Chapter Text
It was a terrible misfortune to fall for a friend, Narcissa concluded. Retiring to the sofa in Andromeda’s sitting room the previous day after enjoying a rather hearty meal and excellent wine had left her… far more open than she usually was, and that was saying quite a lot considering how close she and Hermione Granger had grown over the past several years. She recalled Hermione padding into the room from the hallway that led to the kitchen, her Muggle sweatpants low on her hips while part of her shirt had ridden up to reveal a small expanse of skin.
She had forced herself to focus on how soft the shirt felt to her sense of touch when Hermione had plopped down on the cushion beside her, leaving no space between their bodies. And Narcissa’s arm had simply… moved of its own accord, wrapping itself around Hermione’s waist as the other witch resituated herself into a more comfortable position. Well, comfortable for Hermione, at least. Narcissa still felt goose pimples rise on her skin as she thought back to the rush of her heart echoing in her ears.
***
“Hermione, perhaps you should go home if you’re so tired?” She could have winced at how her voice nearly cracked, an almost blatant outward tell of the tension coiled within her as if it could snap at any moment. Her friend only lightly smacked her lips and ran her tongue over the lower one, not even looking up at her.
“Don’t fancy splinching myself, Cissa,” Hermione had murmured into the sleeve of Narcissa’s blouse. Any retort worthy of coming from her typically brilliant Slytherin mind was suffocated by Hermione’s breaths evening out over the next few minutes until she fell asleep practically snuggled up next to her.
She had shot Andromeda a glare when her sister walked into the sitting room nearly ten minutes later, drying her hands with a washrag. “You put something in her wine, didn’t you?” The accusation stole the air between them for a long moment, Andromeda’s eyes widening before they narrowed as she stalked over to Narcissa, wagging a finger near her face.
“Don’t you dare, Narcissa,” Andy harshly whispered. “I’m as much a Slytherin as you, but I wouldn’t.” As her eyes fell upon her other guest, though, she relaxed again, and a light smile played on her lips. “No, it seems our dear Hermione took to drinking a bit too much. Flustering her tends to lead to that.”
“Flustering?”
Narcissa could tell that Andromeda barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes like a teenager. “It is absolutely amazing and yet even more infuriating that you do not realise what you do to that witch, Cissa.”
She blinked up at Andy and tilted her head slightly to the side. “What I do? I am friends with her, and nothing in that includes flustering.”
“Bloody hell.” Andromeda softly chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re both completely oblivious. Take your outfit, for example.”
“My outfit?” She glanced down at herself, not seeing anything particularly off. Yes, she was wearing a long-sleeved silk blouse that over the years she’d allowed to give in the neckline so that it now ever so slightly hung off one shoulder, but it was one of the more comfortable tops she owned. It did showcase an entire collarbone and perhaps more of her pale skin than usual, but what could that matter to Hermione?
And there were her dark slim jeans, something Andromeda herself had helped Narcissa pick out at a clothing store. She didn’t wear them too often, but always wore Muggle clothing when visiting her older sister who continued to reside within Muggle society. It was only proper for her to dress to blend in. She wasn’t trying to fluster anyone with this choice of attire.
Narcissa frowned, and only noticed by Andromeda’s silence and pointed look as she sat down in an armchair nearby that she had been absentmindedly rubbing Hermione’s upper arm the entire time.
Sniffing almost haughtily, a telltale reminder of her pure-blood upbringing, Narcissa gently nudged Hermione awake beside her and—ignoring the tightness in her chest at the woman’s delightfully cute yawn—offered to side-apparate her back to her home, a small yet welcoming semi-detached house in the West Country not too far and not too near the Weasley and Potter residences.
