"we laugh in self-defense"

Honeyed Flowers // People — Hermione Granger

“You know she’s going to find you here eventually, right?”

“We don’t know that actually. I can be quite adept at hiding when I need to be.”

Hermione snorted. “Yes. I’m sure sitting underneath the counter of your mother’s bookshop is the last place she’d think to look.”

Tonks scowled up at her from her seat on the floor. She’d managed to wedge herself into the small space where Andy used to cram her mountainous piles of receipts. Thank gods Hermione had finished clearing them out or else Tonks would likely be defiling their meager records even further.

“Well you try dealing with her when she’s like this. She’s bloody insufferable. It’s been six hours for gods sake, some people need to take a brea—oh bollocks.”

The sound of a door slamming open caused Tonks’ eyes to widen comically. The wild, screeching sounds of heavy metal bombarded the otherwise dulcet atmosphere of the book store and Hermione looked over to see the truly scary sight of an irate Bellatrix Black approaching the coffee bar. From her periphery, Hermione forced herself not to laugh as Tonks did everything in her power to plaster herself even further against the counter’s inner wall. Feigning ignorance, Hermione smiled sweetly at the eldest Black.

“Hello, Bella,” she greeted warmly, ignoring the burning irritation painted across the woman’s face. “You’re looking lovely this afternoon. Coffee?”

“Cut the crap, pet. I know you’re harboring a fugitive. Where is she?”

Pansy: Do you want me to quiz you?

OOOHHHHH PANSMIONE!!!! i will say i don't think that hermione would ever find it within herself to cheat on ron or any bf/gf/spouse with pansy. not that it's more Ethical in any way for her to do it with ginny, but i don't think she'd ever be able to cross that line and risk destroying her whole life with someone who isn't intrinsically interwoven with her life already & i think she could keep her distance from pansy enough to avoid it etc etc.

that being said!!! post war pansmione where pansy leaves the country for a while on account of being snubbed for being the girl who suggested giving harry potter up to lord voldemort, and then she comes back later and uses old connections to get a job at the ministry, still a low position in her opinion, but she's got a plan to work her way up to a better reputation etc etc, so that she can eventually have an actual life. bc the thing is, she's so scorned now that no one wants her as a wife. very few people are eager to be seen with her. her parents expected things out of her that she now can't provide & her family is suffering bc of her failure. so she's on a mission to fix her reputation.

so there she is, working hard for years to carve out a life for herself and a career inside the ministry, her goal to be an assistant to the minister, bc to be trusted so closely to kingsley, the man elected by the people after the war, would speak volumes, and it'd put her in direct contact with people trying to make things better in the aftermath of the war etc etc. she could be seen with them, around them, and they'd all get used to her until maybe, hopefully, finally her reputation would recover. and during all this time, she's trying to secure a rich husband who is maybe looking for a proper wife, and she's trying so hard to prove that she's suitable and proper, and fucking finally, she gets the promotion to be the assistant to the minister—except the kicker is, kingsley's term is ending, and it's hermione granger who has been elected next. hermione granger, who is best friends with not only the savior of the wizarding world but also the man pansy tried to sell out to voldie. hermione granger, who pansy bullied in hogwarts Multiple Times. hermione granger, who is perceptive as fuck and can see right through all of pansy's bullshit.

and on hermione's side of things, kingsley's old assistant is retiring, and she's got a whole list of options but when she sees pansy, she chooses her. it's very much a thing of vindictive amusement. hermione is a bit ruthless and she's smug that she's gonna have someone who shit on her in school and made her feel like she wouldn't amount to anything work underneath her. obviously hermione has no intentions to abuse it, she plans to be Very Professional, to rise above and all that, but she does get a vicious spike of satisfaction the first time she hears pansy address her as minister and has no choice but to treat her with respect.

