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xxxx
“I am scared I am her,” she tells Lucius as she visits him in prison. The prison of Azkaban lives lonely on a cliff in the sea. Inside the prison, her husband lives lonely surrounded by hundreds of inmates in small cells. She, herself, lives in the cold, echoing Malfoy Manor. And she’s going mad.
“You will never be her, Cissy. You were never her and you never will be her.”
“You remember the day she died, Lucius? During the battle. I remember that feeling. Something left her body when she died and it spread in the air and I could feel how the magic touched my skin. I wasn’t even close by when it happened, but I felt the change in the air, and something settled on me. I think it’s her, I think I’m going to become her.”
“Narcissa,” Lucius isn’t allowed to touch her, heavily watched by the guards (not dementors anymore, but actual regular witches and wizards), he is frustrated on the other side of the table at which they’re seated, “you won’t become her.”
The guards inform her that soon the time for her visit is up.
“All right. I hate to say this, Narcissa,” Lucius whispers, “but you know how it works. Dark magic needs to be defeated by light magic. If you feel the magic on your skin, her darkness, I mean, you have to find a way to get rid of it. And that’s by using light magic. You need light magic. I don’t know what kind. Or how. But you need it and you need to interact with the light magic. Soon.”
The guards are closing in on her, ready to escort her out.
“But how, Lucius? Where will I find it? What must I do?”
He shakes his head. “I love you,” he says instead. Her forever imprisoned love, locked behind bars for the rest of their lives. How will she live? How will she cope? Is she really going to spend the rest of her life married to him without being allowed to be with him? What kind of life is that?
She leaves Azkaban and apparates to Knockturn alley. She turns left into a small tunnel and makes her way to the brighter Diagon Alley. And then she floos from there to St. Mungo’s.
xxxxx
She manages to get an appointment with a MediWitch.
“I know I must sound insane. And I know you may not want to help me, considering the war. But,” Narcissa leans closer, whispers desperately, “I fear I am going insane. I can feel her magic on my skin. My sister. Bellatrix Lestrange. You know what a madwoman she was. Her cruelty. I can feel it on me. And it’s making me sick. Physically. I don’t sleep. If I sleep, I dream the most vile nightmares. I wake up shaking, with a fever… throwing up. In the mornings my mind seems out of reach from myself. As if it fights to remember its true nature, barely holding on. After my morning cup of coffee, I’m usually back to normal. But it’s getting worse. I beg of you, please help me.”
The Mediwitch has stern eyes and is double her age with grey hair and a thin mouth.
“Mrs Malfoy. You need not worry. At St. Mungo’s we help everyone. In this post-war society, the old sides, the good and the bad must be gone. Or else, things will never change. Don’t worry. But I’m afraid I can’t help you. This is beyond magic maladies. You need to see a curse breaker-healer combined. Department of Mysteries is probably your best chance. Here,” she writes something on a document, scribbles efficiently and then signs with her name at the bottom, “Take this with you. It’s a referral. So, it won’t matter who you meet when you get there. They’ll have to help you.”
xxxx
She manages to get an appointment with the Department of Mysteries a few days later. During the nights she sleeps fitfully, shaking, warm and sweating. She wakes up trembling every morning. She doesn’t leave the manor, doesn’t open the blinds. In the darkness, she waits, afraid and lonely.
The day comes and she decides to take a hot bath. She bathes in rose oil and puts on her softest, most elegant robes. She puts her long hair in a complicated twist, puts on pearl earrings, soft peach lipstick. She wants to appear soft, which isn’t always easy for her, as most people see her as threatening and harsh, like ice. At the Department of Mysteries, she is greeted by none other than Harry Potter. He listens as she explains her condition.
“Mrs. Malfoy. We’ll get to the bottom of this mystery. It must be some kind of curse that’s come out of a soul leaving this world to enter the next. That moment and state of being in-between. Things that concern life and death are never easy, that kind of magic – the one between worlds – is incredibly powerful and complex. Luckily for us, we have one of the brightest Witches of our Age here at the Department.”
Narcissa sighs. Not the Golden Girl. And now come the images of her in the basement, lying in her own pool of blood in the darkness. Narcissa giving her water. Once, after a particularly bad session of torture from Bellatrix, Narcissa touched the girl’s cheek. To see if she was alive still. It was not to comfort. Never. Narcissa nods. Harry smiles.
“I’ll see if she’s in now.”
xxxx
The Golden Girl is in. So Narcissa is escorted to her office deep within the Department of Mysteries. What she does not expect when entering the office is the big windows and the view of London, and Diagon alley, right outside. Somehow, they’ve gone up from the depths to one of the top floors of the ministry building.
Hermione Granger enters the room and sees Narcissa’s confused face. “I understand your confusion. But just because I work with mysteries doesn’t mean I need to be holed up in some dark basement. I want light. I want to be able to look out the window and see life.”
The girl takes a seat at her desk, opposite Narcissa. Her brown curly hair has grown longer, wilder, and she looks older than when Narcissa last saw her. Of course, she’s older. It’s been almost eight years since the war, since Narcissa last saw her. Miss Granger’s lips are slightly fuller, eyes a bit more hooded, a womanliness to her features now.
“Mrs. Malfoy. I know Harry sent you here. But what can I help you with?”
