Chapter Text
Hermione sighed as she approached the table set for three only to find Harry missing and Ron seated alone, clutching a bouquet of red roses. Roses. The most unoriginal of all romantic gestures. She’d told Ron countless times that their kiss during the Battle of Hogwarts had been a chaotic mistake. Yet here she was again, cornered by his delusion that persistence might eventually wear her down.
Ron kept making offhand comments about how they were “meant to be”, alternating between passive-aggressive guilt trips no doubt coached by Mrs. Weasley and the clumsy gestures he mistook for romance. Hermione had reached her limit. She was done stroking his fragile ego and enduring these uncomfortable encounters for a boy she once considered her best friend, now reduced to a whiny man-child incapable of respecting boundaries or handling rejection.
There are only so many ways one can gently reject an unwanted suitor before one enters the realm of casually cruel. “No,” Hermione said flatly, approaching the table but refusing to sit.
"Save it, Ronald," Hermione snapped. "I ran into Harry at the Ministry yesterday and told him how excited I was about our lunch plans. Imagine my surprise when he had absolutely no idea what I was talking about." Her glare bore into the youngest male Weasley, whose face turned the exact shade of his hair.
“Which leads me to conclude that this,” Hermione gestured to Ron, the table, and the flowers, “is yet another underhanded attempt to coerce me into a date that I have made abundantly clear I do not want.”
“Blimey ’Mione, don be like that.” Whatever charm Ron was aiming for crumbled alongside the biscuit crumbs spraying from his mouth. “I just wanted to spend some time alone with you. You haven’t answered my owls, and it’s been weeks since we last talked. I thought…”
"What exactly did you think, Ron?!" Hermione's voice rose, sharp with frustration. "You actually thought I’d want to talk to you after you've ignored every conversation we've had about this for years? You blindsided me at The Burrow, introducing me as your girlfriend to your coworkers. Let me be perfectly clear, Ronald: I am not your girlfriend. I will never be your girlfriend. And right now, I’m not even sure I want to be your friend.”
“Oi, that’s harsh. Are you on your monthly or something? Just have a drink of water and calm down.”
"Because yes, Ron, in the long and storied history of speaking with women, implying they’re on their period and telling them to calm down has always yielded the desired result," Hermione seethed, her tone icy despite the fire behind it. She reached across the table, lifted the glass of ice water, and took a long, steady sip.
The water had a distinctly peculiar taste, signaling to Hermione that something wasn’t quite right. Ron's sudden smug expression only deepened her unease.
“What did you do?!” Hermione demanded, her mind already cataloging the possible side effects of an unknown potion.
Physically, she felt fine. A small relief. Even Ron couldn’t be idiotic enough to think drugging someone was a viable way to earn affection. So, the potion must be affecting something else…memory? Perception? Hermione focused inward and that’s when it hit her, not memories of Ron but…
Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Tall. Slim. Poised.
Narcissa Black.
Hermione smiled to herself. Her friendship with Narcissa was perhaps one of the most delightfully unexpected outcomes of the war.
After her divorce from Lucius, Narcissa had devoted herself tirelessly to fight Voldemort’s lingering influence. She used her considerable resources and insider knowledge to help track down Death Eaters still at large. She established numerous charities to fund structural repairs, cover medical expenses, and offer tutoring to Hogwarts students who had lost a year of quality education during the war and its aftermath. Despite her reputation as a Death Eater’s ex-wife, Narcissa conducted much of her philanthropy quietly, often with the help of her sister, Andromeda.
Hermione had only learned of Narcissa’s involvement with patients at St. Mungo’s during an impromptu visit to Andy. Since becoming guardian to a rambunctious toddler, Andy had struggled to balance sleep and daily responsibilities. Members of the Order had taken it upon themselves to stop by with prepared meals, baby essentials, and offers of assistance for Andromeda to utilize as she saw fit.
One afternoon, Hermione was surprised to find the youngest Black sister in the kitchen, brewing potions.
“Oh. You’re not Andy.”
“Astute as always, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor.”
And much to Narcissa’s surprise, Hermione laughed. Honest-to-Merlin laughed out loud and uncontrollably for several minutes. So much so that Narcissa stared at her with growing concern for her mental stability.
“Are you quite alright, dear?” Narcissa asked, brows furrowed.
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” Hermione managed between bursts of laughter. “It’s just…this is all quite ridiculous, isn’t it?"
She said it lightly, but part of her wondered if she meant finding Narcissa in a kitchen…or finding herself relieved to see her.
“I’m not certain I follow, Miss Granger,” Narcissa tilted her head, momentarily confused. This certainly wasn’t the reaction she had anticipated. It grated against her expectations, and yet…it didn’t offend. It disarmed.
“Please don’t call me Miss Granger. I understand that you’re used to society etiquette, and if you want to keep things formal around others, I’ll understand. But…you saved my best friend’s life.”
“Yes, I know Draco was your main concern that night,” Hermione continued, tone softening, “but that doesn’t change the fact that you risked everything. That matters.”
