what he used Kreacher for.”

Hermione nods. Using a house elf to test the dark wizards defences around the Horcrux in the cave was barbaric. “Even if it were possible, I wouldn’t want to send an elf to do a witch or wizard’s bidding. If it’s not safe for us, then it’s not safe for them.”

“Thank you, Miss Hermione,” Esta says with a bow, smiling at her.

Hermione smiles back distractedly, before turning back to her soulmate. “There must be another way. There is too much that can go wrong with this plan. Cissa, what if you get caught? You know what they’ll do to you. You know what they did to us both, and they won’t stop until your brain is addled or you are dead. I can’t lose you. This is personal, you know? You defied him and got away.”

Narcissa wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close, but Hermione isn’t done. “And you two! What if you aren’t quick enough? What if someone manages to catch you before you can Disapparate again? What if you get captured?”

“Hermione, if we get captured, we’ll deal with it. This is a war and there is no safe route through to the other side,” Harry reasons, appealing to her logical side. “None of us are safe, and none of us ever will be until we can end this thing.”

“But I don’t want to lose you.” Hermione’s voice breaks slightly. “I just got you back.”

“You won’t, ‘Mione. We’ll be careful and we’ll make sure we know the plan going in. I mean, it’s simple, right?” Ron asks rhetorically. “We Apparate right into Diagon Alley, or Hogsmeade, say his name, and then leave right away. We decide before going in, who will Disapparate us out of there, so there is no confusion or time wasted. In the meantime, Narcissa can go to the Manor and then we all meet back here.”

“You make it all sound so simple.” Hermione blinks back the tears that are threatening to overspill her lids. “It’s never that simple, and you know it.”

“But it’s a calculated risk and the only plan we have,” Narcissa points out. “Unless you have another idea in that brilliant mind of yours?”

Hermione shakes her head. “No. For the first time in my life, I feel out of my depth. I’ve always got a plan. That’s who I am. Hermione Granger, the girl who makes lists, likes to plan, and studies hard. The girl who likes routine, and order and does not like running head first into danger if she can help it.”

Harry snorts. “You have no idea who you really are, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What he means,” Narcissa takes over, “is that you might be all of those things, but you are so much more. Isn’t that right, Harry?”

Bemused by her lover and her best friend tag-teaming her, she shouldn’t be surprised when Ron joins in.

“You’re smart, logical and talented, ‘Mione. You were always the glue that held us all together, and without you we were lost. You’re strong and brave, far more than you ever give yourself credit for.”

“I’m nothing special. I’m just me,” she argues.

“And ‘just you’ is incredible,” Narcissa informs her, pulling her close and kissing her temple. “Never doubt just how amazing you are, Hermione Granger. I see you. We all do.”

Momentarily lost for words, Hermione wonders at the turn the conversation has taken. Is that really how they see her? She’s always felt like the odd one out, but here they are, telling her that she is an essential part of the team. Still, that doesn’t change anything, and she crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Don’t distract me. I’m not happy about this plan, at all. There is far too much that can go wrong.”

Harry shrugs. “You can object to the plan if you like, but you can’t expect us to listen unless you have a better alternative?”

“You know I don’t,” she admits with a scowl.

“Then this is all we have and we should plan accordingly,” Narcissa decrees, wrapping both arms around her. “Please, just trust us. We will be ok.”

*****

Nine hours later and Hermione is cursing every single one of them for convincing her to go along with their plan. The boys had left first, giving her a few moments in Narcissa’s arms before she had reluctantly let go of her, kissing her in desperation, just in case it was for the last time. The witch has the advantage over most of being able to Apparate directly into the manor, but it is still risky. There is no way of knowing who will be in the room. Narcissa has her own room, which should be empty, but Hermione knows just how easily a plan can go wrong. There is always an element of chance. 

The boys had decided that somewhere in Diagon Alley would be the biggest distraction, and their plan was to Apparate directly to the entrance of Knockturn Alley, where they were most likely to be spotted by the people that needed to see him. One quick mention of his name and then they would duck into a side street and Disapparate out of there. Just in case anyone tries to follow them or manages to catch a hold of them, they planned a list of three locations to Apparate to before coming back to the cottage.

She glances at the clock on the sitting room wall, frustrated when she sees that they only left ten minutes ago. As long as everything goes ok, Harry and Ron should be back any minute, but when will Narcissa be back?

“Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Hermione?” Esta asks, standing next to the sofa, ears twitching slightly. The elf appears to be as stressed as she is.

“No, thank you. Would you… do you want to sit down with me?” Hermione asks, patting the sofa next to her.

Esta peers up at her curiously. “You is wanting me to sit with you?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I?”

“But, I is an elf.”

Hermione shrugs, smiling warmly. “I don’t think that matters. Not to me, Esta and not to my friends. One of our best friends was an elf.”

Still looking unsure, Esta climbs up onto the sofa, long fingers gripping the cushions to pull herself up. She bounces experimentally a few times, before grinning toothily at Hermione. “If Mr Malfoy could see me now, he would be a very upset wizard. Many times he told me to keep my grubby elf hands off the furniture, even though they were clean.”

Hermione snorts. “Mr Malfoy was an idiot.”

Another toothy grin is sent her way. “You are very strange, Miss Hermione. Most witches do not be talking like you.”

“I am a muggleborn witch,” Hermione explains, wondering how much the elf knows about the war purebloods are waging on muggles and muggleborns. “I grew up in a world where I was taught that all people are equal. My parents were very outspoken on the matter.”

“But I is not people, I is an elf,” Esta points out. 

“Like I said, I don’t think that matters,” Hermione repeats. She can feel the elf’s curiosity, and not for the first time she thinks about what the world will be like after the war is over. What does she want to do with her life? A job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would probably suit her quite nicely. She could work from the inside, changing the attitudes to other sentient beings like elves and centaurs. 

After the war.  

It’s a war that is far from over, and one that she sometimes feels they have very little chance of winning, but now is not the time to lose hope. It’s when the world is at its darkest that she needs to shine the brightest. She will not give up now, not after everything she has already been through. Her heart thuds heavily and she feels frightened. Panicked, almost. It only takes her a moment to realise that she is feeling Narcissa’s emotions and not her own, and then her own panic starts to materialise, too. 

Stop.  She tells herself to keep calm, knowing that the last thing Narcissa needs right now is to be distracted by her. Hermione can’t help wondering what is happening, though. Is Narcissa safe? Has she been captured again? There is no pain coming through the bond, and surely if they can feel each other’s emotions, then she would be able to feel if Narcissa was in pain?

She needs to divert her attention so that she doesn’t distract Narcissa, who is already in a dangerous situation. She turns to Esta, who is looking at her with knowing eyes. Sympathetic, like she knows what Hermione is thinking. She doesn’t need to ask, doesn’t need to plead. Esta pats her leg gently.

“Did you know when Miss Cissa was a young human, she got stuck on the roof of Black Manor?”

Despite the fear still simmering away inside her, Hermione smiles at the elf. “No, she didn’t mention it. What happened?”

“They were all naughty when they was little, Miss Hermione. Miss Cissa was jealous of her sisters going to Hogwarts and coming home with all their stories about school and what they had been doing.”

“Narcissa is the youngest?” Hermione checks, trying to remember if it said on the family tree at Grimmauld Place.

Esta bobs her head. “Miss Bella is going first, and then Miss Andy. They both learned how to fly and when they came home, Miss Cissa wanted to be a big girl like her sisters.”

Hermione grins widely. Oh, she hopes this is something she can tease Narcissa about later. “What did she do?”

“Miss Andy left her broom outside and Miss Cissa be thinking that this is looking easy. She decides she can be a big girl and fly too, but it is not being as easy as Miss Cissa is expecting.”

“Flying is definitely not easy,” Hermione says grimly. “I hate it.”

“Miss Cissa got very good at it eventually, but the first time she tried, she shot straight up in the air. Miss Bella was shouting for her to come down, but Miss Cissa was floating way up in the skies. She tries to control it, but the broom be controlling her and she ends up falling off and landing on the roof. She drops the broom and it falls to the ground, splintering into lots of little pieces. Miss Andy was very not happy.”

“And Cissa was stuck on the roof?” Hermione asks, cackling slightly. “How did she get down?”

The elf shakes her head. “They be knowing that Miss Cissa be in a lot of trouble, so Miss Bella decides she is a big girl too, and flies up to the roof to rescue her, but when she gets there Miss Cissa be squealing and won’t let go of the chimney. She is being scared and Miss Bella is getting worried that the Mistress will find them both and punish them. So when Miss Cissa won’t get on her broom, Miss Bella holds onto her really tight, squeezes her eyes shut, and Apparates them both down to the ground.”

Hermione’s heart warms at the thought of Bellatrix taking care of Cissa like that. She has always had a healthy respect for the people she sees as her opponents in this war, but now she realises just how powerful Bellatrix has always been.

“How old was Bellatrix when she did that?”

The elf looks thoughtful for a moment. “Miss Bella was in her second year of Hogwarts.”

“And she’d never Apparated before?”

Esta shakes her head, a proud smile on her face. “No. Is being the first time.”

Wow. How she managed to get them both down to the ground safely without splinching either of them, is a miracle. Magic feeds on your emotions, though, and she’s seen first hand how Bellatrix is protective of Narcissa.

A loud ‘pop’ startles her, and the boys appear in the middle of the room, grinning wildly.

“Did everything go okay?” Hermione asks, though it’s clear that they are both okay, even as her eyes are searching for injuries.

“Yup. Gave them a proper good run-around,” Ron declares proudly. “We made sure we were spotted in two places in Knockturn Alley, and then Harry said his name.”

“They were fast,” Harry continues. “The taboo must automatically pull them to the place where his name is spoken. We only just got away.”

“How many? Did you see Bellatrix?”

“Nah. They were all blokes,” Harry replies, “Recognised a few of them, but not all.”

“They’ve had a lot of casualties since you were held at Malfoy Manor,” Ron explains, pointing at her wand. “Like Dolohov. He was taken out by Tonks during a raid.” 

“I don’t understand. What’s Dolohov got to do with my wand?”

The boys glance at each other. “You do know that’s his wand, right?” Harry asks, sitting down on the opposite sofa. “Fifteen inch elder wand with a core made from thestral hair.”

“I disarmed him at the Ministry in our fifth year,” Hermione remembers excitedly. “That’s why it’s so happy to do my bidding. It knows!”

“It’s a powerful wand,” Ron observes. “Dolohov did some impressive wandwork with it, but he was not a powerful wizard. Far from it, actually. My dad went to Hogwarts with him and says he was rubbish.”

Hermione picks up her wand rolling it in her fingers. Ron’s right. The wand is extremely powerful and it makes her feel so much stronger than her last one did. She examines it more closely for the first time. It’s well worn and flexible, with signs of many years of use. How old is this wand? Did he buy it from Ollivander’s? It looks like it could be hundreds of years old, but wands are not normally passed down through the generations. In fact, she can only think of one wand that has passed from wizard to wizard over the years.

Goosebumps creep up her arms. It couldn’t be, could it? She stares at the fifteen inches of elder in her hand, wondering at the coincidence. Fifteen inches is long for a wand, especially one made of elder, but also combined with a thestral hair core? No. Surely not. Hermione refutes the idea in her head, but she can’t quite rid her mind of the thought.

Is this… does she… is she holding the Wand of Destiny? 

She wants to deny the possibility, but there is something about this wand that is unnerving, like she can feel the decades and decades of magic that it has done. They thought that the elder wand mentioned in the deathly hallows was the one that Dumbledore had carried, but what if he was just a powerful wizard? There were reports of his magical prowess long before the wand came into his possession. 

Gellert Grindelwald had the wand before him, but again, the wizard was formidable long before he gained possession of the wand. What really changed? Nothing. Even Voldemort was an extremely talented wizard long before he took the wand from Dumbledore. What has he done that is any different since he has had it in his possession? Nothing.

What if they had been wrong about the line of succession? What if the wrong elder wand had been tracked through the generations?

Hermione knows.  She can’t explain why, and it defies all logic, but she knows.

She is holding the Wand of Destiny.

She looks up, having raced through her thoughts at a hundred miles an hour, trying to find a way to volcaise her realisation. The boys are staring at her, clear amusement on their faces. They are used to her disappearing off into her thoughts and usually just leave her to reach a conclusion, knowing she will tell them as soon as she has figured it out.

She opens her mouth to talk, but a resounding snap has her spinning in her seat, desperate to see her soulmate.

Narcissa stands there, white as a ghost as she pushes off the cloak to reveal herself.

Hermione gasps. Narcissa is covered in blood.

Chapter Text

Hermione doesn’t reach Narcissa in time before the witch sinks to her knees, burying her face in her hands; her fingers leaving streaks of blood on her paler than usual skin. Esta jumps down off of the sofa, skittering across the floor to her mistress, summoning various potions and salves. Narcissa shoos her away. “I don’t need those, Esta.”

“Cissa?” Hermione drops down next to her, gingerly pulling her hands away from her face, and checking for injuries. “What happened? Are you alright?”

Narcissa sighs heavily. “Bella. It’s not my blood, it’s Bella’s.”

“Bloody hell, did you kill her, or what?” Ron asks, slightly awed. He flinches when Hermione glares at him, and presses his lips together. “Sorry.”

“No, I didn’t kill her.” 

“What happened?” Hermione asks again, when Narcissa doesn’t offer any further information. “Did you have trouble with the wards?”

Narcissa shakes her head. “No. Just as I assumed, they have been unable to change them. The ward’s allegiance is to me, and the only way for that to change would be if I were to die, in which case it would automatically pass to Draco.”

“Well, they can’t do that if you’re here,” Harry points out reasonably.

“I believe we are as safe as we possibly can be, here,” Narcissa agrees. “Especially now I am convinced of my sister’s true loyalty.”

“Now you’re convinced? You bought us here where you knew she had access, and you weren’t even a hundred percent sure that we were safe?” Ron shouts, throwing his hands up. “I knew we couldn’t trust you. Harry, I told you, mate.”

“Calm down, Ron,” Hermione chides. “Let her speak.”

Narcissa ignores the glare being sent her way. “There is a huge difference between believing something to be true and seeing evidence of it with your own eyes. I never truly doubted that my sister had any intention of hurting me, but now that I have seen her, I believe she might be more on our side than I ever realised before.”

“What do you think has changed her mind?” Harry asks. “I thought we couldn’t rely on her for help?”

“I was under that impression too, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Cissa?! The blood! Can we please talk about the blood for a moment?” Hermione pleads, gesturing at the witch’s red stained clothes and hands. 

Narcissa grimaces as she pulls on the fabric of her top, drawing it away from her skin. “Bella is a very powerful Legilimens. The moment I entered the manor, she knew I was there. I could hear her talking to me. She knew why I was there before I even had the chance to explain.”

“In your mind?” Hermione asks, peering at Narcissa more closely as though she will be able to see the answer for herself. 

“Yes. She told me to meet her upstairs in my bedroom, so that’s what I did, still under the cover of the cloak.”

“And it was a trap? That’s why you’re covered in blood? You had to fight her?” Ron asks, eyes lit up triumphantly.

“Mr Weasley, will you please stop jumping to conclusions and let me explain?”

He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Narcissa narrows her eyes in his direction. Hermione can feel the witch’s satisfaction when she rises off of the floor, wand in her hand and Ron flinches. She casts a Tergeo at herself to clean away the blood and then sits on the sofa opposite them, smiling at Hermione when she leans supportively against her side.

“As I was saying, I met her in my bedroom. The item we are looking for in her vault is a small gold cup that used to belong to Helga Hufflepuff. Snake Face…” she smirks at Ron who grins back at her like they have a shared joke now, “gave it to her about six months ago, to look after for him.”

“She just told you this? Willingly?” Hermione furrows her brow. “I don’t understand? What has changed? In the letter she said we wouldn’t hear from her again. She made it quite clear we couldn’t rely on her.”

“I believe she may be wavering in her belief in him. She is his most loyal follower, or was, and yet she has been punished severely for my escape. The evidence was all over her face and when I asked her about it, she informed me she is not allowed to heal herself. Instead, her punishment is to serve as a warning to others.”

“But she didn’t do anything!” Hermione exclaims. “That’s not fair.”

“No, she didn’t, but he suspects that she did. I believe he will be keeping a closer eye on her in future, and the punishment was a preemptive strike. I don’t know what Lucius said before he was murdered, but he was always able to read Lucius’s thoughts with minimal effort. He would have known that Lucius didn’t aid our escape from the cellar, even though he didn’t act to stop us leaving.”

“The door was locked and we didn’t have wands.” Hermione slaps her forehead. “Of course it looks like someone let us out. Why didn’t we think about that?”

“That is the logical assumption, and as was evident from Bella’s face, our escape has cost her dearly.”

“So what happened? I still don’t understand how you ended up with blood all over you?” Hermione questions. 

“Bella made me do it. The security at her vault has been increased now that there is an item of such value in there and blood magic has been added. Polyjuice would not have been enough. We might have fooled the goblins, but we never would have gained access to the vault itself. So she made me take a vial of her blood.” Narcissa shudders, squeezing her eyes tightly closed.

Hermione slips an arm around her waist, holding her close. “She cut herself to give you her blood?”

“Yes. She transfigured one of my bedroom vases into a vial, and filled it up. She asked me what else I needed, and I explained about the book, Polyjuice, and of course one of her hairs. She gave me the hair, and then told me she would distract him while I gathered the things that I needed.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd?” Harry asks, holding up his hands in surrender when Narcissa glares at him. “I’m not saying we’re about to walk into a trap, but you have to admit that it’s a bit out of the blue? She said she couldn’t be relied on, and even if you knew she wouldn’t harm you, that’s a big difference from actively helping you.”

Narcissa sighs. “I didn’t have time to ask her much, but I think she has been shaken by him turning on her. She never imagined for one moment that he would ever punish her the way that he has. She thought she was above his cruelty. Untouchable, if you will. She told me he seems… unstable.”

“Well, I’m not surprised after the flat-faced git split his soul. That’s enough to make anyone a little crazy,” Ron inserts with a lopsided grin. “Every time we find and destroy a Horcrux, it’s got to affect him. Make him weaker.”

“I believe you might be right,” Narcissa agrees, bobbing her head up and down. “It would certainly explain the change in his demeanour over the last year. He rambles, sometimes, talking to himself. He talks to that snake of his as though it is another person, but although snakes can of course understand witches and wizards that speak Parceltongue, we all know that their intelligence is incredibly limited.”

“I’m a Parcelmouth,” Harry adds, “and you’re right. They actually have very little to say, beyond the basics.”

“So that’s why you think Bellatrix is wavering, and actually helping us? She knows that he is not in his right mind?” Hermione asks, tapping a finger against her lip thoughtfully. “If he is already struggling then it will only get worse, I guess.”

“Exactly. Who’s to say what the loss of even just one more Horcrux will do to him,” Narcissa agrees. “So I believe she is coming to the conclusion that this is already over, now, and is preparing to do what she can to avoid Azkaban at the end of it all. If she helps us of her own free will, then it looks good in front of the Wizengamot, if there is a trial.”

“You don’t think she will ever change her mind about blood purity?” Hermione asks sadly.

“No, darling. I do not. I think that she might meet people that sway her, like you did, but I don’t think she will ever drop her beliefs. They are far too ingrained now.”

“But at least she’s helping us. I don’t care why, it still counts,” Hermione says firmly.

“I believe she is someone that we might be able to rely upon, but I don’t wish to put her in any more danger than is necessary.”

Hermione sits up straight, a horrifying thought occurring to her. “Oh, Cissa! He’s going to know! If we break into the vault, then he will know she gave us the blood. I don’t want her to be punished for it.”

Narcissa smiles reassuringly. “She thought of that. When I met her in the drawing room after procuring the items we needed, she was adamant that I should curse her. Make it look like she was attacked and then render her unconscious with a Stupefy. I refused, of course, not understanding at first, but Bella being Bella, took matters into her own hands. She fired off a number of jinxes and curses around the room, turned her wand on herself and cast several Diffindos before urging me to Stupefy her.”

“She hurt herself so that when the vault is broken into, it doesn’t look like she helped on purpose?” Ron exclaims, slapping his thigh. “That’s genius! You sneaky, sneaky, little Slytherins.” 

“Bella is always three steps ahead of everyone else,” Narcissa informs him with a fond grin. “It took me a while to catch up with her thought process, but I did as she asked and Stupified her. Unfortunately, I didn’t realise she was going to fall backwards through the glass-topped coffee table. I panicked, and rushed to check on her. That’s how I ended up with so much blood on me.”

“She will be okay, won’t she?” Hermione worries at her bottom lip with her teeth. It’s not that she cares about the witch, but Narcissa does. They’ve all lost enough in this war already, and she doesn’t want Narcissa to lose the only sister that she is currently talking to. Hermione wonders if this is something that can be changed. She has only met Andromeda a few times, but the woman seemed sad when Narcissa or Draco’s name was brought up. Maybe there is a way to bring them back together?

“She’ll be fine. I didn’t have much time, but I did check for any particularly heavy bleeding, and I heard footsteps coming to investigate the noise just before I Disapparated. Someone will have taken care of her and patched her up, I’m sure.”

Hermione nods, letting out a relieved breath. “Good. Okay, so what do we do now?” 