and so obviously there is this underlying power dynamic between them, where things have flipped, and hermione is a lot more gracious about it than pansy would be if it was her in her shoes, but not entirely gracious either. there is a kind of push-and-pull between them, bc pansy is trying to get in her good graces etc etc, but doesn't actually want to play nice, and hermione is perceptive enough to pick up on that. but it's all very subtle and pansy copes by leaning into the superiority of hermione's position. it becomes this big subconscious flirty thing where pansy is trying to earn hermione's favor (while seething on the inside) and does it the same way she would if it were a man she was trying to seduce. a lot of sultry "is there anything else i can do for you, minister?" and leaning provocatively on her desk etc etc. which hermione would presume herself impervious to, except work is stressful and it almost becomes...fun.

like that's their downfall. it becomes sort of fun for both of them. pansy stops seething about it and starts getting very invested in coming up with new ways to flirt, essentially, and hermione starts to look forward to it. they come to genuinely enjoy it, and then it turns into late nights at the office, pansy sweeping in to make hermione go home, and hermione bringing pansy coffee from a muggle cafe that she tried once and ended up loving. it turns into actual conversations and like, slowly but surely, a bit of intimacy creeps in, bc the lines were blurred from the beginning with all the flirting. so they never quite become friends, except they do, but it's tinged with something that's been entangled with sexual undertones from the start.

and like. maybe work is really stressful at some point and hermione is up to her eyeballs in it and going a little insane and she just wants to let go for a bit. and would you look at that? here comes pansy sweeping in the room with her hips swinging and a little smirk as she makes flirty little innuendos and suggestive remarks that hermione usually allows but never takes her up on, except that particular day she's feeling a little extra brave, a little extra daring, and she hasn't ever been with a woman before, but she is a little curious, and she's especially curious to see if pansy would actually do it/see it through or back down. so when pansy makes a remark about offering to lay out across all the files on the desk for hermione, to give her something else to work on, that's when hermione just looks her dead in the eye and boldly tells her to do it. just to see if she will.

i couldn't think of anything else but them for this cover.

~ 235 words

By the time a third car of Hermione's muggle relatives pulled up outside the manor gates, Narcissa had already started to regret her insistence to host them all.

The great metal monstrosities dirtied her front lawns and that wasn't even the worst of it.

Muggle-proofing an ancient magical house on short notice had been utterly futile. These aunts, uncles and cousins were ‘in the know’ so to speak. It did little to soothe her frayed nerves every time one of them yelped in surprise at a moving portrait or screamed at the sight of poor Stubby the house-elf.

With each jump of her pulse she remembered: this was for Hermione.

“Darling, I know you said that not everyone could find accommodation, but I didn't realise I was opening up my manor as a hotel.” She quipped.

“I'm sorry! I didn't think this many of them wouldn't be able to find somewhere to stay.”

Narcissa chuckled. “I'm teasing you, my love. There could be one hundred Grangers staying here so long as you're happy.”

“It shouldn't come to that, let's just hope the rest of them don't drink too much wine at the reception.”

“Well, perhaps I should change the name then. How about ‘Hotel Black et Granger?’”

“Oh shush…” Her fiancé said, rolling her eyes that hid poorly disguised amusement. “Besides, there wouldn't be much point, in less than twenty-four hours, I'll be Mrs Black.”

Well, because you asked so nicely, I did my best. I assumed you meant this one? If not then at least I tried to fix a drabble.

Weeks passed, and Narcissa stayed mostly at home. It was easier to pretend everything was fine when she didn’t have to do it in front of others.

Her son had noticed something was wrong and refused to believe her even as she kept telling him that everything was fine.

As had her sister who kept asking her what had happened.

Neither one had no idea, of course, why her expression was so pained when she thought no one was looking. No one knew of the woman she now tried so hard not to think about.

Unfortunately, her dreams were harder to control.

Hermione appeared almost every night – only to leave her again.

This includes all* Cissamione stories on FF or AO3 with duplicates merged. If published dates are different, the earlier one is preferred. If author names are different, the AO3 username is preferred. Sorry there are no links here (yet?); my laziness has limits. For recommendations, please check out @emrldapplejuice’s awesome Hermione and the sisters Black post.