Gratefully, a somewhat groggy Hermione had accepted, yet it hadn’t spared Narcissa another knowing look from her older sister. She couldn’t fluster Hermione Granger. Exchange lighthearted friendly teasing? Yes. But flustering her friend? A ridiculous notion from a sister who had always enjoyed poking fun at her. Perhaps this, though, was more of what Bellatrix’s style had been like, yet she wouldn’t dare compare the two to Andromeda’s face.
***
Shaking herself of the memory, Narcissa smoothed out her Ministerial robes as she returned to her office from one of those pesky powder rooms the Department of Mysteries had found fit to place into the complex charm that rearranged the entire department every week. She was in the midst of drafting a memo to Hermione in her head, something like, “Unspeakable Granger, do note that one of the seven witches’ powder rooms is located between the Thought and Temporal Chambers, due in large part to that break-in of 1996 that led to a complete overhaul in security measures,” when she opened her door and found a familiar head of somewhat tamed bushy brown hair sitting in front of her desk.
Hermione turned and grinned at her, stealing a beat of Narcissa’s heart in the process. “I’ve been here for ten minutes, you know. Gone to find one of those troublesome loos?” Perhaps she should revise; her friend’s lips were more curved into a smirk, not a grin. Narcissa’s nostrils flared as she huffed and walked around her desk, taking a seat behind it.
“You could simply ask one of your divisional colleagues where the toilets are, Narcissa,” Hermione suggested with a lift from one of her shoulders. “Unless you’re the first to need it on a Monday, that is. But considering it’s…” she took a moment to glance at her wristwatch, “nearly eleven o’clock, that can’t be the case today.”
Narcissa pressed her lips together in a thin line. “I would rather fall into the Amortentia fountain in the locked Love Room, darling.”
“Than admit you need…?” Hermione groaned. “You are impossible, Unspeakable Black. But what else should I expect from someone who still calls the loo the powder room? That’s so old-fashioned and aristocratic, even Andy doesn’t—”
“Andromeda never called it that, not even when we were children.” Narcissa crossed her arms over her chest defensively, flicking her eyes away from Hermione’s fingers as she tucked a stray strand of curly hair behind her ear. “Now, this cannot be the reason you entered my office, Unspeakable Granger.” Hermione’s shoulders slumped at the usage of her professional title, and Narcissa blinked, wondering if she even realised that she had been the one to use it first. She sighed and reverted to the woman’s given name, drawing Hermione’s attention back to her.
“Ah, yes!” Hermione’s eyes lit up. “I have the, er, document here, from the Temporal Chamber.”
Narcissa folded her hands together as Hermione bent over to the side and drew a rolled-up piece of parchment from her small departmental satchel. Passing it to Narcissa, she felt eager brown eyes on her as she read about a project that would require at least one Thought Unspeakable to work in tandem with a few colleagues from the Temporal Chamber.
Looking up from the scroll, she took in Hermione’s barely restrained giddy state: her hands clasped together in front of her, thumbs fidgeting; her bright and open eyes, and of course the way she was shifting excitedly in her seat. Typical Gryffindor, she thought fondly. Or, at least, typical for a Gryffindor like Hermione Granger who thrived off research. Even more so was this expected because Hermione had been chomping at the bit for ages for a project that would bring the two of them together in the workplace beyond inter-divisional meetings, passing each other in the corridors, and other rather passive occurrences.
***
Hermione’s stomach chose that exact moment to announce its presence.
Narcissa laughed. “Someone is hungry. How about we eat first and then continue our discussion of your pet project?”
“It’s not my pet project,” Hermione huffed. “But yes. Let’s eat.” She opened her satchel again and pulled out a brown paper bag filled with their food. “I brought your favorite.” Hermione handed Narcissa a take-out box of Pad Thai before grabbing her own box filled with fish and chips.
“Thank you,” Narcissa said, pulling utensils out of the paper bag. “I don’t know how you can eat this.” She pointed with her fork at Hermione, who merely shrugged her shoulders and put another forkful of chips into her mouth.
Narcissa smiled fondly at Hermione and started to eat as well.
