Change of Pace

Standing outside the Hog’s Head was becoming uncomfortable. Without her wand, Narcissa had no protection from the biting wind and the gawping masses. But she’d rather face the cold stares and the freezing wind than go into the pub alone.

Her blue eyes scanned the drably dressed wizards, looking for a flash of blond hair. She was sure that the hour had passed. The anxiety was gathering momentum, rolling unstoppably towards panic; her heart was thumping, and her chest was uncomfortably tight. As time had worn on since graduating, she had found being alone an almost crushing weight. It had either given her time to think about their status or caused dread to settle like stone in her guts as she waited for Lucius to return from the Dark Lord.

It had always been a trial to be parted from Lucius; in a way, joining the Death Eaters during her son’s fourth year had been a bitter blessing. They had been able to stay close. But as with everything, what they were given with one hand was taken away with the other. They had ensured each other’s survival, but at the cost of their daughter. Either the thought of it or the harsh wind snatched tears from her eyes.

She wiped away the tears with her numb fingertips and straightened. She wouldn’t be weak… Not when her son and husband were under some terrible strain. Whatever bothered her husband was beyond her to fathom, but she knew that the Ministry had done something to punish Lucius… Something that had almost broken him. He had never discussed it with her, but she had the idea that he couldn’t rather than wouldn’t. It pained her that something existed between them, but she trusted her husband, so she would be patient.

But waiting in the cold street was beginning to stretch her patience and test her endurance! She’d never been out of the hut for long, only out long enough to purchase food and collect the money they had been granted. The number of people milling around were causing her alarm—they could easily recognise her: a lone ex-Death Eater and an easy target. Licking her lips, she tried to blend in with the mottled stone at her back. She could feel the weight of eyes upon her.

“Where are you?” she muttered into the wind, watching the people as they scurried past, waiting for the inevitable finger-pointing and shouting.

Almost as if the Fates had heard her plea, she caught sight of Lucius working his way through the shoppers. She smiled and walked out to greet him midway.

She was about to speak when he cupped her elbow and spun her round, leading her into the Hog’s Head. The blast of warm air was heavenly, and she felt her protests at his brusqueness melt away. The lanterns cast a subtle and relaxing light, and after a quick glance over the clientele, she felt slightly more at ease.

Opting for the wooden bench in the far corner, close to the fire, they wove past the early evening drinkers. Pulling out her chair, he sat her down and kissed her hand before leaving to walk to the bar. She saw him talking to the spotty youth polishing glasses, who seemed rather disinterested in the conversation, and then, Lucius threw a leather pouch onto the bar top. The effect was almost magical! The youth perked up, smiled, nodded and rushed off to carry out whatever her husband had tasked him with. She would have found the entire thing comical had not the pouch looked like it contained their allotted money for the week.

“Don’t look so concerned, Narcissa,” Lucius said softly as he sat down opposite her. “Please, trust me.”

“Have you been gambling?”

“No,” he said with a laugh, reaching forward to place his hand over her clasped ones. “I never gambled when we had money; I’d hardly do it now when we’re practically destitute.” He could see various expressions flickering across her wan face; she wanted to argue, tell him that frivolous spending was a thing of the distant past, but she knew that the money was already lost.

“What will we do for money for the rest of the week?” she asked. The fretting caused her to stiffen and tremble; never had she had to worry about money before. This scrimping and constant care was exhausting. She always felt that she was making the wrong decisions. She felt so insecure. The idea that he was throwing that care into the wind made her feel sick to her stomach and somewhat angry after months of personal agonising over whether to buy fuel or food.

“We don’t have to worry about that now, do we?” he asked in a whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. The tone hinted at future delights.

She wanted to argue, to shout; she wanted to tell him that he’d been foolish, but it had been so long since they’d gone out for a meal. It had been so long since she’d felt like any other woman, rather than the shadow of the witch she was. Her arguments crumbled, and she relaxed.

“No. I think we can pass on that particular topic.” She was almost breathless with the thrill of it; it was a feeling bordering on fear, but was still the right side of pleasure. Her skin tingled, and it was quite possible that she would fly apart at the merest touch: that or slip into hysteria!

