Noticing You
“Have you decided which robes we’ll wear, Narcissa?” Hermione asked, coming back into the bedroom, hair wrapped in a towel.
“Of course, not. I’m not going to choose for us both, you have to help.”
Hermione felt completely out of her depth. Not only was fashion not something in which she had ever been interested but Narcissa was known to be a woman who was always impeccably dressed. She was terrified of making the wrong choice...but she didn’t know how to say that.
“Okay. Um, what are our options?”
Narcissa made a sweeping gesture around the room to the fifteen pairs of robes scattered about. Hermione, in only a dressing gown, turned in a slow circle to make an initial assessment. She felt as though she was on a battlefield.
Okay, if I feel like I’m in battle, I’ll face it that way. Assess the situation. Determine the best outcome. Find the right strategy.
“Hmm, looks like we have fifteen gowns or so from which to choose. We’ll want to be comfortable yet fashionable. Make a statement but not overstated. Appropriate for both the situation, your son’s wedding, and the season, late summer but a definite chill in the air this evening.” Hermione carefully used her wand to lift and examine every pair, finally narrowing it down to three. “In my opinion, we should go with one of these three looks. I’ve left the black robes in for you because I know you were feeling earlier like you wanted to wear formal black this evening. I think this pair of dark platinum and burnished bronze robes with similar black beading are gorgeous. This last pair has a very different look than the other two and would probably blend more with the other guests; the knee-length and bright colors don’t seem as elegant to me but would be acceptable for a last minute, backyard wedding.”
“Hmm, but not when one is the mother of the groom, or of a groom at least,” Narcissa chuckled.
Hermione could hear the tension she was trying to hide, though, and stepped closer to the other woman. “I’m sorry this isn’t the way you imagined your son’s wedding would be.”
“Silly, isn’t it? A wedding is just an event. Draco and Dean, for whatever the length this marriage will last, will be fine. I just truly wish this day was about Draco and his spouse-to-be feeling excited and nervous and happy to be marrying the love of their life. Instead, it’s about keeping it quiet until it’s done and following a script and making the right statement.” Narcissa turned away from Hermione to look out the nearby window. “Are we doing the right thing? Is encouraging people to defy the Ministry and get married in a mad rush to avoid a stranger really better than just asking the Ministry for a different partner or a little more time? What if we’re making this worse, Hermione? What if we’re doing this wrong?”
Hermione tried to swallow but found she couldn’t get past the lump in her throat. Not trusting her voice, Hermione quickly brushed away the tears she found on her cheeks and turned away from Narcissa. “Either way,” she said in an unusually nasal voice, “we have a wedding for which we must prepare. Would you still prefer the black gowns?”
Turning quickly to find Hermione across the room Narcissa was shocked. She had honestly expected to feel the young woman slide her arms around her waist, not walk away.
“Hermione?” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
Narcissa hadn’t heard that tone from her fiancée before. She tried again, unable to keep the tears from her own voice, “Hermione?”
Ignoring the emotion from the other woman, Hermione answered abruptly, “I said, yes.”
Narcissa stepped behind the smaller woman, sliding one arm around her waist and the other around her upper arms, she kissed Hermione’s cheek before whispering in her ear, “I didn’t mean us, Hermione. I didn’t mean our wedding. I didn’t mean our plans. I meant encouraging other people to follow in our footsteps. They certainly won’t all be so lucky as to find a Hermione of their own.” She felt the other woman fight a sob and turned her around in her arms. “What just happened?”
Hermione just shook her head and wrapped herself up in Narcissa’s warmth for a long moment. Once she had herself under control again, Hermione placed a long kiss on Narcissa’s exposed collar bone. “Hmm, didn’t you just tell me earlier today that nothing more physical than kissing was going to happen for the time being?”
Gasping, Narcissa nodded.
“Then perhaps we shouldn’t hold one another wearing nothing but thin dressing gowns,” Hermione whispered, kissing up the other woman’s neck to her ear.