*Might be missing some that are tragically not labeled as Narcissa/Hermione (though I tried hard to root them out), and I can’t promise all the data is accurate (corrections welcome, please message me).

Inclusion Criteria:

English language (because I can’t read much else, but maybe I should try harder)

main relationship must be Cissamione (for obvious reasons, with one iconic exception)

must NOT center around non-consensual elements (because noncon can go to hell, imho)

This list is ordered by wordcount in each category: Complete (chaptered), Complete (oneshot), and In Progress. If you want them sorted a different way, I can do that! I made a spreadsheet! Nerrrrrd.

Current as of 2018-07-21

@allbutwrong. Your prompt went like this: narcissa gives a speech at draco’s wedding and accidentally says hermione’s name instead of draco’s and then rants to hermione how they could never be till hermione shuts her up with a kiss

I’m just going to do what AJ here knew I was gonna to probably do and make both this and my former prompt related. Enjoy :P

The plates were empty, the glasses half-full and the air was filled with the scent of about-to-fall rain. Despite the ozone and humid blue, the sky was cloudless and Narcissa glanced up at it for a moment while the echo of the calling clink she had made with the aid of her wand and a glass, cursed through everyone’s tables. Conversations halting as shadows began to emerge like scurrying animals beneath the feet of those sitting and slowly turning to the matriarch of the Malfoy family, expecting, waiting, for the last speech of the night, the one that would mark the end of the banquet.

The blonde witch eyed her boy and the man at his side, their intertwined fingers, the subtle yet obvious mark on Draco’s neck as he tried to hide it with the collar of his shirt. She could do anything but smile as she felt Draco return a very similar look etched on his face, a squeeze and a graze of fingertips against darkened tuxedo, magic swirling against the fabric. With the same look, Narcissa moved and pivoted towards her right, catching everyone’s eyes, noticing that while, yes, the number could be feeble as opposed to what could have been before the war the mixed and yet trusting looks tasted much different for both her and the one who had already shared his vows with the dark-haired boy that sat next to him now.

It was bittersweet in a sense, but also rewarding, and the blonde woman could do nothing but start her speech, the one she had written and perfected for weeks now, with something less Malfoy, less Black, and more solely hers: A swinging motion, her hand hitting the dying light, the gold on her hand glowing momentarily while her eyes caught on the witch that, same as she had done  three years ago, had been invited with the same polished piece of white paper, the same hex on the ink of the invitation of itself that she could remember for her as the younger witch had walked towards the second youngest of the Weasley family: red bursting on her cheeks, gorgeous enough to burn.

And, three years after that wedding, the one in where Narcissa had needed to walk away, line after line of words never said burning her tongue, her nostrils, her lungs, the brunette looked just as good, just as gorgeous, as she had done before. With silver and green in subtle details, with the lack of a ring on her finger, her marriage in shambles as the papers had echoed some “unreconcilable problems” amidst the Weasley-Granger household.

Mind blanking, tongue flat against her teeth, Narcissa let her hand fall once more and grasp the stem of her glass, the motion clunky but disguised. Blue eyes searching, the older witch took into the ones still glancing at her, the lag on her response minute and barely seconds but loud on the way her heart humped on her chest. Demanding just as it had done back in the day.

She had tried to revoke herself for the possibility of having a similar reaction, had worked and moved on with her life until the two months mark after the wedding, a bump and a casual way in where her name had been said the last signal for her dying resolution. She had been thrown in a series of decisions of dates and teas and laughter and friendship and, ever so steadily, she had seen the darkened eyes, the lack of sleep, the pursed lips, the word divorce being whispered. Not due to anything in particular, not because some horrible secret, some skeleton that would be best if it remained buried. It was, as Hermione would sometimes confide with tongue licking her lips, eyes lost, wand between her fingers, not a matter of disgraced cruelness but rather her own realization that friendship and fulfillment withing a relationship didn’t necessarily mean the same thing.

