Narcissa's healing session couldn't have taken more than an hour or two, even factoring in Bellatrix's intrusion, but the time seemed to have passed in a disjointed blur.
One moment Hermione was at Narcissa's side, coaxing her to drink revolting healing brews. The next, Hermione was on the floor, cowering and praying that Bellatrix wouldn't smash her face into the scattered glass.
The shards seemed to shimmer and sparkle, refracting rainbows. As if they were from a dream.
Hermione wondered how they might feel if they pierced her skin. If Bellatrix scooped up a sliver to slice across her throat.
Time seemed to skip and stutter once more, and Hermione found herself being led cautiously down the maze of hallways back to her room.
Her heart and her nerves couldn't tell the passage of time any better than she could, and the aching, squeezing clawed grip of anxiety gripped her heart once more as she remembered Bellatrix.
It could've been hours ago.
It could've been a second ago.
Mippet's tiny hand grasped hers tightly, as if the elf was scared Hermione would float away or disappear.
Or, more likely, be snatched off.
"You don't have to walk so fast, Mippet," Hermione murmured. "Bellatrix has gone off somewhere."
The reminder was for herself too, but the elf shook her head. Her ears flapped and quavered, as if angling themselves to try to detect any warning signal.
"Master Draco says to be careful and keep Miss Hermione safe, and Mippet obeys all commands, because Mippet is a good elf," Mippet repeated nervously.
Some time later, they had arrived at her bedroom once more. Mippet bowed and waited, watching as Hermione entered the room. It was only when Hermione had shut the door behind her that she heard the crack of Apparition.
In the solitude of her fortress, Hermione finally allowed the cracks to surface.
She slid down to the carpeted floor, her back to the door, and wrapped her arms around her knees.
Her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest, so insistently in her ears, that she could hear her blood rushing. She took in heaving, desperate gulps of air.
Shakily, she pressed her fingers to her face, dazedly pulled them back and inspected them.
Clean, unblemished skin met her eye.
She had healed herself of the cuts that Bellatrix had inflicted, even if she couldn't remember having done so.
In the golden light of the afternoon, as the sun travelled west and slowly took leave of her bedroom, Hermione sat with her back against the door.
Her breathing had calmed. Her face was dry. If she had cried a few tears, there was no evidence of them now.
She stared intently down at her fingers in her lap, lost in thought.
The scene replayed in her mind. Over and over.
Bellatrix, standing cold and cruelly above them. Above Hermione, above Narcissa.
Narcissa, whom she had always feared, had been cowed by her older sister. Narcissa, whom had donned so many masks; mother, sister, daughter. Death Eater, matriarch, executioner, insurrectionist.
Victim and villain.
Narcissa, who had hid her deception from Voldemort, had hid her failing health and slow suicide from Draco.
And had hid her own heartbreak and fear of her sister, from her sister.
The bedroom had slowly withdrawn into darkness, but Hermione hardly noticed. Something was whirring tentatively in her brain; an idea was stirring, like a snake shifting through sand.
When Draco returned that night, concern and fear evident on his face and in his touch, Hermione lied easily and without guilt.
"I'm okay, I promise," she murmured, as Draco held her face in his hands. He peered at her as he tilted her chin, this way and that.
It flowed through her lips like silk, like water in a cold babbling brook. Easy, smooth, lyrical.
Her skin would hold up under scrutiny. It was unmarred and healed perfectly, a skill borne from years of practice during the war.
There was nothing to unravel her deception.
When his silver eyes saw no mark to contradict Hermione's word, Draco's shoulders slumped with relief.
"Mippet told me Bellatrix stormed in on you and Narcissa," he muttered, eyes closed wearily. He ran a hand exhaustedly through his hair, pushing it back. "She was a nervous wreck, she thought you had been hurt."
"Bellatrix didn't do anything to me or Narcissa," Hermione said.
It was half true, she thought with a wry smile. Bellatrix hadn't done anything permanent. They had both escaped in halves; Narcissa was outwardly unscathed, at least.
"She came in demanding some kind of … celebration for the equinox? I don't know, it was all a blur. Bellatrix screamed at Narcissa and then Narcissa gave in and … I guess—," Hermione grimaced, "—you're going to be playing host for the Death Eaters."
Draco had slumped down onto Hermione's bed. He watched her tiredly as she spoke, and his lips twisted into a bitter smile.
"Yes, I was made aware of that upon my return home tonight," Draco said. "'It is an honour above all others, to serve the Dark Lord so devotedly'," he mocked, in imitation of Bellatrix.