Narcissa explains her situation, how she feels as if Bellatrix’s soul somehow stayed with her when she died. Miss Granger’s eyes widen. “You can feel her on your skin?” The younger woman pauses, seems to reroute her thoughts, chooses her words carefully, “I’ve read about… similar situations.”
“What have you read?” Narcissa asks. “How do I prevent it? How do I get rid of her?”
Granger holds up a finger to silence her, infuriating and rude, Narcissa thinks, and stalks across the room to one of the many bookshelves lining the wall. She takes out a book that looks centuries old, big and heavy, locates a dog ear and opens the book. Her back is to Narcissa, hair curly and long down her back, a white, formal shirt, simple slacks and a pair of elegant loafers. She mutters quietly to herself.
“What are you--?” Narcissa tries but Granger raises a hand to once again silence her.
A few minutes pass in silence as Narcissa busies herself with looking out the window at Diagon Alley beneath them. The day is sunny. Granger returns to her desk at last, with a serious look on her face.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. This is more complicated than I had hoped. I can’t help you with this.”
“What do you mean you can’t help me, I was sent here from St Mungo’s, referred to your department and—” Granger interrupts her,
“It’s not because of the reasons you think.”
Narcissa stops. She doesn’t understand. “Then why?”
Granger swallows loudly, looks down at her hands, and then up, meets Narcissa’s gaze. Her eyes are deep, warm, golden brown.
“I think it’s connected to me. Or. Somehow. It’s not the same for me. But I feel her as well. On my skin. Ever since she cursed me. The scar I had – mudblood,” Granger spits out the word, “has since long faded. But I’ve felt it on my skin, subtle, barely there. I haven’t known what to do about it, haven’t been able to figure out if I was simply crazy, if it was only something psychological, a trauma response. And here you come. On a random Tuesday in May, you show up out of the blue and tell me you have similar symptoms. That you feel her on your skin. That you fear you might be going mad.”
Granger gives her a sharp look. “What other symptoms are you experiencing?”
Narcissa swallows. Doesn’t know what to do with this new information. Doesn’t understand where the conversation might lead. “The ones I mentioned. I’m not sleeping. I’m dreaming horrible dreams. Sometimes I can’t find my own thoughts. Sometimes when I look in the mirror I feel like I see my features, for a flicker of a moment, becoming hers. As if I’m day by day slowly, slowly starting to look like her.”
“I can assure you, you don’t,” Granger says.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t look like her. You have a completely different kind of beauty.” Granger seems to realise what she has just said. “Or, erm, I meant. You look like… you look like you.”
Narcissa raises an eyebrow, almost laughs. Is Granger complimenting her? Saying she’s beautiful?
“I look like me.” Narcissa states.
Granger nods, cheeks turning red. “You look like you. Nothing like her. That’s all I meant.”
“That’s all you meant. Right. Anyway. Those are the symptoms.” Narcissa lets it go.
Granger looks pained. “I’m sorry to inform you of this, but I think we need to do a medical diagnostic work up together. I think they’ll need to look at us both. As part of the same investigation.”
Narcissa can’t believe what she’s hearing. “You and me?”
Granger looks offended. “Yes. Or are you scared of being paired up with a muggleborn? Is my blood too dirty for you?”
Narcissa recoils.
“That’s not what I meant, Miss Granger.” Narcissa slows down the tempo of the conversation. “I was simply surprised,” she lies slowly.
She can’t tell the girl that she’d rather stay holed up in the mansion all by herself for the rest of her miserable, husband-less life. In her heart of hearts, however, she’s not even sure it’s entirely true. The sun hits the younger woman’s face, her skin turning into honey. Different kinds of beauty, comes a non-sequitur in Narcissa’s mind.
xxxx
A week later, they are in St. Mungo’s together, at an appointment with the most senior MediWizard, with experience in curse breaking, in England. He’s giving them especially bad news.
“I’m afraid we will have to monitor the two of you together. We’ll start with a two-week stint and see what we find out.”
“You mean as in be together at all times?” Narcissa asks incredulously. “You cannot be serious.”
“I assure you I am serious, Mrs. Malfoy. Do you want to be rid of the curse of not?” The Mediwizard says sharply.
“How will we do this? Where will we stay?”
“We’ll arrange a double room for you here at St. Mungo’s. It will be perfectly comfortable.”
“Will I be allowed to work?” asks the Golden Girl. Of course. Draco has told Narcissa numerous times of the girl’s insane work ethic.
The Mediwizard nods. “Yes. But you’ll have to be back here at St. Mungo’s every day at five pm latest to be monitored during the night again, as that is when the symptoms seem to get much worse for the both of you.”
Narcissa refuses to look at Ms. Granger. She feels almost humiliated, having to hole up with a girl eighteen years her junior who used to be in school with her son.
Narcissa cannot begin to try and comprehend the whole ordeal, but she so desperately needs to start sleeping again, this she knows. So, without thinking too much, she goes back home and packs her bags with clothes, perfumes and books, and floos back to the hospital. At the hospital she begins by picking the bed closest to the big windows. She unpacks her bags, filling the wardrobe next to the bed. She then writes a short letter to her son. “Dearest son, I am moving into St. Mungo’s for two weeks to be monitored. All is well. Just the ghost of my lovely sister haunting me, and they’ve decided they will try to help me get rid of her once and for all. I am not allowed any visitors. Send an owl if you need anything.”