“Break into Gringotts in the morning,” Harry says casually, as though it isn’t one of the most protected places in the wizarding world. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he tries to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, we don’t want to give Snake Face too much time to think about things,” Ron agrees. “We don’t want him to suddenly realise that her blood could be used to access the vault. My vote is for the morning, too.”

“Mine too,” Hermione agrees.

“Bloody Gryffindors,” Narcissa mutters. “Always rushing head first into danger.”

“You got a better idea?” Ron challenges, but he’s grinning as he says it.

“We need a plan,” Narcissa replies. “We have to think about what we need to do and then work out all the ways it could go wrong so we can prepare for it.”

Hermione laughs. “You can’t plan for every eventuality.”

“You can try,” Narcissa insists. “We don’t want to be blindsided.”

Harry smirks. “We’ve tried planning, but when have any of our plans ever actually worked? We plan, we get there, all hell breaks loose.” 

Hermione and Ron both nod, grinning, as Narcissa rolls her eyes.

“Is this usually how you do things? How on earth have you survived for this long?”

“Lucky, I guess.” Ron shrugs.

“And you really think it will be as simple as that? We turn up, enter the vault, locate the Horcrux and then leave again?” Narcissa asks, shaking her head in bemusement. “Well, I can see why they think Gryffindors are courageous.”

“We are.” Hermione laughs, nudging the older witch with her shoulder. “But this time we have a secret weapon.”

“And what would that be?” Narcissa asks, raising her eyebrow.

“You.”

*****

The next day sees them dropped into a lake after jumping off the back of a dragon. They swim for the shore in the freezing cold water, weighed down by their clothes. As it turns out, it was anything but simple. At least they did all survive, though. Things were more difficult than they had imagined, and they all used an unforgivable curse or two, though not one that kills or causes pain. However, Imperio was essential after the thief’s downfall had removed their disguises and the goblin escorting them had realised who they were. 

There was a moment when Hermione was convinced she was about to be eaten by a dragon, but she’s never been more glad of the crazy ideas her brain comes up with. Using a dragon to fly to safety and jumping into a lake? Preposterous. As they lay there, panting in the sand surrounding the lake, Hermione can’t help but giggle.

“That was… close,” she says with a laugh, digging her fingers into the sand underneath her, glad to be back on solid ground.

“That was amazing,” Harry gushes. “Better than a broom, thestral and hippogriff combined.”

“Are you mad?” Ron asks incredulously. “That thing tried to eat us.”

“Imagine that,” Narcissa quips. “A Weasley and myself, on the same page. This is not an experience I wish to repeat anytime soon.”

“The dragon flying? Or agreeing with a Weasley?” Harry jokes.

“Neither,” Narcissa replies with a smirk.

Hermione stands up, reaching into her bag and pulling them all out fresh clothes. “Ron, Harry, turn around?”

The boys do as they are asked without question and Hermione takes a moment to pull Narcissa into her arms, hugging her tightly. “We did it, Cissa.”

“We did,” Narcissa replies slightly breathless, loosening Hermione’s grip with a small chuckle. “There will be more time for this, later.”

“Later,” Hermione promises, waggling her eyebrows, making the older witch chuckle.

Narcissa removes her wand and flicks it at Hermione’s clothes, steam rising from them rapidly as they dry off. 

“Oh, that’s brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?” Hermione wonders.

“Experience,” Narcissa replies. “There are certain benefits that come with age.”

“You’re not that old, Cissa.”

“Older than you,” she replies, but she’s smiling and Hermione can feel how unbothered she is by this. The difference in their ages is minimal, considering how much longer witches live compared to muggles.

“Are you decent?” Harry calls from behind them.

Hermione laughs. “Oops. We should have done the boys. Yes, Harry.”

Narcissa waits for them to turn around and then sends a drying charm at Harry’s hair, just as he drops to the floor, with a feral scream.

Ron draws his wand, raising it at Narcissa. “What have you done? I knew we couldn’t trust you!”

Hermione feels a rush of rage, not entirely sure if it is her own or Narcissa’s that she is feeling. She raises her hands, stepping in front of her soulmate to protect her from Ron, a blast of magic leaving her palms. Ron flies backwards, landing heavily in the sand, but she spares him only a brief glance to check he’s okay before dropping down next to Harry, who is clutching his scar.

“Harry, are you okay? Was it a vision?” she asks calmly, pulling his hand away from his scar and rubbing his back soothingly.

“He knows,” he replies flatly, still wincing. “You-know-who. He knows we broke into Gringotts, he knows what we took and he knows that we’re hunting horcruxes.”

“How is it you know?” Narcissa asks.

“I saw him.” Harry replies. “We’re linked, and I can feel his emotions. When he’s angry, I can feel it, but he’s not just angry, he’s scared too. He feels wounded… dangerous. He knows that if we find all the Horcruxes and destroy them, we’ll be able to destroy him, too.”

“You’re meant to be keeping him out, Harry,” Hermione reprimands him, even though she knows that it’s pointless. Harry is as stubborn as she is.

“I know, Hermione, but I can’t always help it. Or, maybe I can, I don’t know,” Harry admits. “That’s not relevant now. The point is, I know where the last one is. It’s at Hogwarts and I think it’s in the room of requirement. He’s checking the other Horcruxes just to be sure, but he’s not worried about the one at Hogwarts. He doesn’t believe that anyone else has discovered the secret of the come-and-go room, and he trusts Snape’s defences. He doesn’t think we’ll be able to get in.

“Then we have to go, Harry,” Hermione states quietly. “We should go there now, before he moves it.”

“We have time,” Harry argues. “This time we need to plan .”

Ron gets up from the sand, brushing it from his still wet clothes. Narcissa sends a drying charm his way, with a roll of her eyes. “This is getting rather old, Ronald. When are you going to accept that I am on your side?”

“I know,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Old habits die hard, I guess. I do accept your bond with Hermione, I promise, but accepting that a Malfoy is on our side? It goes against everything I have ever known. I’m sorry, alright?”

“Forgiven,” Narcissa replies simply, but she locks eyes with him again. “However, call me a Malfoy again and we are going to have problems. Even when I was married to Lucious I never felt like a Malfoy.” Hermione can still feel the anger radiating inside her, and reaches for her hand, squeezing it slightly.

Ron nods sharply. “Okay.”

“Okay, so we go home and make a plan,” Hermione verifies, looking between them all. “We definitely have time?”

“Yes,” Harry quickly agrees. “We have time.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Hermione dictates, reaching for their hands.

They Apparate directly into the living room, dropping down onto the two sofas, each of them letting out a sigh of relief to be back in the relative safety of the cottage.

“Bloody hell, what a day that was,” Ron remarks, flopping back against the cushions, arms crossed in front of his chest. “What’s next? Running with werewolves? Swimming with grindylows?”

“Sitting down for tea with a Death Eater,” comes a very familiar voice in the doorway at the end of the room.

Narcissa recovers first, confusion morphing to worry, as she spots Bellatrix leaning against the doorframe. “Bella? What are you doing here?”

“I brought you a present, Cissy,” Bellatrix replies, walking into the room and smirking at the nerves on Harry and Ron’s faces.

“A present?” Narcissa repeats, looking at her sister’s empty hands. “What is it?”

A head of blonde hair appears in the doorway, attached to a face and tall, lanky body that Hermione instantly recognises.

“Hello, Mother,” Draco greets Narcissa hesitantly, smiling.

Chapter Text

Hermione watches in quiet disbelief as Narcissa goes running to Draco, wrapping him in a tight embrace. It’s an embrace he wholeheartedly returns until he freezes, his eyes on the other sofa where Harry and Ron are sitting. He pushes Narcissa away, smiling awkwardly.

Bellatrix looks around the room, and cackles. “Well, this is cosy, Cissy.”

That voice. It’s only been a few days since Hermione has heard that voice, but it takes her back. In a flash she is back on the manor floor, writhing in agony, unable to fight or escape. That voice means pain. It means living in the cold and dark. It means hopelessness and helplessness.

“Bella, it’s so good to see you, but what are you doing here?”

Hermione can hear her soulmate speaking, but for once her voice doesn’t soothe her, unable to warm her in the cold, hard memories that have flooded her brain. She raises her hands, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes tight. “I’m not safe,” she whispers. “It’s not safe.”

“Hermione, are you alright?”

It’s Harry’s voice, barely heard through the hands still covering her ears. Harry. Her best friend. So why doesn’t he feel safe either? None of them do. She shouldn’t be here.

Arms wrap around her and blonde hair tickles her face. “You’re okay, darling. Just breathe.”

Cissa. Hermione lets herself be held and concentrates on the one thing she has control over; her breathing. She pulls her hands away from her ears, burying her face in Narcissa’s neck.

“That’s good, keep going,” Narcissa encourages her, and she takes another deep breath, breathing in the comforting scent that is her soulmate.

“Granger?” Bellatrix walks over, crouching down in front of her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Anger flares up and Hermione lifts her head, meeting the black eyes of Bellatrix. “You already did.”

“I know,” Bellatrix agrees amiably. “I know you won’t accept my apology, and I’m not sure I would mean it anyway. I promise that I won’t hurt you now, though. That’s not why we’re here.”

“Bella, go and sit down. Draco, come and sit next to me,” Narcissa orders.

“What?” Bellatrix shouts. “I’m not sitting next to a bloodtraitor.”

“It’s fine, Aunt Bella. I’ll sit next to Weasley, you can have the mudblood ,” Draco sneers, walking over to the boys’ sofa and waiting for Ron to move up next to Harry. Hermione nearly laughs as he sits as close to the arm as possible, as far away from Ron as he can get. Bellatrix flops down onto the sofa next to her sister, simultaneously graceful but unrestrained, like an overgrown child.

“If you two still believe that those things matter, then why are you here?” Cissa demands, her voice low.

“It’s simple, Cissy. The Dark Lord’s gone a bit mental, hasn’t he, and I didn’t think you wanted Draco to be the next to lose his life. He’s only gone and wiped out half of the Death Eaters.”

“You rescued Draco?” Narcissa asks, keeping her arms wrapped around Hermione, but turning to look at her sister.

“Of course I did,” Bellatrix replies, spinning her wand between her fingers, and smirking at Harry and Ron, when they flinch. “So what does it matter what I think of bloodtraitors and mudbloods?”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Ron mutters. “We don’t have to be here. Harry? Hermione? You coming?” He gets to his feet, wand in hand, but Harry grabs hold of his top, pulling him back down onto the sofa.

“Ron, just wait. Please?” Hermione replies calmly. “We need to know what’s been going on before we make any rash decisions. Bellatrix, I don’t trust you or like you, but I know you won’t do something that will hurt Cissa. So, please. Just explain what you’re really doing here and what’s been going on.”

Bellatrix leans forwards so she can see around her sister in the middle of the sofa and pouts at Hermione. “You don’t like me?”

Hermione snorts against her will, the ridiculousness of the situation catching up with her. “Do I like the woman who tortured me every other day for four months? No. I really don’t.”

Bellatrix sighs theatrically. “I shouldn’t have tried winding you up, calling you a mudblood a minute ago. The truth is, I’m not sure how I feel about blood purity anymore. It’s difficult to realise that I might have been wrong. That our whole family and everything we’ve ever stood for, might be wrong. I doubt I can change overnight, but I’m willing to try. Is that good enough for you, Mud- fucking hell, Granger?”

“Why have you suddenly changed your mind? I don’t understand,” Hermione admits, wriggling out of Narcissa’s hold and reaching for her hand instead. They share a smile, love flowing freely through their bond, and she is relieved. No matter what happens here today, she knows that Narcissa is on her side.

“I would also like to know. You’ve always been so unwavering in your beliefs, Bella,” Narcissa speaks up, thumb stroking over the back of Hermione’s knuckles, gently reassuring.

Bellatrix sighs, wrapping a curl around her finger and twisting it into a ringlet. “You did, Granger. You changed my mind. I thought all mudbloods were weak. Filthy scum, disgusting animals . I believed everything that we were ever told about them, but then you came along. You took everything that was sent your way, and you took it with pride. You didn’t break, and you impressed me. I’ve tortured many pureblood, adult witches and wizards that are meant to be stronger than you, but they broke within minutes. You never did. Not once. Besides, you can’t be all that bad if the universe chose you for Cissy.”

Harry throws up his hands. “Does it really matter what she does or doesn’t think about blood status? Are we really expected to sit in the same room as the woman who killed Sirius and then laughed about it?”

“And she tortured Neville’s parents,” Ron adds, pointing his finger at the dark witch.

“And Dobby,” Harry reminds them.

“If you’re going to sit here and list every single bloody witch or wizard I’ve hurt or murdered, we’re going to be here a really long time,” Bellatrix boasts, ignoring her sister when Narcissa smacks her arm. “Now, what’s the plan?”

Hermione can’t help herself and laughs out loud. “What’s the plan? You’re even more crazy than I thought, if you think we’re just going to tell you everything.”

Narcissa shrugs at her sister. “She has a point. I know you wouldn’t hurt me, but even I don’t trust you fully, Bella. I never expected you to turn up here, and I find myself unsure of your intentions.”

Bellatrix huffs. “I told you, didn’t I? I had to get Draco out of there. The Dark Lord went crazy. He killed every single goblin at Gringotts and then when he got back to the manor, he started on the rest of us.”

“How did you get away?” Hermione asks. She’s familiar with Slytherins, and she refuses to be blind to the witch’s tactics. If there is a hidden agenda here, she’s determined to find it.

“Well, technically, Draco here is dead. Yaxley was on the floor, and I knew he was dying. So I gave him Polyjuice with one of Draco’s hairs, just in time for him to breathe his last. He died looking like Draco, and the Polyjuice will remain working. He’s not alive to metabolise it, so it will never wear off.”

“And what about you?” Narcissa asks.

Bellatrix shifts uncomfortably. “I’ll have to go back. The Dark Lord will call me, and I won’t have a choice. You know we don’t have a choice when we are summoned. He presses the dark mark on his arm, and then we Apparate, whether we want to or not.”

“Bellatrix, if you go back, he’ll kill you for leaving,” Hermione blurts out, not sure why she cares, except that it will hurt Narcissa. “And Draco. Draco will be summoned too. We all know he has the mark. What happens if Draco turns up, alive and well, when he’s meant to be dead?”

Bellatrix taps the side of her nose. “I think I know how to get rid of it. We’ll remove it from Draco’s arm, and the quicker the better. I don’t know how long we’ve got until the Dark Lord summons the rest of his Death Eaters.”

“If you know how to get rid of it, then we can remove yours, too,” Narcissa reminds her gently, staring at her sister, who won’t meet her eyes. Bellatrix fidgets in her seat and fiddles with her wand, staring out of the opposite window.

“You’re hedging your bets, aren’t you?” Ron accuses. “You want to stay on his good side just in case this all goes wrong.”

“Can you blame me?” Bellatrix retorts, black eyes sharply focused on him, until he gulps and looks away. “He’s the most powerful wizard in the world and there is every chance that he won’t be defeated. What happens then? I’ll tell you, Weasley. We all die, that’s what happens. So can you really blame me for keeping my options open?”

“You’re either with us or you’re not,” Hermione says quietly. “You can’t sit on the fence. Not this time. It’s too important and we all have to work together. We have to be able to trust you.”

“She’s right, Bella,” Narcissa agrees. “You need to decide now where your loyalties lie, and what you want your future to look like. You too, Draco.”

“Where my loyalties lie?” Draco repeats. “Why are we not talking about the important things? Is no one going to explain why my mother is sitting cosied up with mudblood Granger?”

“Draco! Don’t call her that,” Narcissa reprimands, before turning to her sister, shaking her head. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I didn’t have time . Too busy rescuing him and returning his damn memories. You’re welcome, by the way,” Bellatrix replies grumpily, crossing her arms like a petulant child. Narcissa’s eyes soften, and she reaches out, resting a hand on the dark witch’s arm.

“Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, Bella, thank you. I’m so relieved Draco is out of there, and to have you here with us is something I never thought possible. Please, won’t you make the right decision? I don’t want to lose you.”

“Hello? Off topic, much?” Draco cuts in, huffing impatiently and waving a hand to get their attention. “What’s going on? What is this?” He gestures between Hermione and his mother, forehead wrinkled in a way that makes him look just like Narcissa. Removing that thought from her mind, Hermione decides it’s time for some fun.

“Your mum is my magical mate. My soulmate ,” Hermione informs him, trying to keep the glee from her tone. Harry and Ron are not so successful, openly laughing at the abject horror on his face.

“You’re… Mother… No. Absolutely not. How did this even happen? Is that why you were in her cell?” Draco runs his fingers through his hair, looking between the witches on the sofa. “Oh, Merlin! You’re sleeping with my mother?” His cheeks turn pink, and he drops his gaze to the floor instead.

Hermione giggles. “It’s okay, I don’t expect you to call me Mum… Well, unless you want to…”

“Call you… Are you insane?” Draco shouts. He drops his voice a little lower. “Have you all gone mad? What is happening here? Oh, maybe it’s me? It must be me. I died, didn’t I, and I’m in hell? There is no way that my Aunt Bella is sitting in a room with a mudblood and Harry fucking Potter and not even trying to kill them.”

“Draco, I’ve asked you not to call her that, and will you please mind your language,” Narcissa scolds, and Hermione smirks at him, wrapping an arm around Narcissa and pulling her close.

Narcissa leans in to whisper in Hermione’s ear. “I know what you’re doing. Don’t forget the bond, darling. You are far too smug about this.” She smiles, though, rolling her eyes, and Hermione presses a kiss to her cheek.

“Bellatrix, Draco, you need to make a decision and you need to make it quickly,” Harry says firmly, his voice steady. “And if you choose us, then you need to be willing to make an Unbreakable Vow. You can’t tell anyone anything that we tell you, about what we’ve been doing since the war began.”

“Sounds fair, Mate,” Ron agrees, nodding.

“Hang on a minute, Ginger,” Bellatrix interrupts, leaning forwards in her chair. “What if one of us is captured and tortured? No one can survive that without spilling their guts.”

“I did,” Hermione snaps, the hand not around Narcuissa curling into a fist. “And if a lowly, magic-stealing, filthy mudblood can hold her tongue, then surely a pureblood witch and wizard can do the same. I mean, aren’t you more powerful? Stronger? Tougher than us?” she challenges, her voice tight. If there is one thing she has learned about purebloods, it’s that their pride is always their downfall. Their pride is always the quickest and easiest way of manipulating them, even when they are aware that they are being manipulated.

“I know what you’re doing, Granger,” Bellatrix growls. 

“Of course you do,” Hermione agrees mildly, but her eyes sparkle wickedly. “That’s because your intelligence far surpasses that of a mudblood, doesn't it. How could I possibly expect to outsmart or manipulate you?”

“Bloody hell, Hermione,” Ron mutters. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? After surviving all this time?”

Hermione shakes her head, flicking her hair behind her shoulders. “Bellatrix won’t kill me, because she knows how much it would hurt Cissa. Isn’t that right, Bellatrix?”

“Bloody know-it-all witches,” Bellatrix grumbles under her breath, but then speaks up. “Fine. I’ll take the vow and I’ll join your side, but first of all, we need to get these marks off of us.”

“Agreed,” Narcissa replies. “How do we do it?”

“I found a counter curse. It’s not exactly for the same scenario, but I think it will work,” Bellatrix answers, a worried frown on her forehead. “Cissy, will you do the honours?”

Narcissa picks up the wand that had been laying at her feet. “What’s the incantation?”

“Non iam servio, nexus noster frangitur. Mea vita mea est, ut dicatur.”

Ron scratches his head, repeating it back quietly. He looks up at Bellatrix. “I no longer serve, our connection is broken. My life is my own, so let it be spoken?”

“Ten points to Gryffindor, Ginger.” Bellatrix claps her hands slowly, rolling her eyes. “Yes, that’s what it means.”

“You understand Latin, Ron?” Hermione asks.

“Always the tone of surprise,” he grouches, shaking his head, but his lips are turned up in a small smile.

“Get on with it, Cissy,” Bellatrix prompts, shoving her arm in front of Narcissa.

The blonde points her wand at the dark mark, and takes a deep breath. “Non iam servio, nexus noster frangitur. Mea vita mea est, ut dicatur.”

Not sure what to expect, Hermione is oddly disappointed when nothing happens. Even more surprising, she feels sympathy for the witch when she watches Bellatrix’s face drop. “Do you remember how he put it on you, Bellatrix? Can you remember the words he used?”

“Bloody parselmouth , isn’t he? I couldn’t understand a word of it,” Bellatrix replies, rubbing the skin on her arm.

“Maybe that’s the answer,” Hermione muses. “Maybe it needs to be removed by another parselmouth?”

“Oh, sure. There’s one of those on every corner,” the dark witch replies, rolling her eyes. 

“Not every corner,” Hermione replies, “but Harry could certainly do it.”

All eyes in the room turn to Harry, who squirms under the attention. “I’ll try.”

“You’re a parselmouth? How? You’re a Gryffindor.” Bellatrix wrinkles her brow. The same look Hermione had seen on her face at the manor appears, and despite her trying to hide it, she can see the woman is mildly impressed.

“Once you’ve taken the vow, we’ll tell you everything. Until then, all you get to know is that, yes. I can speak parseltongue.” Harry gets up and walks across the room, pointing the wand at her face. Hermione can feel his anger at the witch rolling off of him in waves, and for a moment, she wonders whether he will take advantage of this moment, taking his revenge for Sirius. 

