Chapter Text
“Ouch! Well, looks like Jones has made a decision. Weasley is out. And here comes Morgan as replacement chaser. Bad luck for Weasley fans…”
“Hermione, I’m fine! How did you even get down here? And the game still has thirty minutes left!” Ginny’s whines, trying to sit up and wincing.
Hermione gives Ginny her most intimidating glare. Usually reserved for Harry when he’s about to do something extremely idiotic. Or Crookshanks when she finds him in the laundry basket.
“And you’ll take a bludger to the head in the next thirty seconds because you’re seeing double, so get away from that broom! They’ve already sent you off, and you can’t fool me, Ginny Weasley. I’m taking you to St Mungo’s, right now. No arguing.”
“At least let me watch the—”
Oh that's it, enough. “Petrificus totalus!”
Hermione ignores the murmuring crowd and just grabs the frozen witch’s arm, apparating them straight to St Mungo’s.
Huh. Well it’s remarkably empty for a Saturday. No one around…
Although she had chosen a less well-known area of the hospital. She’s not looking for special treatment, but if any Harpy fans or journalists from the Prophet spot them it would be a nightmare!
She searches for the nearest sign. Now let’s see…magical maladies, no. Not a jinx or a hex. A wronski feint that lost the feint part and turned into a not so loving kiss with the ground. The crunch alone…
She shudders at the memory, and adjusts the witch’s frozen form in her grip. Maybe a featherlight charm wouldn’t be so—
“Miss…Granger?”
Oh.
Hermione slowly turns around. And swallows harshly. Narcissa Malfoy. Well, Black now. Black for a while, ever since the end of the…war.
Gods those eyes. She’d forgotten…she may have avoided that stare for quite some time. The expressionless face that just stood and watched whilst her sister…
The witch walks closer, heels tapping on the floor and gaze not wavering. “A Quidditch accident, I assume? And a petrificus totalus…your work? You should know better, Miss Granger. Interfering with someone’s magical core at a time of great stress can—”
Hermione snaps out of her stupor in righteous indignation. Of course she—
“I know that! I would never— but she’s so stubborn! Almost got back on the broom, and then who knows what would have happened. It was the best decision to make at the time. Of course I’ve read—”
Arched eyebrows slowly raise. Arms fold. “Yes. You have read the whole of the Hogwarts library and more besides. You know far more than I, a professional healer, when it comes to time-pressured decision making, I am sure. I shall leave you to it. It seems Miss Weasley is in…capable hands.”
And with that she turns on her heel, marching off down the corridor. How rude! And what about— “I didn’t know a mediwitch’s duty of care meant so little!” she calls after her.
Narcissa freezes.
And then slowly turns to face her once more. Oh dear.
The ice queen is coming back towards her. Steps fast and sharp, wand shooting from the sleeve of her healer’s robes. In an instant, a stretcher has been conjured as if from nowhere, and a force blasts Hermione back a few paces so that she loses her grip on Ginny.
Her is wand falls into her hand on instinct, a protego already shielding her from—
Nothing.
The stretcher is strapping itself to Ginny’s back, hovering in the air and then lying her down flat on her back. A chart appears, a quill already filling out various boxes as Narcissa flicks her wand once more in Ginny’s direction, different coloured lights emanating from different points on Ginny’s body. Mostly red and green.
Hermione steadies her breathing and walks closer. “Ms Black, I—”
And her voice is gone. A nonverbal silencio?! Argh, the witch is so—
Narcissa frowns down at the medical chart. “Rennervate,” she murmurs at Ginny, almost absentmindedly.
“Fucking hell! What the— Hermione! Mrs Mal— Black, what in the bloody hell is—arfglp.”
Soap suds begin to foam out of Ginny’s mouth.
Hermione carries on trying to fight the silencio. She’s normally decent enough at non-verbal spells, but this one isn’t budging. It’s quite impressive.
“Language, Miss Weasley. Although it appears your jaw is still intact. Teeth unbroken. No bruising or abrasions at all to the facial…no respiratory…Primary tests and observations all…although…”
She raises her eyes to Ginny’s. Who scowls. And then cringes back at the intensity of the stare, eyes widening.
“Oh. You’re a legilimens. Thought Draco was exaggerating about…uhh…mindreading.”
Narcissa’s lip twitches. “Just show me the memory, if you would. A lot more comfortable than if I pull it out of you.”
There’s a glint to her eyes. Hermione shivers. Legilimency? Natural, or…does it run in the family? What about— and how is she— the concentration to hover the stretcher, and the silencio, and—
“Miss Granger, if you would at least attempt to quieten your thoughts, it would be much appreciated. As you say, this takes much concentration,” Narcissa says, not tearing her eyes from Ginny’s.
