FORTY-THREE
Her gaze came into focus on his, the awareness that she'd been so completely lost in her thoughts until this moment settling over her. This hadn't been the time for mental wanderings, and yet ….
Giving her head a shake, she frowned. "Don't … don't you feel that?"
There was just enough moonlight peeking through the windows for her to see how he mirrored her expression. When he didn't immediately answer, instead turning his head to look about—reminding her she still had yet to do so—she wondered if it were merely the work of her imagination. She hadn't slept much the last few days, and she might be a little lacking for iron and other nutrients due to Antonin's feedings, small though they were, so wasn't it possible she wasn't exactly on-point just now?
"The emptiness?" he asked. "It does seem a bit unusual, doesn't it?"
Hermione immediately felt a small, warm wash of relief through her limbs at the acknowledgment. Of course, there still was the probably very valid question of how many more times she could let him … ease his thirst before it became troublesome for her.
Aware of the weight of his gaze landing on her anew, aware of the silence surrounding them, of the walls guarding them from view of the outside world, the concern of the little house's strangeness fell away.
As did the question of precisely how long before giving into his thirst might become dangerous.
With a flick of her wand, she shut the door, blotting out a bit of the already sparse moonlight.
Again she found herself alone in near-perfect darkness with him, just as earlier in the mausoleum.
Just as earlier, the dark made her all the more aware of his closeness.