But Harry isn’t like that, no matter how much anger he still carries. He sighs and drops his wand. “Non iam servio, nexus noster frangitur. Mea vita mea est, ut dicatur?” he confirms.

Bellatrix just nods. Hermione smirks to herself when she realises that the moment has shaken her slightly.

Harry adjusts his grip, and then makes the sounds that no one else in the room understands, even if they know the incantation in Latin. The dark mark glows a vivid red, Bellatrix wincing as it intensifies, and then it’s gone. Nothing dramatic, no more pain. Just gone. She runs her fingers over the skin, tracing them back and forth.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” she jokes, but Hermione can see the moment has left her feeling unsteady. Bereft, maybe? From what Narcissa has told her, she knows that Bellatrix has had the mark since she was seventeen. That’s a long time to follow someone and be linked to them so intimately.

“Harry, go and remove Draco’s,” Hermione instructs, and he turns without question, approaching him cautiously. Draco holds out his arm, and the incantation is done, but the look on the blonde’s face is far different. It’s not one of loss, but relief, and she finds herself feeling sorry for him. She might not like him, but she’s always felt that his heart wasn’t truly in it. That he was pushed into following Voldemort by his father, weighed down by the expectations that come with being not just a Malfoy, but a Black, too.

Esta walks into the room, with a tray. “I have prepared food. Miss Bella, you are far too skinny,” the house elf scolds.

Bellatrix snorts. “Well, perhaps if you’d stuck around at Cissy’s, then I wouldn’t be. The elf there now can’t cook for shit.”

Esta ignores the jibe. “Eat,” she instructs firmly, placing the tray on the table, and leaving the room.

“I’ve already had the same lecture,” Narcissa confides with a grin. “She’s been trying to fatten me up ever since we arrived.”

“Stupid, sneaky, little elfling,” Bellatrix mutters, but Hermione can see a fond smile on her face. “I can’t believe she was here all this time. I came to leave you a letter, but imagine my surprise when she appeared in front of me. I nearly hexed her!”

“Better than a dagger to the chest,” Ron snarks, reaching for a plate and starting to stack food on it. “What a way to go, poor elf. He was just trying to help.”

“He died then? Dobby?” Bellatrix asks. When Ron nods, she frowns. “He was a good elf.”

“A good elf? If you really cared about him, then why throw a knife at him? You threw a tantrum because he defied you,” Ron replies, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Because we all have to make sacrifices for the greater good, and letting you two get away was not an option. I didn’t throw a tantrum, I was trying to stop him from leaving,” she snaps back. “If he hadn’t Disapparated, I could have healed him.”

“Okay, new rule,” Hermione declares loudly, ending the small argument that is breaking out. “What’s done is done. What counts now are our actions going forwards. If we don’t move on, then we’re never going to be able to work together.”

“What? So I’m meant to forgive you for punching me in our third year?” Draco exclaims indignantly.

“Well, you bloody poisoned me,” Ron interrupts, around a mouthful of food.

Draco rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t even meant for you. Let’s not forget Harry used Sectumsempra on me.”

“You broke my nose on the train, by stamping on my face when I was on the ground,” Harry reminds him angrily, before pointing at Bellatrix. “And she murdered my Godfather.”

“You tried to use an unforgivable curse on me, Potter. Not so high and mighty after all, are we?” Bellatrix taunts. 

“Bellatrix tortured me for months and the woman I now know to be my magical mate, stood by and watched, more than once. Do you think it’s so easy for me to suggest this?” Hermione asks tiredly. “But we have to find a way to work together or we’ll all end up dead.”

A heavy silence falls over the room, Hermione deliberately not meeting the gaze of the other five people in the room.

“She’s right,” Bellatrix speaks up. “I know I have a lot that won’t be forgiven and I don’t expect you to forget, either, but we can’t keep bringing up the past.”

“Harry? Ron?” Hermione asks with a shrug. “Can you try?”

“I suppose,” Harry agrees, and Ron dips his head in agreement.

“Draco?”

“I’ll try. For Mother and Aunt Bella,” he concedes.

“I’m not exactly innocent in any of this,” Narcissa admits. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Then I think our next step should be to eat, drink and try to stay calm. After that, Draco and Bellatrix will take an Unbreakable Vow, and we can talk about everything. We lay it all out, cards on the table. None of your stupid, Slytherin secrets .” Hermione reaches for a plate and picks out some of the sandwiches that she knows Narcissa likes, passing it to her. No one says anything as they take her lead, filling up their own plates and joining Ron in eating.

“I want something,” Bellatrix breaks the silence. “In return. If I make an Unbreakable Vow, then I want protection.”

“What kind of protection?” Hermione asks cautiously, sitting back with her own plate in hand.

“If we win the war, then there is every chance that any remaining Death Eaters will be sent to Azkaban. I want your word that you will tell the Ministry that Draco and I changed our allegiance voluntarily, and actively helped in whatever way that we could. If we win, then I’m guessing you three…” Bellatrix gestures to Hermione, Harry and Ron, “will have a lot of sway. I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but I do know it was enough to terrify the Dark Lord.” Bellatrix shudders. “If the Dark Lord is defeated, then I would bet every Galleon in my vault, that it will have something to do with the people in this room.”

“So you want us to vouch for you? We might not be able to do anything about it, but if we can, we’ll try to keep you both out of Azkaban,” Hermione confirms. “Boys? Do you agree?”

Harry and Ron look at each other and shrug. Harry clears his throat. “Seems fair, I guess. I mean, if they actually help us. It won’t undo what they’ve done, but it might balance the scales a little.”

“Then we have a deal, Bellatrix. You and Draco are not allowed to reveal anything to anyone else, or work against us in any way, and we will put our support behind you at the end of the war,” Hermione summarises, nodding to herself as a satisfied smile appears on her face.

“If you win,” Draco grumbles.

Hermione sighs. “Draco, if we win, you win. We’re on the same side now.”

“Purebloods, bloodtraitors and a mudblood. It sounds like the beginning of one of those awful jokes Uncle Phillipe used to tell, where they all walk into the same bar,” Bellatrix announces with her trademark cackle, and just like that, the tension is broken. As laughter flows from both sides, filling the room, Hermione feels the little spark of hope in her heart, start to grow.

Chapter Text

It had been a long night. They had all agreed on taking Unbreakable Vows, but executing them took time and then the actual discussions had taken the rest of the night. Bellatrix and Draco couldn’t really contribute much, however, both of them had been a little shocked with the revelations that had come from everyone else. Hermione had taken much satisfaction from throwing the dark witch off her game, and showing her just how little blood status means. 

Hunting Horcruxes was not to be sniffed at, and Bellatrix had seemed impressed. Not only did they have the gall to go after them in the first place, but so many had already been found and destroyed. If Bellatrix assumed that all of them had been dealt with by the trio, and not Dumbledore, then that wasn’t their fault. Draco had sat back with calculating eyes, not adding much to the conversation, but watching them all carefully. Hermione could see that even his estimations of them all had gone up.

Their discussion had led to a realisation; they still needed to deal with Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, and this time it was Hermione herself who received the pleasure, wielding the Sword of Gryffindor above her head and swinging it down on the cup with all her might. With no hesitation at all, she obliterated it and grinned proudly as she watched the dark magic die. There was a feeling of power left humming through her veins, making her fingers tingle and her heart beat faster. She had made their excuses and dragged Narcissa to bed, shortly after. The silencing charm she placed around their room had been more than necessary, and this morning, she aches deliciously .

Laying here now, half sprawled over Narcissa, she is determined to absorb every bit of comfort and safety from the moment that she can. She is under no illusion that this pocket of peace will last. They have so much to do and it’s just like Harry said; they plan, they get there, all hell breaks loose. She wraps herself around her soulmate a little more, feeling the soft and reassuring ‘thud thud’ of Narcissa’s heart against her skin.

The door is thrown open and Hermione groans, pulling the covers over her head. She doesn’t need to look to know exactly who has burst into their room. No one else would enter this way without knocking first.

Bellatrix makes use of the space on Hermione’s side of the bed, coming to lay on top of the covers, bouncing slightly; her untamed curls spread across the pillow. “Why is your bed so much more comfortable than mine?”

“Boundaries, Bella,” Narcissa scolds. “And the bed you slept in is perfectly fine. You know Andy’s bed hasn’t had as much use. It’s practically brand new.”

“Because you gave my room to Scar Face ,” Bellatrix grumbles, huffing.

Hermione looks up at the ceiling, shaking her head. How is it, she is now cosied up in bed between two of the Black sisters? How did this happen? How is this her life now? She sits up, glad that she had put on a top before falling asleep last night.

“You know why he had your room, Bella. They were here first, and it’s not like any of us could have imagined that you would turn up like this,” Narcissa reminds her, following Hermione’s lead and sitting up to lean against the headboard. When she glances down at her petulant older sister, there is no hiding the fond smile on her face.

“But it’s Andy’s room. It’s strange being there without her.” Bellatrix’s face turns wistful, and Hermione wonders if she ever misses the sister she abandoned. She knows from the few times she has spoken to Andromeda, that the witch would love nothing more than to see her sisters again, but do they want to see her?

Narcissa nods, her own sad smile growing. “I know. I keep thinking that everything is different now, and that maybe there is a chance for all of us, but we walked away, Bella. We outcast her, and cut off all contact when she needed us the most. It’s unforgivable.”

Bellatrix sits up, turning to face the two witches in the bed. “But one day? If she knows we helped with the war, maybe she will forgive us then?”

The look on her face is so hopeful, and filled with such longing , that Hermione can’t stop herself from reaching out and squeezing the older witch’s knee. “Andromeda is one of the kindest and most forgiving people I know, Bellatrix. I have no doubt she would love to see you again, now that you’re not following him anymore.”

Bellatrix actually smiles at her and it might be the only real smile she has ever sent Hermione’s way. “Do you really think so?”

Hermione nods, smiling back. “I do. Now, I mean this nicely, but get out . I need to get up and I’m not coming out from under these covers with you in the room.”

Bellatrix grins, poking out her tongue, even as she jumps up and heads towards the door. “Spoil sport,” she calls over her shoulder as she disappears.

Hermione laughs. “Is it weird that I think I might actually like her? When she’s not trying to kill me, she’s actually just… normal. Okay, not normal… but not evil.”

Narcissa wraps an arm around her, kissing the side of her head. “Bella was never really evil. She played a part, as we all did, and she played it well. She trusted the Dark Lord and she craved the power that he offered. She did everything that was expected of her and over time, it’s like a whole new personality evolved, just for him. Alone, though, she was always just Bella. My sister, my friend and my biggest protector.”

“It’s not difficult to see her that way for the most part, but protective? Look at what she did to Andromeda. I know that Bellatrix forced you to go along with what she did,” Hermione confides. “Andromeda knows you would never have walked away on your own.”

“She’s more protective than you think. If Andy had not been cut off, and had not completely been cast off from the family tree, then she probably would have ended up dead. Those who bring shame on the family name had a funny habit of befalling strange accidents, back then. Luckily those responsible are no longer alive.”

“So you’re saying that Bellatrix did that to Andromeda for her own good? She should just tell her. I know she would forgive her!”

Narcissa kisses her cheek and then slips out from underneath the covers. “It was our parents that cut her off, but Bella insisted that we break contact too. She knew what would happen if Andy was seen to be ‘influencing’ us in any way. Andy might well forgive Bella and she might forgive me, but I know Bella too well. She will never ask for it. She’s too scared of rejection.”

“I don’t think Andromeda would,” Hermione insists, getting up and pulling out a new set of clothes for the day. “Why don’t you go and get the bath running? I’ll be there in a moment.”

Narcissa smirks. “I’ll make sure it’s nice and hot in there, darling, don’t you worry.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, watching as she leaves the room. When the door clicks shut, she picks up her wand, smiling as the familiar hum greets her. “Expecto Patronum!”

Her small, white otter appears, floating playfully around the room. “Take this message to Andromeda Tonks when she is alone. This is Hermione Granger, please come to Black Cottage as soon as you can. It’s really important that you come alone and do not tell the Order.”

The otter rushes off to do her bidding, and it is only now that she considers the implications of what she has just done. What will the others say when Andromeda turns up without prior discussion. How will Narcissa and Bellatrix actually react when faced with a woman they haven’t seen for over twenty years? 

It’s too late now to regret her impulsiveness, and she decides to just deal with the issue, if and when it becomes a problem. If she needs to play mediator for a while, then so be it. It’s not as if she hasn’t ever needed to do so between Harry and Ron. She shrugs to herself in the full length mirror as she goes past, picks up her outfit, and leaves the bedroom to join Narcissa in the bathroom.

*****

So far it’s been two hours of eating, slugging back coffee and a whole lot of pointless back and forth about what needs to be done next. Harry and Ron want to go to Hogwarts to find the next Horcrux. Narcissa thinks they should go back to the moors to release the witches, insisting that they will be helpful. Even if not any help, then they owe it to them. Draco is silently sulking in the corner of the sofa and Bellatrix is being… well… Bellatrix. Hermione has rolled her eyes more times in one morning, than she has in her entire life. It’s impossible not to be exasperated yet slightly amused by the witch’s antics.

“Look, Dumbledore gave us the mission and he said nothing about stone witches,” Harry grits out, his patience wearing thin after so long. “Snake Face has the elder wand, and even if he didn’t, we have no chance of reuniting the Deathly Hallows. We don’t know where the resurrection stone is.”

Hermione fingers the wand next to her. She’s not sure, but she thinks it’s the Wand of Destiny. It’s something she wants to discuss with Narcissa first, though. Harry had been slightly obsessed with the Deathly Hallows when they were first told about them, and she’s not sure how wise it is to broadcast that she has it. Harry would never voluntarily tell anyone, but his mind is weak. Any Legilimens with an ounce of skill could penetrate his thoughts.

Bellatrix cackles loudly. “Snake Face?”

“Stop interrupting every five minutes, Bella,” Narcissa reprimands, shaking her head. “Harry, as much as you believe in your own prophecy, can’t you see that ours could be equally important?”

“But Dumbledore-”

Bellatrix gets up, to stand next to the fireplace, her never-ending restless energy getting the better of her. “Hate to tell you this, Potter, but your precious Dumbledore is dead. You might have believed anything he told you, but he didn’t know everything.” She turns to Narcissa, rolling her eyes. “Bloody Gryffindors. They always want the limelight and refuse to believe anyone else is of any importance.”

“It’s not about wanting the limelight,” Harry defends. “Do you think I wanted any of this? Do you think I asked for this? I was only a year old when this was placed on my shoulders.”

“And we’re telling you, Harry, that you no longer have to carry the weight of this on your own. You’re not alone now,” Narcissa counters. “If you try to face him by yourself there is every chance you will die. Dumbledore fought him in the Ministry and yet even he couldn’t put a stop to him. If you are surrounded by some of the most powerful witches in Britain, then your chances of survival are much higher.”

“Don’t forget, Harry, it’s not just him you need to worry about. He won’t be alone,” Hermione cuts in. “Wherever you end up facing him he will be surrounded by Death Eaters. You can’t beat them all on your own, and there are not enough members of the Order. You heard what Bellatrix said last night. He literally has hundreds of followers all living in the shadows and waiting to strike.”

“Everyone shut up!” Bellatrix freezes next to the fireplace, startled eyes turning to Narcissa. “Do you feel that?” she hisses, pointing her wand out of the window.

“Someones outside, and they’ve bypassed the wards,” Narcissa whispers. “I thought this place was safe? No one knows we’re here.”

Hermione shifts awkwardly, clearing her throat. Her eyes move back and forth between both sisters. “I know who it is. Just trust me, please? I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Hermione!” Narcissa calls in a hushed whisper as she darts from the room. She sends her an apologetic smile, before walking to the front door and peering through one of the glass panes. Thick, dark curls and a familiar face are waiting for her.

Pulling open the door, she puts a finger up to her lips, gesturing for the other witch to be quiet. “I don’t have time to explain, but you know me, Andromeda. You have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

“Hermione, what on earth is going on? Why am I here? This is my family’s cottage! What are you even doing here?”

“Like I said, no time to explain. Come with me?” Hermione asks, gently tugging on the woman’s sleeve.

Hermione guides her through the short entrance way, and then pushes open the living room door. All eyes are turned towards her and she grins. “If I see any of you reach for a wand, I’m sending a stinging jinx your way,” she threatens. There are worse spells, she knows, but they all saw what she did to Harry’s face when they were captured. “I have a present for you,” she says cheekily, reminding them of Bellatrix’s words from a couple of days ago.

On cue, Narcissa speaks up. “A present? What kind of present?”

Hermione steps aside, and pulls Andromeda in front of her, grinning to herself when both of the other Black sisters gasp. She pushes the poor woman further into the room, but Andromeda turns to face her, eyes narrowed so dangerously that Hermione actually gulps. “Hermione Granger, you better start talking. You have a lot of explaining to do.”

She doesn’t have the chance to say anything, before Narcissa is flying across the floor, practically tackling Andromeda in a bear hug. “I’ve missed you so much, Andy.”

Hermione watches as arms automatically wind around the blonde sister, even though the shock is clear on Andromeda’s face. Bellatrix watches from the fireplace, face white and hands trembling. “Andy?”

Narcissa releases her, and takes a step back, flushing slightly. “I’m sorry for accosting you.”

Andromeda shakes her head, a bemused smile on her face. “What is going on? Why are you all here and how are you not all killing each other?”

Ron stands up, and Hermione can tell he’s enjoying this. “Okay. So, here’s what you need to know. Hermione and Narcissa are magical mates and hooking up. Bellatrix and Draco have switched sides, they’re with us now. We’ve removed their Dark Marks and we’ve all taken Unbreakable Vows to prove that we are all on the same side and we can’t harm each other in any way. Does that about sum it up?” he asks, looking around the room.

“There is the small matter of an ancient prophecy regarding these two,” Harry gestures to Narcissa and Hermione. “And a whole bunch of stones that are actually witches, on a piece of moor that will apparently protect them… I think…” he trails off, and Hermione sends him a sympathetic smile, knowing how difficult this is for him to get his head around.

“Let’s not forget the fact that Snake Face split his soul into seven pieces and they’ve been gallivanting around the countryside chasing after Horcruxes,” Bellatrix adds gleefully, cackling, until she catches Andromeda’s eyes and grows serious. “It’s really good to see you, Andy.”

Andromeda crosses her arms, her eyes fiery. “It is? Because the last time I saw you, Bella, you disowned me for falling in love with what you insisted was a mudblood.”

Bellatrix shrugs, smirking. “I don’t mind them so much, now, do I? They don’t stink half as bad as we were told they do.”

“Bellatrix!” Hermione scolds. “You know I don’t stink. You were laying in our bed earlier.”

Andromeda raises her eyebrow. “Um…”

Bellatrix giggles, and the sound is jarring coming from the most terrifying Death Eater in Britain. The witch shrugs. “Is this the part where I say it’s not what it sounds like?”

“I need tea, or a measure of firewhisky. In fact, I need a whole bottle,” Andromeda mutters, looking around the room with disappointment when she doesn’t find anything. Without another word, she storms from the room, heading across the hall towards the kitchen.

“Go after her,” Hermione suggests. “You three should catch up.” 

“Bella?” Narcissa asks cautiously. “Are you coming?”

The witch nods, walking towards the door. She stops and turns, skittering back to where Hermione is standing. Before Hermione can ask what she is doing, Bellatrix bends forwards and kisses her cheek. “Thank you, Hermione.”

She watches, stunned as the eldest Black sister leaves the room. 

Ron lets out a slow whistle. “How do you do it?”

“Huh?” Hermione asks, still turned towards the door.

“You’re sleeping with one of them, kissing another one, who, let’s not forget, jumped into bed with you this morning-”

“Not in bed, on it,” Hermione mumbles, interrupting, but he continues as if she hasn’t spoken.

“And then you summon one of the most powerful members of the Order , and they come at the click of your fingers, without any kind of explanation.”

Hermione blushes, which doesn’t help the situation.

Ron smirks. “You have to teach me your ways.”

Draco actually smiles, speaking up for the first time this morning. “Even I have to admit, it’s impressive, Granger. Aunty Bella is not an easy person to get along with, but she seems to actually like you.”

“Gonna go for three for the price of one, ‘Mione?” Ron winks in her direction, and Hermione just buries her head in her hands.

*****

The three Black sisters have been alone in the kitchen for over an hour now, and Hermione is getting curious. She supposes it’s a good thing that they haven’t heard any loud noises, but the calm silence is eerie. She leaves the boys in the living room and goes to investigate, following the sound of voices and the occasional laugh. The three sisters are sitting around the kitchen table, with several of what Hermione recognises to be her own books, spread out on the table, as well as the one that Narcissa took from the manor.

“Hey,” she says casually. “Everything okay in here?”

Andromeda is up out of her seat, and has her arms wrapped around her before she can take another step forwards. The dark haired witch kisses her cheek soundly. “Thank you, Hermione. Thank you for bringing us all back together again.”

Well, she’s grateful the boys didn’t see this sister kiss her cheek, she can only imagine what they would say. She meets the eyes of Andromeda, smiling warmly. “You’re welcome, Andromeda, but all I did was send a Patronus.”

“It’s Andy, and you may as well get used to calling that one, Bella,” Andromeda corrects her, gesturing with her head to the other dark haired witch. 

