Her hand pressed against her stomach, and she gave a low sob. “I don't want to choose.” Her voice was rasping, and it hurt to speak. “I always have to choose, and I never get to choose you. I'm so tired of not getting to choose you.”
He squeezed her shoulder before his hand slid down to hers, and he began messaging away the rigid knots in it. “You're not choosing. You promised — anything I wanted, you promised that. Don't — don't break yourself trying to save me. I want that more than anything else. Get away from this fucked up world. Let me get you out, Granger. Let me know you're safe, away from all this. Tell our daughter I saved you both. That — is what I want.”
She clumsily pushed herself upright; her arms were not cooperative, but she forced herself up and gripped his hand. “Draco — I'm so close. Give me more time, and I'll find a way to remove your mark. I'm sure there's a way. Please — don't make me stop trying.”
Draco sat back and stared at her. His eyes flickered. “I've never known anyone as bad at keeping promises as you. You are — quite possibly — the worst promise-keeper I've ever met.”
Her throat tightened, but she pushed her chin up and met his stare. “I keep the ones that matter.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “No. What you do is make conflicting promises and then pick and choose which ones to keep depending on what you want. I've devoted some thought to your methodology—” His voice was light. Then lightness vanished, and he glanced away. “That's why you never seem to keep any of the promises that I care about.”
Hermione looked down. “Draco—”
“Hermione.”
She looked up at him. He still used her name so rarely.
He stared at her, his expression serious and tired. “You care about this baby. She was all you cared about before your memories came back. Protecting her was all you thought about, every minute of the day. Now — you're so preoccupied with trying to save me that you're letting yourself forget that she needs you, that she's dependent on you. I can't protect her from you. Endangering yourself to try to save me is risking her.”
Hermione's jaw trembled, and she looked down. “I'm so close, Draco. I'm just missing one piece.”
Draco gave a sharp sigh. “Granger, if you miscarry, the Dark Lord will have you brought in to examine your mind.” His voice was flat and matter-of-fact, and she flinched at the words. “You promised — if it stressed you, you promised you'd stop. How many panic attacks are you up to since you started going into library by yourself?”
She ground her teeth together, setting her jaw. “It's so stupid. It's stupid that it won't go away. I'm so close — I'm almost sure I can figure it out, but the harder I try to put the pieces together, the worse it gets. But I'm so close — what if I wait and don't figure it out until it's too late?” Her chest started spasming, and she pressed her hand against her sternum.
Draco gripped her by the shoulders, his expression hard. “Let it go.” His teeth flashed as he spoke. “I was never supposed to be someone you tried to save.”
Hermione shook her head doggedly, “What am I supposed to do if you make me stop?”
Draco's lip curled as though he wanted to snarl at her. She didn't blink. His hands dropped away from her shoulders, and he gave an exasperated sigh.
“Fine,” he said in a resigned voice. “You can continue researching in your room. But if you want to go into the library, you will wait and go with me. I will have Topsy restrain you if you try to go alone. Understood?”
Hermione gave a small nod.
She stayed in her room for the most part. Whenever he had time, Draco took her outside to walk and then to the library, standing next to her and watching as she spent hours browsing. He cast analytic spells on his arm for her to study and wrote notes for her.
She was waiting outside the library doors for Draco to return for the evening when she heard two successive cracks of apparition in the foyer down the hall.
Her stomach immediately dropped.
No one should have been able to enter the estate unless Draco permitted it. If Draco were bringing someone back without warning, it was likely Severus, which meant she'd run out of time. Or else Draco had died, and the protections on the estate had collapsed.
Her heart was in her throat as she shrank back into the shadows and strained to hear.
“There has been a notable decline in your performance of late. The Dark Lord wishes to transfer the task to someone with less conventional methods.” Lucius Malfoy's blood-curdling drawl floated down the hallway.
Hermione went cold with terror.
“One less matter for me to attend to. I'm hardly lacking in attention currently.” She heard Draco say in a cool voice.
In the silent, empty house, the voices filled the foyer and bounced down the hallway. She could hear every word clearly.
“Indeed not. It seems I cannot pick up a paper without finding your face splashed across it. My son, the infamous High Reeve.”
Draco made no reply.