Hermione gave a snort at the falsetto Draco had employed, and could've sworn she saw the corner of his lip twitch in response. It had been quite an accurate impression.
A moment later, his expression fell and grew bitter.
"My wife and father will be expected to attend the event," Draco said woodenly. He glanced away from Hermione.
"Oh."
In truth, Hermione had forgotten about his— …
His wife.
It had been so easy when it was just the two of them.
When he stole into her room every night, or as often as he could, to spend the night with her. To share her bed.
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself not to react.
"Daphne will return from her trip in the coming days, to help prepare for the autumnal solstice next week. It is expected that she and my mother will play host to this extravagance—"
Draco broke off.
His mouth was twisted in a grimace.
"I'm sorry," he said suddenly. He turned to face Hermione again.
"I know this isn't what you imagined," Draco began awkwardly. He hesitated.
"It doesn't matter," Hermione replied with forced calm.
It really didn't matter, she thought to herself.
Draco may have been married, but it was a marriage in name only. Daphne would never know the most secret parts of Draco, that he hid from the world and showed only to Hermione.
Those moments existed between them and were theirs alone. The seaside cottage, the stolen nights, the whispered confessions.
So quiet and secretive that they bordered on sacred, they were hallowed and divine and they belonged to Hermione.
"It doesn't matter," she repeated, rising to make her way towards him.
Hermione sat down next to Draco and took his hand in her own. His silver eyes watched hers carefully, but softened when she pressed her lips to his fingers.
"We're going to make our way out of here and run away together. None of this will matter then, not anymore," Hermione said.
Her heart fluttered, beating faster at the thought.
Draco gave her a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He shifted forward, until they were sitting together, half facing one another. The hand that wasn't held in hers was brought up to cup Hermione's cheek, and his thumb ghosted across her temple.
Hermione leaned into his touch, and Draco mirrored her, until their faces were only inches apart.
"I've always envied your optimism. How you could open yourself up to hope, even knowing what might come," Draco murmured. His eyes scanned Hermione's face as he watched her intently, like he was trying to—
Trying to memorize it.
She stilled.
"Why are you telling me this?" Hermione asked slowly.
Her heartbeat felt faint in her chest, as if ringing across from a distance.
As if her heart itself had grown suddenly smaller.
Draco's eyes were molten silver as he regarded her; no longer ice, no longer frozen and cold. They were liquid, so pure and transparent that she could see every flash of emotion in them.
Longing.
Regret.
Acceptance.
There was a cold creeping across her skin, a chill that sank into her bones. That she could feel in her marrow.
"Severus and I have decided to get you out on the night of the autumnal equinox."
It was like a flame had gone out within her. Extinguished by a gust of wind, so painfully and suddenly that everything inside of Hermione seemed to plunge into darkness.
"No," she whispered.
Her voice sounded hollow, as if spoken by someone else.
She forced her numb lips to move. The words stuttered out on shaking, unsteady legs.
"N-no … no, Draco, no you can't—"
"The autumnal equinox provides the cover we need. Severus and I have painstakingly acquired a series of illegal portkeys and set up various safehouses for you in Europe. I will place a Death Eater at the party under the Imperius Curse, and he will transport you out of the Manor and deliver you to Severus. Then—" Draco's lips twisted into a sardonic smile, as if laughing at a private joke. "He'll kill himself. Or I'll kill him, it doesn't really matter. The trail will lead to him, and it'll go cold. I'll make sure of that."
The cold smile slid off his face.
"Severus will arrange the rest of your trip. Various portkeys will lead you to safehouses until you make it to Australia."
Draco swallowed heavily. He hesitated for a moment, then his hand brushed a curl back and tucked it behind Hermione's ear.
"You'll be able to find your parents then. You'll be re-united with your family and you can forget about the war," he murmured. "It'll be the life you deserve."
"It's not the life I want," Hermione said hollowly.
There was an emptiness in her chest.
"Draco, you can't— you can't do this. What about you?" she asked desperately, scrambling for reasons and excuses. "What about your family? The horcruxes? How can you just abandon them like this?"
How can you just abandon me?
His expression tightened before her eyes.
"This is the best that I can do. A rogue Death Eater defecting in the wake of Voldemort's crumbling regime will come as a shock, but it's not entirely unreasonable. The fallout from your disappearance won't come until later on — the Dark Lord still needs me to root out traitors."
The corner of his lip twitched.
"I suppose I'll be hunting myself," Draco said. "A snake that eats its own tail."
"The horcrux," Hermione blurted out. She grappled blindly until she found his hand with both of hers, and squeezed it like she was clinging onto her last hope.