Despite of it, or maybe precisely because of it, she had remained as silent as possible, as just as possible. No one needed to repeat to a jailed intellect that they were being clipped off from their wings after they realized it, after all. She remained unshaken, silent, kind, and when Draco had told her about his plans of marriage, she had known what to do when the list for guests had rolled by even if the same concept of it burned the back of her eyelids.

And there she was now, eyes on Draco, fingers shaking slightly, voice enchanted so it could be whispered and murmured by everyone’s in the attendance. The grass beneath their feet lush, the earth amongst it, dry, the twinkling set of flaming stars above them all warm on their winking light.

“There’s braveness in love.” She begun, smile tensing her lips just enough. “During my formative years I was led to believe that love solely meant giving to the point of exhaustion and disappearance. Giving until there was nothing left of me for me to preserve. Love felt like a chore and in the same breath it burned brighter than anything else the moment I first laid an eye on the one you have in front of you. Because the second I saw him, the second I hugged him close to me, I realized that I could not merely put my love for him under the pretense of a chore in where my own soul was destroyed and given to the wind for it to judge me. “

Her voice sounded and echoed and she rolled her shoulders slightly, retaking her initial position, her heart beating wildly, quickly, not out of nerves due to the speech but the acute feeling of being watched, of Hermione’s eyes following her every word, her every move, her every sentence.

“I was wrong, and I got to learn as years passed. Love is not only fire, not only destruction and life wrapped up as beginning and end of a wand and a spell, though, but is also water, tranquil and still on its welcoming embrace. Love is not only the big actions, the ones we are forced to do or rather nothing else will be after we are done. Love is also the smaller decisions, the ones that are choices we take every day, every moment, every waking second. Love is the laughter and the shared glances and the touch of their skin against yours. Love is intimacy in not merely the option of being naked but also on the way her arms around you are enough for you to know you can close your eyes, and rest.”

She didn’t realize her slip until Draco looked at her, eyes open, skin white. She didn’t realize the slip until the pronouns rolled by her tongue when her mind flashed against her eyes, the glass falling to table, liquid sloshing, dripping.

She had been taught how to preserve the pretense no matter how the world around her was misshaped and hit. She felt her lips tremble, the point in where her eyes tried to focus fill with black dots that danced and mocked her. She felt a tremor on her spine, the questioning looks beginning to be thrown around. She had seconds, moments, and she could only refuse to glance towards where Hermione was sitting at. Decisions made on her mind’s eye.

Love. The word felt too bright, too strong, too full of implications neither of them were ready to consider. Yet that had been the word she had chosen for her initial speech and that word had been blurted out of her the second her mind had halted, left her bare. She felt the same ringing sensation on the back of her mind, the one that had made her get up and leave the moment the vows between Hermione and the Weasley boy had been exchanged. She felt weak and wrong. Something that made her skin prickle with the fear of not having the ready answer on how she needed to behave.

“Pardon me.” She finally said, voice weakened, brittle. “Seems like both the wine and the nerves have made my tongue not capable of proper pronunciation. I will let another voice to raise tonight. Have a good evening.”

She waited for the confusion to die and she turned, ready to disappear, to move back to the shadows and the blackened corners of not being noticed, when a hand on her forearm made her jump, the electricity deafening, the way her magic reacted, obvious.

And when she turned and eyed the now young woman, she felt her vision began to close in a tunnel-shaped one, the circles and black dots bigger, anxiety brimming on the back of her lungs, muscles seizing. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t answer.

“Narcissa?”

The younger woman’s eyes were doubtful and Narcissa could feel them full of questions and the never-ending nervous worry of having misunderstood what for her had been so painfully obvious it made her want to turn into ash. Younger and younger still, her heart beat and writhed, traitorous, and she closed her eyes and wished for not being there, amidst those who, even if had turned their backs to the now quickly retreating couple of witches as the rest of the speech was finalized and banquet terminated, were nothing but curious, noisy, who wanted to understand.