After they finished their meal, Narcissa offered to throw away the trash in her office bin before she leaned back in her chair. “Time-Turners, then.”
“It wouldn’t be the same device as before. They were… quite inefficient. I’ve convinced the department to allow me to integrate some Muggle technology for this. It’ll be digital and resemble a watch.”
“Digital?”
“You won’t have… it won’t look like one of those grandfather clocks or the ancient sundials that you must turn. Just imagine what can go wrong if someone were to remove the Hour-Reversal charm, bump into you, and you spin it too often? You could end up four years into the past instead of four hours.”
“Good point. But won’t the Muggle technology be confusing?”
“Maybe. But it’s not like you’re incapable of learning.”
Narcissa’s eyes widened.
Hermione smiled. She so enjoyed pushing Narcissa’s buttons. The blonde witch had shown quite some interest in all things Muggle since befriending Hermione, and while she hadn’t confessed it, Hermione was incredibly touched by the effort Narcissa had been making to learn about the Muggle world and connect in that way with her.
There were moments when Hermione struggled to remind herself that they were friends. She obviously loved being Narcissa’s friend and wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, but she also ached because she wanted so much more, and she knew that anything beyond friendship was a pipe dream. A wonderful dream while it lasted, but then reality intruded and awoke her to the bitter truth that Narcissa didn’t see her in that way.
Perhaps that was the reason why she’d indulged in too much wine during their last dinner at Andy’s. No. That alone wasn’t to blame. Narcissa’s outfit was part of it, and the way she’d smiled at her and allowed her gaze to travel down Hermione’s body, often lingering at her exposed midriff. Hermione had grown hot all over but she knew that Narcissa didn’t mean it in that way. At least not in the way Hermione desperately wanted her to mean it. She’d dreamed of Narcissa gazing at her with a flushed face and blown pupils. Alas, as always, the dreams evaporated when confronted with the harsh light of morning.
There was a moment during dinner, after one of those stares, when Narcissa leaned close to her and whispered a snarky comment about her sister. Hermione didn’t even remember what the blonde witch had said since all her thoughts fled the building upon being inundated with Narcissa’s body heat, her earthy scent, and the feeling of her hot breath ghosting over the shell of her ear while Narcissa’s melodic voice rushed over her. That Hermione remembered how to breathe was a success she felt worthy of a celebration.
“Are you still with me?” Narcissa asked, waving a hand in front of Hermione’s face.
“What?”
“You were lost in thought. Or is my presence boring you?”
“No! No. Of course not. You could never bore me. I love… spending time with you.” Her heart rattled in her chest at the blossoming, open and beautiful smile Narcissa bestowed upon her at that reply.
“I’m glad. I love spending time with you, too. And I’m excited about this project. How many people will work on it in total?”
“We’ll head it, at least the research part, but I figure each of us needs at least one or two assistants from our departments.”
“Sounds reasonable.” Narcissa nodded. “Did you take the hangover potion I’d left for you?”
“Of course. Thank you. That was very sweet of you. I wouldn’t be able to sit here and eat without it. I’m sorry for having been such a burden.”
“You’re welcome, darling. You couldn’t be a burden if you tried.”
Now it was Hermione’s turn to smile at Narcissa. If only. She needed to get over this crush. It would only lead to heartache, and at some point, complicate their relationship, and that was unacceptable. Hermione refused to jeopardise or even ruin their friendship. They’d fought too hard to get to where they were now.
***
In an effort to head off a visible reaction to witnessing Hermione’s beautiful smile, Narcissa leaned forward in her seat, scrutinising the parchment again. Tapping her finger against it, she pointedly looked over at the wristwatch on Hermione’s right arm. “From what I understand, then, it will resemble what you are wearing today? Could you go over the digital part, given that I’m… capable of learning.” Narcissa smiled when Hermione flushed. She’d never admit it, but she loved seeing heat spread across the dark-haired witch’s skin, and despite it being… quite distracting at times, she would never tire of it.
