Wake
It was Narcissa who became something like a surrogate mother to her. It was Narcissa who healed her after her brush with death and Narcissa who soothed her after nightmares and Narcissa who held her hand and let her sob after Ron broke up with her.
"A girl needs a mother when she has a broken heart," Narcissa had told her. And so she took over the role with an aplomb Hermione wouldn't have believed possible. Adding mothering Hermione to her daily duties as if she were adding something necessary like washing your face or breathing.
Narcissa changed her bandages and helped her shower, tutting daily about how gauche it was to break up with someone who just left their deathbed. Uncouth, Narcissa had muttered. Unfounded Weasley ego, she'd mutter at others. How dare he, she'd say at least twice a day.
Narcissa wiped the sweat from her brow and the vomit from her chin and forced her to sip fever reducers when Hermione said there was no point.
Maybe if Lavender hadn’t been injured, Ron had said. He'd tried to be kind about it, but there was only so much kindness could soften and it still stung, so much. He saw Lavender in her sick bed, in an entirely different safehouse from Hermione, and realized that the feelings he had in 6th year had never really gone away. It was different with Lavender, he said. There was passion. He’d confused his platonic love with Hermione for romantic love and been reminded what romantic love could be. He apologized. Said this was for the best. That Hermione should be free to find romantic love too.
He'd tried to be kind. It came across as sheepish.
So Lavender got Ron at her bedside while she recovered. And Hermione got Narcissa.
"Silly girl, Narcissa had tutted. "Silly, silly girl. If you were gone, who would keep me company? You’re the only one capable of intelligent conversation around here."
"Mrs. Malfoy, I am quite certain that you and I are the only ones in this safe house."
"Exactly!" Narcissa had exclaimed. "I'd die of boredom without you, so see, you must take your potions and recuperate. Corpses aren't good conversationalists, you know."
Her parents were gone. Ron was too, albeit in a different way. Harry was too busy to visit. The war might never end. It might rage on forever. And she might never make a full recovery.
“Silly girl,” Narcissa had told her while helping Hermione change into a clean robe.
“Silly, silly girl,” while drying Hermione’s hair. She'd charmed a brush and ran it through Hermione's hair every night, braiding it away from her face before helping Hermione lower herself onto a pillow.
Hermione had been too ill to question it. Why this blood purist had been so kind to her, taking care of her where others wouldn't.
“I’ve always wanted a daughter,” Narcissa had said calmly after one of Molly Weasley’s visits where Molly gushed at how Ron and Lavender were already engaged and was sorry that Hermione would be too ill to attend the wedding.
“You, my dear, are the closest I’ve come to that. I wish I’d gotten past my prejudices sooner."
Hermione was sure that if she were well, she'd question Narcissa further. Interrogate her until she was sure Narcissa was no longer a blood purist. But Narcissa was kind and Hermione was definitely not well. Instead, she smiled weakly and ate the spoonful of soup Narcissa held to her mouth.
Hermione was nursed back to health. Slowly, yes. She'd spent a year with Narcissa in the cottage they were kept in but it would only be a couple of weeks before Hermione would be let out on a mission.
She'd told Narcissa about her excitement at finally being able to be useful again. Narcissa had been caught between a look of concern and a smile at her enthusiasm.
Then, she and Narcissa were taken.
She didn't like to think about that time but when she'd escaped, Hermione found herself on another deathbed. She was told the hallucinations had turned her aggressive before she became lucid enough for her to be sent to Grey Moor.
She'd hurt Moody. Attempted to hurt a visitor or two. Went so far as to hex Moody's arm when he attempted to pat her hair. She wasn't sure why he'd been patting her hair in the first place.
But all she could think, looking at her body at the time, finally rescued if only by her own will and desperation, was that all of Narcissa’s hard work healing her had gone to waste.
*********
She was dreaming of Narcissa when she was woken up by an unholy chill.
She'd felt a sharp pain minutes prior but it'd been a long day so she forced herself back to sleep, hoping to recapture the warmth of the dream.
The dream had been about that day at the cottage when they'd gone to pick berries and Narcissa told her stories about Draco when he was a little boy. He'd had a flying toy dragon. He'd use up all the parchment for his doodles. He'd sneak into their bedroom to wear Lucius' robes.
Hermione wasn't sure how Narcissa knew she enjoyed the stories. She'd tried to keep her expression neutral and politely disinterested. But the stories calmed her. She thought of the boy she'd met on the Hogwarts Express that first year, how the air had stilled the first time she saw him and she thought she'd never seen anyone who looked quite like him, that he looked like a prince in a fairytale.
But then he sneered at her shortly afterward, which promptly changed her opinion of him.
But listening to Narcissa, she could close her eyes with the sunlight on her skin and imagine the little boy who roamed around the manor pretending to be a hero, a knight, a king and great wizard, unintentionally distressing the peacocks and ponies on the property in the process.
That had been the day she'd found out Narcissa was a legillemens. Through one of those stories. How Narcissa could tell when Draco had sneaked into the kitchens to steal more biscuits after checking his mind. He'd asked her to because he wanted to confess but didn't want to confess out loud.
