“Topsy, will monitoring you full-time now, to ensure you don't experience any misfortunes like tripping on the stairs, or chewing on a sprig of yew. She's cared for pregnant witches before, so she's well aware of what you can and cannot eat or drink. She has my permission to immediately restrain you if you try anything.”
Hermione didn't say anything. Malfoy remained standing beside her bed for several minutes before he sighed faintly. She heard his retreating footsteps and the click of the door.
She stayed in bed, and alternated between crying and sleeping; curled up tightly, wrapping her arms around her stomach protectively.
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry,” she whispered again and again. “I would do anything to spare you from this world.”
Malfoy reappeared after four days.
“You cannot lie moping for nine months,” he said. “You need to eat. You should go outside.”
Hermione ignored him and hoped he'd leave. Unless he intended to force her from the bed she had no intention of moving. There was a long silence. She could feel his eyes on her.
“I have something for you,” he finally said.
She felt something heavy press into the coverlet and cracked an eye open. There was a thick book laid beside her.
She closed her eyes again.
“I can't touch your books,” she said, her mouth twisting as she spoke and her voice shaking faintly. “Astoria had them all warded against Mudbloods.”
“This is not from the manor library.” Malfoy's tone was faintly amused. “It won't burn you.”
There was a pause.
“I will expect you to get out of bed tomorrow.”
After he left, Hermione opened her eyes again and tentatively reached toward the book, resting a finger lightly on the cover. There was no burning sensation as she came in contact with it.
She pulled it closer, drawing it against her chest and holding it tightly.
The next day, Hermione forced herself out bed and went over to the window. The book was brand new; the leather spine creaked slightly as she lifted the cover, and the pages smelled faintly of machine oil and ink. It was three inches thick and printed on scritta paper. She started on the table of contents and read for hours straight.
It was a medical textbook rather than a basic pregnancy guide for a lay-witch. It was thoughtful of Malfoy to realise she'd prefer that.
She was deep into a chapter on endocrine regulation influencing adequate trophoblast invasion when Malfoy walked into her room again.
She clutched at the edges of her book reactively as he stared down at her with a contemplative expression.
“When did you last go outside?” he finally asked.
Hermione hesitated and swallowed. “The day you went to France. I went outside.”
His eyes narrowed. “For how long?”
Hermione jutted her jaw out slightly and flushed. “Less than a minute.”
Irritation flickered across his expression. “And before that?”
Hermione was silent and dropped her eyes.
“You haven't been outside since the equinox, have you?”
Hermione stared down, unblinking, at the page in front of her until the words blurred. Malfoy sighed.
“Get up,” he ordered.
She stood up, clutching her book tightly across her chest. He gave another sigh.
“You cannot bring that, it weighs nearly five pounds. I'm not having you drag it around the estate. Leave it here.”
Hermione held it tighter. He raised his right hand and gripped his temples as though he had a headache.
“No one is going to steal it or take it if you leave it here. If they do, I'll buy you another one. Leave it.” The final words were a command.
Hermione reluctantly put it down on her bed and then went to retrieve her boots from the wardrobe. While she was getting ready Malfoy stared out the window, studying the horizon. Then he turned sharply and glanced over her briefly before striding toward the door.
Hermione followed him slowly.
He paused at the door of the veranda and looked over at her. “We won't go near the hedge maze.”
He led her through the rose gardens and then along one of the lanes lined with blossoming fruit trees. The estate was lovely in spring. Hermione couldn't deny it, but the beauty felt bitter and poisonous as she took it in.
Neither she nor Malfoy spoke until he had escorted her back into her room.
As he was walking away she managed to speak.
“Malfoy.” Her voice wavered as she said his name.
He stopped and turned back to her; his expression closed, his eyes guarded.
“Malfoy,” she said again. Her jaw trembled and she gripped the poster of the bed. “I will never ask anything of you—“
His mouth twitched and his gaze hardened. She felt something inside her break with despair but she forced herself to continue.
“You can do anything you want to me. I will never ask for any mercy from you. But — please, please don't hurt the baby. Even — if you have a different heir, it's — it's still half yours. Don't — don't — don't—“
Her chest started to stutter as she struggled to breathe and not start crying. She shook.