“It wasn’t just a Patronus,” Narcissa adds, reaching out a hand, which Hermione takes, coming to stand at her side. “If it wasn’t for you then none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t be free of Lucius, I would never have Bella back from the Dark Lord’s clutches, and I would never have Andy back in my life.”

Hermione feels the familiar rush of heat to her cheeks that always happens when the attention is on her. She moves around Narcissa, and sits in the empty chair next to her. “It wasn’t me. It was our bond,” she reminds Narcissa, “but I’m happy you have your sisters back.”

“Are you sure you’re a Gryffindor?” Bellatrix teases. “You’re far too humble.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, and they’re aching now from doing this too many times. “Are you sure you’re a Slytherin? You’re far too brash,” she retorts, grinning back at the witch. She looks around the table expectantly. “So, what’s the plan?”

Andromeda pushes the book with the prophecy in it towards her. “I think this is too important to ignore, and the others agree. I think we should all take a trip to the moors and try to free them. They could be the key to everything.”

Hermione finds herself nodding, worn down by Narcissa and Bellatrix’s persistence. “I agree, I think, but we do have to think about this. These witches are ancient. The stones have been there since around 1500 BC, which means that they are somewhere around 3500 years old. When we release them, they will have no idea how to live in a modern world.”

“We’ve got a plan for that,” Bellatrix waves her off dismissively. “Anyway, after-”

“Bella?” Hermione tries out the name hesitantly. “I need more than that. I want to know what the plan is. All of it. You’re going to need me to convince the boys.”

“Told you, Andy, she’s a bloody know-it-all,” Bellatrix mutters, reaching for another book entitled ‘Mind, Memory and Magic’. It’s one that Hermione borrowed from the restricted section at Hogwarts, but hasn’t fully read yet.

Hermione reads the passage that Bellatrix points to.

In the case of amnesia, it can be useful to employ a technique where memories can be shared. Members of family and friends who consent to the procedure, willingly have their relevant memories extracted. They are then added to a Memoriam Restitutionis elixir, which will restore what has been lost when consumed by the patient.

“That’s… that’s brilliant,” Hermione gushes. “So we give them a potion that is usually used to restore memories, and we effectively choose what they need to know?”

“Yes, that about sums it up.” Narcissa points out of the kitchen window, to a small stone outbuilding in the garden. “And we have our very own, fully stocked potions lab, right there.”

Hermione’s face lights up at the chance to brew a potion that she’s never seen or heard of before. It’s a genius idea, which is why it’s odd that she has never come across it before. “I don’t understand. Why isn’t this used at St Mungos? There is a whole ward of people there who would benefit from a potion like this. Professor Lockhart, and Neville’s pare-”

She cuts off, flashing a guilty look at Bellatrix. Does the witch even feel remorse for what she did? Shaking her head, she mumbles. “Sorry.”

“So am I,” Bellatrix says quietly. “And one day, I will tell the Neville kid in person. For now though, I am unable to help him. The Ministry made this particular potion illegal after the last war.”

“Really? But why? It could help so many people.”

Bellatrix appears lost in her thoughts and so Andromeda continues where she left off. “There were a lot of injuries around that time, and people took advantage of the confusion that was present in the wizarding world in general. It happened many times, but there was a particular case that made it to the Daily Prophet where a young man lost his family fortune due to false memories being given to him. So the Ministry banned it.”

“I don’t understand. How did they do that?”

Andromeda smiles patiently. “It was his brother and sister. They gave him memories of an argument with their parents, and then implanted the knowledge that he had been cut out of the will, all so they could split the fortune two ways instead of three.”

“That’s awful,” Hermione utters. She’s an only child, but she has seen the family bond that exists between siblings, and can’t imagine someone doing that. The Weasleys would certainly never go against each other in that way. The three Black sisters sitting around the table are a different matter, though. One of them has been estranged from the others for over two decades. So maybe as an only child, Hermione really just doesn’t understand sibling dynamics. “Okay, so I can see why it was banned at the time. Maybe when this is over we can make a case for it to be brought back?”

“Maybe,” Andromeda agrees kindly. “But for the moment, I have to warn you, that we will all be breaking the law by brewing this potion.”

Hermione snorts, a wry grin on her face. “I’m a muggleborn . I’m already breaking the law by ‘stealing magic’. So what’s the rest of the plan?”

“This is where it gets tricky,” Narcissa admits. “We need to go to Hogsmeade where there is a secret passage that leads into Hogwarts. I believe the tunnel comes out in the Room of Requirement, but the moment we arrive, Snake Face will be informed. Somehow, we need to find the last item, and then lure him away from the school. We can’t risk the students getting hurt.”

Hermione sits back in her chair, nails tapping absentmindedly on the wooden table top. She worries at her bottom lip with her teeth, brow furrowed. “Maybe it’s best if we all go to the Room of Requirement, and then one or two of us use Harry’s cloak to sneak around the castle. We find what we are looking for and then we leave. Once the last Horcrux is destroyed, then we summon Vol- Merlin’s beard, that was close. Sorry. We summon Snake Face using the taboo.”

“If we have to summon him with the taboo, then it can’t be to the moors. The taboo doesn’t work there, it’s shielded,” Narcissa points out. “And it would be nice to have the protection of the moors and the witches, if they are willing to help.”

Hermione’s shoulders slouch. “Then there is only one thing for it. One of us will have to Disapparate with him, to bring him there. We’ll have to get close enough to grab his arm, and then take him by surprise. Considering he can’t read my thoughts, I think it should be me.”

“You’re a brave little witchling, aren’t you,” Bellatrix muses, without a hint of sarcasm. “After all that time in his captivity, you would still face him?”

What kind of question is that? She’s a Gryffindor. “Of course I would. He might be powerful, but he’s still just a man. Cissa and I might even be more powerful than he is now, who knows? We’re meant to be unstoppable now we’ve fully bonded.”

“Fully bonded,” Bellatrix snorts. “That’s not what they used to call it back in my day.” 

“Bella…” Narcissa sighs, lips twitching at the corners. “Concentrate.”

The dark witch pouts. “But I have been and now I’m bored .”

Hermione feels her own lips pulling into a smile. “But we need to finalise the plan.”

“Since when do plans ever work out?” Bellatrix asks, and Hermione can’t help but laugh.

“You sound like Harry,” she informs her with a grin, laughing again when Bellatrix’s face turns into a look of disgust. “He thinks there is no point planning either. ‘We plan, we get there and all hell breaks loose’,” she mimics, laughing.

“Scar Face is right,” Bellatrix insists, pointing at Hermione. “You’re just a know-it-all who wants everything in her control. Well, I’ve got news for you, Pet, you can’t plan everything.”

“Yes, you can,” Hermione argues stubbornly. “Muggle soldiers plan military operations with pinpoint precision.”

“That’s because muggles don’t have magic. If they did, it would be far more chaotic,” Bellatrix replies. “Anyway, we have a plan. We go to the moors, rescue the witches, go to Hogwarts, get the Horcrux. Destroy the Horcrux, then you go and grab Snake Face, and we do him in. Simple.”

“There is nothing simple about that!” Hermione exclaims, shaking her head.

“What more do you want from me?” Bellatrix asks, throwing her hands up and rolling her eyes.

Andromeda has been watching this exchange, and Hermione catches the baffled look on her face, understanding completely why it’s there. This witch at their table is not the same Bellatrix that spent all those years in Azkaban. She is no longer the Lieutenant of Voldemort, his most faithful servant. 

Hermione grins at Andromeda. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?” she asks, ignoring Bellatrix’s narrowed eyes in her direction. “I, Hermione Granger, muggleborn witch and know-it-all, tamed myself a big, bad, scary, Death Eater.”

Next to her Narcissa snorts, and then all three sisters are laughing with her. Hermione just grins at Bellatrix, poking her tongue out. 

The dark witch points her wand at Hermione, who doesn’t even think to flinch. She knows the woman won’t hurt her. “You’re lucky I like you, Pet.”

“You’re just as lucky that I like you ,” Hermione replies cheekily.

“You do?” Bellatrix asks, searching Hermione’s face in surprise.

“Yeah, I really think I do,” Hermione admits, smiling at the other woman. Narcissa scoots her chair over, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. She can feel Narcissa’s gratitude through the bond. “Cissa is my soulmate and I don’t ever want to be parted from her, so I guess that makes us family now?”

“Family,” Bellatrix repeats softly, looking around the table at them all. She nods once. “Yes, family.”

“This is all very touching, but need I remind you, we were talking about a plan?” Narcissa breaks the moment, a wicked smile on her face. Hermione knows she is goading them both into another of their friendly spats. She can feel her soulmate’s happiness and satisfaction when her and Bellatrix are arguing like this. Like they are friends . 

Still, Bellatrix does have a point, she muses to herself. “Sod it. How much more of a plan can we really have? Let’s just go and cause some chaos.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, the atmosphere is far more tense, each person dealing with it in a different way. The three sisters are out in the potions room in the garden, and although Hermione is curious, she knows it is far better to leave them to it. She has so many questions, but now is not the time to seek knowledge. Instead, her time is better spent organising her bag, and preparing for what lies ahead.

What does lie ahead? Despite her somewhat reckless declaration the day before, the thought of not having an exact plan is a daunting one. What more they could really plan, when so much is unknown, she isn’t sure. Walking into a situation like this, it’s almost impossible to map out every single scenario. People are confusing. They never react how you expect they will, and everything that could happen in the next few days, is reliant on the reactions of others. Hermione hates the unknown. She likes things that are steady, that remain the same for thousands of years, like Arithmancy or Runes.

What if they free the witches and discover they are a long-forgotten tribe of bloodthirsty cannibals? It wouldn’t be the first time a tribe of its kind had been discovered. Hermione had read about an indigenous tribe in Indonesia who believed in real sacrifices, often involving the first born child of a witch. When Aurors had raided their primitive dwellings, they had found the bones of thousands of bodies, offered up to the High Priestess of the coven in return for sanctity and abundance.

She shudders, trying to banish the thought from her mind. She has a stack of neatly folded, clean clothes, courtesy of Esta, and despite her misgivings that Narcissa still uses a house elf, she knows how proud the elf is to be employed by a member of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Hermione had asked if Esta had ever wanted to be given clothes and her freedom, the elf had given her the cold shoulder for hours. When prompted, Esta had explained that she has no intention of leaving, and that Miss Cissa has always rewarded her well.

Hermione uses her wand to put the clothes into her bag, next to the pile of freshly restacked and sorted books. Perhaps it would be better to leave them here, where they will be safe, but it would be like leaving behind a piece of her soul. She knows the boys laugh at her, despite the fact they have been useful over the last year. Without her books, she might never have mastered wandless magic enough to escape from Malfoy Manor. She might never have found her magical mate. She might never have discovered her potential or her worth.

She sorts through the rest of her bag, making a note of things they might need to stock up on. Narcissa had been able to pick up a number of potions along with the Polyjuice that might be helpful; a couple of vials of Pepperup potion, Skele-grow and even some blood replenishing potions, but Hermione can’t quite forget her muggle upbringing. She will feel much more prepared and a whole lot safer, if they took a trip to a muggle shop to pick up more paracetamol, some bandages and dressings. She hates the thought that they might be useful, but it is better to plan for the worst, even as they hope for the best.

Unable to stay away from her soulmate for long, she goes in search of the blonde witch, making her way through the dewy grass to the potions room outside. The wooden door is open just a crack, and the sight has her holding back a chuckle. Three witches around a cauldron? Shakespeare would have a lot to say on the subject.

She enters the room still grinning to herself, and all three witches turn to her in unison. If she didn’t know them, then the effect would be creepy, but instead it amuses her, and she laughs. “Double, double, toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble,” she quips, unable to stop the grin that stretches across her face.

“What on earth do they teach at Hogwarts these days?” Bellatrix asks. “That’s not a real incantation. What are you trying to achieve? You never mess with another witch’s potion.”

Hermione laughs again. “I know,” she agrees amiably, much to the confusion of Bellatrix. “It’s Shakespeare.”

“Shake spear?” Bellatrix repeats doubtfully. “You throw a spear, not shake it.”

“It’s- You know what? Nevermind,” Hermione cuts off, shaking her head, but Andromeda is grinning at her, a silent reminder that Andromeda had married a muggleborn wizard. She rolls her eyes in response. “How’s it going in here?”

“The potion to release the witches is complete, and we are in the final stages of Memoriam Restitutionis,” Narcissa replies, eyes on the cauldron as she stirs it counter-clockwise in a steady motion. Her cheeks are flushed and although her hair is tied back, a few strands have worked their way loose, framing her face. Even now, when she is tired and covered in a light sheen of sweat, Hermione finds herself swooning slightly. The woman really is extraordinarily beautiful.

“Earth to Hermione.” Andromeda clicks her fingers in front of her face, and Hermione blushes. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, avoiding looking at Bellatrix who is cackling in the corner. She looks up to meet Andromeda’s amused eyes. “You were saying?”

“Are the boys ready? We’re about ready to filter and bottle this, and then we should leave before it gets too late.” Andromeda looks through the glass window, tutting. “The sun is already well above the horizon.”

“It’s just gone seven,” Hermione provides helpfully. “I’ll go tell the boys to be ready.”

All three witches are staring at the cauldron, watching intently as it changes colour from a murky brown to a clean and crisp, apple green. “It’s done,” Narcissa announces, as Hermione slips back out of the door.

Considering no hatred was spared during their time at Hogwarts, she is surprised to see Harry, Ron and Draco sitting around the small table in the kitchen, eating breakfast together. Is it really as simple as that? Draco and Bellatrix have changed sides and now all previous animosity has been forgotten? Or maybe their shared love of food is enough to connect them.

“We’re leaving soon. When you’ve finished your breakfast, make sure you’re ready. We can’t wait around,” she warns them. “We need to finish this thing.”

Ron smirks at her. “Been out with all three of them, have you? In private ?” He winks, leering at her, much to her annoyance.

Hermione exhales heavily. “It was almost amusing for a while, Ron, but knock it off, okay?” she asks tiredly, reaching for a piece of toast from the pile in the middle. She spreads a thick layer of jam and then takes a bite.

“I was only joking,” Ron grumbles, sulkily. “Would you rather I was upset about you sleeping with Narcissa, all things considered?”

“I’d rather you didn’t think or talk about my relationship with her at all, Ron, and all things considered? You mean a relationship that existed purely in your head? We were never going to be together in that way.”

Ron shoves his plate away from him. “I’m going to go and pack.”

Hermione watches as he stomps from the room and then turns to Harry, one eyebrow raised. “What’s his problem now? I thought he was okay with Cissa and I?”

Harry picks up another piece of toast, tearing into it with his teeth. He chews, and swallows before answering, much to her frustration. “I think it’s finally sunk in. You have to admit, the last few days have been a lot. There has been no time to think. Last night we all went to bed early, but I think he stayed up, stewing about everything.”

“I always said he’s got the emotional range of a teaspoon,” Hermione remarks, a small grin appearing. “He’s just going to have to get used to it.”

“He knows,” Draco reassures her. “I don’t know Ron that well, but even I can see that he tries to use humour to deflect when he’s feeling uncomfortable. Admittedly, it’s pretty poor humour.”

Hermione looks at the blonde wizard in surprise. “He does, you’re right. I just never expected you to notice that.”

Draco smirks. “First rule of Slytherin, know thy enemy .”

“I thought it was ‘hex first, ask questions later’?” Harry queries, grinning.

“That’s more a Gryffindor thing, than Slytherin,” Draco replies, getting up from the table. “I would tell you how Slytherins operate, but you know how much we like our secrets.” With that, he leaves the room, and Hermione bursts out laughing.

“Did you ever think that the seven of us would all be together, without at least one of us getting cursed?”

Harry shrugs. “Not really, but after finding out magic was real when I was eleven, I’m not sure anything shocks me much, these days.”

“True,” Hermione agrees. “Shall we go get ready?”

“Yeah.” Harry takes a deep breath, his brow furrowing deeply. “Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen, but the chances of all of us getting out of this alive are really slim.” He holds up a hand to cut her off when Hermione tries to protest. “But no matter what, I will always love you, Hermione. You’re my best friend.”

Hermione swallows down the lump in her throat, reaching for his hand and squeezing. “I love you too, Harry. We’re going to be okay, all of us, but just in case, then I hope you know that.”

*****

They stand in the middle of the living room, and the split between Gryffindors and Slytherins has never been more noticeable. Hermione, Ron and Harry all look nervous, their tension plain to see. They fidget in a way that the others don’t. The Black sisters and Draco have all perfected a mask of outward calm, with only a tightness around the eyes to give away their true feelings about what they are about to embark on. 

“Maybe you should Disapparate with one of us, and then bring them back, so they know where to go. Then we can all take one person each in side-along Disapparition,” Andromeda suggests.

Narcissa shakes her head, holding out her hands. “Hermione and I are so much stronger than you can possibly imagine. We can handle taking all of you.”

“The two of you want to Disapparate with five of us?” Bellatrix asks sceptically.

“Scared, Bella?” Hermione taunts, laughing when black eyes are narrowed at her. Bellatrix takes her hand, and she reaches for Harry, watching patiently for the rest of them to join the circle. “Ready, Cissa?”

Narcissa nods, and she lets her magic guide them all to the place they had agreed on; high up on the moor where they had first arrived after escaping the manor. They all land on their feet, dropping hands and staring around them.

“It really is beautiful here,” Andromeda says reverently. “And the power. There is so much energy here.”

Bellatrix holds out her hands, palms down, hovering parallel with the ground. “It’s like the entire place is steeped in magic.”

“Wait until we show you the circles of witches,” Hermione comments. “That’s gonna rock your world.”

Bellatrix grins. “I believe you promised me muggle whisky first.”

“At eleven in the morning?” Hermione shakes her head fondly. “Let’s go and see Marcia. I’m sure she’s seen people drink far earlier.”

“Bella, don’t be ridiculous. You are not drinking at eleven in the morning,” Narcissa scolds, reaching for Hermione’s hand and turning in the direction of the village. “Shall we?”

It’s only a short walk, but there is a growing sense of trepidation, the nearer to the pub they get. They have a seemingly impossible task ahead of them, and now they are faced with the first step. There is so much that can go wrong, and all they have is the quiet hope that it will go right. Lost in their own thoughts, they walk in a less than comfortable silence.

Walking in through the doors of the pub, Hermione feels a rush of affection and love through the bond, and she drops Narcissa’s hand to wrap an arm around her waist. She knows what the witch is thinking. What she is feeling . This place will always be special to them, now. It’s where they first made love, and discovered so much about themselves and each other.

Marcia smiles the moment she sees them, hugging Hermione and Narcissa before they can even start the introductions, not that they seem to be needed; there is recognition in her eyes as she looks at the group. She ushers them all into the private function room where Narcissa and Hermione had their date.

“Now, the only people that will come in and out of this room are all witches, though I would still be careful what you reveal of your plans,” she instructs. “I’m guessing you must have a damned good reason for bringing a well known Death Eater into my establishment?” she asks, raising an eyebrow and looking at Hermione.

“She’s with us now,” Hermione reassures her, and although the landlady looks dubiously at Bellatrix, she says nothing further on the matter. “We were wondering if you have time to talk?”

“How about an early lunch?” Marcia suggests. “We can all sit round the large table over there by the window and you can explain to me why you’re back so soon and what I can help you with.”

“That would be wonderful,” Hermione replies, evidently now the spokesperson for the group. “Can we get a round of coffees please?”

“Sure, love. Sit down, and I’ll be back in a minute.” Marcia leaves the room, and Hermione sighs happily. 

“It’s good to be back.”

“Can we trust her?” Andromeda asks. “She seems nice enough, but how do we really know whose side she is on?”

“I trust her,” Hermione says firmly. “Don’t you, Cissa?”

“Yes,” the blonde replies without a second’s hesitation. “She knew who we both were when we first arrived, even though we gave her different names. If she was on his side, then she would have contacted him while we were here. She seems to want to help us.”

“Okay,” Andromeda replies. “I still think we should be careful, but if you really think she’s trustworthy, then let’s treat her as such.”

They all take a seat at the large table, one space left for Marcia who arrives back in the room, with a stack of menus. She sits down and passes them around. “I know you have questions, but what would you like to eat?”

Hermione is impressed that only half an hour later, they all have food and a hot coffee in front of them, though she suspects magic may have been used to help things along. It’s a suspicion that deepens when Marcia admits that all her staff are magical.

“It’s not just us. The village of Minions is a whole community of witches and wizards. No different from Hogsmeade, really, just far less shops. If Hermione and Narcissa had spent more time amongst the people, then they would have noticed that for themselves. However, we do have muggles here too, so we’re not as open as we would like to be.”

“Has the war affected you much here?” Andromeda asks.

Marcia tilts her head contemplatively. “Not so much here in the middle of the moors, but some of the villages down beyond the edge of the moor have been reporting strange things. Cold temperatures, dense fog and an increase in visits to the doctor for depression.”

“Dementors,” Bellatrix states. “It must be.”

“Yes, I agree,” Marcia replies. “Muggles can’t see them, but they can certainly feel their effects.”

“Nasty little things,” Bellatrix replies, shivering despite the warm room.

“Well, I’m sure you know better than most,” Marcia says knowingly. “After all, you’ve seen them up close.”

“You’re curious and a little suspicious about why I am here?” Bellatrix guesses, putting down her knife and fork. “What would you like to know?”