Quieten her— Then get out of my head! This is a violation of—
A head snaps to face hers. Icy blue eyes…I was nowhere near your head, Miss Granger. Believe me. I could have heard you from Hogwarts without even searching you out. Screaming your thoughts to the world
…Oh. How do I stop…shouting?
No reply. Narcissa just bends to examine Ginny more closely, who is putting on a tough act but clearly in pain, clenching her teeth and looking paler by the second.
And then Narcissa abruptly wanders off down a corridor, the stretcher following behind her.
What the—
Hermione jogs along to catch up, finally managing to cancel the silencio on herself. “Is she alright? Where are you taking her? Does she need a specialist or—”
Ginny groans. “Hermione, I’m fine. Honest! Swear to Godric. My head didn’t even hit the ground, and I managed that cushioning spell you taught me so—”
“You didn’t. There was a crunch. I heard it.”
“Heard it? You were all the way across the—”
“Miss Granger is correct, Miss Weasley. A definite crunch. You were far too slow with the cushioning charm.”
Hermione almost bumps into Narcissa as she stops at a door, rapping on it sharply.
Did she just agree with her on something? Hermione turns to smile at Ginny smugly. Ginny just glares up at the ceiling, still stuck to the stretcher.
“Look, Mrs—”
“Ms Black.”
“Ms Black, can I at least sit up? You said yourself! No spinal injury—”
“No detectable spinal injury, as of yet. Although if you keep wriggling, that may not be the case. Stay. Still.”
Narcissa hasn’t even turned around, still waiting patiently at the door. Ginny falls still and widens her eyes at Hermione. “How did she know?” she mouthes.
Hermione shrugs. And…was that a chuckle? Is Narcissa laughing at them?! How can she— don’t you need eye contact to—
“Screaming, Miss Granger,” Narcissa murmurs.
Oh.
And then shouts through the door. “And for Salazar’s sake, Podsley. What is taking so long? If you’ve attempted to peek at my research again then—”
A round faced, cheerful looking witch opens the door, grinning at Narcissa. “Course not. I learnt my lesson, Black. You know that. And Flipton still dives into the nearest supply cupboard whenever he sees you coming since I told them you were responsible for— oh. Patients. And what patients indeed! Hermione Granger, never thought I— you know I read your recent—”
Narcissa flicks her wand, and Podsley slides backward out of the doorway as though on invisible ice skates. “Yes, yes. We all saw it in the Prophet last week. Now if you would let us in and set up an examination table in the next room. Miss Weasley is the patient here. And it’s the hounds…or rather bugs…at the Prophet that we are trying to avoid.”
Oh. That’s why they’re here? She’d thought—ah!
She scrambles out of the way as Ginny’s stretcher flies past her and through a door to an adjoining room. Podsley frowns at Narcissa. “And you’re handling it personally? Narcissa. I told you. You need to go home. Rest. You can’t avoid—”
Podsley’s mouth continues moving, but no words come out. Ah. Silencio.
Hermione turns to study Narcissa more closely. Rest?
Oh. Oh she does look rather tired now that…and her hair is coming undone at the back. She’s never seen the witch less than immaculate. What is—
Narcissa tuts. “I can handle a few broken bones, Podsley. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll—”
Podsley shakes her head in exasperation, stomps over to the door that Ginny had disappeared through, and slams it behind them.
“Miss Granger, you’re bright. I’ll take care of Miss Weasley, you get that stubborn witch home and into bed. I’m begging you. I’ll pay you ten galleons at this rate, swear to Rowena!” she yells through the door.
Oh. Get her…into bed? Umm…
Oh dear.
Shit. Why does the witch have to be so attractive?
Certain images are flying though her mind. And she’s in a room with a legilimens. And apparently her brain shouts everything, and how do you stop shouting in your own head and oh no, the silence has lasted too long to be natural and—
Narcissa clears her throat. “Well. No need for…seeing as my duty of care has been fulfilled, I’m sure we can both find our way home. To— my home— separate homes.”
Stuttering? Flustered? Narcissa Mal—Black?
Hermione smirks at the witch. If she has to be embarrassed, she’s at least going to let Narcissa wallow in it too. Serves her right for reading her—
Narcissa turns and groans at her, hands flying into the air in exasperation. “You are shouting! I can’t help but— and I am not embarrassed. I am merely fatigued after— well, the reason is not important. Goodbye, Miss Granger.”
She storms out of the room, heels echoing down the corridor.
But she never answered—
Am I still shouting? How wide is the radius? How are you hearing me without eye contact? How do I—
I will owl you a book. Read it. Until then, think softly, for the love of Merlin!
Think softly?
Well, she’ll try.