In the night, Granger arrives. Narcissa is already in bed, sleepless. She pretends to be asleep at first, but when Granger doesn’t stop making sounds and walking about the room she turns in bed to see what’s going on. The moonlight lights up the younger woman, soft, blue light painting her tan skin.
Xxx
At three in the morning she is awoken by a mediwitch. “Ma’am. Lie still. You just had a nightmare. We are doing a check-up right now. Look straight ahead of you, up at the ceiling. You might experience some discomfort.” Narcissa is barely awake. She nods, and looks up at the ceiling, feeling as if she could fall back asleep any second. Something warm spreads across her skin. It must be some kind of painkiller.
At three every morning, they are both awoken by a mediwitch and forced to go through the same kind of examination. They sample sweat from their skin, they look into their irises, they take a single strand of hair. They do more things that Narcissa in her newly awoken state barely notices. The examination always ends with that warm feeling, the painkillers kicking in, finally giving her a reprieve from the sickly feeling of a tarnished soul trying to get inside one’s skin. On the fourth night neither her or Granger manage to fall back asleep.
And they begin to have conversations. They mainly consist of the younger witch asking questions.
Where is your husband, asks the younger witch.
In prison, replies she.
What’s it like being apart from each other, asks the younger witch.
Agony.
Do you miss your sister?
Which one?
Bellatrix, comes the name from trembling lips.
I don’t. I want to be rid of her.
Do you consider yourself evil, asks the younger witch.
Narcissa only laughs.
You Gryffindors and your black and white thinking. Nothing is that simple.
The younger witch stays silent.
Did you ever feel sorry for me, asks the younger witch the next night from across the room. It is the eighth night together in the room at St. Mungo’s. Somehow Narcissa understands what she’s asking. She’s asking about the weeks in the basement, about the torture by her sister. Narcissa sits up in bed, looks over at the younger witch who is also tucked in, in an identical bed a few metres from her. Her eyes are burning from the sick, magical, cursed fever.
Only once, replies Narcissa.
When you touched my cheek, says Granger.
Narcissa nods. She hasn’t held anyone’s gaze for this long in weeks, not since she last visited her husband. I thought you were strong, shares Narcissa. She wants to be generous, somehow try and give the younger witch some kind of positive thought.
Have you forgotten that other time, asks the younger witch.
What other time.
You know what I’m talking about.
I don’t want to talk about it, Granger.
All right, says Granger.
Narcissa lies down in bed again, but neither witch falls asleep for a long time.
The next night, after their regular three am wake up, it is Narcissa’s turn to ask questions:
Did you ever doubt yourself?
You mean when we were searching for the horcruxes? Only every second. Granger gives a choked laugh.
Was the search miserable?
Indeed it was.
Have you ever fallen in love? I’ve wondered about it for quite a bit. Being in war from such a young age, like you and Draco, and the rest of your classmates. Did you fall in love? I know Draco hasn’t.
The younger witch hesitates, I’m not sure, honestly.
Then you haven’t.
xxxx
Did you ever see me as something other than evil? Narcissa asks the next night. It is a vulnerable thing to ask. It’s like the nightly conversations have turned into something of a dream. The symptoms lessen when they stay awake talking. She feels at most ease and most connected with her own mind specifically when she and Granger are talking. It, however, also makes her say things she shouldn’t, she gets too comfortable, she stays awake longer than she should. It must be the reprieve from the feeling of a curse of life and death trying to infiltrate her system, and instead the feeling of connecting with someone else, having a lifeline of a different kind, almost like a remedy, a salve, something to heal one’s wounds.
I always saw your beauty, is the younger witch’s reply and it makes Narcissa’s stomach drop.
Really? She says.
Mhm. But you must know that. That you’re beautiful.
Narcissa stays silent for a bit too long and then says:
So. Beautiful and evil?
The younger witch’s reply is too quick, as if she’s thought about this before:
Beautiful, evil and scared. And incredibly intelligent. Being able to legilimens at that level. No one knew what you were doing. Taking care of us prisoners. Giving us extra food. Putting ointment on our wounds. And that time you don’t want to talk about. It’s insane that you could lie like that. It’s insane that nobody knew. I’m quite honestly in awe.
xxxx
On day thirteen, the night before they will be discharged, the last evening before the last night, the mediwizard calls them to his office. Together, the two witches walk the halls of the Hospital toward his office in silence. Granger has just come from work, dressed in the same slacks and loafers as that fateful day Narcissa first told her about her symptoms. But she’s wearing a different shirt, hair now up in a loose bun. Narcissa hasn’t done anything but read all day. What point is there in doing anything else? And she’s come to look forward to when Granger gets back to the hospital, knowing she’ll have good company and interesting conversations. At least, come night.
In the mediwizard's office they sit down opposite him at his desk.
“We have observed something peculiar. Your symptoms, both of you’s symptoms, do indeed get worse at night, as you have both described. But then, after your nightly check-up, at around 3:30 am, every night, the symptoms ease up. They almost disappear. How come? Have you noticed anything happening then? Are you awake at that hour?”
Granger answers. “We are. But we’re just talking.”
“Talking?” The mediwizard doesn’t seem to believe her. “Talking, as in having a conversation? About what?”
Granger shrugs. “Nothing special, really. Everything and nothing.”