A feeling that, even if it pained her, was something Narcissa couldn’t blame them all.

“I walked away from your wedding the second I saw you in your dress.” The blonde finally blurted, blue against brown, magic so vivid it made her take a breath while she tried to focus on anything, something, aside of Hermione’s eyes on her. “I knew it back then; I hadn’t realized until then. I needed to leave, I needed to give you the space. Because there was nothing I could do, nothing I could ask…”

She was stopped by a hand and a smile, a set of eyes so full that they made her feel empty and about to explode.

“Nothing you could have asked?”

It was said in a soft way, timid, fragile, and Narcissa shook her head in a poor imitation of a “no” as her breath was stolen and her hands grasped, her lips pursed, her head tilted, a smile reaching Hermione’s lips and eyes.

“Nothing?”

The younger witch halted, mid-movement, mid-kiss, mid-air.

“Noth…?”

“Please.”

📚 cissamione fic recs ❤ | requested! :)

Narcissa: *remembers all the times that she and Hermione went to cafes and the waiters put the check in front of Hermione despite the fact that Narcissa is famously rich*

“It’s true, I’m telling you!”

Narcissa can only roll her eyes, but Hermione is laughing uproariously across from her, and Potter and Draco, at the table next to theirs, are so terribly red and wheezing they might need medical attention--Draco’s shoulders are shaking so badly the teacup in his hand is sloshing dangerously over the space between their tables.

Narcissa, for one, is not as amused.

“If you and a same-sex friend are eating out... whoever gets the check put right in front of them, they’re the top. The waiter has judged it so.” Draco insists, grinning like an idiot.

“How terribly antiquated,” Narcissa drawls, taking a polite sip of her tea. Someone has to remember their manners here, after all.

“Oh, it’s all in good fun, Cissy,” Hermione quips, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, still giggling. “I wonder who the waiter will determine is the top between the two of you,” she says, waggling her brows towards Draco and Potter.

“Bold of you to assume I haven’t paid already, Granger,” Draco says with a wink. “I took care of it when I pretended to go to the loo a few minutes ago.”

“You!” Potter yelps, punching Draco lightly on the shoulder. “I knew it!”

“Hm, that kind of subterfuge is definitely Toppish Behaviour, methinks,” Hermione laughs.

“I wonder,” Potter says, brow raised and looking directly at Hermione. “Who will get the check at your table.”

Draco barks out a laugh. “Are you kidding me, Potter? That woman” he gestures towards his mother dramatically, “is Narcissa Malfoy. The Ice Queen, the last Heiress of the Noble House of Black, the richest witch in Britain.” He fakes a grimace. “No offence, ‘Mione.”

“None taken,” Hermione says, leaning back leisurely on her chair, looking smug. Narcissa feels her cheeks reddening, and thinks back on the last few month--all their little outings, their little dates, lunches, brunches, and dinners.

Oh no.

“I think I’ll pop to the ladies’ room for a moment,” she squeaks, beginning to stand--it’s a last ditch effort, but it’s all she’s got. Hermione sees right through her ruse, dashing a hand out to stop her with a gentle grasp of her palm.

“I don’t think so, Cissy, Draco has unfortunately revealed your little ruse.”

Narcissa sits back down, glaring daggers at Draco, who seems to not understand what is happening. Potter looks delighted, and Hermione? Hermione looks absolutely insufferable.

The wait is eternal and torturous. Narcissa sees the waiter come to their table with the check, and the approach seems to happen in slow motion. She can feel Hermione’s smug little grin, and the anticipation that comes from their neighboring is palpable, and there’s nothing, nothing Narcissa can do to stop the waiter from placing the check right in front of Hermione like he doesn’t know the implications of what he has just done.

Everything stops. Hermione’s still smirking. Draco’s grin wilts into an astonished grimace, and Potter releases an honest-to-Merlin guffaw. Narcissa’s already turning in her seat before anyone can say anything.