Lucius smiled, and Narcissa felt her breath stutter. Suddenly, his frivolity was the best thing to happen in years.

“The sommelier recommended the House wine, and the beef stew with dumplings is apparently the best you’ll get this side of the street.” It was good to hear her laugh, and he paused just to listen to her. “He advised against the semolina pudding, but extolled the wonder of the Spotted Dick with custard.”

“Spotted Dick? Isn’t that the sponge cake with raisins in?” she asked with a frown.

“I sincerely hope so.”

Oh this was glorious! She laughed out again. Who cares if we go hungry? she thought happily. The change in him was astounding. He’d been supportive and so patient, but it seemed that the life had been drained from him; to see him like this was wonderful beyond words. It was like the last twenty years hadn’t been: no Voldemort; no Death Eaters; no pain.

In the flickering firelight, her hair looked like burnished gold; the lantern’s weak light darkened her eyes until they looked like pure sapphires, and her lips were soft and inviting. She was divine. He caressed the back of her hand with the edge of his thumb, and he saw her lips part ever-so slightly.

“So,” she said after moistening her lips, “what are we celebrating?”

“Oh,” he replied with a casual wave of his hand, “merely our escape from this life.”

Narcissa was about to inhale and bombard him with questions when a shadow fell across the table and silenced her. Glancing up, she saw the spotty bartender, who lifted his hands to show them the two wineglasses and carafe he was carrying. She smiled and withdrew her hands so that he could arrange the glasses and wine in the centre of the table.

“So, that’ll be two beef stews and Spotted Dicks?” he asked without much enthusiasm. He seemed far more interested in the grain pattern on the polished table and didn’t seem to be offering them a choice.

“Yes,” said Lucius curtly, glaring at the young wizard. If looks cast curses, then the man would be suffering no-end.

Narcissa nodded in agreement, and she was gratified to see him saunter away. When she was sure that he was out of earshot, she turned on Lucius, armed with questions and determination.

“What do you mean?”

Lucius merely smiled and poured the wine. “I doubt they opened the wine to let it breathe: no sense of good dining etiquette.”

“Lucius! Please,” she begged, her hand darting out to clutch the glass stem as if the familiar action would soothe her frazzled nerves.

Relaxing back, he brought the glass to his lips and took a sip; given the ambience and the cost, the wine wasn’t that bad. Or maybe Narcissa just made everything seem sweeter, even if she was scowling.

“I have acquired a colleague of sorts,” he explained, and then, he launched into describing how he had spent the last hour.

It was rather exquisite. Lucius had certainly never expected it to happen, and he quite enjoyed turning the tables. The silence stretched, only the crackle from the fire and the soft ticking of the clock disturbed the unusual peace. Across from him, she sat on the leather chair; her eyes and mouth were wide as if he had truly shocked her. A paralysing curse couldn’t have affected her more thoroughly. Hermione Granger had been rendered silent!

Surely, he had suggested nothing beyond her understanding? Also, he hoped that it wasn’t beyond her capability. He had effectively tied the future of his family to her abilities. In another universe, he would have died rather than be forced to ask a Mudblood for anything, but these were strange days. And now, he was almost begging Hermione to help him: strange days, indeed.

After what seemed an age, she relaxed, and her mouth closed into a bemused smile. “You want me to help you escape the Wizarding world?”

“Yes.”

She still seemed highly perplexed about some aspect of his request.

“From the Wizarding world… and to the Muggle one?”

“I know that it seems so out of character,” he said with a wave of his hand, “but I’ve developed a certain fondness for living on the edge of magic. I want to go the whole hog and go native.”

A laugh erupted from her slack mouth. “You want to live as a Muggle?”

“I’m almost existing as one now,” he said.

Something in his tone sobered her, and she withdrew into the soft cushions with a thoughtful expression on her face.

“You do know what kind of trouble that could get us into?”

Underneath the illusion of appalled shock, he could almost hear her pondering the request. He smiled and sat back; she’d do it if only for the challenge… but he hoped that she would do it for the bizarre friendship they’d created.

“You’d need a place that was unplottable… where no one would disturb you.”