The mediwizard doesn’t seem to know what to say. He scrolls through their charts in silence and then stands up. “Wait here, ladies, while I have a quick chat with my colleague. I’ll be right back.”
He leaves the office. In daylight, neither witch seem to be able to speak to the other. The nightly conversations seem like a distant fever dream. Which they might be.
The mediwizard comes back.
“I have now discussed this with Healer Farrington. We have collected enough data on your symptoms to be able to process the information in order to formulate a treatment plan. In the meantime, you will be discharged from St. Mungo’s. I do have a suggestion to make. While we devise a treatment program, I recommend you see each other every three days. To talk, I guess.”
The mediwizard seems to find his own instruction ridiculous. Granted, Narcissa thinks. Who would ever think talking could be a way to ease symptoms? Are they symptoms of loneliness, simply? Narcissa ironically thinks to herself.
The mediwizard continues, “That seems to help with the curse, we are not sure why, but we’ll investigate it in our labs when we examine all the data. I wish you the best of luck, and we’ll keep in touch. We’ll also provide you with painkillers for when the symptoms flare up aggressively.”
He dismisses them and together they return to their room. The corridors are long and they pass by rooms of sick witches and wizards. Narcissa dare not look inside the rooms with open doors. Magical illnesses always scare her. They can be so incredibly grotesque.
That night, at half past three, they have what feels like their last conversation. Narcissa doesn’t know why she senses loss in her chest.
You haven’t been in love, she says to Granger, but have you been in lust?
Of course I have. Granger seems offended. Narcissa finds it within herself to apologise.
Sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.
Granger stays silent for a bit then asks a question back:
Are you ever in lust? If you’re married and he’s imprisoned, does the magical marriage law allow you to… Granger trails off. Sorry, Granger says. Let’s skip that question, please.
Narcissa chuckles. All right.
She feels hot underneath the covers, so she sits up, lets the covers fall to the bed.
Granger looks at her, confused.
Why are you sitting up?
Warm, says Narcissa. The room is dark, save for a small lamp in the corner. The mediwitch must have forgotten turn it off. Granger is staring at her.
How can you look so elegant in a bloody hospital gown? Granger says quietly.
I’m sure I don’t.
Oh, but you do. Granger sits up too. They both stare at each other.
Have you ever wondered, Granger begins.
Wondered what?
If our curses are somehow intertwined, or even part of the same curse, if they somehow interact with each other, which they seem to do… Have you wondered what would happen if we got closer to each other? Like, physically?
Narcissa swallows slowly, fiddles with the bed sheet. The suggestion seems obscene, she doesn’t know why. I haven’t wondered. Is all she can think to reply, adding a hint of venom to her words, a warning.
Well. I have.
Granger is too brave for her own good. Granger actually stands up. The gown is down to her knees, but Narcissa can see that her legs are long and tan. Her curly hair is messy from the fitful sleep before the 3 am check-up. Narcissa sees the clock on the wall, it’s almost 4.15, which explains why the soft light of dawn now lights the room slightly, shimmering on the younger witch’s skin.
Please, allow me to come closer, says Granger. Narcissa can only nod. Granger is now in front of her. She sits down next to her on the bed. They haven’t been this close to each other in eight years, since they were in the basement of the Manor, the point in time at which they must have first acquired the curse they are now suffering from.
Granger, next to her, looking at her with curious, brown eyes.
Have I told you you’re beautiful? Says she.
Quite a few times now actually, replies Narcissa, but it’s missing any bite. Her own voice is soft. Like when she’s in bed with her husband, she notes to herself.
Granger lifts her hand as if she’s going to touch Narcissa’s face. Narcissa’s body becomes stressed in all the bad ways, but also… in good ways.
May I touch you? Granger whispers.
Narcissa nods.
And Granger gently drags gentle fingertips along Narcissa’s cheek. The skin turns red in the wake of the fingertips.
Your skin’s incredibly soft.
Hmmm, it’s my moisturiser, Narcissa manages to joke, voice barely above a whisper.
The sun is starting to fully rise, filling the room with golden, purple, soft light. The moment is out of this world. It can’t be anything other than that, out of this world, something else, a moment independent of time, non-linear, belonging to some other magical reality. Narcissa has the fleeting thought that she’s cheating on her husband. She reminds herself that the woman’s only touching her cheek, for Salazar’s sake. But it’s not about the actual touch. It’s the intent. And the look Granger gave her just now.
Granger’s hand drops to her side. Narcissa misses the touch immediately. She realises that she’s closed her eyes and opens them. She looks at the younger woman next to her. The golden-brown honey that is Granger meets the ice melted in sun that is herself.
I’ve wanted to do that ever since you stepped into my office a few weeks ago, says Granger.
Do what?
Touch you.
Granger takes her hand and squeezes it, almost making Narcissa’s heart jump out of her chest.
We should get some sleep, says Granger and lets go of her hand, making her way back to her own bed. Let’s close the blinds so we can get a few hours of sleep at least. Before Granger can get into her own bed Narcissa says:
You leave too quickly.
Granger turns around, confused.
You can’t touch a woman like that and then just turn around and leave. Narcissa had wanted it to be scathing, like a joke, darkly sophisticated, somehow making the whole interaction feel less serious, less like cheating. It has the opposite effect. Granger bites her lip, comes back.