“Mother??”

“Alright, FIRST OF ALL!!”

✨ WLW Wed: Cissamione (Part 2) ✨

A biweekly HP femslash rec list made by the lovely members of the HP SAFFICS (18+) discord server. See all previous rec lists in the WLW Library.

Currently: Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy (see Part 1) Previously: Ginsy (see list)

—

💫 Medium (3-10k) 💫

Something Worth Giving by childhoodlight [T, 8.9k]

Your eyes meet and you dare a small, gentle smile. This time, the arched eyebrow is accompanied by something that flickers in her eyes. She doesn’t smile, but her features seem to soften a bit. You don’t know why you care.

Retribution by @vdoshu [E, 4.5k]

Ten years have passed since the war, and Hermione’s not happy with where society has ended up. Narcissa isn’t happy either. They discuss the concepts of change, truth, and retribution. And Hermione realises just how much she’s been bottling up.

I am not there, I did not die by inkheart9459 [G, 3.6k]

Hermione stood at the edge of a snow covered grave, the wind cutting through her... She hadn't come the entire time her father had been dead, over a decade now... And yet there she was, telling him about all the things that had happened recently, including her engagement to Narcissa.

A Valentine's Evening by @naralanis [E, 3.5k]

When two women love each other very very much and have a healthy sex life with some good toys... they have great Valentine's. That's the rules.

overdressed and overeducated by @swoontodeath [M, 3.1k]

Narcissa had always preferred her men dead, her women difficult.

—

💫 Short (<3k) 💫

i'm liquid smooth (come touch me) by @princessbrietta [E, 2.5k]

“Hello, I’m Hermione Granger, Head of Magical Law Enforcement. How can I—” Hermione finally looked up to see her visitor. She shook her head before continuing, “help you?” Or: Hermione Granger learns the allure of older women in black dresses and the dangerous effects of Elven wine.

driven by greed to succeed by servicetopthor [E, 2.0k]

Hermione receives a letter with compromising photographs of herself.

the bookworm at the bar by brightest_stars [G, 1.5k]

Narcissa is in a pub that she doesn't want to be in, waiting. And there's a bookworm at the bar.

wrapped in pearls by @wynnefic [T, 1.4k]

Love is a Muggle-born idea, Narcissa's mother always said.

The Misunderstanding by JulieKoolie30 [G, 1.2k]

Hermione moves in with Narcissa as part of her house arrest with hilarious consequences

—

🌙 Want more Cissamione? 🌙

Cissamione: Tag on Tumblr | Tag on AO3

- It took Hermione Granger a good three years before she dared lay eyes on Narcissa Malfoy after the war. Harry had invited her several times, but she just couldn’t do it. There was too much anger, hurt and sadness. When she finally does accept Harry’s invite, it’s to join them for tea at Malfoy manor.

- It’s weird to see a little one-year old boy running around, with bright blonde hair, being chased by a woman who single-handedly ended the war by telling a simple lie. Or perhaps it was the most complicated lie of all. The lie of a mother protecting a child who wasn’t hers. A mother who would do anything to safe her own son. Lies. Narcissa Malfoy was surrounded by lies. But little Scorpius didn’t know that and as she watched Narcissa scoop him up in the air, she hoped he never would.

- The word is still carved in her arm. It’s nothing like Harry’s scar, other than it being a constant reminder that there are still people out there who view her as lesser than others. A minority in a world full of powerful wizards. She doesn’t believe it, has worked to accept that she is a bright witch. Still. The scar is there, in all its anger and sometimes she lets the anger consume her until Harry hugs her back to the light.

- Narcissa tries. She tries with kind words, gentle touches on her shoulder as she comes back to the manor once a month. She tries by extending a hand and Hermione feels like a traitor when she accepts it. Narcissa’s slender fingers trace over the scar and she shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, Miss Granger,” falls from her lips and Hermione can’t stop the tear that slides down her cheek.