"What about the horcrux? You can't just— you can't just leave it, Draco. It needs to be destroyed, for Voldemort to be defeated," she babbled.
She began to tremble. Her shoulders shook with nerves and fright.
He had sworn a Vow. It had been her reckless attempt to secure his safety and now— …
Now she feared that he might die from the very same Vow.
Draco's eyes flickered.
"I imagine Bellatrix wouldn't be particularly difficult to duel if I knew I was going to die by the Dark Lord's hand very soon after," he replied quietly. "That was always the problem, wasn't it? That I was to survive all this?"
He gave her hand a squeeze.
The regret and longing never left his face; neither did the acceptance.
Tears swam in Hermione's eyes until Draco's face was blurred. She couldn't see his outline clearly anymore.
She couldn't see anything except those quicksilver eyes.
Hermione swallowed hard.
"Draco, Draco please. You can't do this. There has to be a way — I have to be able to figure something out. There has to be an answer, I'm trying—"
She broke off in a low sob.
"I'm trying."
"I know you are," he breathed, and Hermione found herself pulled unwillingly into an embrace. She pushed feebly at his arms and his chest as she wept, before giving in and clinging to him.
"You tried and I don't fault you for it. This was an impossible and unfair ask of anyone; Voldemort's defeat will come," Draco murmured. His hand rubbed her back soothingly.
Hermione jerked away, pushing him off her.
"You can't give up like this. You can't just— just let this happen, Draco. We have to keep trying, I have to keep trying," she panted through jerky, shuddering breaths. "There's a way out. I just— I just know there is. There has to be. I need to keep researching, it's safe for me to be in the library—"
"Bellatrix is still—"
"She's planning for the autumnal equinox, she won't even notice me," Hermione gritted out forcefully. "She didn't hurt me today. Look at me, you would've known if she had."
Anger bit at her. Every word came out like a sharp bite; all teeth, all barely contained fury.
She couldn't stand it. How resigned he looked. How tired he was.
"You have to let me do this. You can't hide me away until— until the day I get shipped off to Australia like a box of old clothes. The growing unrest in Europe, the resistance there — can we contact them somehow? Can they help?"
She gripped Draco by both his shoulders and shook him as hard as she could.
Draco brushed her off, reaching an arm out to disentangle himself from her.
"No," he said, voice clipped. "They don't trust any outsiders; why would they? A supposed Insurgent member reaching out about the key to Voldemort's defeat, a year after their collapse is absurd. Even if you did make contact, they might just as well sell you out to Voldemort himself for a tactical advantage."
Hermione stared at Draco as his words rang through her mind.
His mind was obviously made up. There was nothing she could say to convince him. No amount of begging, pleading, screaming — he had already decided his life was inconsequential, a long time ago.
He didn't value his own life enough to try to save himself.
Hermione had to value it for him.
She swallowed hard.
Falteringly, she drew closer to Draco, wrapping her arms around his waist and allowing him to embrace her in turn. She made sure her shoulders shook with sobs. He rubbed her back gently.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
I am too, she thought.
Her face was dry of tears.
Half-formed ideas slithered through her mind.
Tentative, hopeful, damning and deceptive.
The week progressed quickly, fraught with activity and tension in the Manor. Hermione was tucked away and hidden from the majority of it, but not even the blood wards around her room could dampen the screaming that came from Bellatrix.
Every now and then, a shrill screech would echo through the halls, and Hermione started. It felt like she was going insane, like she was losing her grip upon reality.
It felt like an endless loop.
A glitch in the matrix.
Every day passed by the exact same, except the vise of anxiety, clamped around her heart, tightened another half-turn.
Saturday, Sunday, Monday.
Her sleeping was disjointed.
Tuesday, Wednesday.
She pushed herself as hard as she could, poring over the books that the elves fetched. She hardly dared to sleep; every minute not researching felt like a minute lost, that she could never claw back.
There was no comfort nor distraction that could be found in Draco's presence, as the return of Daphne meant he was expected to be by his wife's side. From the little that Hermione had glimpsed of the woman, she was just as stoic and disinterested in him upon her return.
She was almost grateful for his absence.
Without him there, she could push down the heartbreak and fear. Set it aside into the little compartments in her mind that held the other great tragedies of her life.
Her fear of losing Draco was carefully boxed up and piled on top of numerous other boxes: losing Harry, losing Ron, losing her parents, losing the war.
Occlumency sharpened her gaze and vision, until there was an almost painful, startling clarity to everything: you have to save him.
You have to save him, because he won't save himself.
Hermione pushed back her fear and apprehension, and spent her days working and waiting until it was time for another healing session with Narcissa.