Chapter Text
“So this is where the Golden Girl has been all this time.”
Hermione froze when she heard the nickname for the first time in over a year. The voice sounded strangely familiar too, but with her back to the speaker, she couldn’t be too sure. Or maybe she was trying to convince herself it wasn’t who she thought it was. Surely it was just her mind playing tricks on her.
“You know, I never thought of you as the type to hide from your problems,” the woman continued.
Hermione took a deep breath to compose herself before slowly turning to greet none other than Narcissa Malfoy – the Ice Queen herself, and probably the last person Hermione ever wanted to see. All it took was a single look into those cold blue eyes and Hermione was transported right back in time, to when those same eyes simply watched as Bellatrix Lestrange pinned Hermione to the floor and tortured her endlessly. A shiver ran down Hermione’s spine at the memory she’d managed to push down for years.
“I–” Hermione cleared her throat and straightened herself up, determined not to let Narcissa shake her. “I’m not hiding from anything.”
Narcissa raised an eyebrow, disbelief clear in her expression. “According to the Daily Prophet, you disappeared without a trace last year. Now, here you are in a Muggle café in Paris, of all places. So, tell me, what would you call it, if not hiding?”
Hermione took a quick look around the small shop, but there were no other customers there. They could speak freely to each other without anyone around to overhear their conversation. She couldn’t decide whether or not that was a good thing.
“What are you even doing here?” Hermione asked, avoiding Narcissa’s question. “I didn’t think a Muggle café was exactly your style. And, shouldn’t you still be in Azkaban, anyway?”
“I was never in Azkaban,” Narcissa said coldly, her features turning to stone in an instant. “I was under house arrest. And, if you were paying any attention to the news lately, you would know that my sentence was appealed a month ago. Mr. Potter spoke on my behalf and the charges against me were dropped.”
“Yeah, right,” Hermione scoffed. “Harry would never do that. Not after what you did to me.”
Another brief image of dark curls and empty blue eyes flashed in her head, and she had to look away from Narcissa for a few seconds to compose herself. Hermione never imagined she would have to see the woman again, let alone speak to her. She quickly shook the image out of her head and slowly brought her focus back to Narcissa.
“As I recall, I did nothing to harm you that evening,” Narcissa said defensively.
“You didn’t do anything to help me, either,” Hermione reminded her quietly.
A heavy silence washed over the two witches, neither of them knowing where to go from there. Narcissa opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but instead she shifted and glanced at the menu behind Hermione, eager for the distraction. Hermione just sighed and tapped her nails on the counter, hoping Narcissa would be gone soon.
“Are you here to order something, or just to interrogate me?” she asked eventually.
“I’ll take a cappuccino to go.”
Hermione was certain a cappuccino had never taken so long to make before. It felt like hours were passing while she steamed the milk, all the while feeling Narcissa’s gaze burning into the back of her head. The rest of the exchange happened without another word being spoken by either of them and then finally, Narcissa was walking away from the counter.
It was only when Narcissa was halfway through the door that a terrible thought crossed Hermione’s mind.
“Mrs. Malfoy!”
Narcissa glanced over her shoulder, one hand still on the door. “It’s Black,” she corrected harshly.
Hermione stared at her, mouth slightly agape. The news of Narcissa’s apparent divorce came as quite the shock – the last time she checked, Narcissa wore her status as a Malfoy proudly. Now, it was like Hermione had just called her the worst insult imaginable.
“I don’t have all day, Ms. Granger,” Narcissa huffed impatiently.
“Right, of course. I just wanted to know…” Hermione chewed her lip for a moment, wondering whether she even wanted to hear the answer to her question. “Should I be expecting an article in the Daily Prophet announcing my whereabouts to the whole wizarding world anytime soon?”
Narcissa didn’t answer straight away, and the longer she stayed quiet, the more Hermione’s nerves grew. There was a tiny voice in the back of her head urging her to run, to head upstairs and pack her bags, just as she’d done that night in London.
She almost didn’t hear it when Narcissa finally murmured, “No.”
“Wait, what?” Hermione let out the breath she’d been holding while Narcissa was deciding her fate. “I–“
“Don’t misunderstand me,” Narcissa interrupted before Hermione could even try to thank her. “I’m not doing you any favours, Ms Granger. I’m simply not ready to reveal my own location to anyone just yet.”
And then she was gone, disappearing into the crowded streets of Paris and leaving Hermione more confused than ever. So, Narcissa was hiding from something after all.
Of course, out of anyone that could have stumbled upon her, it had to be the one person she hated more than anybody. All she could hope for now was that it was the last she ever saw of Narcissa, and that she wouldn’t sell Hermione out to the Daily Prophet. With any luck, maybe she could go back to the life she’d created for herself without any more reminders of her past.
Hermione crossed the room and locked the front door, peeking out the window to make sure Narcissa wasn’t still hanging around, then returned to the counter to begin her daily routine of cleaning down the shop. It was a task that could easily be accomplished by magic, but she preferred to do it by hand, as it kept her focused on something other than her past. Usually, it was enough to keep her from thinking of all the people she’d left behind, and all the memories she’d much rather forget. But tonight was different.
No matter how hard she scrubbed the machines, she couldn’t keep her mind from drifting this time. She found it odd that Harry didn’t write to tell her about Narcissa’s trial; he usually told her about anything important that went on in London. Then again, it had been a while since she had last heard from him.
It had been a while since she’d heard from any of her friends, really. Maybe they were starting to realise it was pointless to keep writing to someone who had stopped writing back.
A group of teenagers passed by the café, their raucous laughter startling Hermione back to the present. It was only then that she realised she had been scrubbing the same table for almost ten minutes, entirely lost in her thoughts. She let out a deep sigh and finished the rest of the cleanup with a flick of her wand, then headed upstairs to her flat for the evening.