You’re right. Let’s talk some more. But closer, physically. You must admit it helps the symptoms, right? Being closer, physically. We could push the beds together.
Narcissa is at loss for words. If you wish, she says.
Granger then displays an incredible bit of wandless magic, as she makes the beds push together without even opening her mouth or being close to her wand. Her bed comes sailing toward Narcissa’s and she gets under the covers and turns so she’s looking at Narcissa. Narcissa gets under her own covers and turns to look at Granger. It feels like a sleepover from her teenage years. Granger reaches out, placing gentle fingertips on Narcissa’s cheek once more. At first Narcissa’s heart hammers loudly in her chest. But within a minute, she’s calmed down. Granger looks at her with heavy-lidded, brave eyes. I know you don’t want to talk about what happened that other time. Just know that I thank you.
Narcissa doesn’t reply, doesn’t dare touch the other woman back. She dares a small smile; it is the only genuine smile she’s ever given the younger woman. Granger looks at her mouth, something dark in her eyes, and Narcissa’s mouth becomes dry. But sleep takes over their limbs. As the sun turns the night into soft golden morning, and the symptoms of the curse disappear almost completely, they fall asleep.
They decide to meet three days later, like the mediwizard instructed. Granger sends an owl.
Let’s meet tomorrow. Late. What do you say, 10PM at The Wizard and The Tail?
The Wizard and The Tail is a bar in Diagon Alley frequented by most witches and wizards living or working in London. Narcissa accepts. As she gets ready for the late meeting, she sprays herself with perfume. She puts on a red lip and lets her hair fall freely, newly washed down her back. She must admit that she looks good. In the mirror there are no traces of her sister. Only herself, with a bit more life in her eyes compared to a few weeks ago.
As she spots Granger at a table with two drinks ready, Narcissa approaches warily.
“You certainly picked a late time to meet. How come?”
“We apparently converse better at night. We’re incapable in daylight. Almost like vampires.” Granger winks and Narcissa almost feels like laughing. The joke was bad. Why does she want to laugh?
As she gets seated next to Granger in the dimly lit bar, she looks around the room. Quite a lot of people. Drunk. Dressed up. A dance floor in the next room. It’s only a Wednesday, for Merlin’s sake, don’t people have work in the morning? The music is comfortably loud in the little corner Granger’s managed to find.
“Figure people will react when they see us together?” Narcissa says and takes a sip of her drink.
“Let them talk. I haven’t felt this good in years.”
Narcissa raises an eyebrow. “Good?”
Granger looks at her without fear. “Yes. Good.” She reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind Narcissa’s ear and Narcissa can feel the heat building within her. It’s like Granger isn’t even trying. How can she have such a strong effect on her?
“Don’t you feel good?” Granger asks. “Be honest.”
Narcissa sighs. “You’re right. I feel good.”
“How have you been sleeping?” Granger asks. She’s drinking her drink too fast. She’ll get drunk. Narcissa wonders what will happen then. She also notes that it almost feels like some kind of date and that she once again feels like she’s not being true to her husband.
“Worse, now that I’m out of hospital. Still better than before, however. How about you?”
Granger nods. “I’d say the same. Where are you living now? In the manor?”
Narcissa nods.
“You should move out. I think it’ll help with the curse.”
Narcissa feels stupid for not having realised the same earlier. “I think you’re right.”
Granger has now finished her drink. Narcissa’s more than halfway through hers. As Granger stands to go and buy another drink, Narcissa puts a hand on her arm. It’s the first time Narcissa’s actively touched the younger woman. Granger’s mouth opens.
Narcissa gives Granger a pointed look.
“I don’t want you drunk. To be drunk. When you’re with me.” Narcissa notes the slip of word and almost blushes. Almost. And then, Salazar be damned, she once again cannot help but be too sincere, too vulnerable. Granger seems to have that effect on her now. “I want you to be here with me, present.” Narcissa finishes.
Granger gives her a serious look. “You’re right. One more drink, only. I’ll buy you one as well.”
With Granger away at the bar buying drinks, Narcissa takes out a pocket mirror and touches up her make-up. As she is applying more red lipstick, Granger comes back with the drinks. Granger scoots into the booth, this time directly next to Narcissa. When Narcissa puts down the make-up and the mirror she finds Granger staring at her.
Narcissa can’t help herself: “You could light a house on fire with that look, Granger.”
Granger tears her eyes from Narcissa’s mouth and takes a sip.
“I’m tired of not living properly,” she changes the subject. “I’m tired of living with my demons, with my scars, with that fucking curse on my skin, making me unable to sleep properly, dream properly, keep a lover in my bed. It’s exhausting. I just want to throw caution to the wind. See where the wind takes me.”
Narcissa nods. “I understand where you’re coming from. With the great responsibility you've had, the things you've had to go through at your age, the things you’ve accomplished. You’ve won a war. I understand that you just want to live a little and not care about consequences, and instead simply see what happens.” Narcissa takes another sip, clears her throat quietly. “So. Keep a lover? You’ve been unable to do that?”
Granger almost glares at her. “It’s hard to keep a lover when you wake up with a fever every night, scared to death from your dreams. Come on. It must be the same for you.”
“You’re right. But I’m not trying to keep a lover. I have a husband.”
“A husband that’s imprisoned for life.”