“I would like to know how the most dangerous and feared Death Eater the wizarding world has ever known, is sitting here calmly, eating lunch, with no sign of the insanity she is known for.” Marcia sits back, waiting for an explanation.

“I don’t know how much you know, but these two trust you, so I suppose I don’t mind sharing,” Bellatrix starts. “Honestly, it’s quite a surprise to me, too.”

“I can imagine,” Marcia replies dryly.

“I met Hermione, and I began to see things differently,” Bellatrix starts, and Hermione grins to herself at the loose way Bellatrix is manipulating the truth. “Cissy and Andy are my sisters, and they both fell in love with muggleborns. In the end, the choice was simple. As for my sanity? Much of my previous insanity was an act and the rest seemed to change when I got rid of his mark.” Bellatrix rolls up her sleeve to show the landlady her lower left arm.

“I feel like I am missing much of the information,” Marcia admits. 

“You are,” Andromeda cuts in. “And when this is all over, perhaps we can tell you the whole story. For now, you are still a stranger to us, albeit a well intentioned one. If nothing else, we would rather not embroil you further, in what is a very dangerous situation. We are trying to stop a war, and we are on the same side as you. Hopefully you will allow that to be enough for now.”

Marcia nods. “You are strangers to me too, but I do know that I trust Hermione and Narcissa. So we will leave it there for now. How exactly is it that I can help you today?”

Hermione looks around the table but everyone else is silent, and it falls to her to speak. “You said that the moors will protect us. You said that we would always be safe here. What did you mean and how do you know?”

“Your arrival has been prophesied for a very long time, Hermione. You don’t have to confirm it if you don’t want to, but we all felt the magic that night. You are the pair of magical mates from a number of prophecies about the area, I believe.”

“Felt the magic?” Draco asks. “What does she mean?”

“Completed the bond, young man. We all knew something special was happening that night. Anyone with an ounce of magical blood running through their veins, could feel the power fluctuating in the area.”

“That’s my mother you’re talking about,” Draco grumbles, his cheeks flaring a scarlet red, much to Bellatrix’s delight as she pretends to warm her fingers from the heat on his face.

Marcia looks between them, and then smiles. “I don’t know how I didn’t see the resemblance between you. My apologies.”

“We found a prophecy that we thought was about us,” Narcissa interrupts, just as embarrassed as Draco and determined to move the conversation forwards. “But there are others?”

“Yes. In a roundabout way they all say the same thing, and it is a story that has been passed down from generation to generation, for thousands of years. You’re here to free the witches, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Narcissa replies. “We have a potion to wake them, and one in which we can give them memories to help them with the new world.”

“You’re going to need me,” Marcia tells them. “The witches only speak the language of the land, as it was all those years ago.”

“They speak Cornish?” Hermione asks excitedly, before a frown appears. “But no one speaks that now, although I know there is a written record of the old language.”

“No one apart from my family and maybe a sprinkling of others throughout Cornwall. We have been the keepers of the moor for a long time and we knew the day would come when our language skills would be required,” Marcia tells them proudly. “Our family has been keeping the language alive for this very reason. One day, we knew you would come.”

“Then there is no time to waste,” Hermione declares, dropping her cutlery.

Marcia laughs. “Your spirit is indomitable, Hermione, but I believe the witches would not begrudge us finishing our meals.”

Hermione grins sheepishly. “No, I suppose they wouldn’t. Can you tell us more about the prophecies?”

*****

Lunch had turned into a research session that had Hermione wriggling in her seat, as she read parchment after parchment, detailing their prophecy. By the end of it, there was just no denying it any more; this prophecy is about them. It’s about her, and Narcissa, their connection and their destiny. The thought that witches for thousands of years have been waiting for her is an overwhelming thought, and in a quiet moment she pushes her chair back slightly from the table, in desperate need of space to let it all sink in. 

Harry gives her a sympathetic smile. “It’s a lot, isn’t it? This feeling of expectation?”

“I don’t know how you did it, Harry. How did you go on, carrying your burden around for all those years?” she asks tiredly, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

“It came to me in pieces. I didn’t always know that I was part of a prophecy. When I first rejoined the wizarding world, all I knew was that I had somehow survived Snake Face. Then I realised we had a connection, and that knowledge grew with each passing year. I had time to adjust to it all, before finding out about the prophecy that was between us.”

“Do you wish you had known? Do you ever resent Dumbledore for not telling you sooner?”

He shakes his head adamantly. “No. I was angry for a while, but really, he gave me the best chance at a normal life that I could have had, under the circumstances. If he had told me when I was eleven, just how tied to Snake Face I really was, it would have been too much.”

Hermione keeps her own thoughts to herself. She’s often wondered what the bigger picture is. What game had Dumbledore been playing? He rested the weight of the future of the wizarding world on Harry’s shoulders, expecting him to save them all, but with what help? All he ever gave them were secrets and lies. Harry, blinded as he is, will never see it. Dumbledore was the first adult to show Harry any kind of care or affection, and as a result, he has always given the wizard far more trust than he should have. He is blind to the old man’s many faults, and so she changes the subject.

“I’m scared, Harry. I’m scared that even if we do this, and destroy all the Horcruxes, it won’t be enough. I’m scared that we are about to walk into battle with our heads held high, with no guarantee who will still be standing at the end of it all. I can’t lose any of you. Not now.”

It’s not Harry who answers though. Despite their low conversation set back from the table, Narcissa has felt her distress through the bond, and scoots her chair back a little. She pulls Hermione onto her lap, arms snaking around her waist, and her nose burrowing into Hermione’s hair. “Shhh darling. There is no need to be frightened. We are strong, and powerful, and we will be surrounded by people who are fighting with us. Who are fighting for us. The only person who should be afraid is him.”

She doesn’t need to ask if Narcissa really believes that to be true, she can feel her sincerity radiating through the bond. She turns on her lap, her arms automatically around Narcissa’s neck. Ignoring everyone else in the room, she takes the comfort only Narcissa can give her, capturing lips in a soft, slow kiss. She pulls back, their foreheads resting against each other. “I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you, too,” Narcissa replies, their love flowing through the bond, comforting them both.

*****

There is no putting it off and they are all anxious to get this part of the plan over and done with. Marcia leaves the pub in the hands of her staff, quietly chuckling that they are all upset to be left out, but so the saying goes, too many witches spoil a brew. The less people involved, the better. They don’t want to overwhelm the witches when they are released, in case the witches assume they are an enemy force. They need them to remain calm enough to listen to Marcia, rather than go on the offensive.

They reach what is left of the three stone circles and for the first time, it hits Hermione that some of the coven have been lost over the years. Only one of the circles is still standing in full, the others are only partially complete and it makes her wonder what happened to the others. The potion to awaken them has been split into eight vials, one for each of them, so that it is quicker to wake them up. One drop is all that’s required and a simple incantation.

They separate, spreading out around the main circle, vials at the ready.

“Remember,” Narcissa calls to them. “It’s a single drop of potion and then a curve and a flick of the wand, as you speak the incantation.”

“‘Spiritum Intra Dimittere’. Release the spirit within,” Hermione repeats to herself under her breath, waiting for the signal from Narcissa, but the blonde witch pauses, staring out across the moors. Hermione knows without looking what she will see. Had expected it even. The others are startled though, by the hundreds of black wings headed in their direction. 

Just as before, the ravens spread out around the circle, settling themselves on the stones. Hermione smiles at the one nearest to her, gently stroking its feathered head. “Maybe this will release you, too.” The raven caws softly, nuzzling against her fingers.

“Now,” Narcissa calls, her voice ringing out across the moor. The witches and wizards begin; releasing a single drop of potion on the first stones, and then the incantation.

“Spiritum Intra Dimittere.” 

The combined voices of all eight of them fills the air, as the ground beneath them begins to shake.

“Move on to the next,” Narcissa instructs, and they follow her example as the ravens watch over them. 

Hermione stumbles, catching herself at the last minute, as the ground moves violently. She methodically works her way around the stones, and then moves on to the incomplete circles. When each stone has been completed, she makes her way over to where Narcissa is standing back, slightly away from the circles, and takes her hand. The ground stops shaking and the silence is eerie. Despite the warm weather, they are both covered in goosebumps. On the other side of the circle, the rest of them are waiting, instinctively gathered together. She doesn’t know why Narcissa and herself are standing alone, but there is an unseen force separating them from the others.

It’s gradual at first, a gentle shimmering that surrounds one of the stones, and then the others start to react in the same way. The ravens fly from their stony perches, landing in the middle of the circles.

“Look,” she whispers to Narcissa, excitedly. “They’re beginning to change.”

It’s a relief. There was no reason why the potion wouldn’t work, but seeing it happen with her own eyes has her letting out a slow breath. They’ve succeeded. The stones are changing, the shimmer more intense, like heat waves above a road in summer. The shimmer changes, rotating through every shade Hermione has ever seen, bathing the surrounding grass in an ever changing rainbow. She looks around them nervously. None of them had thought to cast a muggle repelling charm on the area, and even the most unobservant muggle would not miss this clear display of magic. The area is deserted though, and she brings her eyes back to the stones nearest to her. 

The angular edges of the rocks begin to change, softening, as the colour changes from grey to flesh. Flesh that is tanned, like hers would normally be by the end of summer, if not for her captivity. The ravens in the middle of the circles are almost hidden from view, but Hermione can see that they are changing too. A quick count, and she realises that they will soon be surrounded by hundreds of witches.

Why doesn’t she feel afraid? They have no idea who they are releasing. Not really. So why does she feel no fear? Hermione watches as human shapes begin to appear; the witches standing tall like powerful warriors, dressed in animal skins that barely cover that which lingerie would. None of them speak, their tongues silent as they turn towards Narcissa and Hermione, walking slowly forwards, their steps in unison. 

Hermione smiles, her only way of communicating that she isn’t a threat, and she can see Narcissa doing the same. When the witches are a few metres away, they stop walking, and in a gesture that takes Hermione by surprise, they drop to one knee, bowing before them. 

Heads bowed, they speak; their voices joined together as one. “Meur ras.”

Although Hermione has no idea of the words, the meaning is clear. They are thanking them.

Chapter Text

Hermione responds instinctively, and bends forwards in a bow of her own. These witches radiate such raw power that she is almost intimidated, until she remembers her own powers. They’ve not really had the chance to test them yet, the last few days have been so hectic and full of change that she has barely had a chance to catch her breath. She can feel the difference since they bonded though, a strength and ease to her magic that had not existed before.

“What do we do now?” she asks Narcissa who is rising from a bow of her own.

“We need Marcia,” the blonde replies quietly, her eyes searching for the older witch. She beckons her over, with a wave of her hand.

Marcia comes to a stop by their side, offering a hesitant smile to the witches in front of them. “We mean you no harm.”

A dark haired witch steps forwards, her face passive as she scrutinises the three women in front of her. “A long time has passed. We were losing hope.”

“We have a potion we can give you, to show you the world you now live in. You were trapped in the stones for 3500 years. Many things have changed in that time,” Marcia nods to Hermione, who reaches into her bag, removing what looks to be a small pouch and has the same enchantments as her bag. They would never have been able to carry enough of the potions, otherwise. She hands a bottle to Marcia.

“I don’t think we’ll have enough.” Hermione frowns. “We only thought to bring enough for the stone witches. I thought the ravens, though clearly magical, were actually ravens. Though, now I think about it, the prophecy did mention that they were trapped too. Why didn’t we think about that?”

“I’ll explain,” Marcia reassures her, turning back to the witch and holding up one of the bottles. “We don’t have enough for all of you. You will have to explain it to your sisters. There are enough for those of you that were contained in the stones.”

“When we were cursed, some of our sisters were in their raven forms, trapped with their wings and beaks, but still free to roam.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you. We want to help you,” Marcia reassures, passing her a bottle. “Drink it all.”

Hermione has never seen a potion of this kind, or anything even remotely similar. Unsure what to expect, she watches excitedly as the witch drinks the vivid green liquid, not pausing for breath. She’s not sure she would trust someone who was wearing strange clothes in a vastly different landscape, and then drink something that she was given without question. A whole array of emotions flicker across the witch’s face, a lifetime of memories and thoughts about the world around them settling into place. The witch grins madly for a moment, reminding her of Bellatrix, and then lets out a long, slow breath. 

“We are… indebted to you all. We will not… forget.” The witch speaks slowly, her tongue rolling around the unfamiliar sounds as she talks in English for the first time. “We had begun to lose faith that anyone would help us.”

They were conscious the entire time they were turned to stone? Hermione cannot fathom how bored they must have been. Could they communicate with each other? Could they feel the scorching heat of summer and the deep winter chill? Were they lashed by rain and hail and snow? 

“You’re welcome,” Hermione replies, pushing her questions aside for a moment. “I’m Hermione. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I am named for the great tree on the hill; Derowen,” the witch replies, inclining her head. She looks between Hermione and Narcissa. “You are mated. You have joined your life force? Very… powerful.”

“Life force?” Narcissa questions, brow furrowing.

“Life force,” the witch repeats. “Your… magic.” She raises a hand in a rotating movement, and a purple ball of fire appears on her palm, dancing there silently. Hermione can feel the heat from where she is standing, yet the witch shows no sign of discomfort.

“That’s amazing!” Hermione gushes. “You don’t use wands?”

“The sticks?” the witch replies. “Why would we need them? Life force is everywhere, but most of all, is inside.” She places a hand over her heart, tapping with two of her fingers. “We are life force. Life force is us. It does what we tell it to.”

If she survives this war, Hermione is coming back to learn magic from these incredible witches. Their magic is unlike anything she has ever seen before. Balls of purple fire? Wandless magic is the norm for them? There is an energy coming from the coven that she has never felt before, except perhaps through her own connection with Narcissa.

“We have so much to learn from you,” Hermione replies, eyes lighting up. Narcissa chuckles, and she can feel the blonde’s amusement through their bond.

“And we from you.” The witch graciously bows her head. “I will share my heart and mind with my sisters now.” With that, she raises her hand, the snap of her fingers echoing across the moors. She calls softly to the coven. “Troyl a gallos.”

“Circle of power,” Marcia translates for them, in a hushed whisper. “It was common in old Cornwall for covens to share power and magic, though not as permanently as the pair of you.”

Hermione is fascinated by the way they move, almost as if controlled by a unified force, as they spread out and form a circle, joining hands. She can see the boys and the two other Black sisters walking around the circle to join them, all of them staring with similar expressions of wonder as they walk past the witches.

None of them speak, as they are rejoined by the rest of the group, watching the coven as Derowen calls out rapidly across the circle. 

Marcia tilts her head. “It’s too fast. I don’t know what Derowen is saying,” she apologises. “I  know the language, but I don’t have much experience with it. I think it’s some form of Legilimency, though.”

A hush falls over the circle, the witch’s eyes dropping closed, as they sway gently. A vibration prickles against Hermione’s skin; the energy surrounding the witches is tangible, engulfing them all. It reminds her of being caught outside in a thunderstorm with the boys, more so when rain begins to fall. It’s soft at first, a fine mist that leaves their hair glistening in the sun. Clouds form rapidly and the sky rips open, releasing a torrential downpour that drenches the earth, and soaks through their clothes in a matter of seconds.

Hermione reacts quickly, casting an Impervius charm to protect them from the sudden rain, and then a drying spell. Despite the warm temperatures there on the moor, the rain is icy cold. Far too cold to be refreshing, even in the growing heat of the day.

As quickly as it had started, it stops. Suddenly, and without warning, the sun bursts through the clouds that have gathered above them, and the moors are once again bathed in a bright light. Hermione has read about witches with elemental powers who can control Mother Nature herself; the weather, the earth, the air, to name just a few. She grins at Derowen when the circle breaks up and the witch walks towards her, eyes sparkling.

“You control the elements?” she asks, when the witch comes to a stop in front of her.

“We do. Not always good thing,” Derowen admits with a small shrug. “Great power is great displacement of energy and life force. Rain happens.”

“You have shared with your sisters? They know about the world now? They can speak English?” Narcissa rattles off, looking just as fascinated by it all as Hermione. She could not have been matched with a more suitable mate, Hermione realises.

“They know,” Derowen confirms. “We owe you a great life debt.”

“No, it’s fine,” Hermione replies bashfully. “We wanted to help.”

“You… misunderstand,” Derowen replies carefully. “It’s not a choice.”

Narcissa squeezes her hand. “In the magical world, a contract forms when you save another’s life. It’s not a choice, it’s something that just is.”

“The memory potion showed me the magical battle you are facing,” Derowen muses. “My sisters and I will fight with you. We will stand by your side.”

Hermione sighs. “I don’t want to involve you in our problems, but it might be unavoidable. Thank you.”

“A magical battle is everyone’s problem, Little Witch. We will be here when you need us. You need only call.”

“Call? How?” Hermione furrows her brow.

The witch smiles at her, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Out here, you are a person,” she advises with a smile, moving her hand to lay it over Hermione’s heart. “But in here… here you are made of wings, a child of the air.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Hermione admits, frowning. Do they use some crude form of a Proteon charm?

“You are one of us, as is your mate. You are a raven, and when the time comes to call us, you will know what to do. We are all connected, Hermione, and we protect our flock.”

An animagus? Hermione is a raven? 

“I’ve never transformed, I don’t know what to do.”

“I know the theory,” Narcissa muses. “Though it’s not a branch of magic that I have experimented with.”

Derowen mimics flying with her arms. “You must be the bird. Think like the bird. Imagine yourself flying free across the moors, soaring through the skies with your sisters. It will come.”

“There is no incantation?” Hermione queries. “And no wand?”

“Not needed. We don’t use words, we use thoughts. Our life force is our core, it will complete our whims. Just ask. Think. Do.”

“No incantation,” Hermione repeats, her mind contemplating the ancient witch’s words. What are incantations really, but words. Basic instructions to tell their magic what is wanted. There is no incantation for Disapparation, only conscious thought; destination, determination and deliberation. You think what you need to do, and concentrate on those things with all your might. 

So maybe incantations are just a way of focusing your thoughts. A way of harnessing the power of the mind, so that it guides the magic to do what is required?

“I think I get it, now,” she replies, grinning happily. “I understand.”

“Everything is energy. See the vibrations and use them. Magic is everywhere,” Derowen replies sagely. “In the air, the earth, the trees, the water. We are connected to it all.”

She has so many questions, and she’s about to start asking them when Harry lets out a strangled groan, dropping to the floor. The familiar sign of him clutching his head, fills her with fear. She knows what this means. She has watched this connection with Voldemort grow, and recognises the signs of a vision.

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione sinks to her knees next to him, reaching for his hand. His face is whiter than she has ever seen it, a layer of sweat coating his skin.

“We have to go,” he grunts out. “He has decided to go to Hogwarts. One of the Horcruxes is definitely the snake, he’s keeping it close, worried that we will discover his secret. The other… I don’t know what it is. He’s thinking of Rowena Ravenclaw, the object must have belonged to her once.”

He doesn’t need to speak another word. Hermione stands up, turning troubled eyes to Derowen. “We have to leave. Will you be okay?”

The witch nods seriously. “We will be fine. We know where to go, where it is safe. Protected. You will be back?”

Hermione smiles sadly. “We have to bring the battle here to the moors. I’m sorry.”

“You know what to do. Call and we will come,” the witch reminds her, cupping her cheeks with both hands and leaning forwards to kiss her forehead. It’s comforting in a way that surprises her and she feels that connection the witch had hinted at, solid and unyielding. She is one of them.

“Thank you,” she whispers, when the witch releases her.

Derowen smiles, and then turns to her sisters, nodding once. Without a single word of conversation, they transform into their animagus forms, and the flock of ravens take off; wings beating rapidly as they rise into the air, heading across the moors.

A memory from her days in primary school has her shaking her head. She remembers the day they had learned that a flock of ravens is called an ‘unkindness’. It’s an odd name, and not at all fitting. Nothing could be further from the truth.

“We need to go,” Narcissa reminds her, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Hogsmeade?” she checks, looking between them all.

“Hogsmeade,” Andromeda confirms, her voice firm. She is every bit a Slytherin in her confident, proud stance, even though Hermione knows the witch is as nervous as everyone else.

“I cannot leave here.” Marcia nods toward the pub. “I have people relying on me, and I will keep an eye on the coven for you.”

“Thank you for everything you’ve done.” Hermione pulls the witch into a hug.

“I will let the local witches and wizards know that a battle might be coming. They will not let you fight alone,” Marcia informs her. “We will help you if we can.”

“Thank you,” Narcissa tells her, taking her turn to hug the older witch. “Keep safe.”

“You too.” With those final parting words, Marcia Disapparates, and the others join hands.

“It’s probably best if we Apparate into the alley next to The Hog’s Head Inn. We don’t know who might be lurking in the pub,” Bellatrix points out. “He has spies everywhere.”

“Good thinking.” Andromeda nods. “Ready?”

Hermione and Narcissa Disapparate, depositing them all next to the drinking establishment that Aberforth, Dumbledore’s brother, runs. Just as predicted, all hell breaks loose, a Caterwauling charm announcing their presence loudly. A shout of ‘Potter’ is heard not far from them, and they quickly push on the door leading into The Hog’s Head.

It soon becomes clear that their caution was unnecessary; the place is empty with the exception of the wizard behind the bar.

Wand drawn, he points it at Bellatrix. “What are you doing here?”

