It wasn't like the gradual deadliness of the curse Dumbledore had received on his hand. The damage refused to be contained or slowed, magically or otherwise. Tourniquets. Essence of Dittany. Cauterisation. Healing spells. Severus and Draco had tried without success to stop the bleeding.
It was as though the curse was determined to force all the blood out of the body.
She kept narrowing and narrowing the options. Every day felt like a screw being more tightly turned.
Her headaches stopped being debilitating, but they were steadily replaced by shriveling anxiety. The date on the wall felt like a daily death knell. She researched until she couldn't see to read. It was the only way she knew how to make herself feel useful.
Feeling useful was all she was doing. She knew Draco was letting her feel like she was contributing. He was letting her try, so she'd feel like she'd done something. It was just an outlet, like doing crunches in her room or searching the manor from garret to dungeon in the hopes of finding a weapon. It was something for her to do. Something preoccupy her with.
When Draco was with her, he treated her like it was all a goodbye. He looked at her like he was saying goodbye. He touched her like he was saying goodbye. He'd wrap his arms around her shoulders and rest his head on hers, and she could feel it.
One morning she returned from showering and found all her books gone. Topsy was standing beside the bed.
“The Healer is coming this day, the Master says all the books is needing to be put away.”
Hermione gave a resigned nod and went and stared out the window. It was summer, lush and beautiful. She hadn't been outside in over a month.
It felt like such an effort; to go all the way outside, to try to stay calm under the open sky. It would waste time and energy she could be spending trying to find a way to remove Draco's mark.
There was a soft crack, and she looked over her shoulder and found that Draco had appeared.
“Stroud will be arriving soon.”
Hermione nodded. “Topsy mentioned it.”
He walked closer and stood, staring out the window beside her.
“When did you last go outside?”
Hermione kept looking down at the maze. She reached out and rested her finger on the grill of the window. “I don't remember. Early May.”
“You should.”
Her fingers slipped away from the glass and dropped to her side. “It's too open. I don't want to.”
Draco was silent.
“Fresh air would be good for you. It might help you eat more.”
Hermione looked down. “I don't have time.”
“Read downstairs, sit by an open window. You used to always go outside.”
Her jaw threatened to tremble. She tensed it and shrugged. “Well—“ her voice was careful, “I was different then.”
“I'm not talking about years ago. You used to go outside at the estate. You used to go out of this room. Now you hardly do that.”
She shrugged and kept staring out the window. “I didn't have anything else to do.”
He gave a sharp sigh. “Granger — why won't you go out?”
Hermione was quiet for a moment. She rested a fingertip against the glass and drew Kenaz for knowledge, creativity and inspiration. She had never imagined how much she could miss writing, how she'd taken for granted the ability to put her thoughts down on paper to organise and return to. She missed writing almost as much as she missed reading. She found herself often drawing on the windows to try to process everything crammed into her mind.
Beside Kenaz she drew Sowilo, for success and wholeness, and Dagaz for breakthrough, the power of change, and hope.
Then she sighed and drew Isa above them all and tapped it before looking down. “I feel the safest — calmest — in this room. There's still a lot I'm processing, and it — it affects me more when I'm in other parts of the house.” She swallowed, and her shoulder twitched. “I might panic, and then you won't let me research anymore.”
Draco went still. “Granger—” his voice faded briefly. “Don't — don't keep yourself in a cage because of me.”
Hermione looked up at him quickly. “I'm not. I just — I don't want to take chances. There are more important things than going outside.”
Draco started to reply but stopped, his expression growing cold. “Stroud's here.”
Hermione felt her stomach sink. “Alright.”
He left to bring Stroud, and Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, willing her heartbeat to slow.
The door swung open, and the healer entered, Draco only a few steps behind her, his indifferent mask fully in place.
“You're conscious this time,” Stroud said, glancing over at Hermione as she conjured a table in the middle of the room.
Hermione's stomach flipped as she stood and walked slowly over, seating herself on the edge before being commanded to.
She and Draco had discussed the eventuality of Stroud's arrival but being braced for it didn't make her heart pound any less painfully in her chest.