Narcissa doesn’t know what to answer. She feels the grief fill her limbs. Imprisoned for life. Married and lonely for life. Granger must sense the change in her. The younger woman’s hand finds hers, intertwining their fingers. It is too bold, to certain. Too sincere. Narcissa yanks her hand back.
“I’m sorry,” says Granger. “You must be grieving. It must be so hard.”
Narcissa finishes her drink. “Let’s go.”
She now takes Granger’s hand and pulls her through the bar.
“Where are we going?”
“To a hotel. To sleep. Together. Independently. Together. I need a good night’s sleep, for fuck’s sake.”
Narcissa decides to be unclassy. She takes them to the nicest hotel in all of wizarding London. It’s not because she wants to impress the girl, that would simply be tacky. She needs the discretion of high-end services. No one can know this strange thing that is happening. This strange arrangement. Sleeping in the same room so that they can talk and sleep. No one would believe it.
The hotel is just down the alley. She checks them in to a standard room with a simple double bed. It still must be more luxurious than anything Granger’s ever seen.
When they enter the room Granger smiles as she sees the bed. “One bed? Subtle.”
Narcissa rolls her eyes and locks herself in the bathroom. There, she takes a long, hot shower and changes into the pyjamas she asked the staff to accommodate them with. It’s a striped silk pyjama: trousers and a shirt. It’s soft against her newly moisturised skin. She brushes her teeth and plaits her hair and then exits the bathroom to let Granger do her own routine. Exhausted, she throws herself onto the bed. She notes that the time is well past 1AM. She hears the shower running. An image of Granger with wet hair flashes before her eyes. She wills the image away and thinks of Lucius, forever locked up in the distant and cold Azkaban. She thinks of his steely blue eyes, his sharp jaw, how his big hands felt on her hips when they sometimes danced in the night, young and newly married, naïve in their hopes of the future. Her skin is cursed by the ghost of her sister, her madness and pain, but it is also cursed by loneliness, by a lack of touch. She hasn’t been touched in an intimate way in seven long years. Since the night before Lucius was sent to Azkaban. They’d been unable to sleep all night, fucking, touching, kissing and saying goodbye. Can this, what’s happening now, be considered cheating? She asks herself. I’m only talking to her. Sleeping platonically next to her. Trying to get rid of a dark curse. That’s all. But it isn’t quite all. It’s something else too. That otherworldly moment.
In bed, she and Granger talk. It is now that the real questions are asked and answered.
Do you think I can stay celibate for the rest of my life, Narcissa asks Granger in the dark.
Frankly? No, says Granger.
Do you think I won’t be able to keep a lover, let alone a relationship, all my life? Asks Granger.
I think you will, says Narcissa. You must keep hope that you’ll be fine one day. That the curse will break.
I don’t know how to hope, says Granger, I never learnt how.
Another hour of conversation passes. Vulnerability vibrates in the dark room. Soon the hesitant dawn tries to make its way through the curtains.
Do you think this is considered cheating, asks Narcissa.
Granger gasps. No! Granger sits up. Why would you ask that? We haven’t even done anything.
I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just. This is what Lucius and I would do sometimes. Lie in bed and talk. Just him and I. With this much honesty and openness. I’ve never done that with anyone I haven’t been together with. Have you?
I haven’t either, replies Granger. But I’d never be the other woman. That’s demeaning and humiliating that you’d even consider that.
I haven’t considered it.
Then why did you ask the question?
Narcissa decides to match Granger’s bravery. Throw caution to the wind. Granger. If something were to happen between us, it wouldn’t mean you are the other woman. That’s not what I meant.
xxxx
They fall asleep. At 8AM, Granger’s wand lets out a sound. It’s her alarm. Narcissa groans, unladylike. They haven’t slept more than five hours. But five good, peaceful hours of heavy sleep.
“I have to leave in an hour. I can push my schedule, so I’ m at the office at 10:30. Let’s have breakfast. I bet the breakfast is splendid here.” Granger sits up. She looks down at Narcissa who’s still lying under the covers, groggy from sleep. Granger stops in her movements, looks at her. She reaches out and lets her hand touch Narcissa’s shoulder. Her fingertips trace the fabric of Narcissa’s pyjamas. The touch leaves fire in its wake.
“What are you doing?” Whispers Narcissa. Don’t stop, she can’t say. It’s like her thoughts betray her, like Granger can hear what she’s thinking.
“Divorce him,” says Granger and it both surprises Narcissa and doesn’t surprise her. Her heart hammers in her chest. Is it some kind of proposition? What’s Granger thinking?
“I can’t,” answers Narcissa.
“I think it’s part of the curse. You’re so stuck in a life that’s been emptied. Stuck in that horrible, big Manor, stuck in a marriage that will never be consummated again, stuck in an everyday life where you have no purpose. The curse feeds off that emptiness. You need to make a change. For your own sake.”
Narcissa is both relived and disappointed. So, it wasn’t a proposition, it wasn’t some big declaration of want, instead it was worse, it was a sincere way of trying look out for her, caring for her.
“You may be right.”
Together they head down for breakfast. Granger takes her coffee black and she wants scrambled eggs and a yoghurt. Narcissa likes her coffee with milk, wants berries and a poached egg with salmon. It’s always fascinating how people want their breakfast, Narcissa thinks. Granger is immersed in reading the Daily Prophet. Narcissa eats her breakfast in silence, sometimes looking at Granger as she reads, sometimes at the other guests. There seems to be no one that knows her here, apart from the staff, of course. But they know to keep quiet.