Narcissa bit her lip and took Hermione’s face between her hands, “I think perhaps you’re right.” She kissed the younger woman, tapering off slowly to cool the ardor that had built so quickly. “Now, Hermione, are you going to tell me what just happened?”
“Fine,” Hermione agreed, “I will. But first, choose a pair of gowns for us and I’ll tell you as we get ready. We actually need to start moving or we’ll be late and McGonagall will give us both detention.” The women laughed.
Narcissa discarded the third pair Hermione had chosen, it really was too common for her to wear to Draco’s wedding - fake or not. “I would genuinely prefer the black robes but I suppose you’re correct and we should wear the platinum and bronze.”
“You’re going to look stunning in that dark silver, Narcissa,” Hermione said, holding the gown out for the other woman to take.
Narcissa tilted her head to the side and smiled at Hermione. “Darling, I think you’ve got it backwards. The platinum is for you. The bronze is for me.”
“Oh. I just assumed. I mean Slytherin is green and silver.”
“Yes, and Gryffindor is red and gold...which could be similar to a burnished bronze,” Narcissa squeezed Hermione’s hand.
“So, you’re wearing Gryffindor and I’m?”
“Wearing Slytherin silver, yes,” Narcissa hesitated, “I can swap the colors easily enough, Hermione if you’d rather not wear the platinum.”
“Are you kidding?” Hermione smiled broadly. “I adore this! I just didn’t even think of it. Narcissa, I’m happy to wear your Slytherin silver, even if it is platinum,” she looked happily at the gown in her hands. “I also really like that this one has tight, three-quarter sleeves.”
Narcissa pressed a kiss to Hermione’s forehead, “I promise, we’ll work on that scar. It’ll hardly be noticeable come December 21st.” Hermione smiled up at the woman who had quickly taken hold in her heart. “Now, you get that towel off your head and take care of your hair. I’m going to put up the screen and get my robes on.”
As the women went about getting dressed and pinning up their hair, Hermione explained why she had gotten so upset earlier.
Standing side by side in front of the large mirror in Narcissa’s wash room putting on their makeup, Hermione finally said, “I’ve just spent so much of my life worrying about being wrong. Whether it’s homework, classwork, tests, or with my peers, it’s always been at the forefront of my thoughts. I haven’t really done that with you this week. It’s like that part of my brain just...stopped panicking all the time. And then, all of a sudden, you asked what if we were doing this wrong and it all flooded in, all at once. What if you think I’m doing this wrong? What if I don’t know how to be a good enough partner to you? What makes me think I have any right to marry you? You’re a beautiful, intelligent, well-traveled, well-connected woman and who am I? No one. What if I’m all wrong to do this to you?” Hermione’s eyes started to fill with tears again. She looked up and blinked rapidly trying to avoid ruining the eyeliner she had just put on.
“Hermione,” Narcissa exhaled. “I think...I’m going to tell you right now, no. You’re not wrong to do this to me, whatever that means. I was worried about what this would do to you, remember? You’re a beautiful, intelligent, national hero with her whole life ahead of her and a bright and long horizon of opportunity and I’m just going to be an anchor weighing you down.”
“God. That’s not at all how I see it. If you want to compare yourself to an anchor, then let it be one in a storm keeping me safe and steady like you have this week.”
Narcissa put down the earrings she was holding and gathered Hermione into her arms once more. “Hermione, after these days together I can tell you three things with absolute certainty,” she whispered. “First, I’m going to continue to spend as much time as possible with my arms around you. Second, we’re going to have this conversation many more times in the next three months while we both remind ourselves that we want this. Third, I know, right this moment, that we will be okay; I might need you to remind me of that in the future, I might forget it, I might fight against it once or twice in my more foolish moments, but it’s true - you and I are going to be okay, we’re going to heal each other of these hurts large and small.”
“Kiss me, Narcissa, before you put that lipstick on and I have to keep my lips to myself for the next several hours.”