She took a deep breath. “And I’d like to say something, but I don’t want to discuss it afterward, it that’s alright.”
“I’ve spent a long time processing what happened in your dungeons…what Bellatrix did. I kept wondering how I made it out with my mind intact. Your sister’s expertise in torture and mind magic was notorious. Survival should have been…unlikely. And yet I walked away with my sanity.”
Narcissa did not speak. She had learned long ago that silence could be a kind of refuge. But inside, her mind was screaming. She had tried not to remember that night, tried to separate herself from Bellatrix’s sadism as if lineage were a technicality. But Hermione’s words were sliding past her defenses, shedding light onto memories long kept in the dark.
“I used to replay that scene over and over. I obsessed over every sound, every scream, every shadow flickering across the walls. But I never let myself feel it. Until now. And I realized something.”
“There was a moment…I was looking at you, silently pleading for you to help…to make it stop. You looked like you were just watching. It hurt. But now I remember something else, a sensation…like a shield. It felt like a cool, smooth barrier wrapping around my mind. Like hard caramel over ice cream.”
“That was you. I’m sure of it. You safeguarded my mind in a manner no one else could.”
Then, after the briefest hesitation, Hermione gathered her Gryffindor courage and stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the older woman. “I’m rather fond of my brain. Thank you, Narcissa.” she whispered.
Narcissa froze. Not in fear, but in the awkward manner of someone unfamiliar with comfort. Hermione’s embrace was warm, uncalculated, and free of the stiffness Narcissa had grown accustomed to in polite society. No one had touched her like this in years. Not gently. Not without expectation. It was…honest.
Never in 10,000 lifetimes could she have imagined that her first postwar interaction with the Golden Girl would unfold in this manner. In true Slytherin fashion, she had crafted numerous tactful rebuttals for anticipated accusations, but the notion of a congenial, let alone positive, interaction had never crossed her mind.
“I….I’m sorry. I’m sorry that happened to you. And that I didn’t do more to help. Bella is…was…well…” Narcissa shook her head, her voice trailing off. Tentatively, she placed her hands on Hermione’s back to return the hug. “I couldn’t allow her to cause any more destruction.” Narcissa let her arms drop as she took a step back to gaze inquisitively at the bushy haired woman. “You’re not at all what I expected.”
“Neither are you. I was expecting a female version of Draco but more dignified, hotter, and with boobs.” Hermione joked, eliciting a snort from Andromeda in the other room.
Hermione blinked away the memory, her focus snapping back to the desolate pub and to Ron, who had the audacity to grin after drugging her with some unknown elixir. “Have you changed your mind about that date, eh ‘Mione?”
Hermione’s blood ran cold as the realization set in, sharp and unrelenting, like shards of glass piercing her thoughts. The bitter aftertaste on her tongue, Ron’s smug expression…it all clicked into place. The air between them seemed to thicken and her pulse thundered in her ears.
“You drugged me.” Her voice was a low, dangerous whisper, shaking with barely contained rage. She set the glass down with a deliberate slowness, her hand trembling ever so slightly.
Ron had the audacity to grin. “It’s not like that, ‘Mione! It’s completely harmless. The potion just helps you see what you’re really feeling. Clears away all that overthinking you do. I thought..”
“You thought?” Hermione’s voice cut through his words like a blade, sharper and colder with every syllable. “You thought you had the right to tamper with my mind? My body? You arrogant, self-serving, ugh” She choked on the words, her fists clenching at her sides as she took a step closer, fury radiating from her like heat from a wildfire.
Ron recoiled; his grin faltering confused by this reaction. “It’s not a big deal. It just lowers inhibitions. Helps you recognize…”
“Your true love,” Hermione finished, her voice rising. “You think this is some kind of fairy tale, Ron? That you’re the hero here, forcing me into some twisted idea of happily-ever-after? You’ve crossed every boundary, every line, and you still don’t see the problem!”
She took another step forward, and Ron instinctively backed away. “Let me make this perfectly clear: there is no coming back from this. You’ve betrayed every ounce of trust I had in you. What you’ve done isn’t romantic, it’s vile, it’s criminal, and it’s unforgivable.”
Ron’s face reddened, his voice rising defensively. “You’re overreacting, Hermione. It’s not like I hurt you!”
“Hurt me?” Hermione’s laughter was cold and hollow. “You think this doesn’t hurt? You think this isn’t a violation? I don’t know whether to hex you into oblivion or report you to the Ministry for magical manipulation. Honestly, both sound appealing right now.”
Her chest heaved as she took a deep breath, forcing herself to step back. Her mind was racing, cataloging everything she’d need to analyze and undo whatever he’d inflicted upon her. But even through the haze of anger, one thought rang clear.
“I hope you’re ready for the fallout, Ron,” she said, her voice icy and firm. “Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Narcissa Black is going to make you wish you’d never been born.”
With that, she spun on her heel and Disapparated, leaving Ron alone, his smug confidence crumbling in her wake.