Half an hour later, Granger stands up.
“I need to go now. Head to work.” Narcissa stands to see her off. Granger takes a step closer. It feels intimate. How do they say goodbye, now that they apparently meet in bars and sleep together in hotel rooms?
“Will I see you tonight?” Granger says, sweeter than Narcissa expected.
“If you want,” she replies.
“Yes. We don’t have to go to a bar. You can come to my place if you want. Late, if you want to. I mainly just want to sleep with you.” It’s a cheeky play of words. Narcissa almost smiles. It’s alarming, the amount of times she’s almost smiled in the presence of Granger now.
“That’s fine. Send me an owl with the address, please.” Granger nods and heads off.
xxxx
Narcissa realises she must visit her husband immediately. It cannot wait another day, because she can feel her resolve slipping. She needs to talk to Lucius before anything happens.
Later in the day, as she gets ready to travel to Azkaban, she muses on the fact that her skin feels… almost normal now. No strange sense of a layer of something, something heavy, something infested, something tarnished. Her thoughts flow freely, like they always used to. She looks at her arm, trying to see a difference. None. But the feeling is clear within her. The curse feels lighter.
When she finally gets to visit Lucius, after having been forced to wait in the prison waiting room for about three hours, he takes one look at her and smiles.
“Cissy, you’re practically glowing. I haven’t seen you look this well in years.” He gives her a warm smile. He himself, on the other hand, now looks worse each time she sees him.
“I’m not sure what to say,” she begins. Grief wells up her throat and she starts crying. It feels sudden, but somehow it isn’t. Her body has been preparing for this, waiting for this.
Lucius is dying to touch her, she can tell, but he’s not allowed. All he can do is sit at the other side of the metal table and watch her cry.
“I miss you so much. I don’t know what to do. I need to… I need to tell you something, but I know it’s going to break your heart and I’m not sure I can bear it.”
His blue eyes become steel. “What is it, Cissy?” His voice can barely be heard, it’s the tiniest of whispers.
“I need to move on. I think this curse is eating me up from inside because I’m not living a life worth living. I’m not doing anything. For reasons I can’t bear to share with you, I’ve come to this conclusion.”
His eyes are burning. His voice is deadly quiet. “You met someone?”
She shakes her head. “It’s not like that. I haven’t fucked anyone. I haven’t even done anything. Not even a kiss. Not even… anything. But I’m withering away, my darling. I haven’t had anyone touch me since the last time I was with you. That’s now seven years ago. I need touch to survive. I need to be able to move on.”
“And you’re asking for my blessing? Is that what you’re asking, Cissy?” His eyes are burning holes in her soul, that blue fire that she always loved. His smooth voice is cracking at the edges.
“I am.” She says it simply. Their eyes are locked in an intense battle. Oh, how she misses that intensity. But it won’t ever be hers again. She’s finally come to realise that, deep in her bones.
“Cissy…” he whispers. “Of course, I give you my blessing.” As he says this, his eyes close and stay closed. “Now, please leave.” He asks gently. There’s no threat or malice in his voice. Only resignation.
“I love you, always. You know that.”
He nods, still with his eyes closed. “I know.”
xxxx
Narcissa returns to the Manor and with an intricate movement of her wand, the rooms start to pack themselves into boxes. She’ll move to the London flat as of tomorrow, she decides. Tonight she’s going to get a good night’s sleep at Granger’s. Come evening, she apparates to the address Granger had sent by owl. She’s in a summer dress, flowing and long, and her hair in a sleek bun. It’s almost eleven now. No make up, only a few drops of perfume. She knocks on door number 22 and waits. Granger opens and lets her in. When the front door is closed, Granger takes her bag and puts it on the floor. She gives her an intense look, taking a step closer. Granger takes her hand, without saying anything, and shows her around the flat. It’s a moderately sized flat with a bedroom, a small study and a kitchen with a tiny balcony. An orange kneazle walks with them, sometimes stroking its back against her leg. The home is warm toned and simple.
Together, they get ready for bed. They still haven’t said much, but the silence isn't uncomfortable. She brushes her teeth in the tiny bathroom and changes into sleepwear. A slip. Her heart beats faster in her chest. Is it too daring, too strange? She decides to put her pyjama shirt on, over the slip. What will Granger wear to bed now that she’s in her own home? Does she usually sleep in the nude? In her underwear? A simple T-shirt? Apparently, she sleeps in shorts and a t-shirt, Narcissa soon finds out.
Now, they talk before falling asleep instead of waking up in the middle of the night to talk. But it’s different this time. Granger doesn’t ask a question. Instead, side by side in the double bed, in the dark, Granger scoots closer. And she says:
Can I confess something?
Mhmm, of course. Anything. Narcissa can feel sleep try and take over her body.
You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.
Really? Says Narcissa calm and sleepy. She feels safe.
Yes.
I sort of already knew that, Granger. Narcissa giggles. Actually giggles.
Well… Granger pauses. And then she says,
I want you.
Narcissas eyes shoot open and she looks directly at Granger next to her.
Then take me.
Granger sits up in bed and with a flick of her wrist (wandless magic again) the lamp in the corner turns on, dimmed, casting a soft yellow light about the room. Narcissa feels exposed and suddenly scared. Granger seems to sense this.