When Hermione and Narcissa Apparated into Hogsmeade just outside the Three Broomsticks, they were only a few minutes later than they’d wanted to be...and Narcissa had only reapplied her lipstick twice.
“Tell me one more time the enchantments you used?”
Laughing, Hermione held up her clutch and tapped it saying, “Undetectable extension charm, followed by the featherweight charm. Whenever you want something, open it and use accio. Just be prepared to catch it on the fly.”
“Did you ever think about using a shrinking charm on the things you put in and then enlarging them after you take them out?”
“I did but I was worried that it would wear off. Those are notoriously faulty charms and I felt far more confident with the undetectable extension.”
“Hmm, interesting. I’m glad, it’s awfully convenient right now. You really put pyjamas and clothing for tomorrow in there for both of us?”
“Yep, plus a few other odds and ends, toiletries and such.”
“Staying the night?” Draco asked as the women rounded the corner.
“Not necessarily,” Narcissa hedged, cheeks pinking, “Hermione just likes to be prepared. If we drink too much firewhiskey she says Apparating is dangerous and we might have to get rooms here.”
Hermione blinked at Draco, a few too many times to be considered strictly innocent.
“Mother, can you check with Rosmerta that the catering’s all on schedule? 6:30 the food should be moved outside.”
Narcissa nodded and immediately went inside, happy to help.
Before Hermione could follow, Draco grabbed her arm, “Not so fast, Granger. What are you up to?”
“Excuse me? I thought we were friends now, Draco?”
“I thought so, too, but you’re obviously up to something with my mum and I want to know what.”
Hermione flushed a bright red, “I’m marrying her in three months, Draco, I should think there are things that Narcissa and I are going to get up to that don’t concern you.”
“When you’re convincing her to stay overnight in a pubhouse instead of just going home, it does concern me. My mother would never deign to sleep here.”
“Well, your mother is a different woman now than she’s had to be for the last eighteen years,” Narcissa snapped, catching the end of the conversation. “Draco, I can tell you exactly what Hermione’s up to. We’re engaged to be married and she'd like to stay over somewhere together because she thinks it’s going to be romantic and she’s trying to get me into bed. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. It’s perfectly normal, in fact. We may stay over here tonight, we may stay at the guesthouse up the road, we may stay with a friend nearby, we may go home together, most likely we’ll go home to our separate houses. Whichever we choose, it’ll be up to us and I don’t want you interrogating her about it again.”
Draco’s face had gone from red-cheeked to a hint of green. No young man wanted to think any of the thoughts Narcissa had just put in his head and he knew she did it on purpose. It served him right for confronting Granger, and he wouldn’t make that mistake again. “I apologize Mother, Hermione. You’re completely right, of course, your relationship is your business. I respect that. I have to go check with Headmistress McGonagall that everything is going smoothly.” Draco tipped his head and walked away.
Hermione turned to Narcissa, absolutely glowing with happiness.
“What is it?” Narcissa questioned.
“Can I hug you?”
“Of course, you needn’t ask,” Narcissa hardly finished the sentence when Hermione hugged her so tightly it knocked the breath right out of her. “I’m not complaining, dear, but what’s this for?”
“You defended me, Narcissa. To Draco. No one defends me. No one’s ever defended me; not even Harry or Ron that I can recall.”
Narcissa leaned down to kiss Hermione and murmured against the other woman’s lips, “it goes both ways, ‘Mione. We defend each other. It’s part of why this works.”
They stood kissing and enjoying one another for a few long moments when they realized that the sound they heard was a camera shutter clicking away. They pulled back from one another and turned toward the sound together to find none other than the proverbial thorn in Hermione’s side, Rita Skeeter.
“Still buzzing around, Skeeter? I thought you’d have flown off for better optics elsewhere,” Hermione snarked.
Narcissa’s hand found its way to the small of Hermione’s back and felt the tension coiling itself there. She made small circles with her hand, exerting little pressure, just letting her fiancée feel her presence.