“The last time I turned up in someone’s pub unannounced, I had a far better reception,” Bellatrix grumbles, with a roll of her eyes. He falters, lowering his wand when no immediate attack comes from the dark witch.

“What are you doing here?” he repeats, with less aggression.

Hermione steps forwards, walking up to the bar. “She’s not a Death Eater anymore. You might not trust her, but you must know who the rest of us are. We’ve been in The Daily Prophet often enough.”

“You bloody fools,” the wizard growls. “You shouldn’t be here, Miss Granger. It’s not safe.” 

“We need to get into Hogwarts,” Hermione states adamantly. “We know the last remaining passage is here somewhere.”

“If you step foot in that castle, you will surely die.”

“I’m not afraid to die.” Hermione shrugs, even as she realises just how much truth is present in her words. After everything she has been through, the idea of death no longer scares her. There are worse things to endure than death itself, and she knows this better than most. “We will find a way in with or without you, Aberforth. It will be easier if you assist us.”

“Very well.” He turns and beckons for them to follow, leading them down narrow and uneven stone steps to a basement room. Hermione recognises a large portrait of Ariana, Dumbledore’s sister. The young woman had been talked about frequently in The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, a book written by Rita Skeeter.

Aberforth casts his eyes around the group one last time, before speaking to his sister. “You know what to do, Ariana.”

“Where is she going?” Harry asks, as they watch the woman walk away.

“You’ll find out in a minute,” Aberforth replies, staring intently at the portrait. Sure enough, less than a minute later, they see her return, a familiar face just behind her. When the portrait swings open, Neville jumps down, grinning from ear to ear. 

Hermione recognises the signs of torture. She’s born many of the same marks herself over the last few months, some fading into scars and disappearing altogether. What on earth has been going on at Hogwarts? 

As he leads them all back through the tunnel, her unspoken question is answered. Alecto and Amycus Carrow are what happened to Neville, dishing out unforgivable curses as punishments; the school now under the rule of Severus Snape. She knows she shouldn’t feel guilty, and there was nothing she could have done, but a part of her wishes she had been here to protect people.

The tunnel opens out into the Room of Requirement, and as Hermione follows Harry, stepping down into the room, a cheer breaks out. It’s loud and overwhelming, and even as she accepts the hugs of those nearest to her, she feels isolated from the people who were once her friends. So much has happened since they left their sixth year at Hogwarts, all of them have changed in different ways. Her old friends feel like children to her now, the experience of fighting and living with the realities of war have aged her.

The room falls silent, and she smirks when she sees them cower, stealthily walking backwards. “You don’t have to worry,” she calls out. “She’s on our side.”

Neville’s face pales, as he turns to see what they are all staring at. In his haste to guide them through the tunnel, he had not paid much attention to the others in their unlikely group of witches and wizards.

“Neville, it’s okay, I promise,” Hermione reassures him soothingly, a hand on his arm, squeezing gently.

Bellatrix steps forwards, and it’s the first time Hermione has ever seen her fidget. “Mr Longbottom, I know you have no reason to believe me, but I am sorry. If we win this war today, then I will do everything I can to help your parents.”

Nevill scoffs. “Why should I believe that?”

“You don’t have to believe me. You just have to believe your friends,” Bellatrix replies quietly.

Hermione leans forwards to whisper in his ear. “We have a potion that can help. We just need to get Ministry approval first. To do that, we need to win this war, and Bellatrix will help us. She’s a powerful witch, you know this.”

He reluctantly nods. “I don’t trust her. Nothing will ever change that, but if she is really on our side, then I’d rather fight with her than against.”

“Thanks, Neville,” Hermione replies, before raising her voice again to carry across the room. “Bellatrix is not a threat to you. She is here to help us.”

A murmur of dissent rumbles around the room, and Hermione feels the first flickers of anger. Does her word carry no weight, anymore? They trusted her, once. She opens her mouth, but Bellatrix stops her.

“Don’t. They have every right to be wary of me, Pet. Let them see with their own eyes.”

The witch is right, she knows, so she lets the matter lay. 

She’s become so used to being the spokesperson for their group, that it’s jarring when Harry takes point. He talks to the students confidently, much like he had in the days of Dumbledore’s Army. It should feel like a relief, letting someone else take over, but there is something about the whole situation that feels wrong. Logically, she knows that they need to find the next Horcrux, but she’s worried. Harry still believes that this battle is on his shoulders and his alone. What if that is his downfall?

Yes, they need to find the Horcrux, but does Harry truly believe that he is a powerful or experienced enough wizard to go up against Voldemort? It’s insanity, surely? Even Death Eaters like Bellatrix have a healthy dose of respect and fear for the dark wizard’s duelling skills.

“We need to find McGonagall,” Harry tells Hermione and Ron. “We need her to secure the castle so we can look for it.”

“You go and do that,” Hermione suggests. “We’ll spread out and start looking for it. We can ask some of the students.”

Harry nods once, and then turns on his heel, leaving the safety of the Room of Requirement. Hermione scans the crowd of faces until she sees the person she is looking for.

“Luna,” she calls over the rising voices. “We need you.”

The blonde witch smiles dreamily. “It’s always nice to be needed, don’t you think?”

Hermione stifles a giggle. It’s been a while since she has spent time with the unusual girl. “You’re wanted, too, Luna. Not just needed.” Her words are sincere, and the younger witch’s eyes light up.

“What can I help you with?”

“We’re looking for an item that once belonged to the Ravenclaw founder. It must be something that is easily hidden, probably small. Do you know anything like that?”

Luna frowns as she looks between Hermione and Narcissa, raising a hand and swatting away something that neither of them can see. Narcissa purses her lips, and Hermione can’t help but laugh. Well, her soulmate is going to have to get used to Luna and all of her idiosyncrasies if they actually survive the upcoming battle. 

Narcissa squeaks, in the most undignified manner Hermione has ever heard from her, when Luna takes off her butterbeer cork necklace, and slips it over Narcissa’s head. “There, that’s better. You need this more than I do,” the young witch proclaims, smiling. “I’ve never seen so many nargles around a witch.”

Bemused, Narcissa thanks her, though Hermione would be willing to bet her last Galleon that her soulmate has no idea what a nargle is or how exactly her new jewellery is meant to help.

“Luna?” Hermione prompts when the witch falls silent.

“Well, the only thing I can think of is the lost diadem of Ravenclaw.” she muses. “It’s small, and very significant to our house. Would that sound right?”

Hermione nods excitedly, a smile forming. “Yes. That’s exactly the kind of thing it could be.”

“There is only one problem,” Narcissa interrupts. “It’s lost.”

“That’s right,” Luna agrees mildly. “No one in living memory has seen it.”

A groan escapes from Hermione’s lips. She’s sure this item is probably what they are looking for, but how are they meant to find it? It could be anywhere.

“Don’t despair, Hermione,” Luna says kindly. 

“You just said that no one in living memory has seen it,” Hermione reminds her, sighing heavily.

“I know,” Luna replies. “That’s why you need to talk to the Grey Lady.”

“The Grey Lady? The ghost, you mean?”

“Yes, that’s right. Helena Ravenclaw. She’s Rowena’s daughter.”

“Luna, you are brilliant!” Hermione hugs her friend tightly. 

“Good luck,” the blonde replies, her cheeks faintly tinged with pink.

Hermione turns to her soulmate. “We have to find the others, and then we have to track down that ghost.”

Narcissa reaches out to join their hands, allowing herself to be led down through the maze of staircases to the lower levels of the castle. They are just about to enter the great hall, when they are stopped by a chilling scream.

Chapter Text

One scream, followed quickly by another, has Hermione and Narcissa bursting through the heavy wooden doors that lead into the Great Hall. Inside is pure chaos, and a quick look around has Hermione wondering what has happened. A hole has been smashed through the stained glass windows at the end of the room, and McGonagall is standing there, wand raised, staring at the dark void. 

Where is Snape? Shouldn’t the Headmaster be here? Not that Hermione has any desire to see him. His treatment of them all had been bad enough when they were at school, and yet nothing compared to what is allowed under his rule now. Year sevens practising Crucio’s on the first years and The Carrows dealing out physical pain and suffering as punishments, instead of detentions? Dumbledore would be rolling in his tomb. No matter what her personal thoughts on the wizard, she knows he genuinely cared about Hogwarts. He would be devastated if he saw what was happening in his beloved school.

A group of witches and wizards are standing around McGonagall, and she recognises most of them as members of the Order. She spots messy brown hair and glasses in the middle, protected and surrounded; Harry. 

The student’s are standing in rows, and it’s not immediately obvious where the screams are coming from. A third scream joins the others, and this time it’s clear; a young Hufflepuff girl drops to the ground, near to them. She holds her hands over her ears as an eerie voice whispers through the hall. She recognises it immediately, and turns to Narcissa in shock.

“I know that you are preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood."

There is silence in the Hall now, as students, professors and members of the Order alike, hang on his every word with increasing dread.

"Give me Harry Potter," Voldemort's voice continues, "and they shall not be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight."

Taking hold of Narcissa’s hand, Hermione strides through the hall, weaving in and out of the students who have broken rank in the pandemonium around them. The Order parts for her, allowing them both to get to Harry.

“Don’t even think about it, Harry James Potter. You can’t give in. You can’t go to him,” Hermione immediately warns as soon as she is within distance for him to hear her. She knows exactly how he will react to Voldemort’s threat, and for once, she wants him to look at the bigger picture. For once, she desperately needs him to listen. She needs him to understand that he is not alone. He is not the lonely orphan who grew up without friends or a family. He has people in his life, now.

“You heard him, Hermione. He’s threatening the school,” Harry replies. “He’s threatening all of them.” He gestures around the room, a quiet desperation in his eyes. His shoulders slump under the weight of his destiny and Hermione can see the light leaving his usually bright eyes.

“Harry, we know what the last one is,” Narcissa informs him in a hushed whisper. “We just need to find it. Now, where are my sisters?”

“Andy is over there by Shaklebolt,” Harry gestures to a group of the Order, who are now talking to McGonagall. “Bellatrix is in the Room of Requirement, hopefully staying out of trouble,” Harry confides with a small grin. “We didn’t think it was safe for her to be walking around until we had managed to talk to the Order.”

“And have you? Do they know she’s with us now?” Hermione presses urgently. They are running out of time, and having one of their best witches out of action is not ideal. Also, she knows Bellatrix will be pissed if she misses out on this; she’s not one to want to play it safe.

“No, I was about to.”

Hermione doesn’t reply, raising her voice to the room instead. When did she become this person, so willing to raise her voice and draw attention to herself? Someone who demands that people listen to her?  “Quiet!” she shouts across the rising level of voices. “Listen up, everyone, this is important. Bellatrix Black is on our side. If you see her, she is not to be harmed. She is fighting with us, not against us.”

As expected, chaos breaks out, and the room erupts into deafening noise. McGonagall approaches her, but before Hermione can greet her, the older woman scolds her.

“Are you out of your mind, Miss Granger? Lestrange is a Death Eater.”

Hermione doesn’t hesitate in defending the dark witch. “No, Professor, she’s not. As much as I have always trusted your judgement, now I’m asking you to trust mine. With all due respect, you have no knowledge of what has been happening outside these walls over the last year. Trust me when I tell you that Bellatrix Black is on our side, I have no reason to lie.” She stares the older woman down, anticipating her argument, but the Professor bites her tongue. She contemplates Hermione for a moment and then nods.

“If it was anyone else, Miss Granger, then I would not be so easily convinced.”

“Thank you, Professor. Will you make sure the others can be trusted not to make a move on her, if we bring her out? She’s an invaluable asset to our side, and she has put herself at great personal risk to change allegiance.”

“I will do as you have requested, Miss Granger, but when this is all over, I will be requiring an explanation.”

Hermione grins, taking hold of Narcissa’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “If we all survive this, then there will be a lot of things to talk about.”

“Indeed,” McGonagall replies, glancing at their joined hands with a raised brow. “Now, what do you need?” 

“Time, Professor. As much of it as you can give us,” she replies. “We need to find something in the castle, something that will help us defeat him.”

“I’ll do what I can,” McGonagall assures her, reaching out to squeeze her arm. “Be careful, Hermione.”

“You too, Professor,” she replies, darting forwards to hug the witch who pats her on the back; her bemusement clear at being hugged by a student.

“Cissa? Hermione? What’s the plan?” Andromeda looks between them both, eyes flickering nervously.

“Go and get Bella and then help defend the castle,” Cissa instructs. “Hermione and I will work with Harry to find the last Horcrux.”

Andromeda hesitates, and then reaches forwards wrapping her arms around her sister. “Please be careful, Cissa. I can’t lose anyone else to this war.”

Hermione stands back giving the sisters some space, surprised when Andromeda pulls her into the hug too. 

“You too, Hermione. Don’t be rash, and don’t put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

“I won’t, Andy, I promise. I’ll make sure Cissa is okay, too.”

Andromeda pushes her back gently, her eyes soft, even though her voice is stern. “You’d better.”

Hermione reaches into her bag and pulls out one of her spare enchanted Galleons, pressing it into Andromeda’s palm, and curling the witch’s fingers over it. “If you need to contact us, use this. It’s enchanted with a Protean charm.”

“Thank you,” Andromeda replies, nodding her head and slipping the coin into her pocket. “Now, go.”

Narcissa pulls her in for one last hug, and Hermione can feel the witch’s pain. She understands it. So many of the people who will be fighting alongside them are their chosen family. They watch as Andromeda walks away, both of them wondering if they will see her again.

Hermione beckons Harry over. “McGonagall’s going to do what she can with the other Professors and the Order to protect the castle. We need to find the last Horcrux.”

As she’s explaining, the Order starts to dissipate, leaving her there with only Narcissa and the three boys. Much as it might take her a while to trust Draco fully, she’s relieved to see him with Harry and Ron. They need someone to balance them out and stop them being so hot-headed and although Harry and Ron might not willingly admit it, Draco is excellent at duelling. Far better than Ron, even if not quite at Harry’s standard.

Harry frowns. “You heard him, Hermione, I hav-”

“Absolutely not, Harry,” Hermione hisses. “Save your heroics until we need them. We think the item we are looking for is the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.”

“What the hell is a diadem?”

“A tiara, of sorts,” Narcissa replies. “Luna suggested we talk to the Grey Lady to see if she knows where it is.”

Harry scratches his chin, a far away look in his eye. Hermione knows this face and gives him his moment to think, squeezing Narcissa’s hand when she opens her mouth to talk; a silent warning that she immediately understands.

“I think… I think I might have seen something like that before,” Harry says hesitantly. “You two go and speak to the Grey Lady, in case I’m wrong. I’ll take Ron and Draco. I think it might be in the Room of Requirement. It transforms into another room where all things are hidden.”

Hermione nods, hugging her friend briefly. She’s about to say more, when an explosion blasts through the castle. “Merlin, we’re running out of time. I thought we had until midnight? Come on,” she urges, taking off down the hall at a sprint. Narcissa is right at her side and she can hear the others just behind them. Without another word spoken, they part ways at the door; the boys all heading for the staircases up to the seventh floor where the Room of Requirement is.

“We need a ghost, any ghost that can tell us where the Grey Lady is,” Hermione mutters, looking around at the different options of where to go.

“Ghosts are creatures of habit.” Narcissa takes Hermione’s hand again, and guides her to a small hallway. “Unless I’m mistaken, not much will have changed since I was in school. I think she will be roaming the hallways near the base of the Ravenclaw tower.” Narcissa’s voice is casual. Too casual, and when Hermione looks at her, she notes the slight flush to her cheeks.

“And why were you hanging out near the Ravenclaw tower?”

Narcissa smirks wickedly. “If we get through today, I’ll tell you.”

Hermione laughs, the sound echoing off of brick walls. “You have a deal, Ms Black.”

The walls shudder, another loud blast reverberating through the castle; dust falling into their hair from the ceiling above. By unspoken agreement, they break into a run, down endless hallways, until they reach one of the three main towers. The Grey Lady smiles when she sees them. “I knew you would come.”

“What?” Hermione asks, looking at Narcissa with her brow furrowed.

“This day was foretold by my elders. You have been anticipated for a long time.”

“Then you know why we’re here?” Narcissa asks.

The Grey Lady smiles ethereally. “Yes. You seek my mother’s diadem, but you need not. The boy knows where it is.”

“Harry is right? It’s in the room where all things are hidden?” Hermione checks, her heart thudding in relief.

“You are correct.”

“Then why have you been expecting us?” Narcissa questions, tilting her head.

“When the connection is at its strongest, remember your destination.”

“Huh?” Hermione replies. “What?”

“When the connection is at its strongest, remember your destination,” the Grey Lady repeats, drifting away from them.

Hermione chases after her, Narcissa close on her tail. “Wait, come back. What does that mean?”

“When the connection is at its strongest-”

“Yes, I know,” Hermione snaps frustratedly, still walking briskly behind the ghost. “Remember our destination. But what does it mean?”

“It was long ago foretold that you would come, and now I can move on. Thank you for releasing me…”

Hermione comes to an abrupt stop, Narcissa bumping into her. The Grey Lady has stopped moving away, turning to give them one last smile, but the apparition flickers, and then begins to fade. “Remember your destination,” the ghost repeats one last time, before they are left there alone.

“What does that mean?” Hermione repeats, brushing her hair out of her face.

Narcissa flicks her wand, drawing Hermione’s hair back into a ponytail and fastening it there. “I don’t know, darling, but it must have been important. We need to find Harry. If he hasn’t found it yet, then we can help him.”

Hermione nods, and they walk back down the empty hallways away from the Ravenclaw tower. It’s quiet here in the stone passageways. Too quiet. In the distance they can hear sounds of fighting; curses rebounding off of the castle… the screams of people as they are slain. The smell of smoke fills the air, making their eyes sting.

“Wait,” Hermione says desperately. When Narcissa turns to face her, all the words she wants to say slip from her mind.

Narcissa pulls her close, cupping her cheek. “I know, darling. I know.”

Hermione kisses her, capturing soft lips with her own. She kisses her hungrily, like her life depends on it. 

She kisses her like it might be their last time.

They pull apart, breathless; a heart-aching understanding between them. Hermione rests her forehead against her soulmate’s, savouring the last moment of safety either of them are likely to feel until this is all over. There is no need for either of them to speak, their feelings rolling through the bond they share, but they still whisper words of love with reverence. One last kiss and they break apart, walking side by side into the fray.

*****

Hermione has no idea whether it’s been five minutes or five hours, her head reeling from everything that has happened. She’s fought, as have they all, and she’s killed more people than she can count. She and Narcissa had been a formidable team, working together effortlessly, and dispelling every threat that came their way. At their backs, Bellatrix and Andromeda had been fighting next to each other, the four of them keeping each other safe from harm.

Harry had found them, dragging them away from the main battle. His news should have brought some satisfaction and relief, but it is a double edged sword. Yes, the diadem has been destroyed, but Snape is dead, and now they know the ultimate truth; Harry is a Horcrux. One step forwards and two steps backwards. Hasn’t that been the way since this all started? 

As Hermione stands there, staring numbly at the pensieve, it seems impossible that they will all come out of this alive now. How can she send her best friend off to his death? There must be another way.

Harry shakes his head. “You know I have to do this, Hermione. The prophecy has been confirmed, and I trust Dumbledore. He always knew that it would come to this and he trusted me to walk to my fate with my head held high. I must fight Voldemort and Voldemort must win. Only then can you defeat him.”

“Cissa?” Hermione’s voice breaks as she turns to her soulmate, desperately looking for someone to agree with her. Someone else to tell Harry that it doesn’t have to be this way. 

Narcissa shakes her head, eyes brimming with tears as she feels her soulmate’s distress. “He’s right, Hermione. Voldemort cannot be destroyed while Harry lives.”

The castle shudders again, a reminder of how little time they have.

“I have to go, Hermione. I have to find him,” Harry says calmly.

She hates that she is so proud of him right now. He doesn’t falter, ready to sacrifice himself to save them all. She wonders if she could ever be so brave.

“I don’t want to lose you, Harry.”

He steps forwards, hugging her tightly. “I love you, Hermione. You won’t ever truly lose me.”

“But you won’t be here anymore,” she replies brokenly.

He doesn’t reply, just hugs her closer.

A sinister silence falls over the castle, the sounds of fighting dying out as Voldemort’s voice hisses through the castle.

“You have fought valiantly, but in vain. I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity. Harry Potter, I now speak directly to you. On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you, rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonour. Join me in the Forbidden Forest, and confront your fate. If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman and child who tries to conceal you from me.”

Harry smiles sadly. “It was always going to come to this. I think, somehow, a part of me has always known. I’ve been preparing myself for years, without really understanding why.”

Hermione shakes her head stubbornly, even as her voice betrays her. “I know,” she whispers. 

“Kill the snake, and then kill Voldemort. Draco has the sword, and he knows what to do, but there are other ways to destroy it, if he fails,” he instructs calmly, a slight tremor in his voice the only indicator of his nerves. “You can do this, Hermione. Use your bond, and finish this. Don’t let my sacrifice be in vain.”

“I won’t. I promise, Harry. I’ll end this.”

“Thank you, Harry.” Narcissa leans forward, brushing his hair out of his face and kissing him on the forehead, much like Hermione has seen her do to Draco. It’s a maternal gesture, one that Harry doesn’t have much experience of with the exception of Molly Weasley.