- Tea gatherings turn into dinners. Angry words are exchanged at the table and when Draco pulls her aside and gives her a piece of his mind, she bursts into tears and goes home. He is right, of course he is, but things are more complicated than that. She feels hurt and curls up in bed for three days straight. Narcissa is never far from her mind and she doesn’t understand why.

- Narcissa has a beautiful smile. It radiates with kindness and sometimes - when her features turn dark - she can understand why no one dares speak up to the woman. Narcissa is a powerhouse. A mother. A grandmother. Family means the world to her, and Hermione’s heart hurts when she thinks of her parents who are still in Australia, unaware they have a daughter who wants nothing but to bring them home. It would be selfish, though. So, her parents stay in Australia and Hermione tries not to think about them.

- It’s not hard to see how Draco was just as much a pawn in the war as they were. Draco is kind, a good husband and a good father. They share similar interests and when she laughs at one of his jokes, she catches the surprised look on Narcissa’s face. It’s important for Hermione that Narcissa knows she is not trying to steal Draco away from his wife, so she befriends Astoria too. It isn’t hard.

- Scorpius is sitting on her lap, as if she’s family, as if she’s an aunt he loves. His tiny hand grabs at her curls and she tickles him until he begs her to stop because his tummy hurts too much. He rests his head on her shoulder and she wonders if this is what it feels like to be a mother. She wants to protect Scorpius from all harm, hopes he never has to fight in a war like she had to and if he does, that he’ll be on the right side of it.

- Lucius remains to be someone who she doesn’t like. He scoffs every time he comes across her. Whispers words when no one else is around and she can’t for a second phantom why on earth Narcissa remains his wife. She deserves so much better than him. That revelation hits her like a truck and the next time she makes eye contact with Narcissa, she blushed furiously.

- Narcissa is in her dreams. Narcissa isn’t wearing any clothes and neither is she. Her touch brings gasps to Hermione and when she wakes up, it takes all her willpower not to bring herself to an orgasm while fantasizing about Narcissa.

- They hug now. When she enters the manor, Narcissa’s arms engulf her and there’s nothing but warmth that wraps around her. It feels nice. Safe. She never wants it to end. But it does, and it makes her sad. Still, when it’s time to leave she gets another hug and she tries not to inhale the scent of Narcissa. She fails.

- She has a major crush on Narcissa. That much is obvious. Narcissa is blissfully unaware and perhaps it’s for the best. Narcissa talks a million miles an hour and Hermione soaks up every word, stores them in her brain and replays the words late at night when she hugs her pillow tight to her.

- Narcissa’s hands are in Hermione’s hair. Playing, tugging gently. Sweet words are whispered into her ear and it’s getting harder to distinguish dreams from reality.

- Harry is either the biggest idiot in the world or he knows something she doesn’t want him to know when he sets her up with a friend of him. They go on a date. It ends horribly with her knee in his crotch. She cries because she doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. As soon as she’s home, settled on the couch with a cup of tea in her hands, there’s a soft knock on her door. When she opens it, Narcissa stands there with a worried look on her face. That night Hermione sleeps in her arms, completely platonically and for now, it’s all Hermione needs.

- Hermione invites Narcissa to movies in the muggle word. It’s both hilarious and a little sad that Narcissa has missed out on all the muggle technology. She shows her all the classics, and as the months pass, Hermione’s crush grows into full blown love. She doesn’t even dare to tell Narcissa. How could someone as gorgeous as Narcissa ever fall in love with a simple mudblood?

- It gets harder not to tell Narcissa. There are some self-esteem issues. Narcissa watches it from a distance until she can no longer take it. She grabs Hermione by the hand, pulls up her sleeve and tells her that the word edged into her skin does not define her. How beautiful she is, how smart she is, what a kind heart she has and how one day someone will love her for all those qualities and that her blood status should never be in the equation. She soothes all of Hermione’s fears until in a moment of pure adoration, Hermione presses her lips against Narcissa.