“I’ll be gentle. Take it slow. All right?”
“You haven’t even kissed me yet. Let’s try that first, shall we?”
Granger scoots closer under the covers and then props herself on one elbow, and hovers above Narcissa’s face. Her eyes are calm and serious as she leans forward and presses her lips to Narcissa’s. Granger slowly deepens the kiss and soon Narcissa is panting for air. When they break apart, the air is shimmering with glowing magic.
“What’s happening?” Narcissa whispers and pulls Granger closer on top of her.
Granger kisses her neck. “I’m not sure. Let’s keep going and see.” Granger starts unbuttoning her pyjama shirt, pulling down the bands of her slip, trailing kisses down her torso. Narcissa feels like she’s going mad.
“Please,” Narcissa can’t help but whisper. “Please. I need… I need you in me.”
Granger smiles. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
The magic glows brighter, the air soon filling with a faint scent of lavender, the magic slowly turning purple. It settles on whatever part of her skin that gets exposed to the air. Granger has soon taken off all Narcissa’s clothes whilst herself still being fully dressed.
When Granger lets two fingers gently enter her, she’s already obscenely wet. She’d be embarrassed if she wasn’t so eager. “Uhhh… yes!” she arches her back as Granger starts fucking her.
“Touch yourself,” pants Granger, and Narcissa obliges.
It’s all too intense, too hot. It’s been seven years since she was last properly fucked. Within five minutes, Narcissa comes, hard. Granger kisses her the moment she comes, muffling the small scream that is trying to escape Narcissa’s lips. And as Narcissa’s body calms down, the purple light settles on their skins, and then it fades. When she finally comes to, Granger’s eyes are serious on her. “I think we just broke the curse.”
Narcissa nods. “Indeed, as do I.”
“You have to let me have you again,” Granger says, almost desperately.
“I think that can be arranged.”
“And then again, and again, and again.” Granger adds. She pulls Narcissa toward herself, turns the other woman so that she’s spooning her. “You’re incredible. Let’s sleep.”
And with Granger pressed to her from behind, and the soft covers on their bodies, Narcissa falls asleep, and she doesn’t dream.
Xxx
At dawn, she wakes. She crawls out of bed, making sure not to wake Granger, and tip toes to the tiny bathroom. In the mirror, she looks at herself. Blonde, long hair, blue eyes, her naked body, the slender curves. Take that, Bella, she thinks to herself. If you knew that I was fucked by the muggle girl you’d either laugh or go mad. Or both. Life’s strange. Narcissa takes off the Black family ring that she always wears on her right hand. I think this needs to go. She points her wand at it, turning it to dust. She exits the bathroom and returns to bed. As she crawls under the covers, Granger stirs, and wakes.
“Mmmm. Again,” the younger woman says and sleepily gets on top of her. She immediately pushes three fingers in Narcissa and Narcissa can’t help but moan. The younger woman kisses her deep and fucks her steady until Narcissa comes all over the bed.
Xxxx
In the Mediwizard’s office they’re not sure how to explain it.
“You both know that what you say here is strictly confidential. The magical laws won’t allow me to tell anyone any details that you give me.” He gives them a sharp look.
Granger clears her throat. “All right. We think we managed to break the curse.”
“How?”
“Uh. This is embarrassing. By. Being… Intimate.” Granger manages to finally phrase it.
The Mediwizard’s eyebrow twitches, but he has no other reaction.
“All right.” He scribbles something onto the chart.
“Did it break immediately?”
“…Yes. The first time, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s what I mean, yes.”
Narcissa stays silent. She is too embarrassed to even move an inch.
They’re soon dismissed from the Mediwizard’s office.
xxx
A few weeks later, Nacissa sends the divorce papers to Azkaban. Within a week, Lucius has signed the papers. She sends him an owl, promising to visit him soon. I won’t ever forget you. And I will always come visit.
xxxx
More often than not, Granger comes to the London flat that Narcissa’s moved to. They no longer need each other close by in order to sleep. But they’re insatiable. Once they’ve started, they seem incapable of stopping.
And it is now after they’ve fucked that the honest conversations in the depths of night happen. A few weeks in, they’re in bed, Narcissa having just gone down on Granger for almost half an hour. The younger woman is relaxed next to her, and Narcissa can’t stop looking at her glowing skin, the curls, those brown eyes.
I’ve sent him divorce papers.
You have?
Yes.
When will we tell others? About us? Asks Granger.
Narcissa becomes nervous just thinking about it. Soon enough.
I won’t be your secret.
This, I know. You aren’t my secret, I promise.
Good. Then you’ll be coming to dinner with me at Harry’s and Ginny’s. Soon. In the weekend?
Narcissa almost hyperventilates at the thought. But she’s so fucking horny. And quite frankly, smitten. All right. If you fuck me again, is her reply.
Granger smiles and gets on top of her. Narcissa’s wet and Granger enters her easily. While she starts fucking Narcissa, the younger woman sweetly whispers in her ear:
Will you be mine?
Narcissa can only nod as she panting. Realises she must answer. Uh, huh. Yes.
Say it.
Narcissa’s eyes find Grangers and she wants to glare, but then Granger hits a particularly sweet spot and Narcissa starts coming.
I’m yours. Fuck, I’m yours.
.FIN.