Lucius nodded; his smile widened, and his spirits lifted as she immersed herself in the problem. Soon, they’d have some respite from their current dilemma. Of course there’d be consequences, but when it all came to light, the Malfoys would be welcomed back… and then, he would visit those who had made his and his family’s life hell.

“The house would be unknown to anyone, and the neighbours could be mildly befuddled to disperse any suspicion.” She nibbled her lip. “It can’t be as hard as it was to get my parents away, and—when do you want this move to happen?” Her shift from reticent partner to ardent abettor caught him by surprise, but it seemed that his answer was superfluous. “Of course,” she continued without pausing, “I’d need access at set times, and the Portkey couldn’t be tied to the house itself, otherwise we’d lose the unplottable aspect.” She sighed and stared off into the fire. “I wish I knew more about how the unplottable thing worked. I know the basics of it, but not enough about the mechanism of casting.”

Access? Portkey? he thought. “What are you rambling on about, Hermione?” But the question bounced off her like deodorising spells off Hagrid. It almost seems that she’s thinking of visiting us! Shifting uneasily in his chair, he saw her gathering enthusiasm as something to fear; Hermione seemed to have plans.

“I’ll need access at set times for the potion.” She tutted and shook her head. Honestly! It’s like talking to Ron. “I need somewhere to brew the potion and cure Snape.”

It was Lucius’ turn to feel the world shift, and he had to snap his own mouth closed. “You want to use our hidey-hole to brew the potion and cure Severus?” He moistened his lips and swallowed hastily. “Wouldn’t that entail ‘borrowing’ Severus from St Mungo’s?” Suddenly, he felt that this had been a very bad decision.

Hermione nodded and grinned. “It’s perfect really; I’d never have thought of it without your help.”

Oh goody! he groused. “Do you have any idea what sort of trouble that could get us into?”

She laughed and unfurled herself from the chair. “I have some work to do, but I don’t see a problem with securing you a Muggle house.”

He stood and smiled down at her. “Good! I’ll go and collect Narcissa and meet you back here when you’re done.”

She stumbled as she spun round. “What?”

Her mouth formed that rather delightful ‘O’ shape, and her brown eyes bored into his. Lucius smirked at her and gave a small bow.

“I will help you pinch Severus from that hospital, and for that assistance, Narcissa and I will seek sanctuary here.”

Her lips worked silently, but her hands waved quite effusively. “But what will you do for food and water and…” she paled and looked nauseous “… bathroom facilities?”

“We will still have access to the Hog’s Head; so long as we make it appear that we haven’t disappeared entirely, we won’t stir up any suspicions, and we can continue to exist more safely and comfortably here.” He closed his eyes as though pained, and she just caught his last mumbled words. “And we’ll have access to our son.”

“You’ll need money?” But his expression answered that question. “I see. Aren’t you supposed to pay me for helping you?”

“I always pay what is owed, Hermione.”

He said it with conviction, but his tone wasn’t what made her shiver; she saw his words as a warning. However, despite her earlier stance, she’d have done it for free; the thought of them being treated worse then house-elves was enough of a reason, and of course, she would need help getting Snape out of St Mungo’s. And she knew more about them than Lucius would like. Some weight hung over them: some sword of Damocles.

“Okay,” she said softly. “It took me several months to arrange for my parents to be re-homed, but it can’t take that long for somewhere in the UK. I know a few houses where you can stay until I arrange somewhere more permanent.” As she spoke, she studied him, her mind going over what it would be like for them living as Muggles. Rather than the irony she had expected, she felt sorrowful; they would find it a bittersweet experience.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said hoarsely. He reached out as if to accentuate his gratitude with a friendly touch on her shoulder, but his hand trembled as it approached, falling back to his side as he sighed. Coughing and straightening, he gathered himself together and smiled at her. “I intend to leave the Wizarding world with as much flourish as I can afford, so expect me home late!”

She laughed as he winked. Moving away with a lively step, he pulled back the tapestry that concealed the way back to the Hog’s Head, but turned back to her. “Whatever happens,” he said sternly, “I will do everything within my power to protect you from any repercussions.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you.” She sniffled and hugged herself. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Will do, my dear.”

“Don’t worry about the money,” she called out as he entered the tunnel. “I’ll go and see Meadowes over the weekend; he’ll be delighted about our news.”