- Narcissa lets her down gently. Accepts the apology easily. Tells her it’s okay. But that she loves her husband and won’t abandon him. That she loves Hermione, but she isn’t in love with her. She gives Hermione hugs and strokes her hair until Hermione falls asleep on the couch. She covers her up with a blanket and quietly slips out of the house.

pairing: narcissa/hermione word count: 551

❈ written for @sapphicmicrofics ❈

—

A chess board sat in front of Hermione’s face. Not directly, a few feet away on the coffee table, but it was all she saw while gentle fingers trailed through her hair, lightly playing with the curls. Her head lay in Narcissa’s lap, the back of it resting against the older woman’s abdomen, and she could feel the rise and fall of it as Narcissa breathed through her diaphragm.

She’d lost horrifically to Narcissa, and Hermione was sure that her chess pieces would hold a grudge over her for God knew how long this time because of how she hadn’t listened to them like she should have, yet… even in losing the chess match, every remaining tendril of stress had still evaporated as she simply enjoyed spending time with Narcissa again. Even if she hadn’t quite learned how to improve her chess strategy, despite Narcissa doing her best to teach her.

“You don’t seem as tightly wound up now,” Narcissa observed quietly, every so often tenderly scratching Hermione’s scalp. Hermione made a little contented noise when Narcissa’s fingers brushed against a certain spot, and she wriggled her toes in her socks a bit as Narcissa noticed, keeping her fingers in the area and giving it further attention. They were both silent for a few minutes, and Hermione’s eyes began to close until Narcissa’s touch left her, and she shifted her position so that she was looking up at the ceiling, towards Narcissa’s face, instead of the chess board.

Even from this position, Narcissa was gorgeous while she appeared to look out of a window. Hermione lifted a hand and traced the underside of the other woman’s jawline, drawing Narcissa’s attention back to her. Eyes the colour of ice, yet holding not a shred of frigidity to them, looked down at Hermione, and she idly wondered if they could stay like this forever. Narcissa’s fingers wrapped around Hermione’s wrist, bringing her movements to a halt.

pairing: narcissa/hermione word count: 735

❈ written for @sapphicmicrofics ❈

—

Festivities with the Weasley family were… overwhelming, to say the least. Narcissa had found herself split between enjoyment and overstimulation, the latter eventually winning out to the point where she needed to excuse herself. Or, at least, that was half of the reason. The other half had everything to do with Hermione, who had excused herself for the loo far too long ago.

Gingerly making her way up the Burrow’s rickety circular staircase, the magic holding it all together so palpable that goosepimples peppered her skin, Narcissa stopped on the floor that housed the bathroom. The door was wide open, and no one was inside. While a part of her was grateful that it at least looked as if Hermione hadn’t unexpectedly fallen ill, Narcissa leaned slightly over the railing and craned her head upward for a better view of the remaining floors. Believing that she caught a flash of curly hair, then straining her ears to ascertain that the footsteps she heard were coming from above her instead of below, Narcissa began to climb a few more flights of steps, checking each room as she went, until her eyes landed on her partner sitting on their bed, her back facing Narcissa as Hermione appeared to gaze out of the window.

“Darling,” Narcissa started, stepping into the room. The only sign Hermione gave that she had heard her at all were her shoulders hunching up a bit. Narcissa walked around the footboard of the bed and stood just in front of the writing desk next to the window, resting some of her weight against it as she focused on Hermione. Though she didn’t look physically ill, there was something not right.

“Are you okay?” Narcissa asked.

Hermione blinked, then looked over at her. Her eyes were faintly red-rimmed, and though they both had gotten enough sleep last night, she looked utterly exhausted, and she fidgeted on the bed before answering, claiming that she was fine, that she’d only needed to take a moment for herself after using the loo.

Gaze softening, Narcissa stroked the sides of her chin with her thumb and forefinger, her tone non-accusatory as she said, “Please don’t lie to me.”