They'd laughed at that and then Hermione asked her questions about occlumency for nightmares. Narcissa had asked questions about them, how they grew more and more vivid with each passing week. Narcissa had gently told her she'd use her skills to help Hermione if she wanted her to. That'd been when Hermione asked her to check her mind.
Narcissa had checked for those dreams and her eyes had widened for a moment before her features fell into a placid mask. She'd delved further, checking for curses and memory erasure, for this, for that, till Hermione's head spinned and Narcissa pulled back, apologizing profusely.
They'd sat quietly and Narcissa reassured her that all seemed fine. The dreams were a result of an active imagination. Narcissa had looked unsettled but Hermione knew that rifling through a brain could be just as rough on the legilimens so she attributed Narcissa’s avoidant gaze and increased pallor to that.
They'd sat till they were sleepy. Narcissa had resumed telling her stories about Draco and the creatures in the manor. About her prized gardens.
Except in this dream, so like but unlike her memory, Malfoy had joined them. Looked at them with a warm smile. A flying toy dragon flew around his head. She couldn't help but smile back at him.
It was a nice dream, a nice, soft, safe dream. She wanted to stay there forever.
And then cold fingers touched her shoulders and she awoke.
***********
Sirius was at her bedside in an instant.
He did not see the figure in front of her but he'd heard Hermione's fearful scream from down the hall.
It was followed by an equally distressed, "No please, I don't know what you're talking about!"
Sirius could feel the chill now, the faint shimmer in the air but could not see what Hermione was talking to. He'd heard of her hallucinations.
But he and Remus had secretly discussed their doubts before Remus had left. They couldn't figure out if they'd been lied to or if everyone in the bloody Order had made a mistake. And he and Remus hadn't seen Hermione since after her escape from Dolohov. They'd just assumed what they'd heard was accurate and they were always so busy. Now they were worried they were wrong. Neglectful. After all, Remus had the senses of a werewolf and Sirius those of an animagi.
They could feel something. And that thing was scaring the bloody hell out of Hermione right now.
Downstairs, the team recovering from the disastrous mission at Yaxley's chatted quietly, playing cards in that subdued manner that comes with grief.
He'd been on his way back to them, only going upstairs to get some cleverly spelled dice he'd bought recently to show off to them but the change in temperature stopped him.
Hermione continued crying. He ran and blocked her against the air in front of her, the shimmer in the air feeling sharper than before.
====
"Please just let me be," Hermione sobbed. "Please, please."
She registered Sirius now standing in front of her, arms spread as if to protect her, nostrils flaring as if trying to sniff the ghost out.
"Hygieia -----"
"Stop calling me that! That was Nan's nickname for me, not yours."
The ghost raised an imperious eyebrow, "Who do you think gave birth to your Nana?"
A shout came from downstairs.
Hermione choked on a laugh of disbelief.
"Kitten?" Sirius asked.
"The Malfoy matron left you an emergency portkey, it will take you to France."
"Why do I have to go to France?"
"What's going on?" Sirius asked.
Hermione locked eyes with him. "My hallucination has told me she is my great-grandmother and there's an emergency portkey to take me to France."
"France?"
"Please call me grandmother," the ghost asked. "Great-grandmother makes me sound so dreadfully old. I died very young, 62, you know."
Hermione tilted her chin in thought. "Sirius," she said slowly, finally taking in the familiar chin and eyes of the hallucination she'd been pointedly ignoring. "I may have gone completely insane but I think I should start walking."
"Where?"
"I'm not sure where she left the portkey," the ghost fretted. "Apparate out of here and I'll look and bring it to you."
Hermione turned to Sirius, "The hallucination says she doesn't know where the portkey is but she'll bring it to me. I have to apparate out of here though."
Sirius' eyes widened. Another pain shot through Hermione. She convulsed.
"There isn't much time, Hygieia!"
Hermione stood.
The world faded.
She awoke again, seconds later. Sirius gave her an address to go hide in. Said he'd look for the portkey and meet her there.
She only had to run to the anti-apparition wards. She tried. She really did try.
But her sides hurt and each step left her breathless. Her neck felt like it'd been hurt but she wasn't sure how.
She couldn't move fast enough. She'd barely reached the back of the house. A ten minute run lay ahead of her.
She got halfway there before she wished she could fly, not on a broom no, but fly in the air with her arms as wings and pretend to be a bird.
She held her sides, hoping to catch her breath.
The world swirled. She slammed her eyes shut. Why not fly? Who said she couldn't? Others had done it. It couldn't be too different from apparation.
She focused.
Her feet hovered over the floor.
She charged forward.
The rock wall marking the edge of the wards came into view.
She floated higher and farther. There were voices shouting for her to stop. The light of wands and spells aimed at her.
She had no time to think about it. She dodged each spell.
Two minutes away. One.
She was there.
All she had to do was disapparate.
Something hit her shoulder. A flame of sickly yellow light. Detachedly, she wondered what it was. She fell to the floor.
The world swirled around her again.
Chains wrapped around her body.