Rita narrowed her darting, beady little eyes at the pair. “Stepping out on your boyfriends, are you? Haven’t changed much, I see,” she taunted Hermione.
Narcissa laughed derisively, looking down her nose at the reporter, “I see you’re still the bottom of the journalistic barrel, Ms. Skeeter. Covering a bustling Saturday evening in Hogsmeade? Expecting a riveting game of Exploding Snap to break out?”
“In fact, word is there’s some sort of illicit activity happening here this afternoon? Some sort of sedition. We all know if sedition is being plotted, Hermione Granger is usually the one behind it.”
“Hmm, darling, are you being seditious? Sounds...fascinating,” Narcissa laughed again, turning the younger woman away from Rita and walking toward the courtyard nearby.
Hermione’s arm wound around Narcissa’s waist, her hand resting on the skin bared along her spine. “You are entrancing, even when you’re being snooty,” she whispered.
Narcissa laughed again, a high-pitched, not-quite-real giggle, intended to make people who heard it feel like they missed out on the joke. “Don’t worry, dear,” she spoke directly into Hermione’s ear, “I hope not to have to use that laugh very often at all any more. I can’t see us spending all that many evenings at the same dinner parties I used to attend.”
Hermione didn’t answer, she felt...confused. Was Narcissa saying there wouldn’t be dinner parties or that they wouldn’t be invited? Was it Hermione’s fault?
“Stop overanalyzing what I said. I simply meant I used that cloying, fake laugh frequently around a crowd of people you and I will, thankfully, not have to tolerate.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“Hermione,” Narcissa murmured, so not to be overheard, “now that I know what to look for, I’m going to do my best to notice when you’re feeling worried.”
Hermione turned her face to Narcissa and met the other woman in a quick kiss.
“Think she got a photo of that one, too?” Narcissa asked teasingly.
“Let’s hope so,” Hermione pulled Narcissa closer, “you look sinfully wonderful in these robes. The low cut of the back is particularly enticing,” Hermione practically growled, trailing her fingers slowly up and down Narcissa’s bare skin.
“Hmm, and did you think the deep v neckline that goes to your naval in an otherwise traditional Basque dress robe was going to be simply overlooked?”
“Honestly, Narcissa, I was truly too distracted by how you look to pay much attention to what I put on myself. You are truly gorgeous.”
The taller woman blushed and rolled her eyes, “I think you’ve quickly developed a biased opinion on that.”
“Nope. Sorry. I present only facts. Haven’t you met me? I’m Hermione Granger, if I say something, I probably read about it in Hogwarts, A History.” That got a true laugh out of one Narcissa Black.
The women made their way into the Three Broomsticks’ courtyard, still laughing together. Once inside they were accosted by Draco and Dean who were full of questions.
“Was that Rita Skeeter?”
“Was she alone?”
“Was there anyone else from The Prophet?”
“Was anyone there from The Quibbler?”
“Did you tell her anything?”
“Stop!” Hermione put her hands up and a pulse of magic gently pushed the two young men back a few steps.
“Okay, whoa,” Dean said, wide-eyed, “What was that?”
“Oh,” Narcissa chuckled a fake, little laugh, pulling her wand out, “it was me with a light Repellum spell. You were a little aggressive, gentlemen,” she said lightly, pulling attention away from Hermione’s pale face.
Dean smiled and laughed a little in understanding, Draco looked back and forth between his mother and her fiancée.
“Sorry Narcissa, Hermione; we just tried to be really careful with some charms and invitations to this event. We’ve set things up quite specifically and the last thing we need is Rita Skeeter or Kikus Trecus reporting verbatim on tonight’s ceremony.”
“I just don’t know,” Draco added, “how they knew to be here. We didn’t even write it down anywhere.”
Hermione raised one shoulder and interjected, “I’m sure you had to say something out loud about it when you spoke with Madam Rosmerta yesterday. There’s been a lot going on this week with the Decree coming out and people being assigned partners. I’m sure Rita’s been hanging around anywhere she thinks the action might be mentioned.”