He smiles sadly one last time, and then he’s gone, slipping out of the door before she can say a final goodbye. Maybe it is better this way. Maybe a miracle will happen and there is no need to say goodbye, anyway. She’s fooling herself, she knows, but she refuses to lose grip of that remaining single strand of hope that is twisting around her heart like a tourniquet.

“We must go,” Narcissa reminds her, when Hermione has been rooted to the spot, staring at the empty doorway for nearly a minute. Snapping back into action, Hermione leads them down the stairs, instinctively heading towards the Great Hall.

The true devastation and losses become clear when they walk past the rows of bodies that have been lined up around the edges of the room. Groups of families and friends stand around, mourning the ones that they have lost, and it’s overwhelming. So much sadness in one room and a sense of defeat hanging over them all, long before the battle is truly over.

Hermione chokes when she sees the Weasleys standing around a redhead, who has been laid out on the floor. She counts their heads, putting names to faces from a distance, only two options remain; one of the twins is dead. She wants to comfort Ron, but she’s not sure he will want her to, and she doesn’t want to intrude.

“Oi, over here!”

Bellatrix. Hermione never thought she would be so happy to see the dark haired witch, and she can feel the strum of relief coming from Narcissa. They join Bellatrix in the triage area, and then spot Andromeda treating a woman with a head wound. Before Narcissa can get close to either of her sisters, Hermione has thrown herself at Bellatrix, catching the witch off guard.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Bellatrix wraps her arms around her. “It’ll take more than a few mangy Death Eaters to be the end of me, little witchling,” she declares, but it’s said with fondness, and her arms tighten around Hermione.

Blushing, Hermione steps back so that Narcissa can hug her sister too, and when Andromeda joins them, the family is almost complete.

“Draco?” Narcissa asks nervously. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s fine. He was here a minute ago, actually,” Bellatrix replies. “He mentioned he needed to do something, and I didn’t ask. He’s probably crying in an empty classroom somewhere.”

Hermione snorts. “Draco?”

Bellatrix quirks a brow. “Sensitive lad, that one.”

“Are you serious?” She turns to her soulmate. “Cissa?”

Narcissa nods, even as she slaps Belaltrix’s arm. “Not that he would appreciate me revealing this, but Draco is one of the most sensitive people I know. I’m not surprised he needs a moment away from prying eyes to recuperate.”

“We can catch up afterwards,” Andromeda points out. “For now, we all need your skills. We need help healing, so just do what you can, okay?”

Hermione nods, and looks around. It’s clear the people have been sorted into categories of how urgent they are, so she approaches a woman laying down with blood pouring from her arm, a bone visible through the skin. This has to be more of a priority than the wizard next to her, who just seems a little dazed.

It’s a relief to be doing something. To be useful. In the chaos of the day and night so far, this is one thing that actually makes sense. There are people here that need help, and she is someone who can provide it. She blocks out the sounds around them and concentrates on the women in front of her. When she has done all that she can for her, she moves on to the next and a routine is born. She assesses, treats, and then sends them to get refreshments from the table that has been set up at the end of the hall. For those that can’t move, she brings them water, and then moves on to the next.

Hermione’s so lost in her work that it takes a moment to realise that a deathly quiet has fallen, the only sounds are the ragged breaths of those around her. She looks at the shocked faces of her fellow fighters, as they stare out into the courtyard. What are they all looking at? As if pulled by a mysterious force, she follows the others as they make their way outside.

She recognises Ginny’s voice, a heartbroken cry splitting through the silence. “Noooo!”

Oh. There is only one reason why the witch would be so devastated, and Hermione’s knees almost buckle under the weight of her realisation.

Harry is dead.

A few more steps forward and she can see for herself. Harry is unmoving; laying across Hagrid’s arms, as the half giant unsuccessfully fights back tears. There is not a single mark on her friend, though his skin is paler than she remembers. How can he just be gone like this? How is it possible that a life can be snuffed out without any evidence? Without a single drop of blood spilled?

She barely listens as Voldemort taunts them. Her anger steadily rises as she listens to his promises of a new world. One that she is excluded from and one which her friends have died trying to prevent. For a moment she wonders if this is all a ruse, but then Harry is being lowered to the floor and Voldemort is hitting him with a powerful Crucio; his body unresponsive to the torture. She’s been on the receiving end of Voldemort’s wand. She knows that Harry would be writhing around on the ground in agony, if he were alive.

A hand tugs on her arm, and she turns, impulsively putting her arms around Draco when she sees him. He leans in to whisper in her ear.

“I’ll explain afterwards, but he’s okay. Harry is okay.”

She stares at him in shock. “But-”

“After, Granger,” Draco replies, and he disappears under a disillusionment charm, only just visible as a shimmer that distorts the light. She watches as the disturbance in her vision sneaks around the edge of the people gathered, and her heart jumps into her throat when she realises that he is going for the snake. 

Draco. Brave, stupid, sensitive, Draco. 

She can’t let him do this by himself. She won’t let him do something which could devastate her soulmate. Refusing to let him act alone, she sprints forwards into the clearing, staring unflinchingly into snakelike eyes as she raises her wand.

Voldemort is quick to react, meeting her non-verbal spell in the middle, their wands connected by bright streams of green and red magic. She grins triumphantly when she sees the flash of silver, Voldemort wavering slightly when Draco decapitates his precious snake. As Nagini bleeds out, she wonders if he will weaken, but he is relentless.

She can do this. She pushes her magic forwards with determination, but Voldemort snarls loudly, the ground shaking under both their feet as he grips his wand with both hands, pushing the magic back towards her. 

Sweat pouring down her brow, she struggles to maintain the connection, her hand shaking. She tightens the grip on her wand, fighting the rising panic as a victorious smirk spreads across Voldemort’s face. It’s disturbing to see anything resembling a smile on his snakelike features. She shivers even in the warm morning sun.

A hand slips into hers. “You can do this, Darling. Use the bond.”

Use the bond.

Hermione relaxes her mind and opens herself up to her soulmate. Love. That’s what she can feel, and it’s this more than anything else that gives her the strength to continue. She grips Narcissa’s hand tightly, pushing every ounce of magic she can into her wand’s connection with Voldemort’s, forcing him to take a step backwards. The sound he lets out is feral, like a wild animal that has been cornered, his eyes blazing angrily. She can feel a renewed pulse of his magic through the connection.

Connection. Their wands are connected. The Grey Lady’s voice plays in her head…

“When the connection is at its strongest, remember your destination.”

Destination. Of course!

She knows what to do. She lets her mind drift; the smell of gorse and grass washing over her as she pictures the Moors. She’s never been more determined, concentrating on the destination with all her might. She lets her magic suck her into the swirling void of Disapparation, taking Voldemort with her.

Chapter Text

As her feet hit the soft, spongy grass, Hermione stumbles forward, landing heavily on her knees. The connection between her wand and Voldemort’s is broken, and she looks up with startled eyes to where he is standing several metres away. She scrambles to her feet, rapidly stepping backwards to put more space between them.

His wand is raised, yet he doesn’t send a curse her way, amusement clear in his eyes.

“Do you really think you can beat me, Miss Granger?” he asks, his tone almost conversational, as they begin to circle each other. Narcissa stays by her side, her own wand raised at the snake-like man.

“I like to think I’ve got a good chance,” she calls back, with far more confidence than she feels. Her palms begin to sweat slightly as she tightens the grip on her wand, the now familiar wood is warm and comforting between her fingers.

He laughs, his head thrown back, and if she was more experienced at duelling she would have taken her shot. When his black eyes come back to meet hers, she curses to herself for missing such a prime opportunity.

“You are brave, Miss Granger, but that won’t save you. Do you really think that you, a pathetic little Mudblood , can best me? I am the most powerful wizard you will ever meet, child, not even Dumbledore could defeat me.”

Hermione tightens the grip on her wand, stepping sideways as he circles around in an arc, keeping the distance between her and the malevolent wizard in front of her. 

“The way I heard it, Dumbledore nearly had you beat at the Ministry, and you Disapparated like a coward,” she retaliates, with no idea if that is really true. The details of that day are hazy at best, and everyone has a different story to tell.

“ Hermione! ” Narcissa hisses in warning. “Don’t antagonise him.”

Hermione knows what she is doing though, and she has a plan. She only has her wits on her side, and very little duelling experience, though far more than she should have by this age. Even with the Wand of Destiny, she knows she can’t beat him in a battle of skill, so her only hope is to catch him off guard. She needs to unsettle him, and make him act recklessly. Her only chance to finish this war is if she can get him to make a mistake, and the best way of doing that is to make him angry. Anger leads to impulsive, careless actions and that’s exactly what she needs from him.

“I displayed magic that day that Dumbledore could only dream of,” Voldemort replies in a low hiss. “I showed mercy that day and I left before more magical blood was spilled.”

“Well, that didn’t seem to stop you last night, did it? How much magical blood was spilled in your name at Hogwarts, Tom?” Hermione asks bitterly, her anger bubbling up inside her stomach and threatening to burn its way free, when the memories of Fred and Lupin flit through her mind. 

“Stop, you foolish child. Enough! Do you really think there is any point to this? You can end this, Miss Granger. Even in the pureblooded new-world order, we need… servants. Swear fealty to me and I will see to it that you will live.”

“I will never submit to you,” Hermione shouts across the moors, her voice carrying clearly in the breeze.

“You have one choice. Submit… or die. You dare to oppose me, Lord Voldemort? I am the greatest wizard this world has ever seen and yet you face me boldly, a mere Mudblood with a puny, stolen wand? You will die, Miss Granger. I promise you that.”

The wand in her hands sparks defiantly, and Hermione almost laughs when she feels its offence. Puny wand? This is the Wand of Destiny and it is that thought that strengthens her. She stands a little taller, knowing that the time is nearly upon her. Any moment now, she will have her chance.

The sounds of Apparation fill the air, and Hermione glances away from Voldemort to see who has appeared. Andromeda, Bellatrix, Draco, Harry and Ron have all arrived, each with a member of the Order in tow. Hermione fights a grin, when Voldemort spots Harry, and flinches. He recovers quickly though, turning back to face her.

“Well, well, well. It looks like we will have company to witness your death, Miss Granger,” Voldemort remarks, moving his right hand to his left arm. “Perhaps I should call some of my own loyal followers.”

“The moors will protect you.”  

Hermione remembers Marcia’s words and gloats when he presses his thumb to his own Dark Mark. If the moors are protecting them, then surely this won’t work? Her face falls when further sounds of Apparation break out around them, and swirling black smoke reveals the Death Eaters he has summoned.

“What’s going on? I thought we were protected here?” Hermione blurts out, turning to Naricssa in alarm. Her heart races faster, her breath coming in short pants as she fights the familiar signs of a panic attack.

“I don’t know. Maybe the magic behind the Dark Mark is stronger than we realised,” Narcissa whispers. “We need help, Hermione. We need them.”

“We will always be here if you call us.” They had told her. They had promised.

How does she call them? She’s never transformed into an animagus before, and isn’t that what they had told her to do? She needs a distraction. Something to take Voldemort’s attention off of her.

They’re surrounded. Her friends and the Order members they brought with them have been slowly encircled by the Death Eaters. No curses have been released yet, and she realises that they are waiting for Voldemort’s command. The Order won’t attack first, it would be certain suicide. Instead, they are watching warily, as the circle around them slowly closes in.

“I don’t know what to do,” Hermione admits, in a hushed whisper to her soulmate that she hopes doesn’t reach Voldemort. The gleam in his eyes reveals he has heard her desperate confession, though, and he smirks. She shivers; cold despite the clear skies and heat of the morning sun.

“I am nothing if not a merciful master, Miss Granger. I will give you thirty seconds to change your mind.”

Thirty seconds. Half a minute. Even the most complicated of spells don’t take that long. Thirty whole seconds is longer than you think, in magic. She closes her eyes, Derowen’s words racing through her memory, as she remembers what the ancient witch had told her.

“You must be the bird. Think like the bird. Imagine yourself flying free across the moors, soaring through the skies with your sisters. It will come.”

Think like a bird? She blocks out the sound of heckles that have broken out around her; the Death Eater’s so sure that the closing of her eyes means she has seen the sense in surrender. She blocks out everything but the hum of Narcissa’s magic, strong and steady as it pulses through her veins; she has never felt more connected to her.

She feels the air around her, dancing over her skin, cooling her face. She can hear the sound of a hundred wingbeats in her ears… the sounds of her flock cawing softly to each other. Turning her thoughts inwards, the academic part of her muses if this is like reverse Legilimency, as she enters her own mind. 

She chases that thought away, concentrating more deeply on what she is doing. She sees a small spark of light, and heads towards it, following synapses until the spark is growing brighter. The sound of wingbeats gets louder, and she can hear the witches chattering between themselves, holed up in a series of caves high up on the moors.

“Help me,” she calls. “Help us. Please, we need you.”

The chattering stops, a silence falling over the coven. She is jerked from her own mind by a shout, coming abruptly back to the awareness of where she is.

“Well?” Voldemort demands again. “Have you made your decision?”

“I will never join you,” Hermione shouts bravely. 

Voldemort growls in the face of her defiance, and she expects the curse when it’s sent her way; powerful and destructive. She knows she can’t possibly block it, but throws up the strongest Protego that she can, anyway. She turns her body away from the curse, sure she is about to die, but the curse bounces off of her… wing? Since when does she have wings? She can feel the tug of them pulling against her muscles although they are not as heavy as she would have expected. If anything, as they flutter behind her, she feels lighter.

He sends another curse her way, and this one knocks her back a few feet, but again, a large black wing curves around her body, protecting her. The curse bounces off as if it had been cast by a toddler, barely stinging, even as a wisp of smoke leaves her feathers.

She raises her arms, and the wings on her back spread wide. Hermione watches triumphantly as Voldemort hesitates, eyes narrowed on the sight in front of him. 

He turns, raising his own arms, every witch and wizard turning his way to watch his next move.

“Kill them,” he shouts to the crowd of Death Eaters. “Kill them all, but the mudblood girl is mine.”

Chaos breaks out, and Hermione swallows down her panic. There are not enough of them. They are so vastly outnumbered and their inevitable defeat will be quick, she’s sure. She glances at Narcissa and the blonde nods at her, a gentle smile on her lips.

“We can do this, Hermione. We’re strong,” she promises, stroking a hand down her left wing, a wondrous expression on her face as her fingers brush against the soft feathers. The blue eyes staring back at her are calm and honest; Narcissa believes in her. She believes in them.  

Hermione grits her teeth, laser focused on the wizard in front of her. The sounds of fighting around her disappear into the background, and she calls up every spell and curse she can think of, sending them one after another at the dark wizard. Her wings have vanished, disappearing back to where they had come from, and she has no idea how to summon them again. She hadn’t conjured them in the first place, after all.

He laughs. “You will have to do better than that, Mudblood. Do you really think those will have any effect on me?” he taunts, laughing cruelly.

She narrows her eyes, and whispers ‘Crucio’, but he blocks it easily.

“You have to mean it, Mudblood.”

Heart thudding in her throat, she reverts back to every other spell in her arsenal, fighting in unison with the blonde witch by her side. Her other spells carry so much more weight than her feeble attempt at an unforgivable curse, and it occurs to her he is right; she has to mean them.

She almost passes out with relief when she hears the distant flapping of wings that signals the arrival of the coven. A glance over her shoulder tells her that they are arriving just in time. The Order and her friends are all fighting in a unit with their backs to each other, trying to fend off the Death Eaters that probably outnumber them at least six to one. The circle is closing in on them, and she sees the ravens land, transforming quickly to stand on two feet. They dive into the frey, and the Death Eaters break rank to defend themselves, the attacks now coming from both sides.

Not allowing herself to be distracted for long, she continues fighting; curse, block, hex, block, jinx, block. She sends everything that she can at him, yet he effortlessly holds both witches at bay.

She is one half of a pair of magical mates. She has the Wand of Destiny in her hands, so why are her curses so ineffectual? She’s starting to tire now after a long night of fighting. How long can she continue?

“You have to mean it, Mudblood .” His words taunt her, echoing over and over as she fights for her life and fights for the future of every witch and wizard that she loves.

She does mean it. She’s never meant it more as she attempts another Crucio, but again he laughs and she gets the distinct impression that he is enjoying this. She gets the feeling that he wants to prolong her humiliation and eventual defeat. He wants her desperate and afraid and begging for mercy, and she refuses to give it to him. In a move that takes her by surprise she shifts her wand to her left hand, and takes hold of Narcissa’s spare hand with her right. She’s never practised magic with her left, yet the wand feels right. It buzzes happily, and she feels the strength of her bond with Naricssa, fueling them both.

The sounds around them have started to fade and she’s almost scared to look. Are her friends okay? Her family? Because that’s exactly what Bellatrix and Andromeda are now. She has friends, she has a family, and they are all relying on her. On Narcissa. On them.

For the first time, they manage to start pushing forward, gleefully watching as Voldemort takes several steps backwards, almost buckling under the force of one of their combined curses.

“That’s it, Darling. We’re okay. We can do this,” Narcissa tells her softly. “We can win-”

With a sharp, agonising cry, Narcissa drops to the floor, blood pouring from several sections of her torso. Hermione recognises the spell immediately as the one Harry had used on Draco in their sixth year. Sectumsempra. Her heart wants to stop beating, her blood thick and heavy in her veins as she feels the pain of her soulmate’s injuries through their bond. She sucks in as much oxygen as she can, fighting the darkness at the corners of her vision.

Their hands no longer connected, Hermione is alone, facing this monster without help. She wants to stop. She wants to heal her soulmate. She needs to make sure she is okay, but if she does, then they are all dead, anyway. All she can do is to take the fight away from Narcissa, so that someone else can get close enough to help her. 

The blonde’s face is paler than she has ever seen it, a grey tinge appearing on her cheeks as the light in her eyes begins to dull. Anger flares through Hermione’s body, and she bites her tongue, accidentally filling her mouth with a sharp metallic taste.

“I will end you,” she screams at Voldemort, and this time when she sends a ‘Crucio’ his way, the wizard falters under the force of her spell. Her fury sings through her veins, and the taste of blood in her mouth urges her forward, pushing the dark wizard back with every spell she sends his way.

“Avada Kadavra,” she shrieks, but Voldemort’s own curse meets hers halfway. She doesn’t let the connection form, breaking her wand’s magic away from his, with a flick of her wrist. Her magic reaches for Narcissa’s, the current that connects them is weak and she knows without being told that the witch is dying.

Movement in the corner of her eye, gives her hope. The coven spread out around them, locking her in a circle with Voldemort. The ancient witches join hands, the sound of voices joining together reaches her ears; a chant made up of a language that she doesn’t know. It doesn’t seem to matter. The words themselves are irrelevant somehow, their magic already knows what to do. 

The circle fills with power, and it drives her forward. She is relentless in her attack and now it is Voldemort who is on the defensive, blocking each of the spells that she sends his way. She doesn’t give him enough time to return fire, sending curses more quickly than he can keep up with. Every spell she casts has her taking a step forward, and with each block the wizard grows weaker. 

The coven raises their voices higher and she can feel them. She can feel her flock as they feed her energy; she is powerful. She is invincible. She is full of an ancient power that her mind doesn’t understand, but her body reacts instinctively to, absorbing it like oxygen from the air she breathes. The energy rises higher, and the circle fills up with a shimmering, swirling vortex of brightly coloured magic, centred around her. The wind whips around, stinging her cheeks and drying her eyes, as the hairs on her arms stand on end. The ground begins to shake and tremble under their feet, but she moves with it. She is part of the land, and the moors are a part of her. They are one and the same.

Hermione risks looking to the side, and sees Andromeda and Bellatrix tending to her dying soulmate. Seeing her there on the floor, white hot anger flares even higher. An eerie silence falls over the clearing, the wind dropping to nothing. The single caw of a raven pierces the quiet.

In the future when she tells this story, she will never be able to explain why she does this, but she throws her wand aside, magic rushing to her fingertips as she goes on the offensive. One wand, especially a powerful one, is effective, but now she has two hands; each one throwing balls of purple fire towards the dark wizard in front of her. 

The grass around her glows brightly, and she throws more magic at him, laughing darkly when the grass around him winds around his legs, thick tree roots spiralling up out of the earth to bind him to the spot. They wrap around his body and along his arms; his wand falling from his outstretched fingers. As he stands there, paralysed, she sees fear on his face for the first time. With a single thought, the black wings are back, spread widely behind her like she is some kind of dark angel; powerful and majestic. She walks calmly across the circle towards him, her steps purposeful and slow.

“This is over,” she says quietly, meeting his dark eyes calmly. She pauses. This is the wizard that so many have been terrified of for all these years? He is just a wizard, and underneath that, just a man. He’s not even that tall, she notes, as she comes to a stop only a few feet in front of him. “Over,” she repeats again, as she flicks her fingers towards him with a final burst of magic. 

She turns away, knowing before it even makes contact, that the dark wizard is no more. The gentle thud that reaches her ears as she walks towards her soulmate confirms it, but she has no time to celebrate. She breaks into a run, her wings disappearing as she drops to her knees next to Narcissa.

She holds out her hands, hovering shaky, damp palms over the woman that she loves; purple and white streams of magic pouring into Narcissa’s body. She sends every bit of energy that she can into the witch; sweat dripping down her face as she watches the deep gashes in Narcissa’s stomach begin to heal. She pushes every last ounce of power that she can into healing her, watching as a delicate pink returns to the witch’s cheeks, even as darkness threatens to consume her. One last, heroic effort and then she is spent, slipping into unconsciousness and slumping over the soft body in front of her.