Hermione cleared her throat, then pursed her lips in thought. “It still mostly resembles my watch.” She gave a subtle shrug. “This one is mechanical with its moving clock-hands, though. Digital watches show the numbered hour and minute, sometimes the seconds as well as additional functionality. Instead of computerised as Muggle wristwatches are, our prototypes are powered by magic.”
“And how exactly will Thought Unspeakables be involved in enhancing this new and improved Time-Turner?” Narcissa rested the palms of her hands flat against each other, leaning her elbows on the top of her desk.
“Oh, right, the scroll doesn’t really go into that in detail, does it?” Hermione smiled almost ruefully, then launched into explaining how mind magic was needed to fix the overwhelming problem of Unspeakable time travellers having to constantly worry about running into their past self while conducting research and, as Hermione phrased it with a wry grin, “thoroughly mucking up time itself.”
This—listening to Hermione’s sheer fervour for her research—was one of her favourite things about working in the same department, beyond the boon of being able to see her friend every day. No other Unspeakables were able to match Hermione’s enthusiasm for her work, at least in Narcissa’s opinion. Which, admittedly, was a bit biased, but even disregarding that, Hermione was one of the most dedicated Unspeakables involved so heavily in research.
“So,” Narcissa began after Hermione finished summarising her division’s role in this project. “If I am understanding you correctly, we will need to at least modify an existing spell to cloak the user from others’ perceptions or create our own?” At Hermione’s eager nodding, Narcissa smirked. “Consider it done.”
***
Gods, Narcissa would be the bloody death of her. Hermione had had to carefully control her reactions to prevent Narcissa from seeing how thoroughly she affected her when she delivered that line, that “consider it done.” The sheer confidence in her drawl would surely ruin her, and honestly already had in more ways than one. Fortunately, Narcissa had led them to a natural parting point, and Hermione had excused herself, still torn on how to say goodbye.
Yet Narcissa had handled that as well, standing with her and telling her, “Do feel free to come by whenever you need me, Unspeakable Granger.” Hermione could have sworn there had been a teasing lilt to Narcissa’s delivery, but there was something always so Slytherin about the woman that she couldn’t tell for certain. Why in the world couldn’t she have fallen for someone who was more upfront about their emotions? Or at least easier to read, to know for sure if it was suicide or not to admit to fancying her to Narcissa’s face.
Her mind was so preoccupied that she nearly ran into one of her divisional colleagues. If not for the wizard’s arm reaching out, his hand grabbing hold of her shoulder, she would have.
Squeaking, Hermione looked up into the amber eyes of Unspeakable Hubert Wheelock.
He flashed an easy smile her way and shook his head good-naturedly, a few longer strands of auburn hair almost falling into his line of sight. “Sometimes I wonder where your head’s at, Hermione. You speak with someone in the Thought Chamber about our project?”
“Of course, Hubert,” she said almost defensively. “She’s going to gather a couple of her own colleagues and we’ll meet in a week to discuss progress.”
“You were gone quite a while, that’s all.”
Huffing, Hermione retorted, “I also took my lunch, you know.”
“With your Thought Unspeakable contact?” He grinned. “Good way to ingratiate yourself with her. Don’t think I didn’t see you had two take-out boxes.”
“Hubert…” Hermione warned.
“All right, all right!” He laughed and held his palms up in defence and surrender. “Sorry, Hermione. I look forward to all of us meeting in a week.”
But there was something… something in his tone that made her narrow her eyes after his form as he walked in the direction she’d come from.
It was more likely that he was looking forward to the inter-divisional memo that would detail the names of who would attend the meeting so that he could tease her even more. She truly did not need Hubert, or anyone else in her division for that matter, alluding to her having feelings for Narcissa Black, especially not in front of the witch herself when they all met next week.
Some of her colleagues were far too gossip-happy.