The foursome made their way across the courtyard to the center, where a small raised platform was set up. Draco continued, “I think I would’ve noticed Rita Skeeter. She was all over during the Tri-Wizard Tournament during our fourth year.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. She’s an unregistered Animagus. She can turn into a beetle.”
The other three just stared at her.
“Okay, so, remember how she kept publishing garbage stories about Harry during the Tournament?”
They nodded.
“Well, she also went after me and I figured out how she was able to get all this inside information. I caught her, in beetle form, and put her in a jar that had an unbreakable spell cast upon it. In order to be free, she had to agree not to write for a year. She did and she followed through with it. Unfortunately, it didn’t last any longer than that and once the year was up, she went right back to her nasty ways.”
Draco and Narcissa looked at one another in confusion. “So, turn her in, Hermione. You’re the biggest goody-two-shoes I’ve ever met. Just...turn her in.” Draco was astounded.
“I can’t. I made a deal with her. She followed through. If I want to turn her in, I have to catch her again, fair and square.”
“But, darling,” Narcissa stepped into Hermione’s space, “aren’t you concerned now about what she’s going to print about us?”
“No,” Hermione smiled a little grin. “Why should I be worried? She’s been lying about me for years. If we’re concerned or if she prints things that we feel the need to actually confront we can do so but, otherwise, it won’t affect our lives.” Hermione turned to the body next to hers and reached up, clasping her hands behind Narcissa’s neck, “I don’t care what Rita Skeeter says. We’re still going to be married in three months, two weeks, and two days.” She stretched up on her toes to press a kiss to Narcissa’s lips.
“Mmm,” Narcissa hummed into the kiss, clasping her own hands behind Hermione’s back. The two swayed together for a moment before Draco interrupted.
“The dancing doesn’t start for another hour and a half. Can you two please go wait in that little tented area in the back? You’ll be escorted to your seats last before the ceremony itself starts. We just have one request.”
“Of course, Draco, whatever you need,” Narcissa said, releasing Hermione and pressing a kiss to her son’s head.
“At the end, when McGonagall says we can kiss, I’m going to twirl Dean around and dip him. I need you to say something loud and, kind of, I don’t know, dramatic.”
Hermione smirked. “You can marry each other but you can’t kiss?”
Narcissa looked more uncomfortable, she was biting the inside of her lip and wringing her hands. Finally, she shook her head and spoke up, “Draco. It’s not going to work.”
Just then, guests began to enter.
“Bloody hell,” Narcissa spat out. She pulled the soon-to-be-married couple to the side of the tent quickly explaining that they were going to be expected to kiss all night.
“What? I thought we only had to kiss at the ceremony and we practiced how not to do that.”
“It’s tradition. See the bells hanging in the center of the courtyard?”
Both men nodded.
“That’s been placed there specifically for your wedding reception tonight. Anytime a wedded witch or wizard passes under that bell, it’ll ring and you two have to kiss. All eyes will be on you every time. I know you’re just doing this because you’re trying to fight the MInistry but, Draco, you can not get yourself in trouble here. The Wizengamot wants nothing more than to put us in Azkaban, don’t give them a reason to do so.”
“Shit,” Draco said, “I tried to research everything I could about weddings and receptions. I can’t believe I mi--” he was interrupted mid-word by Dean’s lips on his own.
“Shut it, Draco. We’re just kissing. There won’t be many married people here tonight anyway and we never have to do it again. Okay?”
“Good on you, Dean,” Narcissa approved. “I’m going into my little waiting area with Hermione. We’ll see you at the start.”
She turned away to look for Hermione and found her young fiancée waiting, eyes trained on Narcissa, hand reaching out, palm up. Narcissa moved gracefully back across the tent where a few early guests were milling about. She grasped the hand offered to her, kissed the back of it and pulled it around herself.
“This is ridiculous,” she said against Hermione’s lips once more.
“What?” Hermione returned the kiss.
“How my heart skips a beat when you reach a hand out to me.”