“This wing is unoccupied,” Astoria said as though it weren't obvious. “We have more servants than we need. Stay here and out of sight unless you're called for. The portraits will keep an eye on you.”
Astoria pushed open a door. Hermione walked in. It was a large bedroom. A canopied bed sat in the center and a single wing-backed chair near the window. A large wardrobe sat against one wall. There was no rug. A portrait hung on the wall. No books.
Everything was cold and bare.
“If you need anything, call a house-elf,” Astoria said before pulling the door shut. Hermione listened to her retreating footsteps.
Being suddenly left unsupervised without being in a cell felt disorienting. The sudden change simultaneously thrilling and terrifying, as though she'd suddenly jumped off a cliff.
She dropped her bonnet on the floor next to the door and walked over to a window. The cold, wintry countryside stretched out as far as she could see. As she took it in, she considered the situation.
Malfoy and Astoria clearly disliked each other.
It was hardly surprising. As if pure-blood arranged marriages weren't already dysfunctional enough, having them arranged by Voldemort for the sole purpose of reproduction had to have smothered any potential spark. Especially after they failed to reproduce.
Astoria did not seem particularly afraid of Malfoy, so presumably he wasn't so short-tempered as to be violent to her. She seemed largely resentful of and indifferent to him.
He did not appear to be an attentive husband by any stretch of the imagination. His regard for Astoria seemed to be along the lines of finding her to be a pest he was obliged to endure.
Whatever Astoria may feel about her husband or marriage, Hermione's presence as a surrogate clearly stung. She seemed determined to ignore Hermione's existence inasmuch as she possibly could.
Hermione had no objection. The fewer players she had to worry about, the better. If she had to worry about fending off or appeasing Astoria it would be an additional challenge. If Astoria were attentive to her husband, it would make escaping or finding a way to manipulate Malfoy far more challenging. If Astoria was primarily preoccupied by pretending Hermione didn't exist, it was the easiest scenario. Hermione would keep out of sight, in the shadows, as much as she could. Until there was an opportunity to act.
The key would be to study Malfoy. Discover what drove him. What his vices were. What she could exploit in him.
He didn't seem particularly interested in Hermione beyond finding out what she might be concealing in her lost memories. If that were the case, it was a relief. Perhaps he would also primarily choose to leave her alone. She was sure that if he wished to he could come up with any number of ways to torture her without risking her fertility.
Draco Malfoy was the High Reeve.
It was still shocking.
What had happened to him during the war to make him so ruthless?
The hatred required to successfully cast a Killing Curse was tremendous. To inflict instant death tore something out of you. Most dark wizards and witches could only manage it occasionally. That was part of why there were so many other curses used to kill. Sadism factored into it, but the truth was that no other curse was irreversible and unstoppable the way the Killing Curse was. The power necessary to utilise something so final was — well, there was really nothing to compare it to.
Voldemort's ability to cast it repeatedly and unfailingly was part of the reason he inspired such terror.
The High Reeve's reputation for using the curse was already equally legendary. It had vaulted him into the highest rank of the Death Eaters.
And it was Malfoy.
She would have to move carefully. The casualness with which the Malfoys had treated her arrival indicated utter assurance. Leaving her in the foyer. Showing her through the house. Putting her into an unoccupied wing. Hermione was certain there were no easy ways to escape. Until she could get the manacles off, Malfoy would always be able to find her, and she'd be incapable of fighting off him or anyone else.
She sighed, and her breath made a small circle of condensation on the cold glass of the windowpane.
Lifting a fingertip to the glass, she drew the rune thurisaz: for defense, introspection, and focus. Beside it she drew its reversal, its merkstave: for danger, defenselessness, malice, hatred, and spite.
What she needed. What she had.
She had to reverse her fortune.
She watched the runes fade away from the glass as the condensation evaporated back into the room.
None of the girls had heard any whispers about the Resistance still existing. Aside from Hermione, all of the Order members who survived the final battle were known to be dead. Their deaths publicly witnessed. Their corpses hung up to ensure there was no room for secret hopes. The Resistance had crumbled upon Harry's death.