Draco had been thorough. His research and analysis had been comprehensive. He had to have taught himself a considerable amount of magi-biology and healing theory in addition to his curse research.
He'd tried nine times. Twice more since the war had ended.
Hermione knew from her research that Voldemort had been a brilliant student at Hogwarts. Whenever he'd created the Dark Mark, he'd invested considerable time and effort into making it an inescapable collar to lock around the throats of his followers. It wasn't particularly elaborate; it was simple, straightforward, and lethal.
At the back of the folio was a set of notes in sharp, spiked handwriting. Severus, she realised, had also analysed the mark.
Hermione read through the notes twice and then curled into a tight ball, gripping her throbbing head and trying to think, trying to analyse.
She kept grinding her teeth together as she struggled to cope with the pain. Eventually she passed out.
When she woke again, Draco was seated at the edge of the bed. He had her pregnancy guide open, his eyes skimming across the pages. She watched him for a moment.
“You're back,” she said.
He immediately closed the book and looked over at her.
Her headache had faded again into something less debilitating. She sat up carefully and picked up the folio. “I read your notes, but not the books yet. I have a few book titles I think might be useful.”
“Alright.” His mouth quirked at the corner as he watched her.
She straightened the pages and fixed the corner of one that had been dogeared. “Part of the curse interferes with the blood's coagulation. It's a hemophilia type curse that may be a long-term side effect. I'll need to create a potion; a variation on what's used to counter vampire bites. It will require regular redosage, but once Voldemort dies, you might not have to keep taking it.”
She gnawed at her lip. “It wouldn't address the immediate issue of getting the wound to close. You tried all the normal methods, even old Muggle ones like cauterizing and — tar, but I've just started. I'll find something.”
Draco nodded again and glanced away.
The conversation was painfully stilted. Draco did not want to talk about his attempts in any further detail than the notes he'd provided. He was distracted and kept glancing towards the clock. His expression was appropriately engaged, but his eyes were flat as she mentioned theories she wanted to explore.
She realised, as she watched him, that he was indulging her. The notes and the books were to appease her. They were the library. Something to preoccupy her while he continued with his own plans.
She stopped talking and just stared at her lap. There was a long pause, and he stood up.
“I'll have the books you mentioned sent later today.”
As he was leaving, he suddenly stopped and turned back.
He stood staring at her, and his mouth moved slightly several times before he spoke.
“Granger — you don't—” He stopped, and she saw his hand curl into a fist at his side before disappearing behind his back. He pressed his lips into a hard line and blinked before staring just past her.
“I never assumed you'd keep a pregnancy.” He was almost expressionless as he spoke, but his Adam's apple dipped briefly. “I can send a potion with you so you can — resolve it once you're out of Europe. Just tell me—” He cut himself off, and he looked down, setting his jaw. “No, never mind that, there's no need. I'll send it. There's no reason for you to have to tell me what you choose.”
He turned on his heel and left before she could speak.
Hermione lay in bed, tracing her fingers over her lower abdomen. If she searched, she could feel the small but firm beginning swell of her uterus just above her pelvis.
It hadn't occurred to her to have an abortion if she escaped, or that it would be the assumption Draco would be operating under.
She would have jumped out a window or poisoned herself in order to prevent a baby from being born into Malfoy Manor and left in the care of Astoria, but it hadn't occurred to her to abort it if she escaped.
It was a baby. To Hermione, it had been a baby since the moment Stroud had announced Hermione was pregnant.
Not a foetus. Not an heir. It was a baby, and one that she already felt intensely protective of. When she'd seen the fluttering light of the heartbeat, it had felt like her heart had been stolen.
But Draco was assuming she wouldn't keep it once she had any choice in the matter.
He'd raped her. She was pregnant. He expected she'd want an abortion as soon as she was free.
He was assuming that he'd stay behind to die, and she would leave and try to forget everything that had happened by erasing it.
Topsy came with a stack of books in the evening, several which were brand new.
“Is Draco here?” Hermione asked as she turned one of the books over in her hands.
“He is just returned.”
“Can you tell him that I want him?”
Topsy gave a bobbing curtsy and popped away.
Hermione went over to the portrait on the wall.
Narcissa Malfoy stared at Hermione.