He eyed her for a moment. “You can change rooms. I'll just need a few days to get the wards in place here.”
“Astoria might notice.”
His lip curled. “She's not permitted in this wing of the house any longer. Even if she were, she's in France for the next month, buying a new wardrobe.”
Hearing that Astoria was not lurking in the manor unknotted an anxious tension in the pit of Hermione's stomach.
She stared up at the canopy overhead. “There's no need.”
From the corner of her eye she saw Draco shift and his expression harden.
There was something he was trying to communicate to her, but she was too tired to try to guess what it was. Her head hurt too much, and her entire body was aching from the exertion of walking down the hallway.
She looked across the room at the portrait. The blonde witch was in frame picking flowers in an Impressionist style garden.
“Is that your mother?”
The portrait stilled and looked up.
“Why do you ask?” Draco's voice was suspiciously casual.
Hermione shrugged a shoulder. “You have her mouth. It's different from the Malfoy features that your father and most of the portraits have.”
“She had it painted to keep my father company when he left Hogwarts. He graduated the year before she did,” Draco said, staring across the room at the portrait. “Due to the circumstances of her death, none of the later portraits ever woke.”
He looked away. “You should sleep in your room. It's safer there.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Can you walk?”
Hermione stared at him and wondered what he'd do if she said no. Levitate her? Carry her?
Tell her to sleep on the floor?
She blinked. No. That was before; when she'd first arrived.
“I can walk.” She pushed herself up and realised she'd forgotten to bring new robes with her and only had a towel. She gripped it tightly around herself and avoided looking at Draco as she slipped off the bed.
When she glanced over, she found he was staring pointedly away from her and holding his cloak out towards her. She stared for only a moment before taking it and pulling it over her shoulders.
The towel dropped to the floor, but she didn't try to pick it up. The house-elves could banish it from the floor as easily as the bed. If she knelt down, she was afraid her muscle atrophy would result in her staying there.
She walked to the door without looking at Draco; the fabric dragging across the wood floor. Draco was only a few steps behind her, she could feel him, but his footsteps were silent, and that fact set her on edge.
“What kinds of wards do you have on my room?”
She could sense the way Draco grew colder at the question.
“Only a few.”
Lie.
She thought back to how he'd been outside her room immediately after the New Year's Party and sent her to bed.
The explosion necessary for Astoria to get through the door.
His haste to get her back to her room after she'd tried to throw herself over the balcony. How he'd insisted on coming to her room when she was fertile.
It was always an intense relief when she returned to it. She'd always been able to stay calm and clear-headed in her room, until she'd become pregnant and her anxiety had finally exceeded whatever enchantments he'd imbued it with.
He'd probably been being honest with Stroud.
She tried to walk quickly. It was only four doors down the hall to her room, but she felt as though her legs were already on the verge of giving out as she passed the second door. She stumbled.
Draco instantly caught her left elbow, and she froze. Her stomach plummeted so sharply that she gasped and felt her chest contract until she couldn't breathe. She reached desperately for the wall until her fingertips brushed it. She pressed her body tightly against it and struggled to inhale.
Draco's hand withdrew as though burned, and her heart shattered. She suddenly felt the stark, cruel reality of everything, and it was like being crushed to death.
“I just—,” her voice shook and then broke. “I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be alright with what happened. I don't know how to try to come to terms with it.” Her shoulders were shaking, and she pressed her forehead against the wall.
“I don't know how we're supposed to fix this. Draco, why did this happen to us? How is it ever going to be alright now?” Her voice was trembling, and she gave a low sob and then burst into tears, sliding down the wall to the floor.
“I don't know how to do this.” She kept saying it over and over as she pressed herself against the wall and cried.
Chapter End Notes
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