*****

She’s cold. She can feel thick blankets on top of her, but it’s not enough and she lays shivering, trying to remember how she got here. Trying to remember ‘where’ she is. Or even ‘when’? Blinking against the bright light, she opens her eyes, flinching at the sunlight that streams in through the window. 

It’s their room at The Cheesewring Pub, and she is flooded by pleasant memories of their final night together here.

“Hermione?”

She turns her head, and her heart flips over excitedly when Narcissa walks towards the bed. Hermione fights the lightheaded feeling she gets from sitting up too quickly, pulling Narcissa into her arms. She holds her soulmate tightly, the lump in her throat making it difficult to talk.

“You’re okay,” she croaks desperately. “You’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Darling. Don’t worry.”

“And Voldemort? He’s really gone?”

“Yes,” Narcissa confirms, pulling back to smile at her. “I am so proud of you, Darling. We all are.”

Hermione blushes. She doesn’t want people to be proud of her. She did what she had to, and that was it. “Everyone is really okay?” she double checks, and Narcissa nods.

“We really were protected by the moors. The others were surrounded and outnumbered, but none of the curses they were attacked with had any force behind them. Harry compared it to taking a dose of Felix Felicis, and I get the feeling there is a story there.” Narcissa grins, raising her eyebrow.

“A tale for another day,” Hermione replies with a smile of her own. “Are the others here?”

“They are all downstairs and about to have breakfast. Bella promised to bring me something, but if you are feeling up to it, then we can go and join them?”

“Breakfast?”

Narcissa nods, immediately understanding her confusion. “You drained your magical core, Darling. You were unconscious the whole of yesterday and last night.”

“And it’s really over? He can’t come back?” Hermione asks again, holding Narcissa’s hands tightly in her own.

“He was obliterated, Hermione. None of us can fathom what that magic was that you were using, or how you knew to use it. We’ve never seen anything like that before. He’s gone, though. There is no coming back from what you did to him.”

“It was the coven, not me. They were feeding me their power. I don’t know how I knew what to do, but I knew I would be more powerful without my wand. They were guiding me.”

Narcissa smiles, leaning forward to press her lips against her warm cheek. “You might not believe this, but that was all you. Derowen has never seen anything like your little display, either. You drew on the magic of the land like an elemental sorceress, showing an affinity for it that was quite unexpected. You are more powerful than you give yourself credit for.”

Hermione shrugs. She doesn’t want to be powerful. She doesn’t want to live in a world where being powerful is something that she needs to survive. She just wants to enjoy life, and do all of the things that this war has taken from her. She can explore magic later on, and maybe work out how she became an animagus hybrid, rather than a raven like the rest of the coven. Her stomach lets out a loud protest, and Narcissa smiles knowingly. “Take a shower, and then we can go downstairs. We could both use some food.”

Narcissa is smiling at her, and it’s wonderful. It warms her more than any number of blankets in the world, and it’s a sight she hadn’t been sure she would see again. The image of Narcissa laying on the floor, bleeding heavily, will be forever burned in her mind. Determined to give herself something new to replace those memories, she smiles slyly. “Why don’t you join me?”

*****

When they open the door that leads out into the bar, the room falls silent. The last thing she wants is for everyone to make a fuss over her, but all eyes turn in her direction; the crowd of people sitting around the tables, erupting into deafening noise. When the cheering and clapping dies down, several people rush towards her, and it’s Bellatrix who reaches her first, wrapping strong arms around her and lifting her off of her feet. The dark witch spins her in a circle, cackling loudly in her ear.

“You were amazing, Hermione,” Bellatrix whispers. “Absolutely incredible.” Bellatrix puts the bemused witch back on her feet, turning to the rest of the room. “Imagine that! Voldemort defeated by a worthless mudpuppy!” she announces loudly, a wide grin on her face.

As loud protests fill the room, Hermione bursts out laughing, impulsively hugging the witch again, much to the confusion of everyone who had taken offence on her behalf. She kisses the witch on her cheek, and then moves to hug her friends.

“I’m so glad you’re all okay,” she chokes out, as Narcissa guides her into a chair. The tables in one area have all been pushed together to make one big one, and she looks from face to face, soaking up the friendship and family that this room full of people represents. Her eyes stop on familiar green orbs and scruffy hair. “What on earth happened, Harry?”

“That is a story for another day,” he says sheepishly, his eyes leaving hers to meet Draco’s. She watches curiously as both boys, - well, she guesses they are men now - begin to blush.

She waves him off, sensing his discomfort. “Then I’ll wait,” she tells him with a grin that widens when he breathes out a sigh of relief. She’s curious, though. What happened in the forest? Why did Voldemort think he was dead? And what exactly has Draco got to do with this? She watches for a moment, smiling when she catches the shy looks they keep sending each other. She loves Ginny, she really does, but she’s never thought that the girl was good for Harry. He needs someone who will respect him for who and what he is, not someone who has a serious case of hero worship. If what she thinks she can see between the two men is true, then she couldn’t be happier for them. Hopefully Harry will come to her soon, and open up about it. 

Marcia appears and pulls her into a hug. “It’s good to see you up on your feet again. We were so worried when you collapsed.”

“You were there?”

“And some of the villagers. You were rather preoccupied when we arrived,” Marcia says with a sparkle in her eye. “Now, what can I get you?”

Hermione grins, not bothering to pick up the menu in front of her. With a wink at Narcissa, she answers Marcia.

“I know this is technically breakfast, but I’ll have the lasagne, please.”

Chapter Text

Hermione trails down the stairs of Black Manor in her pyjamas and bare feet, softly padding across the cool marble floors that are present throughout the expansive home. The foyer that she has to walk through is larger than the entire ground floor of the house that she grew up in, and not for the first time this week, she wonders how this is her life now.

Living with Narcissa is a natural step considering how much time they have spent with each other over the last few months. Neither of them bring up the topic of where they will live, each preferring to assume that it will be together, and so far it’s working out perfectly. Learning to live with the rest of the collective household is more of a challenge. Now the war is over and they are all on the road to recovery, she’s discovered things about her new roommates. Andromeda is just as big a tease as Bellatrix and their favourite person to torment is, of course, Hermione. She takes it in her stride, relishing in the opportunity to get to know each of the sisters a little better. 

Hermione shares a love of ancient runes with Bellatrix, prompting endless conversations late into the night, until they are finally ushered up to bed by Narcissa. Andromeda has a passion for potion making and Hermione has learned more from her in the last few days alone, than her entire education at Hogwarts put together. Andromeda is an incredible teacher, knowledgeable and patient. She is the opposite of Snape in every way and that might just be the reason why Hermione is unearthing a liking for the subject that has previously been missing.

Tonks has been a pleasant surprise and Teddy adds so much light and laughter to the Manor, at a time where it would be far too easy to become stuck in the past, wallowing in what each of them has lost. He doesn’t allow that, though. The boy is too young to understand the significance of recent events. He toddles around between the adults, effortlessly funny, adorable and by far the smartest child Hermione has ever met.

It’s a crowded household, or it could be if it wasn’t for the fact that they all have their own wing to live in. Narcissa and Hermione have their own suite of rooms in the west wing and there is nothing Hermione loves more than watching the sunset from the balcony off of their bedroom.

It’s been a week since the battle of Hogwarts, and the subsequent fight on the moors. Seven whole days since Voldemort was defeated, ridding the wizarding world of one of the biggest threats Britain has ever encountered. Now is the time for recovery, and though it will take time for people to heal and move on, Hermione is hopeful that the future will at least be a little brighter.

The world is up for grabs and the opportunities are overwhelming. She has enough money that she never has to work if she chooses not to. Her grandmother’s inheritance would be enough to last her for life with a few careful investments, but added to that was a rather large payout from the Ministry for her services in the war. Hermione is not the kind of person to sit around and do nothing though, and these last few days she has spent talking endlessly with the three Black sisters about what they will all do next.

She wanders into the kitchen, greeting Narcissa with a soft kiss to the cheek and slipping into the chair next to her at the table. Andromeda is cooking, and Bellatrix is being, well, Bellatrix. The woman is like an overgrown child, stealing various toppings from the selection Andromeda has prepared to accompany their pancakes. When Bellatrix sees her, she stops her pilfering and pours Hermione a mug of coffee, something she is exceedingly grateful for after last night; the four of them had stayed up far too late drinking Elvish wine and talking.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, immediately picking it up and raising it to her lips. She sips cautiously, sending Bellatrix a grateful smile when she realises the witch has remembered to top it up with cold water. Hermione is normally a patient person, but doesn’t ever want to wait for her coffee to cool naturally; something that amuses the eldest Black sister, yet Bellatrix never fails to make it the way that Hermione likes it.

“Can’t have you falling asleep in your breakfast, Pup,” Bellatrix quips. Strange that she can call Hermione this and it sound more affectionate than insulting. Bellatrix has come a long way in the last few weeks, and Hermione is not about to pull her up over something as simple as a word.

“What’s the plan today?” Hermione asks, looking between them all when Andromeda and Bellatrix sit down at the table with them, dropping a stack of pancakes in the middle.

Narcissa smiles. “Draco owled. He thinks that we should all get together later tonight, a celebration of sorts. A way of showing that the war really is behind us.”

Hermione ignores the food for a moment, taking another satisfying glug of her coffee. “Do you think we will finally be told what happened that day? Or are they about to finally admit that they are together?”

It’s the one last piece of the puzzle, and they’ve all been curious about it. What happened at Hogwarts? How did Draco save Harry? Both of them have been absent since they returned from the moors, though Hermione secretly suspects that they have been with each other. Harry had replied to her owl a few days ago, and Narcissa had recognised the owl that delivered the letter as belonging to her son.

“I’m not above slinging a Crucio his way if he doesn’t finally tell us,” Bellatrix offers with a grin, stabbing a piece of melon with her fork dramatically. “I’m good at getting people to open up.”

“Open up?” Andromeda snorts. “You’re good at torture, Bellatrix, and that’s something entirely different.

“No, she’s not,” Narcissa interrupts. “She didn’t manage to get Hermione to talk,” she reminds them with an oddly proud smirk.

Bellatrix pouts and Hermione laughs, reaching forwards to pat her on the arm. “I was about to break, Bella, I promise. One more decent Crucio and I would have been singing like a canary,” Hermione soothes her, a smirk of her own curling up the corners of her lips.

The dark witch rolls her eyes. “No, you weren’t. Bloody stubborn Gryffindors,” she grumbles.

Hermione laughs. “No, I wasn’t,” she admits. “But now you’re being nice, I’d tell you anything you wanted to know.”

“Urgh. Like I want to know all your deep, dark secrets,” Bellatrix replies, with a dramatic shiver, fighting a smile. Her eyes are fond, in stark contrast to her words.

“So, who are we inviting?” Andromeda asks. “We have the space to host, if we decide on a larger event.”

Narcissa shakes her head. “We could, but I was thinking something a little more intimate. Harry and Draco, of course. Ron and his family, I suppose, and maybe members of the Order? If there is anyone else that we want to invite, then we can. I think a smaller gathering is probably better. We can ease into it slowly.”

“There is still a lot of bad feeling,” Hermione comments honestly. “Even with my statement to the Ministry, and the things that Harry and Ron said, there is not a lot of trust. We might have been able to keep you out of Azkaban, Bella, but we need to be patient. Spend time with a smaller group, and then the word will spread.”

“Great,” Bellatrix mutters. “And what then? A bunch of do-gooders all clammering around to be my friend?”

“You don’t have to be friends with them.” Hermione rolls her eyes. “Just don’t kill them.”

Bellatrix pouts again, like Hermione is ruining all of her fun, and the other two sisters look at each other, laughing.

Yes. Hermione wonders how this is her life now. This family of women, that she has seamlessly slipped into, have welcomed her with open arms and she’s never felt so at home. Her own parents are still in Australia, living their best lives, and one day, Hermione hopes to be able to reverse what she did. 

It’s in this moment that she realises just how little they all really know about each other. The one time that her parents had come up with Narcissa, she had quickly changed the subject and it’s not one that she has revisited. She knows that she will have to confess soon. Narcissa deserves to know what she did, and maybe, this trio of incredibly talented witches might just be exactly what she needs to help her parents. She doesn’t regret what she did. If they had been willing to listen, then she would never have resorted to such drastic measures. She only hopes that they will forgive her. That they will understand that she did it because she loves them. 

“So, we’re having a party tonight?” she asks, shaking herself from her thoughts, looking around at the three witches who have been watching her. From the looks of concern on their faces, she guesses they must have sensed her mood plummeting. She smiles reassuringly at them.

“Yes, Darling. Tonight we’re going to have a party.”

******

A party is the understatement of the century, Hermione soon realises, as Narcissa, Andromeda and Bellatrix start sending owls out to various caterers and suppliers in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. By the end of the afternoon, the grand ballroom has been aired out and thoroughly cleaned. The curtains have been pulled back and daylight streams in through the windows, transforming the room into an elegant space that’s perfect for entertaining. It takes several hours and a huge amount of Doxycide to clear the infestation of Doxies from the drapes, but it’s worth it in the end. 

“What’s next?” she asks Narcissa, walking into her willing arms for a moment of quiet. The blonde holds her close, sighing contentedly. 

“All we need to do is get ready,” Narcissa informs her with a sigh of relief. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of commissioning a new set of dress robes for you. My own personal tailor was delighted to provide them for you.”

“You want to dress me?” Hermione asks, smiling at her soulmate. It’s sweet the way that Narcissa wants to take care of her, though it is of course a two way street. Considering the age gap between them, their relationship is proving to be surprisingly equal. 

Narcissa’s cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink. “If that’s okay with you, Darling? These robes are special. They carry the Black family crest on the cuffs.”

“I would be honoured to wear them,” Hermione replies, heart warmed by the gesture. It’s another sign of just how much her life has changed. If anyone else had tried to dictate what she should wear to an event, then she would have been indignant. Furious, in fact. From her soulmate, however, it is an act of love. A gesture to show her that she belongs. That Narcissa’s family is now hers, even without the formality of a marriage bond.

There is nothing Hermione enjoys more than bathing with Narcissa. The ensuite bathroom in their wing has a huge bathtub that is not much smaller than those found in the prefect bathrooms at Hogwarts. She drags Narcissa upstairs with a cheeky smile, happy to have some time together before the guests start arriving. 

Sharing a room with someone is something that Hermione didn’t think she would ever get used to, considering how much she hated sharing a dorm at Hogwarts. However, the transition with Narcissa is natural and effortless. It helps that they have been sharing their space for a long time now and yet she is still surprised at how easy it is to slip into this simple domesticity. Already, she can’t imagine living anywhere else, or with anyone else.

Narcissa is the perfect hostess and to Hermione’s disappointment, she doesn’t let them get derailed for too long, insisting that they get dressed and go downstairs ready to meet their guests. No amount of pouting or persuasion on Hermione’s part manages to sway her, and so at 7pm on the dot, they descend the grand staircase together. Feeling very much like a princess from a Disney movie, Hermione allows herself to be escorted by Narcissa, who is smiling, evidently proud to have the younger witch on her arm.

The first guests to arrive are the Weasleys, followed closely by Minerva McGonagall, and then the dam breaks and people come flooding in through the main doors in droves. Hermione is surprised at the turnout, and even more surprised at the guest list. This is the Black family’s idea of an intimate gathering? By the time the last guest arrives, there must be a hundred people milling around the ground floor of the Black family home. 

There are speeches, apologies and promises of a better future. They indulge in food, drink and dancing; Hermione refusing to miss out on the privilege of leading Narcissa around the dancefloor. As far as an introduction to a brave new world goes, the night could not be more perfect. Old allegiances have been forgotten and new friendships are formed; pureblood and muggleborns celebrating a new beginning together.

There is a feeling of unity between the witches and wizards that is quite unlike anything Hermione has experienced, even before Voldemort rose to power. It’s overwhelming in the best of ways, and everything that she has been through to get to this place becomes worth it. This is what she has been fighting for. This is why she endured her torture with her head held high. This is why she took it upon herself to face Voldemort.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much by the end of the night, and when it is just her immediate friends and family remaining, she’s determined to finally get the answers she has been looking for. They are all gathered around a large banquet table at the end of the ballroom, drinking wine and chatting amongst themselves.

“So, Harry,” she starts, to get his attention. Her voice ringing clearly down the table, garnering attention from the others. “Are you going to tell us what happened? How did you escape?”

He blushes, eyes darting between the many faces that are now watching him intently. “It wasn’t anything I did, it was Draco. He was brilliant. Really brilliant,” he gushes, and she smiles sweetly at him. Harry doesn’t need to say a word for her to know how deep the feelings between the two wizards now run.

“What did he do?” Narcissa asks, turning to her blonde son, brow furrowing.

Draco shakes his head, embarrassed, turning to harry with pleading eyes. Harry laughs gently and begins to explain. “Draco is a master at disillusionment charms, did you know that? He followed me down to the forest, and even once I knew he was there, I couldn’t spot him. He’s amazing. Incredible, actually.”

Harry blushes when he realises how much his words reveal about his feelings, picking up his glass and taking a large sip of his wine. “I knew I had to die. I went there thinking that Voldemort would kill me, but Draco had other ideas. When Voldemort raised his wand and used a killing curse on me, Draco blocked it with the Sword of Gryffindor.”

A rumble of chatter breaks out around the table, and it’s Bellatrix that speaks up. “I don’t understand. Surely if Voldemort saw the Dark Curse reflected away, he would have realised that Harry wasn’t dead?”

It’s the exact same question that Hermione has and she eagerly waits for an answer.

“I thought of that,” Draco finally joins in the conversation. “But I remembered something Hermione explained to me at Black cottage when we were discussing how to get rid of Horcruxes. Goblin-made silver imbibes that which makes it stronger.”

Andromeda cuts in. “You clever, clever boy,” she praises. “So it absorbed the spell, and made it look like Harry had been hit by it?”

Draco nods. “Yes. So all I had to do was hit Harry with a stunning spell and then a stasis charm to make it look like his heart had stopped beating.”

“All you had to do?” Bellatrix scoffs. “You blocked a killing curse and simultaneously sent a stunning spell and a stasis charm at your boy there, whilst maintaining your disillusionment?” The dark witch lets out a low whistle. “That can’t have been easy.”

Draco drops his eyes, staring into his goblet of wine. “I suppose.”

“She’s right, Darling,” Narcissa says warmly, her hand resting on his arm. “That’s incredibly advanced magic. I am so proud of you.”

“I still don’t understand? How was the Horcrux in Harry destroyed?” Hermione asks, brow furrowing.

Harry takes over. “Well, Draco had the crazy idea of stabbing me with the Sword of Gryffindor and then healing me once the Horcrux was gone, but luckily it didn’t come to that. Derowen and the witches knew a ritual to get rid of it, so we paid them a visit on Tuesday.”

Ron laughs, shaking his head. “You were going to stab Harry? Are you sure you’re reformed?”

“It wasn’t the best plan, I know, but I hoped I could heal him. I couldn’t… I just… I couldn’t…” he stutters, trailing off helplessly.

“You couldn’t let the man you love die?” Narcissa asks gently, smiling reassuringly when wide eyes turn her way. “It’s okay, Draco. We all know.”

“You do?”

Hermione grins at him. “You’re not exactly subtle. Bella describes it as your heart eyes.”

Bellatrix cackles. “You’re not supposed to tell him that.”

Draco rolls his eyes at them both, turning back to his mother. “You don’t mind?”

Narcissa is the one laughing now, even as she tries to reassure him. “Darling, look at us. Look at our family! I’m involved with a woman, one who is less than half my age. Your Aunt Bella is pining over Derowen, a witch who is three and a half millennia older than she is. Your cousin married a werewolf and your other aunt ran away with a muggle when she was sixteen and got herself knocked up out of wedlock. Do you really think any of us are in a position to question your relationship?”

Laughter breaks out around the table. Really, when all things are considered, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is far from traditional. Hermione loves each and every mismatched person round this table. This is home. This odd family full of so many different characters is where she feels safe and happy. Everything that she needs in life is right here, in this room.

“Welcome to the family, Harry,” Hermione declares, raising her own goblet. “And, if you can all raise your glasses,” she instructs, waiting for them to comply.

Every other witch and wizard sitting there, raises their wine, turning to the young Gryffindor and waiting for her to speak.

“It’s been a difficult few years, and an almost impossible last few months,” she begins. “But, at the end of it all we still have each other. Yes, we have lost people that we know and love and they will always be remembered. Will always hold a place in our hearts. Looking forward though, I am excited to share my life with you all. Here’s to our future. Cheers!” Glasses clink together as they repeat her final word, and her stomach flips over excitedly as she realises that they’re finally free. Life begins right here, right now. They no longer need to live in the shadows.

She turns to Narcissa, staring into the warmest blue eyes she has ever seen. Hermione sighs, overwhelmed by the emotions she can feel pulsing through their bond; Narcissa’s love is as strong and pure as her own. “I love you so much,” she says quietly, cupping Narcissa’s face.

Blue eyes sparkle back at her. “I love you too, Darling,” the witch replies. Hermione smiles softly, leaning forwards to connect their lips in a perfect kiss.